Page 16 of Angel's Kiss
“Where have you been!?” Christine jumped at Julianne’s voice. Before Christine could even see where the cry had come from her friend seized her in a fierce embrace.
“Julianne, what on earth!” Christine grunted as the other woman pulled back, still holding Christine by the shoulders and examining her. “I'm fine!”
“Three days I’ve been looking everywhere for you, no idea where you were! Because Iknowyou wouldn’t be stupid enough to go back to—” Julianne stopped as Christine’s blanched. She didn’t feel Erik watching, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t listening. She had forgotten in all the chaos that Julianne was the one person who knew a fraction of the truth. “You did, didn’t you? You were with him. The ghost.”
“Julianne, please, I can’t.” How could she explain without betraying the trust Erik had put in her or sounding mad?
“You can’t say or he won’t let you?” Julianne replied, her dark eyes burning with suspicion now.
“It’s not like that. I made a promise,” Christine replied. “You of all people understand what it means to me to keep someone’s confidences. He trusts me.”
“Christine, a man who spirits you away and leaves you weeping and hurtdoes not deserve your promises! Or you!” Julianne hissed.
Part of Christine knew Julianne was right. The same part that heard the Persian’s warnings about Erik in her mind each time his demeanor darkened or she thought of what was on the other side of the mask. So many people thought him a monster. But after the last few days, she could not agree.
“Please, trust me, he—” Christine’s mouth hung open as she searched for words to placate her friend. “He would never hurt me. If anyone asks where I have been, I will tell them I have been staying with a friend and teacher who treats me with nothing but respect, and it will be true.”
Julianne looked like she was deciding whether to scoff or scream. “Respect, is it?”
“Yes. And that is all I can say,” Christine replied. She had neither the will nor the ability to explain what the last few days had been like. She worried that when examined in the cold light of day, the pleasant hours spent with Erik full of music and stories would lose their appeal. “Come along, walk with me before I’m late,” Christine ordered, and with a sigh Julianne fell in step on the path to the stage.
It was like an explosion. As Christine stepped onto the great stage proper the onslaught of light and noise hit her all at once and she grabbed Julianne’s arm in pure shock. It was so bright, loud, andcrowded. It was as if she had been struck by one of the ocean waves in Brittany, the ones that would sneak up on her as a child and leave her soaked, shocked and breathless, afraid she might drown. It was such a contrast to the shadowy quiet and perfect music of Erik’s home.
“Are you alright?” Julianne asked.
“Just overwhelmed,” Christine muttered, trying to compose herself and gain her bearings among the crowd. The first thing she noticed was the way her fellow chorus members were looking at her.
Christine had never been popular among the chorus, but she had proved herself a capable musician, kept her head down, and avoided attention. Any odd looks she had received since her unplanned introduction to Paris at the New Year’s gala in Carlotta’s place hadn’t mattered, because she’d had an angel on her side. She noticed the sneers now. She noticed how people raised their eyebrows and whispered when she passed.
In the corner of the stage Christine’s only true ally, Adèle Valerius, was in deep conversation with Gerard Gabriel, one of the directors and the master of the chorus. Neither looked particularly happy. Robert Rameau and Carlos Fontana were likewise engaged in conversation, though Rameau at least gave Christine a smile.
“I should go,” Julianne muttered, also squirming under the harsh eyes of the company.
Christine opened her mouth to protest, but Julianne was already in retreat. Christine turned, resolved to engage Adèle or Rameau in conversation before the start of rehearsal, but the sight of a different principal stopped her cold. Carlotta Zambelli herself was striding towards Christine with none other than the conductor, Claude Bosarge, in tow.
Carlotta was immaculate in one of the most ornate dresses Christine had ever seen, red accented with gold to match her perfectly coifed hair. Her bustle moved behind her like a queen’s train and, despite being taller, Christine felt minuscule and underdressed in her relatively plain blue gown.
“Ah, young Mademoiselle Kristiane, was it?” Carlotta purred as she approached, a cat stalking a frozen mouse.
“Christine,” she replied, swallowing down both her fear and indignation.
“Of course. I assumed you had a more Nordic name as a – what are you again?” Christine was suddenly a child again, with playmates demanding to know if she was just poor or a filthy gypsy.
“French and Norwegian by way of Sweden,” she replied, jaw tight.
Carlotta smiled smugly and nodded. “Yes, that was it. I wanted to be the first one to share the good news with you.” Christine’s heart leapt in blind hope as Carlotta paused. “You have the day off.”
Christine’s guts fell through the floor at the same time as her blood began to pound. “What?”
“Claude and I have been talking, and we agree that the chorus’s part is so small that we don’t need to keep them here all day and waste everyone’s time herding you all about like cattle.”
“What?” Christine repeated. Around them people had begun to stare and whisper more pointedly.
“Don’t worry, you’ll still be paid for the day’s work,” Carlotta paused to look Christine from head to toe. “I know you need the money.”
“What about understudies? I’m the cover for Madame Valerius.” Christine craned her head, trying to make eye contact with Adèle across the stage.
“I’ve had discussions with the directors about that too,” Carlotta grinned back. “Haven’t we, Claude?”
