Page 111 of Angel's Fall

Such a strange thing to think – having a husband. Was she too young and too foolish? Was this all a mistake? Would she regret it forever? She hoped not.

She raised her veil and turned away from the church. It was a fine, lonely building in theFaubourg Saint Germain, where the Chagny family had been interred for many years and hopefully would be for many more. Christine had never taken the time to really observe the neighborhood that Raoul and so many other well-heeled Parisiennes called home, including the one she needed most to speak with. In truth, it was not so different from the rest of Paris, with buildings of creamy white and gray, windows decorated in Romanesque details, and steep, blue-gray roofs and wrought iron rails. It was all variations on one distinct tune that only this city knew. Christine was going to miss it.

Carlotta’s house was not as fine as the Chagny manor, of course, but it was well-appointed, and the maid was stoic as she led Christine to her mistress. The once-great diva was ensconced in the parlor, sipping tea and looking out the window at the Sunday traffic.

“I’m glad to see you are doing better than I last heard,” Christine said without ceremony. “Did it work?”

“The cure for the poison you gave me, you mean?” the woman asked back. Her voice was thin and unsteady, but it was a voice, nonetheless. “What do you think?”

“I think it will be a long time before you sing again, but that one day, you might.”

“One day,” Carlotta replied. “And you? When will you sing again, little witch? Last I heard, a ghost kidnapped you and tried to burn down the Opera.”

“My brief career is over, you’ll be happy to know.”

“And you are leaving it for marriage. You never struck me as this much of an idiot.” For once, there was no malice in the woman’s tone, only a sort of world-weary jadedness.

“Perhaps.” Christine’s stomach filled with butterflies as she considered. “But my reason for singing is gone. At least for singing at the Opera. Why not try something new that I have chosen?”

“You’ll miss it,” Carlotta shot back. “I warn you. The applause and the glory and the gold. All of that is better than sitting around day in and day out, waiting for some man to come home and mount you so you can spit out his heirs and wither away in obscurity. That’s the real hell.”

Christine sighed. “Or I could spend my days and nights seeing the wide world with a companion and an equal? I know for sure I won’t be spitting out heirs.”

“Well, at least that’s lucky.” Carlotta gave a small cough. “Will you miss the music? You always seemed to enjoy it to your fill.”

“I am leaving a career in the opera, not music. Music is an angel that travels with me always. I could not leave it if I tried.”

“Dear God, you’re a strange one.” Carlotta took another sip of tea. “Did you come here to gloat or see your good works?”

“I came here to apologize.” Christine shrugged. “I have hated you since I met you. I wanted what you had just like you wanted what I took. I saw you as a rival and treated you with the same cruelty you showed to me. I was wrong for that, and I am sorry.”

Carlotta regarded Christine, her eyes sharp and discerning, before giving the slightest – and haughtiest – of nods. “Be absolved then, you useless creature. Now, go off to ruin yourself better than I ever could.”

“Thank you.”

“And I am... sorry too, for what I did.”

“I forgive you,” Christine said easily. Carlotta raised an eyebrow. “Not because you deserve it, but because I do not want my soul weighed down with that hate anymore. I am tired of it.”

“Fair enough. Goodbye, Christine Daaé. Good luck.”

Christine was grateful for the blessing, such as it was. She needed all the luck she could find for the journey ahead. Once again, she walked, slow and steady, through the streets. Cherry blossoms were just ready to bloom as the sun peeked through thin clouds to kiss them.

Erik had lived in this city for so long and never seen the flowers bloom under blue skies in the spring. Now, he never would.

Christine’s stomach sank as she approached Raoul’s home once again, replacing her veil so that she could slip like a shadow among the mourners just beginning to arrive. Raoul was in the study, looking over papers and sighing.

“There you are,” Raoul smiled. “I was just going over the train schedules. There is one to Brussels tonight. Unless you want me to stay and help?”

Christine dug her nails into her hand and shook her head. “No, please. Shaya will be help enough.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to do this alone.” It was kind, but there was still something in his voice and a spark in his eye that made Christine shake her head. He wanted to see his rival dead, and Christine could not give him that satisfaction.

“I must.”

“Well, then, I will go to Brussels and meet you there. There is a hotel by the train station. I’ll find a priest and witnesses.”

“I’m sure you will take care of it,” Christine muttered, and Raoul gave one of the few real smiles she had seen since they had returned from the Opera. It made her heart hurt as well. “I’m going to go try again with your sister before I go home and...” Christine hesitated, not sure of which details to give. “Shaya will meet me at the Opera.”

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