Author's Note: The song that Christine sings here is 'Salvation' by Gabrielle Aplin. Thank you to my reviewers, followers, and the like! And to those people who read this story but don't leave reviews, WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING? *pokes you all with a stick*

( fourteen )

ANGEL OF MUSIC

1876

Two hours after dinner, the staff of the Opéra Populaire were getting ready to retire for the night. Within Jovan's dormitory, Maeva and Tess had already fallen asleep while Jovan busied herself with reading. Her eyes were focused on the obituary column of the newspaper she held in her hands as she sat on her bed, her eyebrows knitted as her lips quietly moved with the words written on the paper, but not a sound escaped them.

She felt a weight press on her bed and she looked up to see Elea with a tired expression. "Who died?" the ballerina asked.

"No one important," Jovan replied as casually as she could.

Elea looked apologetic as she spoke. "Jo, do you mind doing me a favor?"

Jovan quickly folded the newspaper and put it aside on her nightstand as she gave a small smile. "You don't have to ask, you know."

"Would you kindly fetch Christine from the chapel? I know it's that day of the week, but I don't want her outside at this hour, especially after the incident with Sophie. I'd fetch her myself but my feet hurt too much from rehearsals today."

Jovan recalled an incident that occurred earlier that week where Madame Giry had caught one of the older stagehands trying to force himself on Sophie, one of the ballet rats, during a late hour. The girl had clearly wanted nothing to do with the stagehand, and the ballet headmistress had caught them just in time before anything could happen. They were found in a dark corner of the auditorium when Madame Giry was making a round of the opera house. The stagehand was immediately sacked the next day.

"Sure, give me a moment," Jovan answered and Elea thanked her with an apology for disturbing her before returning to her bed.

After putting on her dressing gown, Jovan went to grab her scissors from her nightstand for the sake of having something to defend herself with if she came across trouble. As she rummaged through her drawers, she saw that the object was nowhere in sight. Jovan tried not to think about her missing scissors too much at that moment and simply came to the conclusion that she had misplaced them. Instead, she took the letter opener from her second drawer before slipping out of the room.

Stepping into the corridors, she saw that none of the candelabras were lit and every inch of the place was covered with darkness. Jovan decided to use this to her advantage and hid herself in the shadows as she made her way to the chapel, so as to avoid bumping into anybody who could be roaming around. She managed in navigating through the corridors in the dark without fail, especially with a sight that had adapted quite well to the dark. Soon, she found herself in front of the entrance of the chapel.

Jovan saw that the door was shut from the inside as she tried to open it to no success. While she wanted to return as soon as possible with Christine, she didn't want to have to rudely interrupt the girl's prayers. Putting her hands against the door, she leaned against it and pressed her ear against the surface and listened.

She expected silence, or perhaps the soft whispers of a prayer being muttered, but Jovan was rather surprised to hear... singing?

Jovan pulled away for a moment to process what she just heard before she pressed back her ear against the door. Was that Christine singing? Jovan had never heard the girl sing, and found herself in awe as she listened to the melodious voice behind the door. It was clear and soft, reminding her of the gentle ringing of small bells and the whistles of songbirds in spring.

"You are the avalanche,
One world away.
My make believing
While I'm wide awake.

"Just a trick of light
To bring me back around again.
Those wild eyes,
A psychedelic silhouette."

Jovan didn't realize that she had closed her eyes until she blinked them open in surprise. The singing had stopped, and Elea's request immediately came rushing back to her. She opened her mouth to call out Christine's name when she heard the girl resume her singing. But Jovan realized that she was repeating the lyrics and her pitch had changed. She decided not to dwell on it as she breathed in deeply upon pulling away from the door.

"Christine," she called out and she heard the girl fall silent. "Elea sent me to fetch you. I hate to interrupt you, but it's growing late."

The silence lasted for a minute before Jovan heard the door creak open and Christine's head popped out. Her cheeks were tinted red.

"I'm deeply sorry," she began as she stepped out of the chapel. "I didn't realize the time."

Jovan took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze as she began to led Christine away. "You don't have to apologize. We were worried for your safety is all."

