May 9, 1882
Erik glanced at the clock again. Half past three. Where the hell was Amélie? She should have arrived by this time. Someone knocked at the door. It couldn't have been Amélie, she had a key. "One minute!" he yelled, shuffling aside the stack of scores on his desk and hurrying to the door. When he opened it, an unwelcomely familiar acquaintance stood on the opposite side. "Vahid, Daroga of Mazanderan. To what do I owe the rather dubious pleasure?"
"I wasn't even certain you were still using this house, Erik. I was under the impression that this was Amélie Cammelle's place of residence."
"You knew full well Amélie and I were connected, I know you're the one who sent me that note."
"Guilty as charged. May I come inside, or would you prefer—"
"If you must, you great booby," Erik muttered, stepping aside to let the Persian enter. "How did you find out about her?"
"You would not have taken her below on the night of your opera if you had not had some plan for her. And I spoke with the Vicomte de Chagny after the incident." Erik's grip tightened on the door. "Only to inquire about where you might have gone. Forgive me if I feel responsible for you."
"You are not responsible for Erik. Erik can take care of himself."
"You still do that?"
"Do what?" Erik asked innocently. "I have no notion of what you're talking about, my dear Daroga."
"Just as I left you," Vahid grumbled, striding into the parlor and plucking the finished music box from the end table. "A change from monkeys, hmm?"
"You were in my vaults?" Erik snarled.
"After the incident, everyone in Paris must have been in those vaults, Erik. They're not yours, anyway." Erik sniffed at the observation and gestured for Vahid to put the music box down. The Persian did so, raising an eyebrow.
"Are you going to explain what significance she has in all this, or shall I guess?"
"You remember that time spell I was so fascinated with during my time in the Shah's court?" Erik asked, striding over to pour himself a glass of cognac.
"Tell me you didn't."
"How could I not? I'm hardly the type to resist temptation. Besides that, I found the prospect of putting time at my command rather alluring. But I swear, Amélie activating the spell was a complete accident."
"When is she from, then?"
"Approximately thirteen decades from now. The year 2011. I think she's adapted rather well."
"I didn't suspect when I saw her on my rounds of the opera house."
"Rounds to check on me, you mean." Erik muttered, taking another swallow of his drink. "I know, you consider yourself justified, given the record I have, et cetera. But Amélie, for the most part, seems to do your job just as well. And she has a rather positive and befuddling effect on me."
"Tell me you're not in love with the girl."
"No such thing could ever be possible. She has never been that to me, not even when we kissed." Vahid's jaw dropped to his chest. "It was while we were working through Don Juan Triumphant. We have not spoken of it since."
"I'm stunned. She remains here with you, despite everything? She sounds a most perplexing young woman."
"In many, many ways." Erik agreed. Something thudded at the door.
"I can't believe you're going," Amélie's voice carried through one of the open windows.
"It's part of my responsibility as the Marquis, Amélie. I promise, I'll be back in a week." Daniel's voice replied.
Amélie huffed loudly before saying, "Then go, so you can get back sooner."
"I'm going!" The two of them laughed, and Erik heard the sound of a soft kiss, and, after a moment, a carriage rattling away.
"I'm back!" Amélie yelled, striding inside. Erik rose to greet her, kissing her hair as they met in the foyer. "Well, this is an unexpectedly warm welcome. What've you done that's making you feel the need to coddle me?"
"We have a guest, Amélie, and a rather singular one. Daroga, come here and meet that perplexing young woman we were just discussing." Amélie's jaw dropped at the name Daroga, and dropped even further as Vahid walked over to join them.
"Hello, Miss Cammelle." He gave a small bow, and Amélie bobbed a curtsy in reply. "I hope I've not frightened you."
"No, not frightened, Mr. Daroga, just a little stunned," Amélie answered calmly, "stunned by the fact that you exist."
"Should I not exist?"
"It's a very long story. I don't know how much Erik's told you, but it's quite complicated."
"I completely understand. I have very much enjoyed your performances at the Opera, and it was a pleasure to meet you, but I think I shall be going now. It was a pleasure to meet you."
"Won't you stay longer?" Amélie asked, clearly playing the coy hostess.
