There was music, beautiful music that drew Christine toward the mirror. The Voice spread around her like the sun rising on a starless night. She could not resist its call. She would not resist its call.
The shining glass was suddenly a chasm of darkness. There was no turning back.
Curious, she turned back toward the light. She could still see her dressing room, but a pane of glass now separated her from the real world.
The music stopped and she remembered that she was not alone. The Voice was there, as it always was.
A prickle on the back of her neck told her that she was being watched. Two pricks of yellow glowed in the darkness, shining like the eyes of a cat. They hovered just above her own line of sight. No, it wasn't a cat.
It was a man.
She reached for the dagger in her pocket, silently thanking Sorelli for the gift. Whoever or whatever might be hiding in the shadows, at least she was prepared.
The eyes came closer and her grip tightened on the knife. They stopped, just beyond the meager pool of light from her dressing room.
A hand, cold and bony, wrapped around her own.
Christine wrenched herself from the icy grip. Some primal fighting instinct lent her strength, and she found herself pinning the man against the wall, her knife poised at his throat.
"Who are you?" she choked out. The voice didn't sound like her own.
"I am the Angel, Christine." The man spoke with the Voice.
"You are not an angel." The thrum of his pulse against her hand was proof enough for her.
"Perhaps not in the literal sense."
Anger pounded in her veins. "You lied to me."
"You made assumptions."
"And you never bothered to contradict them. I suppose that makes you blameless, doesn't it?" Sarcasm dripped from her voice.
He looked to be on the verge of another retort, but seemed to realize that it would not improve the situation.
"What sort of man hides behind mirrors in dressing rooms?" Christine continued. "I have suspected for a while that you were not an angel, but I cannot stomach the disregard for my privacy. Do you understand how horrifying that is?"
Golden eyes watched her, but he made no response.
"Why would you hide from me anyhow? Even now, your face is hidden behind that mask."
His eyes dropped from hers as he slumped back against the wall. "You should not see this face. It is indecent."
"No. What is indecent is you watching every aspect of my life while hiding every aspect of yourself."
"Take it off, then."
Christine eyed him warily. Was this a trick?
"Go on," he said. "You were so curious only moments ago."
In a halfhearted threat, she pressed the blade closer to his neck. Her other hand trembled as she reached for the edge of the mask.
She immediately understood why he wore it. The man looked like a cadaver returned to life, yet his pulse raced beneath her hand. She was unnerved and entirely speechless.
The ghastly lips were speaking and from them came the Voice. "Well, Christine, are you satisfied?"
Was she? Thoughts flew through her mind, but none were coherent enough to become words. Instead, she only stared.
Something about him seemed to soften. "You did not scream. Erik thought you would scream, that he would hear your voice distorted with fear for the rest of his days."
"Who is Erik?"
He blinked at her in surprise. "I am Erik."
"You spoke as though you were referring to another person."
"One needs all the company one can get when living in isolation."
Unbidden, her earliest memories of the Angel came to mind. She'd been suspicious, certainly, but her suspicion was overridden by an overwhelming sense of relief. Having the Angel meant she was not alone. She'd never considered that perhaps the Angel was lonely, too.
And here he was. Not an angel, only a man.
He was speaking again. "Do you not talk to yourself sometimes?"
"I used to," she said, "but I haven't needed to lately. Not since the Angel came."
"My apologies for invading your privacy, Christine. That was not my motive, I can assure you."
"What was your motive?"
He bit his lip and seemed to search for words. "You are the closest I have ever come to having a friend. It was nice to not be lonely, just for a while."
"Was?"
"You are still holding a knife to my throat. I believe I know when I am not wanted." He seemed to force the next words out. "Erik will not trouble you any further."
The blade felt heavy in her hand as she lowered it. He reached into the shadows and the pane of glass slid to the side.
"Go, Christine. The real world calls you."
He stepped back into the shadows. Once again, only his eyes were visible. A moment more, and he would be gone forever.
"Wait." She weighed her next words carefully. "Could we try again?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Could we try again? No knives and no magic tricks. Let's just try being the normal, everyday kind of friends. Here, I'll start." She placed the knife back in her pocket and held out her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Christine."
"The pleasure is mine." His voice was tentative as he took her hand. "I am Erik."
She gestured to the doorway of light and the dressing room beyond. "Would you care to join me for tea?"
A genuine smile spread across his face. "I'd like nothing better."