A/N: Many thanks for the reviews, my lovelies! I apologize that I haven't had a chance to reply individually yet. I will do so when I'm back home. As of now, I'm terribly jet-lagged after traveling, followed by immediately having a series of meetings upon arrival...and no time to eat. Will be busy over the next few weeks working with the orchestra - rehearsals, concerts, pre-concert talks, press interviews. Despite having done this for years, I'm STILL all nerves. Wish me luck!
Chapter 7
Christine was quiet as we left the restaurant. When we reached the carriage, I ordered my student to sit in the passenger's seat rather than up front with me. I pretended not to notice the expression of hurt which flashed upon her face.
But it could not be helped. I was growing increasingly annoyed with my student observing me, and I needed some space. After my student had settled into her seat, I gently urged César forward. We were now on our way to the De Chagny's.
It was so clearly not a good idea for me to attend the masquerade, yet I found myself wanting to please my childish student. The situation was both frustrating and perplexing. My will had always been mine alone. I had never bent it for another. Not now, not ever. Even in Persia with the threat of death, I had toyed with the Shah and deliberately disobeyed his orders. So, why was I helpless against the silly whims of my student?
I sighed, trying to settle the feeling of unease in the pit of my stomach. I would escort Christine inside, then leave as quickly as I could. With silent resolve, I pressed César to a slightly brisker pace.
"Angel?" Christine's voice, close to the back of my head, startled me. "Are...are you cross with me?"
Turning slightly, I noticed with surprise that she had parted the curtains behind me and was poking her head out.
"Erik?" she called softly, her breath tickling the back of my neck.
"Christine, sit back down," I demanded roughly, feeling myself redden beneath the mask. "You might get hurt standing like that."
I hadn't anticipated Christine would stand while riding in the carriage. No, I had thought Christine would sit prettily in the coach. But then, I hadn't expected she would explore the catacombs or that she'd be talented at picking locks.
It was increasingly clear I did not know my student as well as I thought I did.
"I used to stand all the time when Papa was driving, and he didn't mind—"
"I don't care what you did as a child! Sit down!" I roared.
Wordlessly, she complied, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
"You are angry," she stated, her voice morose and muffled from behind the curtain.
I said nothing, cursing myself for taking my temper out on her again. But what could I tell her? That I was a hideous, corpse-faced murderer who secretly lusted after her?
"Please don't be angry," she sniffed.
"You should already be quite familiar with my temper, child," I responded after a long moment, slipping back into my more parental role as her angel. Without seeing her, I knew she was sulking.
"I am not a child," she replied petulantly. When I said nothing, she murmured, "I'm sorry I upset you."
She sounded so miserable that I sighed, "You mustn't blame yourself, my dear." I added dryly, "Truly, my temper has nothing to do with you."
There was another sniff, and she ventured in a small voice, "Does it...have to do with why you wear a mask?"
I inhaled sharply at her question.
An uncomfortable silence settled between us, and I managed in an uncharacteristically strained voice, "I ask only for your understanding, Christine. Do not question me about the mask, and do not touch it."
Much to my relief, Christine did not argue, though I could feel her thinking.
When we arrived, I was secretly grateful no servant had come to our assistance, most likely because it was so late that the De Chagny's might have given up on Christine arriving. The mansion was brightly lit, and through the gigantic windows, I could see finely dressed guests dancing and chatting. I was immensely relieved that most of them continued to wear their masks, which meant they were adhering to the custom of removing them at midnight, an event for which I would not linger.
I stepped out of the carriage and offered a hand to help Christine. She smiled shyly at me and took my hand without hesitation.
"Thank you," she murmured softly, absurdly polite.
I felt awkward, ridiculously light-headed from her touch through the glove. I could feel her watching me, and I quickly averted my gaze.
She stumbled then, as her dress caught. The action startled us both, and her body fell clumsily against mine. I immediately placed a hand upon her back, steadying her and without meaning to, pressing her against me.
Her eyes were wide now, and she looked up, a question in her gaze. Suddenly aware of our proximity, I stumbled back, hoping that the mask would hide the furious blush upon my face. My eyes flickered to meet her own, and I cleared my throat self-consciously.
"You go ahead." My voice had deepened, and I gestured abruptly toward the mansion. "I will...I will join you shortly."
Her eyes brightened, her hand tugging at my sleeve. "Angel, you'll really join me?"
I refused to meet her gaze, my head bowed and hands clenching into fists. But the feeling of her soft warmth against my body, temporary as it had been, had already imprinted itself into my memory.
"I mean...you're not going to leave me now, are you?"
"Have I ever broken a promise?" I shot back, somewhat vexed.
Christine nodded with a smile. "Okay, ange. I'll wait for you inside."
I did not reply, and Christine released my sleeve and slowly made her way to the front door.
When she disappeared inside, I breathed a sigh of relief. Now, I could change masks and switch cloaks. I would do so inside the coach, all the while keeping on the hat, just in case. Climbing inside the coach, I drew the curtains closed, then swiftly peeled away the flesh-colored mask before replacing it with the golden one.
Because the golden mask had been designed for my days as a magician, it was suitably dramatic and tailored to create the illusion that the face beneath it was 'handsome'. It not only strategically covered my ruined features, but it also provided me with an attractively-sculpted nose and cheek. The half of my face that was normal likewise complemented the illusion.
The mask's color also brought out the intense hues in my eyes. Though mismatched, my eyes would not look as creepy as they did with darker or duller-colored masks. It was with this mask that several female members of the audience had even flirted with me, never knowing my true appearance underneath.
Next, I removed the hat and traveler's cloak. With the black, tailor-made suit, I knew I would strike an imposing, distinguished figure, one who could mingle freely with the affluent De Chagny's and their elegant guests.
Inwardly, though, I knew I had really chosen this outfit in a petty and futile attempt to compete with that disgustingly handsome boy, whom I could imagine over a hundred ways to kill.
Lastly, I felt below the seat and found a small mirror. This would be one of the very rare occasions that I had brought the hateful item with me, yet I needed to appear as close to perfect as possible as Christine's eminent teacher.
My hair was flattened because of the hat, and I threaded my fingers carefully through it, somewhat frustrated when it curled wildly at the bottom. Well, there was not much I could do about it. The boy's image again intruded into my thoughts, and I found myself wishing I had brought a comb.
Replacing the mirror, I exited the carriage and stood for a moment, assessing the mansion. No, I did not want to enter through the front door and have to announce myself like some arrogant aristocrat. I would rather sneak in through a window or back door. Surely, they had another way inside.
Sticking to the shadows, I made my way toward the back of the mansion, noting with satisfaction a door to a darkened foyer that was not lit. With a swift glance around, I walked toward the door, picked the lock, and slipped inside.