Page 46 of Angel's Flight
Meg took a deep breath.He truly was a detective, to be able to read her so well.“I think she knows this is different.The notes are different, I’m sure, and these attacks on the patrons–”
“Are entirely new.Yes,” Motlagh muttered.
Meg squinted up at him.“What about the Comte de Chagny and the disappearance of Antoine de Martiniac?”
“The ghost wasn’t behind those,” Motlagh replied with surety that gave Meg a chill.How did he know?“You’re a smart girl, though, to think of that.”
“Thank you,” Meg said, fully earnest.No one had ever given her such a compliment.“I wanted to find out more about the note I stole – borrowed, I mean – from my mother.I was trying to suss out what these patrons had in common, but then it was taken.Replaced with a note to me telling me to stop.”
“And you came down here in defiance of that?”Motlagh chuckled.
“Not very smart, I know,” Meg sighed.
“Perhaps not, but it was brave.”
This made Meg stand up a little straighter.“Did you find anything?”
“No.His door is sealed and closed like it’s supposed to be,” Motlagh said as if it made sense.
“His door?To where?Hell?”
Meg wasn’t sure she liked that the man laughed at that, but his laugh was warm and comforting in such a dark place.“It’s complicated.”
“I’m smart and brave, like you said.I can handle complicated,” Meg declared, raising her chin proudly.
“There are some secrets that are not mine to tell,” Motlagh said in turn, though he sounded regretful.“But perhaps, if you earn my trust, I will tell you what I can.I would need, well, a favor from you first.”
“I’ll do it – whatever it is,” Meg said so fast she was embarrassed.
“Excellent,” Motlagh smiled, perhaps impressed.“Meet me at the back of the Opéra tomorrow after rehearsal.Which you are late for right now.”
“Damnit,” Meg said under her breath.“Are you saying that so that I’ll go away and you can look around without me interfering?”
“I also truly don’t want you to be late.”
Meg looked the man over one more time, then gave a dramatic sigh.“Fine.I will meet you tomorrow.”
“If you figure it out on your own, I’ll be impressed,” Motlagh said, mysterious and polite at the same time.
“Figure out what?”
“Why a ghost would need a door.Or a salary.Or write notes.”
With that, the Persian turned and left Meg alone, disappearing behind another set piece like a ghost himself.
Meg wondered absently what she looked like as she turned and rushed away through the cellars and up to the studios, praying she, indeed, wasn’t late.Motlagh couldn’t possibly mean what he had implied.The mystery of the ghost could not be so simple and yet so bizarre...
What about Red Death, though?That thought kept coming back to her.Everyone had believed Red Death was the ghost come to punish them all, then the woman in black had danced with him like he was a man.Meg would never forget the captivating sight of Red Death and his Dark Lady.The woman who had convinced them all that their macabre guest had been a man, not a ghost.
Unless they had all been right.Unless the ghost needed doors and money and boxes and obedience because he had never been a ghost at all.
The Adriatic
Christine had not beenon a ship in a very long time, and her body objected to it.Her seat on the promenade was relatively comfortable, and the fresh air out here eased her stomach, as did looking out at the ocean so she could see the way they moved with the waves.She dreaded going back to her and Erik’s little room with its small window, where the rocking would feel so much worse.
Maybe there was another reason she didn’t want to face him.It had been so strange to board a ship and talk about luggage and complain about the food after the night before.The things she had said and done...
Her cheeks heated to think about it, which she hoped at least made her look a little less green.She had never been shy about the pleasure Erik gave her.The way he made her abandon herself carnally had always amazed and enticed her to him.She had commanded him before – the first time she had made him come she’d bound him, as payment in kind for how he had restrained her when she had believed he was an angel.He had deserved that, she’d told herself, just as last night he had claimed to deserve what she had done to him.
