Chapter 15

Meg, who was well aware of Christine's absence, took it upon herself to move into Christine's room at the very end of the hall. Christine, being completely unaware of Meg's unnecessary thoughtfulness, nearly wet herself when she moped in and collapsed on her bed.

Her intentions of sulking were interrupted, however, thanks to Meg, who was sleeping in Christine's bed.

"You've returned!" Meg shrieked in her high-pitched fairy-like voice.

"You're sleeping in my bed!" Christine shrieked back.

Meg pointed her finger at Christine. "You've been ravished, haven't you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Ravished!" Meg yelped, which caused the blankets beside her to wriggle. A hand—quite large, square and masculine—clamped over her mouth. It was followed by this:

"Pipe down! Your mother will hear us!"

Meg, who was talking to the blanket, replied, "My mother is deaf as a bat!"

"The expression, I think, is blind as a bat. Their hearing is quite good, I believe."

"You're not only handsome, you're brilliant!" Meg gushed. She clapped her hands and rubbed at what appeared to be the blanket's head.

"Handsome, brilliant, and hung like a horse!"

To that, Meg shrieked, but this time with laughter. "Quiet, now. Christine will hear you."

Christine, who found that she was sitting on the blanket's lap, felt its horse-like appendage and shifted to avoid it. "Meg, whom do you have in my bed?"

Meg appeared shocked. "I don't know what you're referring to."

"Whose is that voice? Why, Meg, you've a man in my room!"

"No, I don't," she said innocently.

"Yes, you do. I'm sitting on him."

Meg shoved Christine nearly clear off the bed. "Don't sit on him! He's mine! You have your own gentleman to molest you."

With a sigh of frustration, Christine stormed out of her room. If Erik didn't want to accompany her, she would find fresh air on her own as well as any scorned woman's best friend: Something sweet, hard on the outside, and filled with cream. Thinking of it made her quiver.

A pastry never sounded better.

"I walk these lonely boulevards, on the streets of broken dreams," Christine sang quietly as she dragged herself down the street. "My silhouette is the only one who walks beside me. My trivial heart's the only thing that's…oh, forget it," she muttered. She wasn't a poet or song writer. She was a soprano, a little lost sheep wandering without a herd, a little filly waiting for her stallion.

"Stupid blonde Meg," Christine said through her teeth, though she knew it wasn't Meg's fault that Erik had left without accepting her apology. It was all her fault, but there was nothing she could do to remedy the situation, as Erik would have nothing to do with her.

It was almost dark out and the wind was picking up. Rather than wandering around alone, she should have been wandering with Erik.

"Agony, misery! That can cut like a machete!" she wailed, which drew attention to her sullen form still walking aimlessly toward the smell of lard-laden goodies. Most people glared at her before continuing on their way.

Her solace was within sight, but before she could cross the street, a hand reached out and clamped onto her wrist. With a gasp, she was pulled into the alley.

"You could be easily killed on the street," her abductor snarled. "You foolish child!"

Christine froze in wide-eyed terror for several unsteady heartbeats before instinct took over and she did the only thing she could. She kicked her assailant in the shin, which made him jump. Once he was favoring his right leg, she kicked him again between the legs.

"For God's sake," the man strained, his voice sounding near tears. "Christine!"

Christine covered her mouth with both hands before she swore, apologized for having the mouth of a longshoreman, and helped Erik hobble from the darkest shadows to the end of the alley. The streetlamps provided just enough light for Christine to see Erik's pained expression.

"What are you doing?" she asked, not knowing what she could do to help him.

"I have no idea," he admitted as he took several deep breaths.

"My God, you should have revealed yourself rather than sneaking about in the dark!" Christine lectured. She placed her hands on her hips and shook her head.

"Where did you learn to kick people like that?" he asked, finally recovering from her attack.

"Madame Giry once demonstrated on Joseph Bouquet. It was quite entertaining. She asked if he wanted to assist her, his eyes twinkled and then…" She hit her palm with her fist and Erik winced. "He screamed like a cat when you step on its tail and—"

"Yes, yes, I understand," Erik snapped. He glanced around. "You were being followed, Mademoiselle."

Christine gawked at him briefly. "By a man?"

"Yes."

"Where did he go?"

Erik hesitated. "He walked away now. You're safe."

Christine was fairly certain that the only man following her was her angel, but she chose not to question him further. He had come to find her on his own accord and she had no desire to have him storm off again.

"Oh, Monsieur, did you come to protect me?" Christine asked, clasping her hands in adoration. She blinked at him and smiled, knowing that all of her time spent practicing doe-eyed innocence had finally paid off.

"Yes, of course," Erik replied. His chest puffed out a little once he realized she was gushing over his actions and thoughtfulness.

"I am so fortunate," Christine said breathlessly. "Of all the girls in the opera house, you chose to be my angel."

His expression changed, his lips turning straight and hard. "Do you mock me?" he asked between his teeth.

In the faint light, Christine saw the hurt and longing in his eyes and knew that she needed to put his fears to rest. She reached for his gloved hand and kept her eyes steady on his.

"Please walk with me," she requested. "I would like to speak with you."

"Concerning?" he asked brusquely.

"Anything you wish to tell me," she replied.

His hand gently squeezed hers. "In public?"

"Walk to the park with me," she suggested. "If only for a half-hour, then I will return to my room."

"Very well," he replied at last. With a tug, he led her onto the streets, his eyes staying ahead of them, his hand loose in hers.

He couldn't have been more distant.