"No, no, no, no…"
Groans filled the room as the piano stopped one more time. Mr. Gabriel sighed and rubbed his hair in frustration—it was already standing straight on end, and although it wasn't even lunchtime, he looked exhausted.
"Ms. Guidicelli, you're still coming in a half-beat too early here. And one—and one and two and three…" he said, trying to demonstrate.
Carlotta Guidicelli flicked her dark hair in annoyance and straightened her score. "I could do this right if only I hear what is playing!" she snapped, giving a glare to the ensemble behind her, all of whom were completely silent, waiting for her to continue.
Mr. Gabriel looked at them and said dully, "Quiet down, everyone, please."
Christine was glad for the break she was having. As Carlotta would be singing most of the opera, they had gone straight to her parts the first day of rehearsal. The music was fast and not exactly pleasant to listen to, and it was setting everyone on edge. The company was eager to start, though, as a real performance hadn't been put on in months.
Upon their arrival Mr. Gabriel had greeted them all cordially and then had said in a no-nonsense sort of way: "Listen, everyone. I know that there's been lots of gossip going around, and even though there's been an official statement, I'm just going to repeat it so we don't waste our rehearsal time. The fire was caused by some faulty wiring, and it overheated during the production. While the damage was being fixed, all of the wiring was inspected or replaced, so there's no chance of that happening again. I know it was scary for everyone, but thankfully no one was hurt, and we can move on to our next production. We don't have a lot of time to rehearse, so we need to be focused and disciplined."
There had been some excited murmuring, but when the piano had started, it settled comfortably. Christine still felt a little anxious. Was it her imagination, or did Mr. Gabriel's gaze flicker toward her a bit more than usual while he was talking? Did he somehow know about this whole fiasco? She had no idea how he would. And Erik hadn't ever officially claimed that he had started the fire—though she was pretty sure he had.
Carlotta continued her songs, pausing often to hear Mr. Gabriel's comments. A few ensemble members were growing restless. Christine could see them shifting around in their seats, glancing toward each other and the clock. Behind her a few mezzos started gossiping in hushed voices, their conversation unable to carry to the front because of Carlotta. However, Christine heard them quite clearly.
"I heard she auditioned for a few other places during the break," one of them said. "But no one would take her."
"So she's stuck here forever," the second one replied disdainfully. "How lucky for us…"
They continued to hiss back and forth, and Christine didn't pay much more attention until the second one said, "And do you remember what happened with that nice understudy?"
"Oh yes, the Italian one. Ella or Eleanor or something."
"Well, that 'accident' sent her packing back to Venice." The way the second woman said 'accident' made Christine sure that they had looked at each other knowingly. Carefully, she tilted her head a little so she could hear their conversation better, her score spread on her lap in pretense of following along with Carlotta's ringing voice.
"Reyer was in love with that girl. He would've made her the lead if that cow's contract hadn't been in the way, and she knew it, so she had to get rid of her somehow. Poor girl. Everyone liked her."
"What about that new girl?" the first one questioned. "The one that sang at the gala?"
Christine felt her stomach clench. They were talking about her.
"Shh!" whispered the second one. "She's right there."
They paused, and Christine did her best to look like she had no idea what they were saying. She acted as naturally as she could, though her heart was racing. After a few long moments, the gossip started again.
"It's no secret that she has talent," the second woman began again, making her voice as low and raspy as possible, as if doing so would make it indistinguishable. "Once she's older, she'll definitely be competition, so what does that cow do? Marches right up to the managers to get that role switched."
"No way! Really?" rasped the first woman. "But they don't cast roles…"
"They have the final say," was the low reply. "So they cut her out. If she's shoved into the chorus for too long, she'll be stuck there, and that's just what that Spanish cow—"
"Ladies, please," Mr. Gabriel suddenly snapped at them. "Enough talking. Listen up."
Christine's mouth felt dry, and a numb sensation spread over her that she could not seem to shake off. She returned from lunch feeling exactly the same, which was difficult, as they were starting to practice the scenes with her in them. The music was already difficult, and coupled with the distracted buzzing in her mind, she found it much harder than usual. Mr. Gabriel had to pause several times to remind her of certain things or correct her, and when he had finally moved on to work with someone else, she was bright red, aware of the mutinous, doubting whispers going on all around her.
