Once out of sight of the looming opera house, she traversed the narrow avenues filled with endless steps, which led toward her destination. The night was cloudy, concealing the heavenly lights. Everything in her path had been shrouded in the unsettling shadows of night, which played upon Désirée’s nerves. A low, foggy mist crawled up the streets from the harbor, which added to the spine-chilling surroundings.
The population of Valletta often retreated early in the evenings, spending time in their homes with family. Street traffic at that late hour was nonexistent for the most part. Though she carried the impression of being a self-confident woman, Désirée was no fool. A female alone and unescorted in the dead of night could be targeted by any criminal lurking in the shadows. Her heart pounded in her chest with each step she took, and her hands grew clammy and cold.
As her footsteps neared her destination, she thought back to her first encounter with Erik Dante. Désirée recalled how frightened she had been afterwards. Her hands shook, and her heart thumped wildly in her chest, skipping beats. When she ran back to the dormitory, she thought she would faint having actually met the elusive Ghost in the flesh.
It was purely a chance meeting, but it solved the mystery of finding where Erik resided. Like a fool, she had dared to crawl down into the orchestra pit thinking no one would see her. The violin just begged her to pluck a string. When she fiddled with it, she hadn’t expected his dark figure to jump down from above frightening the daylights out of her. When his tall, broad-shouldered body loomed above her petite frame, she thought his eyes would burn her with fire. He could have killed her immediately. Instead, she played coy and foolishly asked for violin lessons to put him off the scent of her true motives.
Her request had been a ploy to get closer to him. Nevertheless, she truly wanted to learn how to play a musical instrument. Though Désirée possessed evil intentions, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity staring her in the face—no matter how terrifying that face might be. It had turned out to be an occasion to use to her advantage in more ways than one.
When Mercier left them alone and locked the doors, she had been terrified. Her throat constricted, and her body trembled. Then, his words came softly to her ears assuring her, “I won’t hurt you.” She had been at his mercy, but something in his eyes told her of his sincerity.
How stupid she had felt when he began to teach her. She listened as intently as possible, but the mere closeness of his body made it difficult to concentrate. Occasionally, she lifted her eyes, looked at his mask, and studied it with curiosity. She wondered what horror lay underneath.
After she had repeated the parts of the violin, and he instructed her how to hold the instrument, she tried not to flinch when his fingers grazed her skin. An overwhelming sensation of power flowed through her pores at the touch of his cold flesh, which reminded her of death. She had never felt anything like it, and she struggled over emotions of hate and admiration swirling inside her heart.
To her surprise, her affections for the man she once knew as the Opera Ghost had grown as they spent more time together. It frightened her inwardly and threatened to destroy her future plans. He held a strange power over her heart when he played his violin. It spoke to her soul, melted her resolve, and left her hungering for more.
She squelched the turmoil as she arrived at her destination. Désirée climbed the small stoop of six steps, and knocked on the red wooden door until it opened. She smiled at the resident, who stood beyond the threshold patiently waiting for her daughter’s arrival.
“Hello, Mama,” she announced, slipping inside. The door quickly closed behind her, and her mother walked to the window and pulled the curtains shut. Désirée looked around. Candles burned, and flames danced in the fireplace.
“How’s business? Told any legitimate fortunes of late?” She smiled at Sybelle and the psychic blood flowing through her veins, none of which she possessed. Her mother wore her usual black garb, matching her raven hair and dark features that accentuated the entire look of mystery.
Sybelle gave a hearty laugh. “People are so damn gullible. They pay, I lie, they go. All have itchy ears to hear their incredible fortunes. If I told them what I actually saw, they would never come back, so I tell them what they want to hear.”
She reached out and hugged Désirée, and then brushed a lock of her blond hair away from her face. “You have your father’s features,” she mused, as she leaned in and gave a few sniffs along her daughter’s neckline. “What is that fragrance you’re wearing?”
“Rose.”
“I thought that was not your favorite.”
“It’s not, but it’s his.”
Her mother flashed a satisfied smile and then eyed her daughter. “How are you? Is it going well?”
Désirée sighed after her mother’s embrace and flopped down on the settee in front of the fireplace. She untied her cloak and flipped it off her shoulders, no longer needing its warmth.
“Yes, I suppose it’s going well…just like we planned. However, I had to pay my way out of the opera house tonight. I have to return by midnight, because I bribed one of the workers to let me back in after the doors are locked. There are all sorts of new rules about coming and going, because everyone is on edge.”
“Well then, we won’t take too long with our visit. Tea?” Sybelle poured a cup of tea from the pot and handed her a cup and saucer. She made herself comfortable in her own seat and began to sip the brew.
“You look well. They’re not working you to death, are they?”
“No,” she replied, rather smug over her promotion. “I’ve been given half-days, new quarters, and new duties.”
“Well, that’s encouraging. The Ghost set that up for you?”
Désirée narrowed her eyes at her mother. “He has a name, you know.”
“Oh, yes,” she drawled, “Erik Dante. I wonder where he came up with Dante. Fits the devil.”
