Chapter 9 – So the World Won't Find You

Danielle promised her parents to wait a week before setting out to find Erik, to regain her strength. Christine helped her to pack, and Raoul gave her a purse full of money for her travels. Jacques and Nicola gave her a small journal with gilt edges. Danielle secreted the dress and music into the bottom of the suitcase. She even snipped the rose off its stem and pressed it into the middle of the journal. At night, her parents told her everything about everywhere they had traveled, and Danielle took it all in with the same fervor she would have an epic story. With three days left, she took one of the Opera's horses and rode through the streets, picking up last minute items and food.

The man behind one of the fruit stalls smiled and handed her a bag full of dried fruit. Danielle smiled and put it the messenger bag hanging by her hip. The apple crunched as she bit her teeth into it, the sweet juice flooding her mouth. The horse, Dolce, whinnied back at the stalls as she started to pull at its reins, and she laughed and bought a handful of oats.

"Insistent, aren't you?" she said, holding her palm up to his nose. The horse flicked its tail and happily nosed her hand once it was empty. Danielle gave the reins a congenial tug and moved on down the street, taking in the city she had been born and raised in.

As she perused the stalls, picking something up once in awhile and depositing it in her bag, the horse whickered at the coaches. A poster fixed to one of the stalls caught Danielle's eye. A fair was on the outskirts of the city, it proclaimed, and leaving today. The woman behind the stall watched her as she wound Danielle's pocket watch. The young woman probably would have turned away as she accepted her watch if she hadn't glimpsed the bright colors bordering the flier. A contortionist twined around herself in one corner; trapeze artists flew across another; a tiger bared its teeth as if stretch down the paper.

In the bottom corner was a masked man dressed in red plying at a violin, with a little "Don Juan" sketched beneath it.

"Aye, mademoiselle, the fair was quite a sight. They say that the violinist was the best. His music could charm a rabid wolf, I think, or bring the heavens to weep. Just amazing." Danielle's pulse roared through her veins, suddenly, and she scrambled for Dolce's reins. She snatched the pocket watch out of the woman's hand and dropped the francs on the table before vaulting into the saddle. Her heels dug into the horse's flanks, and with a whicker he took off, Paris flying past in a blur as they galloped for the outskirts of the city.

---

Erik rode his black horse besides the bright caravans, swaying easily with the mare's gait. Mallet's Northern Antiquities rested on the pommel of his saddle, his thumb still holding the page "Of the Twilight of the Gods." Too dark a tale for such a day. Saddlebags bounced against his thigh with his violin and score, his cloak draped over the horse's rump. The sun shone bright overhead, feeling exotically warm on his face. It felt good in a way to leave Paris behind, strange to leave his Opera. He was like a wolf forced to leave his own familiar territory, exploring this vast new world. Hidden behind his mask, he still felt on the edges of reality, yet closer than he had ever been before. He only felt closer when he was with Danielle. But then he was in his own marvelous world all together.

"So, Don Juan, is that your traveling mask?" His hands tensed on the mare's reins, and her ears flicked back against her skull as she sensed his apprehension. One of the strongmen's wives sat on the seat of a blue wagon, one of the more subdued pallets, smiling from beneath her wide-brimmed hat. Therese, he thought to himself, that was her name. "I still haven't seen you without one on. I quite liked your Red Death one, very nice job."

"I have only been here a week," he offered uneasily, trying to dissuade her. He could manage to be polite, but so many years of solitude had ingrained a certain sense of…self preservation in him. Athena, the mare, champed on the bit in agitation, and Erik patted her neck reassuringly. Therese smiled and went on conversationally.

"Don't worry, everyone has their quirks. Especially here." She flicked the reins on her two horses and leaned back against the blue-painted wood. Erik relaxed in the saddle and rode in silence. The steady beat of Athena's hooves was surprisingly comforting, and he let it lull him into an easy state of mind, musing of where this road would lead him.

"So where did you learn to play?" Therese's voice cut through his thoughts again, and he just managed to veil his glare before she looked back at him. He had been alone in those cellars for too long.

