Page 56 of Angel's Fall

“Messieurs?” Rémy interrupted. “I’ve just been handed a note I think you should know about.”

“From the ghost?” Richard asked, still sounding amused.

“I’m not sure,” Rémy replied. Erik didn’t recall sending any missives recently.

“What is this?” Moncharmin huffed. “It says Adèle Valerius is indisposed. It is unknown when or if she will be able to return to the stage... Dear God, where did you get this?”

“A boy brought it just now. It’s not signed. No return address,” Rémy stammered.

“For God’s sake, prepare her understudy – she does have one still, doesn’t she?” There was a flurry of steps above as Erik himself rushed from his hiding spot.

What on earth had happened to Adèle, and how was it already being pinned on him? She had been fine last night. Was this the disaster his intuition had warned him of?

He needed to make sure that the woman was alright. He needed to talk to Christine about this nonsense regarding the casting and Richard’s vow of defiance – which was meant to hurt them both.

Erik followed the road to the costumers automatically, his mind returning to the simpler days when Christine was just a seamstress who believed in an angel. Who smiled so brightly at the sound of his voice and sang with nothing but joy. Now, she sang with fire and sadness that Erik had given her to replace that joy and he wondered if he would ever see her smile like that again.

He had to wait forever for his quarry to leave the costume workshop to walk alone. Julianne was at least polite enough to only gasp and swear when Erik appeared before her in the hall, rather than scream. Small miracles.

“What the hell are you doing—”

“You need to go see what has happened to Adèle Valerius,” Erik cut her off. “Something is wrong. The managers have been told she’s ill, but not by her.”

“What have you done now?” Julianne demanded, and Erik glared back.

“I have done nothing, that’s why I am concerned. Now go,” he hissed. Julianne only stared stonily back at him, unmoving. “Please?”

“Fine.” Julianne turned down the hall. Erik watched as she went, once again feeling helpless, useless, and full of dread. What good was a ghost, anyway? Fear only went so far, and it always turned around to hurt him more. The same was true of loyalty.

One person in the world saw him as a man, not a monster or a thing. And even she saw how incomplete he was and berated him for sending her out to fight the battles and face the world while he hid. What was he to do otherwise? He was a creature of shadow, a corpse and phantom. He did not belong out there in the living world when even the memory of the sun hurt his haunted eyes.

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Christine’s mind driftedfrom boredom to annoyance as Robert Rameau and Carlos Fontana plotted her downfall. Or Marguerite’s. The more she thought about her poor character inFaust, the angrier she became.

Faust fell in love with the image of Marguerite when Satan showed it to him, not withher. The brilliant doctor did not sell his soul for youth or riches, but on the promise of a virgin he could seduce. Poor Marguerite was bought with jewels, tricked away from her sweet suitor Siebel. Then Faust bedded her and left her with a child in her belly that she killed. Her only redemption came from turning to God when Faust and the devil sought her soul. Was Marguerite a fool too? The woman should just have stayed with Siebel and his flowers.

“Let us rest for a while,” Claude Bosarge declared, bringing Christine back to reality. It was interesting to see how the orchestra conductor ran the rehearsal in contrast to Gerard Gabriel, who had left halfway through when word came that Adèle was ill. Christine had wanted to go with him. “Ten minutes, then we’ll return to the trio, and after that, if we have time, Mademoiselle Caron again.”

Christine glanced at said mademoiselle, a woman she had barely met before today when she had stepped in for Adèle as an understudy. Christine had resented the interloper for taking Adèle’s indisposition as an opportunity to show off before she realized those bitter words sounded like Carlotta. Christine didn’t want to be that woman. Not anymore.

Rehearsal felt wrong without Adèle there. She was never late, let alone absent, and she had been fine last night. Christine was truly worried for her friend. At least they had been spared the indignity of discussing new productions.

Worrying about a friend and fuming about the helpless fools she had to play was better than thinking about how she had entirely forgotten what day tomorrow was. She felt like even more of a failure as a daughter. How could she have justforgotten? How had she been so deep in Erik’s underworld that she had missed the days passing above?

Christine drifted towards the walls, trying to sense if there was an angel lurking there. She didn’t know if she even wanted him to be close today. The escape he offered was just another dead end in the maze. When he found her again, she’d have to tell him about the role she didn’t have and the career she didn’t want and her father and why she wanted to start running towards the sea and not come back.

She turned her attention to the door that had just opened and was surprised to see it was Gabriel who came in, looking more serious than usual as he strode to Bosarge and spoke quietly to the conductor. Christine did not like the way he frowned.

“Mesdames and Messieurs, we have a change to rehearsal,” Bosarge called to the crowd. “Monsieur Gabriel and I will be working with Mademoiselle Caron, as we have been notified that Madame Valerius will not be able to perform on Thursday.”

“What’s happened to Adèle?” Robert asked before Christine could.

“Yes, is she alright?” Christine still demanded, coming to stand by the bass.

The look on Gabriel’s face was answer enough as he glanced between Robert and Christine. “No. She is not. Your dresser is there with her attending to her—” Gabriel looked overcome as he shook his head, reminding Christine that he was one of Adèle’s lovers. “She won’t talk. But she’s... hurt. Beaten.”

“What?” Christine gasped, her stomach plummeting. “Who hurt her?”

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