Author's Note: Merci! Merci! I hope this lives up to growing expectations. I know it's becoming a fun challenge.
Chapter Fourteen
To Christine's surprise, Erik was standing on the porch of the townhouse when they arrived. He looked as he had the first time she'd seen him: splendidly dressed, with dark hair and a perfect white mask covering the distorted side of his face. He was pulling black gloves on as they stopped. His posture made it impossible to tell if he'd taken note of them or not.
She slid off the horse's rump and approached before Raoul could dismount. "Maes--Erik?"
Her Angel turned to her, the handsome side of his face even more stunning against the stark white of the new, but familiar, mask.
It was totally unbecoming to run up to him, but she did. She wanted to talk to him before Raoul could simply spout out the questions he hoped would trap her into marriage. This had to be her decision, and no one else's. For once, people were going to listen to her.
Erik inclined his head to her, his next word cold and deflating. "Viscountess."
"No." The strength of her tone drew a measure of surprise in the depths of his eyes. She wanted to take hold of his jacket front and pull his lips down for a kiss, but the return of his mask also set up reserves she dared not challenge. "No, it's just Christine. We have to talk."
He looked past her to where she could hear Raoul's boots striking the pavement. She took hold of Erik's arm, silently demanding he talk to her privately. Those depthless eyes rested on her a moment as the sound of a carriage pulling up echoed in the stillness.
"My carriage awaits."
A simple, grand gesture to indicate the sleek carriage with the Count deChangy's personal crest on the doors. "Yours?" she repeated as he took her elbow and escorted her to the curb.
The driver held the door open for her as she climbed in. The seats were soft to the touch, filling the compartment with the rich scent of aged leather though there was no sign of wear. The black canvas roof stretched overhead, lightly dotted by studs, so it gave the quick impression of a starry night. The carriage was finely decorated without appearing gauche. So very like her Angel.
He settled in the seat across from her, shutting the door on Raoul's protest. The driver got the carriage in motion immediately, as if the man recognized this was a rescue of sorts.
"Merci." The small thanks fell into the abyss of his silence. Christine glanced away, the hated uncertainty taking her words prisoner once more. She felt his expectation and looked up to meet his gaze.
The depths of his eyes were troubled, even stormy. So easy to get lost in.
She knew from years of experience, that he would wait silently until she found voice for her concern. He was not a man who spoke simply to fill silence.
"I can't marry Raoul," she finally said. She clenched her hands tightly together in her lap, as if that touch would save her from drowning in his eyes.
"But you love him." His tone almost made it a question instead of a statement of her feelings.
Christine couldn't hide the pain she felt from her face. "But I don't want him."
Erik said nothing more, withdrawing from her despite the fact he didn't move.
The carriage rolled on in silence for several blocks. Christine glanced out the window, but didn't know the neighborhood well enough to guess where Erik had ordered the carriage to take him. When she'd gotten in, she hadn't cared. She'd just wanted to get away from Raoul for this discussion. Except, there was no discussion.
"It was easier to talk to you in the chapel," she said with a sigh.
His gaze flicked over to her, but did not stay. "When I was unseen, unknown."
"When I could believe that you were listening."
His mouth quirked, but she couldn't tell if it was with a smile or a scowl. "I have always heard you, Christine. Have no doubt of that."
There was something ominous about his tone that caught her attention. What had he heard? When? How extensive had his realm been, behind the scenes, maybe inside the very walls of the theater?
She looked him with wondering eyes, once again uncertain who this man was and what he was capable of. This man she wanted in her life more than any other.
That was the raw, naked truth of it. She could easily imagine her life without Raoul, even without the opera or music, but not without him. His influence, his being there was the most important thing she knew. For all Raoul's assurances that he'd accept his brother, they would still move far away and she wouldn't have contact with Erik again.
That was the thing she couldn't bear.
She licked her lips, the magnitude of the realization hitting her. Looking at his distant, removed expression, how was she going to manage this?
"Raoul said you wanted us to be married. Is that true?"
"That is what you wanted."
"But it's not what I want."
"And what has changed in just a matter of days? For months, you've been devoted to him. You've betrayed me for him."
"I'm sorry--I didn't want to --"
"But you did." That was hard statement of fact, even she couldn't deny. "You chose him over me --"
"I--I was frightened," she admitted. "I hadn't thought you capable of violence."
