Page 69 of Angel's Mask

He gave one last glance to his strange home before leaving, taking in the refuge that had sheltered him for so long. How would his realm of wonders and shadows look to Christine? She’d see he was a magpie just like her and had filled his home with the things they both loved: instruments, books, music and other wonders. She would like the picture room especially, he thought, so full of forgotten treasures. Surely, she would like the bath...

Again: madness. He was exhausted and not thinking straight. Perhaps at the most tonight he might touch her again, as reward for the triumph in store. He knew in his heart that she expected it; longed for it even. It could be enough. Ithadto be enough because there could never be anything more. Not for them.

And that was alright, he told himself for the hundredth time that week. He did not need more, and he did not want more. His greatest pleasure came from bringing ecstasy to her and the idea of her ever touching him was utterly inconceivable. Not to mention anyone that had ever touched him like that had met a violent end. So many more had touched him with violence and ended up the same. He was a cursed thing, he had to remember that.

But he could bless her. Just her. He had promised her months ago that he would lift her to the highest position a singer could hold, as a diva on his stage. And tonight, that would happen. And she would stay there. A perfect angel above them all, never to be touched by another besides the ghost who had put her there.

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TheGrand Foyerwas packed with so many people that the windows had fogged up. Raoul tugged at his collar, jealous of anyone still outside in the chill winter air rather than in this crush of humanity.

“Do try to look like you’re enjoying yourself,” Philippe remarked from beside him, nodding to yet another pair of society acquaintances as they passed by. The woman had feathers jutting directly up from her coiffure and Raoul dearly hoped the couple were in a box and not seated in front of some poor soul who wanted a clear view.

“Now, now, Philippe, don’t you know that looking bored is the best way to get the right kind of attention,” Antione scolded, and Raoul shot the man a scowl. “I said bored, dear boy, not sullen and irritated.”

“Are you sure your friend gave her the letter?” Raoul snapped in return.

“How is Sabine?” Antoine asked Philippe, turning pointedly away from Raoul, and infuriating him all the more. Antoine’s interest in Raoul and Philippe’s sister was transparent and unscrupulous, but Philippe didn’t seem to care.

“She’s well. I tried to get her to come tonight but she’s not one for music,” Philippe replied. “You’ll see her at supper tomorrow, don’t worry.”

“Perhaps Christine didn’t know where to write me back,” Raoul said, realizing too late it was aloud. Philippe and Antoine give him twin looks of pity. “It’s possible.”

“Or perhaps she’d been busy getting ready for her first performance,” Philippe offered with what passed from kindness from him.

Raoul sighed. The one useful thing Antoine had done was confirm with every confidence that it would be Christine singing Marguerite tonight and not that Carlotta. Raoul cared far less about the performance than about what could happen after.

Raoul cast his eyes about the foyer. Already people were moving towards their boxes, while others sipped champagne and socialized. The women in their glorious gowns were a riot of color in contrast to the men in their identical white shirts and black jackets. Among the crowd of pale faces, however, one darker visage stood out. The man was not only an anomaly because of his race, but in a ghastly breach of protocol, he was wearing a hat indoors, clearly marking himself as foreign. At least he had the decency to keep to the edges of the room, apparently trying to be inconspicuous. Perhaps he was someone’s exotic servant.

“Ah, Messieurs, what a delight,” Philippe said with a note of disdain. Raoul turned to see who he was addressing. It was the managers, or at least Raoul assumed the man next to Richard was his counterpart.

“Messieurs de Chagny, Monsieur de Martiniac,” Moncharmin said with a bow. “It is a pleasure to formally meet you.” Richard gave the slightest nod of acknowledgment.

“We could not miss such a thrilling debut,” Philippe replied with a glance to Raoul. “Indeed, some of us are beside ourselves in anticipation of Mademoiselle Daaé’s return to the stage. We’re so glad you came around on that.”

“Ah, yes, well,” Moncharmin stammered. “Signora Carlotta did help make that decision for us. Or I guess the Duchess of Zurich did by engaging her tonight for her charity concert.”

“What are you talking about?” Raoul balked. “That concert isn’t for a week, and she wanted Christine for it, not Carlotta. I was the one who suggested Mademoiselle Daaé to her.”

Richard’s face darkened. “Madame Zambelli made it extremely clear that since we refused to pay a ransom to get her on stage, she was inclined to take a generous offer from the Duchess for a concert tonight. I think she’s even taken her little claque with her to cheer her on.”

“And why on earth would anyone be paid for a charity concert? That’s quite the opposite of the point,” Philippe laughed. “I believe your diva has been deceived.”

“Who would do that?” Raoul asked.

“My first guess would have been you, Monsieur Le Vicomte,” Richard replied sourly. “If I thought you more merciless.”

Raoul huffed, taken aback and looked around to see if anyone else had heard the scandalous accusation, but the only person showing interest was the foreigner in the cap. He averted his eyes when Raoul caught him. “Well, I can’t say I’m sad to hear Zambelli has been deceived. Christine will win everyone over tonight, I’m sure of it,” Raoul said.

“Whose box will you be joining, might I ask?” Philippe inquired. “We do have room in ours as my sister has declined her invitation for the evening.”

“We will be in box five,” Richard replied, once again with dire seriousness.

Antoine’s guffaw was not expected. “Isn’t that supposed to be haunted? No one ever sits there,” Antoine said. Richard’s face grew so grim at the comment that even Antoine’s smile fell.

“That is the rumor my dear partner is determined to disprove,” Moncharmin said. His voice was shaking.

“I haven’t heard such rumors,” Raoul replied, curious. “I knew you theater people were a suspicious sort, but a haunted box seems rather excessive.”

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