Page 82 of Angel's Kiss
And now a man was dead. A man who, according to several of the mechanicals interviewed by Mifroid, had been a special enemy of the so-called Phantom. Had he been killed or was it, as Mifroid and the managers seemed bent on assuming, a suicide? Ghosts did not kill people because ghosts were not real. But there was something wrong at the Opera. Christine was in danger. Raoul knew it in his soul.
Christine, who he loved with his whole poor heart. Christine...who was walking towards him down theRue De Rivoli. His heart leapt.
“Christine!” he cried, rushing to her. She looked at him as if she was seeing a ghost and barely moved when he embraced her. “Oh thank God, you’re alright!”
“Why should I not be?” Christine stammered.
“You must not have heard. A mandiedin the Opera last night. I was the one to find the poor soul,” Raoul exclaimed, watching Christine’s face grow even paler, if that were possible.
“No, I heard. But I don’t see what a suicide has to do with me,” she muttered. Raoul took her hands. She had forgotten her gloves and through the leather of his own he could feel the cold in her skin.
“Christine, that place is dangerous!” Raoul exclaimed. “I knew it was corrupt and lascivious there, but I’ve heard such stories lately. The place you wish to make your career in cost a man his life, either through driving him mad or something else. You can’t be there. Youshouldn’tbe there.”
“Where else would I go?” Christine asked with a hollow laugh. “I have worked my whole life for this career. I cannot just leave.”
“You could marry me.” Raoul said it before he could even consider the question, but the instant the words were past his lips, he knew nothing had ever felt so right. “You wouldn’t need to work! I can provide for us, either through my family or the sea! We’ll find a way and be together.”
“Are you...proposing?” Christine asked, face slack. He hoped it was joy that moved her.
“I was ready to marry you six summers ago, and I still am,” Raoul replied with a grin.
“You’re mad!” Christine exclaimed, tearing her hands away. To his horror, she laughed, shaking her head. “Everyone has gone mad.”
Raoul had never in his life moved so quickly from joy to utter despair and shame. “This is because of him, isn’t it? Your mysterious angel.”
“No, it’s because we’ve barely spent a day together since we’ve met again!” Christine shrieked, another little knife in Raoul’s heart. “You don’t know me!”
“I know you better than anyone,” Raoul said and did not let her laugh again. “I know your heart. I’ve seen it. I hear it when you sing. I know you are good and kind and pure and honest. Despite what that place tries to make you, that is who you are. That is the girl I love.”
“You don’t know me,” she repeated in a whisper, her face a map of tragedy.
“I will ask of you one favor then,” he said, holding back the tears stinging the corners of his eyes. “Tell me there is no hope for us, none at all, and that you would never marry me, so I can depart Paris with a clear conscience and broken heart.”
“You’re leaving?” Christine asked, now alarmed.
“I have been offered a commission on a voyage to the North Pole. It will take at least half a year.”
“You could die,” Christine said, and her worry gave Raoul some hope. “You want to take a voyagethat could kill youbecause ofme?”
“Tell me not to, Christine. Tell me to stay,for you.” He was begging, but he kept his spine stiff. He would not bend and scrape for her love if it came down to it. He did still have some dignity left.
“You cannot ask this of menow,” Christine said, cradling her head as she shook it. “Dear God, Raoul!”
“I’ll give you time then,” Raoul replied. “I’ll wait for you. At the Madeleine! Tonight! I’ll be there at five o’clock. If you don’t come, then I’ll have my answer.”
Christine stared at him, her expression unreadable. Raoul could not bear it and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her, even if it was for the last time. But before he could she turned and ran, disappearing from his grasp once again. He hoped it was not forever.
––––––––
Erik had meant to visitShaya. He had known of his old friend and current adversary’s flat on theRue de Rivolifor many years now. It had been his full intention to see if the man was alive and remind him to keep better track of his dangerous property. But then he had seen the boy rushing towards something. And then he had seen them together.
To Christine’s great credit, she had done nothing Erik would not expect of her. She had been polite and kind, though she had seemed overwhelmed and appalled in turn at whatever ridiculousness the little noble had been spewing. Erik had not been able to hear them, hidden in a gallery, behind a column across the wide road. Whatever the dandy said before leaving had left Christine shaking her head and aghast. Erik wanted to go to her, to hold her again. But it was bright day, even with no sun, and he was himself. He could never accost Christine in the street the way that boy had.
So he followed the boy instead. Luckily, the young man moved on foot, though he was spry and hasty. Erik was fast too, even moving in the shadows. He still had Christine’s scarf from the night before to cover his face, and no one looked twice at him in the February cold. They were headed towards theFaubourg Saint Germain,Erik realized, where the “nobles” that had survived three revolutions and a century of disdain from the rest of France still lived in fading luxury. Of course the Chagny house was one of the grandest manors. There was a woman waiting on the steps, who had the same chestnut hair and strong features as the boy, and she was elegantly dressed. A sister perhaps? She ran to embrace the boy as Erik snuck closer to listen.
“—we’ve been worried sick!” she was saying.
“I’m fine, Sabine, I was—”
