Christine

I stood, watching as the candle burnt. It spewed oily smoke, and the wax had all but melted. I swiped at my face, feeling the cold tears on my cheeks, and turned to the stairway. I would let the candle burn for as long as it could.

I hadn't been so distraught since before my Angel first came. Every time I missed Father, all I had to do was talk to the Angel, and I would not need to cry. If ever I did start to cry, he wouldn't let me, and though I didn't understand it those times, I did now: the Angel was protecting me.

I suppose I had forgotten just how much crying hurt.

On my way out of the chapel, I ran once again straight into Madame Giry. "Forgive me," I murmured. "I'll be right to supper."

"Christine," she said softly and I turned to her. She smiled down at me, and I was surprised. It was the best smile she'd ever given me—even her eyes seemed to smile. "Christine, you needn't cry."

Her thumbs wiped away the remaining tears, and I furrowed my brow. "You couldn't understand, Madame."

She lowered herself to my level and nodded at me. "I do understand, child."

I pursed my lips quizzically.

"Listen to me, Christine." Madame Giry put her hands on my shoulders, and I realised just how often we'd been in this position over the past few days. Each time, she had tried to force me to give away my secret Angel. But I would be prepared this time. "Listen to me. Your secret is safe with me, and your Angel will return."

My mouth dropped, and I gasped. I wasn't prepared at all! Surely she was trying to trick me…but how would she know he had left? "What did you say?"

"You can trust me, Christine," she assured, and that soft gaze that I'd never seen before both warmed me and shocked me. "I am a friend of the Angel of Music, and I would never give your secret away. I promise you that he has returned, and you needn't cry any longer."

My mouth was still wide-open. Dare I believe her? Why ever would she lie to me? Of course I could believe her! She knew the Angel, and he'd told me so himself! "The Angel told me he watched over you!"

Madame's mouth turned up at the corners. "Yes…he always has."

"Well why did you pretend you didn't believe in him?"

"He wanted to wait until the time was right," she said quickly, but I wasn't sure what that meant. "Now, Christine, if you return to the chapel, I can assure you that he will be in there waiting."

I paused for only a second before spinning on my heel and bursting back into the chapel. "Angel!"

My voice echoed throughout the stone room, but he did not respond. I would try a different approach.

"Have you returned to me, my Angel?

"Give me a sign; show me!"

My skin tingled—I had never sung in this room, but the echoes that trailed my voice were absolutely delightful! A moment of silence, and I noticed my arms were raised. I slowly let them fall to my sides, my shoulders heaving as my heart raced. Surely he was there…Madame Giry had said he was!

I should have known not to doubt, because the strong door into the chapel closed on its own, and then his voice came, after three days of unbearable silence, comforting and tender like only an Angel could be:

"Angel with faith so strong, enduring

"Long though I've been silent."

Joy returned to me, and slight frustration; tears of two kinds fell from my eyes.

"Why did you keep me in waiting?

"Was my faith tested all through?"

He responded:

"Wise you've become to have sensed this

"And your faith proves true."

I shivered at the praise, and continued our song.

"Angel of Music, how I've missed you!

"I'm alone no longer!

"Never again I'll doubt your promise

"You'll be with me always!"

As my voice echoed in the still room, the Angel added his own, in new, low minor tones that froze me in the grand aural atmosphere of the chapel:

"I am your Angel of Music…

"Sing to me, Angel of Music…"

Without realising it, my voice lifted in wordless melody, in a tune I had never sung or even heard. Joy and apprehension coursed through my veins as my voice carried me higher and higher, scaling and descending, and scaling again. The air around me swirled with the notes, resounding even as I changed keys. I couldn't stop, even if I wanted to. This is what it is like to be hypnotised, I thought as the music I was making rang in my ears.

"Sing for me," came his command, softly at first, and then louder. "Sing, Christine!"

His voice was different! It was almost…no, not angry, not angry at all, but not happy…oh, I couldn't even think of the word! Greedy? No. I continued to sing, and somewhere within the ocean of sound I heard a note that could not possibly have come from me. I couldn't sing so high, I was sure!

I held the note as long as I could, and as soon as I had released it fully, the tone still resonated around me. I was nearly speechless. "Oh, Angel," I breathed. "I've never done that before."

His voice bounced off of the walls. "The acoustics of your dressing room are not as intense nor as definite as they are here," he answered huskily. "Stone walls, hollow caverns, will trick the ear into smoothing the rough edges of your voice, take hold of the pure note in your strain and refine it as it bathes in it own echoes. What you heard in this room was deceptive purity, Christine, and your confidence grew immeasurably, which resulted in a widening of your range. Beginning tomorrow, we will practice in here during early daylight in addition to our evening lessons in your dressing room. I want you to cling to the confidence these acoustics will lend and remember it throughout your entire day; come evening, I will train you to hold onto that confidence even when your voice does not ring as purely in your ear. Perfection is only an illusion, Christine; it will be your duty, as we continue, to grasp that illusion and mimic it every time you sing." A second of silence, and the warm and strict tones of his voice settled about the room. "And when you have done so, I will have nothing left to teach you."

I'm not sure when it happened, but I had fallen to my knees as he spoke, letting his commands in his angelic baritone penetrate both my ears and my mind. I nodded slowly, reverently. "I understand, Master." A pause. "But I should hope that day never comes."

This time the pause came from him. "Why would you hope such a thing?"

I gazed sadly at the picture of my father that hung beneath the candle. "Because when you have nothing left to teach me, you will leave."

Silence once again stilled in the warm room, and suddenly, his voice boomed throughout: "I will NEVER leave you, Christine!"

I fell backward onto my palms as the candles others had left lit blew out. My heart stopped, and my mouth dropped, and my hands shook as his words threw themselves at me from every wall. I was stunned: his promise suggested comfort, and it only seemed right that I should be comforted by it…but he sounded so angry! How had I made him so angry?

As the sounds sank into the floor, I heard only my own breath as I cowered, my eyes roaming the ceiling.

Then his voice returned, and it was much gentler, much more loving, but for some reason it did nothing to still my heart. "I will always be with you. Never forget that."

I shook my head, and forced out, "I won't ever forget again." After a moment of silence, I clumsily got to my feet, and brushed the curls out of my eyes. He sounded so angry, but it wasn't only the anger that frightened me—it was that same sound in his voice that I couldn't put a word to earlier, that caused the hairs on my arms to suddenly stand on end.

Possessive.

I found the word, then.