Page 87 of Angel's Kiss
“No one else would be stupid enough to come down here or angry enough at me to risk my traps.”
“Yourtraps?” Christine echoed in horror.
“I’m going to get him out, don’t worry,” Erik replied as he rushed to the door. “Stay here.”
“Absolutely not!” Christine cried, following after, wrapped in a sheet. “He could—”
“He won’t hurt me. Especially after I save his goddamn life again.” Erik didn’t bother with too many buttons for his shirt. It wouldn’t make a difference in the water. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”
Erik didn’t dare look back at her as he rushed from his home or think of what might happen if he broke that promise. He could hear the splashing and swearing the second he exited his house.
“Erik!” Shaya screamed as he breached the surface, right in the little patch of light from the grate up to the street. Beside him, the boat had capsized, overturned by the traps Erik had set for anyone who dared to use the craft and not follow the correct route. Those same traps now ensnared Shaya to pull him down to the depths.
The water was as cold and dank as Erik remembered when he dove in, thick with silt and grime and who knew what else. He swam to the boat as fast as he could, his muscles screaming. With a deep, angry breath he dove below the surface. It was almost impossible to see in the water, but the muffled, bubbling sound of screams and struggle guided him. He freed Shaya’s wriggling foot from the trap and hauled him to the surface. Hanging onto the overturned boat as a support, he began to swim to the shore as Shaya gurgled and spat out fetid water beside him.
“I told you to never try to cross my lake, you ninny,” Erik hissed as he pulled himself to the narrow shore, dragging the Daroga after him. Shaya coughed up another lung full of water and glowered as Erik righted his boat. “You couldn’t just lurk and sulk about my opera like usual? You had to risk your life to pay me a visit?”
“Joseph Buquet!” Shaya finally yelled. Erik turned with a defiant challenge in his eyes. He knew they were glowing, and he saw the horror in Shaya’s face when he realized Erik was unmasked. “Why did you kill Joseph Buquet, you monster?”
“I was under the impression the man’s death was a suicide,” Erik answered lightly, knowing it would annoy Shaya more. “Do you honestly think I’m stupid enough to kill a man and leave his body hanging above my stage?”
“If you were sending a warning! The man crossed you! You tried to kill him before, when he saw your real face, and again when Carlotta sent him after your little soprano!” Shaya went on and Erik tilted his head in interest.
“And how did you know about that?” Erik stepped towards Shaya. He knew he had to look especially horrifying, dripping and unmasked in the dark.
“He told me,” Shaya replied, but he was holding something back.
“And then what did he do? How did Joseph Buquet end up with your little pistol in his possession?” Erik asked, advancing further and watching Shaya flinch. “I have it by the way, safe where it won’t hurt me.”
“He knocked me out,” Shaya confessed. “Nearly killed me.”
“You should be thanking me. The Opera is a safer place without Joseph Buquet in it and you know it. And I should be quite annoyed at you for arming that fiend.”
“So you admit it.”
“I admit nothing but that I defended myself,” Erik hissed, leaning close so Shaya could see the same face he believed condemned Buquet. “If this is the great crime you have been waiting for me to commit, I must extend my sympathies for your disappointment.”
Shaya glowered at him. “I can go to the police. I’ll tell them everything.”
“Really? Will you tell the police about theghostthat only you and Buquet saw? Will you tell them how Buquet beat you and stole your weapon? It sounds like you’re the one with the motive to kill. A Muslim foreigner with a grudge against a God-fearing Frenchman.”
Shaya seethed as he stared, and Erik knew he had him. As always, the Daroga was harmless.
“In fact, who is to say poor Joseph would have met the fate he did if he hadn’t had your gun to aim in the wrong direction,” Erik went on, singsong and self-satisfied. “His blood is on your hands, as much as mine, Daroga.”
“Fuck you, Erik.”
“So, we remain, as always, in our stalemate. Perhaps it is time for you to look for a new game somewhere else.” Erik turned away.
“What about Christine Daaé?” Shaya snapped, as if it was the ace up his sleeve and Erik froze.
“What about her?” Erik asked over his shoulder.
“She had something to do with all of this, your little pet,” Shaya spat, growing bold at Erik’s discomfort. “She’s made you a fool, you know. Ever since you’ve become obsessed with her you’ve been rash, sloppy, erratic. The managers. Carlotta. Now Buquet. Will she be next? What will you do to her when she truly learns exactly what you are and runs for her life?”
Erik was sure Shaya was not prepared for him to laugh, for the man looked truly horrified when the sound echoed over the lake’s murky waters. “You have no idea, Daroga.”
“What does that mean?” Shaya demanded.
