Page 71 of Angel's Flight

Stopping the thief was the obvious answer.But how far did stopping him go?Should he wait for the man to strike, or descend first, like a nightmare setting upon the unsuspecting assailant?What would a good man do with a thief in his clutches then?Erik couldn’t very well haul the brute off to a police officer – they were all corrupt and useless.What, then, was left?Violence?Was that the resort of a good man?Was the violence he had done to Bidaut right or wrong?Did it all come down to perspective?

It had never been this hard before.Erik had always acted as his conscience (or whatever it was he had possessed in its place) had dictated.A year ago, he would have let the Punjab lasso take care of this lout, choking the life from him – or at least the consciousness.What good was it to add sin atop sin?Did any of it matter?

The man hastened his steps, getting closer to the woman as they approached another alley that would be a perfect spot to rob her.Erik acted, darting ahead and snatching the man by his collar.

“Get off me!”the man yelled as Erik hauled him backward.The intended victim jumped and turned around, looking more scandalized than grateful.

“Nothing to worry about, Madame,” Erik said politely as he pulled the man aside by scruff of his neck.The woman rushed off, the sound of her fleeing steps mixing with the man’s grunts.

Erik commended himself for the gentleness with which he shoved the man against the nearest doorframe; it would barely leave a bruise and his captive could still breathe.He was being so merciful.This was what a good man would do, wasn’t it?

“A bit early in the evening for a robbery,” Erik drawled.

The man struggled, reaching rather obviously for a pocket.

“Let me help you.”Erik fished in the man’s coat and pulled out the switchblade.“You really should take better care of your weapons.They could fall into the wrong hands.”

“I’ll kill—” the man began, but that was enough for Erik to tighten his grip on the thief’s windpipe, tutting as he did.He wagged the knife in front of the man’s bulging eyes before tucking it into his own pocket.

“You will not kill me, sir.Nor I you, as I’m feeling charitable.In gratitude for that, I’d like you to not rob anyone else tonight.Maybe try and make something better of your life.”

The man’s only reply was a further reddening of his face.Erik sighed and threw the pathetic figure against the wall, knocking his head just enough to disorient him, and then kicked his legs out from under him so he crumpled to the ground.That was sufficient.

Erik fled quickly, leaving the man on the ground without looking back.He’d be a fool to pursue, but his steps were loud and Erik would catch him if he did.Luckily, no footsteps followed Erik through the street.

Soon enough, he was at the door of Adèle’s townhouse.He looked up towards the golden light in the windows and smiled.He’d done well, if he did say so.He had helped someone with minimal damage to another human.Christine would be annoyed at Erik risking his person for such an endeavor, but he hoped she was proud.

Months ago, nearly a year ago, he had done something close to this when he had followed Christine through the streets on Christmas.Then he had been willing and ready to kill the man who had attempted to rob her.She’d never known about it.Maybe he would tell her now, as an example of how she had changed him.However, that might raise more questions.At least now he didn’t have to wait outside on the street, looking up at warmth from which he was excluded.At least now he could go to her and be the one to take her home.

Or back to their rented bed.The idea of home came back to him often, especially now as he ascended the stairs to Adèle’s door.Even Christine’s old friend had more of a home in this strange city than they did.Perhaps that was something that needed to change.

The maid let Erik in and led him to the parlor.The sight that greeted him was as pleasant as it was hard to believe.Christine was beautiful in green, her smile broad and her eyes full of light.His wife – his wife!– rushed to him and embraced him in the presence of a friend, who also smiled to see him.Adèle had every reason to resent them or be wary, but there was welcome in her face too.

“You’re late,” Christine admonished with a grin, guiding Erik to a seat as he took off his layers of concealment.

“I had a minor adventure on the way,” Erik said.It wasn’t a lie, but it drew a stern look from Christine that was quite delightful.“What counts is that I’m here.”

“Yes, though it will cost me a pound,” Adèle sighed.“We had a bet and I was foolish to think your wife didn’t know you.”

“She knows me more than anyone,” Erik replied.

“Speaking of, I have not heard back from Shaya, before you ask,” Adèle said.Erik tried not to let that worry him.Letters were slow and there could be any number of reasons for the delay.“This business with someone lurking about the Opéra must infuriate you.”

“Annoys, more like,” Erik replied, folding himself onto Adèle’s couch next to Christine with his hand in hers.“I worked hard to create my legend and reputation.I can’t just let anyone take it.”

“You let me and Julianne take it easily enough,” Adèle corrected.

Christine smirked.“I can’t say I’m not jealous.I always wanted to know what it was like to lurk about the Opéra frightening ballet rats.”

“There was more to it than that,” Erik grumbled.

“There’s a real ghost at Covent Garden,” Adèle said, picking up a cup from the side table and pouring fresh tea into it from a porcelain pot, as English as could be.“More than one, I think.”

“Well, it’s a proper theater then.Any building with a stage needs a resident spirit,” Erik said, taking it.

“You told me you heard things in the cellars, felt things,” Christine added, shivering.“I felt it too, I think.Restless dead things.None of them took boxes though.”

“The Opéra certainly has reason to host such spirits,” Adèle said, then frowned to herself.“Though I think a few of them would be better served in hell.”

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