If to heaven's heights I fly,
You will stay close by me.
Or in death's dark shadows lie,
You are there beside me.
If I flee on morning's wings,
Far across the gray sea,
Even there your hand will guide.
Your right hand will lead me.

-Irish folk song, based on part of Psalm 139

(I told you that you hadn't seen the last of this song… :mad cackle: )

Chapter Forty Eight: Far Across the Gray Sea, P.2

Leah

"What are you doing here?" I cried.

What on God's good green earth did this slack-witted man think he was doing in my bedchamber? And at this hour?

Didn't he understand the repercussions of such a foolhardy action?

"Have you lost your little wooly brain? I hissed like a cobra spiting venom, realizing that my shouts might be perceived by unwanted ears.

Remembering that the door was hanging ajar behind me, I quickly darted to shut it. Had anyone seen? With deliberate speed, I snapped the lock closed and whirled about to continue my tirade.

"Are you completely daft?" I fought the urge to slap him.

To busy myself and avoid causing the man bodily harm, I set about providing us with some semblance of proper light. He had lit my chipped, grimy hurricane lamp when he arrived, I supposed. Unfortunately, the soot stained chimney of the lamp was a great deterrent of light, requiring me to use several precious candles to illuminate my undesired guest. I would have to get around to cleaning the thing soon.

My temper held in a slightly firmer grip, I faced him once again.

"What do you have to say for yourself? What do you mean by coming here, you great dolt?"

Henry merely gave me a weary attempt at a grin and sighed as he took a seat on my tired, battered trunk in the corner of the room.

I instantly knew that something was dreadfully amiss. Henry would never, never pass up an opportunity to tease me, but there he sat. My brother looked about as jovial as a fat pig on Christmas Eve, picking nervously at the peeling leather on my well worn trunk.

Henry! Nervous! I half expected to truly grow wings on the spot and fly off.

Surely this couldn't be my mildly arrogant, self assured big brother? I had only seen him in such an anxious state a handful of times in the entirety of my years. What news could he be bringing?

Suddenly I was gripped by a fist of worry. Was someone sick?

Had someone died?

"Oh sweet Jesus," I silently prayed while searching for something to say, "Please don't let them be dead! I never even got a chance to say goodbye! Please God, anything but that."

Hoping that I was simply being foolish, I decided to inquire about less grave sources of a possible problem.

"Is it the wedding? Is Leotyne ill?" Mademoiselle Pirrata had been Henry's fiancée for nearly a year and a half now, and the grand ceremony was to take place in less than a week.

My hermano had spoken of nothing else but her on his weekly visits for months now. We always met outside the opera house in discreet tea shops or back road cafes, in order to keep our secret, but Henry had been so brazen as to introduce me to his future wife on a few occasions, despite my protests.

Fortunately, the woman had proved herself worthy of all of his trust, and had been genuinely understanding of our odd relationship. She seemed kind enough, though a bit quiet for my tastes. They had even invited me to the massive wedding at Leotyne's utter insistence. She claimed that no one would notice me in such a crowd, and I had gladly given in. If I could not have my own wedding, at least I could be there for Henry's happy day of celebration and love.

But the question remained, why had he come to see me so close to the important date?

"Henry? Henry!"

Henry had been staring off into space, but jerked his head towards me at the sudden sound of my voice.

"What? No, no … everything is going as planned. Don't worry about that." He gave a second attempt at a reassuring smile, but the result was even more pitiful than his last. He seemed to be hiding something, shuffling his sharply polished shoes along my unfinished floor. Henry had never been much of a liar or a conspirator, for he gave away his hand far too easily.

"Henry!" I began sternly, for I had become frustrated and confused the longer he kept his silence. "What is it? If you don't tell me soon, I shall simply implode from lack of knowledge!"

A glimmer of his usual cocky attitude resurfaced for a moment as he rolled his brown eyes.

"Don't get your garters in a bunch, Leah." He teased.

"Then out with it!"

He made an odd face before continuing. "I'm trying. Truly, I swear that I am. I had an entire explanation written down and memorized to recite for you, because I knew this would be difficult. Now that I'm trying to tell you, it seems that I've forgotten the entire thing!"

"What in the name of all holy things could you need to prepare an oration for? I'm your hermana, you lummox. Just tell me!"

