The Angel of Music

Chapter Two: My Soul Was Weak, Forgive Me

The rest of my night was bereft of dreams; it was something that I wasn't accustomed to, merely for the reason that I could remember most of them in the morning that followed. This was different. I awoke early, mere minutes before the sun came up; and my body was hot from sweat and a pleasure that wasn't sated from the night before. I was dazed, but not confused. I could hear small pieces of our conversation—between Loki and me—and it was as if I had been in a room full of doctors lit by several CCs of morphine.

As was my normal routine, I made my way through light traffic and slow pedestrians to step into an empty theater, the Lawless Opera House.

Through damasked corridors and dark hall ways, I walked knowingly. The Opera House was only its most beautiful when it was expecting company; it stayed dark and unholy during rehearsals and ever much like an abandoned building. The only light that was provided was from a chandelier up in the main auditorium, emitting just enough light to see who was who and what was what. The lighting on the stage was the most grandeur, as it was always the center of attention for our patrons.

The sheets of music in my hand crumpled from tension as I heard familiar voices began to speak affirmatively behind the drawn curtain. I recognized them easily as the leady lady as Belinda Conner.

Belinda would have made an astounding Christine Daae if she wasn't so arrogant and insolent in reality. While beautiful and graced with artistic fair, the woman could barely give credit where credit was due. Any praise or love that the Lawless Opera House was allegedly done by her hand and no others; however, if we received negative reviews, it was almost always the producer's fault.

There was no satisfying the prima donna.

Belinda's high-strung voice silenced as a second female's countered hers. The soft tone and charismatic appeal—the voice of a sycophant—was the soft-spoken and soft-hearted understudy of Meg Giry. Her name was Lauren, and she was well-known for being a woman who rode the fence on here say.

The conversation between Belinda and Lauren was an example of how the quiet of nature tried to appease the rebellious storm through flattery and praise. It made me sick.

"I was given a 24 hour notice that my husband would deliver me some flowers, and did he not? No." Belinda's whine sent annoyed goosebumps up my arms. "If you ever get married, Lauren, you make sure that your fiancé is wrapped around your finger before you put him in the sack."

"I'm sure that he'll make it up to you," said Lauren sweetly.

"Oh, and it won't be so subtle. He's got the balls of a mouse when he should have the balls of a bull," Belinda said angrily.

Unable to help myself, I passed the conversation passively with the statement,

"Maybe if you stopped holding them so tightly, he might be able to let his boys breathe."

I turned around to see their expressions.

Belinda's eyes narrowed at me unhappily. Lauren looked fearful, but said nothing.

"What did you say to me, you little shrew?"

Here was the Belinda that nobody saw. She was charismatic, charming, and benevolent on stage; but when the curtains closed, she was savage and crude. The entire theater was fooled by her distinctive charm. Only the cast knew that she was a spoiled brat beneath that sweet exterior.

"It's just a small piece of advice," I shrugged.

She stood a foot taller than me. Although I would usually shrink back, I felt a swift boost of confidence and bravery that I hadn't felt before until last night. After being in the presence of somebody who could have obviously broke my body in half, the pampered prima donna didn't frighten me in the slightest. Her imposing figure made it merely visible that she was trying to intimidate me like she did with Lauren and the other chorus girls. I merely smiled, and she frowned when she realized that I was not afraid of her.

"How does it feel," she asked me venomously, "to know that you can study all those pages and sing all you like in your rehearsal…only to know that you will never replace me, Harper?"

The smug benefaction on my face quickly evaporated.

She smirked triumphantly.

"Yeah, Harper. I know that you want to be me. I know it. That's why I'm so much better than you because I can sing worth a damn. I'm louder, I'm sharper, and—"

"And you slept with the producer in order to get your part," I added crudely.

She stared at me.

"You've got a smart mouth, Harper."

"That's why I never had to use mine to blow the executive producer either."

Lauren covered her mouth with dire suppression of laughter behind Belinda's back. Belinda's mouth fell open in anger. She struggled for words, but she could find none that would express the revulsion on her face.

"You wish you were me," snapped Belinda. "You and all the others who work in this place…"

"You'd be surprised how many of them are actually glad that they are nothing like you, Belinda," I remarked sharply. I held out the sheet music in front of her face. "You have a pretty voice, but you lack passion."

"I lack nothing," she hissed furiously. "How dare you criticize me—?"

I shrugged and turned my back to her. There was no working with her. I started to walk away, but Belinda reached forward and grabbed my arm. Her fingernails dug deep into my forearm as I she pulled me back.

"Listen, here, you little scab," she said angrily; blue eyes penetrated mine as she wrung her fingers around my arm, "you are nothing here at this Opera House. You sing, you dance—but you will never have the lime light. It's mine."

Lauren stepped in to intervene,

"Come on, Belinda, Harper's only envious of you."

The small defense made Belinda's eyes shift from Lauren to me. She decided that this was true and released my arm and pushed me away from her.

"Lauren's right," Belinda drawled with a snooty smile. "I shouldn't waste my time on a nobody like you."

I said nothing.

