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Christine

Chapter 43

The Favor

Franklin and Grace stayed with us that night, too exhausted in every way to make the journey home. They slept in our parlor. I had gone out from the bedroom to inform everyone that Erik was unwell. Franklin nodded as though he already knew. My father and I sat for an hour for pastries with the Knights, the collected pillows and blankets to spread on the couch for M. Knight and the armchair for his daughter. I then went back to my bedroom and laid down next to my sleeping husband.

The moment my head hit the pillow, he turned toward me and placed a kiss on my cheek. And another. He was feeling better now, then. I wanted to return the affection, but my thoughts were relentless. So I spoke:

"I feel useless."

He stopped. I could feel his mismatched eyes watching me steadily in the dark. "What do you mean, my dear?"

"I don't know how to help you overcome this."

He gave a tired sigh. "I've given it thought. It's something, I believe, would have to take place in my own mind. I think, Christine, I need to confront the...the ghosts of my past."

I stared into the darkness. Ghosts. That was an excellent way to describe the things he saw: horrifying and not of this reality. "How do I...what can I do, then?"

His hand went to my cheek, pulling my face toward him. He kissed my lips gently, making me momentarily melt, then whispered into my mouth, "Stay with me. That's all."

Useless, then.

"I want to do more."

Another kiss. "You've already one so much."

"There has to be more." I pushed myself up, sitting, watching the wall. This was...frustrating. I'd put my life at risk to save him - to save us - and now I was making myself busy with drawing pads and stovetops. Not. Good. Enough.

"Christine." He sat up too.

I looked at him. He held my gaze.

"Christine," he said again. "Stay by my side. That's truly all I ask of you. That's it."

"Then let me help some other way." I turned to him, going to my knees. "Let me get involved with the Alley-Cats like you."

He gave me a dubious look, pushing a hair out of my face. "Your father would murder me. Then hunt down my spirit and murder that."

"My father is not in charge of me."

He laughed softly. "No. He's not. No one is."

"Then it's settled."

He sighed again. "Christine, I don't even want to be involved with the Alley-Cats. I just want to be involved with my brother. That's all. I helped with a...what would I even call it? A mission? I helped with a mission for the sake of aiding Franklin. But now I want peace. I want my career. I want my wife. I want...some semblance of normalcy. Can we have that? Peace and normalcy?"

"Yes," I whispered. "Yes, but-"

"But?"

"At least involve me with your brother."

He frowned. "Your father-"

"Can understand that I'm your wife first, then his daughter. It became that way the moment we wed, whether he likes it or not." I put my hand into his black hair, to which he closed his and exhaled, almost a purr. "Vincenzo is my brother now too."

He opened his eyes. They sparkled with emotion. He nodded. "You're right. And I love you all the more for it."

The following day, my father left early, earlier than breakfast, to perform for a wedding outside of Paris. Franklin and Grace did eat the morning meal with us, graciously. Franklin seemed a tad bit jumpy, lost in thought. Grace stared at Erik's masked face with wide eyes, until he told her a joke about cats:

Why did the cat eat lemons?

He was a sour-puss!

And, really, it was more his over-the-top delivery than the joke itself, that had Grace sent into a fit of giggles. Suddenly she had a million questions for him, and they were faster friends than I'd ever seen. She asked about his magic. She asked what our wedding was like. She told us that she had her entire wedding planned out, going into immense detail of the marvelously expensive taste she apparently had - to which Franklin rested his head on his hand and raised his brows quite high into his forehead.

"All I'm missing is who I'm going to marry." She shrugged and tucked into her crepe.

"A minor detail," Erik agreed, brushing it aside with a wave of his hand. I smiled behind my tea as Franklin proclaimed she would not be knowing that for a very, very, very long time.

After breakfast, the Knights went home.

Erik and I took full advantage of the empty apartment. A full thirty minutes we did so, then dozed. Fearing an attack, he only worked on me. I tried to return the favor, but he refused. An hour after this, as we drifted in and out of sleep within each other's arms, there was a knock at the door.

Neither of us really had the chance to react, because this knock was apparently only a warning. Barely a few seconds passed before a voice called loud and clear: "Erik?"

Vincenzo.

"Shit." Erik rose from the bed and dressed quickly. "What on Earth-"

"Erik? Are you here?"

"Are we here?" I whispered, incredulous. I rose to dress as well. "What is he doing here - inside our house."

"He's a thief."

