Page 88 of Angel's Mask

Christine narrowed her eyes. So, he did know. He believed Erik was a danger and wanted to warn her. And he had tried to, before.He was going to tell you. I didn’t want you to find out from someone else.One piece fell into place as she remembered Erik’s excuse for taking her. So, this man was one of the authors of her current crisis.

“Why would you be so concerned with me, of all people?” Christine asked icily.

“Because if such a dangerous man were to have placed you in his sights, you would be in great peril.” The Persian’s expression was dire, and Christine suppressed a shiver. The beast she had unmasked yesterday and the dark specter that haunted and tormented the Opera – that character sounded like such a man. But it did not sound like the teacher and confidant she had known for months. And it was a mile from the poor, lost soul she had returned the mask to.

“If there is such a danger in the Opera, why not tell the police? Or the managers? Why tell me?” Christine asked at last.

“Because they will not believe a man like me,” the Persian replied. “But they might believe a woman like you. Especially if you had information to give. Perhaps, where to find such a man.”

Christine tensed as the Persian watched her, his eyes entreating. He was waiting, hoping for her to lead him to his prey. He was exactly the kind of person Erik was afraid she would go to. She heard his voice in her memory.I won’t let them put me in a cage again, Christine.

“I have no such information, Monsieur. I don’t know what you are talking about,” she replied, cold and aloof as she could manage. The Persian’s face fell.

“Mademoiselle, please, my concern is only for the safety of innocent people,” Motlagh said, his words tense and clipped as he leaned in closer to Christine. “If you have seen something – if you knowsomething—”

“I know nothing. Good day, Monsieur.” Christine turned away, heading West out of pure habit. To her shock, the Persian jumped in front of her.

“Mademoiselle, you must listen!” Motlagh pled as he caught Christine by the shoulder, forcing her to look into his desperate eyes. “He is a monster.”

Christine fought the urge to shiver at the terrible certainty in his words and the equally strong urge to tell him that he was wrong. She could not remember the sight of her lost angel weeping in the shadows, or the anguish and loneliness in his eyes, and believe that. Not entirely.

“Please, leave me alone,” Christine said, attempting to wrest herself away.

“Mademoiselle—” A pair of hands taking him by the lapels and pulling him away cut the Persian off. Christine was not at all surprised by the identity of her savior.

“The lady clearly does not wish to speak to you, Monsieur,” Raoul de Chagny declared, stepping between Christine and the Persian. “I suggest you leave her be.”

The Persian looked at Christine over Raoul’s shoulder, frustrated, but resigned.

“Very well then,” the darker man muttered, stepping back to leave. He caught Christine’s eyes one more time. “If you change your mind, I hope it will be in time.” Christine’s insides grew as cold as the winter air around her.

“Are you alright?” Raoul asked as he turned from watching the Persian’s retreat.

Christine shook her head and looked to the face she had been so amazed to see after the performance. He looked nervous, which was perhaps to be expected after how she had treated him. His cheeks were red, either from the cold or from running to her rescue, or perhaps both. He was beautiful.

“Again, you rush in to save me, in my hour of need,” Christine murmured, again amazed at the man he had become. “At least you didn’t almost drown this time.”

“I knew you remembered!” he exclaimed and embraced her without any regard for propriety. Christine smiled for the first time in two days, safe in the warm circle of Raoul’s arms. She regretted that he pulled away so quickly, blushing and releasing her politely.

“I could never forget you, old friend,” Christine assured him as they smiled shyly at one another, and Raoul grasped her hands. “I am so sorry I had to make you think that was the case.”

“But why? You’ve had me in torment for weeks!” he asked, shaking his head in wonder. Christine dearly wished she could take back that cruel laughter, especially knowing now who had forbidden her to consort with her old friend.

“You must forgive me for that, I was tired, and...” she cast about for a lie. “I didn’t want to start people talking, assuming that we were in some sort of tryst, and I was using you to get ahead.”

“Of course, I understand,” Raoul said, kind and understanding. His smile had not dimmed. “I came by yesterday as well. I’ve been so worried. After you vanished like that everyone was so anxious.”

“I’m fine.” Christine withdrew her hands from his. “I was just on my way—”

“To the Opera, I’m sure,” Raoul replied with a naive smile. “I can’t believe they bring you in on Sundays.”

“I just go to practice,” Christine lied softly. “It’s my choice.”

“I have my carriage here if you would like me to take you!” he suggested without a hint of guile, his smile refusing to fade.

“Is that proper?”

“I don’t care, as long as I can share your company for a little while. Come.” He led her to his handsome black coach and nodded to the driver. “We will be taking Mademoiselle Daaé to the Opera.”

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