Page 83 of Angel's Kiss
“At the Opera! Always the Opera!” The woman called Sabine cried. “Philippe’s escapades are bad enough, but you’re supposed to be the one who comes home! Were you off with that hussy you’re obsessed with?”
“Don’t talk that way about her!” the boy exclaimed, and when Erik peeked out from his hiding place behind a manicured bush, the poor young thing looked terribly offended at a slight on Christine’s virtue. The thought of how the boy might faint if he knew what Christine had done the night before made Erik smile.
“I’ll talk about her any way I like!” the sister snapped. “She’s not a good girl—”
“She might be your sister-in-law tomorrow!”
It was like a gunshot had gone off. The whole street was quiet as the boy’s declaration sent a tremor of fear and rage through Erik. No. He did not mean that...
“What on earth are you talking about?!” Sabine demanded, to Erik’s gratitude and relief.
“I asked her to marry me. Just now. I told her I’d meet her tonight at the Madeleine and if she doesn’t come, I’m joining the expedition to the Pole.”
“Are you out of your mind!” Sabine yelled. “That’s not how you propose! And that – that’s stupid and rash! I’m telling Philippe. He’ll disinherit you if you marry that whore like this!”
“He can’t stop me.”
Erik flexed his hands. No, the boy’s dolt brother could not stop him. But Erik could. He did not have the Punjab Lasso right now, but he did not need it. He had a loaded gun in his pocket. Wait. It was already in his hand. It would be so simple to do...to end it all right here. Erik pulled back the hammer, readying the weapon.
“She’s not going to come! Your precious Christine will see this ploy for the foolish, selfish nonsense it is!”
Erik froze, the name of his beloved bringing him back to reason. He could not kill the boy, not if he hoped to keep her and protect her from more horrors. It was too rash and it was unneeded. He didn’t have to worry about the boy, he just had to trust Christine. He did still trust her, after everything. Didn’t he?
“Get inside, you idiot,” Sabine was saying as Erik blinked back into reality.
“You’ll see—” the boy began before the door shut. Erik stalked away, thanking whatever god or angel had put him in the right place at the right time to learn this. The same one perhaps that had put Christine in his path months ago and changed his life forever. He did not know, even now, if fate had been bestowing a blessing or a curse when he had first been given the chance to save her. Perhaps it was a matter of perspective. But he would not squander that blessing. Nor this one.
––––––––
Shaya was not sureif it was the smoke and noise of the tavern that made his head spin, or the lingering injury that he was quite tired of healing from. The favorite watering hole of the Opera denizens was particularly loud and crowded today, and that was not just Shaya’s head playing tricks. Nor was the way that people looked at him and began to whisper when he entered and headed for the back to listen and linger.
“Bad business, if you ask me,” someone muttered.
“He had it coming, however it happened,” another person said, and Shaya’s ear perked as he took a seat. He did not expect to be served and that was fine.
“He believed in hell, don’t know why he would have gone that way,” came another snippet of conversation. “He cared whether he was damned or not.”
“You think a man who did what he did to Rochelle cared about his fucking immortal soul?” a woman asked. Were they discussing a suicide?
“He was killed, mark my words,” a different voice said. Shaya abandoned all pretense of not listening and turned. “And we all know who did it. The Ghost tried to get him before. He was just finishing the job.”
“Do you mean Joseph Buquet?” Shaya asked aloud as his heart began to pound. “Is Joseph Buquet the one who’s dead?”
“That’s what they say,” the woman replied, sneering at Shaya. “Some dancer and her patron found him in the wee hours while they were sneaking off for a tryst.”
“How?” Shaya’s pockets suddenly felt terribly empty. Buquet had his gun. If he’d used it... “How did he die?”
“Hanged himself. Right up in the flies,” a man answered.
“I told you, he didn’t do it, the Ghost did!” the other said.
“Are you sure?” Shaya demanded, cornering the first man who had spoken. He was huge, Shaya realized too late. “Are you sure he was hanged?”
“I helped move the body. I’m fucking sure,” the man growled, and Shaya stepped back. “Why you so interested, Turk?”
“Ain’t you a friend of the Ghost’s?” the woman asked as eyes all around Shaya narrowed. “That’s what I hear.”
“No. I’m—” Shaya stammered.
