Chapter 4: Words

"So you just invite the man to live with you?" Mrs. Giry asked, skeptical. Many years of unruly tenants had hardened her against easy trust. "He could be a criminal for all you know, Christine." Christine, Meg, and Mrs. Giry were all sitting down to a hot meal, something the girls rarely got between their classes at the university.

"It's not that simple," Christine justified.

"Then why didn't you invite him for dinner? He sounds like a very intelligent man, from your description, and you know I like to meet my tenants before I let them stay." Meg shot her a glance. After seeing and sitting with Erik in the cab that afternoon, she was also a bit wary. He hadn't spoken a word, yet her friend didn't seem bothered by his silence at all. Then again, she was always a bit introverted…

"Well, first off, he's not really living with me; I'll just stay in the dorms now, and he can take care of my place while he looks for another one." The older woman sighed.

"You know how hard it is for wingless to find work and lodging now. I owe everything I have to your father. This Erik might stay much longer than you expect." Mrs. Giry had no wings, and though completely respectable, had been unable to find work until Gustave Daae had hired her as an accountant. Christine glanced down at her plate and took another bite.

"It's really not fair that wingless aren't treated the same as winged." There was silence at the table for a moment. Then she decided to change the topic of conversation. "How about after this, we go over to my place and give Erik a housewarming gift?" Meg laughed nervously.

"Housewarming gift? Isn't that a bit old-fashioned?" Her mother smiled approvingly.

"It's a nice thing to do. If you really want to, we'll go. Maybe we can make use of those board games you never play."

…

Erik had returned to the library and its beautiful piano and had not left since that afternoon. He was completely out of control, but for once, it didn't bother him. He was in an unfamiliar place, and he was also more inspired than ever. At first, the notes he played were tentative, but he succumbed to the itch in his fingers. He removed the usual gloves finger by finger, finding he was also comfortable taking them off to shake Christine's hand. She was such a sweet girl. With that thought in his mind, he put his fingers and began to play. At first, it was just a few simple warmups, but before long he was stringing out his vast repertoire.

Some had called him genius, but he preferred the term 'savant.' He had a flawless memory for sound, though this was not always a blessing. He'd heard sounds that he'd rather forget.

He was not expecting the knock at the door. It had grown dark outside, though a bit of orangey-brown still tinged the sky: light pollution from the downtown. He closed the curtains, flicked on the lights and went to answer. It was Christine with her bright smile and a little basket in her hands. He didn't answer immediately, as he was slightly hypnotised by the sight of her. After a moment of awkward silence as he stared blankly, she pushed her grin a little wider. "Mind if I come in?"

Erik cursed his temporary catatonia and moved aside. "Of course not. You could have simply stepped in, though. It is your place." He moved back further as Meg walked in, doing her best to look friendly, followed by an older woman without wings. This woman nodded and held out her hand.

"I'm Mrs. Giry, the landlady. I'm also Meg's mother." Erik hesitated. He didn't have his gloves. Still he had to take the proffered hand. To his equal relief and chagrin, this hand was dry and bony, and did not have the emotion-wracking effects of Christine's soft, young touch. He really had to stop thinking of he in such a light. At this point, she was still essentially a stranger. A compassionate stranger, but a stranger still.

"Yes, I can see the resemblance," he replied congenially. The woman scoffed good-naturedly.

"Don't flatter me. She's always looked more like her father." A note of affection entered her voice, but that was to be expected. She probably loved her husband very much.

"Scrabble, anyone?" Christine called. She'd set her little basket down on the coffee table. Meg groaned, dragging her fingers over her face.

"Not again!" Erik looked at the landlady questioningly.

"May I ask what happened the last time there was a game of Scrabble?" A melodic laugh made him turn his eyes to his host (though he supposed technically he was the host, having moved in) with her dark brown mane of frustratingly attractive hair. And inspiring smile, he added to himself, then quickly denied the thought. At least he had a healthy interest in females. Being isolated for so long had done nothing good for his prospects of courtship.

"I always win," the subject of his thoughts crowed a bit smugly. She cocked an eyebrow. "Unless you'd like to try and break my winning streak tonight?" He heard Meg in the background, trying and failing to hold in her guffaws. Even Mrs. Giry was smiling.

"If I were a betting woman, I'd bet twenty-five euros that Mr. Erik here can beat you," she said, "if he were to try. That said, though, would you like to try? She's a formidable opponent and avid reader." The challenge was too delicious to resist, even though it was already past eight o'clock and the game would surely be several hours long.

