Author's notes: Thank you so much for the positive reviews, they gave me a reason to continue! Here's another chapter!
starnat – Yay, thanks! I kinda hoped it would be an original idea… read on!
longblacksatinlace – heh Luciana loves her cousin! But of course, there's tall, dark & handsome… so we'll just have to see! Read on!
X X X
Chapter IIX X X X
Living underneath the ground for some time, he had long since conjured up his own little illusion that it was he that was on the level on the ground and the house above was heaven. Heaven in more ways than a normal human could imagine. It was a heaven where there was a merciful God, not like the one the Christians that surrounded him believed in. Not like the one who had his own little state – Vatican – only a few minutes of riding away from here.
This God was merciful, kind and caring… and he had an ordinary name, no cryptic words that "he was who he was". A name, simple and ordinary that Erik worshipped as his savior: Giovanni, the man who became a mentor, a friend and father to the boy who was losing his faith in not only the church, but humanity itself as well.
There were no angels in this heaven, only the kind God… but now it seemed that Lucifer, the fallen angel, had returned. The Bible wasn't completely wrong, it seemed. Lucifer was the God's most prized angel. Lucifer had come, in a form of beauty, in the body of a girl… with the name of Luciana. Even the name betrayed her.
Ever since her arrival, a gap, an immense abyss, was forming between master and student. Giovanni had never spoken of her before and her sudden homecoming seemed to have shocked him as well. But that first misfortune was just the beginning of the real disaster.
Luciana was beautiful on the outside, true, a beauty that captivated him. Underneath, however, resided the soul of a spoiled child that was not used to denial, a child that wanted the world and more.
In a way, ironic as it was, selfish as it might sound, they were ideal counterparts. He, cursed with the visage of a demon but the soul of an angel, she, blessed with the appearance of a nymph but with the heart of a spiteful princess.
For the months - months! Or was it years already? – he kept avoiding her at all times, fearing the pain that would surely find him if he would talk to her in any other manner than the strict politeness he used. Locking himself up in his cellar, he devoted himself fully to his work, his science, his music… but it seemed that nothing was sacred to Luciana. The child didn't seem to take the hint that he didn't want to be around her. She would keep demanding his attention with sarcasm and irony of a professional torturer.
How easily heaven could be turned into hell.
Today was no different from any other morning, until he realized that the usual sounds in the house were absent. It didn't bother him much… except when he could clearly hear Luciana squeal with delight because of something did he frown. While spiteful, the girl never seemed to be very happy since she came. Now it sounded as if she were positively delighted because of something. Then again, all the better for him, if it would mean a little more peace in the house.
Again, the house was quiet for a few precious moments. It could have been an hour, at the best, but then another voice took over, one he didn't recognize. It was muffed – all sounds from the outside were, since the cellar was sealed away from the rest of the world. But he could hear two things: the person was singing and the voice… the voice! The voice certainly didn't belong to either of the permanent residents of the house! It was female, so it couldn't be Giovanni and it was too soft to be Luciana's shrieking.
He had known that it was heaven above him, but never in his wildest dreams did he think that angels would be singing there.
With the soundless grace only he could create, he slipped from his dark prison, moving through the house unnoticed, as he always had to do lately. The voice was coming from the dining room, so he had no problem hiding behind various furniture to get closer to its source.
The singer had her back turned to him, so all he could see was her cream colored dress and long chocolate curls that fell down her back. But when she paused during the song, obviously listening to the music in her head and began to spin on the spot, as childish as he thought it was, it gave him a chance to get a glimpse of her face.
She was about as old as Luciana, but there was a softness to her features, a paleness to her skin that he knew immediately that this girl wasn't Italian. And her appearance, just as her voice, enabled him to think of only one word to describe her: angel.
Vocal training had tamed her voice, so her technique was decent, but in Erik's opinion, the girl must have sung like this since birth – such a voice couldn't be simply acquired by training. And it was obvious that she loved singing. No other emotion could bring such happiness to her voice.
The aria she was singing was over all too soon and just as Luciana squealed that she should sing more, the same thought entered his mind. The girl's laugh sounded almost like a song in its own way, but she submitted to her audience's wishes and continued singing after a moment, choosing a different part of Hannibal.
While that wasn't his most favorite opera in the world, Erik decided that Elissa´s part suited this girl in a way it could never suit even the most famous Prima Donnas.
With feasting and dancing and song
Tonight in celebration
We greet the victorious throng
Returned to bring salvation!
Even the whole chorus – the female chorus was supposed to sing that part – wouldn't have sounded better to his ears. This girl was giving her soul to the music, thus even if she would sing a male part, he would have probably applauded her.
The trumpets of Carthage resound!
Hear, Romans, now and tremble!
Hark to our steps to the ground!
Hear the drums – Hannibal comes!
And she dared to do it – she was singing the lines of the male chorus. Idly he wondered if she would sing Hannibal's lines as well. It would sound strange, true, but it was the feeling that mattered, the voice that sung the words, not the words themselves. The lyrics could burn for all he cared. But he wanted to hear her voice again.
Bid welcome to Hannibal's guests –
The elephants of Carthage!
As guides on our conquering quests,
Dido sends
Hannibal's friends!
