Page 49 of Angel's Fall

Christine dug her nails into her palms to steady herself. She didn’t know what to feel when something had been taken from her that she was not even sure she had wanted. “I – I had not heard.”

“Well, she’s around here somewhere. I suggested her to the Vicomtesse when you begged off performing for whatever reason it was. Best to let the patrons and the audiences in the Faubourg get to know her.”

Christine glanced around the room, as if she would recognize her new rival – was that who this was? She didn’t even know. She needed to sit down. “I should be happy to greet her.”

“Do be kind. She has sung Marguerite, but she’s too old now, and won’t step on your toes, I promise. We don’t need another great artist to suffer poor Carlotta’s fate.”

Christine made her face stony. “What happened to Carlotta was—”

“Have you heard the latest? On her condition?” Richard went on. “Her family from America wants her sent to an asylum or private hospital. For her health, they say.”

“What?” Christine recalled hearing one such rumor, but she had dismissed it. The thought of that woman – terrible as she had been – locked away made Christine feel even sicker.

“I just thought you should know.” Richard gave Christine one final cold look before crossing the room to go into the main parlor with the other invited guests. Christine simultaneously wanted to throttle Erik for making her come here and fall into his arms for comfort. Was he out there in the night somewhere trying to spy Antoine and confirm their connection? Would she be able to feel him if he wasn’t looking at her?

Christine leaned against the fireplace, trying to settle her wrecked nerves. God, where was a servant with a tray of alcohol when it was needed? Not that drinking would make this go away. She was so tired.

She was tired of playing her part, tired of the empty applause that did nothing to lift her soul. She was tired of how, after every triumph, she had to start all over again from nothing. Tired of knowing that without constant vigilance and backstabbing, her career would be gone.

There were so many people who wanted her to just disappear. People she didn’t even know hated her for daring to step on stage and sing well. Had Madame Cruvelli already been warned to stay away from that Daaé bitch for her own good? Christine had half a mind to tell the woman she was welcome to Elsa and any other role she wanted. Christine was ready to be done with it all.

But then what? Could she run away from music? FromErik? Could she take Raoul’s offered hand and marry into this world? Christine took in the faces of the women at the party. She watched as their smiling masks fell away when their husbands yawned. One downed too much champagne, another stared longingly out the window. Then there were the dowagers – wrapped in lace and mourning black, hidden away in the corners like old furniture to watch the world that had forgotten them go by. Christine didn’t want that either.

“Oh no, I’ve offended you!” Christine jumped as Sabine de Chagny appeared with Raoul at her side. Of course the one man she wanted to see wasn’t there. It gave her another reason to resent Antoine.

“What?” Christine asked automatically.

“By engaging Madame Cruvelli. I didn’t think you wanted to perform! Maybe we can—”

Raoul grabbed his sister’s arm and shook his head. “Sabine, I told you, I invited Christine as a guest so she could wish you well.”

“You didn’t need to do that. We have already received her congratulations.” Sabine gave one of those perfectly cold aristocratic smiles that did not reach her eyes. “I guess now that Mademoiselle Daaé is here, she is welcome to stay for a while. Unfortunately, we do not have room at the table for supper, but her carriage can take her home.”

“I came in a cab,” Christine countered flatly, unable to count the various subtle ways she had just been insulted.

“My goodness, how quaint. I’ve never done that. It just frightens me too much, the idea of some stranger driving me around and what they might do to a lone woman,” Sabine cooed.

“We’ll send her home in ours,” Raoul offered, and Christine wanted to scream. That meant leaving Erik behind. “Until then perhaps – ah, there they are.”

Christine turned to see who Raoul was looking at over her shoulder and was confronted with the very face she had been waiting to see: Antoine de Martiniac, standing next to Philippe de Chagny.

“Good evening, Mademoiselle,” Antoine said with a smile just as false as Sabine’s. Christine watched him as he joined his fiancé, linking his arm with hers.

“Yes, hello. We didn’t know to expect you,” Philippe added, far warmer.

“So I’ve been told. Many times.” Christine sent a quick glare towards Raoul, and he blanched. “I won’t impose too long.”

“You don’t have to—” Raoul began, but Sabine cut him off with a sour look.

“We are always happy to welcome artists when we can as patrons,” Philippe said.

“I must confess I did not even know you were courting Mademoiselle de Chagny,” Christine tried, looking closely at Antoine for what might be the first time. He was tall and angular, like Erik in his way, with a strong jaw and sharp cheekbones. Maybe there was a resemblance, but it stopped at his eyes. Their icy blue was a complete contrast to Erik’s warm gold.

“One might say he has been courting her for years,” Philippe answered with a genuine smile.

“You two are close friends, of course. Raoul has mentioned it.” Christine had no idea what she was meant to ask or investigate, just that she had agreed to.

“Really? Was he complimentary?” Antoine asked back. Christine noted the pointedly disapproving look Raoul gave.

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