Page 21 of Angel's Fall

“I don’t need you interfering right now,” the shade growled and pounced on Shaya before he could run. The hands on Shaya’s throat were strong and ferocious, and for a delirious moment, Shaya wondered if this imposter was about to kill him exactly as Erik would have. That was his last thought before his head hit the wall behind him and everything went black.

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Erik’s whole body achedfrom playing so long, but he refused to stand from the organ. Instead he kept his bleary eyes on the notes he scrawled on the parchment in front of him. As long as he didn’t look away from his music and into his empty house, everything was fine. Christine was going to come back and everything would be handled, just like she promised.

Or she’s run off with him already, a ghost whispered in his ear, and Erik batted it away.

“She’ll be back soon,” Erik said aloud, repeating the mantra that had kept him (relatively) sane for the last few hours. Soon she would be in his arms again, and this gnawing, sickening fear in his gut would abate with the warmth of her touch.

Think of her return, he told himself as a new chord echoed from the pipes with the ecstasy of a first kiss. Music was no different than making love when you came down to it. The way the chords and melodies moved from dissonance and tension to resolution, then pushed towards the next cadence, the next climax; it was all like the ebb and flow of passion.

This melody here, it was a kiss at his lover’s pulse point, teasing and light. It repeated itself and expanded, growing more intricate just as his lips might trail down a long, delicate neck. In a deeper range, it became his hands on hot skin, modulating into an aching parallel minor as need and desire grew. His feet worked the pedals of the mighty instrument before him, the bass notes rumbling like thunder.

How he wanted her. In every way. In every moment. He needed her like air. The music rose to a pounding climax, as inevitable and explosive as spilling into her had felt when she had said she loved him. The final cadence echoed through the shadows and Erik found himself panting, the sound echoing in the room as if there was another breathing just as hard behind him.

Erik turned to see his angel, standing in their home once again.

“I missed you too,” Christine murmured as she charged toward him and took him in her arms. She kissed him hard, hungry and sweet, and smiled when she drew away.

“You’re back,” Erik gasped, hating the pale cast to her skin in contrast to her dark brown dress with its high, conservative collar. “Is it done?”

Christine’s face fell immediately, along with Erik’s heart. “He’s placated again, but what he wants... You won’t like it.”

“Did he propose again?” Erik could not keep the contempt from his voice, even though it made Christine scowl.

“He wants to see me daily at the Opera. Have me spend my spare time showing him around or just listening to him prattle on,” Christine replied and Erik let out a squawk of indignation. “Until he leaves!”

“Inmyopera? He’ll have you playing guide and...”

“What is it?” Christine grasped his arm as Erik winced at the thought. “You know I won’t enjoy it.”

“But he’ll be up there, with you, seeing all the things that I haven’t even had the chance to show you yet,” Erik confessed, his voice small. Christine laid her palm against his bare cheek, forcing him to look at her.

“Then show me now,” Christine grinned. Erik froze, not understanding - even less so when Christine began to unbutton her dress. “I’m not wearing this any longer than I have to. I can be casual at home, can’t I? Here. You can have this one for now.”

“What?” Erik asked as Christine took the cloak she had borrowed from him and wrapped it around his shoulders.

“Just for tonight, so it will smell like you again. I like that about it,” Christine explained. “Come along,Monsieur le Fantôme.”

That was how Erik found himself cloaked in black, guiding a young lady in nothing but her corset and petticoats through the empty salons of the Opera Garnier in the quiet of the evening. He haunted Christine’s steps, as he had for so long, filled with wonder and love.

Erik loved her defiance; he loved to see her traipsing about the ornate halls in her underthings because she could, especially with the shadow of a ghost following her. It was dark without most of the gaslights and candelabras lit, but he only saw light when Christine looked over her shoulder to smile at him.

They explored the rotunda meant only for the subscribers and richest patrons and he showed her where Charles Garnier had hidden his name and the dedication year of the opera in the filigreed ceiling around a chandelier’s chain. They took in the fountain below the stairs as Christine trailed her hands over the intricate mosaics and carvings that festooned every surface, and Erik explained how they had taken almost the entire fourteen years of the Opera’s construction to complete.

They walked the shadowed stairs (Erik noting how the scandalously bare skin of his companion matched the color of some of the marbles) and into thegrand salonbuilt to emulate the hall of mirrors in Versailles. It was a place for the patrons to pretend they were kings, even though the emperor who had commissioned their Palais was long-deposed.

Further into the grand salon, he showed her another spot where Garnier had hidden his face upon a statue of Hermes, with his wife’s countenance there as well, and Erik wondered if this building or any of its inhabitants would remember him when he was gone, decades or centuries on.

They went backstage through the unassuming door that divided the gilded lobbies from the plain world of the artists and found their way to the great stage. The fire curtain was raised, and Christine commented on the irony of a curtain painted to look like a different curtain and Erik laughed, noting that it was all illusion in the end.

The stage was set for the opening scene ofFaust– the damned doctor’s laboratory. Painted flats stood in for walls, but the table littered with books and scientific equipment was real enough. Erik watched as Christine approached, tripping slightly on the raked angle of the stage and giggling.

“It’s a miracle I’ve never fallen on my ass with this slope,” Christine commented, and Erik laughed. “The price we artists must pay so the half of the audience that bothers to pay attention sees everything.”

“I’ve seen enough dancers fall.” Erik stepped onto the stage. He could feel the ghost of the audience’s gaze on him as he took in the great auditorium, lit only by the meager glow of the ghost light at center stage. He was wearing his mask, despite Christine’s objections, but he was glad of the protection in such an exposed place.

“I’m sure ghostly laughter didn’t make them feel any better.”

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