"Christine, you look absolutely adorable!" Mamma fussed with the puff sleeves on the young woman's gown, while Meg made sure her angel wings were attached securely.
The wings weren't that large. They were simply there for the illusion of angelic splendor and complimented the halo around the crown of her blonde head. To complete her costume, she had a white domino sprinkled with silver glitter which Meg helped adjust to her face. It felt awkward wearing the mask, and it led her thoughts back to Erik. He had spent a lifetime wearing one, always seeing the world slightly askew.
"Raoul should be here any minute. Hand me my white shawl, would you, Meggie?"
"Geez, Christine, your Frenchman should see you now."
"I wish he was going with me instead of Raoul." I could be Cinderella and Erik could be my Prince Charming. Unlike any other prince out there, but meh...works for me.
"Hush now, you don't want Raoul hearing you say that, Christine," Elizabeth said.
One last look in the mirror and Christine left the room and headed out to the foyer in a swish of satin and chiffon. Raoul was indeed waiting for her, and looked dashing as a swashbuckler in his long frock coat and plumed hat, which he swept from his head as he bowed deeply to her. A gold mask poked out of a pocket of his brocade jacket. He whistled admiringly at Christine and handed her a wrist corsage of tiny white and pink rosebuds.
"Wow! You look great, Chris." He held his arm out to her. "Shall we? There's supposed to be a full moon tonight. Just right for the belle of the ball."
"Or werewolves," Meg said, lowering her voice and waggling her eyebrows at him.
Raoul grinned back at her. "You're a ditz. You know that?"
They said their goodbyes and departed, Christine looking in vain for Erik. She rather felt like the fairy princess with the charming prince escorting her to the masquerade. Wrong prince though...the one I had in mind is way thinner. Much better to have the ogre in the fairy tale escorting me. Disappointed that she hadn't seen him, she touched the Persian coin at her throat, determined to enjoy her first ball.
It should prove to be an exciting evening.
Erik parked his car behind the ruins of the old shed, and made his way on foot to the grated tunnel he discovered a week prior. The moonlight lit up the clearing to an alarming degree, but he checked the perimeter for signs of others aside from himself, seeing no recent evidence of anyone. He kept to the shadows by ingrained habit, moving soundlessly. He quickly opened the grate and slipped through the opening, landing cat-like on his feet. He retraced his steps to the mansion, noting that his sets of footprints were still the only ones.
Electronic surveillance of the mansion hadn't revealed much of interest. He knew de Chagny had done some digging into his background. He also knew the man enjoyed bringing tittering, inebriated women into his home on more than one occasion.
He returned the night before to explore the other tunnels branching out from the main. They indeed led to other areas of the house- the mansion was honeycombed with them. Within a short amount of time he arrived in the library. He had told the Persian of his discovery and even showed him the woods where the passage culminated, but they agreed that the wiser course was to split up and come in at separate times.
He moved over to the heavy oak doors and cracked one open slightly. The corridor was clear, so he stepped into the hallway adjusting his mask as he went along. When he arrived at the bottom of the stairs, he joined the stream of party-goers moving in the direction of the ballroom. He searched the crowd looking for Christine, but failing to find her, Erik surmised that she was already there.
And that's where he headed.
Christine and Raoul entered the ballroom, the swirl of color and sound making her gasp with pleasure. Here an Indian princess, there a George Washington, but more Civil War generals and Southern belles than anything else. Clearly, the theme of the gala was Pickett's Charge. Well, at least I stick out in a crowd. I'm the only angel present.
A waltz started up and Raoul made a gallant bow. "May I have this dance, my lady angel?" he grinned at her.
Christine gave a sweeping curtsy and moved into his arms. They joined the other dancers, the crowd growing as more people arrived. Some of them she recognized from the news. Various politicians and even a well known celebrity or two. She craned her neck, excited to be rubbing elbows with the rich and famous. Raoul led her carefully around the highly polished floor, enjoying her excitement. He pointed out his brother Philippe, looking dashing in white tie and tails, wearing a black domino and conversing with Napolean Bonaparte.
"You know, Chris, my brother told me something the other day about your Mr. Reauchard."
"Oh? What would that be? Nothing good I'll bet, coming from you." She gave him a sour look which didn't escape his notice.
"Look," he sighed and pulled her closer; she in turn pulled back from him,"I'm only thinking of your welfare. You're not going to believe this, but Erik Reauchard is a dangerous man. Aside from fighting dirty, he's an assassin known as the Phantom."
Christine stiffened in his arms and stared at him annoyed. "You're being ridiculous, Raoul and you know it. I don't care what your brother thinks he knows about Erik. You've hated him since he arrived in Gettysburg, so you'd believe anything bad about him, wouldn't you?"