I scoffed. "That's hardly an excuse."

"I never said it was."

"Erik?" Vincenzo was outside the door. "Are you in there? I think I can hear you."

"Let me change, will you?" Erik retorted.

"Change. Well, you were never one to sleep in-" A pause, then a laugh. "Ah. Yes. Of course." Another short silence. "Buongiorno, Christine, bella donna."

I blushed, and Erik gave an unintelligible yell of disbelief. He banged once on the door and shouted, "Wait in the parlor, you animal!"

"Of course." Vincenzo's voice was nonchalant. "Take your time."

"Polite of you," muttered Erik, pulling on his trousers. He then assisted me with my dress, helped pin up my hair, and then opened the door to our bedroom.

"Do you still want to associate with him?" he asked at my side.

I grinned. "You were worse when I first met you."

A half smile back. "You see where I get it, then."

When we entered the parlor, we found Vincenzo sitting on the armchair - on, not in, as he sat on one of the arms - flipping through a book of sheet music. He looked up and saw us. "Are these your father's?"

"Mine." Erik nodded to the book. "My compositions. Originals."

He grinned. "How could I have forgotten your skill with music?"

"What are you doing here, brother?"

"My Cats informed me that Gustave was away for the day." He put the book on the coffee table. "I wanted to come and speak to you. Ask you a favor."

Erik stared back warily. I spoke for him. "What sort of favor, Vincenzo?"

He smiled at me. "That friend of yours. Ibrahim. The Egyptian one. He initially tried helping Knight, correct? Gifted him money?"

"Yes," said Erik. "But I'd rather not begin using him like a bank, if you don't mind."

"But he is wealthy, yes?"

When Erik and I glanced at one another, he looked between us and finally stood. "You misunderstand me. I am not asking him for money."

"Then what?" questioned my husband.

Vincenzo crossed his arms. "I'm down a man. When Olivier took the fall for Vaillancourt's death, he was taken into custody by police and now awaits a trial. That also means that the Cat's Eye will be closed to our use for the time being. The police are watching it heavily, and it belongs to M. Leroy besides, but I can still use the Pink Silk Inn as a meeting place, so that's no matter. What I could really use is an additional spy. Specifically, one who can blend in well with high society."

"Who would he be spying on?" asked Erik. I took a seat on the couch, and he followed.

"The person I told Vaillancourt he'd be spying on. The Comte Philippe de Chagny."

"For what reason?" I blurted out. Half of me wanted to suggest myself as a spy, but truth be told, I was nothing near aristocracy. Even as a foreigner, Ibrahim had much more social training than me. Only in the last few years had my father gained any sort of notoriety, and only regionally at that.

The other half of me wondered: The comte - why the comte as a target.

"I am to the underbelly of Paris what de Chagny is to the upper crust," Vincenzo said. "His fingers are in every political and social pot in Paris, and so has a very strong influence on what goes on. I'm sure you've noticed the homelessness problem in this city? The sickliness of many urchins and prostitutes?"

Neither of us said anything - we hadn't seen. Had never given it much thought.

"No?" Vincenzo continued, and I thought I saw a hint of disgust. "Privileged, then, not to have seen."

Erik tensed, frowned, a flash of irritation in his own eyes. Anger even. I nearly scoffed aloud as well. Of anyone I knew, Erik was the least privileged. He asked, "Where are you going with this?"

Vincenzo cleared his throat. "Philippe is widely against any sort of program or policy that might help the poor. His view is that prisons and workhouses are perfectly acceptable, perfectly fitting solutions. That if a man is starving, it's his own fault." He smiled bitterly. "On this, we do not agree."

"And to remedy this," said Erik slowly, "you plan to...?"

I feared he was going to suggest murder, but-

"Ruin his reputation." Vincenzo nodded. "Beyond repair, if possible. The robbery at his estate's party put a tiny dent in it, as people are wary of his social affairs now, but it's not good enough. As of now, I have Raoul spying. He's close to him near constantly - they're brothers, after all."

"Why would Raoul spy against his own family?" I asked softly.

"He hates him. It's mostly out of spite, I think. With a healthy mix of young-hearted rebellion thrown in." He cocked his head. "I know that Comte de Chagny liked Ibrahim enough to invite him to his party. Would you mind asking if he'd be interested in playing spy?"

"You know he'll likely say no," said Erik, raising an eyebrow.

Vincenzo shrugged. "The answer will be no regardless unless we ask."