Page 2 of Angel's Fall

“Sorelli was gabbing on about some stagehands who broke their faces in a fight around the same time. They blamed the Ghost for it,” Philippe mused. “If they went with Carlotta to accost Christine, maybe they ran into her protector. So he may leave the Opera?”

“Then he made our favorite diva croak like a toad atFaust,” Antoine continued. “I must say, I can’t fault him for that. It was her best performance.”

“I saw Christine that night too,” Raoul muttered.

“With the degenerate,” Philippe added.

“I’d rather have Christine pretending an affair with a sodomite than actually—” Raoul stopped himself, unwilling to imagine what Erik had forced Christine to actually do.“Rameau is harmless.”

“The next time I saw her was outside the Opera again,” Raoul pushed on.

“With my help, and Adèle’s. Which we both regret providing,” said Antoine as Raoul rolled his eyes.

“I was foolish. I knew that she was being manipulated and controlled,” Raoul recounted. “I told her so and kissed her as if I could break the spell.”

“As we have established, you are a romantic fool.” Philippe had pity in his voice that Raoul hated.

“And you were a fool again when you accosted her after the premiere ofRigoletto,” Antoine went on. “Her beneficentangelprobably heard you professing your great love for her and went into a fit of jealous rage.”

“Are you implyingIam the reason he killed that stagehand?” Raoul sprang up, ready to fall upon his brother’s friend.

“Raoul, calm down!” Philippe barked, holding Raoul back. “We don’t know why he killed Joseph Buquet. Or if he did.”

“He did. I’m sure of it.” Raoul fell back into his chair. Now came the most humiliating part of the tale. “I just don’t know how Christine could have gone back to him once again knowing that, or how she could have refused me.”

“You mean when you proposed the next morning?” Philippe raised his hands when Raoul sent him a dire glare. “You’re right though. We should have known something was amiss when she rejected you so cruelly. No sane woman would do that.”

“I didn’t want to think about it.” Raoul blushed to recall the days after he had been left alone in the Madeleine waiting for Christine. He had wanted to marry her since he was fifteen. His foolish heart still wanted nothing more than to lock her away from all this horror. In the days after her rejection he had indulged every vice he had. It had only been a dire warning that had brought him back to reality.

“You believe it was that Persian who tipped you off about the two of them going to the Bois after that?” Philippe went on.

“I don’t know, but that’s the only time I’ve seen the villain, before tonight,” Raoul replied.

“I think the masquerade was technically last night,” Philippe groaned.

“Did he look different? Erik, I mean,” Antoine asked, his eyes fixed on Raoul and filling with fervor once again. “When you saw him and Christine in the Bois that night, did his face look like a skull?”

“He had a black cape and a wide-brimmed hat, felt maybe. His face looked like death. I thought it was another mask,” Raoul answered softly. “It made more sense than a living corpse trying to kiss Christine.”

“He must have her under quite the spell,” Philippe grumbled and Antoine gave a scoff.

“He does!” Raoul sat upright again, anger surging. “It’s his voice! It acts on her like magic. He’s using his voice and his control of her career to manipulate her!”

“Does believing that make it easier on you?” Antoine’s lip curled. “I’ve never seen anything uglier than the face of Red Death. I remember thinking that six years ago before he killed our fathers. That even the devil couldn’t concoct something more hideous. Yet your Christine returns to him! Defends him! Probably even spreads—”

Antoine crumpled to the floor with the force of Raoul’s blow. Philippe, surprisingly, had not moved to stop his brother from striking. “She isnotacting of her own accord. He has bewitched her,” Raoul gritted out as Antoine massaged his jaw and struggled back into his chair. “I saw it last night when I watched her go through the mirror.”

Raoul held back the final bit of the confession, as he had all night. That he had heard her speak the name before her strange angel had come to abduct her again. ‘Poor Erik,’ she had sighed. Not poor Raoul. PoorErik. The memory sparked a rage in him that made his smarting fist tighten again.

“Should we start in her dressing room? See if we can find Erik behind that mirror?” Philippe offered, but the other men shook their heads.

“That’s just the door. The whole Opera is his labyrinth,” Antoine said. “In or out of the Opera, we’re facing a monster who will not hesitate to kill. He nearly strangled Raoul in the Bois. Only Christine saved him.”

“Christine is the key.” Raoul saw her face in his memory, turned to her mirror in absolute ecstasy, and a fresh burst of rage filled his heart. “We have to save Christine from him first.”

“And how do you propose wefindher to do the saving, if she’s with him?” Philippe scoffed.

“Adèle might know something she hasn’t mentioned,” Antoine offered. “I could ask her.”

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