They had nearly come to a complete stop on the dance floor, but Raoul finally got her moving again. "There's just a small matter of him trying to throttle me, but no harm done, right, Christine?"
She took a deep breath and willed herself to calm down. "I'm sorry. I guess I overreacted. Um, I think we need to sit down and have a talk, but not here, okay?"
He nodded reluctantly. "But soon, all right? I just want you to be safe."
Christine lightly squeezed his hand, but her buoyant mood was gone. Raoul wasn't the only one she needed to talk with. A certain masked man had serious explaining to do. He's someone known as the Phantom? Huh?
Erik spoke briefly with Nadir to let him know he was inside the mansion. In a few hours, it would all be over as he stayed well hidden in the library, awaiting the arrival of the planning committee and hopefully the killer. Moncharmin didn't have the steely nerves to be the trigger man, but if he were offered enough money, he may very well be a willing accomplice. Erik should have been given the green light to simply beat it out of him- at one time, he would have done exactly that. If not for being on American soil, he might have been tempted to arrange just such a meeting anyway. As it was, he would work to bring this to a conclusion tonight. The president wouldn't be there. But he would.
He followed the steady stream of costumed revelers into the ballroom, and saw her nearly from the moment he entered the room, and she was indeed a vision in white. "My beauty." he said softly. His steps, with no conscious thought took him straight to her.
After the music ended, Raoul pulled Christine to the side of the dance floor. He left her standing there, intent on finding them a cool drink from one of the circulating waiters. She feasted her eyes on all the gorgeous gowns worn by the ladies, glad that she too looked her best. She watched as a tall, thin man dressed as one of the many Civil War generals in the room approached her, his plumed Confederate slouch hat tilted rakishly over one eye, and an officer's sword hanging at his side.
As he came closer to her, she was startled by the grinning skull mask which covered his entire face, and the glitter of yellow eyes. Oh my God. Erik?
Moncharmin finished his champagne cocktail and walked away from Philippe, intent on getting to the library. He didn't meet many people. Nearly everyone was in the ballroom- including that lunatic Reauchard. His friendship with Philippe had provided an excellent place for him to orchestrate events and bring about the fall of a man well hated by many. His contact had come through on his part of the agreement.
In a particular location in the library was a substantial amount of money demanded by himself, for Andre would be delivering to his employer the one man they wanted dead for years. And that very man had also paid him well. A man he himself loathed, but no matter- his money was the same as anyone else's.
The library was one of the largest of its kind he'd ever seen. Rows of volumes from floor to ceiling took up much of the space, and a spiral staircase disappeared into the gloom of the area above, hiding even more of the leather bound tomes. He made a moue of distaste. Why would anyone require so many books? Dust catchers, that's all they were. The tall windows in the back of the room let in substantial amounts of natural light during the day, while beautiful ruby red, cut glass lamps scattered throughout, would provide plenty of warm light during the night time hours. A grouping of comfortable leather chairs were placed cozily near the fireplace, and a long oak refectory table sat in the very center of the room. Tall backed matching chairs were arranged around it.
It was obvious from the drift of papers covering the table, that this room was well used. He entered the library quietly, moving toward the bookcase near the large mahogany desk, and removed the novel, A Tale of Two Cities. In actuality, it was only a clever imitation of a book. Inside the covers was a hollowed out space for keeping small treasures. In his case, a very tidy sum of money. Opening it, he looked inside and froze when he heard a noise near the front of the room.
He looked up in time to see the deadly bore of a gun aimed at him. His eyes widened in fear and disbelief. "You son of a bitch," he breathed, just before the bullet struck him in the chest, sending a bright bloom of pain through him.
He fell boneless to the floor, the blood leaving his body at a frightful rate. He landed face down, breaking his nose in the fall against the hardwood, but somehow he managed to keep his grip on the book. The book that had nothing in it. As his vision started to leave him, he realized that he'd been duped- sucked into the plot, and once his services were no longer required, silenced permanently. He helped to deliver the Phantom, only to be double-crossed in return. He watched blearily as something was removed from his pocket, wondering idly why he was so very cold.
He barely heard the soft snick of the door as it closed.
Christine could only look up at him, still not believing that Erik was standing here with her, looking sinister and breathtaking in his gray frock coat replete with gold braid signifying the cavalry. The skull mask, white as bone was grimly realistic and his eyes glittered like yellow chips of glass.
He bowed low and asked her in a hollow, eerie voice, "Will you do me the honor, Christine?" He gestured to the dance floor where another waltz had begun.
