Page 54 of Angel's Flight

“You make it sound so simple.”Meg scowled but tucked the lesson away in her head.“I was wondering what we’re going to learn about the ghost from me going into a detective’s office.”

“As I told you: I’m not sure my spy is related, but I have a feeling it might be and that’s as good a reason as any to pursue more information.”

“Is it?”Meg balked.“I have feelings about lots of things and I don’t get nosey about them.”

“Don’t you?”Shaya chuckled, and Meg made a face.“What are you feeling right now?”

Meg regarded the man.She had quickly come to like him over the last week.He was kind, intelligent, and spoke to her like an equal, but he was clearly keeping his own secrets.“There’s something you’re not telling me about the old ghost.”

“There’s a great deal I’m not telling you about him, that’s correct.”

“How did he die?”Meg blurted out, and Shaya raised his brows in surprise.She had been bold, but she hoped it would be rewarded.

“Of a broken heart,” Shaya replied, voice soft and sad.That had not been what Meg was expecting.She had thought, perhaps, some sort of duel between him and poor dead Philippe de Chagny or the presumed-dead Antoine de Martiniac.

“He loved Christine Daaé, and she left Paris.”

Shaya nodded.“She loved him in return.”

She had been the woman in black at the masquerade.She had sung down the chandelier.Now she was gone, disappeared off to who-knows-where.“That’s so sad.”

“Are you ready?”Shaya asked, changing the subject.“Do you remember what you’re to say?”

“Yes, I’ve rehearsed it.Much easier than a pas de deux,” Meg smiled.“Now give me the money.I always wanted to say that.”

Shaya smirked as he handed Meg the envelope holding several hundred francs.She hoped it was enough.“Good luck.Leave immediately if anything feels wrong or dangerous.You won’t be able to see me, but I’ll be right here.”

“You’re a strange sort of guardian angel,” Meg quipped and wasn’t prepared for the quick flash of emotion on Shaya’s face.“Oh.Do you not believe in those?I thought that your people – I mean – your faith isn’t Christian, but—”

“There are angels in the Quran,” Shaya answered warmly.“I was thinking about something – someone else I once knew who had a keen interest in them.”

“Oh.I’m sorry.”Meg didn’t know why she said that, but it felt right.Shaya seemed to take it to heart.“I – thank you.I hope I won’t disappoint you.”

“You could not, Mademoiselle Giry.”

That made Meg swell with pride.It meant something for a person such as him to believe in her.She could do this, she was certain of it.She wouldn’t disappoint him.

Meg straightened her dress and hat as she made her way out of the alley and across the boulevard.She was wearing her Sunday best – a nice dress of blue that contrasted with her blonde hair, and a smart pair of shoes with white and black leather, newly cleaned.She felt more like a lady than usual and hoped the costume would be adequate.

The offices of Pomeroy and Associates were pointedly unobtrusive.It made sense to Meg that a business that relied on secrets would have such a plain storefront and nearly unreadable signage.The only people who came here were the ones who really needed these services, or who had heard of them from someone else.Meg and Shaya had decided she was the former because she didn’t want to be caught in a lie claiming she was the latter.

Meg braced herself as she walked inside and the little bell over the door rang.The front office was small and taken up by an empty desk.Beyond that was a hallway leading to other offices.It took a moment for one of the hallway doors to open and for an older man to emerge.He looked at Meg and then the empty desk and gave a powerful sigh.

“I should never have sent her off,” he muttered, then turned his attention back to Meg.“Good day, Mademoiselle, may I be of service?”

“Yes, I hope so,” Meg said with her most charming smile.“I need a detective for a delicate matter involving, well, a man of means.”

“Really?”The man huffed.He was almost what one would call burly, with a greying beard and a keg of a belly, but his eyes were bright and thoughtful as they looked over Meg.There was a small scar on his cheek, just below his left eye, and Meg wondered if he was a former soldier of some sort, or if his past was even more intriguing.“You look too young to have that sort of business.Where are your parents?”

“Well that’s what I need to find out,” Meg replied.“This man of means may be one of my parents, but I don’t know for sure and I was hoping you and your firm might help me confirm that.If that is the sort of thing you do.I assume you’re Monsieur Pomeroy?”

“I am.And we attend to all sorts of matters here.”He looked Meg up and down.“For the right price; a high price for the utmost in service.You need to know that before we waste each other’s time.”

“I can pay.I assure you.”Meg patted the pocket of her dress.“Perhaps there will be more if the result is to my liking?Is that something people do?”

“It is, indeed,” Pomeroy replied with a circumspect squint.

“Would you be handling this, or...”Meg made a show of looking around the empty office.“It says associates on the sign, but I don’t see anyone else here.Not that I would mind being assisted by the man in charge.”

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