Page 20 of Angel's Fall

“You don’t think so?” Christine asked, shocked that Adèle would contradict her and shocked that at some point she had accepted that title as true.

“That word...” Adèle mused. “Men love to use it when women don’t behave the way they want. Especially women like us who make our own money or take our own pleasure. If you don’t need them and enjoy yourself, you’re a strumpet, a scarlet woman, a hussy. But you are not their insults and names for you. You are yourself, nothing more or less.”

Christine was surprised this time by the warmth in her chest and the tears stinging at her eyes. “You’re very smart, you know that? You don’t show it off enough.”

“Men don’t like that either. My husband did though – when I’d challenge him on some idea of history or philosophy. He was a professor.” Adèle looked towards the old photograph above the fireplace and smiled sadly. “He had all sorts of wild ideas.”

“Is that why you married him?”

Adèle chuckled deep in her throat. “That. And the fact he could fuck like a steam locomotive and knew music better than me.”

Christine burst out laughing, and Adèle grinned for a moment until sadness fell over her face. “How long ago did he die?”

“It will be ten years in May,” Adèle replied. “I loved him for his ideals until he was stupid enough to die for them. He fought with the national guard on the side of the Paris Commune. Didn’t even have the decency to let me say goodbye. My dear professor.”

“I’m sorry.” It was automatic to say it, and perhaps it was empty, but Adèle reached across the space between them and squeezed Christine’s hand even so. “It will be three years since I lost my father soon. It never gets easier.”

They sat in silence, their ghosts lingering in the deepening shadows until Adèle shook herself from the reverie. “I think you’ve waited long enough for your dashing hero to be gone. You should be safe to go home.”

Christine nodded, noticing that she hadn’t even taken off Erik’s cloak. It was just as much a consolation to wear it as his hidden ring was. A piece of her angel wrapping her in his wings.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. I imagine the managers may have some interesting announcements.” Christine rose.

Adèle gifted her with a knowingly raised eyebrow. “What kind of announcements?”

“You may want to study your Wagner. I know you have some lying around.” Christine winked. “Good luck.”

“You as well. I think you’ll need it more,” Adèle smiled.

Christine found her way back onto the quietRue Notre Dame des Victoiresand let the cool air of the night clear her mind as she breathed in the scent of the city. It wasn’t unpleasant at all. Or perhaps she was used to the smell of soot and horses and cooking and a million people now. She still preferred the smell of Erik’s home; of candles and musk and paper and something exotic she could never name.

She would have to tell Erik the awful news that Raoul would be coming to see her regularly at the Opera. Erik was going to hate that as much as she did, but they both had to remember it was temporary. And that she would always return to the dark. Another thing fate had left her no choice in.

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Shaya was good at followingpeople. It wasn’t ego to think so – merely a fact. One that he had proven again tonight to be true. Christine Daaé had not noticed him trailing her and the dashing Vicomte back to her flat. When the young man had left the way he came, minutes later, Shaya had considered following and telling him the truth at last. It was high time Chagny knew what he was facing, but some instinct had stopped Shaya’s feet.

He was glad of the impulse now, as he followed Christine through the gaslit streets of Paris. He stayed a good distance back, quietly blending in with the other meager foot traffic, careful and calm. He knew where she was going and didn’t have to follow close.

Erik, it seemed, did not trust his soubrette either.

Shaya caught sight of the cloaked shadow near where theRue des Petits Champsmet theRue Sainte-Anne. Interesting that once again Erik should be so cavalier about being seen, but perhaps his suspicion of Christine had made him foolish. That suspicion was warranted, given that she was consorting with his rival in secret after rejecting him at the masquerade. It made Shaya smile to think that that shadow had been watching to see her betrayal. Now, Erik wanted to assure that she went back to her prison.

Shaya followed the shadow that followed Christine all the way back to the perimeter of the Opera and watched in fascination as first Christine, then the shade, entered the stables on theRue Scribe. That was where he had gone before and disappeared into the Opera. Tonight Shaya would find where they went.

He risked more speed as he rushed to the stables, listening to the horses’ agitated whinnies, and beyond their noise, the sound of footsteps on stone. Shaya turned into the stable just in time to see the shadow disappearing through a wall that was not a wall at all. It was one of Erik’s hidden doors into his domain, and Shaya was finally going to enter it.

He had to be careful, Shaya told himself, as he stepped into the cold, moist air of the tunnel, so different from the earthy scent of the stable. What if Erik had seen the girl consorting with his rival? How would he punish her? Shaya did not admire Christine Daaé, but he did not want her to die.

Somewhere ahead of him, a match flared and the Ghost hissed a profanity. Strange, Erik had never needed a light before. Shaya followed the glint of flame – a candle perhaps – further down the corridor, taking a right where the path forked. The sound of footsteps was closer now, as was the frustrated huffing. It made Shaya laugh to himself, how this woman and her betrayal had stripped the supposed phantom of all his magic and mystique.

“Damnit,” the ghost hissed from ahead, and Shaya knew why. They were no longer in the cellars proper but among the sets and scenery stored below the stage. Christine had gone the wrong way – away from the lake. But why? No matter. It was Shaya’s opportunity to distract Erik and perhaps save her if she was trying to elude him.

“Did you lose something?” Shaya asked coolly, stepping from the shadows.

The familiar silhouette, with its felt hat and dark cape, turned to Shaya, who waited to see the blaze of fury in the unearthly eyes behind the mask. But there was none.

This was not Erik.

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