She simply nodded, and pulling her into his arms they began to dance. His arm encircled her waist, while her hand clutched his bony shoulder, their fingers wrapping around one another's.
"I thought you couldn't dance?"
Erik smiled down at his darling and pulled her closer to him. "Ah, but I had a most wonderful teacher. She taught me the basic steps." He shrugged. "Not difficult after watching them." He jerked his chin toward the other couples on the dance floor.
She squeezed the gloved hand she was holding. "I wanted this so much. But how did you get in here? It's invitation only and very exclusive."
"Shh. Let's just enjoy our dance, shall we?"
He whirled her elegantly around the ballroom floor, the melodic strains of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake casting magic over them for a few short moments. He moved them around with surety and grace, Christine held securely in his arms. He was well aware of possible exposure, but he couldn't deny himself this one small delight.
His lips quirked in a tender smile beneath his mask. "You look stunning tonight, my dear. An angel indeed," he said admiringly.
She smiled at the compliment. "Your costume is wonderful, Erik. You could be J.E.B. Stuart himself, minus the beard of course. And the mask looks so real." Too real, actually.
"You have no idea," he murmured dryly, as his arm tightened possessively on her slender waist.
She wanted to ask him a few questions, especially after what Raoul told her, but then thought better of it. Obviously he was much more than he seemed, but hadn't she known that almost from her first meeting with him? But an assassin? Philippe needed a reality check. Erik was a businessman. Maybe his business practices were cut-throat, but that was all. He didn't go around killing people- ridiculous.
And now after listening to his brother, Raoul was going all cloak and dagger on her. Then the idea once planted in her brain took root. Erik had very fast reflexes, not to mention a short fuse; he came and went at odd hours and was good with his hands. Where had that come from? She blushed at the thought, but he did seem to be highly skilled at many things that might be considered nefarious. And he moved so silently.
The odd encounter in the Walmart parking lot came back to her, as did his attack on Raoul. Erik was aggressive and possibly no stranger to violence. Could that be the reason he wore a mask? To hide his identity? Again, that was ridiculous. And yet...
But an assassin? She snorted. In a book or movie- sure, but not in reality. This ain't Hollywood, Christine. She held him a little tighter. They would talk tomorrow. She was going to get to the bottom of this somehow. Maybe she would make a picnic lunch and they could go to Little Round Top. Erik liked it there as much as she did, and they could sit among the trees, well away from other people and have their talk. She gauged herself for her feelings toward him since her friend's revelations, and felt much the same as she did before.
She wanted very much to continue spending her days with him. Nights too, if she was going to be completely honest with herself.
"Will you do something for me, ma belle?" He pulled her closer and her hand tightened on his shoulder.
Christine, to her credit only hesitated for a moment. "Of course."
He paused in the dance and came to a stop, pulling her to the side of the crowded room. He tilted her chin up and looked into her guileless blue eyes. "Can you trust me and not ask questions if I tell you to go home now?"
She locked gazes with him, searching for an answer as to what he was involved in, the flurry of her earlier thoughts coming back in a rush. Yet despite what she learned tonight, she still trusted him. "Uh, Erik...are you in any trouble?"
He shook his head and drew a long finger down her cheek. "I will explain later to you, but for now go home, s'il te plait?"
She tried again. "What's going to happen? Does this have anything to do with Raoul? If it does, I'm not going anywhere."
His voice deepened and his gaze held hers, urging her through his will alone to heed him. "Please, Christine. Trust me?" he pleaded.
She grabbed the lapels of his gray coat and gently shook him. "Okay, okay, I'm going, but I'll be waiting for that explanation," she huffed. "This is my first ball, you know." She sighed dramatically. "I'll just have to go find Raoul. I came with him. But you're going to owe me big time, buster!"
One last pouting glance and she turned, becoming swallowed by the crowd lining the edge of the dance floor before Erik could stop her. He moved forward quickly, intent on catching up with her. There was more than enough time to escort her back home and return to Chagny before eleven. He did not want the boy to take her home. His feeling of trouble had crept in not long after arriving at the manor. Something had not felt right to him, and he immediately thought of Christine and getting her away. For once, he was torn between what he wanted to do and what needed to be done. It was a feeling he didn't relish at all.
He hadn't forgotten the break-in at Timeless Treasures. Although the police had come to the conclusion that an attempted robbery was all that it had been, he wasn't so certain. As soon as he caught up with Christine, he would inform the Persian of his brief absence from the mansion. He wanted her safe at home and nowhere near any of the events about to unfold.
Someone tapped his shoulder from behind, and when he turned he was staring into the hard blue eyes of Philippe de Chagny.