“I don’t know why, but I don’t like calling him the Ghost.” He possessed flesh and blood, but her mother wouldn’t understand. She only saw him as the despicable apparition of the past.
Sybelle sported a smug smile, and Désirée could see the plotting wheels turning in her mother’s pretty head. “What’s next?” she asked out of curiosity, taking another sip of her tea.
“Have they replaced the locks?”
“Yes, just this week.” Désirée opened her purse and pulled out two keys. She dangled them in front of her mother until they jingled. “Look, I’ve been given a key to the inner sanctum.”
“No!” Sybelle quickly set down her cup, reached out, and grabbed the keys from her daughter’s hand. “How did this come about?”
“My new duties are to clean the quarters of Madame Giry, Richard Mercier, and their dining area, all located behind the forbidden territory.”
“And the Ghost’s?” She eyed the keys in her hands as if they were made of gold.
“I’m afraid not. At least we know it’s down that corridor. We just need to find the mechanism to open the door.”
Sybelle sported a wicked smile of glee and handed the keys back to her daughter. “Take very good care of them, my dear.” She stood and walked over to a small desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a large key ring. “Here, plant these back in Darius’ room somewhere to further confuse them.”
“God, Mother! The poor man is in enough trouble already,” she protested, sighing over her new orders.
“It’s so much fun to play with them all. Don’t you think?”
“I suppose,” she concurred, taking the key ring. They would certainly rattle in her purse, if she wasn’t careful. She took out her hankie, laid it open on her lap, placed the key ring in the center, and folded the cloth to secure them in one package. Désirée shoved them down to the bottom of her purse and pulled the cord tight to close the opening.
“Are you continuing with the letters, Mama?” She wondered if the threats continued to arrive. “I’m not privy to that information, since no one has mentioned
the matter to me.”
“Oh, yes, regularly. They vary in words, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they are eating away at the man daily. It has to worry him. You know it does. He’s not that impenetrable.”
“You are probably right. Everyone seems on edge–Madame Giry, the manager, and Erik’s countenance shows strain. I only see him when we meet for lessons. The other times, he hides from the crew, cast, and me. I’m the only worker that knows the owner lives within the walls of the opera house, but I’m sworn to secrecy or else.” She placed both her hands around her throat as if to strangle herself. Sybelle laughed at her impersonation and bulging eyes.
“Now that we have the plans, and we know where his suite is located, that’s all that matters. I suppose we can return those too, but not yet. We just need time to find that damn panel that releases the lock.”
“It’s difficult for me, Mother, to play around the walls with Richard and Andrea constantly walking up and down that hallway. They are extremely careful not to reveal its location. I asked, but Madame Giry reprimanded me for being so nosey.”
“Well, when the time comes, he’ll either reveal it to you in a moment of weakness, or we’ll find it on our own.”
“That won’t be for quite a while, will it?” Désirée asked, swallowing nervously over her mother’s words. It all seemed so dangerous to pry into his private world.
“The sooner the bastard pays, the better, as far as I’m concerned.”
Désirée stared at her mother’s face as it grew icy cold, her eyes darkened with revenge. The bitterness ate at her mother more than at her own heart. She began to entertain doubts about the sense of their plans to dole out retribution for the Ghost’s sins of the past. It had all happened so long ago in Paris. It felt more like a nightmare she had finally awakened from, than a real memory of pain and suffering.
She walked a thin line between the two worlds and turmoil brewed over her loyalty to her mother and her emerging affections for Erik. If her mother ever suspected and knew of the doubts she entertained in private, there would be hell to pay at her hand. Désirée’s eyes lowered to her purse, containing the keys, and her heart thought of Erik and his admirable qualities. Unfortunately, she was bound to her mother’s will, entangled in a net of lies and evil intent, all because Sybelle Renard wished it that way.
As she thought of Erik, she saw her mother stand to her feet. She must have sensed her internal feelings, because the next she knew, her mother towered over her petite frame. Her eyes met the hatred, and Désirée shrunk underneath her gaze. The hand of the woman who had once raised her in gentleness now grabbed her chin and pulled it upright until her head tilted and their eyes met one another. Désirée tried desperately to suppress her feelings.
“Look at me!” she demanded. “You’re not falling for that demon, are you? So help me, I’ll…”
“No, no, no, Mother! For God’s sake, how could I do such a thing? I hate him as much as you do! Haven’t you seen me shed enough tears over what happened? My life will never be the same because of him!” Désirée wiggled from her mother’s uncomfortable grasp on her chin and stood to her feet to face her accuser. “How could I love that monster?”
Sybelle’s gaze bore into her soul, as if she were testing every breath she exhaled to be a truth or lie. Afterward, her demeanor softened when she heard what she needed to know and relented from the interrogation. Her mother returned to her seat, picked up her teacup, and began sipping the brew again, as if nothing had transpired between the two of them.
“Good,” Sybelle said.
Désirée felt a chill run down her spine. Her mother’s voice sounded like a snake ready to strike with fangs of deadly venom.
“How are the violin lessons progressing?”
Désirée sighed in relief, and sat back down, her body shaking. She rolled her eyes for humorous effect. “God awful! The man is a slave driver, and I doubt I’ll ever learn that wretched instrument.”
