Page 53 of Angel's Flight

“Whatever you want to say, keep saying it, my dear,” Letitia replied and reached for Erik with fascination on her face.“What a voice you have.What sort of musician are you?”

“Any kind I like,” Erik replied, letting his pride puff out his chest a bit, even as he shied away from the woman’s touch.

“His skills are unmatched,” Christine said proudly.

“Will you play for us later?”Letitia asked.“After you have some refreshments and enjoy the night, of course.I wouldn’t put you to work so quickly.”

“Perhaps I can be persuaded,” Erik murmured.

“Tell us more of the Opera here first,” Christine went on cheerfully.“It has been a long time since I have attended.Who was this Eboli you saw?Perhaps we know her name.”

“Adèle Valerius.She was transformative,” Letitia answered.

Christine jumped in excitement, gripping Erik’s arm.“Adèle is in London!I have to see her!”Christine cried and turned to Letitia.“She is an old friend.One of my dearest.”

“Is she?I have an appointment to call on her tomorrow.You must join me,” Letitia replied.“I'm desperate to add her to my circle.”

“Oh, I would love that,” Christine sighed.

“Would that be wise?”Erik asked softly and received a truly chilling glare in response.“Never mind.I won’t attempt to keep you from your friend.”

“And I can’t keep you two from the crowd much longer,” Howard interjected.“I think more people would like to meet you.”

Erik sighed and allowed himself to be led away from the hosts, giving them a bow as Christine promised she would return.Howard introduced them to a professor, a poet, and several other interesting sorts that soon overwhelmed Erik with conversation and questions.It was a relief to lean into Christine and translate for her, as well as a pleasure to watch her practice her English with new partners.

However, Erik was more than relieved when he finally found the music room.There was a lovely piano, inlaid with floral designs of lacquered wood, and next to it, a case of instruments, including a violin.

“Use anything you like.”Erik turned to see that Letitia had entered, with Chumley trailing behind her like a loyal pet.“I can tell you want to.”

“Can you, now?”Erik asked.

“In my profession, it is imperative to be able to see what people want,” Letitia said with a shrug that made her décolletage ripple.“Go ahead.”

“I’ll accompany you.We’ll play the piece you were working on before we left Florence,” Christine suggested brightly.It would be easy to forget, given his wife’s operatic skill, that she was also accomplished at the piano.Erik’s heart swelled with pride to stand beside her as she tested the instrument.

The room quieted as they began to play, sweeping the crowd of strangers into the embrace of melody.The violin and piano danced together, trading phrases and unspoken stories as easily as lovers would trade kisses, and it filled Erik with the same delight.

Their audience didn’t know exactly what their entertainers were thinking or feeling as they played, but they knew what the music made them feel, and that was nearly as intimate.It reminded Erik of why he loved her – how special a thing it was to be able to share this secret language with his wife – he could tell them through the notes from his bow how he needed and adored her.

The thrill of playing with her carried Erik through the rest of the night – beyond conversations and pleasantries and promises to meet again – all the way back to their rooms, where he was finally granted his reward and lost himself in the pleasures of the flesh as easily as those of music.He hoped the walls were not too thin here, for the performance they gave was far more vocal.

Paris

Meg very much likedbeing a spy.This surprised her, given that she had always been bad at lying – or assumed she was.Now, she was on her way to her greatest test of subterfuge yet, sneaking along theBoulevard Haussmannto meet a master detective, and she was more excited than frightened.Who would ever have thought it of little Meg?

Meg had managed to fool even her mother into thinking she wasn’t up to anything out of the ordinary, thanks to her tutor in deception and detection.Shaya had given her the simple advice to say something true that was somehow also a lie.She had told her mother she was helping a new friend with errands at the Opéra – and that had been true!She had helped.

In the week since entering the Persian’s employ, Meg had prevented another attack.Or at least delayed it.She had seen Monsieur Goncourt drunk and stumbling out of the Opéra alone after watching his dancer reject him after a performance.The man had been a prime target, but Meg had saved him in the best way she could: by sweetly encouraging Monsieur d’Amboise to take care of his ailing friend.Meg had not liked that part – d’Amboise had continued to pay too much attention to her, but the man had reported the next day that a shadow had followed them into the street but fled away.

He had not called it a ghost.Why would he?It had been a man of unknown purpose.Thinking about it made Meg shiver even in the waning warmth of the day.It was what they didn’t know about this new phantom that Shaya thought was most dangerous.The man who had worn the mask before – the one Shaya assured her was dead now – had been dangerous, but his purpose had been known.Now they knew so little.

Meg darted down the alley where she was set to meet her mentor, frowning in frustration about how little they had learned even though she had spent the last week listening to every story and exploring every nook and cranny of the Opéra.There had been more sightings, she knew that now.Tales of a masked shadow were increasing, shared in hushed tones among trusted friends...

“Careful, Meg: someone could sneak up on you.”

Meg jumped at the admonition, spinning to see Shaya behind her wearing his accustomed wry smile.“I expected you to come from the other way!”Meg protested.“I was watching.”

“You have to watch all ways at all times.”

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