Chapter 11—Frontal Assault
Christine opened her eyes and quickly shut them again. If this were a dream, she wanted it to last as long as possible. The image didn't die away, and she cautiously looked.
There—he was there, lying beneath her. Her head rested on his unclothed torso, and she could feel him moving with his steady breath. Right below her ear, his heartbeat sounded, loud and clear, exonerating all doubt in her mind. She tilted her head upward, and found his face, his angelic face, relaxed in peaceful sleep. He was smiling slightly, and she felt her heart swell with love. One of his hands rested on her naked back, the other was twined in her long, dark locks. She pressed her lips into his neck gently, and he stirred a bit.
"Christine?" she heard him murmur.
She kissed his cheek and replied, "I am here."
"I hear noises." His eyes drifted open a bit, and Christine listened as well. She heard them, too. She pulled away from him, whispering, "Stay here."
He nodded, and his eyes closed again. She got up and dressed silently and swiftly. Draping her black robe around her shoulders and quickly taking up her mask, she went to the door and opened it a crack.
Who had opened the gate? She slid out of the room and closed it again, all the while hearing the approaching sounds of people. There were not as many as there had been last night—maybe one score of them. Christine drew out of sight of the gate and waited apprehensively.
There was violent cursing—in several languages—on the part of several people whose voices she recognized. There were monsieurs Firmin and Andre, and Piangi, and—the one she dreaded to hear—the Vicomtess deChagny.
"Damn!" that person shouted, coming upon the bars of the gate and slamming into it with her body, making the sound ring. "Damn her!" Christine peered out at her, and was slightly satisfied at the disheveled state she was in.
"Vicomtess, please!" said Firmin, coming up behind her. He, however, spoke as loudly as she did as he addressed the air. "Opera Ghost, your time is up! Reveal yourself! Free yourself from the shadows long enough to have a word with your rivals!"
That pleased Christine, somehow. She stepped out, but stayed as far away as she could. "Rivals, are we? The last I checked, I only rivaled Mademoiselle—" she looked pointedly at Meg, "—and most definitely Signor!" She glanced at Piangi, for she had killed his mistress before the final scene of Aminta Triumphant so that she could take her part. Carlotta had had a powerful set of lungs.
The Vicomtess began spewing insults at her. Christine listened blandly until she began to repeat herself, then said, "Shut your mouth, you damn fool."
"You are wrong in who is the fool here, Mademoiselle!" Andre said as Meg assaulted the gate violently.
"I, monsieur, am a genius! Hardly fit to call a fool, for that matter. I crafted all that is around you…particularly the iron bars which Vicomtess seems to have become so attached to lately."
"You killed my Carlotta!" screeched Piangi.
"Yes, that fat toad is dead! The theatre feels somewhat cleaner without her."
"You, Ma'mselle Ghost, have murdered, threatened, and captured to your heart's content. The charges will be lightened if you return Monsieur Daaé," said Firmin placidly.
"Charges?" Christine's voice became suddenly quiet and dangerous. "Monsieur Daaé? Monsieur Daaé remains in my company on his own accord."
"In your bed, more like!" spat Meg.
Christine smirked. "Naturally."
She was aware of an explosion of sound from most of the group before her, and her fingers traced the edge of her mask, but her gaze remained upon the young Vicomtess, if not her concentration. She broke her wicked, faraway glare when someone shouted.
"What horrendous plot is she thinking of now?"
She looked over the rest of the group, the sick grin still on her face. "I was simply imagining how easy it would be to kill you all." Her gaze lingered on Firmin. "Floating away in swirling water from a lake that has never seen the sun…admirable death."
Not to her surprise, he pulled a pistol from somewhere in his jacket, cocked it, and pointed it at her. "Make another move and I shall shoot!"
"Your hand's trembling so much, you couldn't shoot a whale tied to a target a metre away."
"Beware, Mademoiselle…"
"I must beware, you say? Why should I heed you, when you never heeded me?" Christine took a step, and Firmin shot. As she'd suspected, it went wildly astray, but she was sure the sound would wake Erik. Quickly she went to the door and locked it before going back to her organ. "Honestly, monsieurs, the joke is wearing thin!" she said, and pushed a hidden lever ever so slightly. A wave of water swirled in from behind the angry mob, knocking many of them off of their feet, causing them to cry out.
"Please—have mercy!" Andre cried.
"Mercy?" Christine replied, her voice rising. "What mercy was I shown?" She pushed again—another wave of cold water.
"Chri—Opera Ghost, please, stop this!" someone choked out. Surprised at the fact that someone had nearly used her name, Christine searched for who had spoken, and saw Madame Giry clinging to the wet bars.
"Ah…our excellent Madame Giry." She let go of the lever, and the water's turbulence slowly settled. "How kind of you to come, Madame. How empathetic to save their lives…for you know I would never hurt you, dear Madame, if I knew you were here…" She shrugged and broke off, crossing her arms and leaning back against the cold stone wall.
Every one of the humans that she looked down upon was now wet, bedraggled, and panting. She knew a ready surrender when she saw one. "Good messieurs, ask me what I want! Go ahead—I beg you!"
"What…what do you want?" croaked Firmin.
She smirked once more. "I want you to leave. I want you to go, acting as though you never came here. Put the path out of your mind and never return. Continue to leave my salary as I ask. But go now, and don't forget—the Phantom of the Opera is there, deep down below!" She smiled in deep satisfaction as they began to stumble away. Madame Giry paused for an instant, her gaze questioning. Christine nodded ever so slightly, and the ballet mistress knew that she would be the only one permitted to visit again.
Soon after the sounds of the retreating scoundrels faded, Christine unlocked the door to her bedroom and looked in. She could tell that Erik had gotten up at one point, but he was now asleep again. She closed it softly and turned to her music.
A violin rested in a case on the floor. She took it out and tested each string to make sure it was in tune before she flew off into Aminta Triumphant.
"Here the sire may serve the dam, here the mistress takes her meat!
Here the sacrificial lamb utters one despairing bleat!
Poor young master! For the thrill on your tongue of stolen sweets
You will have to pay the bill, tangled in the winding sheets!"
She could go no farther than that before she began to laugh too heartily to play or sing. Aminta had triumphed once more.
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It was around nine thirty that morning when the door of her bedroom opened suddenly. There stood Erik, looking very…
"Put this on," said Christine, tossing him her robe and trying not to laugh. "You'll catch your death, dressed like that." Apparently, he hadn't noticed his own lack of clothing, for he blushed scarlet and donned the black cloth quickly. He wandered over to where she was setting a bowl of fruit on the table and, as she turned to go past him, caught Christine up in his arms and bent her back in a dramatic kiss. His lips moved down her neck to the base of her throat, and she laughed with a golden sound.
"I swear, one of these days, you will slay me like that!" she gasped.
"Then I'd have no choice but to kill myself, for I could not live without you!"
"Pretty words."
"True words!"
"So you say!"
He reached up and removed her mask so that he could kiss her properly. His lips roved over her entire face, his tongue creeping out to follow. She returned his every caress, her fingers finding their way inside the robe to massage the toned muscles of his back as his lingered around her hips and waist. Although the cloth drape was short enough to expose Erik's legs, it seemed to billow and grow to encase both of them. Before he knew it, he had swaddled his love into it and carried her off to bed again with him. She resisted only playfully, and together they sang the passionate Music of the Night.