"I don't know how to say it!" Henry cried out loudly, rising to his feet. As his exclamation echoed off of my thing, plastered walls, we both realized that our voices had been gradually increasing. We stared at each other for a moment before attempting to calm ourselves.

He resumed his seat and continued his confession in a whisper.

Once I could control the depths of my shock long enough to breath again, I began to comprehend what my brother had told me.

"When?" I asked in a tiny, quivering voice. It sounded as though it belonged to another person entirely.

"After the honeymoon is over." He sighed and slipped a long, thin package out from behind the wardrobe. "I wanted you to have this while I am gone, Izzy."

Still stiff with astonishment, I clumsily opened the box with numb fingers and gasped at the contents.

"Henry, I can't. You know I can't possibly take this!" It was his favorite epee. He would sooner part with a limb than see this in the hands of another. I remembered that he had even named the thing.

"Well you can't keep her, you nit. I'll be wanting Lucile back the moment I return to French soil!" He tried to laugh at his own joke, but the sound was hollow and forced. "Take care of her for me."

Having no other option, and having trouble convincing my brain to thaw, I accepted dumbly.

"Take care of yourself too, Izzy. Do you understand?" Henry admonished before saying goodbye. He turned and embraced me before striding gallantly out the door.

"Be careful" I fervently whispered into his ear.

And thus another walked out of my life, leaving a treacherous body of water and a chilling distance between our hearts.

Eric

A drop of rain fell with an unceremonious 'plop' as it leapt off the brim of my fedora.

Another followed it.

And another.

And another.

"Merde." I growled heatedly. "This is simply superb!"

I hated the rain.

I hated the thunder, and I hated the lightning.

Most of all, I detested being wet.

At the very thought of such an annoyance, I straightened the collar of my serviceable new cloak, glad that it was rather impervious to this accursed plague from the heavens. My abominable skin took as well to sogginess as it did to bathing in acid.

Both were best if avoided.

Several new profanities bloomed on the tip of my tongue when I thought about what the storm would do to the humidity in my little home. It would be like the jungles of India in that sweatbox for the next few weeks.

I picked up my pace as I saw my domain looming ahead in the light rainfall. Its elaborate gray stone called to me as a lighthouse cries out for a drowning sailor.

Dryness.

Blessed dry land.

Once inside and winding through my private tunnels, I allowed my mind to wander towards happier thoughts as my body steered towards its port by memory. While rowing across the rising water of my lake, I began to catalogue all I had seen throughout my relentless day.

I had spent the wee hours of the morning consumed by the details of my notes for the next several weeks. Without intervention, the upcoming production of Tristan und Isilode would be kindling sticks in the newspaper reviews. How had those two imbeciles ever managed to secure such positions without possessing an ounce of musical sense between them?

My frustrations had been cut short, however, at five o'clock, by a ringing alarm. Hastily disarming my jangling clock, I set out on my unending mission, rowing over the smooth surface of the inky lake and making for a familiar passage. My heart picked up its twisted tempo as I drew nearer to my goal and anticipated the sight that was waiting for me.

Though it would be an hour until the subject of my devotion arrived in the chorus studio, I was not disappointed. She arrived after most of the room had already been filled my gossiping girls and took a quiet, unobtrusive seat just beneath my vantage point as she had every morning since the day she returned.

And every day she followed the same heartless routine in this room, shying away from the rest of the girls and singing with a flat, empty voice that nearly caused me to remove my precious few strands of hair from my God forsaken scalp.

She sounded like a dying cat!

Where had the emotion of her audition flown off to? It mattered little in the end, but I needed to know if her heart longed for stardom or not. That was the hinge, the very crux of my little strategy. Without that, I would loose a valuable tool that I needed if I was to obtain her without using force.

True, I could simply skip down to my simplest option and abduct her. There were any number of priests who would marry off an unconsenting bride, if the correct sums exchanged hands. Yet I was determined to try to persuade her to come of her own free will.

My experiences with Mlle. Iglesias had given me a sliver of hope, and I had not even expended all of my charms on the girl. I silently thanked every deity that I could remember for having listened when the old magician of the Rajah's court had taught me the trick of mesmerism. He had told me that my voice was a natural channel for the exercise, and I had been a quick student.