As they began to walk away from the chapel, Jovan shot a glance behind her shoulder towards the entrance of the chapel. She saw that the room was dark, save for a spot that was illuminated by moonlight filtering through the stained glass window. She wanted to talk to Christine about her singing, but Jovan decided to save it for another time, content to drown in the silence of the night for the meantime.

Erik was set on causing havoc once again as he heard the new lead soprano, Clarisse Roques, stretch out a note out of proportion in the auditorium. The woman sounded like a damn banshee, for heaven's sake! Either the soprano was going to have to fix the way she hit her notes or she can say goodbye to her career before it could even launch.

He made his way through the tunnels hidden with the opera house's walls in silence. He considered writing another note but he put the idea aside in favor of letting the new soprano feel his wrath for the first time. The Opera Ghost had been silent for the past few months, and Erik decided it was time for him to make his presence known once more. He began to list off ideas of what kind of 'accident' he could create when he heard a loud and heated exchange between two people not far from his spot.

Erik followed the sound until he found himself before one of the numerous two-way mirrors scattered throughout the passageways. This one led to one of the dormitories. From his side within the hidden tunnel, the mirror was covered with a black curtain that gave the people who resided within the room some privacy ― Erik was a gentleman, after all. He was quick to recognize one of the voices as belonging to Jovan before he even pulled back the curtain.

He saw that the room was occupied by two people alone ― Jovan and one of the ballet rats, Elea Neveu. They were obviously in the middle of an argument, and it was not a pretty sight. Elea had a piece of newspaper in her hand while Jovan's hands were balled into fists. The ballerina suddenly waved the paper before Jovan's face and the redhead grabbed it before flinging it onto the floor.

"Maybe some sick part of me wants him dead, how about that?" Jovan spat at her friend.

Elea had a scowl on her face. "No one else needs to die, Jovan. You can just―"

"Just what?" Jovan scoffed. "Come out of hiding? Is that what you were going to suggest? As if it were that easy!"

"Then come clean! Tell the authorities what Rémi did―"

Jovan cut off the ballerina again as her voice lowered dangerously. "Don't you say his name.

"...I'm sorry, it slipped," Elea sighed as she calmed down for a second.

"Come clean," Jovan bit out in an acid tone as she swiped up the newspaper from the floor. "And slander the family name? I don't think so!"

Erik tried his best to wrap his mind around all these new information that he was gaining from eavesdropping. He already knew that Jovan was hiding for some reason, but it was only now that he was getting a grasp of how thorny her situation was. What company where they talking about? Whose family name? Who was this Rémi that she seemed to despise?

He didn't realize that he had tuned out their voices until he heard a loud crash from within room. He saw that Jovan was standing a foot away from her nightstand and the lamp that had been on it now lied in pieces on the floor, shattered glass surrounding it. Elea had her back against the door with both her hands covering her mouth. Her eyes were watering, but Erik could not be sure whether it was out of fear of Jovan, or heartache for her friend's situation.

A heavy silence filled the room as Jovan dropped the newspaper on the floor. Erik presumed that out of anger, she had knocked the lamp from her nightstand. Jovan turned her back to the mirror in their dormitory and the sound that escaped her lips made Erik's heart sink. A sob strangled its way out of her throat as she rushed towards the door Elea stood against. The ballerina remained rooted to her spot but she opened her arms to wrap Jovan in an embrace as the redhead dashed to her. Jovan was deathly still in Elea's arms as the ballerina opened the door and led both of them out of the room.

Erik saw the moment as his chance to quench his curiosity about Jovan's plight, which seemed complex than he thought. All thoughts of tormenting the new lead soprano left his mind as he unlocked the two-way mirror and pushed it out of its place. His footfalls were silent as he stepped into the dormitory.

A few words of comfort were all it took to drive back the tears as Elea gave Jovan one last hug before she made her way back to the auditorium. But the real reason that kept Jovan from tearing at the seams again was because she refused to let herself fall apart again just because of some damn newspaper. She took a moment to compose herself outside the dormitories as she took in deep breaths, her arms wrapped around herself. In the auditorium, the sound of an aria being sung by the new lead soprano drifted toward her ears.