Even if I wanted to, my chance was blown away as the maestro came onto the stage and directed the prima donna and Lauren out of the chambers. I was left alone in the theater, or so I thought. One of the executive producers, Darren How—a sweet, portly man with thick glasses but a rich taste in Bach and Mozart—stepped up the small staircase to stand beside me. We both faced the theater. For a minute, we were silent.

"Harper, my dear," he sighed, "you've got to stop arguing with everybody on set."

"It's not me," I said quietly, though I knew that I took ownership in those named quarrels.

"Don't lie to me, Harper," Darren said serenely. "We both know the truth."

We didn't look at each other.

Darren How was the only person on the staff that hadn't slept with Belinda; so he was the only person, aside from Lauren, that I vaguely liked. While the other producers invested their time and money into the pampered leading lady, Darren took the time to entrust some valuable hours of rehearsal and a secured finance to help me through the long weeks. He was a nice, generous, and polite gentleman; and Darren seemed to be the only one who thought that my passion for music and singing was not hanging by a thread.

"You're right about Ms. Conner," said Darren sincerely. "She's a bitch."

I smiled without restraint.

"But you must treat her with kindness as the rest of us do."

"I'm not simpering to a palace prat," I said defiantly. "I've worked here longer than the other miscreants that you've put above me."

"You see, you tell Belinda that she's arrogant; and here you stand beside me, putting yourself above all others."

"I know that I'm good," I retorted.

"Not just good, Harper; you're brilliant," he added with a small smile.

I glanced at him.

"Why, then, do you still let her be Christine?"

"I offered you the parts of Meg Giry and La Carlotta, but you declined."

I pursed my lips. He sighed and shook his head slowly.

"I know how you feel about singing a secondary part, but you can't be picky."

"Last year, I was Maria from West Side Story; and I gave the theater the most profit that it had seen in five years, Darren." I made a scoffing sound and handed him the sheets of music. "I've practiced the lines of Christine for months. I carry the pages just so I don't crinkle Ms. Pampered Bottom"—I rudely indicated Belinda through the closed staged doors.

He took the sheets of music from my hands.

"Harper, there is nothing that I can do if you constantly berate others during rehearsal," he tiredly said. Darren pinched the bridge of his nose for patience. "You do deserve the part of Christine; but it's not up to me."

"Why can't you just pitch it to the other producers?"

"Because they all like what Belinda has to offer."

"Well, I don't doubt that for an instant," I remarked darkly.

At the derogative meaning behind my statement, Darren looked down at me in disapproval.

"I've told you once; I've told you a thousand times. My partners did not sleep with Belinda. She got the part because she has talent—"

"A talent that uses whips and chains behind closed doors," I remarked irritably. "Darren, they fawn over her while she's in her dressing room. They flirt with her; they buy her things. They like her because she's gorgeous. They love her because she beds them after a grand opening!"

"Harper, stop," Darren sighed.

I clenched my teeth.

"Please," he said quietly, "just stop."

I frowned and turned my head back to the empty pews around the stage.

"You don't see what I see," I muttered.

"You are blinded my jealousy."

"A contribution made by you, no less," I stated coldly. He looked to me, hurt.

"Harper, I've only helped you because I think that you'll be going places."

"Yeah, but I can't very well do that when a toad is in that place!" I remarked hotly.

"She earned her spot."

"I deserve my spot as well," I said furiously, turning to him.

"Harper, please, don't argue with me," Darren said slowly. "I'm not your enemy. Don't argue with me. Not with me," he added in exhaustion.

I crossed my arms.

"You are twenty-two, Harper," said Darren gently. "You have done more than what Belinda has ever done in the forty-five years that she's been living. It is she that is jealous of you."

"She hides it well," I muttered passive-aggressively.

"The most insecure ones usually do," returned Darren with a smile.

I tendered my marks on my arm from Belinda's fingernails. She left tight indents in my skin, but otherwise, I would only suffer some minor bruising. Darren placed a consoling hand on my shoulder.

"You'll get your day, Harper. Just be patient."

I inwardly rolled my eyes.

That's what they all say…

However, I smiled to cover up my disappointment and patted his wrinkled hand.

"Of course, I will…" I muttered.

"Excellent." Darren made to leave. "Practice your lines, Harper. You're Belinda's understudy. We need you more than you realize."

I watched Darren leave the stage; then he walked out the door.

I was left by myself in the middle of an ambience of stage lights, poised beneath a spot light with crinkled sheets of music in my hand.

"Ooh, that was hard to watch…"

My eyes popped open in surprise as I turned around to see Loki; he was leaning up against the staged curtains, his body perched against the wall below the large valance. His arms were crossed, and a small smile was on his beautiful face. Those green eyes looked at me from the darker corners of the auditorium.

"What are you—?" I struggled for words. I was shocked to see him standing there. Just how long had been there? Or perhaps, he had merely arrived? Perhaps he just apparated from thin smoke…or maybe it was like last night when he had been there all along—masked by his magic.

"How long have you been standing there?" I managed.

"That's not really a concern," he dismissed.

Loki stepped forward into the light.

