Page 5 of Angel's Mask

“If?”

“Oh, you’ll be fine. Just stay in the light.” Julianne handed her a candle and matches then looked around the room, giving Christine the impression that she expected to find someone else there. “Good night and good luck.”

And in with a final wink, Julianne was gone back down the hall.

Christine clutched the candle in her hand, telling herself she was as brave as she’d claimed. She didn’t fear the dark, but even so, a shiver ran up her spine. The building around her was eerily silent now that it was empty. And yet Christine still felt the prickle on the back of her neck of being watched.

Steadfastly ignoring the feeling, Christine stepped into the room, taking her place among the other abandoned things hidden in the dark of the Opera. It was exactly where she belonged: among the instruments that, like her, would never make music again and the other silent shadows.

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The girl was stillin his opera. The Ghost had expected Louise to take her in (the costume mistress had a soft heart despite her bravado, after all) but he had not expected the urchin to repay his kindness by trespassing in his realm after dark. Yes, he knew he shouldn’t blame herper se. It had been the dresser, Bonet, who had decided to test the limits of the Phantom’s charity. ThisChristinedidn’t know her crime. But, alas, that didn’t mean she would survive without punishment. He did have a reputation to uphold.

The Ghost waited, tucked away in the deepest shadows, silent and still as the grave in the old storeroom, until the girl returned from washing. As he had throughout much of the day, he watched her. She was fascinating for some reason – perhaps the quiet sadness she carried. It was almost enough to make him pity her for the fright she would soon endure. Almost.

The girl sat on the floor next to the window, in a small patch of orange light from the gaslights below. There was no way she could see the moon or stars, but even so, her face turned to the sky, and once again, unbidden, the Ghost considered how almost-beautiful she was. He took a soundless step closer to her, his long black cape sweeping around him, flexing his thin, pale hands.

“I know you’re there,” Christine spoke, calm as could be, and the Ghost froze. How could she? But her eyes were not on him, they were focused on the floor. As the Ghost kept still, not even breathing, he watched the same spot as her. And heard it. The scratch of tiny claws. “Come on out, I won’t hurt you.”

The Ghost watched as the girl pulled some bread from her bag and broke off a small piece. She set it on the floor a safe distance from herself before taking her own bite. Sure enough, the rat scurried out and grabbed the prize. For the first time, he watched Christine smile.

“Now, my friend, I’ll make you a deal,” Christine said to the rat as she finished her own bite. “I’ll give you a bit more if you promise not to scurry over my feet while I’m sleeping, alright? I’m nervous enough here as it is.”

The rat did not respond but regarded the girl thoughtfully as they both chewed.

“Thank you,” Christine said, tired and amused. “Everyone else here has been surprisingly kind, I’m glad you are too. Well, except for that doorman but...I honestly never expected all that’s happened today.”

The rat remained silent as Christine threw it another crumb and the Ghost found himself hoping this strange, kind girl would go on.

“Would you believe I’ve been dreaming about coming here for years? All my life it feels, and now I’m here.” Christine sighed deeply. “Begging for charity, sleeping on the floor, and talking...to a rat.” She gave a hollow laugh. “It’s almost like a fairy tale, don’t you think? The part where the heroine is all alone, and some spirit comes to help her. But I guess I’ve had enough help for the day, I can’t really complain.”

The Ghost smirked. She had no idea how right she was.

“Have you heard the story of Vasilisa the Beautiful? She would feed her little doll and tell it her sorrows and it saved her from the Baba Yaga.” The Ghost smiled, genuinely this time. He did know that story, but how did she? “I always liked that one. My friend and I, when we were children, we would collect stories from anyone who would tell us and bring them back to...”

Christine stopped, a shadow passing over her face. Her eyes closed and the Ghost considered taking his chance. But as he moved, he saw the tears on her cheek. Her eyes were shining when she opened them again.

“God, I wish I had a little doll like Vasilisa, carrying a blessing. Just so she could tell me what to do,” she told the rat, her voice thick. “I’m here and I’m so grateful but...what do I do now?” She drew her knees close to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She looked incredibly small and broken. “What do I do now?” she repeated, barely a whisper.

The rat responded by scurrying away and Christine let out a pained laugh. “Well, good night then, it was nice to meet you. I’m Christine, by the way.”

And I am Erik.He almost said it aloud, imagining her terror as he emerged from the dark, eyes ablaze and mask shining in the shadows. But he didn’t. Erik stayed frozen, the name he had not spoken in years caught in his throat and echoing in his mind.

“I wish you could hear me,” Christine whispered and when Erik looked, he saw her eyes were once again on the sky. She wasn’t speaking to him, or to the rat. It was another, unknown ghost who haunted her.

He drew closer, fascinated by this girl who was odd, kind, and so very sad. He wished she would speak again, but she remained silent as she finished her bread and curled up to sleep, her bag serving as a pillow and her tattered shawl her only blanket. It would have been the perfect moment to spring on her, but Erik no longer had any intention of taking his revenge tonight.

He waited in the dark, as still as a statue, listening to the sound of her breath as it slowed. When she was asleep, he would go and leave her in peace to whatever sad dreams she could manage. It was already a mercy. But he didn’t leave. He found himself drawing closer, inch by inch, until he stood a foot away from her, at the edge of the light. A looming, masked figure waiting beside her, like a nightmare.

He didn’t want to be a terror for this girl though. Not tonight. She was lost and hurt enough and didn’t deserve more pain or fear. He had been lost when he came here, wounded and alone when these stones had become his shelter. When he had come to the Opera, only the ghosts had helped him as well.

As his feet, Christine shivered in the deepening chill. Or maybe some part of her sensed a phantom lurking close. How little did she care for herself that she hadn’t even bothered to pull a sheet off one of the old pianos? It was a reflex for Erik to grab the nearest covering and placed it over her. At least she could be warm for tonight.

The gaslights below illuminated her sleeping face with an eerie light as Erik knelt beside her. Close enough to touch her.

“There is a ghost watching you, Christine,” he whispered, oddly compelled by the memory of her words and tears. “I can’t tell you what to do now. But I...” he what? Would be happy to help when she did? What would be the point in that?

Erik stood abruptly, appalled by his weakness. He had become the monster he was so as to never feel such foolish longing ever again. He was the darkness now. There was no use for sympathy or yearning, not for someone like him. And this girl – she was nobody. There was nothing in her worth even a second thought from the Phantom of the Opera.

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