All in all, it had been a horrible first day back, made even worse by the fact that she was not allowed to leave, but had to go down the halls toward her old practice room, where Erik was waiting for her.
She shivered as she gathered up her things. It had been four days since she had seen him last. Four days of absolutely no contact. It was strange. After being continually in his company for weeks, she had grown used to him.
Making her way to the back hallways, she felt dread beginning to wash over her. Nervously, she ran a thumb over the gold band on her left hand to ensure that it was still there. He needed to see it on her, to make sure that she had been obedient.
Before disappearing around a corner, she heard someone shout her name, and she turned to see bright blonde hair approach. Meg ran toward her and then, to Christine's surprise, flung her arms around her.
"I'm so glad to see you!" Meg said, squeezing her tightly one more time and then stepping back. "I looked for you after the fire, but I couldn't find you, and then I heard that your old boyfriend was asking around and saying that he couldn't get a hold of you, and…Yeah. I was just really worried. It was like you had disappeared from the face of the earth!"
"Heh," Christine replied awkwardly, shifting her bag on her shoulder. "I'm fine. I was just visiting family for the break."
"That's nice," Meg said, smiling at last. Then she looked at Christine closely and frowned again. "You look…"
"Terrible, I know," Christine said, attempting to laugh it away. "I, um…I caught a nasty bug. I'm fine now. Not contagious or anything, but I look like a crazy person right now."
She had been more than a little shocked when she had looked into a mirror for the first time in six weeks. Her skin was drawn, pale, and dry; her eyes seemed too big for her face; her hair hung limply around her back and shoulders, and she looked thinner than ever—but not in a healthy way. A few days of walking and sunshine had helped a little, but she still looked ill.
"Okay," Meg said, easily accepting the lie because she had no reason to think otherwise. "I'm just really glad you're okay, Christine! That whole night was just a disaster for you, wasn't it?"
"Yep," she said. "But hopefully things will be okay now."
"I'm sure they will be."
They chatted together for a few more minutes, mostly discussing rehearsals and the upcoming production. After a few minutes, Meg glanced at her phone and grimaced.
"Sorry, I have to go," she said, hugging Christine tightly once more. "Mom's waiting for me. Let's catch up some more over lunch sometime soon, okay?"
Christine watched her go, and when her blonde hair had whipped around one final corner, she headed over to the small practice room, her nerves starting to build once again. For a long moment, she stood outside the door, breathing deeply. She had promised to do this, to come back for lessons.
Finally, she reached out and pushed open the door, her eyes going to the piano, behind which he stood, tall and skeletally-thin, watching her carefully.
"Hi," she said, closing the door behind her and taking a few careful steps into the room.
"You're very nearly late," he said, his voice a little chilly.
She winced a little. "Sorry. I was talking to Meg Giry."
He paused. "The ballet mistress's daughter? She is your friend, then?"
For a moment, she was dead silent, staring. What if he got mad that she had a friend? What if he went out and…hurt Meg? She couldn't possibly see a reason for him to think Meg posed any threat to him, but Erik didn't think like normal people.
He sensed her hesitation. "Don't look so alarmed. I was attempting to be a conversationalist, but perhaps I shouldn't even try. I'm dreadful at it, aren't I?"
Hurriedly, she stuttered a reply: "Oh—I…No. I don't think—"
He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "You needn't spare my feelings. Let's begin our warm ups."
Gratefully, she moved toward the piano. This was familiar—the music never felt awkward. They practiced for quite a while, as she hadn't made progress during rehearsals today, and she was still having a lot of trouble with the music. By the end of the lesson, she felt a bit better about it, thanks to Erik's strict, superb teaching.
As she packed up her music, she glanced toward him, wondering if she should bring it up. Tucking a few curls behind her ear, she straightened and said carefully, "Hey, Erik?"
He looked to her expectantly.
"Today at rehearsals…I heard some people talking. They said that—that Ms. Guidicelli…went to the managers about my part in Figaro." She felt a little embarrassed talking about this for some reason. Everything was always about her, and it always had been. She felt incredibly self-centered about it all. It was her parts and her singing and her feelings that mattered, and Erik catered to it all.