He wasn't wearing his armor like last night. Instead, he was dressed in a three piece business suit, flattered by a gold and green woven scarf and shiny black flats. He matched the decade of what was today, but he certainly looked out of place in a damask theater. Loki looked around as if to take in the sight of the Opera House; he wasn't impressed, as I could tell from his bored expression. I didn't expect him to be.

He approached me.

Once more, in his presence, I felt hot standing in front of him. The effect that he had on me was intoxicating and inexplicable. He could breathe, and I could be ready for whatever he had in store for me. Distinctly, I wondered if all…Asgardians…had this tempting air about them; or perhaps he only had that radiation for his mere purposes.

He indicated his chin to the closed doors from where Belinda, Lauren, and Darren had exited previously,

"They seem like an insolent lot."

"Pampered, frightened…ignorant," I muttered, following his gaze.

"This is your normal routine, Harper?"

I turned to see that he was looking at me.

"It's a life," I shrugged.

He nodded slowly, though I wasn't sure if it was in agreement. He glanced down at the red marks on my arm. I folded my arms across my chest, particularly embarrassed for him to see Belinda's brutality. I did it so that I could hide it; however, Loki's hand stopped me. He took my wrist between his fingers and held out my arm.

"Never," he said softly, "hide yourself from me."

"It's embarrassing," I excused my behavior.

"Some things are," he returned without looking at me. His hand upon my wrist turned my arm to show him the five crescent-moon dents along the crook of my elbow from where Belinda had grabbed me.

"Please stop staring…" I said quietly.

"One thing that you will learn, pet," he mused apathetically, "is that I do what I want."

I attempted to pull my arm out of his grasp, no longer comfortable under his penetrating gaze. For my disobedience, he counteracted and pulled me to him—the foot-gap between us was closed as he held me against him. My bold move was immediately rectified as insolent as he wrapped his fingers around both my wrists and held my limbs over his shoulder. I felt the tight wrapping of his other hand entangle his slender fingers into my hair and toss my head back; he made me look up into his piercing emerald green eyes.

From my wrought position, I was uncomfortable and vulnerable.

"I am in control of our little situation, pet," he said softly. "Remember what we discussed last night in your bedroom? Disobedience requires punishment. Did I not say that?"

"You did, Sir," I said, feeling a bit stunted by the hard look in his gaze.

"You're so intent on making a name for yourself, and you can't even obey the rules that your Midgardian authorities place on you. Tsk, tsk, tsk. A rebel…" he smiled. "Well, I have some news for you, Harper. You may not obey your meager boss in this dusty theater, my pet; but you will obey me."

When I didn't reply, the fingers went taut in my hair and pulled my head back; I winced as I felt my roots try to break free. His move left my neck exposed. Loki's lips lowered mere inched from my bottom lip. I strained to remain capable of steady breathing. The angle from which he placed my neck was making it harder to swallow oxygen.

"Harper…" he crooned my name.

"I understand…" I managed to say. "I understand, Sir."

He smirked.

He placed a gentle kiss upon my bottom lip.

"Good girl."

He released me entirely. I rubbed my strained neck.

"Why are you here?" I asked, referring to the stage.

"I told you that I couldn't wait to see you perform tonight."

"But I'm an understudy."

Loki's smile widened.

"For now."

I stared at him suspiciously.

"All good things come to those who wait," said Loki pleasantly. "I think that you've waited long enough, don't you think?"

"Sir, whatever you're planning—if it involves Belinda—"

Loki stepped toward me and placed a finger against my lips.

"Shhh…"

I went silent.

"I know the envy that you feel in your heart," he said calmly. "I intend to make that disappear."

"Why?" I asked Loki.

"The mistress of an Asgardian God can have an award when it suits her," he said sweetly. Then his eyes gazed at me with ulterior intent. "But remember, pet. My prizes never come without a price…"

I stared at him.

"Sir?"

"I can give you what your heart desires," he said with open arms. "Claim loyalty to me; and I will give you what you need."

"Don't you have it, though, My Lord?" I asked curiously, indicating him with a hand.

"I intend to either win your loyalty or take what is mine."

The casual tone in his phrase caught me off guard.

"Then," I said, "You shall have it."

Loki smiled, amused.

"Oh, my dear, it's more than just saying the words," he said.

"Well, don't you trust me?"

"Actions speak louder than words, pet."

"Then…I'll show you?" I said, but my voice betrayed me; I was tense with both an obvious anticipation of what was in store for me, but I feared that my claim was not truthful.

His lips parted to reveal a handsome grin. It melted me.

"You will sing tonight, dove," said Loki confidently. "Then you will show me where your true loyalty lies."

He inclined a hand to the underside of my chin.

"Do not fight me again, Harper," he said; his other hand palmed my reddened arm.

"My soul was weak," I answered with small smile. "Forgive me…"

"You are forgiven," he returned.

The scent of mint and ice engulfed me as he pressed his lips against mine.

When I opened my eyes, he was gone again.

This time, I didn't try to find him.

Somewhere, anywhere, in the corners of the room or perhaps in my head alone, he was still with me. This time, I could feel it.