A/N Thank you as always for the ongoing reviews. Things get a bit awkward here and I've tried to keep both as "in character" as possible but inevitably when taken out of one's comfort zone...well! SMIRK of supreme EVILNESS. Enjoy!
Chapter 18
It was quite a long way, Meg conceded; their previous trip to the Rialto having been shortened and eased immeasurably by the services of Federico and his gondola. Though she was not enamoured with the length of the walk she was in favour of Erik's present good humour despite the stubborn fluttering in her stomach that refused to abate. That he had made her favourite childhood toy had floored her and endeared him to her in equal measure. How she wished her mother had told her. He was having the most peculiar affect on her lately and if she did not know better she would think he was doing it on purpose but of course the man had enough to be getting on with just getting through each day. It was not his problem and she would deal with it by thinking of absolutely anything else but the broad shoulders just ahead that seemed almost to block out the sun.
On the way back from the post office they passed through the area of Dorsoduro where all the artisan shops were, not far from the pasticceria. It was siesta so most were closed until early evening but their wares could still be seen displayed in the windows. The famous Murano glass and ceramics seemed to be the most prevalent amongst the crafts on offer although there were also the famous mascherari – traditional Venetian mask makers – and it was outside one of these that Meg was forced to stop, almost banging her nose against the expanse of Erik's back in front of her. Her eyes widened at the colourful display of everything from the full faced volto, pretty little columbina, the frankly creepy plague doctor and the classic bauta. She noticed Erik's own left eye darting from one corner of the window to the next, feasting on the colour and variance and she could almost hear his brain working to commit everything to memory.
"What are they made of?" She pressed her face to the glass and tried to choose one that she thought would suit her, after all Elena's wedding was not so far away and there was to be a masquerade afterwards. Her mask on New Year's Eve had been a small delicate thing but these were quite something. Some were so elaborate you would never detect the wearer beneath!
Erik tore his gaze from the delights behind the glass to the little inquisitor on his left shoulder.
" Papier mache mostly, although some are ceramic like the volto – the full faced ones – and then some are leather like mine was. Papier mache is quicker and cheaper I suppose but not very practical if you intend to wear it all the time. Which one do you like?" He was intrigued as to her choice. She had not the need to hide any part of her face although the point of a masquerade was to remain anonymous he conceded and so she could be extremely bold if she wished. For him it was a necessity although he had enjoyed making the Red Death mask. It gave him a different perspective on his face as it had been symmetrical, giving the impression that what lay beneath was also.
"I'm not sure. I like the look of the volto but how does one speak? The ones with plumes are quite spectacular but should it not reflect your personality or something like that?"
Something like that! He thought of the expression his own mask had worn and realised it didn't quite fit anymore. "Yes I it should; remember you can be anyone or anything in a mask. I was the Red Death at the masquerade but I don't recall your costume?" He knew she was there of course but really could not place her, absent from Christine's orbit for a change.
"I was an angel. I even had wings but my mask was only small, similar to the little farfalle ones only on a stick. That costume was Maman's idea and though it was lovely I think I would like something a bit more me this time."
Did she realise how "her" that costume was? He could not recall it but thought now that it would not have suited anyone better, including Christine and that fact really threw him. In all the talk of angels Meg was the only deserving candidate for the accolade although quite a different idea was taking seed in his mind where her new mask was concerned. He could picture it clearly but would she let him do it? Could she trust him that much? His eminently distracting train of thought was interrupted by yet more questions but it was a subject he would definitely return to!
"Why did you use leather?" Stupid question Meg; did he not just say papier mache was useless for regular use and she rather thought ceramic or porcelain would be a dangerous move and heavy too? What if he tripped and it smashed although she didn't think was likely? He would have had to make hundreds of them – never mind the potential for injury!
