Page 6 of Angel's Fall

The thought echoed in her mind as she strode down theRue des Petits Champstowards the flat of Adèle Valerius. Months ago, she had been content to love an angel. Now, she was certain in her love for a man. Love damned them both, but knowing that was better than lying to herself or hurting him by not telling him the truth. Erik was brave enough to love her despite the pain, so she had decided to be brave as well.

Christine cast her eyes away from the crowd around the Basilica ofNotre Dame des Victoires, the faithful lining up to be marked for the season of Lent. She had gone last year, when she was failing and faithless at the conservatoire. She had not been able to see how a few ashes on her forehead would make her life any better. This year, she had spent the morning in delicious sin and intended to bide all of Shrovetide indulging her lusts and vices.

The door to Adèle’s flat swung open and Christine took in the sight of the parlor. It had appeared so grand to Christine months ago, when the mezzo soprano she had been assigned to understudy had taken her under her wing and offered her a place to call home. Now, Christine saw the dust and the frayed edges. The walls were lined with posters and pictures of Adèle’s past glories and a single portrait of the great love whose loss had hardened her friend’s heart.

Even back then, Christine had not felt at home here. In those days, she had made her real home in a hidden corner of the cellars with a set piece as her bed and a bower of silken flowers above her. Now, her home lay deeper in the dark, and her bower was a canopy carved to look like a forest at night. She had thought of Erik’s secret house on the lake below the Opera as home for weeks now. That was the place she was safe, where she didn’t have to hide herself in any way. Erik saw all of her and thought she was beautiful. He knew all her crimes and still forgave her.

Christine’s mind filled with the image of Joseph Buquet’s body falling into the emptiness of the flies, his neck snapping before her eyes. The moment the life left his body repeated often in the theater of her mind, and what frightened her most was not the awful memory, but how each time she recalled it, it shocked her less. She had pushed that man to his end to save Erik. She would do it again.

A woman like her – prepared to do such things for a man who had taken lives and committed crimes far worse – didn’t deserve the light of the living world. She deserved his ring on her finger, marking her. She deserved to go back to the dark to her terrible love.

Christine shook herself from her reverie and moved through the parlor.

“Adèle? Are you home?” Christine called. A tired groan came from the bedroom, followed by shuffling and swearing.

“What are you doing here this early?” Adèle demanded as she stumbled from her boudoir, tightening her robe over her ample curves. “In fact, what are you doing here at all?”

“That’s what I need to talk about. I came to get the last of my things. I won’t be needing the room anymore.”

A wry smile warmed Adèle’s face. “Well, it’s about time your mysterious teacher found a place to house you. Do you need a suitcase?”

“I would appreciate that.” Christine smiled as they entered the simple bedroom where she had never slept well. The maid must have tidied. The last Christine remembered seeing this room, the bed had been in shambles after she had made love to her angel there for the first time.

“I hope wherever your protector is putting you up, it has thicker walls,” Adèle commented, following Christine’s gaze. The Christine of even a week ago would have blushed at the comment, but today’s Christine only smirked.

“It does. And very few neighbors.”

“Lucky girl.” Adèle retreated as Christine gathered her meager possessions from the drawers and returned with a worn bag made of an old carpet. “Don’t worry about returning that. I won’t need it. You might.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m happy for you moving up in the world, but you must be careful. Letting a man keep you can be dangerous. Gilded or not it’s still a cage,” Adèle said. “I have my own flat for a reason.”

“It’s not like that. He and I...” Christine touched the ring on her finger to steady herself. “It’s different.”

“So it’s love?” It was a resigned statement rife with disappointment. Christine shrugged in reply and returned to packing her things. “Are you still taking precautions? Nothing is going to ruin your career or your sweet dreams of romance faster than a welp in your belly.”

Christine blanched. “Yes. Mostly.”

There had been a moment in his arms after the masquerade when everything had feltpossible. When she hadn’t just accepted that she loved a man with the face of death who hid from the world in the dark – she had dreamed for a second ofmore. Something more that could grow from them, from their love.

“I’m going to make you some special tea, just in case. In fact, you can have my supply of ‘just in case’ when you go.” Adèle wafted from the room before Christine could protest and she followed with her full bag, pausing briefly to look back at the room she was leaving behind. The absence of any sort of regret comforted her.

In the parlor, Adèle fussed with a teacup and a tin of herbs that Christine knew were meant to keep a woman free of the burden of a child. She handed Christine the cup with a stern expression as Christine hesitated. She should drink it, she knew; to stem the risk brought on by her stupidity and passions, even if the danger was meager.

Until last night, they – or more accuratelyErik– had been careful. He had never spilled inside her, saving her from the doom of continuing his bloodline. She hadn’t told him the real reason he need not fear, but that was one secret she wanted to keep, for a little while more at least. She took the tea without protest. It tasted of bitter earth and summer sky. How strange.

“Good girl, nothing can drive a man away from his kept woman faster.”

“For the last time, Adèle, I’m not being kept,” Christine huffed.

“You know, I wouldn’t have to be so worried if I knew more about your mysterious lover.” Adèle took a seat near the enameled fireplace and gave Christine an accusing look.

“He’s extremely private,” Christine muttered.

“There’s private and then there’s a bloody ghost.” Christine’s choked on her tea, but Adèle didn’t see as she heaved a dramatic sigh and let her head fall back. “The way that man makes you singandhit your high notes, shall we say. I’m jealous.”

“Are you finally going to look for someone better than Antoine?” Christine chuckled.

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