I honestly didn't expect to be uploading another chapter today, but… well, it's best to use momentum when you have it! :p
Nora was not surprised to find both Mr. Carey and Perrine still up when she arrived at her flat. Mr. Carey was blander than bland; romantic Perrine had a spark of mischief in her eyes.
Nora ignored them both.
"Did you enjoy your evening?" Perrine asked, far too excited.
Nora's thoughts were hopelessly blurry. It would have typically taken far more than a few glasses of wine to flummox her so badly. It's not the wine, you idiot—it's Erik. "I don't know. I think so." She let Perrine treat her like a doll for dress up, profoundly relieved to finally be in a warm nightgown and wrap.
"Did you see Monsieur Erik?" Perrine pressed.
"Why would you ask such a thing?" Nora growled.
"That's exactly what Mr. Carey said earlier," Perrine said.
"Perhaps you should have listened to him," Nora waved Perrine away. "I'll finish the braid—just turn down the bed, please."
Perrine went away all smiles. What did she have to be smiling about? As far as Nora was concerned, the sky was falling down and blasting a tunnel to Hell in its wake. The lights were extinguished, Perrine bid her goodnight, and Nora could only sit in bed, hopelessly awake.
When she had been with Erik, listening to his golden voice spin his sordid tale, she had been disturbed but not overly so. Now, after she had time to think and reflect, she was horrified.
Surely, surely, surely Erik—her amusing Erik, her hapless Erik, her brilliant Erik, her broken Erik— surely, he was a criminal of the first order. Well, perhaps it wasn't so bad. He hadn't said that he had actually killed anyone, after all. He had simply stock piled gunpowder and given the fuse to a distraught young girl…
She groaned and turned over, burying her head under her pillows. She had charged him with behaving foolishly. Did 'foolish' even begin to touch it? She had been told that she was being very foolish in the weeks and months after her engagement had been broken off—but she had managed to refrain from kidnapping and death threats!
He let her go, was the thought that continued to play at the edge of Nora's mind. He let her go. He knew he was wrong—he tried to make amends. Didn't that count for something?
Nora spent what remained of the night grappling with that question, fatigue taking over the instant that sobriety started to set in.
Another question occurred to her, quite separate from her other concerns about Erik's confession. If he came to you right now and agreed to go to Christian's estate with you, would you still let him come?
The answer, a bit to her chagrin, was yes.
She promptly fell asleep and did not awaken until lunch time.
In the long years that Erik had been acquainted with Nadir, one thing had become abundantly clear. The good Daroga was nothing if not consistent.
Alas, part of his consistency was being a late riser, often breakfasting when most would be lunching. In deference to this knowledge, Erik passed his Tuesday morning perusing the former site of the Tuileries Palace. The gardens were being restored, but it was a slow project. The site looked utterly desolate in these first days of winter.
It occurred to Erik, for the first time, that Nadir had already taken up residence on the Rue de Rivoli by the time of the Commune. He would have only needed to glance out his window to see the old Palace—had he watched it burn? Erik would have, if only to have had his belief in the beastliness of humanity confirmed.
Some distant clock bell tolled the noon hour, and Erik turned back. He could imagine the look on Nadir's face. A good deal of shock, a touch of anger, an undercurrent of fear.
Well. Wouldn't this be fun?
Erik knocked and waited.
Darius had been Nadir's servant for decades, and Erik knew for a fact that the man had nerves of steel. It was therefore quite gratifying to see the man's face pale and his eyes grow impossibly large.
"Jadugar Agha," the man breathed, barely audible.
Sir Sorcerer! What a greeting! It brought back a torrent of memories to Erik and a malicious smile overtook him. "Nadir," he said simply.
Darius stood aside and let Erik pass, never turning his back to him. Such was the Persian custom, but Erik knew that it was motivated as much by fear as politeness.
Nadir, of course, was utterly unaware. He sat with his back to the parlor door, his face to the window. Tea and sweet bread was spread out on a low table in easy reach of his seat. His hand was just curling around his teacup when Erik entered.
"Salaam, doosteman," Erik let his voice slide across the room.
Nadir's hand froze, but he did not turn to face Erik. His manners, previously so impeccably groomed in Shah's service, were quite tarnished! "'Hello, my friend?' Why, Erik, I had no idea you still cared!"
"Old age has made you insolent," Erik replied.
"I have come to realize something, Erik," Nadir finally pivoted in his seat to look at Erik with his pale eyes. "You are either here to kill me or you are not. If the former is true, I can do nothing to prevent it. If the latter is true, I have no need to be fretful."
"Ever the pragmatist, Daroga."
Nadir nodded stiffly. "Well. Sit if you want. Drink tea if you want. I will not waste time engaging in tarof with you."
Erik sat down on the main couch, elegantly flipping his coattails about him, and poured himself a glass of strong tea. "I came to thank you, Daroga."
Nadir snorted. "Indeed?"