Once Jovan was able to regain her composure, her mind wandered to the mess that she had created back in her dormitory, after her temper had gotten the best of her. She would have to clean that up before anyone else could walk in and question what had happened. She gave a quiet sigh as she began to head back towards her shared room.

As she opened the door and entered, the sight that greeted her inside struck her cold. Erik stood a few feet away from her nightstand, the newspaper in his hands.

Her heart hammered painfully but she ignored the ache in her chest as she began to walk towards Erik with the intent of grabbing the paper from him. But when she was a mere foot away from him, her foot landed on a fragment of glass, and she stopped at the sound of it being crushed. He raised his gaze to her, and something about the look in his eyes told her that what she had in mind would not be a wise thing to do.

Jovan quietly sucked in a steadying breath as she backed a step away, careful not to break eye contact with Erik. Her mind raced to figure out how he had managed to enter the dormitory without her noticing and whether or not he had witnessed her fight with Elea. Her eyes flickered to the newspaper he held and she wondered whether he actually knew the significance of the item he held in his hands right now.

"I thought we agreed not to use the dead as muses," he remarked, his tone calm but devoid of any emotion that might betray his thoughts at the moment.

Jovan didn't know what to feel as he faced towards her the side of the newspaper that he had been reading ― the obituary column. She knew Erik didn't mean what he said about muses and such, but it was an opening for the topic that they were about to broach. She opened her mouth to speak, but could think of nothing to say as she found herself at a loss for words. Instead, she stepped to the side and sat herself at the foot of her bed, careful to keep away from the shards of her broken lamp. Her legs were stretched out before her.

After a brief moment, she felt Erik seat himself on the edge of her bed as he put the newspaper on her nightstand. She watched as he prodded one of the broken pieces of glass with his boot. Jovan knew that there was something that needed to be addressed within the room, but she wasn't quite sure what it was. Instead, she said the first thing that came to her mind.

"You said you were a musician."

Erik's attention was whisked away from the broken lamp to the girl seated on the floor. He arched a brow at her, wondering where the question had come from. It was the last thing that he expected to hear from her.

"I did, yes," he replied quietly.

"Do you sing or do you play an instrument?"

"Both."

Jovan blinked, the only way that she could convey her surprise in her emotionally exhausted state. Erik found himself wishing that that wouldn't be the end of their conversation ― after all, music was his passion. He longed to be prodded more about his talents in that area, but he kept silent, waiting for her next words. But he couldn't help but wonder where the sudden interest had come from. He hadn't even heard her sing just once ever since she arrived.

She brought one knee to her chest and rested both her hands above her knee. "That explains your sharp ear for spotting faults with the singers and the orchestra."

"Indeed, it does," he confirmed.

"How did you learn?"

"I taught myself. You could say that I was a prodigy."

"I'm not surprised."

"And how about you? Are words everything there are to you?"

He watched as hesitation played across her features, her cheeks slightly tinted by a red shade. Where had that even come from? Erik quietly berated himself. His words had surprised him as much as it did his current companion. But there was no going back. He could only hope that he hadn't hit a nerve and that he would receive an actual answer to his question, and not a witty retort or anything of the like.

"I... hold all kinds of art, especially music, with high regard, but I find that my talents only lie in one field ― writing."

"But what of music? Have you ever tried testing your abilities in that field?" Erik already knew that she had no musical talents, as she'd pointed out to Monsieur Lefèvre when she first arrived, but it didn't hurt to make sure.

She licked her lips. "I did, but my lack of interest in playing any instrument made it difficult for me to pick up on the ways to play them. And I can't pick up a tune to save my life. As a result, I find it hard to hit the right notes."

Erik watched her as she spoke and saw that something about answering his question troubled her, if there was something to be read out of how restless she was acting. Her fingers were drumming against her knee and her gaze kept on moving from one place to another. He tried to fathom a reason behind her behavior and what was it about music that put her on edge. Was she that ashamed of her lack of any musical talents?

"And you find yourself wishing that that were not the case," he stated.

"Of course! I mean, who wouldn't?"

"Why would you?"