"As I've said before, Carlotta Guidicelli is a jealous viper. She intends to discredit you as a means to remove any threat to her position. The managers were all too eager to go along with her."
"Oh," she said, trying not to show how hurt she was.
"It won't happen again," Erik said firmly. "You'll be singing in Elektra. You are ready, and I want you to have your debut."
"Okay." She nodded. "I'll work hard, then."
He fixed her with a stern look. "Good. I won't have my protégé being an embarrassment to the company."
Summer was still in full, the days long and warm, and Christine squinted out of the bus windows, the sun in her eyes. She was trying to ensure that she got off at the right stop. For a while, she watched a few kids riding their bikes, clearly laughing and yelling loudly, enjoying their time off of school. She smiled, remembering how much she had liked her vacation time as a child. Paris was beautiful in the summer, and she remembered strolling along the Seine with her father.
She had visited his grave every day after being released from Erik's house. It was small and in an overgrown portion of the cemetery. The gravestone was just a little rectangle, simple and inexpensive, and it saddened her to see. She wished she could have afforded something more beautiful. Still, she attempted to clean it up a bit and had put fresh flowers around the headstone.
The time there had been long and thoughtful. She had spoken to him quietly, telling him about her time with Erik and how confused she was about everything. It wasn't as if any sudden inspiration came to her, no whisperings or anything, but talking did help, and it was nice to see him, as she hadn't been to his grave in all those weeks of staying with Erik.
The sun lingered, and Christine at last descended at the right stop, anxious to get home and eat something and then relax in a bath. The apartment complex was cool, and she headed up in the elevator, her hand curled around her keys.
As the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, she made to exit, but then stopped short, staring.
Raoul stared back, looking equally surprised. He had been just about to enter the elevator.
"Oh," she said. "Hi."
"Oh—yeah. Hey," he said, looking a little flustered. He visibly tried to gather himself. "I can't believe you're here—you're never here when I knock."
"Do you knock a lot, then?" she asked, stepping out of the elevator so it wouldn't close on her.
"Oh—well, a few times," he said, and then she noticed he was holding something, because he held it out to her. "I went up to my mom's place a few weeks ago. My sister had her baby. And you left your dress there over Easter."
"Oh!" She hadn't even noticed, probably too upset at her breakup with Raoul to be concerned about her clothes, and as she hadn't gone to anywhere fancy since then, she had had no reason to look for it. Smiling in return, she took it from him. "Thanks a lot. And congratulations about your sister!"
"Yeah." There was a long stretch of silence. "Anyway," he said bracingly. "How...um, how are you?"
"Fine," she said. "You?"
"Good. Yep. Staying busy. Working a lot. You?"
"Same," she said, feeling that the conversation was somewhat roundabout at this point. "I'm at the Opera House most of the day."
"Are you guys going to put on a show sometime? Are you in it? Maybe I could see it one night."
"Yeah, they're putting on Elektra in a few weeks. You can get tickets now. I'm in it." She was feeling self-conscious and worried and a little pleased. Try as she might, she could not fight down that lingering attraction to him. He was everything she had ever wanted—safety and security and warmth and understanding. But if Erik knew that Raoul had been loitering on her doorstep at night…
"Cool," he said. "I'll look into it." She thought that that would be the end of the conversation, but instead he actually leaned in a little more, looking at her carefully. "Hey, how are you really?" he then said, his voice soft and concerned. "Are you doing okay?"
She nodded instantly. "Fine."
"I mean, I know it's already been months, but…I just worry about you sometimes, here all alone."
At that moment, Christine chose to push her hair out of her face, and Raoul caught sight of the ring on her finger. His expression dropped.
"Oh—oh," he said stutteringly. "Oh, I didn't realize…I…"
She realized what he was talking about and quickly stowed her hand behind her back. "No, it's not…" she said hurriedly. "Raoul, it's not that. It's just—it's a present. From a friend. It doesn't mean anything."
His expression cleared a little. "Oh. Yeah. I see. Well…"
"Thanks for bringing my dress," she then said, instantly horrified with herself. She had to get away from him immediately.
