Page 18 of Angel's Kiss
“Obviously, it had to do with that awful Zambelli woman,” Moncharmin shot back. “When exactly did she get to you?” Erik heard a faint huff of indignation from above, but there was no denial. “Aren’t you worried about the consequences of this?”
“I’ve been assured that the patrons favor Carlotta. And the rabble that don’t pay for boxes could care less if Gilda is a queen or a chorus girl.”
“I meant the other consequences,” Moncharmin replied darkly and Erik smiled to himself. He had made an impression on one manager when they had intruded on Box Five during Christine’s debut inFaust.
“If you bring up that absurd ghost story again, I’ll have your head,” Richard said.
“It’s not a story! You heard what I heard!” Moncharmin countered. “You’ve seen the notes – the ones which clearly state that it should be Daaé in the lead.”
“The dead don’t pay to keep this opera open,” Richard said with an audible sneer.
“They can however force this Opera to close if not obeyed,” Erik spoke aloud. He imagined their faces. He had extensive experience with the looks of fear different people could manage. In his mind the men were pale, shocked, especially Moncharmin, with his tidy moustache standing out against his sallow cheeks. Then the blood would return to Richard’s face, making him flush from his cleft chin to his bald scalp.
The managers did not make a sound. Had he gone too far? In over half a decade haunting this office, he had never raised his voice there, preferring instead to communicate by letter. But, desperate times, as they say.
“I didn’t say that,” Moncharmin finally hissed.
“It’s unbecoming to hide behind tricks and superstition to make up for the fact your position here is redundant at best. Now, if you need me, I will be observing rehearsals. Carlotta has already notified Bosarge and Gabriel that the chorus won’t be needed for today or tomorrow, soyouwill stay here to answer whatever questions those sheep have about not having to work for a day!”
Erik clenched his fists as steps sounded above and a door slammed. He wanted to do more. He wanted to thunder at Moncharmin or rush to the hall and end Richard right there. No quick mercy of the Punjab lasso for him. He would wrap his hands around Richard’s neck and see the terror in his eyes, but a dead manager would cause even more problems. And the act would not endear him to Christine.
His heart fell. Richard had said the chorus had been dismissed, which meant Christine was not at rehearsal and no doubt had already heard the news. He had to find her.
It was hard to move quickly when walking behind walls, so Erik was forced to take risky shortcuts. Only once did he hear a gasp as he flitted across a dark hall near the ballet studios. Another sighting to add to his legend among thepetits rats. Christine’s dressing room was empty when he came to it, barely a shadow visible through the glass. She must have gone elsewhere. His heart began to pound.
What if she had left? What if she had taken this opportunity to flee from the monster that had ensnared her and forced her to stay in his home? She could have gone to the police, or the Daroga. Had he been a fool to let her wander alone? No. She wasn’t like that. She had been so kind and open in their time in his home, kinder than he could ever deserve. Perhaps she had gone below...
Erik rushed through the shadows of the cellars like a winter wind: cold, precise, and determined. His lantern was in his hand again but unlit. Once one understood the patterns and landmarks of the labyrinth, it wasn’t so hard to find one’s way. Would Christine have found a light, or would she be looking for him in the shadows?
Erik stopped at the sound of whispers from the corridor in front of him, a spike of apprehension quickly giving way to joy as he recognized the soft, feminine voice guiding him to her with a quiet string of profanity.
“Jesus bloody Christ in heaven, Erik, where are you?” Christine muttered as Erik drew near. “I should have waited in my room.”
“That is where I looked for you first,” Erik replied from the dark.
“Fucking hell!” Christine yelped, jumping back and spinning to see the ghost she had been berating emerge from the shadows. Erik couldn’t help but laugh at her shock and consternation. “Don’t laugh! You scared me out of my skin!”
“I’m sorry, old habit,” Erik replied warmly as he raised his lantern to light it and Christine glared at him from the edge of the flame’s glow. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Oh, you absolutely did, you rogue,” Christine snapped, catching her breath. Erik found himself laughing again. “Well, I’m sorry for my unladylike language. Not that you mind.” It was only when she looked away from him that Erik noticed the redness around her eyes and the streaks on her pale cheeks.
“Who has made you cry?” Erik demanded, stepping closer to her out of pure instinct. She looked up at him, her face open and vulnerable, and he wanted nothing more than to touch her soft cheek in comfort. How dare anyone bring tears to the eyes he adored? He didn’t though. He held himself back with effort and tension he was sure she could sense.
“Who else? Carlotta,” Christine told him. “She took great glee in telling me that I – a lowly member of the chorus – would not be needed for rehearsal. She and Bosarge also informed me that, as a soprano, I’m not suited to understudy Adèle.” Christine spat out the words quickly as new moisture appeared in the corners of her eyes.
“That fucking bitch,” Erik muttered, and that at least drew a sad smile.
“I came looking for you. I assumed you would know,” Christine added. “I was so upset I didn’t even think to bring a candle. I’m such a fool.” The dejection and regret in her face made the urge to hold her and comfort her all the worse, desire and hurt and love all twisting inside Erik so urgently it hurt.
“You aren’t. Carlotta and Bosarge and the managers and anyone that would dare make you think you don’t deserve that scheming harpy’s position are the fools. And I will make sure they know it.”
Christine did not look comforted. “At least you terrified me out of being angry and sad for a few seconds,” she offered with a shrug.
“I do try to live up to my reputation.”
“At least your head isn’t on fire.”
“I told you: that’s not me,” Erik smirked.