"It is a natural material so is breathable and contrary to what you might think quite workable. It just requires a little finesse when wet. It's also very light and virtually indestructible." He missed his mask. He missed the familiar feel of it hugging his cheek. Perhaps it was time. Now that Rosa knew he wasn't some sort of invalid the necessity for bandages was gone. If he was honest it was at times like these when he was out and about amongst other people when the bindings irritated him most. They covered more of his face than was warranted and he did not want to be seen as walking wounded anymore and quite frankly detested the thought of people assuming Meg walked beside him out of charity or obligation – although he supposed it was a sort of misguided obligation that had led her here. It made him feel less of the man he was struggling (with Meg's help) to become and more the monster he was trying desperately to leave behind.
The only fly in the ointment was something he had not counted on. Meg would no longer need to tend to him each morning and the thought depressed him. He had quite unconsciously come to crave her gentle ministrations every day, the few minutes of her undivided attention allowing him glimpses of a life he might have had without the curse of his birth. Lately his mind had begun to replace the reality of the clinical task she performed with forbidden images of her beautiful soft fingers applying a lover's touch to his ruined skin. More often than not he imagined them snake down his neck and he pictured her tremble with anticipation as they disappeared beneath his collar searing the skin of his shoulders and... oh he had to stop this! It was making the blood racing around inside him organise and head distinctly south and it was so very wrong to think of her like this. He could hear the voice of what he assumed was his conscience (which was beginning to sound a lot like Meg) telling him it was just this sort of madness that had gotten him into trouble before.
"Erik...ERIK!" Goodness that man. For someone with supposedly superior ocular functions he was completely oblivious to her, his eye closed and mouth softening and had she not known it to be ridiculous she would have thought he was asleep!
Her innocent wide eyed stare and brow furrowed in concern at his daydream state woke him to the realisation that he definitely had to stop thinking of her like that.
"Sorry, I was miles away." Another lifetime to be exact, he thought sadly. "Shall we move on? It is early yet so perhaps if you're not too tired of walking we could find Santa Maria della Salute and we shall see if you have what it takes to frighten me."
Forgetting her aching feet, Meg skipped up the steps of the great church which had been built by the Venetians, so Erik informed her, in homage to the Virgin after she delivered them from the great plague in 1629. Its huge dome dominated the skyline and she realised she had seen it the evening they had first arrived coming across the lagoon seemingly a lifetime ago. It was certainly no San Marco but she thought it was beautiful all the same, not full of fancy gold mosaics but still honest and pure. There was barely a soul about as it was still siesta and it seemed they had the place to themselves. With all this space she wished she had her toe shoes with her; she was itching to leap about and here would have been perfect. She supposed that would have to wait a little while as there was quite simply no space in their little flat but she could at least stretch later on; she had been neglecting her feet of late and Maman would not be impressed if she knew. She walked to the centre of the basilica noticing the odd shape of the interior – it did not take the usual cruciform shape – and looked up at her destination. Suddenly she felt her previous enthusiasm for this little experiment waning somewhat. It was awfully high.
Erik did not miss the decidedly green look that flashed over her face and allowed himself a particularly satisfied smirk. She would be doing well to get up there never mind actually say anything! Perhaps not everyone had been gifted the ability he had to move about up there just as easily as she did down here. He walked around the octagonal space until he found the pillar that bore the entrance for the stairs to the dome. Chancing a quick glance inside he discovered it was unlit. Oh dear, Meg was not going to like that! He considered that this may actually be a pointless exercise if she would not go up in the first place.
"Meg I have found the stairs so I shall just wait here while you make your way up and then you can stun me with your amazing ventriloquism." He waited while she in turn took a peek in the doorway and almost laughed at the expression of horror and disbelief on her face.
"You cannot be serious. It's pitch black! I cannot see a thing and will likely break my neck in the process. No way. Definitely not." She stood defiantly by the entrance, arms folded resolutely across her chest, chin stuck right out. A slightly panicky sensation was gripping her now at the thought of him forcing her to go up those stairs. She did want to try whatever it was he had done at il Muto for herself but this was too much.