"I've played since I was a boy. An inborn talent, I suppose you could call it. I've always had music in my blood." He smiled to himself faintly. "There's a type of music that's in all living things. A pulsing of the blood in your veins, the breath of your lungs, all conducted by the beat of your heart. But the most beautiful music on this earth is that you hear in the body of another." Erik had shut his eyes, oblivious to the bemused expression on the wife's face. "The perfect harmony of two souls combined, that you can both hear flooding your mind when you touch." Athena shook her head and dipped the reins.

"A musician and a poet. What an artist you are, Don Juan." The sound of cantering hooves suddenly rose from behind them on the road. Erik twisted around in his saddle. A ride horse was pounding down the highway, its rider bent low and her hair blowing from her own speed. A hint of black shimmered for a moment, and Erik dropped his book in shock. His hands scrambled for the reins, and Athena snorted warily. From her seat, Therese glanced over his head.

"Know her?" Erik nodded distractedly. He pulled Athena back beside the wagon as Danielle trotted closer. Therese winked knowingly at him. She flicked her own reins and pulled the wagon forward, letting Erik stay close in its shadow. Danielle slowed beside it, hidden on the other side. He heard her politely ask Therese if she knew where Don Juan was. Erik sighed and shut his eyes, soaking in her voice. When would he ever hear his Angel's voice again?

"I'm sorry, dearie, but he's not here. He left before sunset yesterday, just rode off without a word to me where he was going. I'm sorry you didn't get to hear him play, dear." Erik had to wrestle with himself to keep from calling out to her. He was doing this to protect her. He couldn't let her be put in such danger again because of him, wouldn't let her throw her life away to hide with him across Europe.

"Oh," she said, softly hiding her disappointment. "Well, thank you anyway. Goody day, madame." Erik leaned forward enough to see the back of her head between the horses' reins, the black ribbon fluttering over her shoulder, the flush of her cheeks from her ride. He held his breath and shrunk back into the gloom as she turned back, searching over her shoulder. But she didn't see him. Danielle stopped and pulled her horse to a stop, falling back along the rode as the caravan moved on.

"Trying to avoid her?" Therese caught him by surprise again, and he blinked up at her before turning back to watch Danielle's dwindling figure on the road. Her brown gelding dipped its head and pulled at the bit as she sat perfectly still, like a painting out of the Louvre.

"Yes," he murmured. He watched longingly as she slowly turned the horse's head and rode back along the road, disappearing back into Paris. He wasn't sure how long he looked back, twisted around in the saddle like that, but when he turned the sun had risen higher overheard, casting few shadows. Athena was fidgeting beneath his hand, and with a cluck of his tongue Erik turned her and began cantering beside the road. Back and forth, he ignored the stares of the few people that took any interest in him. The day had turned surprisingly warm, especially for January. When he drew her back to a walk, they were both breathing harder.

Athena suddenly snorted and bucked back, kicking the air with her front hooves. Erik expertly kept his saddle, and when she landed with a thud he patted her neck. "What is it, girl, huh?" he asked, more warmly and comfortably than he could manage with most people. Her ears flicked back, and she danced a few steps more until he finally looked up.

They had come to a stop beside a steel cage. In the thick shadows within, cast by the sun straight above the top of the cage, blinked two gleaming yellow eyes. A striped tail flicked between the bars. A man with a pipe on the wagon following it blew a smoke ring and smiled down at him.

"Like her?" he asked in thickly accented French. Erik's hand continued to soothe Athena as he stared fixedly at the tiger. Those two golden eyes never blinked, and after a minute the cat lifted itself onto its paws and came closer to the bars.

"What is her name?" he asked. Athena refused to obey Erik's desire to move closer to the cage, so he stretched out his hand.

"She's my Queen of Sheba," he said. "And I'm Paoli. I wouldn't do that," he suddenly added as Erik's hand brushed a steel bar. The warning in his voice seemed genuine, but when was the last time Erik had ever heeded a warning?

A low growl grew deep in Sheba's throat, but she slowly sniffed his hand with her cold nose. Her whiskers twitched, her tail lashed, and then she pressed the side of her face roughly against his palm. Erik smiled faintly as he scratched beneath her chin. From his seat, Paoli harrumphed and gave a shrug. "Well, not everyday that happens."

"Do you take her out of this cage everyday?"

