Page 80 of Angel's Kiss
Erik watched the mockery of a funeral procession through the auditorium: pallbearers carrying a man they had likely hated, so he could be thrown into the cold ground with no one there to mourn. Just as he deserved.
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Christine’s stomachdrove her from her room. She didn’t think she could keep much down but she hadn’t had a morsel since well before last night’s performance. She had no idea if Adèle even had food in their meager kitchen, but even just tea (or better, coffee) would help.
“There’s my young lover awake at last,” Adèle purred from her chair by the fire the moment Christine opened her door and Christine cursed internally. At least the older woman had a pot of something steaming in front of her. “I can see how you’d be tired after all that exertion.”
Christine looked down to hide her blush as she rushed across the room for a cup. “I didn’t realize we were that loud.”
“You should know by now how thin these walls are,” Adèle chuckled. “At least I don’t have to ask you if it was good.”
“You’re going to anyway, aren’t you?” Christine shot back as she took a seat. Maybe it was better to gossip with Adèle than hide in her room and wait for the hours to pass, thinking on her sins. Well, her other sins.
“Of course I am,” Adèle said, pouring for her. Thank God, it was coffee. “So, how big is he?”
“Oh Jesus Christ in heaven, Adèle!” Christine yelped. “I – he—” Blushing again, she held up her hands coyly and Adèle’s eyes went wide. Christine made a ring of her finger and thumb (since if she was to share this, she should at least be thorough) and Adèle squawked in glee.
“I might hate you!” Adèle chuckled. “How bad did it hurt taking all of that your first time, whenever that was?”
“Last night was the first time,” Christine confessed softly, and Adèle stopped laughing. Christine took a deep sip of coffee, her pulse quickening as she remembered it. She’d heard it was supposed to hurt, but she had forgotten that fear last night as she had taken Erik into her and he’d made her feel so perfectly and wonderfully full. “It didn’t hurt, except a bit at first, but it was nothing like I’ve been warned.”
“He must have had you properly dripping then,” Adèle remarked, looking at Christine over the rim of her cup. “Lucky girl. Did you take precautions?”
Christine nodded, recalling the shock of Erik withdrawing before his climax and the feel of his hot spend over her skin.
“Good girl. Keep it up. I won’t have you ruined right when your career is getting started. And I hope you aren’t too in love with this good genius of yours either. That would be the worst.”
“No, I’m—” Christine protested but stopped. She didn’t know. She didn’t want to be. “I’m not.”
“Good girl. Nothing more dangerous than that. Now tell me more about his nice big—” A frantic knock cut Adèle off. “Who could that be at this hour?”
Christine’s stomach fell as Adèle went to the door. She had to compose herself for whatever news their visitor brought. She had to look casual and curious and not scared, so she called on everything she had learned on the stage to be an actress.
“Is Christine here?” Julianne’s voice asked before the door was even open all the way.
“She is but—” Adèle barely spoke before Julianne forced her way into the room and ran to Christine.
“Are you alright?” Julianne demanded, grabbing Christine’s hand. For her part, Christine tried to look worried and confused.
“I’m fine,” Christine lied. “What’s going on?”
“I should have come sooner,” Julianne said, and Christine could see her eyes were bloodshot and her complexion ashen. “I was up all night calming Cécile down. We found him. She saw him first!”
“Sawwho?” Adèle said, thankfully, so Christine did not have to speak. She was afraid if she opened her mouth, she’d be sick.
“Joseph Buquet!” Julianne exclaimed to Adèle then turned back to Christine. “He’s dead.”
“What?” Christine managed.
“He was hanged above the stage. In the flies,” Julianne replied. “We found him. Jammes and I. Along with your pretty Vicomte! He was looking for you.”
“Raoul was there?” Christine’s head spun. What would Raoul think? What would he do, knowing a man had died in the Opera? What more peril would his imagination place her in now? And how could his assumption ever come close to the truth?
“He stayed to talk to the police,” Julianne explained, swallowing.
“The police?” Christine was about to faint; she was sure of it.
“They have to be called, even for a suicide, I think.” It was Adèle who said it and her voice was surprisingly calm.
