Page 92 of Angel's Kiss
“I do. And I will tell you now that he is the most dangerous man in Paris. I dare not even tell you his name if you have not been successful in learning it yourself,” The Persian answered gravely. “But I know he has your Christine in his control. Her actions are not her own, be assured.”
“How can I believe you?” Raoul demanded.
“You are a smart man, Monsieur,” the Persian replied. “Think on what you have seen and what you know. Consider the accidents and incidents you have witnessed at the Opera around Christine. The rumors. Even perhaps...” The man paused, as if he was sizing Raoul up.
“Go on,” Raoul ordered, puffing his chest.
“Ghost stories.”
Raoul wondered if someone had opened a window to let in the winter air, for goosebumps raised on his skin. “What do the ghost stories have to do with Christine and her angel?”
“Are angels so different from ghosts?” the Persian asked in return.
Raoul fought a shiver. “Very. Though I will not fault you for the mistake if you have not read the Bible.”
“I have actually. And many part are included in the Quran,” the Persian replied, ignoring Raoul’s scowl. “But you are correct, sir, a human soul cannot become an angelic one. It is men who become ghosts.”
“What are you getting at?” Raoul demanded, eyes narrowing.
The Persian gave a polite bow and turned away, then paused, speaking over his shoulder with the slightest smile. “You know, the holy books remind us that Lucifer was an angel too.”
Raoul starred after the strange man as he disappeared back into the echoing halls of the Opera. He felt as though he was waking from a week’s worth of nightmares. What if the man spoke true? What if all Raoul’s most terrifying suspicions had just been confirmed?
Christine had not rejected him in favor of some unscrupulous genius who refused to show his face. Rather she had beentakenfrom Raoul by a character far more dangerous. One who had something to do with the horrifying stories that haunted the Opera and the man Raoul had found dead.
––––––––
As it had all night, the applause rang hollow in Christine’s ears as she took her final bow. All that mattered was that she could feel Erik watching her. She could even imagine that she saw his shadow in box five, standing for the ovation. It gave her a thrill to match the excitement coursing through her veins.
It was controlled chaos backstage after the curtain fell for the final time. Everyone had their own agenda and mission. Some choristers were ready to leave immediately, while the stagehands and dressers still had a great deal of work to do. Christine moved with her own mission too, handing off the flowers she had been presented with and nodding with the bare minimum of politeness to everyone who complimented her on the performance. She was determined not to stop for anyone.
“Will I be accompanying you anywhere tonight?” Robert asked, emerging at her elbow.
Christine shook her head, not breaking her stride. Erik might already be on his way to her dressing room as. “No. I’m not going tonight. Nothing good ever comes from those parties.”
“I will give your regrets,” Robert murmured, and Christine did not look as he left her at his dressing room door. She hoped he would be able to steal some time with his own lover tonight. Moncharmin had looked typically exhausted when she had last seen him.
She kept walking, picking up her pace. She braced herself for the emptiness of the room. Julianne hadn’t been there to dress her, just as she had been absent for the entire week. Christine hadn’t spoken at all to the other dresser who had swung in to help. What was her name? Aurora? Raquel? It didn’t matter. It hurt to know Julianne still believed Christine was a fool for being with her ghost. It smarted even more to know that her friend was probably right... Which made the sight of Julianne waiting for her in the dressing room all the more painful when Christine walked in.
“What are you doing here?” Christine asked. “I thought you’d given up on me.”
“That was before I listened to you sing tonight,” Julianne replied, something like contrition in her face. “He cannot be all bad, a man that makes you sing like that.”
“He’s not,” Christine replied instantly. She looked at the mirror, trying to sense if Erik was there watching, but no familiar shiver prickled her skin.
“I’m still worried for you, after everything. You still haven’t been—”
“Myself?” Christine finished for her, remembering back to their argument from before. “Julianne, I’m not even sure who that is anymore.” She looked at the mirror again, this time truly taking in her reflection. Was she paler from weeks in the dark? Were the shadows under her eyes from restless nights darker now that she had seen such tragedy? Could someone tell by looking at her how eagerly she took a man with a face like death to her bed and how deeply she wished to have him again?
“You are a good, kind woman who sees the best in people,” Julianne said, taking Christine’s hand. “Even a foul-tempered flirt like me.”
“I would never call you that.”
“Jammes did,” Julianne sighed. “She called me a great many things last week when I told her how worried I was for you. She’s convinced now that you and I are having an affair. Or that I’m heartless. It changes.”
“I’m so sorry,” Christine murmured. Another life she’d left upended in her wake. “Maybe I am cursed.”
“I couldn’t even tell her that’s impossible given that you’re in love with a phantom,” Julianne said with a sarcastic chuckle and Christine blanched.
