Page 25 of Angel's Flight

“I already ate, and I need a rest,” Erik lied to Jack when he reached them.He didn’t like the sad way Jack’s face fell, but the young man couldn’t possibly ask this of him.“Give your family and friends my regards.”

“Of course,” Jack muttered.

“You will still have me,” Christine said with a smile, and that certainly brightened Jack’s expression.It soured Erik’s mood further when she put her arm through Jack’s, and he swept her away into the festivities.

Erik became a shadow as he maneuvered through the house and up to their rooms, where he closed the door tight behind him before tearing off his suffocating mask.

He could still hear the party downstairs.Christine’s sparkling laughter cut through the din and Erik imagined her smiling at Jack and all those strangers that could make her happy.Was this what it would be like for them when they found a place to settle as Christine wanted?Would he always be locked away somewhere, leaving Christine to her friends, while nature denied her a real family of her own?

Erik shook his head.They never talked about the fact that, month after month, her courses came and nothing quickened in her womb.Erik hated how grateful he was that at least he had been saved from passing on his cursed blood, but he knew how sad it made his wife.She had grown up dreaming of a family like the one she had shared so briefly with her own parents.Happy and loved, together in the sun.

Now, here they were, lost and frightened, separated in the growing dark.

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Christine felt as tiredas she ever had after a performance as the celebration of Jack’s return to Lucca finally began to ebb into the night.At least she had been able to practice both her Italian and some of her English.The man who had given Jack his non-traditional moniker had come with him from Florence and was named Howard.He was from Cornwall.This had delighted Christine, given Cornwall’s proximity to Brittany and thus Perros.Hearing him speak the Celtic language that the two locations shared, even if she didn’t understand it, sounded like a bit of home.

Howard was a student of language, and he had met Jack not in Florence, but in Milan, where Jack was set to return as a student in the fall.Howard, however, had completed his studies and was currently seeking a position “doing something somewhere pleasant that wasn’t too strenuous,” according to him.He had gamely translated for Christine whenever some member of Jack’s circle came to greet her and feel her out.Eventually, he just answered for her when asked about her husband or if she had children and where she was bound next, and he didn’t comment at all about the sadness that he surely could see growing in Christine’s eyes at each question.

It was Christine and Howard who remained in the courtyard as the crickets buzzed and the stars twinkled above.Christine could see a candle burning in the room she shared with Erik, and part of her wanted nothing more than to go to him and weep for how upended and confusing everything was.Another part of her was angry at him for leaving her alone again to face questions she couldn’t answer.

“Where’s Jack gone?”Christine asked Howard, in French, thankful that he spoke the language.

“Oh, I saw his mother pull him off for a lecture,” Howard drawled, taking a puff from a cigar.The smell reminded Christine of the balconies and salons of the Opéra.She was glad Erik was too protective of his throat to ever touch them.“I think she heard at last about Jack’s assignation with a married woman.In Jack’s defense, his lover is married to a horrible man.”

Christine raised an eyebrow.“Was that really your business to tell me?Or do you just like being salacious?”

“The second, of course,” Howard said with a devilish smile.“Though, perhaps, it’s a bit of a warning.Half the people who meet Jack fall madly in love with him, and I wanted to save you any trouble.”

“I’m quite in love with my own husband,” Christine grumbled.Howard shrugged in an insouciant way that intrigued her.He reminded her of a friend she missed very much.“Are you among that unlucky, lovestruck number, Mr.Ashe?”

Howard took another inhale from the cigar and looked Christine over.“You’re a lady of the theater – or were.I think you understand me.”

“I do,” Christine smiled.

“My infatuation with Jack was a passing thing,” he went on with a shrug.He was fair in his coloring, almost pale, and his water-blue eyes looked nearly gray in the night.“I shall recover.Will you?”

“Recover from what?”Christine asked lightly.

“Whatever it is that has sent you fleeing here with your mysterious husband, who Jack can’t stop praising as the greatest musical mind he has ever encountered.I was utterly jealous on the ride here.Yet, there seems to be some great tragedy following you.”

Christine froze as rending metal and gunshots echoed in her mind.She saw blood.Broken bones and scars and snapped necks.She forced herself to breathe and focus on Howard’s apologetic face.

“I can’t talk about it.I should go to bed,” Christine managed and stood without letting Howard see she was shaking.

“Signora Christine!”Jack’s voice called before she could escape, and the young man bounded into the courtyard.“I’m so sorry we haven’t had time to speak alone.I have the telegram for Erik that he was waiting for.”

“I’ll take it up to him,” Christine declared, grabbing the missive.“We can talk in the morning.”

“I’ll see you then too,” Howard called as Christine rushed away, paper clutched in her hand.

It was a relief to see Erik hunched over papers at the small desk by the window.He jumped up and turned to her, an expression of contrition and worry visible behind the mask he had not taken off.Because he didn’t feel safe.Neither did Christine.

“I’m sorry I was...”Christine began.

“I don’t begrudge you enjoying the party,” Erik said immediately.

Christine wanted to argue because she had not really enjoyed anything.She had played her part and watched as an outsider as a community had come together in familiar joy.She’d listened to people joke and argue in a language she didn’t know.She’d watched old women clutch Jack’s face and poke his ribs and knew they were telling him he wasn’t eating enough.She’d watched mothers with children hanging from their skirts gossip and help each other wrangle little ones.Men had smoked and discussed who knows what, speaking in serious tones of serious things that Christine had no chance of affecting or being a part of.

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