Chapter 5:
The audience surely must have been surprised when a thin Swede took center stage, instead of the haughty Italian the posters outside advertised. How they would receive Christian in place of their star, no one could have said.
Erika hadn't been thinking of the knot in her intestines – the fear her student would be rejected by the public he so deserved. Instead, from the shadows of Box Five, she moved her hands in tandem with the music. She hoped to ignite the air between herself and Christian with resolve, to conduct his vocals like the limbs of a puppet on a string. Christian must have felt her sprit, for the performance he gave as Hannibal that evening exceeded anything Erika had yet seen from him. During curtain call, the audience rose from their seats one-by-one and applauded Christian as he stepped forward for his bow.
The gala had been a grand success, and so had Christian.
Erika bypassed the sounds of the congested ballroom, filled to the brim with high-caliber guests Andrée and Florence were attempting to impress with their first opera. She instead made her way to the mirror of the luxury dressing room – the one she scarcely ventured to, on account of it belonging to Carlo most months out of the year. That night was different, of course. That night, it belonged to Christian – all thanks to Erika.
Dust coughed from the curtain as it fell from the body-length window. Her timing couldn't have been better. Christian and several men from the chorus were standing around the room, laughing together as Marc Giry went about filling their glasses with red wine. Erika made a mental note to remind the managers not to offer their performers such a colorful beverage while still in-costume.
After his peers had been served, Marc poured the last of the bottle into his own glass. "A toast," he held his drink aloft, "to Christian Daaé, from chorus boy to Hannibal in just one week. May we all find inspiration in him, and wish him luck on his journey to fame."
"Yes, and may that Carlo guinea choke on his rage," one of the men retorted, causing the room to erupt in laughter.
"To Christian," Marc cheerfully raised his glass.
"To Christian," the company chanted.
After the men had drank the toast, several left to change clothing and retire home. Marc stayed behind to assist Christian in removing Hannibal's extravagant attire. Monsieur Giry had taught Erika to respect the privacy of others, but social mannerisms weren't exactly of great importance to her. She averted her gaze out of respect for her pupil, but did steal a sideways glance or two in the moments before Christian buttoned his undershirt.
"So, you won't tell me your secret?" Marc asked, gathering his things to leave.
Christian smirked. "What secret?"
"Don't be coy," Marc said, "where in the world did you learn to sing like that? If you don't mind me saying…you were…a bit of a disaster earlier this season."
Christian laughed, walking up to the mirror. He leaned in and adjusted the collar of his new suit – one that had been waiting for him in the dressing room that morning. Now Erika couldn't avert her eyes. She'd never been so physically close to Christian before; but now only a thin pane of glass separated them. He wasn't even aware. For the first time, she saw the blueness of his eyes and the subtle twitch of his facial muscles as he spoke:
"Marc, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"I can believe a lot of things," Marc insisted, a peculiar look in his eyes behind the shimmer his smile gave them.
"I'll just say…" Christian grinned, picking up the single rose he just then realized was sitting on the table beside his mirror, "I have an Angel looking out for me."
Marc walked to Christian's side, took the wineglass from the table, and threw back the last drink of it. "You didn't need it," he handed the empty glass back to his friend. The two of them shared another laugh. "Enjoy the gala, you've earned it."
As Marc neared the door, a light knocking interrupted. The door wasn't visible to Erika from where she stood, so she took her opportunity while she had Christian to herself.
"You've earned so much more than a gala," she said softly, close to the glass. "Bravo, my child."
Christian turned to the mirror, leaning in close as well. "Thank you," he whispered.
"Speaking to your reflection, are you Chrissy?" an unfamiliar voice came from out of view – an unfamiliar, feminine voice.
Christian's blue eyes widened. He spun on his heels and executed a bow at the waist. "Madame, I beg your pardon, but I cannot accept private visitors at this hour. Especially…not an unchaperoned young lady, it wouldn't be proper of me."
"There's no need for formalities, Chrissy," a woman stepped into view, gowned for the social event outside. Her waist was pinched thin with a corset and her orange hair was fashioned with pearls. In her hand, she fluttered a fan made from white feathers.
"Forgive me," Christian stammered, "but have we met?"
The woman chuckled, stepping closer, snapping her fan closed. "I remember the summers your mother would come play for us. We would spend all day in the gardens, and spend all night reading folktales."
Christian gasped, coming to a realization. "Rachel?"
The woman smiled, running and throwing her arms around Christian. "Oh, it's been so long!"
"Rachel!" Christian returned her embrace, "I didn't recognize you at all."
"Nor did I, until they said who you were," Rachel stepped back, admiring her childhood friend. "You look so well! How is your mother? Is she here tonight?"
Christian paused. "Mother's dead, Rachel."
"Oh," Rachel's expression fell.
"I'm alright," Christian insisted, taking Rachel's shoulders, "tonight is a good night."
"Indeed!" Rachel beamed, reaching into the velvet sash draped around her hips. She produced, from the folds of fabric, a white lily. "Here, this is for you. I wanted to hide it, as a surprise."
"How thoughtful," Christian happily accepted the gift, holding it in the same hand as his Angel's rose.
"When you're ready," Rachel hugged his arm with a squeeze, "I've so many friends I want to introduce you to. Several of them have connections, Christian. They could really help your career, especially after that breathtaking performance!"
"You're too kind, Rachel," Christian radiated happiness. "I'm glad to see you haven't changed at all since we were young."
Rachel chuckled again as she ducked out the door. "I'll be waiting outside, come soon."
The rose and the lily, clutched together inside Christian's hand, something about the sight tensed Erika's jaw. "Insolent little girl!" she spat, tossing her voice fully into the dressing room. "How dare she come just to grovel at your feet."
Christian jumped at the venom in Erika's words. "Have I offended you, Angel?"
"Not you, my child, but your company. It insults me that one like her should come to leech off the glory I've given. It is you I've chosen to receive it, not she!"
Christian looked at the flowers in his hand and, reluctantly, tossed the lily in the waste bin. "Forgive me, Angel," he bowed his head, smelling the rose, "I meant no disrespect."
"I know it, child," Erika crooned, "but I think it best to keep you under my watch tonight."
"Angel?"
"All these impure creatures may taint you," Erika reached for the one feature all her mirrors had – a handle. "They aren't ready for you, nor what I have given you."
"You truly are my guardian," Christian knelt and closed his eyes, holding his hands around the rose as if in prayer. "Come to me, Angel of Music. I'm ready to receive your protection."
The mirror opened on silent hinges. "Dear, tender Christian…" Erika's boots clicked against the hardwood, stopping in front of the kneeling young man. With a gloved hand she gently tilted his chin, until the bright blue of his eyes was staring up at her in speechless awe. "Come with me."
Her pupil was mute as Erika took him by the hand and led him through the hidden passageway, letting the rose fall to the floor. She grinned to herself as she shut the mirror back into place. Christian was in her world now, where no one else could have him. He was hers…and hers alone.