Page 10 of Angel's Fall

“But they’re already too hard to give up. Why not savor as much as you can?” Erik thought back to the morning and wanting to hold Christine until the world turned to dust around them. And the wrenching pain of watching her leave.

“You have a surprising depth of opinions on love for a phantom,” Moncharmin remarked. “I thought your expertise only extended to music.”

“It is music I am here to serve, but it is not all I am.” Erik gave a shrug that made him appear, he hoped, less nervous than he felt.

“No, it would seem not. You, my friend, are something more.” Erik began to feel a tightness in his chest as Moncharmin’s sharp eyes remained on him, peering curiously through his spectacles. “Did you always attend the masquerades? I enjoy them. Having a night to be anything I want is liberating.”

“As I said: I find it better to enjoy what I can, when I can,” Erik answered. Moncharmin gave a nod and Erik flexed his fists. How did people do this? Just talk? Moncharmin righted a crooked stack of scores, with the largest on top. “So you are taking my advice?Lohengrin?”

“Richard and the patrons will have a fit about putting on our first Wagner, but the public has an appetite for it. I think we can find the right cast.” Moncharmin held the ghost’s gaze. “We may have to find someone to help Fontana, or another Swan Knight altogether. Valerius does deserve a role like Ortrud though, and Robert would enjoy being a king rather than a villain for once.”

“And Elsa?” It was a role with greater vocal demands than Christine had ever undertaken.

“Mademoiselle Daaé will still be our poor martyr,” Moncharmin nodded. “Another woman deceived and used who will die for love. As if there were any other kind in grand opera.”

“There used to be,” Erik replied wistfully. He turned away, glancing over his shoulder one last time. “I will leave you to your work.”

“Do send my regards and compliments to your Queen of the Night. She was quite the sight, dancing with Red Death.”

Erik wondered if he had made another impulsive mistake by speaking to Moncharmin like a fellow man. He knew what Erik was and could ruin everything. But Erik knew what he was, and there was a sort of equality there. Moncharmin was not the sort to tear away the mask of another.

“I shall. Until we meet again,Monsieur le Directeur” Erik threw his voice so it echoed through the office before disappearing down the hall. He did need to maintain some level of mystery.

Erik mused on the conversation as he made his rounds of the Palais Garnier, wafting like a shadow through the Grand Foyer and salons, each room covered in so much golden ornamentation and extravagant murals that the effect was like being encased in a great jewel box. Today the hall was still littered with the detritus of the masquerade the night before. A mask here, a shattered glass there, a feather and a crown cast into a corner.

Thegrand escalierwas Erik’s favorite, even after years. The marble of cream and peach and mauve and teal, the sweeping curves of the banisters, the nymphs raising their unlit torches to the sky. A dim beam of sunlight shone down into the empty, echoing space, reminding Erik of the one above his lake that let in just enough light to his underworld that he could see across the water in the day. All of it – the stone in the same color of flushed skin, the curves and frolicking nymphs, even the light shining into the darkness – made him think of Christine and long for her return. Perhaps she was on her way home even now.

How strange, that he could miss her so much after such a short time.

The thought of her moved him like the wind, and he found himself slipping through the door to the darkened auditorium and passing beneath the unlit chandelier. The massive ornament of crystal and brass hung like a dull bauble, an extinguished sun amidst the painted clouds. Erik wasn’t concerned with that. His road took him through the orchestra and under the stage, then directly down. Through the ropes and cellars and scenery, right down to the darkest reaches of the Opera, to where he would find her. Or wait for her forever.

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“Where have you been?”

Raoul had barely shut the door before his sister’s cry echoed through the front hall of the manor. He was reminded of being caught stealing sweets from the kitchen as a child and was glad of the ashen cross on his forehead as an excuse. “Church.”

“Why didn’t you wait for us?” Sabine was marked too. She must have gone with Philippe while Raoul was off getting his head spun about again. “My maid told me you got in late and were up until dawn carousing with those idiots.”

“One of those idiots is our brother and the head of this family.”

“Says who? I didn’t elect him.” Sabine grabbed Raoul by the shoulder, forcing him to stand for an examination. Raoul knew he must look ghastly, and indeed, he wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and pretend the last days had been nothing but a dream.

“Luckily we’re monarchists.” Philippe’s voice came from the parlor door and Sabine released the youngest Chagny. “Raoul was running an errand for me and went on his own to church, little sister. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. Every time he leaves the house, he comes back injured or heartbroken!” Sabine looked truly concerned and it made Raoul feel small again, but not unpleasantly so. He was lucky to have a family that cared so much.

“He was checking in on a friend. He wasn’t with the little strumpet, I assure you,” Philippe sighed, and Raoul’s warm feelings evaporated. He tried to hide the guilt in his face, but that had never worked with his siblings. “For God’s sake, Raoul, you didn’t! Did you?”

“I knew it!” Sabine crowed. “Has she not hurt you enough?”

“Is Antoine still here?” Raoul avoided Sabine’s eyes as he rushed to the parlor where he had last seen his new ally in the war against this phantom.

“We’re not done!” Sabine cried.

“Don’t worry, I’ll throttle him for both of us.” Philippe followed Raoul into the parlor. Antoine was still there, sprawled asleep on the couch, his long legs hanging over the edge. The slam of the door behind Philippe startled him awake.

“What in the devil?” Antoine groaned.

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