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Chapter 30

Christine

No one followed.

Of course, I didn't once turn around to check. But despite the lack of hands grabbing at me from behind, the hairs at the nape of my neck were standing up straight, and I felt fear like a steam locomotive pulling its whistle, making me move faster and faster - moving in the direction of where I knew Jules had headed. People stared at me as I ran past, breathing hard, but I didn't dare turn around. Who could have known that the middle of the day could bring such fear?

I saw him, then, turning a corner, hands in his pocket, head down.

I didn't care who heard or saw. "Jules!"

He didn't hear me. I picked up the speed a bit and rounded the corner as well. He was closer now. "Monsieur Bernard! Jules!"

Jules heard me that time. People stopped to watch he spun around, stiff-backed and round-eyed with surprise. He blinked, looked around us as I slowed to a stop, and he came to me rapidly. Barely inches between us, he pulled my arm so that we were both facing the wall, a man used to keeping secrets and having secret conversations.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

I showed him the note. He read it, brows knitting as he did so. He then paused for a moment or two, then looked at me. "Were you followed?"

"I don't know. I...don't think so." I paused. "No." But I knew my voice was laced with uncertainty.

His lips thinned. "Right." He took a deep breath and pocketed the note. "Let's take a stroll around Paris."

Jules let go of me and instead held out his own arm. He looked at me pleasantly, different to how he'd ever regarded me before. Mildly bewildered, I didn't argue. I took his elbow.

"Are we not-"

"Shh." He continued smiling and began to walk. I fell into step beside him. "How was your breakfast?"

I stared at him. We continued down the street, as I noticed his eyes darting all around with a large degree of subtlety. To anyone else, it might appear as though he were merely taking in his surroundings, but the stiff gait, the hard lines on his face - I knew he was looking around him, looking for something. Or someone.

"My breakfast?" I whispered.

"Your breakfast." His voice was tight. "Yes."

"It was fine."

"Good." He paused, and then his voice was low. "Now, Christine, if we must chat, I will ask that we keep it to this kind of small talk. If not, then we should wait until we are indoors. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good." His voice went even lower. "We are going to walk around for a bit. If you happen to notice anyone trailing behind, alert me immediately."

I nodded and began looking around me immediately. No one, now, seemed to be looking at us.

"We cannot go back to my apartment until I know we are safe from danger. A few random turns in Paris should prove whether we have something to worry about." His voice returned to normal. "I had eggs and toast for breakfast. Annette makes eggs in the most heavenly fashion."

I smiled, knowing it didn't reach my eyes. "That's good to hear. My breakfast consisted of crepes - one of the only things I actually know how to cook." I forced a laugh.

He returned the sound, still examining his surroundings.

We turned a corner a time or two, at one point entering through a small empty alley to emerge in the street on the other side. No one had tailed us. The faces all around were each new, each disinterested. I started to relax, and so, it seemed, did Jules. Perhaps it had merely been paranoia back at home, alone in the dark.

"All right." His tension in his shoulders had loosened. "I think that will do."

I didn't say anything as he led me along, and I realized just how far we'd travelled. Perhaps twenty minutes later, I recognized my surroundings, and ten minutes after that, we were at his home.

He rushed to the door, letting go of my arm. He ushered me up the stairs until we were at his door, and he hastily put the key in the lock, opened it, and allowed me inside.

"Jules!" called Annette from the kitchen. "I want to make chicken for dinner. Do you want- Oh!" She appeared in the archway as Jules locked the door behind him. Her smile was warm, if not surprised, when she spotted me. "Christine, dear. I thought you were going home."

"I was," I responded, "but-"

"But she forgot that Madame Giry and Meg were out of town to visit close family," he responded quickly, putting up his hat. "And I forgot that I'd invited her to stay while they were gone. Poor dear is frightened of being alone." He chuckled and patted my shoulder. His touch there was harsher than necessary, colder.

I blinked. All right. A...plausible story, I suppose.

I forced a grin as well. "Oh...yes. I hate the quietness of an empty apartment. It simply fills me with terror." Not a lie. Not today, at least.

"Oh." Annette looked at me strangely, then at her husband. "Why did you not tell me?"

"Slipped my mind, darling. I apologize." He moved away from me, toward his wife, and kissed her sweetly on the cheek. "Really. I've just had so much on my mind. Here - I will help tonight in the kitchen. Make it up to you."

Annette laughed, though the pause didn't leave her eyes. "That's very sweet, dear, but - really, where will she sleep? On the couch? We have no free beds."

"I don't mind." I gave her an appreciative nod. "The hospitality is comfort enough."