"No problem," he said, smiling again at her. She had forgotten how wonderful his smile was. Then he glanced at his phone to check the time. "Oh. I need to be off. I'm meeting someone at seven."
"Oh. Well. Yeah, thanks again."
"It's no big deal. And hey…" He approached and put a hand on her shoulder. "If you need anything, you know where to find me. Don't hesitate to ask, okay? Or if you just need…y'know, someone to talk to."
"Right," she said, nodding. "Thanks."
He gave her shoulder a soft squeeze and then leaned over to open the elevator once again. Christine headed back inside her apartment, feeling horrible and guilty and slightly nauseous. What was wrong with her? She was messed up. The last thing she should be doing was smiling and talking to Raoul. She knew how dangerous it was, and yet she had gone right along with his intimate manner; she had known just what she was doing, and still she let herself be pulled in.
"Enough," she said firmly to herself, heading over to draw her bath. "That's enough, Christine."
There was no way she would ever call him for anything. He was like an addiction—even though she knew how dangerous it was, she still seemed to succumb. With an angry, flustered sigh, she rubbed her forehead, her eyes aching.
And what was worse was that she had even gone as far as to dismiss the ring on her finger.
She looked at it, wondering quietly. What if that ring never came off? What if a wedding ring would never go there? Her thoughts drifted to rehearsal. A nice-looking baritone had smiled at her as she had packed up for lunch, and she had looked away hurriedly. If Erik wasn't controlling her, she might have had the courage to smile back, an invitation for him to approach her. Thankfully, it didn't seem like Erik had noticed any of this, and Christine wanted to keep it that way. The less people she involved in this mixed-up relationship, the better, she knew, but of course she had had to swoon over Raoul again the moment he reappeared. She knew better than that—she did. She just had to content herself with the fact that this was her life now, and without Erik's permission, it would never be anything else.
It wasn't long before he wanted her back with him. Just two short weeks after her release, he told her to come back down and spend the upcoming weekend in his underground house. Christine had agreed instantly, not daring to do otherwise, and he had reminded her of all the various things for the trek to his house—the flashlight and the key and the blue arrows.
That Friday, Christine left the Opera House, doubled back, and headed over to the small alleyway, pulling out the key. It unlocked the door easily, and she clumsily made her way over to the other wall and clicked on the flashlight. It had a very bright beam. Carefully, trying not to be too scared, she made her way down.
Meg had found her that morning and had invited her to spend Saturday night with her and a couple other performers. Christine had been excited for a moment before remembering.
"I'm going out of town," she had lied miserably.
"Bad luck!" Meg had said. "Next time, okay?"
And there was even more bad luck that day. Mr. Gabriel had let them out of rehearsal a couple hours early, as a reward for their hard work in the past week. Christine had already resigned herself to going below the Opera House immediately after, as Erik would undoubtedly know, and if she didn't, he'd want to know where she was and what she was doing and why didn't she come down straight away?
The walk was long and cold, and it was strange to be chilly in the middle of summer. She shivered and clutched her bag closer to her, following the blue arrows religiously, trying to block out any scuffling or rattling sounds that echoed through the stone tunnels. The thought of rats and other creepy-crawly bugs disturbed her much more now that she was without Erik as a guide. He had been insistent that she never go anywhere else in the tunnels besides those directed by the blue arrows, and she wondered briefly what could be down there. Something scary and hideous, no doubt…
Still, she kept a steady pace, and before too long she reached Erik's home. She gave a little grateful sigh and approached the front door, though she paused as she put a hand on the knob. She could hear muffled talking and then some laughter—Erik's laughter. The sound was incredibly…charming. She hadn't ever heard him laugh like that, like something had really amused him. He had always humored her feeble jokes with a soft chuckle, but she had never made him laugh like he had just done.
For several long moments, she continued to listen. Someone else was in there with him, talking to him, making him laugh, and the other person was laughing as well. She recognized the voice—Nadir Khan. That puzzled her. Why would he be here, talking to Erik, when Erik had specifically told Mr. Khan not to come back? When Erik had threatened to shoot him?
