Dark Wolf Girll5: Thanks for reading all my fics! It is maybe easiest to respond to all three of your story reviews here. I sincerely appreciate your kind words. I do try to find my own twists to the usual tales. I am pleased that you felt I was successful.

sunfire-moondesire: Yay! Another E/C shipper joins the fic. Welcome!

Kagome1514: Oh, I love it when someone calls my fics original. That is so hard to do with all the fics out there. I get what you are saying: part of you wants Erik and Christine together right away; part of you likes to suffer through their angst. Well, I promise to bring them together soon, but not too soon, okay? Glad to have you aboard.

darklady5289: Good plot, loads of detail – just what I like to hear. Thank you, thank you, and welcome to the story!

lafemme540: Yay! You read 'Voyage'. That was my baby for like a month. And all your lavish praise makes me blush. Thank you, truly. As for this one, never fear, EC fluff is on the way. Loads of it, I promise. (But not for a couple more chapters, sorry!)

ilustgerik: I apologize for my lack of Erik last chapter. No Erik in this one either, but he will be back, front and center in our next chapter. And he will be very angry...yummy!

phantomann: I know I missed an entire day of posting. Life got in the way again. But today, I am free all day, so I plan to post this plus another chapter later. Sorry about the purple crayon thing. And I will reassure Jema Moda right now that you were in no way responsible for my lack of posting today. I take full responsibility for her being forced to curl up into a fetal position and suck her thumb at work. (J/K Jema, but that is what she told me!)

Pertie: You are always so polite, and you are most welcome. And yes, you are right; I am setting the stage for their eventual reunion. But a few things have to happen first...

HeartsAflame: Sorry to get your hopes up, but I have to make you suffer for a little while before I bring them together. Otherwise this fic would already be over. Just to warn you, it will be at least one more chapter before they see each other again. Oh, and welcome!

eternalcelestial: Yes, Raoul should indeed 'rot' as you said. But then again, Erik may not be finished with him just yet. My high school English teacher would be very proud to hear all your wonderful compliments.

LiltingBanshee: Thank you. I am so pleased that you like it. There is much more to come. Welcome, by the way!

Twinkle22: Fate has much in store for our star-crossed lovers. And we do see a glimpse of Christine's new life beginning to take shape in this chapter.

Jema Moda: Hmmm, am I trying to tell you something with that last line? I am known to do sneaky things like that from time to time. Love the Puerto Rican uncle thing – LOL! Our passive little Christine is working hard on growing a spine as the story goes on, so she may actually be someone we can all respect by the end. Erik as king of France, hey I like that idea! He might be a tad overfond of executing people though, hmmm. You know, "Off with Raoul's head!" Well, most of us here would forgive that execution anyway.

xo-little-lotte-xo: Thanks. I try to keep Nadir realistic because I love his character. He is Erik's conscience, and the kind, wise soul that keeps him bound to humanity when everyone else turns away. That's how I see him, anyway.

Ch. 11 – Letters

The night was dark and moonless as two hooded riders approached a small border village just outside of Geneva. Rain pelted down, scouring their shadowed faces. Frequent bolts of lightning split the sky, illuminating the rolling countryside. At last, a lone light spilled out onto the wet, rutted road. Reaching the stables of a rather derelict-looking inn, the two dismounted and gratefully stepped inside. The taller man lowered his hood, revealing a clean shaven face and damp, sandy hair. He began at once to remove the tack from his horse.

The second man removed his wet cloak with a look of disgust. His face was harder in appearance than that of the sandy-haired man, with dark, shifty eyes and prominent cheekbones that made the sides of his face appear shadowed and sunken. He leaned lazily against the door, wringing the rain from his cloak.

"Remind me again, dear cousin, why I agreed to ride with you halfway across France in this miserable weather to stay at some God-forsaken inn in Switzerland, then turn right around and ride back again."

The sandy-haired man looked up from his work. "Because I am being paid handsomely for my errand and I have generously agreed to split the sum with you in return for your services." He led his horse into the nearest stall and reached for a soft cloth hanging by a rusty nail on the wall above. With great care, he began to rub the horse dry.

