20

It was, perhaps, fortunate that Helen had not told Marie her news.

With the announcement of the soprano's engagement to Jacques, and the sudden and disturbing way the Persian reappeared, the season held an air of excitement. Katrina ran madly along, seemingly unaware of the clamor around her.

Some of Christine's clothes were taken up to the D'Arcy sisters to refit for the child, but they asked no questions. Helen didn't, probably because she knew, and Marie because she didn't care or had other things on her mind. As for Madame D'Arcy, she began to almost dote on Katrina. She had always been delighted with the child, but the change was enough to make the girl stare sometimes.

Darius would meet Katrina in the halls and visit, sometimes walk with her to the post. The Persian was distant, but even he condescended to exchange a few pleasantries with the girl.

One newsworthy event happened early in the season and seemed to involve everyone.

A new stage hand had come to work with his brother, since he could find no other work. However, it was not long before his habits caught up with him, and he would spend days drunk and unconscious instead of building. The Persian seemed to get the brunt of his alcohol induced shouting.

On that particular afternoon, he had stumbled in, in a terrible state. Both Jacques and his brother attempted to calm him, the manager secretly vowing to fire him as soon as he was clear-headed enough to understand. The man however was too far gone to be calmed or allow anything to pass. The Persian and Darius were passing as he flew at the others, and helped hold him off of Jacques.

"Let go, let me at them!" He howled, drawing Katrina and Marie from around the courner.

The Daroga refused. "You should sit down, friend, let them be."

Yanking free, the stagehand turned on them. "I should kill you, I ought, you dirty foreigner!" He brother tried to intervene, but was promptly knocked out. "Well, who's next? Eh, come on, you dirty alien detective, if that's what you style yourself."

The Persian stood calmly, waving at Darius to stay where he was. "I will be happy to satisfy your honor, but only when you are sober."

"Afraid I'll come to my senses and be merciful enough to let you off, huh? Well, I won't!" He grabbed a piece of lumber, and swung it at them all in an arc.

Jacques went down, gripping his arm, and going quite white. The Persian saw enough that he was able to dodge, and Marie received only a glancing strike, the blow having spent its energy by that time.

Seeing that this was ineffective, he gripped a steel bar and began to spin it about.

"Hold, off," Darius cried, rushing forward, but the Persian waved his arms.

"No! You'll be of better help getting a policeman here. Be quick, man!"

The faithful servant hesitated for an instant, but saw the truth in his master's words and raced to obey.

In a real rage now, the fellow began to charge and swing, clearly intending to mow down the Daroga. Marie leapt at his back, but slipped, and he never glanced her way.

Suddenly, a voice shrill with panic cried, "Monsieur, if you don't stop, I'll shoot you!"

There, standing up from where she had dropped at the first assault, was Katrina. Clearly terrified, she held out her little pistol, and planted her feet as she'd been taught.

"I've no quarrel with a girl. Just let me kill the snake, and we'll be done here."

"Monsieur, I will shoot."

He laughed, and for a moment it seemed that it was over, but then a red mist again clouded his eyes and he ran at them, not caring who fell in his path or how hard. The Daroga looked to see how best to pull the child from harm's way, but saw instead a gold gleam of defiance and anger in her eyes that seemed dreadfully familiar.

There was a dull, echoing pop, and he went to the ground, clutching his leg. Katrina held the pistol on him, shaking, but still refusing to turn tail.

The Persian tied up the man, and helped Marie bind his wound. For a moment, she was really torn between checking on Katrina or Jacques, but the Daroga had moved by the girl so she assisted the manager in standing.

"You should not have done that. But I thank you." The man said, and Katrina looked into his dusky face solemnly. There was now no trace of the madness he had seen briefly, and that was unsettling to him somehow. He wished he knew why.

"You're welcome, monsieur." She replied.

Before long, Darius returned with the policemen. The three of them studied the tableau for a moment, and the officers hauled the gentleman away.

The papers luckily had other things to write about, or Katrina would have had a rough time of it. As it was, she had to explain to Erik that evening, and that was quite enough. He lectured her severely, but ended in grudging praise of her cool-headedness.

Summer was fleeing by that time, and fall was pressing gently at the door.

Marie had rearranged her roles to allow for the wedding prior to the new season, and a honey moon after about a month or two of work. This was suitable for Jacques as well, since a substitute would have all previous arrangements at his disposal for a few weeks.

Madame D'Arcy would throw herself into lengthy monologues about the planning, and then relapse into moody silence while gazing at Helen. The younger sister would give a haughty smile in reply if she saw one of these looks, which brought an angry round of words hailing on her from the matron. This awkward arrangement seemed to be agreeable to both, however.