Her mother smiled. “Oh, I have something for you,” she announced, standing up and leaving the room.
Désirée watched as she disappeared to her bedchamber, wondering what it could be. She returned with a small-capped glass vial containing clear liquid inside. Reaching out her hand, she gave it to her daughter.
“Here, you’ll need this.”
Désirée eyed the container. Not wishing to appear hesitant, she reached out, took it, and studied the contents. Her heart skipped a beat over the toxic potion in her hand.
“Is this…is this it?”
“Yes. The dosage is correct and will do the deed.”
“Mother, I…”
“Now, now,” she quickly reassured her daughter, “there is positively nothing to worry about. It’s not enough to kill the man—only enough to drug him. His surroundings will blur, and his strength will vanish. We cannot do the deed with the Ghost fully conscious. You know damn well he’s capable of strangling us both.”
“I know, but it frightens me,” she admitted. Her voice shook as she asked the question she feared. “When?”
“Not yet,” her mother pondered. “He needs to fall in love with you first, and I hope you’re working on that goal, by the way. If you need some tips, I’d be happy to help. He’s already thinking seriously about you, as he showed up here a few nights ago.”
Désirée clutched the bottle in the palm of her hand. Her heart pounded so hard that she felt it throb in her throat.
“My God, Mother! What did he want? He came to see you?”
“Yes, I was surprised that he finally relented and sought me out. Apparently, my foretelling of his future is eating away at him, doing the job that I intended. From what I gather, he’s enthralled and intrigued with you, my dear, but you need to encourage him a bit more so he’ll take the next step.”
Désirée released her grip on the bottle, fearful that it might shatter in her hand. Quickly, she opened her purse string, placed it carefully in the bottom alongside the keys, and then tightened the cord once more. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to her mother, who appeared indifferent and cold over what lay ahead.
“Mother, I’m afraid,” she admitted. “Why don’t we just leave and forget all this?” As soon as the words left Désirée’s lips, she required the suggestion.
“Leave!” she screeched. “Never!”
Her mother stood to her feet, walked over to her daughter, and slapped her hard across the face. Désirée reeled from the blow.
“Don’t you ever suggest it again. After all that I’ve suffered with you! I will not allow him to go unpunished for his deeds!”
Désirée’s hand came to her burning cheek, and tears threatened to pour in torrents. It was not the first time her mother had reprimanded her with a hard slap across the face. As she gazed back into the icy evil intent that radiated from her eyes, Désirée knew there would be no turning back. Her course had been set in stone, and if she did not go alongside her mother’s pursuit of revenge, she would take it without her help.
It was true. Her mother had sacrificed everything for her during the past years of suffering. As she remembered her torment of the past, Désirée felt ashamed. Her suggestion showed disrespect on her part. What mother wouldn’t wish to protect her daughter? What mother wouldn’t wish to hurt the one that had hurt her child? A sad remorse filled her heart for suggesting otherwise.
“You’ll do as I say,” her mother insisted, softening her voice.
“Yes, Mama, I will,” she replied, sounding like a repentant child. “Forgive me.” The hesitant obedient words slipped from her lips. The memories of her past flooded back like rivers of pain, and she asked the question that plagued her heart.
“Mama, have you heard from him?”
Her mother pulled her eyes away from her daughter and sighed. “No, nothing. I wrote and told him when we moved to Malta, begging him to reconsider, but…” Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head. Désirée knew the answer.
“Do you want me to take the architectural p
lans back with me tonight?” she asked, changing the subject.
“No, not yet.” Her mother pondered momentarily. “Where is your new room, by the way?”
“I can show you on the drawings, if you wish.”
Her mother stood and retrieved the plans from her bedchamber and returned. Carefully, she rolled the architectural drawings out on the dining room table.
“Come here and show me,” she asked intrigued.
Désirée rose and stood by her mother, flipping through the multiple pages until she found the area of the living quarters. She traced her finger alongside the inner sanctum, past the locked door, and stopped a few doors away. It’s here.” She pointed at the location leaning over the plans.
Her mother squinted and examined where her daughter indicated. “You mean here?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“My God, child!” Sybelle screamed in delight.
“What is it?”
“Have you not noticed? Look where the back wall of your room abuts!”
Désirée bent down her head and looked closer at the drawing. She brought her hand to her mouth and gasped. “Oh, my God! His parlor is on the other side of the wall.”
Sybelle grabbed a candle and brought it over to the table to give more light. “Yes, and look here. That mark indicates a door.”
“No, Mama, it can’t be a door. There is nothing there but a wall, I assure you.”
“Then it’s a secret panel tripped to open by a mechanism, like the main entrance to his quarters.”
Sybelle looked at Désirée with a delightful smirk. “In his heated desire, he’s put you right next to him. The damn fool just sealed his fate.” Her mother roared with laughter. “Do you know what this means?”
“He can come into my room anytime he wants?” Her eyes widened with fear.
“No, my child! You can go into his room anytime you want! It’s perfect! Absolutely perfect!”
“But I don’t know how,” she protested.
The Phantom of Valletta Page 17