"Then I shall be glad to inform you, madam, that I am equally as and perhaps more well-read than she." To Christine: "Your challenge is accepted." The girl whooped and pumped a fist before sitting down on the small cushions around the low table. Meg held up her hands in a premature defeat.

"I'll just watch you two duke it out." Her friend laughed.

"What? But you're so much fun to play with!" The blonde rolled her eyes.

"Exactly." Mrs. Giry did not speak, sensing that this Erik person, though enjoying the intellectual combat, was normally quite the secluded one. Christine was not exaggerating when she said he wasn't used to being social. And he's so stiff… She sat in a side chair and observed as he took a seat across from Christine. He did not sit cross-legged, as was probably more comfortable, but with his heels under him and his coat spread out behind his back. Perhaps his wings were amputated, and something went wrong with the procedure.

Erik halted as soon as he was settled on the small, flat cushion-seat-thing. His knees rested on the floor under the low table. Where had she gotten such an odd piece of furniture? Did she have a taste for new things? She was setting up the game now. I never thought I would engage in board games, much less with someone like her. A week ago, I would have never imagined even stepping foot back inside the city. There were many bad memories and scars left over from that time. Then Christine rescued him.

"Hey, are you all right?" The board was set up, and she was holding out a little black pouch to him, like a gift. He was about to reply with something smug to mask his discomfort, but decided against it. This was a new time in his life, and he should begin it with a new way to deal with people. After all, Nadir had been his only company for quite a few years, and he had been incredibly irritating.

"I have never had an evening like this," he admitted, keeping his eyes down. He took the bag and grasped the seven required letter tiles. She looked at him, and it was as if Meg and Mrs. Giry weren't there. Her eyes were kind.

"Expect a lot more of these evenings, then." More? She smiled and looked down. Her face flushed as she realised what she'd just said. "I'll start."

…

Meg and her mother left about an hour later, excusing themselves because it was late. Christine knew they weren't actually tired, but she said nothing and bade them goodbye. It was down to the last few letters and she was greatly impressed. For once, she'd had to fight for her spot at the top. We're not done yet, she reminded herself. He still has two more letters, and so do I. Unfortunately, her letters were 'I' and another 'I.' It frustrated her that she was reduced to glaring at the board, while Erik sat back with his signature intellectual smugness and watched her struggle.

"Give up?" She didn't answer. Her gaze narrowed further, on the end of 'hive.'

"No," she said at last and placed one 'I' above the 'V' and another below the 'V.'

Erik smiled. "I thought you might do that. I also spotted that several minutes ago." Christine's mouth dropped open.

"You knew my letters?"

"Yes, I kept count." The girl shook her head in disbelief.

"You're good. Especially if you know about Tahitian vanilla trees." The man placed his letters next to the 'T' in 'tray,' right over the red box that read 'triple word score.'

"I also know about yarn thicknesses." His companion snorted.

"'Tex'? Are you sure that's in the dictionary?"

"Are you sure 'ivi' is in the dictionary?" he shot back, smiling. He hadn't smiled this much in one evening since… He couldn't remember.

"Gah! I give up!" She took the score sheet and began adding up the points.

"Don't bother, I counted those too; I won," he taunted, eyes glinting. She mock scowled at him and waved a less-than-intimidating index finger.

"Don't test me, mister; you've just lowered my self-esteem to about three out of five, and I get very irritable when that happens." This took him aback.

"Why would your self esteem drop? You held your own against me." She's beautiful and smart. And very engaging to talk to.

"Well, normally I give myself about an eighty percent overall. Being beaten at my favourite game tends to make me think I'm not as good as I should be." Erik shook his head and looked out the glass wall that was inadequately named 'window.'

"You should never feel that way. There are probably scores of people who wish you were theirs. You're not me," he added, then wondered if he'd said too much. She was still adding up the scores. "It's two hundred and three to a hundred and sixty-seven," he said helpfully. She hummed and started packing the game away. When she looked up again, it was with sympathy.

"You haven't gotten out much, have you? Rhetorical question… Anyhow, I see nothing that stops you from being with someone wonderful." His cynical grimace appeared.

"You do know, of course, that the wingless are not the most favoured of society." He wasn't exactly wingless, but he might as well have been, so long as he kept the coat on.

"That doesn't mean no one will want to get to know you!"

"You know it does." He stood to get away from her eyes, but she followed him.

"Well, I guess I'll have to spell it out for you: I want to get to know you, and not because I feel I owe you anything." He was quiet. "So you're stuck with me," she added, "unless you hate me."

