One more night turned into two and then three. Meg didn't want to be alone, and Erik didn't seem inclined to leave. On the fourth morning, however, she could tell he was anxious to go and once he swore he would return "very soon", Meg didn't try to stop him.
The flat was oppressively quiet. Meg spent most of the afternoon moving listlessly about the parlour. She forced herself to practice but gave up after bursting into tears between second and third positions. Dancing in a world without her mother felt wrong. She made a small supper of the cold meat and cheese Erik left for her and then climbed inside the heap of blankets she'd thrown on the sofa and fell asleep.
The next day passed much like the previous one but with growing anxiety that Erik wouldn't come back. The absence of her mother was intense, and floods of tears filled days two and three. It was just as well that he hadn't returned yet.
"Crying makes him anxious anyway."
On the fourth morning, she went stir crazy. Meg bundled up and burst outside, squinting in the bright winter sunlight. She looked around and ambled down the street with no destination in mind. Eventually, she arrived at a nearby park and took up a perch on a bench near a copse of trees. Couples wandered past arm-in-arm, some very close and looking cozy. Children ran about giggling, their indulgent parents smiling from the footpath. Meg couldn't remember her mother ever letting her play with such abandon. There had been fun, of course, but almost always under the watchful eye of maman. The truly delightful times were at the opera house, when Meg evaded her mother and sneaked off to dance in the upper cellars. Alone, she could move as she liked without the constant corrections on her form. In the dusty storerooms, Meg pretended to dance her dream roles in front of all of Paris; and, sometimes, she danced just for the Opera Ghost.
"Maybe it won't be such a bad thing to be alone. I could move as I like without the constant correction." Meg lifted her face to the sky and closed her eyes. "What comes next?"
The cold breeze tousled her hair and chilled her face. Absently, Meg realized the rest of her was cold too. "Time to go home." It didn't feel like home anymore. Frowning, she got to her feet and started slowly homeward, her heart heavy. Dark clouds had smothered the winter sun and the sky threatened precipitation. Meg stopped short across the street from the flat as a familiar, portly figure disappeared inside.
"Desjardins!" her hands felt damp inside her gloves and her heart did a little hiccup. Meg spun on her heel and hurried back the way she came. She stopped behind a lamp post, still within sight of the front door but hopefully not near enough to be noticed. She tried to act nonchalant; she was just a little bit lost and pausing to consider her direction. Passersby gave her wary glances, but no one approached her.
"Honestly, I'm surprised he didn't come sooner." She sniffled loudly in the cold and pulled her hood as far forward as it would go. It was too bad he hadn't come earlier while Erik was still with her. Desjardins was suspicious of the nature of their acquaintance. "Not that it's any of his concern. Other than he thinks he has some prior claim on me. Never mind that Erik said he was a distant cousin." Marrying one's cousin wasn't fashionable anymore, but people still did it. "Not that Erik is my cousin or that we're getting married." She choked back a laugh. Marrying Erik seemed like an absurd, albeit not unwelcome, idea. He certainly cared for her, but she couldn't envision him ever asking for her hand. Meg pressed her forehead against the cold lamp post and waited for Desjardins to re-emerge. "Maybe he just came to demand my return to work."
Desjardins reappeared after what felt like an eternity; she couldn't make out his facial expression, but his posture suggested displeasure. Meg chewed nervously on her lower lip; her body was taut and ready to run. There were few places to hide if he came her way and nothing immediately available. Desjardins hovered near the door for a few minutes, looking up and down the street. "Oh hell no." He glanced her way and then hastened away in the opposite direction. Meg's knees buckled with relief, and she grasped the lamp post for support. Steadying herself, she cautiously covered the short distance home; she only went inside once she was satisfied that he had gone.
A bouquet of flowers lay at her door along with Desjardins' calling card. Meg scooped them up and, once inside, promptly tossed them both into the trash. She leaned back against the wall and forced herself to just breathe before her heart galloped away from her. The same yawning emptiness enveloped her, and the smallest of sounds might as well have been thunder in the silence. She stepped out of her cloak, letting it fall to the floor and spun around slowly. The parlour was filled with her mother's things; familiar things but not hers. Knickknacks, photographs of family Meg barely knew. She had lived her entire life in the shadow of her mother. Meg dropped onto the sofa and buried her face in her hands.
"I can't go back there." Going back to the opera house was unthinkable; she would never feel safe there again even with Erik in residence. Relying on him to babysit her through long hours of rehearsals and other commitments wouldn't be fair to him. "I can't stay in Paris." She trembled with the realization. "I have to leave."
Consumed with urgency, Meg ran to the hall cupboard and hauled out a steamer trunk. She dragged it into her bedroom and flew around, unceremoniously tossing her clothes and keepsakes inside. As for the rest of the flat, she'd take a few things but that was it. The landlord could deal with the rest.
Erik returned in the early evening to discover the chaos she had created.
"Cricket, are you here?" He called, stopping short in the doorway of her mother's bedroom. Papers were strewn all over the bed and a pile of sensible black gowns had collected around her ankles.
"Maestro!" Meg jumped; she hadn't heard him return.
"Are you alright?" his voice was cautious; like he was afraid she'd lost her mind. "Were you robbed?" Erik motioned to the mess surrounding them.
