After the performance, Laure and Meg hurried to meet Christine before an onslaught of fans could reach her. Christine opened the door for them, and they entered.
"Christine!" Meg squealed. Laure could have sworn she heard a masculine voice echo her friend's name, but she brushed it off as belonging to one of the fans that was crowding around the soprano's dressing room door. "You did so well!"
"You were perfect!" Laure agreed. Christine smiled shyly.
"Thank you both." She turned her attention to Laure. "About my tutor…" The Giry sisters leaned in eagerly, sitting down by the new prima donna. "I know that this is going to sound crazy, but please listen." Laure glanced at Meg worriedly. The latter nodded encouragingly.
"Of course, Christine," she assured.
"When I was a little girl, my father always told me stories of an Angel of Music. And when he was dying, he said that he would send the Angel of Music to protect me. Ever since then, I've heard the Angel in my dreams. He's always with me, protecting me, even now." Meg took Christine's hand.
"Christine, there's no way that…" The soprano cut her off.
"I know how it sounds, but you have to believe me," she whispered. "He's here, in this room, watching over me."
"Your hands are freezing!" the younger Giry gasped.
"Are you feeling all right? You're so pale," Laure noted, placing her hand on Christine's forehead.
"Please, believe me. I…" She was stopped by the sound of the ballet mistress's cane hitting the wooden floor. All three girls startled. They hadn't even heard Madame Giry enter.
"Meg and Laure Giry. You two are performers, correct?" The girls nodded, bowing their heads. "Then go rehearse!" Meg scurried away before her mother could scold her again. Laure shot a worried glance Christine's way but followed her sister.
"Meg," Laure began, "I'm so worried about her. She wasn't making any sense." The taller blonde nodded in agreement.
"I'm sure it's just stress. She's been under a lot of pressure, and she must be exhausted," Meg suggested.
"I hope you're right," Laure responded as a tall, handsome man with shoulder-length, dirty blond hair stopped the two girls.
"Excuse me. Do either of you know where I can find Miss Daaé's dressing room?" he inquired with a polite smile.
"Christine isn't seeing visitors right now, sir," Laure said, skeptical of the man's intentions. He looked kind enough, but she didn't want to send a stranger to her friend, especially with the state she was in.
"Mademoiselle, I assure you that Miss Daaé would want to see me." Laure narrowed her eyes, glancing at her sister before speaking again.
"What is your name, monsieur?"
"I am Raoul, Vicomte de Changy. When we were children, Miss Daaé and I were quite close friends," he replied fondly. Meg nudged Laure.
"Apologies, Monsieur le Vicomte, I didn't mean to be rude," she apologized sincerely. "Her dressing room is down that corridor, the third door to the right."
"Thank you, mademoiselle! And think nothing of it," he assured.
"Christine is very tired, monsieur," Meg began, "but I'm sure she'll be ecstatic to see you. She's spoken of you before."
"Has she?" Raoul inquired, a boyish grin on his face. "Good things, I hope?"
"She remembers you very fondly," she giggled.
"Meg!" Laure exclaimed. "Forgive my sister. She forgets herself at times." The vicomte chuckled, and Laure smiled too. "I'm very sorry, but we must be going now."
"Of course. I didn't mean to keep you. Thank you both," he said gratefully as the girls squeezed past him. "Good evening."
"Good evening," they said in unison. Once the vicomte was out of earshot, Laure smacked her sister lightly.
"Goodness, Meg, you are eighteen years old! Act like it!" Her sister giggled in reply.
"What? I only helped him!" Laure sighed, but let out a soft laugh. She supposed her sister's insistence on playing matchmaker for their friend wasn't too severe of a sin. Once the sisters had reached the stage, they parted ways, Meg to dance, and Laure to sing.
Laure had never been as talented a dancer as Madame Giry, Meg, or even Christine. As those closest to her had always been able to effortlessly float about the stage, fluid movements coming to them naturally, Laure had felt detached. In addition to the fact that she was admittedly a bit clumsy, her heart had never been in ballet.
Instead, she lost herself in acting. Although she had never been cast in more than a minor part, she adored becoming someone new. Taking on the emotions and lives of other people fascinated her endlessly.
It was almost like putting on a mask.
The company had only been practicing for a little bit when the vicomte rushed onto the stage.
"Christine," he shouted. "Where is Christine?"
"Her dressing room, monsieur," said the conductor, exasperated that the rehearsal had been interrupted. The vicomte shook his head, champagne blond hair flying wildly.
"No, she's gone!"
"Gone?" Laure repeated incredulously. Christine had been in her dressing room. There was no way she could've left before the vicomte had reached her.
"I heard a man's voice, singing to her." Laure felt her stomach drop. "The door was locked, but when I opened it, no one was inside." The murmuring amongst the company was deafening to Laure. Christine…She wasn't crazy. There was something in the opera house that was coaching her.
Laure flinched as the vicomte's gaze fell upon her. She could feel his desperation and anxiety.
"You!" he exclaimed. "You're her friend. Surely you know something about this." Laure's chest heaved in a sigh.
"Come with me, monsieur." She turned, trying to ignore the stares of everyone in the room. As she trudged through the hallways, she tried to ignore the churning in her stomach. There was no way that what Christine told her could be true. It was too fantastical.
"Mademoiselle…" Laure startled as the vicomte spoke. His tone was far softer than before, but Laure couldn't be at ease. There was no way of knowing if Christine was safe or not, and Laure didn't know what she would do if she…
"Vicomte, I'm sorry," she began, "I have no clue where she could be."
"Surely, you must…Surely, she said something, she must have told you…" Laure hesitated. "Please, mademoiselle. If you're as worried as I am…"
"She spoke earlier of an Angel of Music. She said that her father sent an angel to protect her," she explained. "Meg and I…we didn't believe her, but what else could it be?"
"She told me something similar. I assumed she was only joking."
"You did speak with her, then?"
"Briefly. I wanted to take her to supper. She needed to change, so I left. When I came back…" Raoul trailed off.
"She was gone," Laure finished. He nodded slowly. "And you said you heard a man's voice singing to her?" He nodded. Laure suppressed a shiver, recalling the voice she thought she had heard earlier that evening. She sighed softly before continuing. "I think that the Angel of Music and the Opera Ghost are the same. The Opera Ghost contacts my mother often. I think he trusts her, so perhaps she will be able to convince him to bring Christine back."
"That's all we can do? Wait?" he questioned, obviously frustrated.
"And pray," Laure corrected, her distress over the situation growing exponentially.
Pray that her Angel will return her.
Author's Note: Hey, guys! Thank you so much for reading! I'm so sorry that this took so long. I was trying to find a song for this chapter, but I couldn't find one (if you know one that you think fits, feel free to send it to me)! I'd really appreciate it if you would leave a review if you liked it (or didn't like it)! It encourages me to keep writing! Have an amazing day/night!
~ Belle
