His long, lean legs stretched out as he reclined in the chair. On the rosewood table beside him were piled the discards of his interest: dozens of books that he had recently perused, and tossed aside after a quick digestion of their contents. Amid the clutter, a Chinese vase held a delicate orchid, a recent import casually acquired. Its plump white tint curled across the petal's surface abandoning the edges to a blush of rose. The room he sat in was boldly lit with candles reflected from a hundred pieces of mirror, as the light flung itself across the room.
He closed his book and rose. Opening the door that led to the outside, he stood in the doorway, and gazed in the direction of the lake. The moist air touched his cheek, and entered his home—the only visitor he cared to welcome. The vast darkness of the cavern pressed against the brilliantly lit room, and then pulled away as it beckoned to him.
Turning, he casually picked up his cloak, and stepped into the night.
Pushing the small boat away from the shore, he effortlessly propelled it through the dark water. While moving across the underground lake, he reflected on the last year of his life.
With a clenched jaw, he recalled the tedious and joyless existence that had been his life since Christine had left him.
Since her untimely departure, he had used constant motion to keep his mind and spirit from becoming dangerously numb. He had established a machine-like, brutal rhythm in his life, which had driven him to walk, swim, and leap among the opera house rafters. Movement generated its own purpose, and although that purpose was devoid of beauty and satisfaction, it had kept him alive.
Beneath his well-tailored suit were rock hard muscles. He had gotten physically stronger in the last year from the endless activity. But his sleep had suffered. Typically, he awoke a half dozen times in the course of a night. The insomnia gave his normally sharp senses an unworldly edginess.
As the months passed, the endless cycle of grinding routine became second nature. The only interruptions were his books and research, as he continued to follow the new thoughts and trends of his time. Discoveries in science, architecture, and the arts were at best meager stimulants for a lonely mind.
And then suddenly, the opera house returned to life. After a period of mourning, Paris renewed its interest in the great structure, and plans were made to reclaim the space. The bustling activity in the formerly empty halls caused a surge of energy that penetrated the depths of the building. It shook the grayness from the air, and aroused his interest.
The boat touched shore, and he leapt from it. Traveling along the rough, stone floor, he quickly moved along the black passages, as he climbed to the upper floors.
In the year that he had been alone in the opera house, it had been a strange holiday. No need for stealth or cat-like movements as he walked the halls. He had never known such freedom! At first he had almost regretted the sight of people returning to the Opera Populaire. But as more came, he carefully watched their comings and goings, and quickly determined who would be useful to him.
Weeks passed, and his interest in people was renewed. He'd almost forgotten how foolish they could be. Human activity was a play that occasionally offered choice performances that piqued his curiosity.
Leaving the passage, he stepped into box five, and gazed across the waves of red velvet seats in the auditorium below. The stage was nearly repaired. His large shoulders slid beneath his cape as he turned with his gray-green eyes peering across the room. He could see the future, and in it, this room would be filled with the new Paris elite who waited for the next tour de force. What will the first production be, and who will perform?
If he chose to make his wishes known to the current management, he would do it differently this time. Some self-restraint was in order. The tyrannies of the old Opera Ghost had provoked anger and revenge. He had been fortunate that the mob hadn't found his home after the fire.
Closing his eyes, he leaned slightly back, and inhaled deeply. There was a fresh smell to the place. It had been aired out and the smoky odor had diminished. He could faintly smell the large floral arrangements in the grand foyer. Opening his eyes, he gazed intently at the stage.
He remembered the arias that brilliant singers had performed there. One diva's voice in particular rang out, and separated itself from the crowd, unbearably sweet and haunting.
Christine.
Her lovely face floated into his mind. Mercifully, it no longer tore at his heart.
After a year of mourning, he had given up his dream of a beautiful, loving companion who would inspire, and comfort him. Christine had taught him the futility of that dream, and she had taught him well. He had buried his desire to have a mate, a lover. He had buried the dream in the grave of his heart, and had sung a Requiem for the joys and pleasures that would never be.
He thought of the people who now shared the opera house with him, and smiled sardonically. They will be little more to me than interesting research. And if I'm fortunate, there will be an occasional surprise that will entertain.
Swiftly, he moved silently along the adjacent hall with alert eyes peering ahead. His long legs ate up the ground as he headed towards the roof.
He had developed a taste for sunsets in the last week. It was time to indulge his senses.
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On Monday morning, Jade met with Mme. Truffaut, an older woman in her fifties with a stiff figure. Her corset looked as if it had been bound too tightly, and had squeezed every inch of softness out of her frame. She was a tall and imposing woman, and was accustomed to being obeyed.
"Mademoiselle, what other work have you done?" she asked Jade with a sharp, impatient tone.
"Mme. Truffaut, I have done the usual. I've managed a small household with the typical chores of cleaning, cooking, sewing, caring for the animals, and shopping for our needs."
"Do you think you could manage the task of receiving, and arranging deliveries for the opera house? I need an assistant who will oversee such matters."
Mme Truffaut studied the young woman before her. DuChant had been correct about her carriage and no nonsense presentation. The older woman's tactics hadn't intimidated her. It was likely that the girl would be able to handle the some times rough and crude deliverymen.
