Sorry for the delay. My muse is once again being a stubborn idiot.

While I'm on the subject, I've been looking for a name for him. Any suggestions? Ha, it's a 'name the muse' contest. And he is most definitely a guy. And a pain in the posterior. And fickle.

Moron.

Chapter Twenty Five: Legacies

Leah

Henry was most definitely his mother's son.

And it had never been more evident than now. He stalked closer to us in the dim hallway that echoed with the shrill laughter of ballerinas and the low booms of their companions. He was a panther hunting in the jungle of the Populaire cloaked in his dark tailored suit. And his murderous eye was fixed on my new acquaintance.

If my brother had possessed a tail, it would have been lashing violently.

"Philippe!" He positively spat the name.

"Henry?" The young monsieur, Philippe apparently, seemed as genuinely confused as I, "What's wrong my friend?"

Henry ignored him, pushing him aside and breaking our handhold. I had not noticed that Philippe had still been clasping the stolen appendage. How sweet…

But I had no time to ponder the endearing qualities of this…Philippe, as my dear brother filled my view. He roughly grabbed me by the shoulders.

"Did he touch you Leah? Are you alright?" He all but screamed.

I was so shocked that I could not find my voice. He had NEVER been rough with me like this! Well, if you discounted fencing matches. But one look into his wide open eyes revealed his panic and worry, returning my power of speech.

"No! Henry, I am fine!" My annoyance began to build. He may very well have prevented my first kiss! "And there is no need to let the whole opera house in on our little conversation!"

"Oh…well, yes…I suppose you're right…" he stammered embarrassedly. "Sorry" could barely be made out of his unintelligible mutter that accompanied a little smile.

"Wait!" Philippe interjected with obvious bewilderment, his forehead adorably distorted by all the wrinkles of a worn out bed sheet. "Henry, do you two know each other?"

It was all that either of us could do suppress the equal amounts of humor and uncertain horror. The question was so foolish that it deserved no answer, but neither of us could reveal who I had been. If anyone knew that Henry was my brother, being disinherited would not do either of us a bit of good.

"Well,…we used to…" I began tentatively.

"…know each other better." Henry finished for me. As an after thought, he threw a sly, implicating glance in his friend's direction. I was a bit insulted by what my hermano was hinting at, but at least it would serve as a good cover story for meeting him another day.

There was a short, ungainly silence that was only ended by Henry's quick wit. He offered me his arm, and politely asked if I would accompany him elsewhere for a while. It would have been difficult not to laugh if poor Philippe did not look so downhearted at my departure. To be honest, I was a little disappointed myself.

I would at least be polite I decided. Part of me still wanted to see him again. But my chance to speak was snatched away, by the object of my thought no less. Even as I was looking back at him, he caught my hand and halted our flight.

"Mademoiselle…"

"Iglesias" I replied smoothly. My invented surname.

"I will speak to you again, Mademoiselle Iglesias." He grinned uncertainly.

"Nos verrons." I replied cryptically, with a mysterious grin of my own as Henry finally succeeded in maneuvering me around the corner.

The Next Morning

Leah

She burst into a fit of giggles.

And they were utterly infectious. The entire morning had been like this, full of quiet laughter and long hallways as we aimlessly explored our home. Everyone else was still fast asleep in the dorms, exhausted by an arduous performance last night. Only we two were awake, I because I had only been in one number and she because she had come too late in the season to be included in this production. I continued retelling my experiences of the night before to the willing audience of one elfin blond who bobbed along beside me.

"Once we got around the corner, I thought Henry was going to explode like a Chinese firecracker! You should have seen his face. He was so very red."

"What did he say?" piped Christine as we passed another intersection of hallways on the third floor.

"Oh, he just told me to be careful. He said that Philippe wasn't always trustworthy around pretty girls. Then I told him that there was nothing to worry about since I wasn't a pretty girl."

"You're so silly!" She tinkled. "Did you go and find Philippe?"

"Not exactly. He sort of found me."

"What?" She cocked her head to one side and her eyebrows slumped on her little white forehead. With contracted, quizzical eyes, she easily resembled a little sparrow.

"After I had reassured him, Henry and I said goodnight. I was making my way back to our room when Philippe startled me."

Her eyes grew round with a touch of wonder. "Did he bring you flowers?"

I inwardly smiled. The idea that he could have accosted me didn't occur anywhere in that minute little head of hers. She was still so happily unaware of the realities that surrounded her.

I resolved to protect that innocence in her for as long as I could. Ignorance truly was bliss. How I wished that I still had that precious gift!

There were so many things in my life that I wished that I didn't understand.

"No dear, he simply wanted to talk. He was very sweet. He inquired about seeing me outside the opera sometime."

