I had hoped to post this on Friday, as it was my birthday, but I had people over. Yes, my birthday is Friday the thirteenth.

Explains a few things, no?

Warning dears, it may be a week before my next update. I am extremely sorry, but much as I hate to admit it, even I must sometimes venture outside the blessed walls of happy writer's land. Blast. And I know, short chapter, sorry again. (She sobs wildly.) I must devote myself to school work if I have any hope of graduating.

Stupid real world existence.

Grr.

Chapter Twenty Six: Who Do You Think?

Leah

I sat up straighter, my interest sparked.

"The angel of music, huh?"

When Christine did not respond, I turned to see a glimmering of reflected light on her cheek.

"Oh Christine!" I murmured, taking her delicate hand in my more substantial one. "I'm sorry! I shouldn't have brought up your father."

"No, it's not that…" She sniffled. "Well, it is…but it isn't. I miss him so much. I keep thinking of his last promise to me. He said he would … he would…" She began to hiccup.

"You don't have to explain if you don't want to. I understand." I said as I pulled her closer to me. My prying nature did deeply want to know what she was mumbling about, but I wouldn't force her. She was in enough pain the way it was.

"No, I want to tell you." She gave me a lopsided smile as she drew herself up. "The angel of music was one of our favorite stories. Papa said that the angel of music was the spirit that god sent to inspire every real artist. Musicians, painters, poets, dancers … and singers." She beamed at the fond memories, but slowly her smile faded.

"When he started to get sick, he told me those stories more. He would lock the door to his room and we would sit there. He would play his music. Sometimes he told me how much he missed maman. We would stay up till the sunrise, just us."

"But he got worse. When Mama Valerius took him to the hospital, he made me a promise. I told him not to die. I didn't want to be alone. He said that I would never be alone, that he would send me a friend. When he was in heaven. He promised me the angel of music. I tried so hard to tell him. I didn't want any angel! Even the angel of music."

"I just wanted him. But he wouldn't stay."

"Tina." I could only whisper her nickname into her trembling curls as I continued to stroke her hand.

"I've been so stupid." She sobbed. "I've been waiting and hoping so hard! But no angel is coming. There is no heaven! Papa is gone and I will never see him again."

She fell apart again in the straw next to me.

"Yes there is! There is a heaven!" Inwardly I cringed upon hearing myself.

Who was I to say such a thing? I wasn't even certain if God existed, much less heaven. And yet, I couldn't just leave her hanging like that. She needed reassurance in what she had clung to for so long. I wouldn't let my personal doubts deny her that.

"Even if it does, who cares? I'm not there, I'm not with him! I haven't even gone to church since he died. I can't…"

Our exchange was quickly cut short by the thump of a door at the other end of the stable.

"Hello?" A baritone voice echoed slightly around the cluttered space. "Who's in here?"

Utterly embarrassed, I quickly brushed the sweet hay from my simple tweed skirt. Checking the delicate cuffs of my chocolate blouse, I helped an unsteady Christine just as the intruder came around the corner.

And my breath proceeded to vanish.

No one thing about him was particularly stunning. A bit shy of six feet, he was well muscled and broad shouldered. His skin was tanned the color of a rich toffee, even darker than my own unattractive hues of light bronze. Once again I unconsciously lamented my olive complexion, the one part of my heritage that I was less than proud of.

His clothing continued the theme of drab browns throughout his stockings, breaches, leather vest, work shirt, and oversized cap. The hat obscured his eyes, but freckles and fistfuls of burnt straw hair stuck out at odd angle from underneath it.

And yet, something about him spoke to me.

Maybe it was his devilish grin.

When he saw us, a smirk rose up on his face. He was near the brink of laughter.

"I guess no chorus girl can resist the allure of these charming animals. I am never done chasing all of you out of here, am I?"

Eric

"Who does that damnible boy think he is?" The question echoed about my shriveled skull.

After the initial shock of discovery had worn off, Christine and her friend warmed up to that stable scraping rapidly. They seemed so at ease with him.

It should have been me down there, making the niceties and introducing myself.

Why not? Were we truly so different? We each had the same body parts. Hands, legs, a head, and the like.

Hell, we didn't even dress so very differently.

I unconsciously rolled up the sleeve of my thin cotton shirt and compared the gleaming caramel of his leather vest to the nattered burgundy of my own waistcoat. A discarded prop from one production or another, like most of my 'wardrobe'. The only thing I had not borrowed from the host I played parasite to was the obsidian mask that concealed my detestable face.

