39
Spring had again returned to Paris, crisp, cooler than the year before. In spite of this it was blowing gently over the surfaces of stone and metal, refreshing the trees and flowers in windows.
Sweethearts began their strolls, children started organizing games, and even the sternest of the population would give them a passing smile.
One couple stood out from the rest, for no reason in particular.
She was unnaturally slender, taller than her young face would have normally allowed, hinting at a recent growth spurt. Her dark hair was pulled back in a black ribbon, tumbling around her in a mass of brown, black and red curls that refused to conform. Her pale skin was not so strikingly different than anyone else's after a long winter. The large brown eyes searched the city, enjoying the relaxed, mid-morning activity. Beside her, a great dog moved, resembling a walking mud pie.
People would turn to gaze after them, perhaps thinking at first that she was a gypsy or traveling girl, but the clothes were far too neatly kept, the green skirt pressed and the white blouse starched. The shawl had been made by loving hands, the purple wool staving off the scattered breezes. If she caught their eyes, she would smile openly at them, and ask if they were having a good day. They would respond with equal openness, and say that they were, and wish her well.
An organ grinder with his monkey was sending a thin tune into the air, and she paused to listen a moment, dropping a coin as she left. Her steps turned to a street of shops, smelling of fresh bread and pies.
She entered the stationary and paper shop, selected a few items and left a few moments later with the parcel under her arm.
Crossing the park, a trio near a bench caught her attention. She slowed, when one of the men turned and gave her a friendly nod. Recognition dawned and she strode to him on impulse, holding out her hand happily.
"Andre!" She laughed as he gave her a startled look, and then realized who she was. "Andre, it's good to see you. What brings you to Paris?"
He smiled down at the young woman before him, as calm and good humored as he was before. "Several things have brought us. It is good to see you as well, Katrina. I would not have known you." He gestured to the other two men, one in a wheelchair. "These are the Messieurs Gerard, father and son. My employers."
She curtsied, and Andre made a motion towards the Opera House. "I saw the poster. It seems your uncle has relented and allowed you to appear under your own name. Congratulations."
Katrina laughed, remembering Stephan's argument with Erik over that poster. It had lasted nearly a day. Jacques had sat meekly by, secretly amused at the sight, knowing either way he would have Katrina sing for one opera.
"Thank you, though I must admit frankly, it will be a relief to have the first performance done with. Even Aunt Helen is losing her temper, and Uncle Erik has become nothing short of a tyrant. The devil's in the details, as they say. But how long have you been in Paris?"
"Three days."
"Uncle Stephan will want to see you again; he's staying at the opera until the first week is done with. It will likely finish him if he isn't diverted. Call whenever you please. You're all welcome," she said, including the two strangers in the invitation.
The younger gentleman, a boy really, seemed to find the conversation amusing, but bowed his head graciously. "Thank you. We had intended to come to the performance tonight. Perhaps we shall catch up with, ah, Stephan then?"
Her mouth quirked at that, and she and Andre exchanged a glance. "I'm sure he'll look forward to it."
The elder Gerard frowned a little, as if she had somehow insulted his sensibilities. He ran a hand over the chair, and looked away. Katrina felt a stab of pity for him, but kept it to herself. She was about to excuse herself when a woman joined them.
She paused at the sight of Katrina, but came forward, handing a package that smelled of roasted nuts to her son. "The stall was still there, after all these years, can you imagine?" Her blue eyes studied the stranger as if afraid of something. "Forgive me if I seem rude, but what, Mademoiselle, are you selling?"
Katrina threw back her head and laughed, Tomino gazing up at her in puzzlement. "No, Madame, I am selling nothing. Andre is an old friend, and I stopped to say hello. I didn't mean to bother you, really. I'm sorry."
The elder Gerard let out a huff of air. "You have said your peace, and said hello. That is not what is bothering me."
The woman looked pained, but only pressed her lips together. Her hair was starting to grey from what had once been a pale brown, or blonde. Katrina knew the signs of past pain all too well, and gave a questioning glance at Andre. He nodded, rubbing a large hand slowly over his lower back to show here where the man had been injured.
She smiled, and stepped back. "I am running behind, so I will bid you all farewell for the moment. I hope to see you later, Andre."
He gave one of his slow smiles and nodded. "Tell your family hello."
As she walked away, the woman studied her and the dog wistfully, and then turned her eyes to the man beside her. "You should not have treated her that way, Raoul. She was only happy to see a friend."
"She is from the opera, Christine. I have agreed to one performance, and one only, to dispel the past. Do not expect more of me than I can give."
The woman seemed inclined to agree at the words, 'from the opera', but held her ground. "It has nothing to do with her, she is but a child. At least be civil."
The boy looked up at Andre and whispered, "Why is it so bad, this Paris Opera?"
Andre frowned down at the lad. "It is not a matter of bad, Philippe. It is a matter of memories. Some are worse because they grow, and consume. When your father was well, he was in the business of making new memories. Now, he believes that all he will have are the old."
The giant then moved behind his master's chair, and silently pushed it along the walk, pretending that he felt nothing at all.
Katrina helped Madame Giry sit on her chair in the wings. The old matron refused to give up her reign over the ballet, even though her daughter had long since been married off. She was depending more on her stick, and she would soon be forced to retire. Helen and Marie both agreed that it would be on no one's terms but her own.
"I hope Jacques knows what he is doing, putting on one of your uncle's creations." The woman observed breathlessly. Katrina wisely kept silent.