She pursed her lips, then nodded. "All right. Well, I suppose. I still don't understand how you'd-" A look at Jules. "-forget to inform me. But I won't leave Christine to suffer in fright. I will set you up with pillows and a blanket on the couch. Really, I'd put you in one of my children's beds, but they're far too small." She seemed, then, to really notice me. "Where is your bag?"

I started. "My bag?"

"Your clothes. To stay?"

A short silence, then Jules laughed, hitting his own forehead. "Oh - dear me! I can't believe we forgot your bags, Christine! Well, we will simply have to go and get them - well, it, really. You are only staying the one night, isn't that right?"

I was? Where would I go after that?

But I nodded anyway. "Right. Yes."

"Then let's be off."

He again unlocked the door, and I left first. He called, "Be back soon, love! And chicken sounds lovely!" before closing the door once more, locking it.

Jules went ahead of me, taking to the stairs. I did the same.

"We are going back to my apartment?" I whispered.

"Of course not. Don't be silly." He glanced back only to look at me like I was ridiculous. I narrowed my eyes in response. He'd seemed to be my ally when I ran after him, offering him my arm and smiling - though it had obviously been an act, it had relieved some tension between us. That bit of friendliness was gone, to be replaced with the familiar chilly animosity. "We are going to purchase you entirely new clothes - at least to last you tonight and tomorrow."

"And...then I'm going back?"

He sighed. "No, Christine, I am not sending you back there alone - not if there is a killer. Which." He turned to me then, still on the stairs. I nearly bumped into him. "You have yet to explain."

"You know as much as I, Jules." I crossed my arms. "We both know that Isabelle was killed. Well, now Madame Giry is claiming that there's another killer - she seems to know something about it, doesn't she? If she left that note? And," I added, and swallowed, "it likely also means that she's in danger herself."

I forced the idea out of my mind. Not Madame. She was fine. Madame could handle herself. And Meg was safe - she'd said as much. They were all right. Had to be all right.

Jules merely stared at me, then slowly nodded. He faced forward and led me down the stairs again.

"Where will I go, then?" I asked him, holding onto the railing. "If not back to your house, then where?"

"Erik."

I blinked. "Erik?" After today, I wasn't sure he wanted to see me so soon.

"Yes. I'd take you before dark tonight were it not for rehearsal - which Madame Giry explicitly expressed you not go near. But yes. Erik. You are not my responsibility."

I felt the comment like a slap. It turned my words sharp. "And I'm Erik's?"

"More his than mine."

"I'm no one's responsibility."

He laughed shortly, throwing his head back a bit, the sound infuriating me. "Then you shouldn't mind going back to your apartment at all, should you?"

I stopped. "Is there something you'd like to say to me, Jules?"

He stopped too, but didn't turn. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Are you still cross with me for lying to you?"

He finally whirled. "And why would that make me cross, Christine?" He took a step up. "Is it because I am working for a man that prizes his secrecy above anything, and you coerced me into breaking his trust?" Another step up. "Is it because I have a full family to feed, so losing my position working for him would certainly lead to poverty? - we both know that production assistants don't exactly bring in riches." A third step up, and he was a breath's distance away, anger blazing in his eyes. "Or is it because I can see that you're a manipulative little rat who is toying with him for...what is it, Christine? Exposing him? Studying him like a freak in a carnival? Harming him? What is it? Do tell - I'm dying to know. Because why else would you want to visit him - visit him! Like he's an ordinary man in an ordinary house." He tapped his own temple. "I'm not stupid, Christine."

My mouth went dry. "I'm not...I don't-"

"Actually-" He waved me away, turning again. "Don't waste your breath." He continued down the steps. "I can't believe I thought you genuine when I first met you in the hallway behind the mirror - what had I been thinking?" He let out a puff of air and made his voice whiny, pleading. "'Bless you, Mademoiselle'." He scoffed. "Lord." We reached the door to the building. He held it open for me. He continued speaking as I passed. "I'll request he take you tomorrow because, unfortunately, it's the safest place for you to be - for your sake as well as my family's. But mark my words - you ruin my career for me...hurt him enough that he somehow decides to fire me...expose him so that he is forced to terminate my position...I will-"

"You'll what?" I turned to face him. "I'm not...using him." Not anymore, I wanted to add, but wasn't an enough of an idiot to. "But say that you were correct. You'll do what in retribution, exactly?"

His nostrils flared. And with no small satisfaction, I saw that he had no answer.

He continued on. "Come." His voice was clipped. "There's a shop near here."

We did buy clothes. A bag. We returned by dinner, and of course I ate with them. Annette talked to me, to Jules, to the children (all of which were lovely and quite thrilled to have a guest). I was set up on the couch, left alone to sleep till morning. And I awoke to the sound of eggs frying.

Around mid-morning, Jules announced that he was going to the theatre to take care of some business.

He gave me a short, knowing look. There was little warmth there.