"I do not hate you." It was more of a realisation than a statement. For the most part, he hated humanity. However, tonight he had met two people who were tolerable (and tolerant) and one who was…he didn't know quite what. But he knew he didn't hate her. She smiled. It was not her ecstatic smile, but her gentle one, and he hated that he was hooked on this kind of smile too. She walked to the small fridge, where there was a notebook stuck with a magnet to the steel door. "Here, I'll write down my cell number. It's in my dorm, but when I get back there, you can reach me anytime, if you need anything."

"You're extremely…"

"Naive?" Most people were struck by how easy it was to get her personal information.

"Not how I would have worded it," he said. "You're very trusting. You've let me stay in your home and given me your number like you expect me to become a permanent part of your life." Someday, at least in his mind, she would see his body, and turn him over to those same scientists who had tortured him what seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Well, saving a person's life tends to do that, and having you stay here also implies that you'll be here quite a while, so…" She graced him with another of her brilliant grins. "Besides, something tells me you don't like venturing outside, even for food."

"Yes, I am a bit of a homebody," he said in his smuggest tone. Christine scoffed.

"You say it like it's a good thing."

"Oh, it is, trust me." To his wonder, she was still able to chuckle at his vague jokes.

"Well, as much as I'd like to collapse here and stay the night, Meg's probably worried I've gone missing again."

"After an hour?" The girl nodded.

"Yeah. She has a very active imagination. She once reported that I'd been stolen by aliens when I didn't come out of a garden maze on time." Another laugh bubbled up in his chest.

"Well, you wouldn't want to keep her waiting."

"Right, right… Oh, enjoy the basket." He looked at the basket and wasn't quite sure what to say. It was an assortment of packaged chocolates. He hadn't had sweets of any sort in years. "Good night."

Erik took a moment to wonder whether or not she really was wishing him a good night. "A good evening to you as well." He certainly meant it. She flashed him one more sweet smile before she skipped away and closed the door behind her. He dropped his head into his hands and cursed to himself. I'm too deep in, and it's only the first day. What the bloody hell is wrong with me?

…

Christine stepped into Meg's car and fastened her seatbelt, sighing and resting her wings. The broken one didn't ache anymore, as long as she didn't move it. Meg yawned.

"You look happy." It took a moment for her to absorb what had just been said.

"What?" Meg burst out laughing, and after a few seconds of hysteria, rested her disheveled head against the window. Christine just stared. "Are you drunk?"

"No, it's just you came in smiling for no reason." She relaxed her facial muscles and found it was true. "Maybe you should just stay here with him, since he's the first guy you've gone on a date with and come out smiling."

"What? No, that wasn't a date and you know it! You and your mom were there!" She hit her friend's shoulder lightly. "Meg!"

"It was a competitive Scrabble game! You told me that one of your dating requirements was that he had to be able to play Scrabble!" The girl just looked down, trying valiantly not to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Meg had only just met him, and already she was trying to set her up.

"You're more desperate than me, you know that?"

"Oh really?" Meg eyed her knowingly. "Then tell me what criteria he didn't meet, and don't tell me you just don't have chemistry, because then you'd be lying."

"We don't have chemistry."

"Liar! You were red in the face!" Christine threw her head back against the generously padded seat and groaned.

"Meg, that was just because I was frustrated! He's very good at that game, I'll have you know." She crossed her arms and huffed, blowing a few stray curls to the sides of her forehead. But her protestations were of none effect, as her bold best friend was in a mischievous mood, despite the late hour.

"Frustrated how? All your years as a virgin catching up to you?"

"At least I don't have a ton of blackmail you can tell your mom about me," she teased back. "And you better not tell Erik anything, or I will tell her exactly how many boyfriends you've had."

"No fair!" Meg gasped.

"I never play fair!"

"You always play fair!" They spent a fair amount of time laughing. The blonde girl, however, had a more focused mind than many people expected. "You know, you never denied he didn't meet all the dating criteria."

"But he doesn't," Christine insisted.

"Well, let's see then… He's extremely smart, almost freakishly so…" She had to admit that, at least; to deny would be an insult to Erik. "He doesn't look conventional, or like a frat boy…" she continued, listing and counting off on her fingers. "He doesn't seem the type to get drunk or do drugs; and he seem to be in pretty good shape, though we'll never know for sure until he takes that coat off."

"True," she confirmed. "Though I wouldn't ask him to remove it if I were you. He gets set off sometimes by the little things…" She trailed off as Meg continued, seemingly oblivious.

"He can carry a conversation."

"Yes."

"And he's funny, at least to you."

