Page 37 of Angel's Flight

“Why were you hoping to find me?”Meg asked, blunt and bored.

“To invite you to dinner after the next performance.I have learned that no patron has ever taken you out,” he said with a wicked smile.

“Meg is not available for dinner,” Rochelle said, placing a protective arm around Meg.“She’s fifteen.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”Meg asked as Rochelle unceremoniously hauled her off.

“But Monsieur Goncourt would like to meet you too!”d’Amboise called, and that made Meg’s stomach drop even more as Rochelle rushed them down the hall, away from the flummoxed patron.

“Goncourt was on the list!”Meg whispered to Rochelle.“I could warn them!”

“It’s not worth the risk,” Rochelle answered with a dark glare.“Trust me.If the ghost is going after patrons, it’s best to stay away.”

“Is that all?”Meg dared to ask.She remembered the night the light had gone from Rochelle’s eyes.She had hoped it would begin to return now that Tremblay was gone, but there was no such luck.

“You’re naive, Meg, and a fool.Keep out of all of this,” Rochelle said flatly.

“But the ghost—”

“Maybe it’s not him,” Rochelle shrugged.“Spirits move on, don’t they?Maybe something else took his place.”

Lucca

Erik made no attemptat subtlety getting off the train.His mind was on fire with worry and rage, in no small part thanks to the letters retrieved from Tissot’s desk that he had finally been able to read.Thank heaven he had more important things to do than rush back to Paris and rip apart whoever it was using his name to some mysterious ends at the Opéra.One fool at a time, he told himself as he ran from the station and through the darkening streets of the city.What if he had taken too long?What if he was too late and Christine...

No, he couldn’t think like that.He would feel it, Erik told himself, if something horrible had happened to her.He had always believed in the unseen world, in spirit and magic, if only as a comfort in his darkest hour.What he shared with his Christine felt like that – a connection that went beyond mere love to something transcendent.She could feel him when he watched her, and he knew in his soul that if harm came to her, he would feel it too.

That was what he told himself over and over as he rushed to Jack’s house, his lungs burning with the effort, each stride on the cobblestones shaking his teeth.He had to be in time.There was the door, and there was light in the upper windows of the house.There was no crowd looking over a bloody body, no commotion.That was a good sign.

Erik burst into the courtyard, and the trio sitting there sprang up in surprise.Erik didn’t care who the other man was beside Jack.All that mattered was Christine standing there, whole and healthy, as she rushed to him.

He embraced her fiercely, kissing her to make sure she was real and feel her breath.She knit her hands in his hair, knocking off his hat, and Erik thought he might weep.He had made it.

“What are you doing here so soon?”Christine demanded as she pulled away.She looked pale and worried, and her eyes were rimmed with red.

“It was a trap.There was a man in Geneva, he—” Erik didn’t even know where to start.“Someone was sent here to hurt you!Have you seen—”

“I know,” Christine cut in, gripping his arms.

“You know?”

“I caught her.It was Pauline.She’s in the cellar.”There was a tone of embarrassment in Christine’s voice.“I know I shouldn’t have taken her, well, captive, but it all happened so fast and—”

“Did she hurt you?”

Christine shook her head, bemused.“You seem to know more about this than I do.Could you do me the favor of explaining?”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” Erik replied and finally became aware of the two men staring at them.“I hate that I’ve involved you in this mess, Jack, truly.And?”

The other man held out his hand with a kind smile.“Howard.I’m a great admirer of your wife’s fortitude and your melodic prowess.Jack has played me some of the songs you’ve helped him with.”

“And that made you willing to help my wife take a would-be assassin captive?”Erik replied dubiously.He did shake Howard’s hand, though he was glad he had gloves.He still detested touching strangers.

“Well, I signed up to help her get tickets to America, but this was far more entertaining,” Howard replied with a shrug.“Though I really haven’t been much help.”

“You’ve been essential,” Christine replied with a smile to the man that almost made Erik jealous before she turned back to him with utter devotion in her eyes, curdling Erik’s envy to guilt.

“I’m glad you weren’t alone,” Erik forced himself to say.“I went to Tissot’s office in Geneva, and there was a man there, Bidaut.The same one who—”

---