"Saying prayers for me? I had no idea you were capable of such sentimentality."
"Well, I shan't make that same mistake again," Nadir said. "After all, a prayer for dead is only worth offering when the person is actually dead." The older man growled and picked up a pastry and bit into it viciously. He muttered various, mild obscenities at Erik, mostly alternating between monster and insufferable ass.
Erik remained impassive, occasionally shifting his mask to sip his tea. So nice to know that Nadir had not changed in all these years.
"What brings you here, you insolent liar?" Nadir asked at length. "The last time I saw you, you were dying of love. You were practically a corpse!"
Erik gave him a sharp look. "And that was a new fashion for me?"
"You put your advertisement in the Époque!"
"I thought I was dying," Erik murmured. "I had rather hoped to be dying. But, as you see—"
"You're crazy," Nadir said, oh-so matter-of-factly. "It is as simple as that, Erik. You are quite crazy."
Deevoneh was the word he used—derived from the word deev, demon. Beset by a devil and mad because of it. Funny, how Erik could not escape some epitaphs, regardless of the language he was addressed in. Erik decided to ignore the statement, axiomatic as it was. "You must prevent Christine from carrying out her pledge."
At once, the Daroga amended his manner. He was business-like now, and serious. "Have you seen her—spoken to her?"
"I thought of it," Erik admitted, "but determined that such a course would be… unwise."
"My God, Erik," Nadir said, "is that a hint of maturity? Has that arrogant young architect ass finally died away in favor of an actual human?"
"Careful, old man," Erik growled, "I still carry my catgut."
Nadir snorted. "Of course you do. You wouldn't be Erik without it." He paused for a moment and drained his teacup. "I agree with you. But the Countess—" Erik could not help but wince Nadir use of Christine's title—"is determined."
"I intend on blocking all of the main entrances that might lead one to the lake," Erik said.
Nadir's eyes grew sharp. "Indeed?"
"In one of them—the Rue Scribe, I believe—I will leave a letter for Christine. It will be undated, and will release Christine from her obligation. You might arrange for her to find it."
Nadir nodded. "And what of you? Have you finally mastered walking through solid walls?"
"I will be elsewhere," Erik said, "for the time being. I shall contact you on my return."
"Of course you will. Heaven would forbid that you might leave me in peace." He paused and then conceded, "I suppose your plan is tolerably sound, though I do not think she will be easy to persuade away."
"If I thought it would be better to simply approach her, I would have," Erik said, "but I cannot imagine that doing more good than harm."
"Indeed," Nadir said. He paused, and his eyes clouded. "Erik, how did you—" he cursed again, with more vitriol than he had previously. "That mirror! That damn mirror, you pervert!"
Erik couldn't help but chuckle as he refilled his glass. Few could make as good a cup of tea as Darius.
Nora awoke, clear-headed and with a wide-open schedule. A faint feeling of mortification was haunting her from last night. Erik's confession—her own discussion of a past she typically ignored— it was all far too personal for her tastes.
Well, she would not think of it today. No, she would stay in, spend the morning at her leisure and bring her evening to an early end.
Mr. Carey obviously approved of this scheme. He served Nora's luncheon with a flourish and offered to acquire any sort of reading material for her, should her current library prove insufficient.
The afternoon passed as quietly as the morning. By early evening, the sun had retreated behind the December clouds, casting Nora's parlor into a slumberous gloom. She found herself dozing off, her most recent literary acquisition slipping from her hands.
"Ahem."
Nora was at once awake at Mr. Carey's discreet entry. "Yes?"
"There is a Monsieur Erik here to see you," Mr. Carey said, stiff and formal. Surely, Perrine had mentioned the name to Mr. Carey at least once or a hundred or so times.
"I'll see him," Nora murmured, coming unsteadily to her feet.
Erik swept into the room without a hint of last night's wariness. In his left hand, he carried a black leather valise.
Nora eyed the travel case, and then looked back at Erik. He was back in his elegant white mask, his eyes all but invisible. He tilted his head at her, an unspoken question.
In spite of herself, Nora found that she was smiling. She nodded and gestured for Erik to sit. "Mr. Carey?"
"Miss Farley?"
"When will be able to depart for Côte de Beaune?"
The old man looked between Nora and Erik, a brief, harsh flicker. Still, he stood tall and straight, and his voice was even and professional. "Tomorrow morning, Miss Farley."
Nora nodded and glanced at Erik. "In that case, please prepare the second bedroom for Monsieur… Erik."
Another tight nod, "Yes, Miss Farley."
"That will be all, thank you."
Nora watched him depart, and then turned back to Erik. He was still silent, his posture confident and questioning by turns.
This is an imbecilic idea, Nora thought. This could truly be my undoing—this could be my death. And yet, it was with perfect honesty that she said, "I'm so glad you decided to come along, Erik."
His voice—his sensational, magical voice—was low. "As am I."