Page 53 of Angel's Mask

“She doesn’t want to be a patron’s pet,” Julianne scowled, and Christine was glad of it.

“Oh, not just them, there are artists coming tonight too!” Adèle cried. “Cravalho from theComiquewill be here. As long as Carlotta’s here you’ll be stuck in the background, but he could put you in something exciting. They’re doing works there that are so modern! Bizet and Delibes! Things that won’t make it on this stodgy stage for a decade!”

“Oh, Adèle,” Christine sighed. “I don’t want to sing anywhere but here.” Indeed, Christine didn’t want to even think of joining another company or ever leaving this place. The Opera was her home in every sense.

“Well, I approve of that,” Julianne said, gruff. “She belongs here. Where else would she have a ghost as her greatest admirer?”

Christine blushed at that, avoiding Adèle’s look of suspicion and confusion. “We should get to our places,” she muttered, casting one last glance to the mirror as she pushed her friends out the door.

“You’re ready, my Christine, just know that you are prepared for what is to come,” his voice whispered softly in her ear. She had to believe that was true, and yet part of her refused to even think that what he promised would happen tonight. It was impossible.

The choristers were chattering louder than the audience when Adèle and Christine joined them. (Julianne, to Christine’s surprise, lingered in the wings to watch as well, just as Christine had done months before).

“What’s everyone so agitated about?” Adèle demanded of Robert Rameau, who looked as dapper and devilish as usual in his tails and white tie.

“Oh nothing, just that her highness the diva has not seen fit to arrive at the theater yet,” Rameau replied with a dark laugh.

“What!?” Adèle demanded, but there was no time for answers. The orchestra had already begun, starting the night with Saint-Saëns delightfulDanse Macabre. The music reminded Christine of the ghost stories about her angel, and she wondered again which of them were true. If he had hands to strangle a stagehand, why couldn’t he have hands to touch her?

Before she could worry more, the company was on stage, to perform the chorus fromRigoletto. It was meant to whet the audience’s appetite for the new production, as was Fontana’s performance of the duke’s great aria on the fickleness of women.

Then it was Adèle’s turn, with an aria fromLe Prophète. All the while, the whispers backstage grew more frantic. Christine watched messengers rushing back and forth to Gabriel and Mercier, whose faces were pale as they came back and forth from the dressing rooms. Curious, Christine inched closer to the pair

“What are we supposed to do?” Gabriel was demanding. “Do Debienne and Poligny not even care?”

“I told him and Poligny said to do whatever we liked,” Mercier cried. “Then he just walked away. The man was drunk! And talking like a sleepwalker!”

“Where is she!” Christine jumped as Carlos Fontana accosted the directors, whispering furiously.

“Too sick to leave her flat! Or even get a yard away from a chamber pot!” Gabriel hissed back. On stage, Adèle had completed her aria, and the sets were changing for the ballet. In Christine’s gut, suspicion, excitement, nervousness, and faith were all fighting like birds in a cage.

“What do we do? She’s half the program!” Mercier moaned, running his hand through his greying hair, and sending it into chaos.

“What’s going on?” Adèle asked, joining the conclave. Christine gave up her pretense of not listening and joined as well, standing behind her. “Is Carlotta still not here?”

“No, she’s ill,” Gabriel groaned, just as another messenger appeared with a note that he handed to Gabriel. He read it and immediately looked to Christine, his face unreadable.

“Daaé and Valerius will do the duet, that will buy us time,” Gabriel declared.

“What?” Christine had been prepared for this, but it was still wondrous to actually hear it come true.

“That’s all fine and good, but the audience is expecting Juliette’s waltz after that!” Mercier growled. Gabriel’s eyes remained locked on Christine, the note still in his hand.

“Tell Bosarge to play it, Daaé will sing it,” Gabriel said, and the explosion of questions had to be loud enough for the audience to hear. Christine said nothing though. This was just as the Angel had foreseen it. No, not foreseen. Promised. She hoped she would not disappoint him.

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Erik had to keep remindinghimself to breathe. This was the moment he’d hoped and planned for. His glorious creation would take the stage tonight and with it, her place as a star – if things went right. There was still a chance of course that Gabriel would ignore him, or that Bosarge would use his veto and refuse to conduct numbers added so suddenly but Erik couldn’t think about that.

The crowd murmured when Gabriel emerged in front of the curtain as the ballet was cleared behind it. Hidden in the shadows of box five, Erik grinned. It was happening.

“Madames and Messieurs, a surprise addition to the program,” Gabriel began, his voice only shaking slightly. “We are happy to introduce to you a new talent. Singing the Letter duet fromThe Marriage of Figarowith our esteemed Adèle Valerius: Christine Daaé.”

Erik watched the audience in their boxes. Some ladies fiddled with their fans, while a few husbands checked their pocket watches. Only a smattering of spectators were paying attention, most notably a young man in one of the premiere boxes right next to the stage, across the auditorium from box five; he was nearly leaning out of it in intense interest.

Erik’s attention left the boy the moment Christine took the stage with Valerius. The music began and just as it had during rehearsal, magic happened. It started slowly, like Mozart’s steady build of melody on melody through the duet. First, the audience grew quiet, then still...then enraptured.

“Certainly, he will understand,” the women sang. But only Erik truly understood. Only he knew that the exquisite invitation in Christine’s voice was for him alone. His heart ached, recalling the morning. He should have expected that she would ask for more from him, finally demand a gift that her angel could not give.

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