Page 60 of Angel's Flight

“Me?”Meg gaped.“Seeing a detective about a made-up case is one thing, but you want me to spy on the de Chagny family?Why?”

“Because if Firmin Richard is involved now too, we must know how dangerous this case has become,” Shaya replied.“And how much they have at stake.”

8.Delights

London

Erik looked despairinglyat the letter before him on the desk.He wasn’t used to writing correspondence not meant to threaten or compel, and his penmanship really was as awkward as Christine teased him for.Still, he needed to update Shaya and assure his old nemesis that the real Opera Ghost remained retired.

It was disquieting to think of someone else in the place Erik still longed for.He woke up most days looking for the familiar sight of his canopy or his organ, longing for the simple feel of the Palais Garnier, only to remember he’d never see any part of the Opéra ever again.How dare someone haunt that place when he couldn’t?

“Who is that to?Didn’t you write to Shaya days ago?”Christine asked as she slipped her arms around his chest and rested her chin on his shoulder.Instantly, he was warmer and more relaxed, comforted by her touch.The sun had set hours ago and the damp, foggy cold had begun to creep in, whispering of fall around the corner.

“It’s to Moncharmin.Adèle mentioned that she was going to contact him, and offered to slip a note in,” Erik muttered.

Their visit to the erstwhile Madame Valerius had been both strange and amusing.It had felt so normal to just go somewhere with his wife and hear tales about Adèle’s time at Covent Garden.Of course, the normalcy had fled as soon as they had begun their narrative.

The story of the last few months was as notable for the things they said as for what they didn’t.They had remained vague about the money, agreeing beforehand to not bring up Antoine, lest it upset Adèle.Erik had also been obtuse about leaving the Lungern because the reason was something not even Christine knew nor needed to know.It seemed so insignificant now, after their dramatic departure from Italy.At least Adèle had not heard any rumors of hauntings from the Opéra, the subject of Erik’s letter.

“It’s too bad you don’t have your red ink,” Christine teased, and Erik tried to laugh.

“I miss it, sometimes,” he confessed instead, fingers tracing over the uncharacteristically kind words he intended to send to the office he had once lurked beneath.“Sending my notes.Having an impact on something, even if it was just to frighten a bureaucrat.”

“I miss it too,” Christine agreed, much to his surprise.Erik turned to her curiously.“Not you being a terror to those poor men, but the Opéra.”

“Is that why you declined Adèle’s invitation to see her perform?”

Christine gave a sad smile and nodded.“I don’t think I’m ready yet to...”She bit her lip, unable to find the words, but Erik knew them.

“Be reminded of what you’ve lost,” Erik whispered.

“What I chose to give up,” she corrected him.“I could have stayed if I wanted to.Or at least I tell myself that.”

“You can always adopt a new name and sing wherever you like.”

“Someone would recognize me and word would spread and questions would be asked,” Christine said, shaking her head.“And I would find myself exactly where I was before – deaf to the applause and caught in despair.I’m not meant for fame.”

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