The overture began, and the younger members began to fidget. A few stray giggles were silenced by a soft tap of Madame Giry's cane. The curtain rose, and the story commenced.
Katrina bit back a smile remembering Anne's pleas for fairies, her newest literary discovery. Erik had been opposed until Helen informed him that all he had to do was the music. "Some poor chorus member can be shoved into a set of wings, first song, and die leaving behind a genie in a bottle."
"Oh, yes, Papa, the fairy could die doing that!" Anne had gushed, clapping her hands eagerly.
The yellow eyes burned down at the girl for a moment before returning to the manuscript before him. "You wish me to kill off fairies? Very well, I shall grant your request." He had pointed at Helen without looking up. "Just remember this was your idea come opening night."
True to his word, the entire population of fae would soon die before the audience. A foolish elf (or something wearing glitter) wed a mortal, and because of the birth of their only child, the whole magical realm was doomed. Anne listened to it, cried for an hour, and announced it was the most beautiful way to die.
Helen's apron had been employed to stem the tears and she rolled her eyes to heaven. "It surely must be your side of the family, there is no other explanation."
The mass death was supposed to explain a world devoid of magic and wonder. The audience was left with dark, long melodies that paralyzed them as the country declared there was "no such thing as love or magic, no spell or love to bind."
Katrina entered with the visiting soprano, a coloratura. She and Katrina were portraying cousins, trying to find the last place on earth where magic would be. They met a group of outcasts, and began to travel with them.
The music followed them and the characters they met, kings, paupers, good and evil, showing glimpses of what lay behind each face, and behind every note there was a strange chord, hinting at hope.
Deceptive in the folksy plot, it drew the listeners in, peeling back their own souls before them, displaying their own sins and lack of wonder in the faces on stage. A few got up and left, unable to endure the mirror of sound. But a very few.
Katrina at one point was left alone on the shore of the sea, and as she glanced up, caught sight of Andre's familiar face peering down from a balcony. It was what saved her.
This particular aria had secretly terrified her. She had gradually come to understand how many things her parents had missed, and that they would have liked to share them with her. Yet, she had accepted, and having grown older, wondered if that meant something was wrong. Katrina now understood the differences between her and the rest of the world, but she clung to the difference, even the darkness. It was in essence, her lack of fear that she was afraid of, wondering what it would become.
It was the face that brought back the memory of a child learning to play with clumsy fingers, and a kind man showing her the proper way. It was the memories of summer, and gardens, stone angels. Her terror fell away, and she sang to the faces and the memories.
The aria began, "I am not like the others, and my hope is not in charms."
Her voice was low, far lower than common, yet she had control over the heights. "The storm has taken from me, family, hearth, and loom. I wander a fleeting ghost over streets and shores, and moors."
There was not a sound. Not a breath.
"I know that when the dawn returns, I shall burn under her fire, the moon he bids me stay alone, but that I can't endure."
The swell, the power, she grew stronger, determined.
"I pay the price as asked of me, and no one will forget. The face I turn upon them, and the place that I'll fall dead."
It was over, a cry against fate, and she stood there in utter silence as the vibrations died. A sob from someone broke it, then a second and a third. A gentleman covered his face with his gloved hands to hide the tears.
In silence, the people stood, out of respect. Only Andre remained seated, his expression hidden behind the tassel of a drape.
The rest of the night went on more conventionally. The people discovered that the soprano was the child of the fae, and her death was cried out for. Katrina, as predicted, died instead, becoming immortal, and given the name Hopeful by the angels who escorted her away.
But of course, she returned to sprinkle magic and wonder, giving her cousin the last lily of spring to keep forever, as a symbol of what had passed, and what was possible.
Jacques let out a sigh of relief, and clapped both Stephan and Erik on the back at once. "It is done! Oh, what a crowd. You, Lefevre, are a great producer, and you, Erik! I insist you compose for the opera every year."
"If I intended to kill your singers, I would." The phantom warned. Jacques fell silent, as Helen laughed into her program. Marie muttered something, and hoisted a sleeping child off the floor.
Katrina had changed, and was hurrying through the crowd. Without the costume, few recognized her. She found the Gerards and Andre talking quietly over their punch and treats. Jacques had seen to it that opening night was given full style.
Andre caught sight of her and stepped forward to block her from his employers. She didn't even notice as she breathlessly said, "Oh, I'm so glad I caught you. Stephan told me to make sure you spoke to him before you left. He…what's wrong?" She caught sight of the agitation that few would have noted. "Are you alright?"
"I?" The question seemed to shake him, but he steered her away from one corner to another.
"I will keep. There is something you should be made aware of, or perhaps Jacques. My employers, when they heard you, they became…uneasy. Their son is unaware, but I saw. The longer you sang, the worse it hurt them. 'He taught her,' they said, 'he's going to kill her.' Katrina, they may incite something if you aren't careful."
"They know my uncle?" She studied them for a moment. "They can't!"
"Can, can't, it doesn't matter. They are in something of a state, and it's best they not see you. I'm sorry," She could see that the last thing he wanted was to become trouble. "I don't know how else,"
Katrina just shook her head. "No, no, I understand. Or I think I do," She admitted frankly, bringing the shadow of a smile to his lips. "I'll warn everyone to keep me out of the conversation when they come to see you. Thank you for warning me, Andre."
With that, she was gone, weaving her way through the crowds. Had he not been so tall, Andre would not have been able to follow her path of exit.