"I only came here to check on Erik, and now I have. So, I will take my leave of you both. Until we meet again." Vahid bowed and stepped out the door, closing it behind him, and leaving Amélie standing awestruck.
"The Persian's real," she whispered breathlessly. "How's that possible? I thought… oooh, my head hurts." She rubbed her forehead. "Anyway, what have you been up to?"
"Nothing much, really, just a partnership with Henri Larocque until the end of your contract."
"Really? So, getting back to your operatic roots, hmmm?" Amélie grinned. "Glad to hear it. So, what are you planning for the remainder of the season? Così fan tutti, perhaps?"
"We've already given a Mozart, I'm not in the mood for another. I had been considering Il Matrimonio Segreto. A charming little piece, and I think you would make a sweet Carolina."
"Then can we please do Così as my final show in September? I really want to sing Fiordiligi."
"Let's see, we have three more productions for this season, and two for next season, which starts at the end of August. I suppose we can give a Così for your last show."
"Yay!" Amélie hugged him eagerly. "Thank you! Oh, it's gonna be good!"
"Don't get too excited, you still have four productions before that." Amélie's features immediately twisted into a pout at his words. "I have a little welcome back gift for you."
"You do? What is it? Hey!" she squeaked as he covered her eyes. "Erik, I can't see!"
"That's the point. It's a surprise."
"Then couldn't you just tell me to wait here?" she demanded as he guided her into the parlor. "Will you please just take your hands off my eyes?"
"Keep them closed."
"Fine! Just let go of my face!" Amélie kept her eyes shut as he lifted his hands off.
"Cup your palms and hold them out." Amélie did so and felt something land in her palms. "You can open your eyes now."
"Oh!" She was looking down at a little gold box decorated with blue lacquer and white crystals. "Is it a jewelry box?"
"Turn it over." Amélie obeyed, locating the key.
"A music box? What does it play?" Erik didn't answer. "Oh, I get it. Fine, here goes." She twisted the little knob and the lid opened to display a delicate twisting sculpture of blue and gold glass, while a lilting tune chimed out. "Oh, Erik, it's lovely! Did you write this?"
"I did. And you like it?"
"I love it! Did it take long to make?"
"I had quite a bit of free time, even with my new job. It was easy enough."
"Well, thank you." She kissed his cheek. "It'll be a great souvenir to bring back home."
"Amélie… there's something I need to talk to you about."
"I have something too," she murmured. "Do you want to go first?"
"Yes, please." He gestured to the sofa. "Sit down. Do you want a drink?"
"No, thanks." She settled into the couch, playing with the music box. "So, what is it? What do you need to talk about?" Erik didn't answer her, but walked over to refill his glass. "Hey. Hey, don't you dare ignore me. You said you wanted to talk, now talk."
"Someone's impatient," he murmured, and Amélie glared in response. "Ah, very well. You've been here for several months, and I've actually grown to enjoy your company. Although it's more than that. I've come to see you rather like my conscience. And my friend."
"Erik…" she bit her lip, getting an inkling of where he was going. "Whatever you're getting at, just get to it."
"I want you to stay. I'm better with you here. I care about you." She didn't answer him. She couldn't think of a proper response to such things. "I know you miss your family, and your old life. But you also have a life here now, Amélie. There are people who care about you, people who love you. There's Meg, and your other friends at the opera, there's me, there's Daniel. Can you really leave them all behind?"
"Erik—"
"How am I supposed to explain my sister disappearing into thin air to everyone? And do tell me how you expect Daniel to take that news?"
"I don't expect him to," Amélie whispered.
"What was that?"
"I said I don't expect him to take that news because I want to tell him the truth!" Amélie screamed. "And you wouldn't know anything about it! You don't know what it's like to be in love!"
