Page 44 of Angel's Kiss
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Erik had relayed toChristine a quote from an English playwright recently, opining that all theaters were madhouses, but an opera house was the ward for the incurables. That certainly rang true tonight. Backstage it was utter chaos as the curtain closed. Carlotta had rushed off stage left, exactly as Christine had anticipated. She herself was tucked away stage right, between a few flats. It was much like the first time she had listened to Carlotta butcherFaust, but this time Christine had truly enjoyed the diva’s performance. She laughed to herself again, remembering the look on Carlotta’s face as Erik showed the whole of Paris what she really was.
“We need a doctor here!” someone called from the tumult around the ailing diva, and Christine smiled again. There was another commotion behind her as she finally dared to emerge from her hiding place. Adèle, Rameau, and Fontana were gathered in a clump around Armand Moncharmin, all yelling at him at once.
“I won’t go on! Not with her! Who knows what will happen!” Fontana cried.
“I told you this would happen,” Rameau was adding, while Adèle looked particularly furious.
“If you hadn’t sacked Christine, we could—”
“Mademoiselle Daaé is here!” Moncharmin yelled above all of them, his eyes finally falling on Christine and relief spreading over his face. He pushed past the crowd and grabbed Christine by the hand.
“What on earth—” Adèle whispered in shock.
“Monsieur Moncharmin invited me,” Christine said before anyone else could speak. “He was worried about how delicate Carlotta’s health has been and regretted his earlier decisions regarding my place as her understudy,” she added, holding the manager’s gaze meaningfully.
“Yes, exactly.” Moncharmin nodded and looked around as if expecting someone else to cut into the conversation. Christine controlled her smile and the urge to tell him that the ghost he feared was currently far away. Alas. “And – yes! It was a good thing I did. Get yourself dressed! You’ll be on as soon as you’re in costume!”
Without ceremony, Moncharmin rushed onto the stage. Christine heard the murmurs of the audience ebb as the manager signaled for their attention.
“Mesdames et Messieurs! I regret to inform you that La Carlotta has fallen ill and cannot complete—”
“Let’s get you to your dressing room, my dear.” Christine spun to find Adèle at her elbow, ushering her across the stage towards the singer’s dressing rooms.
Their route took them directly past Carlotta’s door. Christine could not help but glimpse inside to see the once-powerful diva sprawled on her chaise, her face red and her makeup smeared with tears. Through the door, the woman caught sight of Christine and opened her mouth to scream. No sound but a terrible rasp came out. Carlotta began to point, like she had seen a ghost. Christine only smiled and nodded before striding away, Adèle close behind.
Julianne was waiting for her at her dressing room door, looking thunderous.
“You could have told me you were here,” Julianne grumbled as she rushed Christine into the room.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to cause a stir,” Christine began.
Julianne scoffed. “I was looking for you in. Figured it would take an act of God to keep you away. And somehow, you’re walking through walls again.”
“I came in the same way as everyone else,” Christine lied.
“At least Moncharmin had some sense and prepared,” Adèle agreed, and Julianne shot Christine a dubious look. “Come on, get her ready before there’s a riot!”
Julianne sprang to action, and with Adèle’s help, Christine was dressed in no time. “Don’t you need to warm up?” Julianne asked suspiciously.
“Already done,” Christine smiled, and that earned her another look.
“You really were ready to go on at a moment’s notice,” Julianne remarked.
“And a good thing too! Could you believe the sounds that woman was making?” Adèle laughed. “Her voice finally matched her soul.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Christine smirked and gave her mirror one more glance. She couldn’t feel Erik there. He was waiting with the rest of the audience for her to go on, not behind the mirror shrouded in the shadows where he had dared to kiss her.
Her stomach leapt at the memory, as it had again and again in the hour since he had crossed the divide between them. She grasped her wrist on instinct, running a thumb over her pulse and feeling it race as she recalled the softness of his lips on her skin. It made her legs feel unsteady and kindled an ache in the deepest part of her. An ache she had not allowed herself to feel, except in dreams, since her angel had fallen from heaven...
“Come on, girl!” Christine jumped at Adèle’s voice. “All of Paris is waiting for you.”
Christine nodded and rushed from the dressing room, her friends by her side. All of Paris waited for her to do the one thing she had spent her whole life dreaming of, to take the prize she had fought for. She was thrust onto the stage at Marguerite’s spindle as the curtain rose, revealing the glittering crowd of people watching her, waiting for her to fail or triumph.
She knew Raoul was there. She knew that somewhere backstage Carlotta was in a fit knowing Christine had not only survived but was the one who had replaced her. The managers were watching. Every dancer and singer and stagehand and musician who had sneered at her or secretly supported her was waiting for her to open her mouth.
And none of them mattered. The only gaze that mattered was Erik’s. She could feel it upon her as the music began, dark and pensive. She thought again of his kiss, of the touch of his hand, and the sound of his angel’s voice. And she sang for that. “I would truly like to know, who the young man was. Was he a grand lord and what was his name?”