"What?" Paoli seemed taken aback by such an abrupt question. He tipped his hat condescendingly. "Course not. Not unless there's a show or practice." His words cut off and he swallowed hard as Erik's steely gaze met his.

"Then I will come tonight and let her stretch her legs."

"Are you crazy? Who knows where we're stopping tonight. You'll get yourself mauled." But Erik's glare never wavered. Paoli eventually gave up and shrugged. "All right. It's your funeral." Erik could see the man's contempt, that Let him get himself hurt and then I'll have a good laugh sort of expression. But he didn't care.

Nothing deserved to be trapped in a cage.

---

Erik had left Athena with Therese's horses and made his way to the edge of the encampment. Tents and wagons thinned as he stalked unseen through the night, slipping like a shadow through them all. The noise and light of campfires faded as the carnival's camp abruptly fell off. It was like reaching the sheer end of a cliff, a separate world all together. In place of the shifting, dancing firelight there was only that of the stars and the thin moon high above.

The cage sat silently in the darkness, threatening. Most people wouldn't give a cage a second glance. It was something to protect them from what was inside, right? Something rightfully trapped within to keep it away from society. Those steel bars were a defense for those on the outside, something of safety and security.

But what did the trapped ever do to the outside?

Erik was silent as a wraith as he crossed the frosted ground. He had taken his old porcelain mask that left half his face to the cool night air. Even in the weak light of the un-full moon it gleamed ethereally. As he drew closer, the tiger lifted her great striped head, staring at him with bright yellow eyes. They watched him warily, with a look Erik knew all too well. He calmly pulled the key he had taken from Paoli and fitted it into the big lock fixed to the bars. The man's worn leather whip hung on a peg nailed into the side of the cage, but even as Erik's eyes fell on it he shivered. It looked too much like a noose. The small cuts on his knuckles itched, and he scratched at them unconsciously. Sheba rose to her paws as he forced the key around and pulled the padlock off. The door swung open easily.

The two stared at each other warily for a moment. The tiger finally leapt out of the cage, crouching low to the ground, her muscles bunched tightly beneath her. Her striped tail lashed as she blinked up at Erik, flicking her gaze over his white mask. Unclenching his white-knuckled grip on the cage bars, Erik slowly reached up and pulled it off. It gleamed faintly as he set it aside and knelt down, holding his palm out. Sheba growled softly.

"I know," he said, swinging the cage door shut firmly. It resonated metallically, and both man and tiger seemed to ease with relief at the sound. Baring her teeth to lick her long whiskers, Sheba leaned forward to his hand a little more. Erik sat back on his heels. "Go on," he said, waving his hand at the expanse of moonlit night, "go if you want. This isn't the best place to escape to, though." A wry smile curled his lips. "Ironic, isn't it. I've been waiting to escape for so long, and now I want to go back. You haven't even thought of it, and now I'm setting that chance before you." The tiger blinked its golden eyes at him, and her cold nose brushed against his palm roughly.

His fingers deftly pinched her orange ear, and with a muted roar she fell over onto her back, batting at his hand. He pulled out a long, colorful scarf, practically a streamer, and let the tiger stretch her long-denied muscles in pure play. Yes, he seemed to be irony's new favorite toy.

---

The world was as black as coal. The billowing rustle of Erik's cloak made Danielle look up through the darkness. She was kneeling on the ground before him, the skirt of Aminta's dress spread out around her and a strangely apprehensive look in her eyes. "Erik," she said, and her voice shook with what sounded close to fear. She dropped the wilted rose she held from her hand, and it shed its petals as it hit the ground.

A fierce, merciless rictus split his face instead of the pity and concern he should have felt. Darkness nipped at his heels as he swept forward. Danielle cried out as his fingers twisted into her flesh and hauled her to her feet. His other hand locked around her slim throat, so easily encircling it.

"One last kiss, Danielle?" The look in her eyes finally descended into unbridled horror. It was the cruelest laugh he had ever uttered that he gave wind to then. His lips pushed against hers in a kiss so savage and brutal she sobbed against his mouth. The one tear she shed was ruby red as it slid down the blade he plunged into her back…

Erik started awake with a cry, struggling against the sheets. He tore at them savagely until they were a crumpled mess at the end of his pallet. Cold sweat dotted his brow as he panted, looking around to try and get his bearings. The night outside his tent was cool and quiet, lights flickering over the fabric from the dying campfires and a few crickets chirping as winter fled early. So calm compared to how he felt.