The man with the sunken face snorted in impatience. "I still think there is something that doesn't smell right about this whole affair. A man in a mask offers you a large sum of money to deliver an envelope across the border into another country. I tell you, cousin, whatever is in that envelope must be of considerable value to make a man go to such lengths." His greedy eyes fell on the saddle bag that rested on the low wall of the stall between them.

The sandy-haired man shot him a warning look. "Jacques, I told you. It is sealed. His instructions were very clear. Break the seal and there will be no payment for our long and tedious ride." He finished drying the horse and reached for a brush to comb it. Looking back toward the doorway, he inclined his head toward the second horse which still stood saddled and dripping. "If you leave your horse like that tonight, you will be walking back to France in the morning."

Jacques looked sullen and began a half-hearted effort to care for his horse. His eyes fell once more upon the bag. "Did it ever occur to you George, that whatever is in that envelope might be worth more than our payment?"

George stopped his work abruptly, raising his wary face to take in his cousin's lusting eyes upon the saddle bag. "I have worked for this man before, Jacques. Though he has always been polite and fair in our dealings, something in his eyes and in his voice tells me that he is not a man to be crossed."

Jacques smirked, tearing his eyes reluctantly from the saddle bag. He began to drag a comb carelessly over the exhausted beast's muscular flanks. "Which is precisely why you sought my company, dear cousin, because of my many 'talents'."

George colored slightly. "I have no wish for trouble, Jacques. This man has been good to me and I can use the money. But he is not an ordinary man, and there is something threatening about him." He shrugged slightly. "I simply felt that this was not the type of errand to be completed alone, that's all."

He stepped back to survey his work. "I will speak to the stable boy about some water and feed for the horses." George patted the sorrel gelding fondly and turned to leave. "They deserve it after the long ride." Jacques's eyes followed him as he strode from the room, and then fell on the saddle bag once more.

Watching the door, he laid down his comb and stepped toward the saddle bag, quickly undoing the buckle. Slipping the envelope carefully from it, he stepped over to the light of the lantern, examining the seal: red wax, with no special markings. Smiling to himself, he lifted the lantern from the hook and lowered it to the floor. Opening the glass door in its side, he held the seal close to the flame until it began to loosen. Careful not to allow the wax to drip onto the parchment, he gave a gentle tug on the envelope's flap and it pulled free. Inside he could see a thick stack of bills wrapped in the pages of what appeared to be a letter.

Jacques's hands began to shake slightly. He glanced nervously toward the door as he pulled several crisp bills from inside the letter. Just a few, he thought. There is so much here, he will never be the wiser. George keeps his job and I come out a bit ahead as well. He eyed the bills covetously, reaching for several more, and stuffing a generous amount into the inside pocket of his coat.

Suddenly he heard voices nearby. His fingers fumbled to return the letter and the majority of the bills to the envelope. In his haste, he dropped the bundle clumsily, strewing the white pages and colored notes around the floor of the stable. Cursing under his breath, he hurriedly picked up a white page and began collecting notes franticly from the floor and tucking them inside.

The voices drew nearer. Jacques quickly slipped the slightly smaller bundle back inside the envelope and held the seal once more to the flame of the lamp.

As the wax softened, he pressed the flap of the envelope back into place and examined it. He smiled in satisfaction and relief. Even with his unfortunate mishap, no one would be the wiser. Jacques returned the envelope to the saddle bag and reached for his cloak.

Just then George returned to find Jacques leaning idly in the doorway of the stable once again. "Let's get this over with so I can get a stiff drink and find a pretty lady to warm my bed before they're all taken," he grumbled irritably.

George eyed him for a moment, then reached for the saddle bag. He undid the buckle and removed the envelope, turning it over in his hand. Seeing nothing amiss, he released a relieved breath, and then tucked it into his coat pocket.

Slapping Jacques fondly between the shoulders, he nodded eagerly. "Indeed, dear cousin. Tonight we shall be well paid for our labors. It seems fitting that we should enjoy a few well-earned comforts before we retire. Come. The first drink is on me."

As the two men left the stables, they failed to notice the fine white square of parchment listing an address in Florence that lay trodden into the muck of the stable floor.