"Don't you dare—"
"OH, I'LL FUCKING DARE! BECAUSE I HAD IT, ERIK! I HAD A FAMILY BACK HOME! I HAD FRIENDS, PEOPLE WHO CARE ABOUT ME, PEOPLE WHO ARE WAITING FOR ME! YOU THINK IT'S BAD NEVER HAVING ANYONE LOVE YOU! NO, THERE'S SOMETHING WORSE. THERE'S SOMETHING WAY WORSE! IT'S LOSING PEOPLE YOU LOVE AND NEVER GETTING TO TELL THEM! NEVER GETTING TO SAY I LOVE YOU BEFORE YOU GO. EVERY NIGHT, I GO TO BED, AND I SEE THEM. I SEE MY SISTER, AND HER FAMILY!" She sank onto one of the sofa's cushions. "I… I was never fond of her husband, Charles. I thought he was rude, and arrogant, and a right smarmy twat, but he made her so happy. He probably saved her life. I need to thank him for that. And my friends… I need to apologize for every time I pulled the plug on their silly little fights, and… I can't let this be the last time I see them. Look, I'm telling Daniel the truth about me, with or without your permission. And I'm moving out." The last one was a bit of an afterthought, but he just had her so frustrated!
"Amélie—"
"Thank you for the gift." She placed the music box back on the table, rose, and strode to the foyer, grabbing her trunk by the handle and marching out the door. It slammed shut behind her, and it was only then Amélie realized exactly how stupid she'd just been. She had no idea where to go, and, on top of it all, it was looking like rain. "Bugger," she muttered, tugging her trunk down the walkway and along the street. "Bugger, bugger, bu— OH, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY!" she screamed as thunder roared and the rain began dumping down on her. Within mere moments, she was soaked to the bone, and her jacket was at the bottom of her trunk. Defeated, she set the trunk on its side and sank onto it, sobbing noisily. A carriage rattled to a halt, splashing mud onto her skirts.
"Amélie?" Roger Delaurier's head poked out of the carriage window. "Are you all right, my dear?" Without letting her answer, he gestured to the driver, who immediately climbed down and opened the carriage door for her. "Get in, before you catch your death!" She didn't need to be told twice, and climbed in, leaving her trunk for the driver to retrieve. "Here." Roger handed her his coat, helping her wrap it around her body. "If you don't mind my asking, what happened?"
"I had a falling out with Bastien," Amélie answered.
"May I ask what caused it?" Roger closed the door and the carriage began moving again.
"We had a disagreement over confidentiality, and I decided to move out."
"Seems a bit hasty." Roger's tone reminded her of the one Thomas Cammelle had used every time he'd caught her researching on the internet in the wee hours of the morning. It was a tone that said, Amélie, what on earth were you thinking, you had to know this was a bad idea.
"I know," she grumbled. "But he made me so mad, I had to!"
"I don't think that was very wise, Amélie. He is your brother, after all, and your employer now." Roger searched her face. "That's not what the problem is, is it?"
"No! No, I'm glad he's got a job, I think he was getting restless with nothing to do." Amélie picked at her nails. "It was about Daniel."
"Ah. Is he against you seeing the Marquis? I thought they got along very well."
"Oh, they do!" Amélie assured him. "But Bastien and I have different views on how much we should let Daniel into our lives."
"Then it's a matter of time?"
"Roger, I'd prefer not to talk about this, please," Amélie said quietly.
"Of course, Amélie. I didn't mean to upset you. You're more than welcome to stay with me and Violette for as long as you need."
"Your wife won't mind?"
"My dear Amélie, Violette's been quite eager to meet you ever since she saw you sing Pamina. She considers you a marvel."
"And yet, this is the first I'm hearing of it?"
"She doesn't much care for crowds, so she doesn't attend galas or balls, and she only goes to the opera when she likes the stories. She met Carlotta once and spent a week trembling in bed afterwards."
"Goodness, she sounds impressionable," Amélie remarked.
"Gentle as a lamb, and just as sweet," Roger agreed. "But that is what drew me to her. So, please, mind that wit of yours."
"You think I'm clever?"
"I think you've got a sharp tongue that you ought to sheathe more often, particularly if you want to continue as the mistress of an aristocrat."
"Mistress!" Amélie squeaked indignantly.
"That is what you are, for the time being, Amélie. There is no ring upon your finger suggesting an engagement."
"But he's not paying me, and I'm not sleeping with him!" she replied huffily. "So, as I see it, I'm not his mistress."
"Then what are you?" Roger asked. His question seemed light and conversational, especially considering the topic of their conversation.
"I'm his," she said simply. "And he's mine. It's that simple."
"You are a bizarre child," Roger murmured, leaning back as if to get a better look at her.
"I've heard that more often than you might think," Amélie murmured, staring out the window.