Page 6 of Angel's Kiss
Christine’s eyes opened as she relaxed, that fantastic music encircling her like a fog. It was as dark, strange, and as enthralling as her mysterious teacher. And it called to her because it wasn’t a memory. The Romani air was real. Erik was playing for her once again. Alarmingly, she found herself standing at the door, turning the knob, and drifting through the threshold, summoned inexorably by the masked man in black in the windowless parlor.
His eyes were closed, Christine noted as she regarded him from beside the fire, the way Papa’s always had been when he played. His long body swayed to the music, like a dance, where the instrument was his partner. She watched his fingers fly over the strings with effortless precision until his eyes opened and he caught sight of her. The bow scratched terribly across the strings as he staggered back.
“I’m sorry!” Christine exclaimed as Erik stared at her like he had never seen her before. She was wearing her white dress with black lining today, and the exposed skin of her décolletage was suddenly very warm, as were her cheeks. “Good morning?”
“Good morning,” he replied after too long, and she finally breathed again.
“Did you...” Her words were moving from her brain to her mouth at the speed of molasses on a cold morning. “Did you sleep well?”
“No.” Erik cringed he said it. “I don’t sleep much anyway.” He looked at the instrument and bow still in his hands and set them down hastily.
“I didn’t sleep well either.” Erik looked up at her in alarm. “It’s alright. It’s always hard sleeping in a new place,” she tried. He simply continued to stare at her, gold eyes offset by the blacks and dark blues of his ensemble. “I am hungry now,” she muttered, and Erik startled from his reverie.
“Of course.” He moved carefully across the room, avoiding her eyes. “I hope you don’t mind fish. A fresh one may take a while – I would have to get the boat.” He caught Christine’s gaze, the faintest smile on his lips at the edge of the mask.
For the first time in that dark place, Christine found herself laughing. Erik’s sly smile broadened at the sound, gentle mischief in his eyes.
“Perhaps you would prefer an apple.”
“Yes, please,” she said softly. Erik ducked into what she supposed was a storeroom and emerged quickly with the promised food. “Are there really fish in your lake?”
“A few, but they’re dreadfully hard to catch,” Erik answered with a shrug. “They’re not half bad. But you may prefer this.”
He offered Christine the apple and retreated as soon as it was in her hand. She could not help but note how careful he was not to touch her. He set the kettle to boil above the fire, back once again steadfastly to her.
“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” she asked as he straightened to his full height and turned to her, the white mask catching the glow of the candles and lamps.
“I ate earlier, I apologize. I don’t eat a great deal either.”
Christine looked down at the apple in her hand, trying not to stare at him and think of how terribly thin he was. But at least he wastellingher something about himself at last.
“May I ask you a few more questions?”
“If you wish it. I will try to answer as well as I can.” His jaw was tight, and his lips pursed. Christine was thankful the mask left at least his mouth visible. Said mouth wasn’t quite normal, she could tell that now; the shape and the sickly-pale color of the skin around it hinted at what was hidden and a few dim scars strayed from behind the white material.
“Were you born—” She caught herself as Erik’s sad eyes met hers.
“In France?”
Christine looked away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s a fair question,” Erik said quietly. “The answer is yes. I’ve always looked...the way I do. Though a life with this face has also left me, shall we say, worse for wear.”
“I’m sorry,” Christine whispered.
“So am I.” He turned from her again to watch the fire.
“Were you?” Christine stammered. “Born in France, I mean? Erik is a northern name and I thought perhaps—”
“That I was one of your countrymen? Alas, no. I was born here, in a small, primitive little village near Rouen. My name came to me by accident.” She had no idea what that might mean and was too frightened to pry. She watched the low burning flames in front of them, amazed that somehow, he had contrived a way to keep the smoke from filling the room.
“You built this place, all of it?” Christine gave voice to the question in her mind. To her relief, Erik turned back to her with more warmth in his eyes.
“I did.”
“How? How did you find it? How long have you been here?”
“It’s a complicated story,” Erik replied hesitantly.
