"Doll, why didn't you tell us you could sing like that?" The group of friends sat at a café table under the shade of a pink and cream umbrella. In response to Michael's question, Christine only shrugged and sipped at her tea. "You are incredible, how did you find this teacher?"
"He more or less found me," Christine muttered.
"But-"
"I don't want to talk about it okay!" She snapped, leaving everyone surprised.
They sat there for a moment before Calista broke the silence, "Nervous?"
Christine laughed and smiled for the first time in an hour, "That would be an understatement and a major one too." With the tension broken, the table was filled with laughter as they finished eating flaky croissants, dainty sandwiches, and between the five of them, a buttered baguette. When it came time to leave, they all chipped in a few francs and strolled away full and happy… mostly.
When they got back to the opera house, Christine was rushed away to her new dressing room to alter the costumes and warm up her voice then give things a quick run through. Calista linked arms with Meg and they told the two men goodbye and went up to their dormitories, where Joseph Buquet, as usual, was telling stories about the Opera Ghost.
"Like yellow parchment is his skin, a great black hole serves as the nose that never grew," the youngest group of ballet girls trembled and clung to each other in fear. "You must be always on your guard-"
"Buquet!" Calista interrupted him with a hard glare, "You know just as well as I do that the Opera Ghost is a story that you fabricated to scare little girls."
"But I've seen him."
A loud smack echoed though the room and Meg stood with a red hand and a hard glare. "Get out before I send for my mother." Buquet dropped his head and shuffled out of the room. A few of the little girls squealed and threw their arms around Meg and Calista's waists.
"Thank you!" Jacqueline squeaked in her high-pitched voice, burying her little red head in Calista's side.
"Get off." Calista snapped, pushing away the spindly arms and grumbled to her bed.
"They are only children, they wanted to thank you," a blonde haired green-eyed girl said with her eyes wide, the perfect picture of innocence.
"Anne, I do know you are a picture of perfection," Calista said, "But I, my dear, am more of a tattered tapestry. Children can keep their nasty, snot caked noses away from me." Anne stared at her and Calista made a gruesome face causing Anne to look away in disgust. Calista rummaged in a chest under her bed and came up with a half-full bottle of wine. She uncorked it, took a swig, and offered it to Meg who also took a drink. "I hate kids."
"Get used to them," Meg dragged Calista off the bed, "We have to get to the stage. I don't have any idea why we came down here in the first place." Groaning, Calista stumbled after Meg and down the stairs, but before they completely left the dormitories, a small, velvety voice whispered in Calista's ear, "Are you really sure I don't exist?" Calista glanced around and told herself she was only hearing things.
The opera went smoothly and the audience seemed to adore Christine who soaked it all up with a gracious smile. After the curtain call, roses littered the stage and were gathered up to put in Christine's dressing room, but when Meg and Calista arrived with the armloads of roses, Christine was gone!
"She's in the chapel." Meg rolled her eyes and sighing, the two girls arranged the flowers then pushed their way out of the room past the hoards of people, many of whom were drunk.
They reached the stairs calling down, "Christine! Christine!" Careful not to trip over their pointe shoes, they made their way down the stairs. Christine sat on the floor in front of them with her white skirts pooled around her and her crystal flowers still stuck in her hair.
"Why in the world have you been hiding?" Meg knelt at Christine's side.
"You were perfect," Calista cooed, kneeling on the other side.
"I only wish I knew your secret."
"Who is your teacher?"
"While my father lay dying he said 'When I am in heaven child, I will send an angel of music to you.'" Christine's eyes were bright as she relayed this choice piece of information.
Calista bit the inside of her lip and glanced at Meg then back at Christine, "Christine, do you believe? Do you believe the spirit of your father is coaching you?"
"Who else could it be? Who?" Christine's eyes dimmed as if she was in a trance, "Father once spoke of an angel who I used to dream would appear," Christine rocked back and forth, talking in a sing-song voice, "now as I sing I can sense him and I know he's here." Worriedly, Meg and Calista helped Christine to her feet while she while she was still talking. "Here in this room, he calls me softly, somewhere inside hiding. Somehow I know he's always with me, he is an unseen genius."
"Christine you must have been dreaming," Meg murmured.
"Stories like this cant come true." Calista agreed.
"Christine you're talking in riddles,"
"And it's not like you."
"Who is this angel?" Meg whispered behind Christine's curly head, Calista only shrugged.
"He's with me even now," Christine breathed.
"Your hands are cold," Meg said distractedly.
"All around me,"
"Your face Christine, it's white," Calista put a hand on her friend's shoulder.
"It frightens me," Christine turned grey.
"Don't be frightened," both the other girls chorused. They led Christine back to her dressing room where they left her sitting dejectedly in front of her vanity, with a red rose tied with a black ribbon she had found, clutched in her pale hand.