"No, this was all me." Meg flushed with embarrassment. She kicked away the clothes at her feet and picked her way to the door. Erik guided her to the sofa, which was still heaped with her blanket nest. Meg unceremoniously dumped them on the floor and threw her arms around him as soon as he was seated.
"Cricket?" His hesitated then folded her in his arms. "Meg, what is it?"
"Nothing." She said into his coat. Erik gently pulled back and tipped her face upward. "I'm just happy to see you."
"You're shaking, mon ange." Erik glanced past her head at the flowers sticking out of the wastebasket. "You had a caller?" suspicion coloured his voice.
"No, nothing like that." she shook her head. "It was-" she swallowed. "Desjardins."
Erik stilled and gazed at her intently, like a deadly snake enthralling its prey. She quietly told him of her walk, glossing over the details until the return home. "I watched from down the street until I saw him go." Meg's voice trailed away, lost in the topaz glint of his eyes. It was very easy to fall under his spell. "Erik?"
"Hm?" His eyes refocused on her.
"Did you hear me?"
Erik held her face in his hands. "Yes, sweetheart. I was thinking."
"About?" She asked needlessly. Meg had a feeling she knew exactly what Erik was thinking. She turned to place a kiss in his palm.
"Never you mind."
"No murder, Erik." She warned.
Erik's hand flew to his heart, feigning innocence. "That is the furthest thing from my mind."
Meg's eyebrows arched skeptically. "Don't kill him, Maestro."
"He has terrorized you. He would have forced himself on you and you ask me to leave him be?"
"It's no reason to take his life."
"I disagree, Cricket." He pressed her hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle. "I have killed for less." He opened her hand and kissed her palm, telling her of the first murders in Persia in vivid detail. Meg shrank away but his grip tightened; even as he lightly brushed his lips across her wrist. He is dangerous. It thrilled her though, more than a little. Shame flared red in her cheeks even as icy fear formed in the pit of her stomach.
"Erik." Her breath hitched as he nipped at her tender skin. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Are you afraid, little Cricket?" His voice wound around her, clouding her mind. He had one of the loveliest voices she'd ever heard. "Surely he could enthrall anyone." She realized absently that he had pulled her onto his lap. His long fingers nimbly working the pins from her hair. Meg blinked hard, trying to shake the brain fog. She was beginning to understand why Christine followed him blindly underground. Erik's hypnotic voice was difficult to resist.
"Stop this, Erik." She clumsily grabbed his wrists. With two long pins in each hand, Erik froze in place.
"Why are you trying to frighten me?" Meg plucked the pins from his grasp and tossed them aside. "I know you are dangerous. I don't need a demonstration."
The colour drained from his face and he sagged into the sofa. "I don't know, Cricket. Please forgive me. I get so angry that he might've -"
"But he didn't." She kissed him softly. "It isn't for you to mete out punishment."
Erik looked like he wanted to argue but he held his peace. He sighed and laid his head back, staring up at the ceiling. Meg turned to get up but he caught her waist, keeping her firmly on his lap. "You haven't explained the disaster in here."
Meg pursed her lips. "I was afraid of-" she wouldn't say his name. "I decided to leave."
"You're frightened enough to leave and I'm not allowed to kill him?"
"Haven't you caused enough damage? I don't want to see you add to the tally just for me."
"What's one more?" He shrugged.
"What if you're caught?" Meg whispered.
"They can only hang me once."
"No, Erik." Her voice shook. "You are no good to me if you are dead." He looked confused for a moment and then sighed dramatically.
"Very well." He leaned in but pulled back at the last second. "I am sorry for frightening you, Cricket."
"I know." Meg kissed him.
"Where are you going to go?" He removed his mask and set it on the arm of the sofa.
"I'm not sure." She watched him reach up for the remaining hairpins; he gasped softly as her hair rippled over her shoulders and down her back. "Maybe to London, I could dance there. A Frenchwoman wouldn't be that out of place."
"London." He snorted derisively. "That isn't far away enough from Desjardins." He brushed his fingers through her hair.
"Prussia then? Or Rome? Perhaps St. Petersburg?"
"Or -" he clasped her hands in his. "You could go back with me."
"With you?" She echoed. "To New York?"
"Forget it, it was a ridiculous suggestion." Erik clammed up, staring at a point somewhere behind her.
"Not ridiculous." She kissed his hands. "But where would I live? I don't know any English." Her mind was spinning with questions.
"I will teach you; and you will live with me, of course. Unless you don't want to."
"Yes." She blurted out. "Yes, of course I want to."
"You do?" He was incredulous.
"But we're not – that is to say, what will we tell people?" she stammered.
"That we're not married? Does that bother you?" Erik asked shyly, brushing his thumb over her lips.
"No, it doesn't." Meg shook her head. Her face felt hot, her skin tingled beneath his touch. She felt dizzy with need and awash with anxiety.
"We will tell people whatever we wish. But I lo-" fear flashed in his eyes. "I loathe the thought of leaving you here, and I did promise Antoinette that I would take care of you. I mean to keep my word if you'll let me."
"Did he almost say he loves me?" Meg stared at him for a moment, reacquainting herself with the reality of his face. It was easy to forget with a mask and the caress of his voice. Was this what she truly wanted, a new country and a new life with her enigmatic lover? Erik shifted uneasily under her stare.
"How soon can we leave?" She said finally.
"How soon can you resign?" Erik pulled her mouth to his, not really interested in the answer.