Chapter Twelve: Gray

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Leah

The early morning light was tinted a glacial gray by the window's veil of ice.

The sleet had begun during the final calls for places the previous afternoon. At first, the sound of the cold rain on the auditorium roof had been a light and pleasant one. Unfortunately, it had later become an annoyance, fast and just loud enough to detract from the opera.

"But watching the people on the stairs was worth it!" Christine exclaimed, nearly upsetting all my hard work for the second time in the last five minutes.

Last night's Opera goers had had quite a time getting into their various carriages. The floors and stairs of every exit had been slick with freezing rain.

More than one portly patron had found themselves in an embarrassing position on the pavement.

"You have a point." I replied, snickering at the memory. "But you must stay still! I'm going to loose hold."

Tina quickly complied, eager to see my work completed. I couldn't really blame the girl for growing a tad bit anxious. I had been plaiting her pail blond hair for nearly an hour, each complicated section comprised of four strands.

It had proven more challenging than I had originally expected, for my little hermanita seemed to continually forget that my fingers were attached to her scalp.

Over the last few weeks I had learned to tolerate her short attention span. Indeed, the only subject her juvenile mind seemed capable of fixing on for more than five minutes was that of music. And predictably, music was the next thing on her mind.

"I can't wait till next Monday!"

"Yes, the suspense is terrible. What do you think it will be?"

"Hmm…" She pondered, "I hope it's something new."

"That would be nice."

With the current performance nearing a close, a new opera was immanent. This Opera was rather unique though, as it was the anticipated selection only titled 'Management's Discretion' in the patrons' seasonal calendars. Each season, one such mysterious booking was listed. And every year, the Monsieurs Poligany and Debbine kept the name a secret until the first day of rehearsals.

Some strange notion about boosting sales.

But regardless of its origins, everyone in the Populaire was brimming with curiosity. Some of the staff even went so far as to bet on which opera would be chosen.

But despite the giddy tension around me, I could not help my drooping spirits. Orpheus et Eurydice was nearly spent, for only three nights of performance remained. Worse, closing night would be my final role on stage this season. And there were no promises made for next season either.

Tina often had poor taste in conversational topics.

But despite my grey humor, I had to paint on a bright smile for my friend. Why should she be concerned about my inadequacies when her career was bright and promising?

"Whatever it is, I know you'll be wonderful in it." I assured her. "But you'll never get onto any stage if you don't let me finish!"

"I wish today were Monday!" She pouted and squirmed, completely ignoring the later portion of my advice. "Madame said I might even get a small part!"

It stung. Despite wanting the best for her, I still wished it were me who had been promised a part. I squelched the envious sliver of sadness as I placed the final pin in her bobbing head, tamping down my emotions as I gave her a little hug.

"All done, Tinita." I masked my hurt with a bright tone. "Take a look in the mirror."

"Well, at least I'm a better actress than I am a ballerina." I thought sarcastically as she tripped merrily over to the half-length oval mirror on our white-papered wall.

She twirled around in childish glee before its ancient surface, her reflection mildly warped by the hairline cracks. I felt a small burst of pride at how beautiful she looked, each braid perfectly fixed into an elegant little coronet.

She would look adorable tonight when a select number of the understudies would be allowed to see the performance in a row of seats that had not sold. Madame had justified it as 'valuable experience', and Christine couldn't have been happier.

I only hoped she would be so happy when she saw my little surprise. I had spent all of my scanty free time creating it, stealing up to the attic space whenever I had a spare moment.

After hearing her memories of angels and her reluctance to go back to church without her father, I had fashioned a little chapel of our own in the bright room. Now a mural of angels adorned the once white plaster of its ceiling.

I had sought out Madame as soon as I had conceived my little plan, in order to obtain some sort of permission. I hadn't been about to put paint on somebody's building with out asking politely! She had listened, and when I was done she graced me with a rare smile of approval. She gave me her blessing and I had begun that night, gathering my supplies while the other girls gathered around the patrons.

My thoughts drifted to one patron in particular, and I smiled fondly at the image of his face and the memory of our last meeting. The Count had insisted that I address him only as Philippe, but in my mind he would remain the Count for a little longer. Still, perhaps Wednesday evening might change that.

I had promised the Count my hand for one of the many upcoming galas this spring, a celebration of one of his relative's engagements. It was the one bright event in my future, and I waited in impatiently for its arrival. Indeed, Wednesday would prove to be an exciting day, and not just because of his invitation. As Tuesday was the final performance of Orpheus, I had planned to surprise Tina the next morning. Then I would have the rest of our short break all to myself.

Maybe the future wasn't so gray after all.

"Leah? Leah!" I was startled from my plans by Tina's piping. "Are you awake?"

"I'm sorry dear, perhaps I'm not." We shared a silent moment of wittiness. "What were you saying?"

"I asked you what you think." She held her adorable theater frock on its little wooden hanger to her chest as she spun about, waiting for my inspection. I was inadvertently reminded of her constant fidgeting under my fingers, and I responded without contemplating my words.

"I think tomorrow we are going back to spending the mornings exploring."

Eric

I had spent days agonizing over every detail of our first encounter.

And the day had finally come. Even the weather had complied, a seasonal storm of freezing rain providing a perfect backdrop. My net was laid perfectly, and the prey was due to walk into it momentarily. I had thought it rather appropriate to begin my takeover in the same place that the idea had been born.

Box Five.

My ammunition was twofold, for I would prey on his two weakest points. Superstion and guilt.

From my lushly padded seat inside the statue, I saw the dark door swing open. In came Laurent Poligany, heavy set and suspicious in his usual uniform of a gray tweed. His sausage-like fingers were crushing a piece of black lined stationary. I recognized my daring seal. He set down his oil lamp, barely illuminating half of the box, completing the eerie scene I had set. The rest of the auditorium would appear, to him at least, an inky sea of unfathomable black.

"All right, you scallywag! Come out and show yourself. Face me like a man!" He punctuated his last sentence by lightly slapping his substantial chest with one hand in a gesture of defiance.

I had expected some sort of indignant reaction to my arrogant summons, but this bordered the comical! I nearly laughed.

Composing myself, I readied my voice and summoned a skill I had not used since my days in Manderzan. I projected my voice to fill the entire auditorium, but kept the volume just above a whisper.

"I am afraid I can do neither." I hissed, using the full extent of my persuasive powers. "For you cannot see me, and I am no longer a man."

The effect was immediate. With each muttered syllable, his ruddy complexion paled, leaving a pallid gray when I finished. He resembled a ghost himself.

It was almost too good to be true. I had bet heavily on his fallacies of spiritualism, but I had never imagined it would be so easy.

"Who … whoo are you?" He stammered, as though the great white throne of judgment had just risen up before him.

"Not who …" I narrowed the focus of my voice down to a tiny point above his left shoulder and dropped it even lower.

"What."

He started like a nervous filly, and began to back up towards the door.

"That would be unwise." My voice emanated from the door itself. "You have many sins to pay for, and I am not the only soul who still roams the earth."

He was on the edge of tears, utterly terrified. I had him in the palm of my discolored hand.

"What do you want?" He squeaked.

"All that you owe." I allowed a few moments of disturbing silence to settle over him before I continued.

"I think that we shall start with a return of the Populaire to its rightful owner." I breathed, my tonal focus not two inches from his nose.

I opened a tiny vent just above his lamp, extinguishing all light. Even my eyes could only make out the edges of the chairs in the deepest shades of gray.

"Now about this new opera of yours…"