"Well…" she squirmed "What did you say?"

She was nearly jumping.

"I was tempted to just say 'we shall see' again, but I couldn't do it. I said yes!"

"OOO! Really?" She squealed. "Hey, where does this door go?"

Christine always managed to find some way to keep me smiling. So full of life and inquisitiveness, it was hard for her to keep her mind on any one subject for more than a few minutes at a time. So adolescent at all times. I glanced up at the door she was referring to.

"Hmm. I'm not entirely sure. Why don't we take a look? We have two hours to left to wander around."

Yet another squeaking door.

Damn.

My grandmother's moral admonitions stirred within me violently. "I didn't say it!" I tried to defend myself to them mentally.

Outside the realm of my odd thoughts, the d … blasted … door gave way to a musty stairway.

"Up or down?" I asked her. The stairs extended to all the floors of the great monster. The monster was my little nickname for my new home, an affectionate title I had bestowed on it the first day I arrived. It reminded me of some massive, shaggy beast that lived and breathed around us. And above us. And below us.

Christine pondered this for a moment. "Down." She decided and promptly proceeded to gallop down the rough stone steps of the service stairwell, dragging me behind her.

We tripped downwards until the stairs ended at yet another … accursed … unoiled door. A faint blend of scents tickled my memory from beyond the obstruction. Musty, faded greenness … where?

"Ooh!" came little Christine's squeak. "It's a stable! Did you know there was a stable here Leah?"

"No, I suppose I didn't." I followed her voice out of the shadows and into a brighter section of the large room, mildly interested in her discovery. Abuela had never allowed me near our stables, though I had occasionally wished to get a better look at the horses. I had never even learned to ride. In light of my other less than feminine pursuits, I truly could not blame her.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Christine's unexpected expression. She was softly stroking a fat dappled mare while staring blankly at the back of her stall. Her mouth was slightly tipped up at the corners and her candy blue eyes were unfocused, as though she were lost in thought.

"I know all about that." I thought.

"What is on your mind, Christine?" I asked, raising my hand to rest on her shoulder.

"Just thinking about the smell of hay."

"The smell of hay?" I giggled.

"Mmm. I love the smell of hay. It reminds me of my father." There was a bitter sweet quality to her words. "Before papa got sick, we used to travel all over Sweden in the summers. Just because we could. We went from city to city and town to town, papa playing his violin and me singing. His music was so beautiful. When you heard him play, it was like seeing into his soul."

She sat down in the hay just outside the stall, and I quickly joined her. She crawled into my lap and began to finger a wisp of my hair in her chubby hands.

"At night, we used to sleep in barns."

"Were you poor?" I tried to be sensitive.

"No, it was simply … a good change. Something different. Mama and papa Valerius took us in when I was two, just after mama went to heaven. We didn't have to worry about money under their care. It was just freeing I suppose, not to have to worry about anything. Not even where we would sleep."

"But in a barn?" I was a bit shocked. "Wasn't it uncomfortable?"

"Oh no, not at all! Those are still some of my favorite memories of my father. He would play before we went to sleep and tell me stories. I remember that he used to love to tickle me with the whiskers of his big, droopy mustache. Are you ticklish?

There was that easily distracted thought process of hers again.

"A little."

"Where?" She asked deviously.

"And why do you want to know?"

"Oh, no reason…"

"Very funny. I'll only tell you mine if you tell me yours."

"Well that's easy. I'm ticklish just about everywhere."

"I'm not that bad. Just my feet and my sides and behind my knees."

"My father told me a story once about a ticklish giant. Little Loti met him in a castle."

"Little Loti?"

"She was in all my papa's stories. She was a singer, just like me."

"What were his stories about?"

"Oh, a thousand different things. Fairytales and love stories and his travels before he met my mother. Little Loti went everywhere and did everything. She met talking animals at the sea shore and angels in clothes cupboards."

"Angels?"

"Yes! That was one of our favorites. The angel of music."

Author's notes:

I am pondering the notion that Christine, well my interpretation of Christine any how, may have ADD. Not ADHD, the hormonal disease that causes excessive hyperness, but ADD, which causes difficulty in the area of concentration. My brother has ADD, so if I do write her as having ADD, I feel that I can be fair about portraying it in a character. It's just a thought, but tell me what your reactions are to it. I want her to have a REAL personality, but I do feel that (my) Christine has a kind of spacey aspect to her personality. I wouldn't go so far as to call her ditzy, but definitely not level headed either, so I thought ADD might shine a different light on her. Please respond dearies.

Responses:

No dear, I am afraid I did not receive your return e-mail. Worry not. When you are done with your hectic move, just let me know and I shall once again send you a chapter. Many thanks as always.