A grain of my emotion was vaguely bothered by the idea of subjecting such a radiant creation to a life bound up to a murderous monster. Indeed, it occasionally crossed my mind that she would most likely die if she were ever to lift the lid on my terrible secret, yet I could not allow any doubts to interfere with my goal. I would have a wife, a true love. She would love me as well, and lead me up into the light, back into the world of men and out of the den of a monster. I would live again, after being death for so long!

My little goddess began to stir as M. Gabriel, the new chorus master, tapped his baton on his music stand and called for attention. Her movement caught my eye and diverted my thoughts in a delightful manner. Her neatly coiled, curling tresses cried out in all their brilliant blond glory to be caressed and cherished, her form swayed unconsciously in a seductive, womanly gait. If I could only muster up a scrap of patience, this unearthly Venus would someday be mine.

Mine!

While staring at my unknowing love from behind the façade, I toyed with the possibilities that my voice and my music could afford me with her. I would entice her with all that I could offer and conceal my curse until after the vows were said. If I was truly lucky, my beloved would still remember 'the angel of music' from her youth. Should she desire a place in the spotlight, should she long for her father's memory, I would be there to pave her way with bricks of gold.

I would give her the opera house, no Paris itself! like a glittering bauble on a chain or a ring around her exquisitely delicate little finger. Surely she would understand the depths of my devotion then! Who could fail to see such an obvious thing?

And perhaps, just perhaps, if there truly was a God somewhere across a distant sea, one who heard the prayers of mortal men … Perhaps I could dare to dream that she would come to love me enough not to expire when I revealed the truth to her…

If my weeks of careful scheming were successfully realized tomorrow night, I would have a string tied around her perfect heart that I could employ to slowly reel her in, like a gasping fish caught on a hook.

Notes: It may be a little while before I can update again, and I can only submit my deepest and most humble regrets to my darling readers. I am leaving for a short vacation tonight, to a gorgeous little cottage 'up north'. (if you don't understand why that is funny, just don't ask. Its WI humor.) Unfortunately for you and me, despite the beauty of this place, it has no phone lines. And no running water. It is kind of fun to pump from the well (and it builds my scrawny muscles), but outhouses take some getting used to. I'm trying to finagle my mom into bringing her laptop so that I can at least get some material written, if not posted while gone. See ya'll in a few days!

Kipper: No, you cannot be queen of all the water, cause I still like Queen Elizabeth. You can be Empress of Loch Ness though. In fact, I herby declare thee Kipper, Empress of Loch Ness. Go forth and … do something … yeah … No, you didn't guess correctly. Senor is too preoccupied with a certain loveable blond. Silly git. Love the reviewage, as always.

Homeless: It's true, Patrick has a lovely little voice-box, and does look quite appealing when not blond, but I still submit that Hugh Panaro (the current broadway Phantom and one of, if not my ONLY, favorite phantom of all time. SEXY! Yes, Leah is very cynical. She's got a few issues to deal with … eventually. Did you like the origins of Cesar? As for Tina's finances, I am fiddling with the original Leroux and deciding that Mama V and Tina live in the upper middle class section of the economy. So she's not destitute, not even tight on money, but she is not rolling in bills either. Oh, and check out the cameo. You are in this chapter, and you got a nice looking boy to boot.

JPT: The future … I have no idea. The author … sorry, don't know anything about that one either. I won't say yes or no to the possible reasons she might go for a guy in the future, cause keeping you guessing is one of the silly things that I get a kick out of in life. (hugs you and gives you cheesecake for causing you confusion.) Well, no cigar this time on the guess. (though I have no idea why people like to smoke those things. A few of my uncles like them, and I've smelled them, and man oh man, are they ever NAAASTYYY! Yech.) Any who, I'm glad you like your man. And what do you mean by wild? (grins evilly and raises eyebrows)

Fish: What can you do with me? Lots of things … for instance, you could paint me blue and make me hop about on one foot while singing the battle hymn of the republic in Russian … but that still would not change the kissing. (grin) Thanks for debating with me though, I love to argue. (too many years of high school debate team) And keep in mind, I've never dated, never had even a puppy love boyfriend, and never been kissed, so I'm kind of in a foreign land when it comes to love. Strange that I'm writing an entire story with love as one of its main themes then, no? Oh well. I am so glad that school is going well for you! (Hugs and hands you cheesecake!)