Page 19 of Angel's Fall

Raoul imagined himself in the frozen wastes, a portrait of his beloved clasped near his heart. So romantic. So operatic. The notion was tempting. Yet, how could he let his family go unavenged? He had to find this monster and Christine remained the key. He had to save her and convince her to reveal her teacher’s secrets. And maybe this was his chance.

“I can’t leave without knowing you are safe, in every way,” Raoul said slowly as his mind worked. “I would need assurances.”

“Assurances?”

“I want to see you as much as I can, in the Opera,” Raoul began. “I want to know your world as he does. For these few weeks, share with me all your secrets and joys, as when we were children. I want to be your suitor and fiancé for a fortnight, and then, when those days are over, I will go. Can you grant me that?”

Christine looked down, twisting her fingers nervously. “Yes, I can. I cannot say if it will make it harder, to send you off after such a time.”

“Let it be my gift to you: a few scraps of joy before you give up the dream of love,” Raoul offered, the lie coming easily, and Christine smiled.

“A moment in the sun before Persephone returns to the underworld,” she whispered. Raoul knew his Greek stories well enough, and he didn’t like that implication.

“Shall we begin now?” he offered. “We can share a meal like civilized folk, and then I can walk you home.” It was a challenge for her: to prove she was not returning to the Opera to be shut away by her dark teacher again.

“That would be lovely,” Christine replied, warmth returning to her face. “Tell me more about your time on the sea.”

Raoul smiled and signaled a waiter, a bubble of triumph growing in his chest. This would work. He would have the pleasure of two weeks with the woman he loved and hopefully it would be enough to convince her to let these dreams go. She would have to once he found her teacher. Now, he had an excuse to be in the Opera, to explore, and a way to learn Erik’s secrets. Then Raoul would destroy him. He would lie to Christine, tell her he was bound north. And when it was time for him to leave, he would not go. He would save her and she would thank him.

This was how he would find the minotaur at the center of the labyrinth.

––––––––

Christine leaned onthe door of the flat she no longer thought of as home once it clicked shut and let out a long sigh.

“You look exhausted.” Adèle’s voice came from by the fire. “Which of your paramours has you looking so put upon?”

“The one who is determined to save the sweet maiden from the clutches of the monster, of course.”

“So you’ve taken my advice?”

Christine pushed off the door and ambled to the chair across from Adèle, who was settled in her shawl with a glass of wine and the evening edition ofLe Gaulois. “It’s worked, I think. I’ve convinced him that, to save me, he has to leave Paris, and I’ll remain here mourning him and devoted only to art.” The words tasted like offal in Christine’s mouth. “He believed every lie.”

“Then why are you back here?”

“Because he wanted to have dinner with me and walk me home, like a proper gentleman.” She chafed at the memory of how Raoul had bowed to her at the door before pressing a demure kiss to her hand.

Adèle smirked. “At least you had a pretty face to look at.”

“No pretty face could make up for the boredom of a man talking about boatsfor an hour,” Christine groaned. “All without asking me a single question.”

“Ah, poor girl,” Adèle chuckled. “I’ve been to those dinners. Antoine liked to talk about hunting. He fancies himself such a tracker. As if he didn’t have a game warden sneaking foxes into his path all his life.”

Christine rubbed her brow, somehow sitting there doing nothing had tired her just as much as playing her role. She wanted to go home. “Erik’s different. When he talks, I know he wants me to understand and ask questions.”

“Are you going back to him tonight?”

“Raoul walked me home to make sure I didn’t. He wants to trust me, but he’s not entirely sure of my fidelity. Not that I can blame him.” The leaden weight of dinner in her stomach became uneasy with the thought. She was a liar and a harlot. Every suspicion Raoul had of her was true.

“Don’t look at yourself the way they do, my dear girl,” Adèle admonished. “That is the way towards madness.”

“What do you mean?”

“Men like Raoul – most men, if I’m being honest,” Adèle began thoughtfully, eyes drifting to the fire. “They see us as things. We’re no more than a prize mare or a beautiful painting, a treasure to adorn their halls in their pursuit of glory. They treat us with the same judgment they’d apply to those things. Are our hips wide enough for breeding? Are our tits high enough and our skin clear? Are we willing to bend over for a fucking and pray for our souls the next day? When we fail at one thing, just one, we are cast off and forgotten.”

“Raoul thinks more highly of me than that,” Christine argued despite herself. “At least I would hope so.”

“He’s always been quick to call you a whore when you strayed off the path,” Adèle countered. Christine opened her mouth to remind Adèle that he wasn’t wrong, but the older woman cut her off. “You’re not, my sweet girl. You are no whore.”

---