Page 16 of Angel's Fall

“And that will make him want to stay, not encourage him to leave on that foolish expedition,” Erik lamented, lungs and heart seizing up. “He won’t abandon you to a monster.”

“I can convince him that my teacher wishes me to only love music, and no mortal man,” she countered. “His imagination will do the rest. He’ll forget what he suspects. I’ll tell him half the truth – that your voice speaks to my soul – and he’ll follow the path. It will work. I swear it will.”

“I believe you, in here.” Erik pressed his hand against his heart. “I trust you.”

Christine pressed into him, twining her fingers into his hair and stroking his brow. How incredible it still was that she could look at his face and touch it with such compassion and care. “And what about in here?” she asked with a kiss upon his forehead.

“In there... It’s always a bit of a mess in there,” Erik confessed. More words bubbled in his throat then stuck there, fear holding them back.

“What is it?” Christine asked, and something about the softness of her voice and the warmth of their bed made him brave.

“Sometimes, it’s like my mind is full of ghosts. Always whispering. Always cruel. They remind me of what I am, what I’ve done, what I deserve, and all the disasters in store.”

“Would it matter if I told you not to listen to them?” Christine asked, kindness in her eyes that Erik could hardly believe.

“I’m not sure – they’re very persistent.”

“I’ll drown them out then.” Erik did not resist as Christine pulled him towards her, wrapping him in her arms and pressing his head against the perfect, warm skin of her chest. And then she began to sing.

He had sung her to sleep so many times, but never had their roles been reversed. Never had she been the one to offer perfect music as comfort. It was a wordless song that sounded like moonlight and ancient pines, and it acted like magic, as music so often did. It drove away the fear and the dreams. For now, at least, he was safe.

3. The Garden Path

Raoul had arrived fartoo early at the café to meet Christine. It wouldn’t do to drink several bottles of red wine like he wanted to, no matter how tempting. He had opted instead for a café au lait at half past four o’clock. And then another half an hour later. Now, it was well past five, he was sipping on the dregs of his fourth, and the omnibuses rolling by were making his skeleton vibrate.

“You’re being very stupid, you know. More so than usual.” Raoul nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Antoine’s voice from behind. Before the younger man could protest, Antoine took the seat across from him that Raoul had been saving for Christine.

“I thought you were done with me?” Raoul snapped.

“I said I was taking things into my own hands.” Antoine picked up Raoul’s empty cup and looked into it scornfully. He hailed a waiter without hesitation, signaling for more. “I came to remind you that whatever your little songbird says, it’s going to be a lie.”

“You don’t know her.”

“She’s a woman,” Antoine sneered. “A woman of the theater, no less. Lying is all whores like her know how to do.”

“I’m sureyouknow a lot about whores. They’re the only women who will have you.” Raoul did include that debauched creature Valerius in that number.

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