Marie was the only calm one. She knew precisely the cost, effort, and needed items and refused to change her mind unless utterly convinced. Food was arranged, the church was arranged, and the clothing was arranged for. The milliner was rather snooty, but found the prima donna to be daunting.

Katrina was totally puzzled by everything that went on around her, and felt positively dizzy at the stacks of white around her. She was always returning to the house on the lake with questions for her uncle. Why white dresses? Marie hated solid white. Why wouldn't Jacques be able to see her before the wedding? If he was marrying her, shouldn't he want to see her?

Finally, she asked the question that had become heaviest to her.

"Uncle Erik? Why is Marie marrying Jacques if she doesn't love him?"

He paused in transcribing a line of music, and turned to face her. She was leaning against the doorframe, her fingers tangled in Tomino's fur.

"Who said she didn't?"

"Marie said so."

"Ah…" Erik said, setting aside the pen and paper slowly. "She surely knows what she's doing."

Katrina took a step forward. "She said that too. But everything I hear about says that you have to love the person. People on the streets, books, everyone above."

A leering smile crossed his features. "The opinions of an opera house are not definitive, Katrina."

She took another step closer, feeling that this was potentially embarrassing and explosive ground. "You loved Christine, but she doesn't love Jacques. Why is it different?"

He had gone rigid, cold. He turned away, dusting the organ keys with his sleeve. "Christine did not love me, that is the difference. Marie has chosen the best path, her life will not allow otherwise. Christine was fortunate enough to succeed in following her heart. Yet, even so, it caused great damage."

Katrina had crept up beside him, and was watching his face. She had never seen the battle he fought between madness and thoughtfulness, calmness and passion. It was something she had sensed, but never found evidence of. The unspoken fact that ruled what went unsaid.

Hearing a dish break in the night, and then finding one had vanished the next morning, or the endless hours of hysterical playing at the organ only for her to find Erik exhausted and composed. He was once again fighting the old urges, the deeply inlaid habits that refused to give over. It twisted his face, and tightened his body, pulling him away both inside and out. Tears fell, dropping onto the keys, but it was Katrina who felt their scalding heat.

She was ashamed to have brought up the past, of which she knew nothing. Her desire to understand had been kindled and directed by her uncle, but now it felt as if she had betrayed that guidance. Timidly, afraid for the first time, she placed her hand on his. "Uncle Erik?"

He lifted her to sit beside him slowly, stiffly, pressing her face to his chest. The movements were to hide his face from her, for even now he knew she was too young to understand all her eyes took in. Old as her soul was, it was still tied to a child.

"I gave in and loved Christine. One day, that will make sense to you, the fact that love is partly choice. But in you have I found the only love that mattered. Not my parents, not any I have met; nothing, no one, until you came to me has been true love, Katrina. I have learned that true love is not always between a couple, but I have paid a heavy price in finding this. Wherever you find yourself, remember that I was your first love, and I will live and die content."

The girl was crying now, though she couldn't understand why. She could feel the silent sobs that shook him, and wondered at their depth.

"But hasn't anyone except me loved you? Like in the stories Papa used to tell before bed?" She felt an earnestness in this question, a desperation to know that they were not alone, trapped within the ground.

He laughed a little, though there was no humor in it. "Perhaps, someday. I am not dead, and there are still miracles."

Katrina leaned back so suddenly that it was only by a margin that she escaped falling off the bench.

"Then I shall pray until someday comes. You told me that God hears my words."

The gleam in his eye was horrid. "God has turned his back on me, if not in forming me, then for the deeds I have done."

"But, God is love, they always say so. Surely He can send love?" She gazed back, totally perplexed, unaware that Erik had continued her church attendance for the sake of her dead parents, and not for his own faith.

He attempted to smooth her hair, and failed. "You can but try; there is no waste in that."

She flung her arms around his neck happily, and scurried off with Tomino. Erik rested his elbows on the organ, and covered his face with his hands. Death's head, death's hands.

Katrina stood in the centre of what had been Christine's room. She turned in slow circles, eyeing the chilly space, and felt that there was nothing so sobering or frightening as an empty room that had lost its purpose.

"God," she whispered, "I'm Katrina, Erik's niece. He says he's not yours anymore, but can't you find him again?" She felt a little foolish, wondering if she was saying the right things. "Can you send him some more love? Mine's not quite enough today. Or maybe you can show me how to find it?"

It felt as if the silence was now full of breath, as though someone were near and listening. She glanced down at Tomino, who gazed back through the mop of dust shaded fur with the same seriousness she felt.

Turning her gaze back to the ceiling, she drew herself up. "Thank you, Amen."

The room felt a little warmer, calmer as she left, as if Someone were smiling.

Terribly sorry it has taken so long to update. Hopefully I can be more consistent! Thanks for reading!