Page 37 of Angel's Fall

“Oh. Yes, it will be different, but that’s not always bad,” Christine muttered.

“You are the expert, Mademoiselle Daaé.” Sabine made it sound like an insult. “I must say, it is so amazing to hear the little girl who used to sing for the gardener at the house in Perros on the stage of the National Academy of Music.”

“Amazing, yes, but not surprising,” Raoul piped in.

Christine smiled politely. She had no idea how to speak with him while there were so many others looking on, all of whom had completely different ideas about who she was and what she and Raoul were. And none of them were right. At least she didn’t feel the telltale shivers that told her Erik was close.

“Indeed, my brother is your greatest admirer. Musically.” Sabine grinned as she took Antoine’s arm. “And my future husband and I have been discussing the celebration of our engagement—”

“Oh, congratulations.” Christine tried not to be obvious in looking around the room for Adèle. Hearing her old lover was to be married might ruin her night. Christine hoped she had escaped early.

“And,” Sabine went on, the coldness in her smile so clear Christine saw Raoul’s eyes widen in worry. “My dear brother has suggested you entertain at the party.”

“Entertain?” Christine noted the way the color drained from Raoul’s face. She met her old love’s eyes with a challenge even so. “You wish to invite me to your house... as entertainment?”

“We do understand if you cannot make it on short notice. Artists like you are in such demand,” Antoine added. Christine wanted to slap him.

“I will consider it.” She turned to her escort. “Robert, we should congratulate our managers on their announcement.”

“Indeed we should, my dear.” The bass swept her around and Christine was quite satisfied to turn her back on Raoul for once. She knew in a day or two he would come groveling. It only reminded her that there was no future there. Either he would go away or maybe perhaps his family would save her from him. Either way, soon there would only be Erik and wouldn’t that be enough?

They found themselves in the circle of artists and patrons waiting to speak to Richard and Moncharmin. Christine’s mind drifted back to the house on the lake, where it was all quiet and there were no cruel insults or callous lies. Maybe, she thought, and not for the first time, she could go down and never come back up, just like Erik had done.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine. We have Monsieur Fauré as well as Inspector Mifroid looking into the whole thing now,” Richard was huffing. Christine cocked her head.

“Was someone hurt?” she asked no one in particular. It was Carlos Fontana who turned to her to give her a look like she was a child late to school. “Did you not hear? They found a man beaten to a pulp near the stables. He claims it was the ghost.”

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Shaya was glad he hadn’tbothered attending another performance ofFaustthat night. The commotion around the Opera was much more interesting. So far, he had seen three gendarmes come and go, near to the stables, and one man with bruises and wounds being questioned.

Shaya recognized the man too: the head groom of the stables. When had he been assaulted? As far as Shaya could remember, he had been in one piece yesterday. What could he possibly have done to displease Erik in that time? That was the question that drove him back into the stables once again, skirting the police on the street.

“Amateurs,” Shaya grumbled under his breath as he examined the ill-lit space and found his clues immediately. Shovels and bags were on the ground by one bay’s stall, as if there had been a struggle. The horse snorted at him as he drew closer, examining the paddock. “Too bad you can’t speak,” he said softly to the animal.

“She’d tell you this wasn’t me, Daroga.”

Shaya was proud of himself for not jumping when Erik’s voice cut through the gloom. He turned to his nemesis and looked him over. Did he look... tired?

“I already knew that,” Shaya replied coolly. Erik stepped further into the light, looking at the mess on the floor. “You have a fox in your hen house, I think the saying goes.”

“So it would seem.” Erik kneeled to touch where the dust on the floor had been disturbed. “And here I was thinking you had a fellow spy on your side.”

Shaya swallowed as Erik rose again, reminding Shaya of his considerable height. “I don’t need spies, Erik, just patience. I’m sure you know your sweet student is spending her days with the Vicomte before he departs for the north.”

“I’m aware,” Erik growled in return.

“Soon enough she’ll turn on you and tell the boy everything.” Shaya didn’t care if Erik knew he was helping Raoul. In fact, it delighted him to think how the suspicion would worm its way into Erik’s brain. “Or tell him more.”

Shaya braced himself as he watched Erik’s hand twitch into a fist. The only thing that was keeping him from being throttled right now was probably their relatively public location and some lingering compunctions from Erik.

“You could just leave us alone, you know,” Erik muttered as his hand relaxed. “Let Ramin’s memory rest. Live your own goddamn life instead of spending every day trying to destroy mine as if it will bring him back.”

Now it was Shaya’s turn to fight the urge to strike the man in front of him. “You’ll suffer just like I have. I promise.”

“Get out of here before I run out of patience, Daroga.” Shaya was more than happy to comply, turning his back on the monster in the shadows with no fear. He knew he’d struck a blow, knew that Erik was obsessive and paranoid (with good reason), and that the insult to him and Christine would work into his soul like poison. Hopefully, Raoul de Chagny, fool that he was, would prove Shaya right.

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