Jade watched the older woman carefully. She had had no idea as to what sort of work would be handed to her, and she didn't care. She had decided to take the job in the stable. Dealing with Rascon would be difficult, but she was accustomed to difficult people. The lure of the horses was strong enough to compensate for any problems she might encounter there. It was likely that Rascon would at least partially restrain his hostility, since he would know that she was there because DuChant had lost confidence in him.
That day Jade and Mme. Truffaut worked in the management offices, and studied the books, price lists, and suppliers.
Mme. Truffaut bent over a large accounts book that listed businesses, which had provided goods to the opera house the year before.
"It will be your job to contact these ten companies and arrange for deliveries," she said to Jade. "You can start with these five this week, and finish up with the rest by the end of the month." She had rapidly pointed out five companies that were located randomly on the ledger page. Jade nodded briefly, then turned to pick up another ledger that had been placed on a small table next to the desk.
"Mademoiselle, I need you to pay attention to these details!" Mme. Truffaut was greatly irritated that the girl had barely glanced at the page that she had pointed to. She looked sharply at the girl who had a dreamy look in her eyes. DuChant must have been wrong when he said that she was bright. She's acting like a dolt!
Jade turned to the older woman, and proceeded to recite the names and locations of the five businesses that she was to contact this week.
Mme. Truffaut looked startled, and then glanced at the open page of the ledger while Jade was reciting. She found the last two names and locations that the girl listed. She memorized them without effort, she thought with amazement.
The rest of the day passed quickly enough for Jade. After the ledger incident, Madame had softened a bit, even warmed up to her a little. It was all the same to Jade, whether the woman liked or disliked her. She would do what was required of her.
When the sun hung low in the sky, Jade left the office, and quickly climbed to the roof. She was trying to get there in time for the sunset. Taking two steps at a time, she held her skirt up above her calves, and sprang through the door at the top of the stairs. The air on the roof was remarkably cooler than below. Immediately she stopped, and blinked slowly as she stared at the sight ahead.
It was a rare sunset with colors that were astonishingly deep and vivid. As her skin soaked in the blood red light, she exclaimed at its intensity. Running to the parapet, she gazed at the city's vista, and then watched the tiny people below who were hurrying home to their meals and their loved ones.
After ten minutes, the sun dropped below the horizon, and the light began to fade. The lamps of the city were gradually being lit. With each passing minute it grew darker on the roof.
Leaning on the parapet, she finally waved farewell to the lights below. Then she walked slowly and dreamily across the roof as she explored its surface with her feet. When she reached the center, she turned and stood very still, as if she was listening to something. Slowly, she began to sway.
The melody in her head was rich and beautiful. It had been there most of the day. She had tried to ignore it while working, especially when Mme. Truffaut was explaining certain details. She couldn't afford to be distracted on her first day at work. But the work was done, and she was alone in this very large space. It was time to let her barriers down, and give in to the music.
With her arms stretched out at her sides, she began to twirl. She made large, generous circles, with her face tipped up to the sky. Her pace quickened and the circles narrowed, until she finally spun so quickly that she lost her balance, and fell to her knees. Sitting there on her heels, she waited for the dizziness to recede.
The music was louder now, clearer.
Steadying herself, she stood up with her eyes closed. Without moving her feet, she began to sway. Her arms opened wide and closed as her body undulated. At times she would reach down and touch the roof, and at other times her arms would spread wide as if she were embracing the sky. Her body obeyed the hidden rhythm in her mind as she danced out the song.
Then it was finished. She sighed deeply, and opened her eyes. The music was gone. She could now go below and do whatever needed to be done: eat, bathe, or sleep.
Jade turned, and walked to the door. Before she left, she took one last look at the massive statues that surrounded her. It would be interesting to come back here during the day when she could look at them more closely. She exited the roof, and quietly closed the door behind her.
The lights of Paris were now entirely lit. The city's glow moved past the horizon, nourished by an array of luminescent points that covered the ground.
He stepped out of the shadows that he had lingered in when his view of the sunset was interrupted. He had heard her leaping up the stairs like a wild doe, and had casually moved to the side of one of the monumental sculptures as she burst through the door. There he stood as he waited for her to leave. She looked different than she had in the stables. There was an excitement in her body, a tension that he hadn't seen before.
He watched her twirl across the roof. It looked like a game that a child plays with its body: her upturned face, the increased pace until dizziness overwhelms.
And then she began to dance, with an unusual, wavelike motion, like a young sapling twisting in the wind. Her arms became the branches that bent and dipped as they were pushed along by restless air. Then her hands reached out to the sky as if drawing it down. He found her ease of movement, its spontaneity and simple grace, appealing.
The performance was brief, but oddly soothing. When she finished, he felt as if he had spent an hour under a willow tree by a stream, with a warm breeze sweeping over his taut muscles. He hadn't been aware of the tension in his body until he felt a release during her performance.
He leaned on the parapet inches away from where she had stood. A breeze picked up the edge of his dark cape, and lifted it lightly, giving his still figure a touch of vibrancy. As he stared at the horizon and the multitude of lights that was Paris, his white mask caught the dim light.
Slowly, he smiled. Amusements and distractions, he thought dryly. Perhaps this will be a promising first season at my opera house.
Returning to his home below, he retired for the night. For the first time in many months, he slept well, and only awoke twice instead of his usual half dozen awakenings.