Chapter 6:

Masonry devolved into chiseled limestone as they descended the twisting passages. Stairway after stairway, and door after door brought them deeper into the forgotten underbelly of the building. Moisture was soon trickling from all surfaces, collecting in pools covering the floor – making it slick. Groundwater had been seeping into the cellars since they had fallen out of repair, eating away the limestone. They passed what had been the first cellar. Its walls had crumpled to expose the flooded chamber and send a flow of water cascading down the stairway.

"Mind your step," Erika kept Christian's balance as he stumbled. A small stone, knocked loose by a boot, was sent plummeting into the dark water beyond Erika's lantern light.

Christian nodded, maintaining the quiet he'd kept since being led from the dressing room. It wasn't clear if his silence was spawned from awe, respect, or shock. Certainly, an apparition like Erika would be shocking. She knew, from spending her days observing the outside world, what men and women were expected by society to wear.

What a sight she must have been, a woman dressed in a man's trousers and tailcoat. It was taboo, but it was all Monsieur Giry could do for her; to lend her articles of his clothing. It would be highly suspect of him to purchase a dress and corset with no woman in his life. If one of them was to be seen as a cross-dresser, it may as well be the one no one saw.

The stream on the stairs ended as abruptly as the steps did, when it met and emptied into a much larger body of water. Erika looked back at Christian, pleased to see his eyebrows rise. Before them stretched the vast expanse of a subterranean lake, formed from the complete collapse of the second cellar. Without wind, the surface of the inky water was supernaturally still – reflecting a distant yellow glow without as much as a ripple.

Tethered to a hook in the wall, an ornate Italian gondola appeared in the light – floating motionless. Erika hung the lantern from the boat's helm. With a polite wave of her hand, she instructed Christian to board.


Sighs of mist swirled around the gondola as it glided across the lake. It was as if the lake had breath of its own, exhaling its clammy breath on its visitors. Gradually, the yellow glow came into sharper focus. As distance closed, dozens of burning candelabras cast their light upon the water. The third cellar – or at least the three walls and entrance stairway that remained of it – awaited their arrival at the lake's edge.

Erika leapt from the vessel as it neared the opposite shore – vaulting over the short distance with the long pole she used to urge the gondola along.

"What is this place?" Christian finally spoke.

"My inner sanctum," Erika answered, guiding the boat to a make-shift dock and tethering it. "This is where the Angel finds respite…in secret…in shadow."

Erika questioned how much longer Christian would fall for her ruse. It was one thing to manifest as a heavenly voice, but a mortal body made of flesh and bone was enough to shatter her illusion. At least it would be, if Christian came around from the trance-like haze he seemed to be in. Perhaps he was still attempting to process the surreal turn of events. Perhaps the wine was starting to go to his head – if this were the case, it would allow Erika a bit more leeway to play pretend.

Erika offered Christian her hand, but this time he hesitated to take it. Was it his pride as a man that was making him reluctant to accept the aid of a woman? Or, was it the fact that said woman was dressed as a man? Regardless, he still recognized her as his Angel – his friend and his guardian. He took her hand and stepped onto the dock.

"This is where you live? Underneath it all?" Christian amazed, stepping onto the stone floor. His voice and his footsteps both echoed. "How long?"

"That's not important," Erika began up the staircase. "What's important is that you're safe here, with me. I'll return shortly." She ascended the rest of the stairs, leaving Christian to her room.

It was a climb, but Erika made sure to bolt and latch the door at the top of the stairs – the Girys' entrance. With the boat at her dock, and the only other door bolted shut, there was no chance of anyone finding Christian if she didn't want them to.


Erika shifted her weight onto her toes to avoid her heels clicking as she stepped from the last stair. Christian was at her organ, his back to her. The sound of papers rustling told her what he was doing. She crept closer. He was humming as he thumbed through her notes, humming her notes. Even without the lyrics to them, he made her melody come alive with such little effort.

Erika placed a hand on Christian's shoulder, making him yelp in surprise.

"Oh, my! Angel, please forgive me!" he tapped the sheets into order and set them down on the organ, "I…I was not meaning to invade-."

"My dear, that was beautiful," Erika cupped his cheek and turned his face towards her own. The candlelight dazzled in his eyes, and she took a breathless second to appreciate the sight. "Your voice suits my music."

Christian's brow unfurrowed. "This is yours?"

Erika nodded with a prideful grin. It wasn't the first time she'd been asked that very question. She retrieved her sheet music and inspected it. "Ah, a score from Dona Juanita. My greatest work-in-progress."

She arranged the music and sat in front of the keys. At once, she began playing the piece – her gloved hands gracefully flying from note to note. In her ringing soprano, she sang the lyrics of the opera's titular character; but partway though, she stopped. Her hands fell from the keys and she looked over her shoulder at Christian with frustration.

"I'm waiting," she said flatly.

"For what?"

"This is a duet, my dear," Erika motioned him nearer; "you've read my music. Dona Juanita cannot sing it alone, she must have her Amintas."

And so they sang together, for the first time. This wasn't like a voice lesson. She and Christian had never had their voices entwined in a duet before. The music filled the cavernous room and bounded across the listless lake – the whole air seeming to sing. Nothing else mattered in that moment to Erika. It was just the two of them together: teacher and student, Juanita and Amintas.


Christian grew tired, the effects of wine and live performance eventually sapping his energy for the day. Erika offered him her bed. Or rather, the closest item to a bed the Girys could smuggle down for her: a padded funeral coffin. Christian had been reluctant, but the fall from the buzz of his wine had made his eyes too heavy to resist.

Erika continued to play her music softly as Christian drifted off. She wasn't one who needed much sleep. She much preferred to stay awake at odd hours composing the opera she was so desperate to perfect. That night, however, she didn't compose. Instead, she chose the softest ballads from Dona Juanita and tapped them from the ivory until she was certain her young guest was asleep.

Filled with bliss for the first time in most of her life, Erika's thoughts were harmonious enough to allow something that rarely came without some amount of effort on her part. Within an hour, she had fallen asleep at the keys of her instrument.