He held back a chuckle – strange as it was, since he never had an urge to laugh – since she decided to avoid singing the few lines with which Hannibal was supposed to encourage the rest of the performers to feast and sing. Instead, she skipped to the part after the ballet intermezzo, straight to the arrival of the elephants. And she had done it so fluently that it didn't seem to matter to him.
Now standing almost in profile, raising her gaze to someone only she could see – Hannibal, he realized, since the tenor singing him was now supposed to be on the elephant and Elissa was to bid him farewell again.
Once more to my
Welcoming arms
My love returns
In splendor!
If she was to stay true to the libretto, she would stop right there. But the verse was unfinished, the scene incomplete and it just didn't seem… right to him. If there was something Erik hated, it was an unfinished job or an unsuccessful experiment. And this girl had proven an experiment worthy of his time.
Deciding to abandon his hiding place, he slipped to the opened door, making it seem as if he had just arrived. He knew Giovanni wouldn't be pleased if he knew he was spying on them for so long. Recalling the following lines, he took a breath and sang, hoping that the girl wouldn't be too startled.
Once more to those
Sweetest of charms
My heart and soul
Surrender.
Only a shiver seemed to pass through her small body as the girl realized that it wasn't just her imagination. The wonderful thing was that she didn't panic at all, she continued the final chorus lines, just as he had hoped.
The trumpeting elephants sound –
Hear, Romans, now and tremble!
Hark to their steps on the ground –
Hear the drums!
Hannibal comes!
He sang with her, their voices in a harmony he didn't know was possible. Only when the song ended did the girl break free of the spell, turning around to see who had decided to sing with her.
And of all the possible reactions to him, the respectful nod she gave him after just a couple of seconds was probably in the bottom five he was expecting.
Giovanni never realized that one could have a heart attack from a series of sudden simple shocks. He knew that eventually, he would have to alert Erik to his niece's presence, but didn't know that it would be so soon. Still, the boy had the eyes of a cat and the ears of a fox, so it seemed only natural that a sound as sweet as the young girl's song would draw him.
The silence had to be broken quickly before it became too uncomfortable. He stood up hastily, walking to Christine's side.
"Erik, I'm sorry - we have probably disturbed your work. But my niece has just arrived and Luciana wanted to hear her sing a bit. This is Christine Daaé, my sister's daughter." He placed his hands on her shoulders briefly. "I thought Luciana might enjoy the company during the summer."
Erik understood the hint – the girl was brought to amuse Luciana, so the child would waste her energy on something more fruitful than pursuing him at every moment. For that, he was grateful. Or at least he would be, if the thought of seeing a living, breathing angel in that very room would simply leave his thoughts.
"Christine, this is Erik, my student, I suppose, though in truth, it is I who am learning." The compliment earned Giovanni a brief smile from said student, for the brief moment he managed to tear his eyes from Christine's face.
"An honor to meet you, mademoiselle." Erik politely took her hand, but was careful not to touch it any more than necessary. The skin he felt was too soft.
Finally Christine's awed look vanished slightly and she smiled politely. "It is my honor to meet someone who has so much to teach a fine master mason such as my uncle, monsieur. Merci infiniment."
Erik raised an eyebrow elegantly. "The mademoiselle is French?"
"Partially, yes, but not completely, like you seem to be. The mademoiselle lives in Paris. And the mademoiselle would be most happy if the monsieur would simply call her Christine." She said, smiling almost impishly.
He released her hand from the grasp that was unusually light, compared to his standards and forced himself to look at Giovanni, informing him that he had altered the designs of their current job and would need to discuss it with him later on, because he was sure that the customer wouldn't be happy and he wasn't too eager to compromise on a shallow and garish building. Then, he turned his attention to Luciana, who was still in a state of shock because of his sudden appearance and said simply that: "the bench for the mademoiselle will soon be ready".
Bowing respectfully to Christine, he tore his gaze away from the smile with which she rewarded him and, like a shadow, fled from the room, away from the torturous angel. But he couldn't wipe her from his mind.
Christine, for her part, was quite stupefied on the inside – she had met quite a few boys, admirers, even, despite her youth, so she had the practiced politeness of an opera diva. But it always took her just a second to slip into the routine of kindness. This time, if Giovanni wouldn't have spoken, she would have probably stood there for hours, simply staring at the sight in front of her, the embodiment of grace and sensuality that had appeared in front of her all too suddenly. That is, if she could survive the burning intensity of his gaze much longer.
She had noticed the mask, of course, but in her sweet trance, she didn't dare or want to question it. It would also be impolite, she decided, so she tried to slip into the secure politeness. Inside, she was absolutely certain she must have looked like a gawping child.
Snapping out of her trance again, she excused herself to Giovanni and Luciana and told them that she would go have a look at Rome from the rooftop balcony – thatshe wanted to see the city in the twilight sun. But just as Erik, she knew that she needed to escape from the intense sensation that passed through her. She was a child at heart, ignorant to it. And ignorance was dangerous.
She knew the way up – the house was not unknown to her – and neither of her relatives protested as she slipped away, retreating to the sunlight. She didn't hear or see anything... and she certainly didn't hear Luciana's voice saying:
"I think Christine should be singing for us more often, don't you, Papa?"