Erik dashed across to one of the side altars and lit a fresh candle returning to present it to her with a flourish.
"Let there be light. Up you go." This was hilarious. He really shouldn't but it was far too delicious winding her up and it was so pathetically easy to do lately. Her facial expressions alone were giving him cause for serious merriment and if he was not careful he was going to laugh which he did not think would go down well with Meg at all.
"I said NO. Damn it Erik you can't make me." Meg stamped her foot in violent protest and glared at him in the most menacing way she could muster, unable to keep a somewhat sulky look from appearing.
"Oh can't I?" Minx! Erik took the candle from her, bent low to avoid hitting the plinth and grabbed Meg's hand. He probably should have put her in front of him in case she faltered but at this point he wasn't going back down only to give her the chance of escape. Where was all her courage that had served her (and him) so well on the night of the fire?
"Oh you rat! Give me back my hand, I can't balance properly!" She had no option but to follow him but he had her right hand in his left and was directly in front of her so it was making her lean too far to her left side. Stupid twisty stairs. They wound anticlockwise and that's where the wedge shaped steps were at their narrowest; she was terrified of falling. Almost imperceptibly she felt the grip on her right hand disappear only to feel it take her left instead.
"Keep your right hand on the wall to brace yourself; you won't fall." She was trembling with fear, he could feel it coursing though the tiny palm pressed to his never mind the fact that she was practically stuck to his back like a limpet; going back down was going to be interesting.
"You bet your life I won't because then you are coming with me and I do not wish to survive a fall only to have the breath crushed out of me by you landing on me." She was getting really queasy now, the candle barely providing any sort of illumination. Erik was obviously part bat or some other equally proficient night creature, she thought irritated with him beyond reason.
Finally after seemingly hours of literally going round in circles they came out onto a narrow walkway around the edge of the dome. Ornate stone balustrades provided the only barrier between it and a sizeable drop to the marble floor far below. Erik unhanded Meg and leaned over the stone railing raising an eyebrow as he looked pointedly at her and then back over the side before turning back to the stairway.
"Wait! What now? You can't mean to leave me here?"
"Of course I do. How am I to hear you from down there if I am up here? When I am underneath you can begin; just speak normally." He disappeared back down the stairs with a lightness of step that came from years of living in semi darkness. In mere seconds he appeared directly beneath the dome and stood with his arms folded waiting for Meg to begin.
Meg couldn't move. Erik had put her hands on the balustrade before he left and now she couldn't move them. She was desperately trying to think of something impressive to say but her mind was a fog. Mumbling incoherently she tried to talk herself out of the cloying terror gripping her. "Stupid man. Look at him down there all tall and able to see in the dark. Maybe not bat because they can't see at all. No owl is better, rarer; yes he's definitely part owl, always flitting about with those sharp ears damn him. Oh this is stupid; what do I say? "Say Eleanore, your bonnet is especially fetching with that new blue ribbon you bought." Ridiculous. Oh get me out of here. Perhaps if I just leaned over a little more then I...oooohhh Ehhhhrrrrr...oooof."
Erik had listened to her little conversation with herself, catching only snatches but got the general idea that she was not happy, either being up there or with him. The acoustics were not as good as in the Populaire but then he had been able to access the very top of the dome which would make a huge difference. Then something happened. He heard her exclamation then a rustle of skirts and then silence. Daft woman! She'd no doubt fallen over; well at least she would no longer be stuck to the balustrade. But what if she had hurt herself? She could have hit her head and even now be unconscious. Quick as lightening he darted through door taking the steps two and three at a time in pitch darkness, having dropped the extinguished candle in his haste. At the top he paused to survey the damage.