The conversation was indistinguishable. Their low male voices rumbled through, muffled by the wood and stone, and even though she strained to hear them, she couldn't make out a word. After listening for a few minutes, she started to shiver slightly from the cold, and she finally took a little breath and pushed the key in the lock, being as loud as she could to announce her presence to give them time to…prepare, or do whatever they needed to do.
His house was warm and bright, like always, and she entered, closing the door behind her and clicking off the flashing.
"Hello," she said nervously, looking between them. Erik had stood and was watching her with an unreadable expression in his eyes—almost…disbelief? Mr. Khan, too, was looking at her oddly, though he was sitting on the sofa. Two half-full glasses were sitting on the table, and a decanter of a rich amber-colored liquid was sitting next to them.
A moment of silence passed between the three of them, and then Mr. Khan looked at Erik and said swiftly, "You told me that you had—"
"I'm very aware of what I told you," Erik snapped, interrupting him.
"So what's this?" Mr. Khan demanded.
Erik looked at her again, stepping over and holding out his hand. She put the flashlight into it.
"A fulfilled promise," he said softly, but she had a feeling that the statement was directed toward her.
"Rehearsal got out early," she said, needing to explain. "I'm sorry if I interrupted anything, I can—"
"Nonsense," Erik said quickly, cutting her off. "Come along over here and sit down. Would you like something? Can I get you some tea?"
"That'd be nice," she said but then sprang to her feet again. "I'll—I'll get it myself, though, if that's okay. I don't want to trouble you."
He looked like he was going to protest—say something like 'it's no trouble at all'—but Christine was out of the room and into the kitchen before he could. She paused. It was quiet in the front room. Then she quickly made a loud show, pulling out the things required, hoping that her plan would work. As the water was heating, she crept back over near the door.
"—wasn't staying anymore!" Mr. Khan was hissing.
"She isn't," Erik said, sounding annoyed again. "I invited her back—she came back down!"
Mr. Khan made a disapproving noise in his throat. "Are you sure it was an 'invitation?'"
"I don't have to explain myself to you," Erik said haughtily. "You cannot understand her like I do."
There was a soft sigh. "Erik, you've gotten carried away with her. She's just a girl, no different than any other. She's not—not like you."
"Of course she's not," Erik said. "And I'll thank whatever gods may be for that."
They were both quiet for a moment, and Christine quickly checked the water before creeping back over to eavesdrop.
"How long is this going to go on?" Mr. Khan asked, sounding tired.
"That's not any of your concern," Erik said. "You should know better than anyone that Erik's business is his own."
There was another pause. "I'm just worried about you," Mr. Khan said. "I don't want you getting hurt."
Erik let out a derisive cackle that wasn't pleasant-sounding at all. "Don't pretend to care," he spat.
At that moment, the kettle began to shriek, and she hurried over and finished preparing the tea, but when she went back, it was silent. They were undoubtedly waiting for her to return. Feeling embarrassed by their conversation that she wasn't meant to hear, she loaded up a tea tray and carried it back out.
Mr. Khan was watching her, looking peevish. Erik was seated in his armchair, and she set the tray down by him, trying to smile. His eyes softened a little at that. Awkwardly, she fixed herself a cup and sat down by Mr. Khan. The silence stretched. She could distinctly feel the aggression emanating from Erik. The message was clear: he wanted Mr. Khan to excuse himself and leave them alone. However, Mr. Khan looked back quite stubbornly—he wasn't leaving just yet.
"So…" Christine said, shuffling her feet on the floor.
"Did you enjoy rehearsal today?" Erik asked.
"Yep," she said. "It was fine. We're starting blocking next week. Everyone's excited about that."
"And did you remember to keep on top of the accompaniment, like we discussed?"
She sighed, feeling a little frustrated. "I don't know. It's still really hard for me. I need a lot more practice before we perform."
"Of course, yes, that's natural," Erik said. "I would suggest a lesson right now, but it appears that someone is being an incredibly rude houseguest and isn't aware he has overstayed his welcome." He shot Nadir Khan a foul glare.
