by Heather Webb
I blocked the painful image from my mind and returned his ire. “You’ve worked all your life to prove your father wrong. He couldn’t conjure your mother through his séances, could he? She will never come back, and your father didn’t love you. You should be glad your mother can’t see who you’ve become. She would be disgusted by your wickedness.”
His hand connected with my cheek in a powerful blow.
I tumbled backward, pain radiating across my face.
“Christine!” Claudette caught me just before I fell.
I blinked away the instant tears. He hit me! In a public salon. I looked around, blinking hard to clear the instant tears away. Had someone else noticed? My heart sank as I realized the party had moved to the dining room. There was no one to witness his abuse.
“You think that hurt?” He massaged his hand. “There is more in store for Madame Valerius, and for you, if you don’t bring me those notes.”
I glared at him with all the fury I felt, throbbing cheek be damned.
He leaned toward me until I could feel his breath on my face. “You have one week.”
25
The following day, with a load of powder applied to my bruised and sore cheek, I took a quick ride in a hackney cab and dashed through the opera’s corridors without a word to anyone. The building was eerily silent at that early morning hour, except for a faint hum, as though the walls were breathing. My heart pounded in my ears. If I failed, Madame Valerius would be murdered in cold blood by a man she had trusted for years. I couldn’t let that happen. She and Claudette were all I had left.
I unlocked my dressing room door. When I swept into the room and lit a lantern, my eyes bulged in surprise. The mirror was already ajar, as if in invitation. I shook my head. How did Erik always know? It appeared I wouldn’t be able to snag his notebook or the photos secretly. I would have to ask him for them and hope for the best. Perhaps if I told him about the professor’s threats, he would take pity on me.
A mirthless laugh rumbled in my throat. Erik wasn’t the type to take pity on anyone. I would have to take my chances.
I grabbed a lantern and stepped into the dark. After several minutes of following the winding path downward through the labyrinth, the air clumped together in a damp mass, and the odor of mold drifted through the tunnel. I was almost there.
As I descended the final staircase, two angry voices broke the silence. I ducked beneath the overhang of the tunnel, extinguished my lantern, and perched in the shadows.
A woman in a brown day dress had her back to me. Erik stood across from her, his mask gleaming in the dull light. Something else gleamed in his hand.
I edged closer. Was it—? I gasped.
The delicate hilt of a familiar two-barrel pistol glinted as he waved it about.
Bile rose in my throat.
“Stop this, Erik,” she said. “You’re terrorizing the cast and the patrons. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave. If you don’t, I’ll go to the inspector. I’m tired of protecting you.”
My breath grew ragged. I pressed my back into the wall and my lantern clinked lightly against the stone.
“Who’s there?” Erik raised Madame’s gun. “Show yourself!”
I remained still, hardly breathing.
“You’re imagining things,” the woman said.“Put down the gun.”
Erik turned to point the gun at her. “You know about all of the terrible things I’ve done. Tell me why I should release you.”
“I would happily bury your secrets and you know that.”
“And so you shall.” He fired.
The woman crumpled in a heap to the ground.
I screamed, too stunned to contain it.
“Show yourself!” Erik roared.
“What is the matter with you?” I stepped out from my hiding place, heart battering my rib cage, and bent over the body. I covered my mouth in shock. Madame Giry, Meg’s mother—the woman who delivered Erik’s notes—lay dead at my feet.
I fell to my knees. A bullet hole oozed blood between her eyes. “Erik, what have you done? Have you no sense of decency? She has been nothing but kind to you, and you shot her!” How could I ever love you? You’re as much a monster as Delacroix.”
Erik lowered his hand. Voice soft, he said, “What are you doing down here, Christine? Have you missed me?”
Too angry to hide the truth, I glared at him. “I came for your notebooks. And to learn the truth about my mother.”
He flinched. “Do not speak of her!”
“She left my father for you, didn’t she? You took her away from her little girl.” Hot sorrow welled to the surface like tar.