Meg was in an undignified heap at the opposite side of the dome, face and hands pressed to the wall like glue looking for all the world as if being held at gunpoint, but otherwise unharmed. He released the breath he had been holding, shook his head and failed to repress the smirk at her total inability to deal with heights. He glanced up and around the great space and narrowed his eyes as a previously overlooked fact came to him. He moved silently back to the wall and sank down on the floor pressing his face to the wall just as Meg was doing. Then the wonderful happened just as he knew it would!
Meg felt like a prize idiot. Her foot had slipped on the polished stone and she had fallen backwards, landing heavily on her backside. Tears of shock and frustration pricked at her eyes but she would not give Erik the satisfaction of hearing her cry. Crawling on her hands and knees she managed to get as far away from the evil balustrade and gaping void as possible and leaned gratefully against the wall, the cool plaster a relief to her hot angry cheeks. How was she to get down? She was damned if she would call him for help so she would just perhaps rest for a few minutes until she felt able to stand. "Oh I wish I was able to do this, wish I didn't hate heights so much. It's just not fair. He'll laugh at me now and I will just be stupid scared Meg."
"Who Who"
Meg's eyes widened at the eerie sound floating around her ears; it almost sounded like the call of an ow...no! It couldn't possibly be, he could not have heard her, could he? Where was he?
"Wh...what?" She answered back in a choked whisper fully expecting silence as she was nearly sure she had imagined it, her terror no doubt capable of causing all sorts of hallucinations.
"Who-who will laugh at you?" Erik was unable to reign in his mischievous side as he did his best owl impersonation. Oh this was worth a thousand stamping fits! She had no idea he had come up to join her, so terrified was she to move her face from the wall.
"Y...you will? Erik is that you?" There was some strange magic happening up there and she was afraid to move lest she break the spell. She tried to ignore the very obvious fact that he was teasing her.
"Of course; I heard you therefore I cannot in all conscience laugh." Even though he had, well sort of; though not out loud.
"You mean it worked? But I was barely speaking. Then how can I hear you?" Relief that she wasn't a total failure and mortification for what he must have heard competed with the increasingly familiar feeling of fluttering low in her stomach and she had broken out in goose bumps along the back of her neck. She shifted slightly, feeling decidedly uncomfortable in her current position not least because she had not the slightest clue what was happening.
"I hear everything ma petite but you now hear me because this is a whispering gallery." Erik purred along the wall knowing she was completely mystified. "Keep your face close to the wall. Because of its shape the sound travels along the curved surface of the wall straight from my mouth to your ears. Genius, is it not?"
Slowly Meg turned her head, fully expecting to see him right behind her; his words eerily close (she could swear she felt his breath on her ear). A dark figure was just discernable through the open work of the stone railing directly across the void from her.
"I can see you." It could have been anyone from all she could see but she knew it was him. She could not stifle the thrill in her voice, feeling incredibly privileged to experience something so unique. She had not known places like this existed, that something like this was possible but of course Erik would know. She did not doubt he could find a quirk in every building he walked into.
"Are you alright?" He supposed she had gotten a fright when she slipped and that coupled with her paralysing fear of heights had left her rooted to her current spot.
"I'm perfectly fine thank you very much." Not in a million years would she admit to him that she was incapable of movement. She suspected the bizarre sensation of hearing him as close as if his lips touched her was only adding to it.
Erik moved to get up and silently made his way across to where she sat awkwardly with her legs folded beneath her. "Come, let us go back down." Leaning down he placed a hand gently on her shoulder and felt her stiffen beneath him.
Startled by his touch having not heard him move behind her, Meg realised she was in all probability going to be stuck here for the night. She willed her fingers to push against the wall but not a muscle responded. How could her own body betray her so completely?
She couldn't admit that this place had defeated her. How small and weak it made her feel. She had faced the darkness and the unknown the night of the fire and now she was sitting as a statue crippled by her mind. It did not make sense.
