Chapter 5

The return up the five floors seemed far longer than they had when Erik and Christine descended. Christine turned to Erik once they reached the last basement and said it would be best if they avoided walking through the mirror at all cost. Given her absence she had no doubt that someone would be waiting for her in her room.

"Now that I know you are a respectable gentleman," she said, squeezing his arm tighter. "And because I am a respectable gentlewoman, you shall alert me of your presence whenever you come to my mirror. That way I can be certain that I am in proper attire."

He looked away briefly, coughing from the fumes of his torch before he nodded.

Christine's brow furrowed. "Have you watched me dress before?"

"Of course not," he answered quickly. "That's absolutely lecherous. It's insulting that you would dare insinuate such a thing."

Christine paused, feeling a drop of water fall on the top of her head. She winced as the cold saturated her hair and hit her scalp before she moved and stood before him, blocking his path.

He glanced over her shoulder before his eyes settled on her face. "Just what are you doing, Mademoiselle?"

"You have watched me in private moments, haven't you?"

Erik looked terribly uncomfortable in the torchlight. "There may have been one or two nights when I arrived for your lessons a few moments early, but once I saw that you were not…decent…I turned away and allowed you your privacy, just as a gentleman would do for a respectable gentlewoman."

Christine studied him closely, noticing how nervous he appeared. With a shake of her head she continued down the hall. "Well, good. Because, kindly monsieur, I would find it simply dreadful if my angel were a man who could not be trusted."

She flashed him a smile over her shoulder and he nodded, his expression stern yet thoughtful. Though he said nothing more of the matter, Christine was fairly certain that he would be careful—or at least careful not to be caught.

"Where shall I enter unnoticed?" Christine asked, her pace slowing as she realized she had no idea where she was heading.

"There's an entrance above the stage."

"Above the stage? Monsieur, if the stagehands—"

"At this hour? They're all drunkards. None of them have left bed—or the floor where they fell—just yet."

"Perhaps not. The stage it is, then."

For a while they walked in silence until Erik found the doorway and unhooked the latch. He set the torch into a crude iron torch holder before she handed him back his cloak.

"I will remember the way," she assured him.

Erik kept the door shut and looked her over, the anguish in his eyes consuming his gaze. Christine looked at him and knew what he thought. He assumed she wouldn't return as she had promised.

"Do you trust me?" she whispered, hearing muffled voices down the hall.

"Not at all," he answered.

"Then what happens?" she asked, stepping closer, so close she could feel him breathing heavy on her face.

He reached for her, gingerly running his fingers down her back. "I don't know, Mademoiselle Daae."

"Will you force me to join you? Will you steal me from my dressing room? Or worse—from the stage, before the crowd?" she asked, her forehead pressed against his arm.

His hand stopped caressing her and he didn't answer. Christine felt his chest move and heard him inhale deeply. His body tensed, his breath hitching in his throat.

"The chapel," she whispered before she disappeared through the door and skittered down the steps, unnoticed for the moment. She glanced back once and saw that Erik did not follow her. Even if she couldn't see him she could feel him, a strong life force, and an omnipresent spirit that she had always loved and respected but never feared.

"I will sing for you," she said, closing her eyes. "For you, my Angel of Music."

-o-

Christine entered her dressing room and found Raoul sitting in a chair reading. He sprang up the moment he saw her, his expression turning from anxiety, to relief, to anger and back to relief.

"My God," he said. "What happened to you?"

"I'm fine. I was preoccupied." She sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose at the overwhelming scent of roses.

"Your hair…you look terrible."

Christine glanced in her mirror and grimaced at her reflection. Her hair looked fit for rats to nest. "A good brushing and I will be fine."

"I came to your door last night just as I promised. There was a man's voice."

Christine blushed. "Oh. Yes."

"The door was locked. Did you lock it once I left? Who was that man? It doesn't appear that anything was stolen, which was the managers' concern."

"Raoul, there's something I should tell you."

He grabbed her arm and examined it thoroughly before lifting her chin and looking at her neck. "Did he hurt you? I'll kill any bastard who harms you, Christine. Did you see what he looked like?"

"There's nothing to be concerned over, Raoul."

"Of course there is," he said, gripping her arms. "You've been so abused that you don't know which way is up. That's it, isn't it? My God, what sort of monsters roam this world?"

"That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

Raoul sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I've been worried sick about you all night. Surely you understand how important you are to me, don't you, Christine?"

This was it. The moment she would ruin her affection for Raoul, end their childhood romance once and for all. She had loved him like a sweetheart but they were older now, different. He had gone on to become the Vicomte de Chagny and she? Her title had been that of an orphan.

Christine placed her hand on his cheek. "You have always been so caring toward me, Raoul. Such a wonderful, gentle, special man in my life."

He beamed proudly and nodded. "I would do anything for you, Christine. Anything in the world for you."

"You're like the older brother I've never had."

And there it was: the dagger concealed in her cloak that wrenched through his body and impaled his heart.

At first he stood speechless, his mind undoubtedly repeating her words, playing her sentence backwards and forward, turning it over, dissecting it and hoping beyond all hope that she hadn't said what she had clearly said.

"When we were younger…Christine?"

She nodded. "It was fun, wasn't it? Those days we spent playing by the sea."

"It was."

"Have you ever returned there? To the old house?"

"I have," he muttered under his breath. "There's a young woman there that my brother would like me to see."

"Beautiful?" Christine asked.

He smiled. "She is. But I'm in Paris and she's…"

"Invite her to the theater. You're a patron and most certainly you have your own box. Why don't you invite her? It would be lovely, don't you think?"

Raoul hesitated a moment, the longing in his eyes slowly fading as he came to accept Christine's words. He ran his finger along her cheek.

"You've changed," he said.

Christine kissed him once on the cheek and patted his shoulder.

"Little Lotte," she sighed. "We've outgrown those nights in the attic, haven't we?"

"I was hoping we could rekindle those feelings."

"Oh, Raoul, I should have told you after the performance but I was far too excited, what with all the applause, the flowers, the well-wishers. That man you heard here in this room, he's…well…you understand, don't you, Raoul?"

There was nothing for him to say, though Christine saw a hundred different thoughts pass through his eyes.

"If this is what you want…I'm happy for you," he said, his voice lacking sincerity. "But you understand how people will speak of you if they find out you've been with this man?"

Christine nodded, realizing Raoul had the impression that something had happened. Now that she had been missing she would need to explain her absence and she hadn't quite thought that far ahead.

"You're correct. But I will think of something. You won't say anything dreadful about me will you, Raoul? Surely you believe me when I say that it was all innocent?" she asked, batting her eyelashes.

"Well, um, yes, of course I believe you, but you best think fast, Christine. Madame Giry has been scouring the opera house for you."

Christine bit her lip. "Oh my," she whispered.