Christine smiled as she removed her heavy stage makeup. Tonight had been an utter triumph, one in a long chain of many. The sound of enthusiastic applause still danced in her ears and the warmth of the footlights clung to her skin, though their light had long since dimmed. She felt exhilarated and supremely alive, as she only did after a performance.

She stood up, stretching luxuriously. Carefully avoiding the flowers from her many admirers that filled the room, Christine stepped behind the dressing screen in the far corner of her suite to change. How Raoul would have hated my costume tonight, she thought with a giggle. The role of Carmen required a healthy amount of sensuality and feminine appeal. Thus, her costume was an exotic Spanish creation which clung to her figure, revealing more than a hint of both her cleavage and her shapely legs.

As Christine peeled the heavy fabric from her skin, she had to admit that she enjoyed wearing not only the costume of Carmen, but the persona as well. It was, in a strange sense, freeing, as if she were no longer bound by the constraints of social propriety. When playing the part of a shameless seductress she could finally acknowledge and begin to understand that fiery, passionate part of herself that existed secretly in the darkest corner of her soul. It was almost as though another person resided somewhere inside her body, one unafraid to embrace all that it meant to be a woman, and in the role of Carmen that person was allowed to break free.

At first she had been hesitant to take on the role, worried that her inexperience and naivety would cause her to appear awkward in the guise of an untamed Gypsy maid gifted in the art of seduction. Instead, it had been as if she had given life to a secret flipside of her personality, a side that had remained dormant for most of her existence.

There was only one man on earth who had ever commanded the emergence of that daring, passionate woman that she had found inside herself. The sensations he had evoked from her so many years ago served as her inspiration now. On stage, she could allow herself free reign to imagine his hands on her body, his lips on her skin. Then she always seemed to find the alluring smile and the suggestive movements that served to define her character.

Christine slid a white satin robe onto her slender frame and tied it around her waist with a sigh. Rediscovering her music and her art had been like breathing life back into a part of her soul that had died. But in the reawakening of a dream, she had undeniably opened old wounds and reignited forgotten longings. Always when the euphoria drained away and she found herself alone in her dressing room surrounded by the achingly familiar scent of roses, her gaze could not help but be drawn to the oversized gilded mirror that hung on the far wall of her extravagant suite.

In all the splendor of the fragrant blooms around her, she longed for one single perfect long-stemmed rose tied in a simple black satin ribbon. She still sang only for him when she was on stage. Yet in the eight months since her career had resumed, he had never once been there to hear it. Though she could not deny that she was happier than she had been in nearly seven years, every triumph was an empty one without her Angel to give her his praise.

Christine sat down at her dressing table, pulling from the drawer a letter that she had received nearly a month ago. She had reread it countless times, but somehow she needed to see the words again tonight to reassure herself that there was still a chance that her Angel might yet return to her. Unfolding the worn pages, she pressed the creases flat and read the familiar words.

Christine,

I was pleased to hear that you are well and are enjoying success and happiness in your new home. I am honored to be an acquaintance of the reigning prima donna of the Teatro Comunale. I have heard your praises sung even here in France, though it seems your stage name has succeeded in eliminating the possibility that anyone might discover your former identity. Florence truly sounds like a remarkable city. Erik often spoke of its overwhelming beauty and unique architecture with great appreciation and fondness.

Concerning our illusive friend, I was recently able to convey your message when he at last sent for the funds I had collected from the sale of his home. Alas, I was not able to speak with him directly, as he did not come in person, but instead sent a messenger. I thought you would be relieved to know that according to his note, he is well and seems to be enjoying his travels, though he did not give any details regarding his exact location. In my reply, I included your address and a letter of explanation along with the funds.

I know that my words will do little to reassure you, but do not lose hope. Erik is a stubborn man, but you have a greater hold over him than he cares to admit. I suspect it will be difficult for him to remain apart from you once he learns that you wish to see him.

May Allah continue to smile upon you, dear friend.

Nadir

"...you have a greater hold over him than he cares to admit..." She sincerely hoped those words were true, for she had clung to them desperately since the letter had arrived. Sighing heavily, she refolded the letter, replacing it carefully inside the drawer of her dressing table where she could easily find its comfort again in the morning. Waiting for an Angel was proving to be more difficult than she had thought.