Page 27 of Angel's Kiss
“For the moment, yes,” Moncharmin stammered, as if it were comforting. “But once this has been cleared up, perhaps—”
“Perhaps nothing. It’s done,” Richard barked. “You are no longer welcome at the Paris Opera, Mademoiselle Daaé.”
5. Blades
Beneath the floorboardof the managers’ office, Erik flexed his hands into claws, wishing to every dark power that they could be latched around Carlotta Zambelli’s horrible neck right now. How dare she? Was one humiliation not enough? Death was too good for her. She deserved to suffer. She deserved to burn and writhe below the Opera, her terrible reflection her only consolation in a forest of pain.
“Please, don’t.” Christine’s voice cut through the fog of Erik’s rage, speaking from above him like an angel still. “You don’t have to do this. I can talk to the press and sort this out.”
“It’s already done, Mademoiselle. You may collect your things from your dressing room, but please do not linger and force us to have you escorted from the premises,” Richard said curtly. Erik wished he could wring that bastard’s neck too.
“That won’t be necessary,” Christine replied, her voice tiny and weak. Erik imagined the look of devastation on her face and felt sick. He was responsible for her, and he had let this happen. She said nothing more as her soft footsteps retreated.
“That was unnecessarily cruel, Firmin,” Moncharmin admonished.
“It’s done now, so let us away,” Carlotta trilled, laughter in her voice. “Rehearsal starts soon and I’d adore having you both there.”
“Of course, dear Signora,” Richard agreed with unusual warmth and Erik knew how the bitch had ensnared him. Was Richard truly such a fool to fall for the whore’s tricks, or had she offered him more than her body? Erik didn’t care. All that mattered was that the two had conspired to destroy the one person in the world who deserved the Opera’s spotlight.
The doors shut above him and Erik didn’t wait to emerge from his trapdoor behind Richard’s desk chair. The desk itself was strewn with papers and ledgers, not nearly as orderly as Moncharmin’s. No matter. With two mighty sweeps of his arm he ravaged both, tossing papers to the floor and spilling ink over leather and wood.
He grabbed a stray sheet of paper and a pen and scrawled his note. The warning was simple:So, it is to be war? If Christine Daaé does not sing Marguerite tomorrow, you will deliver Faust in an opera with a curse on it.For good measure, he struck several books and ornaments from the shelves and overturned the chairs before descending again into the hidden passages.
He had to find Christine before she left. She wouldn’t just go, would she? He slipped as quickly as he could through the corridors and walls, until he was near the dressing rooms, a few steps away from her.
“What are you doing here?” Christine’s voice asked from the hall and Erik stopped. “Have you come to gloat again?” There was only one person she would address with such coldness.
“Oh no, my dear,” Carlotta replied. Erik carefully edged along the hall, peering around a corner so he could see Christine facing down the prima donna. “I wanted to see if you needed any help with your things.”
“How can you be this cruel?” Christine snapped back. “Are you truly this heartless?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Carlotta said with a false smile. “I brought the information about that nasty story to the managers to help you. I didn’t want to see it published.” Christine’s face was stony, though the gaslights reflected in the tears welling from her eyes. Erik had never been one for forethought, but he knew killing Carlotta right now in front of the woman he loved would not be a beneficial thing. He still wanted to.
“Really?” Christine replied. “I find that hard to believe.”
Carlotta stared at Christine, strangely sympathetic. “I remember what it’s like, you know. To be young and ambitious and to come from nothing.”
