Page 29 of Angel's Fall

“He’d never let you see me,” Christine countered. If that was the case, Erik regretted that the old Comte was dead.

“Your father would do the same,” the boy chuckled. “He was always against romance of any kind. Any story he told with love in it ended badly. Maybe he knew something we don’t.”

“He did,” Christne said softly. “He knew what it was like to lose someone you love. Maybe Sabine is better off marrying a man she only cares for just enough to tolerate for security.”

“No matter how we’re connected, I still don’t want a man I can’t trust as a husband for my sister,” the boy went on with a sigh, moving to the round window that looked out on the street below. That left Christine to look over her shoulder towards the door where Erik hid. And give a quiet smile.

“Trust is a hard thing. It’s precious and rare,” Christine said, and Erik was suddenly awash in guilt. “Even when someone is true, doubt can creep in. Both sides need to be patient as much as they’re trusting.” Christine’s eyes were not on the boy, but on the shadows. She sensed Erik there and somehow, she forgave him.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to Sabine’s situation,” the boy huffed, turning to look at Christine just as she returned her attentions to him.

“I was just thinking aloud. I’m quite tired though. Would you mind taking me to the front?” Erik’s heart ached again. He didn’t deserve her. Neither of them did.

“Can I not escort you home myself again?” the interloper asked. Christine shook her head and the boy’s face fell. “Oh. You have... another engagement?”

“I have a promise to keep that I’ve explained many times.”

“Is it just a lesson?” Once again, Christine nodded, and Erik smiled to himself. They were due for a lesson, but that would have to wait for other promises Christine had made to be fulfilled. “Very well then.”

Erik raced from the hall the moment the pair moved, clinging to the surge of hope and peace that just seeing her had brought, not his guilt at having been caught spying. Christine had not forbidden Erik from watching her, just encouraged him to spare himself. He hoped she was not too angry.

Not soon enough, he found himself by his door from the stables, catching the scent of hay and horses through the opening. The passage felt different. The way that it had been different in the third cellar earlier. Had he left the door ajar? That was unlike him, even though he had been distracted of late.

He examined the entrance to his secret world and indeed, it was open. He pressed through and the horses whinnied in interest as he made the door secure before examining around it. Had Shaya been snooping in here again?

“It wasn’t I!” Erik spun to see Jean-Paul Lachenal, the chief groom of the stables whom he often delighted in tormenting. His usually red cheeks had faded to chalk white behind his gray mustache at the sight of the Phantom. “I swear it, Monsieur! Someone was here and opened that door, but not me! I would never interfere with your affairs!”

“I believe you,” Erik intoned, and even the reassurance made the man tremble. “You won’t let anyone else in the stables but Opera employees anymore, will you?”

“I haven’t!” Jean-Paul stammered. “I mean – I won’t! Ever again!”

“Good. Now go find your wine and throw it out. It’s not too late for you to be sober for Lent,” Erik ordered. The man looked like he’d been asked to cut off his leg, but he nodded and rushed away. Erik was only slightly reassured, the feeling of unease that had been bubbling in him all day once again reaching a boil.

“What did you say to that poor man?”

Erik blinked at the sight of Christine silhouetted in the gaslight from the street. Once again, his salvation had appeared at the gate from theRue Scribe, her beautiful face flushed and a tender smile upon her lips.

“Nothing that matters.”

Christine ran to him through the shadows, letting him pull her into his secret passage and kiss her. She kissed him back, gentle and warm, her lips driving out the demons that had taken up residence in his brain all day. He didn’t want to let her go and he told her so with each knead of his lips against hers.

“Were you that worried?” she asked softly as she pulled away after an interminable kiss, her hazel eyes meeting Erik’s.

“I couldn’t help it.” It felt so good, just holding her close, and he never wanted to let her go again. “May I take you home?”

“Please.” Christine’s voice was husky as she placed her palm against his pounding heart. “We have promises to keep.”

––––––––

Raoul had circled theentire Opera twice looking for The Persian and he was beginning to think this was all some sort of joke in poor taste by the strange man. The details of what Shaya Motlagh had told him of Erik’s time as an architect and executioner in the court of the Shah made Raoul shiver more than the late winter chill as he rushed along theRue Auberbeneath the gaslights.

It was all so much worse than he had imagined. Raoul had known the Opera Ghost was capable of murder since he had found the body of Joseph Buquet above the stage, then he had learned of Erik’s role in the fire that had claimed his father’s life. All those killings could be explained, perhaps, as acts of a man under the delusion he was defending himself. But that could not be said of this monster’s crimes in the East. He had killed with finesse and glee, ruthless with his victims. He hadtorturedthem.

Raoul stopped in his tracks, looking up at the lofty walls of the Palais Garnier. Somewhere beneath that great edifice, Christine was with the angel who was really a devil. Was she in ecstasy as she sang with him? Was she moved by the pity she claimed for this deformed genius? Was she scared? Was she safe?

“I’ll find you, Erik,” Raoul seethed at the silent walls of stone, fists contracting.

“You won’t find him out here.”

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