At least my trousers were devoid of horse swallop.

"Damn him!" The whispered curse dripped from my sunken lips with all the poison of my wounded heart.

"Fool," A voice rang out hollowly, "Why should you be hurt? She doesn't even know that you exist. She isn't betraying you."

"But why shouldn't she get to know you?" Another spoke up. "What could be harmful in that?"

"What could be harmful in that?" My cynical nature was tempted to laugh at the ironic musings of my own strange little mind. "Why nothing, nothing at all!"

"No more harmful than being caught in a lion's cage while smelling of fresh meat."

Ah, what would I have done without my infallible sense of humor to lighten my black moods?

Still, my jest had unintentionally provoked an old memory that I would have rather left buried in the dusts of an abandoned fairground. Even though I had been free of that life for thirteen years, I still harbored many deep hidden wreaks laden with toxic memories. And I continued to avoid cats whenever possible.

The lion snorted in his sleep, restlessly tossing his regally moth bitten mane from side to side. 'Weak and old', the other boys had said.

Looking back, I should have known better than to trust anyone billed as 'The Two Headed Wonder" or 'The Wolf Child'.

I had only been saved from the agitated beast by its keeper, a bulbous witch of a woman with more moles than teeth. Her breath stank of whiskey as she castigated me for coming near her 'pets'.

"Who do you think you are, going off where you're not to go? Are you stupid child? Well? Speak up! Come on now, tell me! Who do you think you are?"

"Who do you think you are?" I muttered to myself.

I was acting the fool. What hare brained idea had caused me to believe that I could be of any use to this girl? What could I possibly do to ease her pain?

Besides, who but an angel would be able to lift that kind of weight off of someone's shoulders?

An angel…

Author's notes:

Christita – adding ita to the end of a name is a Spanish term of endearment. It's kind of a way of saying little or baby. So therefore it roughly translates into something like little Christine, little baby, or sweetheart. (ito applies the same way to boys.) At least, I'm pretty sure about that. I picked it up when my mother and I went to Peru. We were at a church down there and all the people were SO incredibly loving. Everybody in the church is referred to as brother (hermano) so and so or sister (hermana) such and such. One of the grandmotherly women called me hermanita, so I asked one of my friends who speaks some English what it meant. She had called me little baby sister. I thought it sounded so adorable. I couldn't resist putting it in here as a little tribute to the amazing people we met there. So Leah may often refer to Christine as Christita or hermanita.

Many thanks to Allegratree, my invaluble fish (beta), for her help with the Spanish. She informed me that it would be more correct to call her Tina or (tenatively) Tinita. I do like the sound of Tinita. I rolls off the tongue and its fun to say.

I haven't had many years of Spanish, so if any of my little inclusions are not grammatically correct, please let me know.

Do you guys think that the title makes sense? Do you get it?

Note: Eric has yet to enter into his trademark formal evening attire. That comes later. Guess how. Go on, guess!

Responses:

Azurelacroix: I hope you don't mind if I christen thee ALC for the purposes of responding. My spell checker doesn't like your name. Any who, THANK YOU FOR REVIEWING! I rain down cheesecake upon you from the heavenly warehouses. (Yes, they do exist.) It's great to 'see' another new face. Thank you so much for the compliment. Especially if you don't care for first person. (To tell you the truth, neither do I.) And here I am writing an entire little novella in the first person. Smart, huh? Sorry about the up coming chapter shortage, but once summer is here, I am a FREE WOMAN! Wee-hee!

Allegratree: No, my cherished friend, I did not receive the e-mail. Urg, one of our computers is not being helpful. I have e-mailed you as well. Perhaps you had the wrong address? When I get a successful e-mail back from you, I shall speedily address the next chapter to you. (That is, once I am done with my confounded school work.) Just listen to me! Ak, I sound like Degas writing to Faure. One more week monsieur! Ha ha, bad joke, I know.

As for the chapter: yes … I … suppose… it … does. Thank you. I discovered the same infirmity in this chapter and attempted to squash the nasty little virus. Hope it worked. / "Also, a story teller shouldn't need to correct themselves in their own narration." Huh? What did she correct? I'm lost. (As usual.) / Concerning Christine's speech, another goal scored by you. Again, I caught that very same thing happening in this chapter due to your help, but at times I am unsure as to how to allow her to sound childish without letting idioms of the present day slip in.

By the way, how did the move go? I hope all is well with you and yours!

JPT: Thank you, I love you, what else can I say. Your persistent reviews inspire me.