Page 71 of Angel's Mask

The command echoed in her heart as she left the dressing room and made her way to the stage, all the while feeling as if she was floating. Tonight, she’d sing for him alone and then he would reward her. He’d touch her again, she knew it. Perhaps he’d even give her more than before. However, he chose to bless her, she would treasure it. But first, she would earn it. First, she would give him her soul in song.

She took her place in the wings, listening to the sound of the orchestra tuning, each note blossoming out of another until it was one great wall of sound. The overture began as Christine waited in the darkness, ignoring everyone else around her. She took a deep breath and let it out, loving him.

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Erik listened to theoverture from inside the walls. Even from there, he could sense the excitement in the audience. They knew tonight would change everything, just as he did. He had no doubt that Christine would amaze them all. Then afterwards, once she was done with the niceties of bowing to the patrons and the managers, she would be his again. Where would be the best place? He wondered as he ascended a hidden ladder. Her dressing room hid him better but her secret bed in the cellars was softer for her. Perhaps there...

Erik’s train of thought stopped abruptly as he entered the hollow column that allowed him entry into his box. There were voices on the other side. Voices he recognized and that filled his heart with fury.

“This is foolish,” Moncharmin said. “We don’t need to tempt fate this way.”

“We are not tempting fate, we are proving that this is all a tiresome joke at our expense,” Richard growled back. Erik clenched his fists as he peered through the crack in the column to see their faces. Moncharmin looked terrified and Richard annoyed, as usual.

“Are you so sure?” Moncharmin replied. “You haven’t been among the people here. There are too many stories about this ghost for it to all be a joke.”

“Spirits do not demand money or interfere with casting,” Richard snapped. “Or require boxes. Which is what we are showing right now.”

“Are you indeed?” Erik made his voice quiet, using all his skill to make it sound like it was right behind the interlopers. He watched as Moncharmin went entirely pale.

“Who said that?” Richard demanded, springing up to look around.

“Don’t be so obtuse, Monsieur, you know exactly who I am,” Erik spoke in an unearthly whisper. “And you are sitting in my box.”

“We are very sorry—” Moncharmin began, standing and bowing to the empty air before Richard batted his arm in anger.

“Stop that! This is a joke!” Richard said, so loud that someone in another box shushed him. “Where are you?”

“Right here,” Erik replied, throwing his voice right to Richard’s ear. The manager spun and Erik could not help but laugh. The sound only made Richard angrier. He stalked to the door of the box and wrenched it open.

“Monsieur! I told you he would be upset!” Erik heard Madame Giry exclaim, loyal as always.

“Who came in here? What is going on?” Richard bellowed at the woman. Erik could not see, but he imagined her determined scowl.

“No one, Monsieur! If you hear someone, it is the Ghost! He does not like intruders!”

“I will not tolerate this. You are fired!” Richard declared and Erik’s fury spiked.

“You arenot,” Erik spoke through the walls, watching how it made Moncharmin cower. “Though you may retire for the evening, my dear Madame.” Erik heard the door slam and footsteps retreat. Once again, someone shushed them from the neighboring box.

“Now, see here,” Richard whispered vehemently, coming back into view. On stage, Faust was lamenting his lot. It was time for the devil to appear.

“No, you see here, Monsieur Richard,” Erik spoke, every syllable a threat. “I have been more than patient with you until now, but no longer. You serve inmyopera atmypleasure, and I can remove you just as easily as I did your predecessors. Or I can make things for you and this theater much worse. Fatally worse.”

“We understand!” Moncharmin said, entirely deferential. “We mean no disrespect!”

“Whoever you are, I will not tolerate such threats,” Richard declared through gritted teeth.

“They are not threats, they are promises,” Erik intoned. “This will be your last warning.”

“We understand,” Moncharmin said with force, and grabbed Richard by the arm to drag him from the box. Erik continued to seethe once they were gone. He had one manager at least under his control now, hopefully it would be enough.

He stepped out of the column after a sensible wait, just in time to listen to Méphistophélès make his final offer to Faust. Fontana was in good form tonight, as was Rameau. Erik finally took his seat, hidden from the rest of the audience at the back of the box, considering the stories of the Opera Ghost selling his soul to the devil for a beautiful voice. If only that were so. Faust longed for youth again, but he did not sell his soul until the devil offered something else: the love of a beautiful, innocent woman. Erik could hardly blame the man, especially when the vision the devil presented was of Christine.

She was perfect. Utterly beautiful. And no one knew she was his. He’d already sold his soul to make that so, lied and deceived her in so many ways. And it was worth it.

Erik paid little attention to the rest of act one or the beginning of act two, nor did most of the audience. The soldier’s chorus and the devil’s blasphemous song to the golden calf were rousing as usual, but everyone was waiting for Carlotta’s replacement to prove herself. The muttering grew in volume as Marguerite at last made her entrance.

“Won’t you allow me to offer you my arm, oh beautiful lady?” Faust sang.

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