“Nanette wanted to join my act,” he growled. “Your father wouldn’t let her follow her dreams. And then we fell in love. We planned to come back for you. We tried to, but your father kept moving. He took you on the road to hide you from us.”
“Mother wanted me?” I whispered. The tears began, blurring my vision. All of that moving, the years of homelessness and no friends, suddenly made sense.
“Of course she did.” His tone grew gentle. “But your father would not let her have you. He was too furious she had left him.”
Papa hadn’t wanted to lose me, no matter what, but because of it, he had borne the weight of heartbreak, disease, and a violent death. Despair swept over me. How we had suffered from all of the lies, and the senseless pain life rendered. I wiped my tears on my sleeve. “She died alongside him, where she belonged.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore!” he shouted.
“Fine. Give me the notebooks and I’ll go.”
He stalked toward me. “Haven’t I given you enough?”
“Delacroix threatened my benefactor’s life, and mine. Would you see me killed by your enemy? You have already lost so much because of him.”
He glared at me, a savage look in his eyes. Finally, he said, “You may have the books on one condition.” A ghoulish smile showed beneath the porcelain edge of his mask. “Afterward, you come away with me, and we will wed.”
“Marry you?” I asked, incredulous.
“Let me guess,” he retorted. “You want to marry that pathetic nobleman. The scoundrel who impregnated that Italian cow. He deceived you, yet still you care for him. What does he possess that I do not?” He paused, anguish brimming in his eyes.
“When you love someone, you don’t imprison them,” I seethed. “You can’t force me to marry you.”
He went still, and in a tone as sharp as a blade he said, “Should you choose to run away with your precious Raoul, I will find you, and he will join your parents.”
My brave words died in my throat. He meant it. He would find me and destroy my happiness at all costs. Fresh tears poured down my cheeks. “If I do as you wish. If I marry you, will you grant me a last request?”
“That depends.” He stepped closer, the scent of death wafting around me.
“I wish to perform one final show before I . . . disappear. One week from tonight.”
“The night my opera begins,” he said, his voice laced with excitement. “We will perform together—one grand show, and leave at the pinnacle of our fame. Wait here, one moment.” He stalked to the bedroom and returned.
“Here.” He thrust his notebooks at me. “They’re yours. Now be on your way. Pack your things and say your goodbyes. After our opening night’s performance, you will become my bride. I will take you some place safe, far from this madness, forever.”
The man was truly beyond reason.
With a last tearful glance at Madame Giry’s body, I clutched Erik’s notebooks against my chest and fled up the staircase to freedom, all the while my thoughts raged like a storm. I had one week—one week to make an escape plan, one week to free Madame, and one week to make the professor pay for what he had done. Then, I—and I alone—would disappear. But for now, I had an even bigger problem.
Madame Giry’s lifeless body beside the lake. The gun that killed her could be linked to Madame V
alerius—and me.
If found, I would be wanted for murder.
I hated to admit it, but I couldn’t pull off my plan on my own. Despite my reservations and the words we had exchanged, I raced straight to Raoul’s house. If he cared for me as he claimed, he would help me.
When the front doors swung open, Raoul greeted me, his face pale.
The moment I set eyes on him, my tangle of emotion burst forth and without reservation, I threw myself into his embrace.
He wrapped his arms around me fiercely. “What is it, mon amour?”
Sobs racked my body. “Erik shot Madame Giry, a woman who works at the opera house. With my gun.” What would I do, should I be arrested and tried for murder?
He held my head against his chest. “I can speak to the inspector, but I can’t promise anything, I’m afraid. If you’re implicated, you may never sing again. So much could go wrong . . . run away with me, Christine. Please.” He searched my face. “We’ll leave everything behind. Start a new life. I have plenty of money—more than I could ever spend.”
For an instant, hope and longing masked my pain. “What about Carlotta?”