Gently, Meg closed the door and listened to the quiet click. Sighing, Calista and Meg pushed their way back to the dormitories to wait for Christine to change and come upstairs. When they got to the dormitories, Calista pulled out her wine and took a gulp, Meg declined with a shake of her head, and Calista put it away.
"Nasty habit you know."
"You do it too!" Calista snapped. Meg shrugged and they sat in silence, either reading or writing. Calista scribbled in her journal and Meg flipped the pages of her worn copy of Wuthering Heights. Off and on for about an hour, Calista's light blue eyes would flit to the large clock beside the door, and then finally she broke the silence by slamming her journal shut.
"What?" Meg looked up from her book.
"Shouldn't Christine be back by now?"
"Probably, but she might be stuck in a throng of adoring fans." Meg said, emphasizing "adoring fans" just enough to say she was being sarcastic.
Calista looked at her with raised, worried eyebrows, then down and started braiding and unbraiding her wavy black tresses; worry lines formed between her blue eyes. Meg flipped the page of her book, starred at it hard, and then shut it sighing, "You're right, let's go see where she is." Calista grinned and stood up. She sauntered down the stairs ahead of Meg and after finding the keys, unlocked Christine's dressing room.
When Meg got inside she laughed, "You goose," she rolled her eyes at Calista.
"What?"
"You carried your journal with you!"
"Oh," glancing down at her right hand, Calista saw she was still clutching the leather bound black book in her hand, she shrugged and looked around. The room was dark and Christine was nowhere to be found.
"Christine," Meg whispered. As she looked around, a strand of light caught her eye, "Calista, come look at this," she pointed to the mirror. Frowning, Calista dug her fingers into the crevice and with Meg's help, pulled the mirror to the right just far enough that they could slip through. When they turned around, the girls found that they could see through the mirror.
"That's odd…" Meg whispered.
"It must be a trick mirror," Calista's brow furrowed, "but why is it in the diva's dressing room?" She shuddered, "I feel sorry for the creep who looks through that at Carlotta."
Giggling, they turned and began tiptoeing down the unlit corridor. The giggles quieted all too soon only leaving silence to fill the expanse. It was only broken when a rat scurried past Meg's foot and she jumped up, shrieking. The darkness stretched out in front of them into the hall, making the girls feel slightly smothered. Quiet footsteps echoed behind them and before they could break into a run, a cold, slightly knobby hand clamped down on their shoulders, Meg's right, Calista's left. All the color drained out of Meg's face and the bile rose up in Calista's throat as they were yanked around, only to look at the stern face of Madame Giry. She only shook her head and dragged them by the wrist back to the dormitory.
As soon as they were back, Calista threw herself on her bed and screamed into her pillow.
"What happened to Christine?" Meg whimpered.
"If I knew that I wouldn't be face down in my pillow now would I?" Calista snapped.
"No, I guess not…"
"Let's just get some sleep and we will find her in the morning. For al we know, she was out with the Vicomte."
"Fine,"
"Good night Meg."
"Good night Calista." And both girls fell into fitful, dream filled sleeps.
The door slammed against the thin wooden wall, startling many girls from their sleep. Christine stumbled in, closed the door, and leaned her forehead against it. After seeing that the person that had come in the room was only Christine, all the Rats went back to sleep except Meg and Calista.
After a moment, Christine's shoulders shook visibly and harsh, heaving sobs wracked through her body and she fell slumped on the floor. Her white lace dressing gown puddled around her and she drew her knees up to her chest and buried her face in her knees. Silently, Calista crept out of bed, padded across the floor and knelt next to Christine.
"Christine?" touching Christine's shoulder, Calista threw a worried glance at Meg who was still in a shocked state in her bed. "Christine what's wrong?"
"I hurt the angel," came the barely coherent whisper.
"What angel?" Meg asked.
"My angel, the one Papa sent me… my angel of music," fresh cries tore through Christine as Meg and Calista helped her into bed. "Angel… my angel…"
"Rest Christine," Calista pulled the covers over her shaking friend, Christine only rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. Meg pulled off her nightgown and changed quickly into a pale blue dress and scurried out of the room to fetch her mother. Calista followed suit, changing into a burgundy and cream dress then plaiting her wavy black tresses into a simple French braid.
"Calista?" Christine whispered, still facing the wall.
"Yes Christine?"
"I am so confused."
"Why?"
"I don't know… I just don't know."
"Sleep Christine," Calista said gently, "I will wake you soon."
"Thank you," Christine yawned.
"You're welcome."
Calista sat on her bed and pulled out her trunk to look for her journal, but when her hand came up empty, she panicked. "It's gone!"
