Page 43 of Angel's Fall
Raoul turned on his heel to see Shaya Motlagh, his Astrakhan hat neatly in place, eyes as sharp and knowing as ever. Raoul gave a sidelong glance to the listening box keepers and strode towards thegrand escalier, knowing the Persian would follow. Once they were away from prying eyes and ears, he turned on the man.
“I am tired of the theater, yes. Are you tired of sulking around cellars doing nothing?” Raoul snapped.
“I assume you remain unable to turn Daaé to your cause and she has not betrayed him yet.” Raoul’s jaw fell slack as the man laughed again. “She remains under Erik’s thrall, trapped in this place like his pet.”
“I don’t like your implications,” Raoul replied. “And Christine leaves the Opera all the time, even if she won’t see me outside these walls thanks to some command from him. It’s not like she lives here.”
The Persian looked carefully at Raoul. “You must know she visits him below. And stays there to do who knows what.”
“Music. She goes for music and, yes, I believe in the past she spent the—” he swallowed, hating the idea of his almost-fiancé sleeping in the underground home of that phantom. “But that has been rare. He treats her as a student and she goes home to Valerius. Adèle has assured me of that many times! So has Christine!”
“Of course. Your Christine remains a paragon of virtue.”
“She does,” Raoul sneered. It was as if Shaya had dropped a burr in his brain, the idea of what Christine did with her teacher poking and piercing his thoughts. “Do not try to find me again unless you have useful information.”
Raoul turned and headed back to the door that separated him from Christine’s world. He was just in time to see the concierge exit with a note in his hand. Was it from Christine? Raoul rushed to the man as he walked resolutely to...the wild-eyed box keeper at the end of the row of doors?
“Did you speak to her?” Raoul demanded as the man handed his note to the woman. “Who is that from?”
“I couldn’t find her, Monsieur. Another performer had a message,” the man said as the old woman smirked and pocketed the missive. Raoul had half a mind to throttle her, her coworker,andwhoever it was receiving correspondence in box five.
“I suggest you return to your seat, Monsieur,” the woman stated with more smugness than necessary for the occasion. “You may see Mademoiselle Daaé on stage and she will be as captivating as always.”
Raoul scowled and stalked away towards where he hoped there was still alcohol being served.
God, he hated this. He hated not knowing what the next day would bring, he hated knowing that Christine was under the influence of a monster and a murderer. Most of all, he hated that he had no choice but to just let it continue.
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Christine stormed offthe stage as the final curtain fell after bows, the applause still echoing behind her. Julianne was at her elbow immediately, eyebrows high.
“Get me out of this.” Christine tugged at the itchy collar of her doublet. She liked the pants she wore for Gilda’s masculine disguise at the end ofRigoletto, but not the high, tight collar with excessive ruffles.
“Still angry at your vicomte for trying to get back here?” Julianne asked.
“Of course I am,” Christine grumbled as they made their way towards the dressing room, no care for propriety as Christine fully removed the doublet and handed it to Julianne. “The nerve of that man to think he can just demand to be seen while I’m working.”
“A man like Raoul doesn’t think what you do is work,” Julianne laughed in reply. “Performing on stage is a folly while you wait to find a husband.”
“I hate that you’re right,” Christine sighed as they reached her dressing room door.
“Will you tell him off at the reception?”
“Even if I did, he wouldn’t hear.” Christine pushed away a fresh wave of exhaustion and frustration, the kind that had been hammering the shoreline of her mind for weeks. It was better than the rage she had experienced upon seeing Raoul’s note – hisdemandthat she play another part for him in the midst of doing the same thing on stage. After unsubtly pestering her every day for information about Erik or a sign she’d betray her teacher.
“It will be done soon,” Julianne consoled as she opened Christine’s dressing room door.
The air was electric when Christine stepped inside, and she could not help but smile. Her missive to Erik had been delivered in her small rebellion against Raoul. She stripped off her trousers quickly and handed them off. “I can finish on my own,” she told Julianne, feeling her angel watching from the other side of the great mirror.
“What about getting you dressed for the reception?” There was a knowing tone in Julianne’s voice that made Christine smirk.
“I’m very tired, if you would not mind giving my regrets to Robert and the managers,” Christine said, and Julianne nodded with a dark chuckle.
As soon as she was alone, Christine locked the door and turned to the mirror. She caught her reflection and saw the wanton way her breasts were pushing against her corset, her skin flushed under her chemise.
“Beautiful,” Erik’s voice whispered before the glass slid aside and he pulled her to him. The mirror closed behind Christine as she surrendered to his kiss, melting at the way his long hands swept over her body.
“You got my message,” Christine cooed as her masked lover kissed down her throat and worked to undo her corset.
