Page 5 of Angel's Fall

Paris was full of churches, chapels, basilicas, and grand cathedrals, but the Opera folk tended to flock to one in particular. The Madeleine was a short walk from the Palais Garnier, and the building modeled on a Greek temple was a fitting place of worship for artists who were no better than pagans most days.

Shaya pulled his coat tighter as he watched hungover scene painters and choristers file up the stairs into the grand façade for services. They passed by those exiting, who had come earlier to have their foreheads marked with an ashen cross they would bear like the mark of Cain all day. Shaya had never really understood the ritual, but none of these people would understand why he had made the Hajj in his youth, so he didn’t begrudge them.

He recognized many faces as he drew closer. There was Gerard Gabriel, the chorus director, looking bleary and yawning as he entered the church, with Carlos Fontana, the lead tenor, limping behind him. Did Gabriel look guilty? Was he too high of a mark for Shaya? He had clearly been influenced by “the Ghost” when it came to Christine, but he also thought Shayawasthe Phantom, or some agent for him. Would it be worth his time to try and convince him they had a common enemy?

Shaya shook his head and fished in his pocket for his bag of tobacco and papers, only to discover those were in another coat. Or that Darius had removed themagainbecause he hated the habit. He sighed in annoyance as he looked up, just in time to catch swift movement across the square.

A woman rushed towards a gaggle of ballet dancers (Shaya could tell their vocation from their identical chignons and the way they moved like reeds in the winter wind). He recognized her. There were only so many young ladies with dark brown skin and sparkling eyes who frequented the areas around the Opera, and Christine Daaé’s dresser and friend Julianne Bonet was one of them.

Shaya watched as Bonet accosted one of the dancers, an older girl with dark blonde hair. Cécile Jammes. The dancer had been involved in the discovery of Joseph Buquet’s body, and Shaya knew her. Bonet grabbed the dancer by the elbow with a sort of desperate possessiveness that interested Shaya greatly.

He skirted the square, keeping his eyes on his prey while Bonet tugged Jammes away from her friends and towards the row of shops near the grand church, closer to Shaya. Perhaps fate was smiling on him today.

“Are you really serious about this?” Bonet was asking heatedly as Shaya came within earshot, secreted in front of a shuttered mustard shop.

“Just because you don’t care about our souls doesn’t mean I feel the same way,” Jammes snapped back.

“So give up meat for Lent like everyone else and confess your sins! You don’t have to give upus.” That certainly was interesting.

“Be quiet! There are normal people about!” Jammes hissed, confirming Shaya’s suspicions. “Anyway, you should be happy. It frees you up to dote over your precious Christine.”

“Christine is my friend and she’s—” Shaya peered around the corner in time to see Bonet bite her lip, holding back a secret she couldn’t reveal. “I don’t care for her the way I care for you.” Shaya couldn’t see Jammes’ expression, only Bonet’s, and she looked hurt by whatever she saw in her paramour’s face. “I love—”

“Don’t say it!” Jammes admonished. “It’s a sin!”

“Love is never a sin,” Bonet replied quietly.

Shaya’s heart seized. They were simple words, but somehow, they had made it to Julianne from the man who had spoken them to Shaya and Erik, so long ago.

“Go home, Julianne. Or better yet, go to church.”

“I don’t need to anoint myself with ashes to pretend to be holy,” Bonet spat and turned away. “Neither do you, Cécile.”

Jammes remained still as stone while Bonet stalked away, her back turned to the grand façade of the Madeleine. When Shaya moved so that he could see her face, he saw a tear on her cheek.

“An interesting choice in lovers, but not the strangest I have heard of in the Opera,” Shaya said lightly as he stepped towards the dancer. Jammes went pale. He wondered if it was just his words or if she, like so many of the petits rats, feared the infamous ‘Persian’ as much as the Opera Ghost.

“What did you hear?” Jammes asked.

“Enough that if I were to share it, it would cause quite a scandal for you.” Shaya smirked. “I don’t think the chaperones would want such a dangerous influence around young girls.”

Jammes sneered. “No one would believe you. Why would you tell anyway?”

“Because secrets are my business. I’ll keep yours if you trade me something better.”

“What?” Jammes blinked. She looked overwhelmed and Shaya was sympathetic. This was a lot for one morning, but she had to be prepared for a bit of intrigue at the Opera.

“You know things, Mademoiselle. About ghosts and stagehands hung above the stage. Things that are far more valuable than the sins of a ballet rat.”

“Don’t you work for him? Doesn’t he know everything?” Jammes asked with narrowed eyes.

Shaya shook his head slowly. “I am his greatest enemy, Mademoiselle. I assure you any secrets you share with me will help to destroy him.” There was nothing more to say, for now. “Good day, Mademoiselle Jammes. May God be with you.”

Shaya knew Jammes glared at him as he walked away. It truly was a blessed day. He could hear the sound of the great organ inside the Madeleine as he walked beside the church in its cold shadow. Shrovetide had begun; the last gasp of winter when things were leanest and darkest. But that meant that spring would come soon. So too would the triumph he had awaited and sought for years. He could feel it in his soul.

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The world was alwaysa bit too bright when Christine stepped out of the cellars of the Opera and into the world of the living. Today she felt especially out of place with Erik’s ring glittering upon her hand. A promise to the man she loved.

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