Mr. Khan, for his part, looked unperturbed by Erik's obvious hints. His cross expression hadn't lifted, but he paid no heed to Erik's words. Instead, he leaned over and grabbed his glass from the table. Christine wondered why Erik didn't simply threaten Mr. Khan to leave—he had done it before with success. But as she glanced over at him, she noticed his tight fist and his clenched jaw, and she realized that he undoubtedly wanted to do just that but was probably restraining himself for her sake.
Erik gave an irritated grunt, and Mr. Khan coughed lightly, acting oblivious to the masked man's withering glares.
"You sound incredibly ill," Erik said swiftly. "Maybe you should leave these dark, cold, dank cellars. They'll do nothing for your health."
"Then why keep Miss Daae down here?" Mr. Khan said. "If the conditions are so miserable."
"She is not an old, doddering man with a bad immune system," Erik shot back.
It was extremely awkward, sitting in the middle of them, trying to ignore the fact that they were arguing about her.
"The weather's been really nice this week," she said lamely, tracing the rim of her teacup. "But I heard it's supposed to rain next week."
"Yes, Nadir, why don't you go and enjoy the sunshine?" Erik suggested, his tone light but with an obviously-irritated, menacing undertone.
"I lived in Iran for more than three decades. I've gotten my fair share of sun. But thank you, Erik, for being so very considerate."
The comment stirred something in her memory, and she perked up a bit. "That's right," she said to no one in particular. "You two worked together in Iran, didn't you? Some…government job or something."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Erik stiffen, and he stood immediately. He wasn't playing anymore. With a cold, hard voice, he said to Mr. Khan, "You will speak with me privately." Christine made to get up and scuttle off into another room, but Erik stopped her with a hand. "You stay here. I will escort Nadir out for a small discussion."
Mr. Khan sat for a moment longer before getting up as well, sighing miserably. Erik stalked over to the front door, and the two men disappeared through it. Christine sat a minute more before standing and tiptoeing over to the front door, pressing her ear against it in the hopes of catching some snatches of their conversation. It was useless, though, just as it had been before. The door muffled their voices, though by their tone she could tell that they were arguing—very different from the laughter she had heard earlier.
Before she even had time to prepare herself, she saw the knob twist, and the door was flung open. The wood smacked against her cheek and temple, and she fell backward ungracefully, exclaiming in surprise and pain.
Erik saw her and swore loudly, shutting the door behind him and kneeling next to her. She was grabbing at her throbbing forehead, feeling incredibly embarrassed to have been caught eavesdropping like this. Her face was red with humiliation, and it seemed to only add to the pounding pain in her head.
"Let me see," Erik said, carefully pulling her hand away. He pushed her curls away from her forehead with one long hand and examined her critically.
"Sorry," she muttered dully, as he tilted her head a bit for a better light angle. "I shouldn't have been…you know."
"There will be some slight swelling," he said, ignoring her apology. "But other than that, you'll be fine. I have some ice. Would you like some?"
"I'm fine," she said. "Thanks, though." She clambered to her feet, and Erik rose as well, pulling his hands away quickly as though he had just realized he was touching her. Not for the first time, she noticed how tall he was—he towered over her, and she suddenly felt very small and insignificant.
As she was cleaning up her tea, she was surprised when Erik spoke again.
"Nadir and I have always disagreed on many things," he said. "We are two very different men with very different lives."
"But you're friends…?" She ended her statement as a question, because she suddenly wasn't sure.
Erik gave a facetious smile. "In some odd way, I'm sure we are. But he is being incredibly nosey about you. I've always tolerated his meddling to some degree, but I am…somewhat particular about you. You understand why."
She was feeling suddenly put on the spot. Erik had been stoutly ignoring the lingering, unresolved tension between them for the past two weeks. He hadn't talked to her about his feelings regarding her or about his behavior while she had been staying with him. And suddenly it was all out in the open. This was how Erik was playing, it seemed—ignore everything and then throw it all on her at once.
Blankly, she nodded.
"There is no choice," he continued. "There never has been. There…is only you, Christine. If Nadir sincerely believes that I will hesitate for a moment if he tries to interfere, then he is deluded."
Christine resisted shivering. Somehow, it was incredibly easy to believe him without a shadow of a doubt.