The muscles along his jaw twitched. “She could live here while I—”
I pulled out of his embrace. “She would leech every last centime from your coffers. Destroy your reputation, and mine.”
The glum look returned to his face. “You’re right. I don’t care about my reputation, but I care about yours. And my brother’s. The woman can destroy me, but not those I love. I can’t allow it. But there must be a way.”
How much did I care for propriety? I intended to become a conjurer, come what may, and the thought of life without Raoul—the idea was too bleak to imagine. I chewed my bottom lip. Perhaps I could make Carlotta see reason. She wouldn’t want me to go to the society pages with her association to Delacroix, a murderer.
I smiled.
Neither would she wish to be seen as a whore who lied about bedding a nobleman to win a title and his fortune.
“I’m going to talk to Carlotta. I think I can make her see reason. If you never bedded her, her lies are going to stop. Now.”
Raoul clutched my shoulders. “You are the best thing in my life.” He touched my hair softly, and pulled me to him again.
I sighed at the tingle of his body against mine. I wanted him so desperately: his love, his support, his friendship. I would do anything for him. He was my home—suddenly I knew that truth to the marrow of my bones.
He brushed his lips over my earlobe and under the curve of my jaw. I melted into him as the heady scent of his skin washed over me. For a few moments, I forgot about my mother's past, my promise to the phantom, the professor's threats.
“Raoul,” I sighed his name.
“Mon amour.” He ran a hand over my shoulders and down my back until it cupped my hip.
I looked up to meet his eyes.
His lips covered mine, coaxing my mouth open. His sadness from the last few weeks turned to urgency and leaked into his kiss, until the intensity took my breath away. As I tasted him, all else fell away. I pulled him closer, running my hands over his shoulders, his back, lacing my fingers in his hair. Consoling him, being what he needed—taking what I needed.
He rested his forehead on mine. “I’ll take you away from here. You can do your illusions as much as you like, or sing. Whatever you wish. As long as we are together.”
I lay my cheek against his chest, mind spinning. I remained that way for some time, thinking, scheming, and at last, I pulled from his embrace. The final pieces of my plan fell into place. First Carlotta, then Erik, then Delacroix. But to succeed, I would have to put my illusions to the test.
“First, there is business to tend to. Much to put to rest.” I explained my plan, watching his face change from incredulous to furious, to hardened acceptance. I outlined his role and the others, explained the delicate nature of Erik’s mind, all the while never admitting my complex emotions toward the conjurer. Raoul wouldn’t understand how I despised the phantom, yet cared for him deeply; the way I looked up to him, yet felt him the lowest of men. What mattered now was to move forward, to put all into action—to save myself and everyone else I cared for.
Raoul took my hand in his. “I will speak to the inspector and also arrange for backup. As you wish, I will also alert the directors, and a few fellows from the navy who can help us—the moment you give me the sign. I don’t like this, Christine. Should something go wrong—”
“Nothing will go wrong. We will take precautions, have a secondary plan ready, just in case.”
A weak smile crossed his face.
“Promise me you will do exactly as I say, or all will be lost. All, Raoul. I know Erik and Delacroix better than anyone. You must trust me.”
After a moment of hesitation he nodded. “I trust you.”
I smiled faintly in relief and brushed my lips across his cheek. “First, I’m going to pay Carlotta a visit.”
There was only one way I could confront the diva. I had to go to her home, unannounced.
When I reached Carlotta’s apartment on the Place des Vosges, I knocked with insistence.
No one stirred.
I worried my bottom lip with my teeth. I had talked myself into coming all morning and now she wasn’t home? She had to be home. I needed her to be home.
I knocked again, this time more loudly.
No answer.
I turned to look at the neighboring park behind me; its fountain lay dormant instead of burbling, the flower beds lay vacant, and the cobbled street was slick with a coating of half-melted snow.
The door opened, swicking over a mat in the entryway.
“Can I help you, Mademoiselle?” a footman asked.