He leaned back on his elbow as his surrounding settled in. Just a nightmare. It was just a nightmare.

But it had felt so real. Erik scrubbed his hand across his mouth, trying to forget the feel of that cruel kiss. How could his dreams twist something so pristine and beautiful like that? He longed every moment to hold her back in his arms. He would put the Punjab lasso around his own neck before he would let her come to harm again.

Again…Oh, God, he had already done it, hadn't he? She had stayed his hand on the noose, and taken his mask to draw away the police, and how had he repaid her? With a guttural moan, Erik grabbed his mask and stood.

The feel of the porcelain on his cheek was unexpectedly cool and soothing, calming the feverish heat there. Perhaps it was because Danielle didn't care about the mask. She hadn't said a word when she had taken if off in the cellars. She was all that mattered. He wondered how she was, if her arm pained her. Her grip had certainly been strong when she had grabbed his hand in her room. It had been two weeks since he had seen her for the last time. When he played his violin for the carnival, he would shut his eyes and see her as she had been: the wind teasing her thick hair as her horse danced beneath her, glancing around with her darkly intent eyes. How many times, even in two weeks, he had dreamt of her turning to look over her shoulder and spying him in the shadows of the wagon.

Vaguely, he became aware of the crackle of a fire behind him. Claude, Therese's husband, sat on a crate beside it, warming his hands idly. "Rough night?"

Erik restrained the urge to jump back into the shadows. His hand unconsciously checked that his mask was still on. Claude reached behind him and pulled out a beat-up tin cup. "Coffee? You look like you could use it."

Erik silently accepted it, just holding it to warm his hands. "Rough doesn't quite cover it," he muttered. The coffee was bitter and strong, too strong for his tastes.

Danielle and he drinking hot chocolate in the seats of Box Five, talking of the different places they had been, places they would go. She promising him with a smile to get a box of white chocolates to share with him…

He downed the rest of the coffee resignedly and sat down across the fire from Claude. "So it wasn't just a mouse in you sheets," he commented wryly. His smile was congenial as he refilled Erik's cup. "Was it that?" He nodded at Erik's chest and handed over the cup.

Erik frowned and looked down at his chest. His shirt had fallen open in his struggle against the sheets, revealing a little gold ring on a chain about his neck. It was just a plain gold band that gleamed in the firelight as he lifted it up to look at it. He wasn't sure why he had bought it. The thing had caught his eye as he left the city he had so long hid within. "What do you mean?" he asked, frowning at it as he tried to reason out why exactly he had bought it.

"The ring. Was it for that girl that came after you?" Erik's fingers curled over the ring. So, Therese had told her husband about Danielle. It shouldn't have been a surprise, but it made Erik fell uncomfortably exposed. Claude and Therese didn't even know his real name; he was simply Don Juan. Yet somehow, their knowing about Danielle put them much closer than he wanted.

But was that why he had bought it?

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It's not the ring. I'll be leaving tomorrow for Luxembourg, and it's been keeping me up. I just haven't been sleeping well lately." Claude eyed him doubtfully, but Erik ignored him. He held the ring absentmindedly and stared off into the fire, wondering if Danielle was plagued with such nightmares.

Miles away, not as far as he would have thought, Danielle sat curled up in the bay window of her aunt's house in the north of France. Wispy clouds scudded across the waning moon, throwing mottled, diaphanous shadows over the land. She traced the gold embossing on the thick leather folder idly, thinking of the nights they had spent composing it. The black ribbon that had been tied around the box was looped through her fingers, gleaming over her pale skin like a captured wave of distant, dark waters.

Her eyes strayed to the tattered book near her bag as she scratched idly at the scar on her arm. Northern Antiquities shouldn't have been that astounding, except that she had found it left in the dust behind the moving caravan of the fair.

I don't understand, Erik. She thought to herself. Why did you leave me everything to follow you if you didn't tell me where to go? If you didn't want me to come?

A few more miles away, unknown to either of them, Francois Nereaux opened the door to the small inn room he had rented for the night, oblivious to the night gathering around him.