Page 64 of Angel's Mask

But it was not lust he felt now, it was the comfort of her mere presence, like a true angel above him. It filled him with love and sadness. Perhaps they were the same thing. A lifetime ago, it had been the sound of Mozart in the darkness that had saved his miserable young life. It was fitting that the same composer continually brought his angel back to him.

The allegro resolved to its gentle conclusion and Erik waited, wondering if she could sense him. He had no explanation for her ability to know when he was there. As in so many things, perhaps it was she who was truly magical.

“I used to play that for my father. Especially near the end,” Christine spoke aloud, her voice soft and sad. “It was comforting, I think. Or I hope.”

“I know it was,” Erik replied, listening as the floorboards creaked above him when she moved. He waited several agonizing seconds to be sure she was in her correct spot before he emerged, like shade from a grave, hidden by the piano.

It was always like dawn, seeing her for the first time in a day. And sometimes her beauty was so bright it took him a moment to see the details. But not today. She looked as tired as him, and just as worried.

“It doesn’t mean anything, you not being called to the rehearsal,” he told her.

“Adèle says the managers have better things to do than fire me, and that if they did it would—”

“It would spell disaster for them in ways they can’t imagine,” Erik finished for her, his own ire rising at the thought. “I promise you I will protect you, no matter what. But I am sorry you have to live in this limbo.”

“I just hate not knowing what will happen either way,” Christine replied, fingering the corner of the score on the music stand before her. “I hate how men I’ve never met have this power over me.”

“To live in the world is to be subject to the power of men and money and all the greed and cruelty that goes with it,” Erik muttered.

“You know, some duchess invited me to sing at her house for a charity concert,” Christine said with a hollow laugh. “Can you imagine it? Me; performing for some party like a trained bird.”

“Indeed I cannot,” Erik replied, his thoughts growing still darker as he remembered his own past ‘performances’ for people like that. Christine gave another deep sigh.

“I said no of course. I think she’ll take it as an insult. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be a part of any of it.” Christine looked back up, as if she sensed his alarm at the words. “I don’t mean the Opera. I just – I know this is my life and it’s always been my dream to have this career but—”

“But?”

“But if there was a way, I could simply just make music, without all of this—” she gestured at the walls. “To just sing for you and be with you always...I think I’d be content.”

“Oh.”

Erik had chosen, many years ago, not to dream. He did, of course, walk in impossible worlds as he slept, like anyone. In the last weeks, sleep had become a torture of its own as each night he’d found himself tormented by the fantasy of touching her again, and the nightmare of her terror when she broke her bonds and saw him for himself. But while he was awake, he refused to indulge in fantasies of what could be.

It had taken him a while to suppress that human impulse to imagine a different life or the future. That’s why he tended to make decisions that an uncharitable sort might call rash. Because for him, there had not been a tomorrow for a very long time. He hadn’t even thought much about Christine’s future, beyond putting her on his stage and keeping her there. He had always been a man without a future, so there was no point.

But now he did.

He saw her, smiling in the sun, somewhere in the country. He saw green fields and flowers in her loose hair. He saw her laughing, as music played. He saw her happy and free, with him somehow beside her beneath a blue sky. But even imagined sun burned his eyes.

“Alas, we must make do with the world we have,” Erik said, the dream fading.

“I guess so,” Christine said with a sad smile. “I’ll be content, right now, because I am with you.”

“That is more than a start, my brilliant student.”

He hoped he could keep her happy, for her moments with him now. Even if all went well with the new managers, foreboding still weighed on his heart. For their lesson, he carried her through all of Marguerite’s most challenging ensembles, and then even a few of Gilda’s. He was meticulous and discerning, and by the end of things, he could tell they were both as tired as ever.

“You need to rest now,” he told her, even warmed by her pout at the command.

“Please don’t tell me I have to go home. It’s so hard to sleep there, so far from you,” Christine said. “Adèle’s going to supper with her patron tonight. I’d rather not be there when they get home.”

“I would never deny you refuge here,” Erik replied. “Go eat, see the sun if is out, and then come back to me. I’ll be there waiting.”

“As it pleases you.” Christine’s expression darkened temptingly, and an ember of desire flared within him.

He waited for her to leave to sigh. Just because he hadn’t touched her in the days since the gala did not mean he wasn’t actively fighting the urge to do so again every waking moment. His hands practically burned with the desire to feel her skin once more. And beyond that were other, unthinkable desires. What would it be like to embrace her? To hold her? To truly make love to her? To feel her kiss...

Erik shook off the fantasy, retreating to the dark halls and corridors until he was close to the dressing rooms and stage. He kept to the shadows and watched various singers make their rounds until none other than Armand Moncharmin arrived in the wings, looking harried and glum.

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