“I am here to see Carlotta.”
“She isn’t expecting visitors.” His mustache twitched as he spoke. “May I ask who is calling?”
“Mademoiselle Daaé. It’s about the opera,” I said. “We are friends and colleagues. She’ll want to see me right away, I assure you.” I pushed past him, rushing through the salon.
“Mademoiselle!” the footman’s voice echoed in the stairwell. “Please allow me to announce you. Mademoiselle Arbole is in her bedroom, dressing. I’ll just get the maid to let her know you’re here. You may wait in the salon.”
“Oh, that isn’t necessary. Really,” I said, not slowing. If I waited, she might refuse to see me. Now was my only chance.
I padded quickly through the hall to the series of bedrooms on the second floor. Two doors stood open and a third, closed. I lunged for the closed door and turned the latch. It was locked.
“Mademoiselle, please,” the butler called.
Breathing hard from racing up two flights of stairs, I rummaged in my handbag for a hairpin.
“Mademoiselle Daaé, I insist you wait until I have spoken with my mistress.” His voice grew louder as he approached.
With a steady hand, I picked the lock in a second. The door swung open.
Carlotta sat in a window seat, back to me. She appeared to be daydreaming. Without pause, I stepped into the room. It was now or never.
“I need to speak with you,” I said, my tone bold, unwavering.
Carlotta stood, a startled look on her face. The lingerie she wore fluttered about her knees and covered very little of her breasts, its dark silk stretched taught across her abdomen—it looked as flat as ever.
I smiled, relieved. Though I knew in my heart Raoul had told the truth, here was the final proof. Not only had she lied about Raoul, she had lied about being pregnant in the first place.
“You aren’t pregnant,” I said.
She pulled on an overcoat and tied its sashes. “What are you doing in my house?” she snapped. “You have no right to be here! Julie! Gerard!” She screeched for her maid and butler.
“You lied to him, to me, and to everyone,” I continued, my voice calm. “Why?”
“Stupid girl. For security, of course. Now I will lose everything because
of you, you thieving, talentless wretch!” She barreled toward me, hands outstretched.
In an instant, her hands were in my hair.
“Get your hands off of me!” I screeched in pain as she yanked at my curls. At that moment, every ounce of anger, frustration, and the pain of every loss I’d ever felt, ignited in one fiery mass and exploded. I shoved her with all my strength.
She catapulted backward and landed hard on her derrière. Stunned, she didn’t move.
“I came to call a truce, to strike a deal,” I said. “Not to fight with you.”
“Why would you do that?”
Gerard burst into the room. “Are you all right?” He glared at me and helped Carlotta to her feet. “Shall I throw this woman out?”
Carlotta’s eyes narrowed. “You have one minute to say what you came to say and then you are never to set foot in my house again, or I’ll have you arrested.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Apologize to Raoul and set him free. I, in turn, will perform one last show. I swear, after that, I will never return to the opera. You will become the star again, and all will be set right. However, should you continue this charade, I will go to the papers and the police, tell them about your lies. Maybe I’ll add a few of my own, beginning with how a certain diva worked in a brothel in her youth. It might interest them as well, that you’ve bedded a murderer, who also bribes his colleagues to win awards.”
“You don’t understand my predicament,” she snarled. “You are young and beautiful. Every man would fall at your feet. You haven’t wanted for anything your entire life.”
“You know nothing about me!” I hissed. “Of the years I lived in barns and condemned buildings, enduring the kind of cold you fear will stop your heart one night while you sleep. Of watching my father die in my arms and losing all I had, all I was. Of the guilt I felt for following my heart, and yearning for forgiveness that will never come, because it lies beyond the grave.”
I threw my hands in the air. “You are beautiful, a magnificent singer, and still of child-bearing age. All of Paris adores you. Everyone will meet your demands, Carlotta, and you also have your choice of gentlemen. All but one. You cannot and will not have the Vicomte de Chagny.
