Page 30 of Angel's Fall

Raoul turned to the man in the fur cap, whose face was just as wry as his voice. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you for an age.”

“My apologies. I had to return home and assure my servant that I was still alive. He gets very worried.”

Raoul rolled his eyes. “You shouldn’t let a valet get so familiar. How can you afford a servant anyway? Does the stalking of ghosts pay a salary?”

“I have a pension from the Persian court and Darius is more—”

“Are we going back in? Christine is with him right now, distracting him with a lesson,” Raoul cut him off. He had no time for pleasantries. “And are you ever going to tell me how you ended up in such a state this morning that you had to assure anyone of your survival?”

“Eventually.” The Persian nodded for Raoul to follow. They were headed, he deduced, to the entrance used by the artists, which Motlagh patiently waited for Raoul to unlock it with his borrowed keys. “This way. We’re going down.”

Raoul followed Motlagh down a narrow stair to an alcove where he found a small dim lantern. It was cold, and the air made Raoul think of the times he’d visited inside his family crypt. “This place is so grim. It fitshim.”

“Hand at the level of your eye, Monsieur,” Motlagh chided, making the gesture himself. Raoul complied grudgingly. “And I wouldn’t tempt fate by insulting him aloud, even with such a precaution.”

“I told you, Christine said they had an appointment.” Raoul shuddered. He did not like the smug look he caught on the Persian’s face at that.

“I’m glad you trust her,” Motlagh muttered as they descended a set of stairs and found themselves in another dark corridor with gray concrete walls, but now there was a strange light from far off. “The furnaces,” Motlagh explained before Raoul could ask. “They’re always going this time of year. You know you’re getting closer to the lake when you see them.”

“If he lives near the lake, why don’t we just go there and go across?”

“Because he has traps set in it too, fool,” the Persian hissed. “I was lucky to get out of one such snare alive.”

“But you did get out,” Raoul pushed, suspicious. “Did he—”

“He saved my life out of a sense of obligation,” the Persian went on, and Raoul’s trust diminished again. Clearly this man had conflicted loyalties if he’d hunted Erik for so long and let him live.

“Why the hell is there a lake under an opera anyway?” Raoul wondered what the thing looked like. In his imagination, it was an entire lagoon, cattails and frogs and all – but that was probably inaccurate.

“When they were building, I believe they found a stream—”

“What was that?” Raoul hissed, grabbing the Persian’s arm and stopping him. They listened in frozen silence for several heartbeats before the sound came again: footsteps.

“Someone is coming. Get back,” Motlagh ordered. Raoul did as he was told, ducking away and then down into a corner, pressing himself against a wall as the Persian hid their lamp. “Is it he?” Raoul whispered, suddenly reassured by the feeling of his hand right by his brow.

“Erik doesn’t make a sound when he walks,” the Persian hissed back. “Now be quiet.”

Raoul held his breath, sure Motlagh was doing the same beside him. The steps approached, and Raoul wondered if it was just some fireman. They patrolled the Opera all the time, didn’t they? Making sure this new monument didn’t suffer the same fiery fate as the old theater of theRue Le Peletier. But there was no clink of keys and no light coming towards them as the steps continued.

Then Raoul saw it: a tall shadow in a wide felt hat, its face obscured. The shade was the same height as Erik, but his eyes... There was no fire in them. Raoul could not make out any eyes at all as the figure passed by where they had hidden themselves.

Only when the shade was long gone and the sound of footsteps had faded did they rise. Raoul turned to see that his guide looked rather ashen.

“If that was not him—”

“That was the one who caught me and left me for dead last night,” the Persian replied. “I guess now is the time to tell you: I met that same shadow last night, and he assaulted me. He said he didn’t want me interfering. I have as much of a clue who it is as you. Which is to say none at all.”

“Someoneelseis down here, sneaking about that’s not him?” Raoul pressed as they continued their journey. “Who could it be?”

“The police, perhaps? Some liaison for the managers?” The Persian shrugged. “I would have heard if they were making a move.”

“If he – the shade – if he injured you, perhaps he’s on Erik’s side!” Raoul cried before remembering that Erik himself could still be close if they were unlucky.

“No one is on Erik’s side,” the Persian countered.

Raoul scowled into the deepening shadows. Where in God’s name were they now? It was dank and stony, and it made his skin crawl to imagine Christine trapped in such a funereal place.

“Don’t be so sure.” Raoul had his suspicions of many people, especially the other men who were too supportive of Christine, like Moncharmin or... “What if it was Rameau?”

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