"Very, but we won't get much of an opportunity to spend time together. You know I only come home on the weekends, so that's the deal-breaker. And he's older." Her friend just raised an extremely skeptical eyebrow.

"I know you. I know there's something more to it than that, so confess." She pursed her lips and thought a moment before answering.

"He's been through a lot. He's not adjusted to living here, with people, yet. I don't want to push anything on him. I've already gotten him to stay here, haven't I?" Her heavy heart extracted another sigh. "If he says anything about his past to me, I want it to be on his terms." This quieted her usually loud friend. Then: "You think too much. It is a good idea to wait, though, considering you've only known each other…what? Three days?" Both of them suffered another fit of hysterical giggles, mostly because of the absurdity of the situation. At last, they calmed. The late night was getting to them.

"Lets get back to the dorms. We have to make up that final tomorrow," Christine groaned. Her wing began to ache again.

"That's you; all business."

"Shush, you, drive."

…

Nadir kept to the side streets. This was a better part of town, but old habits died hard with him, a former military man. The night life was loud and rowdy a few streets over, though not as dangerous as it would have been on weekends. Many a drunkard had been killed trying to fly while under the influence. Dammit, Erik, where are you? He had gone to visit Erik and found him gone. He'd gone willingly, but he couldn't follow footprints or tire tracks over concrete. Hopefully no one had noticed his composer friend. And who is this 'Christine' who convinced you to leave your home? Naturally, he was quite wary. Erik was a hard man to trick and a hard man to talk into anything. If this female had drawn him into the city again, there was probably something terrible behind the whole thing. He had left a note, however, indicating that he still thought of his old friend an ally, and perhaps might need his help.

It was also exceedingly dangerous for him to be near the city at all. His old enemies might have seen him already, what with the ubiquity of cameras. And that devil-woman; I wouldn't put it past her to send a spy to befriend this companion of Erik's. He turned a corner, keeping fairly low in the sky. People were more likely to notice those who flew higher. The papers in his hand were a bit crumpled. He was glad there weren't that many people named Christine, as more French-sounding names were most popular. The address he headed to was fairly far up the list, only the fifth place he'd visited in search of his elusive friend.

His wings were aching from a long day of flights from place to place, to neighbourhoods on the other side of the city and back. The place before him now was a mansion. Just like Erik to choose to hide out in the lap of luxury, he thought. Erik, though a man who had been through exposure to the elements far more than the average, loved his creature comforts and expensive instruments. The woman Christine must be quite rich, if this is the right place. He almost felt like walking up the stairs instead of flying to the entrance, but he regathered what little energy he had left and headed upwards. Erik might be upset that he'd followed, but he had to risk it. He could not afford to lose track of him again.

…

It was dark all around, as usual. The men didn't like her at all, but that was normal. She felt around with small, searching fingernails for a crack, a hinge, something; but there was nothing to me found, just another wall. She had given up banging about and yelling, for they ignored any ruckus she made. The door she knew existed was to her right, and a slight breeze came through, thankfully. It smelled like food. From this, she surmised that she had been locked in the kitchen's spare cupboard, a very tall, but very cramped space that was kept empty. If I knock three times they will let me out to use the restroom, they said. They probably have a guard out there now, with a gun.

She didn't need to use the restroom yet, though. She just wanted to have Philippe with her again, but he was away now. Someone was using him for something wicked, and she was the captive they used to control him. Now, she wished he did not love her. Then she would mean nothing to him and he would be able to break away from these criminals. But I must not regret our love. We are meant to be together, and we will get through this together. She had to keep the hope alive, as she had learned before, and never lose sight of what she could do to make things right. Maybe if I could disable the man with the gun when I go out, and run from there.

But then, there two people just outside, then three. One set of slow footsteps was coming towards her. Another pair of shoes tapped impatiently, and her heart leapt, for she recognised the sound of Philippe's dress shoes, Oxfords. He'd told her about Oxfords, once. They're going to let me out for a bit. A gun clicked. Or maybe they're going to threaten me if he shows resistance.

"Two minutes, no more," said a woman's voice. Then the door was open and she was on her feet, running to her young man. They held each other tight for a moment.

"Ciara…I'm sorry." Speaking was still new to her, but her speech therapy was going well, so she chanced embarrassment when she replied, hesitating on the consonants.

"Why are you sorry? It's their fault, not yours." Her blind eyes blinked several times, to clear tears of relief. "We'll be through this soon." She had to be strong for him, just as he was strong for her.

"But I've already written the proposition," he moaned, despondent. "Don't you understand? Once the laws are passed, we will be separated. They won't let us be together."