Page 88 of Angel's Fall
“No,” Christine shook her head before embracing him. He held her in strong, comforting arms, and she almost laughed to imagine how it looked for Margurite to be weeping into the devil’s shoulder. “Ah, so you aren’t happy to have jilted me for what’s-his-name on such short notice?”
“No,” Christine sniffled. “I’m not. It’s all a mess, and now—”
“I’ll thank you to take your hands off my fiancé.” Of course,nowRaoul arrived, glaring at Robert as if he were a real rival. “She’s had a tiring few days making her decision.”
“I’m sure she has. If it isherdecision,” Robert rumbled, gripping Christine’s side.
“What are you implying, Monsieur?” Raoul demanded.
Robert looked Christine in the eyes with no hint of mischief. “I have heard from my sources in management that there are many important people upset with the news. People I believe would have been consulted.”
Christine’s blood began to quicken. Did he mean what she thought he meant? But the only way Erik could have made his opinion known of anything was if...
“Get away, degenerate,” Raoul barked, and pulled Christine from Robert’s arms, marching them away.
“I’ll tell Vincenzo you said that!” Robert called after them, bewilderingly.
“You’ve been lying,” Christine hissed as Raoul dragged her behind a flat. “Erik is not here – at least not in that box.”
“Why are you so convinced?” Raoul swallowed as he asked, looking too nervous for an honest man.
“Because I cannot feel him watching.” Christine raised her hand to silence Raoul before he protested. “Don’t tell me I’m imagining things or that I’m hysterical! I don’t know how, but I’ve alwaysknownwhen he was watching. I can’t feel him tonight, of all nights, when I’m supposed to be saying goodbye. And now, Robert—”
“You can’t listen to that cad,” Raoul scoffed. “He’s just making trouble.”
Chrstine’s face hardened, along with her heart. “He has no reason to lie. You do. You have every reason to convince me to go through with this charade and agree to be your wife because... You lost him, didn’t you?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Raoul gritted out, his dark expression and tone all the confirmation Christine needed.
“I’ve been such a fool, but I’m done,” Christine snarled and made to leave. Raoul caught her by the arm. It was then that she felt it, like drops of frost down her spine. “Get your hands off me now, Monsieur.”
“No.” Raoul’s eyes were as cold as she’d ever seen them. “You will sing and hewillcome for you.”
“And you’ll kill him this time? Because he escaped you and your idiot companions.” Christine tried to wrench herself away, but Raoul’s grip only tightened as he pulled her close again, lips pursed, jaw tight.
“Because you will not humiliate me again,” Raoul seethed. “All of Paris knows that you’re promised to me now. I will have you in the eyes of God as my true wife.”
“He’ll come for me before that happens.” Christine could not help but smile, a familiar shiver running under her skin.
“That is my dearest hope,” Raoul replied, death in his tone. “And then you will come to your senses.”
“You will never believe me, will you? When I tell you I love a man that isn’t you?” Christine said softly. “Nothing I’ve ever said or done has ever mattered, becauseyoudecide what I feel and what I am. I’m a whore and a madwoman and not myself when I am with him, but I’ll be a virgin remade and a sweet helpmate when I’m yours. Well, I refuse. I will be who I choose to be.”
“Even if it kills him?” Raoul sneered, and Christine finally managed to yank herself free of his grasp.
“Even if it kills me,” Christine declared, a strange feeling of freedom lifting her heart. “To live a life lying every day is no life at all. And I will not have it.”
She stalked away, escaping into the crowd of chorus members and dancers preparing for the dark sabbath of theWalpurgis-nachtscene. It had always been her favorite part of the Opera that she didn’t sing in, this orgy of darkness in an opera so concerned with the immortal soul. She closed her eyes and listened and tried to feel her angel, but the fleeting sense of his presence was gone. But it had been there, and she knew it would return.
Christine kept her eyes fixed on the stage, feeling the faint heat of the footlights on her face. She only looked away when Louise ushered her off to change into her final costume – a plain prison shift. She undid her hair, letting it fall wild and free down her back, and wiped off the makeup that had hidden her pallor.
Soon enough, Christine was on stage, and the orchestra was starting. She was a madwoman, thrown in jail for the unspeakable crime of killing the child she had borne; fathered by a man with the help of the devil, a man who had left her when she had become inconvenient. Faust came back to save Marguerite, with the devil in tow, offering her all the comforts and pleasures of the mortal world, and she refused.
The searing beam of the limelight hit her. Christine closed her eyes, reaching out with her heart, and sang for the angels.
She heard the way the audience gasped at the new fire in her song. She looked into the wings and saw Raoul watching, his face twisted with jealousy. He wanted her there on the earth like Faust, only to be his, and she called on the angels above to save her soul instead.
“Angels pure,angels radiant, carry my soul to heaven!” she sang with all her heart over the protests of Faust and Mephisto. Hooded demons circled as the audience watched in rapt awe.“God of justice, I give myself up to you! God of mercy, I am yours! Forgive!”