"Meg, take my hand." Erik spoke softly and bent down to prise her left hand from the wall with his right; her fingers rigid with fear. Pulling her up to a stand and back towards him, he hoped the rest of her would instinctively follow. He was not prepared for where her instinct sent her, the force of her slamming into him; Meg having now replaced the wall with his body. She assumed the same position with her face pressed to his chest, her right ear directly over his heart which had launched straight into a gallop akin to a stallion kept too long in his stable. She would certainly hear it. Her left hand still gripped his and her right tightly grasped his shoulder as if they were dancing; the angel and the devil. The last and in fact only other time he had held a woman this intimately had been when he brought Christine down to his home but even then she had her back turned to him. This was vastly different. For the first time he felt every inch of her pressed deliciously flush against every inch of him and could not ignore the abundant softness flattened to his ribcage.
He must remember she was not quite herself and that this was not entirely voluntary although he could allow a second to commit the sensation to blessed memory. He did not know how fast his heart beat (it had long since passed a gallop) though it felt as if it would leave his body at any moment or stop altogether. It was working overtime to push pints of hot blood through his veins and suddenly he realised he needed to get her away from him. Meg would not only hear his ridiculous heartbeat but she would feel it and far more besides if he didn't move her, now. Desperately he flicked through compositions in his head to find something, anything to take his mind off his frankly painful predicament. Grabbing a light hearted Paganini for dear life he tried to concentrate on the complex arrangement of the very simple melody. He knew with perfect clarity that the next time, indeed every time he took bow to string for this piece; his mind would be assaulted by this moment. The scent of roses was now inextricably linked with the Nocturne and this too would become Meg's Carnevale de Venezia. She had infiltrated his music.
Meg's mortification was complete yet she could not tear herself away. The regular, insistent pounding beneath her ear seemed to regulate her breathing like a metronome, allowing some of the terror to subside. No one had ever held her like this, certainly not a man and her previous resolve to ignore her fluttering stomach crumbled into dust. He was so solid, so warm and Meg felt safe. Teh irony was not lost on her; so many had been afraid of him but never her. Even now that she knew the full extent of his misdeeds she did not fear him but she did fear herself. Feeling safe was one thing and quite acceptable given the circumstances but this...this churning in her belly and (though she fought strenuously to deny it) the strange sensation in her chest as if a hand squeezed down on her most vital of organs was unacceptable. That was new and although she was ignorant of most of the ways of men and women she knew to be afraid. It meant danger and insanity and was completely, utterly pointless. It was also doing the man she was supposed to be helping a grave disservice so it had to stop. Now.
Erik felt the hand in his right loosen its grip and push back at almost exactly the same as he did the same. Breathing a sigh of relief at his near brush with mortal shame for a reaction he could not control, he turned to move to the stairs. He had been about to put his free hand on her back, the hand that had been dangling uselessly at his side for the past few moments. If he had done he knew with certainty that he would not have been able to let go.
Meg followed Erik to the stairs and noticed they had no candle to light the way, not that it had been of much use or that he would have much need of it. Again he took her hand in his and slowly they made their way back down. The dark, their endless winding progress and her confusing thoughts combined to liquefy her knees to the point of jelly; surely she would faint, she felt so lightheaded. Her free hand had been skimming the wall just as on the way up but now it was dark and she did not think her legs would hold her up, nor the wall for that matter.
Oh God is she trying to kill me! Erik felt her hand on his shoulder like a branding iron, searing through his clothes. He was trying so hard to put those forbidden images away but damn her she had unrolled them again like a new carpet. He felt a breeze on his face meaning the exit was near and it could not come soon enough for him. He needed air, great lungfuls of it. Once at the bottom he made to walk straight for the main doors but Meg stopped him.
She desperately needed to empty her head of the madness within her and she knew no better way that to appeal to Erik's need to fill it back up again with endless architectural facts. "Erik, why is the inside of this place an odd shape, I mean it's not usual is it?"
"You are quite correct; it is actually an octagon representing the eight points of the star on the Virgin's crown." He could have kissed her.