"...My father."

Erik arched an brow. What did her father have to do with their subject? But he decided not to reply, hoping she'd take his silence as a sign to continue what she had on her tongue. And she did.

"My father. He... he used to sing. He was a lead tenor."

"He was?"

Jovan glanced at him with a soft look in her eyes. "He used to work here."

She trusted him, didn't she? Of course she did ― their current conversation was proof that she did. Her talents, or rather lack of, in the field of music was always a subject that left her flustered, and yet, there she sat, just having spilled how incompetent she was with music. And to open up like that to a self-proclaimed musician and a prodigy ― it was shameful. Did he think any less of her now? Jovan hoped not.

And then there was the subject of her father. Now that she thought of it, telling him certain details of her life didn't seem too bad of an idea. Besides, she doubted a man somehow living within the Opéra Populaire would have a lot of people to gossip with, much less those who were part of high society. And when he'd interrogated her back in the chapel those months ago... now that she thought of it, he did have every reason to be worried if she did pose a threat to the opera house. The Opéra Populaire was his home, after all.

She searched his eyes and saw surprise in them with an unmistakable glint of curiosity. "What was his name?" he inquired.

"Raphael. He worked here long before I was born, and, from what I'm told, he was quite the performer."

Erik gave a hum, a trace of a grin on his face.

Jovan felt a flutter in her chest. This... this wasn't so bad after all. She felt as if the weight in her chest had grown lighter, even if it was just in the slightest bit. Maybe opening up wasn't as bad as she thought. Her thoughts drifted back to Elea, the ballerina and her friend since childhood. Her one and only confidante, since even Mateo didn't know of the truth behind her stay at the opera house. Oh, Elea. Jovan knew she ought to apologize to her later after her display of anger. Her eyes darted to the smithereens of the lamp she had broken. Elea had honestly looked terrified for a split second when Jovan had given in to her temper...

She heaved a sigh. Her anger and her tears were two things that she knew she had to control more if she wanted to survive. An intake of breath, and Jovan managed to calm the torrent of voices in her head. She didn't want to have to deal with them at the moment. For now, all she wanted to do was to continue her conversation with Erik. What were they talking about again? Ah, yes ― music.

Speaking of music...

"May I hear you sing?"

She watched with a hint of amusement as surprise flooded his amber and green eyes once more. Erik arched a brow at her. She gave a shrug of one shoulder before she switched her gaze to the door of the dormitory, and there her eyes stayed. Until the sound of a soft note drifted to her ears.

Erik stilled at her request as he stared at her in surprise, one eyebrow arched at her. His eyes did not leave her even as she gave a shrug and let her gaze drift back to the door of the room. Where had that come from?

He blinked. At this point, he really shouldn't be too surprised now of the things that left Jovan's mouth. He'd observed that the girl had a habit of saying out loud whatever words were on her tongue and mind at the moment, even if she sometimes came to regret what she'd said (much like him, sometimes). He shook his head as he thought over her request when a thought came unbidden from the back of his mind.

What of that night? The opening night where she had gotten drunk and he had sung her to sleep? Erik felt a stab in his heart as he realized that there was a good chance that she remembered nothing of what had transpired on that night. But he couldn't bring himself to believe it ― couldn't she remember even at least one moment? Their proximity in the corridor? Her questions about Ayesha? His challenge for her, her plan to sacrifice him, how she cried into her pillow, the lullabye that he sang for her ― anything at all?

He shook his head when he noticed that Jovan was still silent, probably waiting for his reply. He surfaced back to reality and felt like berating himself. Why did he even care if she remembered?

But he did care, didn't he? He didn't know exactly when, where, or how, but it was just suddenly there ― the fact that he cared about her. Her, the very first person who had the nerve to engage him in a conversation at first sight. She didn't run away, no. Instead, she had stayed and talked to him. She didn't treat him like a ghost at all, but she saw him as a human.

And who else had shown him that kind of light in his world of darkness? Besides Antoinette, besides a few faces during his adventures around the world... no one else.

And damn him if he was going to deny her such a simple request, a chance to once again share his gift of music to her.

And so, Erik sang to her.