"And the viscount is so much better a man because he will not directly put his hand to violence."
She thought about all the little "tricks" that had plagued production over the last several years. Falling backdrops, such as the one that hit La Carlotta the day M. Lefevre announced his retirement. Malfunctioning props. Collapsing sets. Injuries had always been minor and only those who'd missed their marks had been hurt. No one had ever been killed, though most everyone feared for their lives.
Everyone except herself, and Mme. Giry.
Yet when Raoul concocted a plan, he'd brought in over a hundred armed gendarmes into the theater stationed everywhere--in the audience, the boxes, even in the wings, so they were in everyone's way--with the intent to shoot the Phantom, should he appear. How many innocent people could've been killed if Erik hadn't chosen to appear on stage and surprise them all?
And it had been Raoul to had a naked blade when he arrived at her father's tomb, though Erik had jumped into the fray, literally, with weapon draw.
They both had violent streaks. She couldn't hold it against one and not the other and she wouldn't hold it again both.
"You're right," she admitted finally. "That's not fair. But--you still didn't answer my question. Do you want me to marry Raoul?"
"What I want is your happiness. Do what will make you happy."
What would make her happy? She could think of one thing she wanted right now, and since she had his blessing...
She leaned over to kiss him, despite the mask, despite his aloofness. Their very first kiss had taken him by surprise. More importantly, she'd gotten a glimpse into the man behind the mask and violence. He was too unreadable again. She wanted that insight, to know him solely as a man again.
Erik caught her shoulder, holding her a breath away from kissing him.
"Why?"
The one word was more accusatory than questioning. Christine allowed the motion of the carriage's turn and uphill climb to sit her back into her seat. She stared at him for a long time, not knowing how to respond. "You said to do what I want."
"And why would you want to?"
"I want you."
"Do you think I didn't see your whisper to him, moments before you 'chose' me?"
"I—I didn't think about it," she admitted.
"What am I to believe?"
"What I say, now."
"Over what you will say next week?"
"That's not fair! I was confused then."
"And you are not now?" The carriage stopped. Erik threw open the door and took hold of her wrist, pulling her after him as he jumped out. She stumbled, but he held onto her. The smell of old smoke filled her nose and brought tears to her eyes.
Blinking against the bright afternoon sun, she looked up at the front entrance to the Opera Populaire. "What are we --"
He dragged her up the steps and through the great double doors. The grand foyer was dirty with large piles of debris, but nothing barred their way to the managers' office. He dragged her past them, under one of the ruins of the many staircases and pulled open one of the wall panels, as if it were a door. Before she could say anything, he pushed her inside and stepped into the tight space with her, shutting them in.
Even in the pitch blackness, he took her hand and led her down the tight passage with unerring accuracy, warning her when they came to steps and low overhangs that she could not even guess were there until he opened another door into the plaster shop. Soot and long dark cobwebs covered everything, but he wove between the intact moulds to another hidden doorway, ducking in without a second thought. All the years she'd lived in the theater, it had never occurred to her that this secret world existed beside the one she knew so well.
As they climbed higher, the cloying smell of the fire dissipated. The afternoon air smelled pleasantly warm and a soft breeze made its way down the stairs. Sunlight brightened as they turned a corner and suddenly she found herself next to one of the shattered round windows on the top floor of the building. The wall on one side was gone, and she could see the remains of a dressing area and the burnt hull of the dormitory beyond.
Erik did not pause, but knocked away the remaining shards of glass still clinging to the window frame before lifting her out onto the rooftop. Christine stepped away, looking around in amazement. Damage to the roof littered the area with debris, and the door she normally used lay against the back of the Nike, but the statuary themselves were undamaged. He pulled her to a spot along the side walkway and stood her there.
"Here, you pledged your undying love for him," Erik said. "As long as he protected you from the evil of me. Wasn't that your agreement?"
She looked around the area, confused. "How could you --?" The answer came almost as soon as the words tumbled from her lips. "You were here."
"I called to you. You heard me, and chose him."
She had heard his voice call her name. She remembered the moment of confusion, and then Raoul's pledge to keep her safe. "You were here."
"Everything I am," he said quietly, "was darkness and ugly. Only the music meant anything to you. I heard you say it."
