Of Monsters and Angels

by Partners in Fanfiction

ErikxOFC with LND elements. Nicole "Nikki" Lasalle-Jones approaches the mysterious Mr. Y of Phantasma for the rights to one of his shows for her school's theater department. Mr. Y turns out to be an old friend of her late mother's with a checkered past he's reluctant to reveal to anyone else, even if he's suddenly enamored of her. Rated for scary scenes, limes and language.

8. Chapter 8: Erik's POV

8

Erik

I was solitarily rereading Learning Lunacy in my office, until someone knocked on the door. Madame Quincy called, "Hey, Mr. Y, the kid's back."

My eyebrows raised so high that my mask almost fell off. So late at night? I pressed it back on and called, "Send her in."

Madame Quincy, in a snagged silk robe with a cigarette between her fingers entered. "Fooled ya," she said before taking a puff. I rolled my eyes as she sat on the piano bench I hadn't moved since Nicole touched it. "Can I help you, Madame Quincy?"

She blew out cigarette smoke, thinking she was glamorous when she was actually disgusting. "How old is she?" she asked.

"How old is who?" I growled, turning the page to the script.

She hacked and grunted, "Don't play dumb, Destler. How old is that kid?"

"Seventeen," I replied. "Why does it matter to you?"

"Because in the eyes of the state, she's a child," she hissed. "Are you fucking crazy?"

"Language," I said calmly, reaching inside my jacket and wrapping my fingers around the Punjab lasso I always carried for more than a century. My signature weapon. I continued, "I suggest, Madame Quincy, that you concern yourself with only the dancers and not my business affairs."

"Business affairs? That's what you're calling it? That's sick!" she exclaimed.

"What the hell are you talking about, Madame Quincy?" I hissed. "She's an assistant director of a high school theater company. I gave her the rights to one of my compositions upon her request. That is all there is to it." It was, after all. Everything else was in my head.

She blew more smoke in the air and replied, "I find that hard to believe."

"I'm sorry you feel that way. Now get out."

Before she could open her mouth, I revealed the tail of the noose. She ran.

I wished I had a photograph to hold onto the looks on Nicole's face during the show. It was always satisfying to see the faces of the audience, amazed and thrilled by the performances. But Nicole's reactions were priceless.

What would Imani think of my passion for her? Imani was one of few actresses who knew my secret, and the most unafraid by far. Would she attack me, or would she approve? The thinking set off a migraine.