"No, that's not all --"
"It would have been a punishment. I know now it was a punishment, not the joy I originally thought I offered you."
Christine looked up to see he'd stepped away, turning his back to her for the first time. "I chose you." He paused, but didn't turn back around. "When you demanded it, I chose you."
"After one last pledge of love to him." His voice was flat. Christine was beginning to believe that was defensive, so he would not betray his own emotions. "You chose me to save his life because that is the choice I gave you."
Erik turned to look at her. "I was--am that monster you painted me to be. Everything I have ever done has been cursed and damned. All that I've been accused of, and more, I stand guilty. Yet you say that is what you wish now. I want to know why."
It was his eyes that showed her the depth of his inner suffering. He would never openly admit that her words had wounded him far more than his disfigurement ever had, yet she could see how the echoes of her words haunted him. Suddenly, it was so obvious to her in the stiffness of his stance, the very formal way he held his arms and looked at her.
It wasn't just the mask, as she'd thought in the carriage. He rescued her because she'd wanted to be, as he always had been there for her. But the few times he'd offered her more of himself, she'd refused him.
Her chest ached in empathy for how horrible even she had treated him without knowing it. "You're not a monster." She risked a step closer. He didn't retreat. "You're my Angel of Music. My maestro." She swallowed against the lump forming in her throat. "My friend."
He turned again, his steps crunching glass beneath as he moved to stand before the rearing pegasus. He stood totally still with his head slightly bowed, only the slight breeze stirring the hem of his cloak.
Christine approached slowly, so her steps did not make noise. "That night, I was angry with the managers for denying me the roles I was due because they thought I was Raoul's mistress. I was upset because they'd wooed La Carlotta back and gave me the title role of Il Muto, but I thought myself professional enough to put in a good performance. You taught me to take every role seriously and create perfection with it. I could do no less."
If she reached out, she would touch him, but she didn't dare. If he looked at her now, she might now finish the confession of what lead to the promises she'd made to Raoul that night.
"I hated La Carlotta for being desperate or spiteful enough to come back. Secretly, I wanted you to do something to embarrass them all that night. And you did. I got the role I deserved and I was glad. It was petty and vengeful, and I didn't care in those few minutes.
"And then Buquet fell."
"And you were afraid of me."
"I was afraid of you," she agreed tentatively, "because you always fulfilled my dreams. I know that Buquet watched me. I know he hunted you. But--good girls don't wish bad things, even on bad people."
"What happened to him was deserved."
"Yes, and when I saw him collapsing to the stage, all the pleasure I'd gotten out of winning felt very ugly. I didn't want to near it. I--I was weak and ran."
"And took the viscount to protect him."
Christine looked down at her hands. "Raoul is a childhood friend. When life was different, when Father was still alive. I--I didn't want him tainted by all the things I felt guilty about. And when he asked what was wrong, why I ran--I didn't understand myself well enough to tell him the truth. I didn't even realize what the truth was until the train ride back to Paris."
"And so you made promises you no longer intend to keep." He turned to face her now.
"I wanted time to think. I've almost never had time to think when I most want it. That night was one. I thought that being up here would be enough, that Raoul wouldn't intrude." Erik made a disgusted sound. "I know that now, how his constant reassurances were only to convince me of what he wanted me to think, to feel. I didn't realize that until we escaped the fire. I don't think I truly got the chance until yesterday, when he was so upset."
"With me."
"I never thought it was you, honestly. I always thought it was the countess."
"You would not be far from wrong."
She reached out, touching the wide expanse of his back. His muscles were taunt beneath her fingertips. "What I realized is that while Raoul will always have a special place as my childhood friend, I don't want him as a lover." Fear at the next honesty gripped her heart.
"I want you."
He half-turned so her hand rested on his arm. He didn't need to speak for her to know he didn't believe her.
"You want me," he repeated, his voice low, almost a growl. Christine swallowed again, but nodded, afraid to look away from him again. "Show me. Now."
"Now?" Her voice nearly squeaked. "Here?" She looked around the debris and broken glass. "Where?"
Erik stepped away, looking around but swinging quickly back to the rear of the pegasus statue. Sweeping off his cape, he stepped up onto the balustrade and draped his cloak over the stone back.
"Here."