CH 35

"My servant entertained your dog, Senora," I said quite firmly. "Not me."

I hoped she didn't hear my voice tremble as I spoke.

"Your servant Aldric?"

"Erik," I said.

Cathedra grunted. "Is that so, Phantom? There are many moments these days where reality seems fractured, each piece a shard of glass barely clinging to the once-intact mirror. The physician said that as my condition progresses, I will eventually not be able to tell reality from fantasy.

"If that was not you, my dearest ghost, I fear my condition has worsened. My time is brief, but now I believe it is more fleeting than I first imagined."

I stared at the open doorway and what little I could see of the chapel and debated what I should say. Guilt weighed heavily upon me for making an already unthrifty woman believe she had steadily declined.

"Tell me about him," Cathedra said. Her voice sounded more breathy, more labored. "About the boy you employ. Where did you find him, this Erik?"

"I found him alone, barely able to survive the conditions in which he was forced to live." I pressed the toe of my boot into the stone flooring and ground bits of rubble against the smooth surface. "There was a fair that traveled through Paris. He was part of the caravan."

"A gypsy boy?" Cathedra gasped.

"No, he was not one of them," I answered. "Far from it, actually, and because he was an outsider they were quite cruel to him."

"My ghost saved this boy?"

I swallowed. "Yes," I said. "I allowed him refuge that he had never experienced before."

"And how does this boy repay you?"

"He delivers my messages."

"Would you be so kind as to be the bearer of a message to Erik?"

"Y-yes, Senora. I would be honored."

"Would you tell Erik that the maid he saw is not a very nice young lady. She is quite efficient when it comes to keeping the house tidy and changing the linens, but she doesn't care for Maurice and Maurice has bitten her a time or two, for which I cannot blame him.

"Last year I caught her stomping on his tail and there have been moments where she has purposely kicked him and said she didn't see him in front of the fireplace."

Cathedra's words left me incensed. My nostrils flared, teeth gnashing together as I considered what I would have wished upon such a wretched woman harming a defenseless little dog.

"Maurice does not care for most people," Cathedra said. "He is swift at bearing teeth and unfortunately has the reflexes of a viper when it comes to drawing blood. I was prohibited from bringing him to the theater with me for the last year as he was deemed unpredictable.

"That being said, you can imagine my utter surprise when I gazed out of my bedroom window and saw that little tail furiously wagging in the presence of a cloaked stranger."

"My servant was not afraid of your dog," I said. "Perhaps he sensed that Erik would not harm him."

Cathedra sniffed. "Dogs are quite keen on the hearts and intentions of others. Please tell this young man that it is quite commendable for him to retain his good heart despite the cruelty of others. What he possesses is rare."

My heart swelled with overwhelming pride. No one had spoken of me, of Erik, as good-hearted or commendable in any way. I was a monster, a beast that had deserved to be shunned and humiliated.

"He will appreciate your kind words," I said.

"For that I am glad. Now, I hope you will excuse me, my dear," Cathedra said. "I have grown weary with our brief conversation and I fear I will not be able to walk home in this state of exhaustion."

"Are you…are you in need of assistance?" I asked.

"Is Erik nearby?" she asked. "Would he allow a deteriorating soprano to lean on him, at least until the end of the hall when I can be received by others to deliver me to my home?"

I pursed my lips and shifted my weight. "I am afraid it is only me, Senora, but if I offer you my assistance, would you swear to me that you will not attempt to look at my ghost's face?"

Cathedra didn't answer. I waited for a long moment, but the chapel was silent as a tomb.

"Senora?" I said, daring to peer into the small room with its stained glass windows and tapestries of saints and angels. Candles surrounded her, large ones atop iron pillars and smaller ones in neat rows along the stone flooring in little oval containers that reminded me of boats.

Cathedra sat on a cushioned bench with her head bowed. She was frail now that I saw her up close in the candlelight, her linked hands bony, her shoulders thin and trembling. The woman seated before me no longer looked like the powerful and commanding diva I had seen on the stage.

"Erik?" she whispered. "That is your real name, isn't it? The ghost and the boy are one and the same."

Instinct told me to run, to bolt to the safety of shadows before she screamed for help and I was surrounded by strangers, but I stayed my ground. I liked the way in which she spoke my given name and peered at me without trepidation.

"I won't tell anyone," she said when I stepped back into the hall. "Please don't run off, Erik."

"You are mistaken, Senora, for I am a ghost, the remnants of a man, not a servant."

"Come forth," she commanded. "Let me see your ghostly materialization for myself."

I shifted my weight, leaning slightly toward the doorway to peer at her.

"You cast a shadow," she observed brightly. "You are flesh and blood, same as me. Why do you insist you are of the dead and not the living? Do you fear me so that you must hide behind untruths?"

I closed my eyes and swallowed. "I am more concerned that you will fear me, Senora."

"I stand before death, Erik. I am not afraid of anything, least of all a theater ghost who has gained the favor of my dog and returned my stolen jewelry."

I mustered all of my courage and stepped forward, lingering in the doorway. My jaw clenched, my fists balled and back rigid as I dared to stand before her as flesh, blood, and rapidly beating, anxious heart.

"Goodness, you are a tall apparition," she said with a chuckle. "The old ghost would barely come up to your shoulders. Poor, poor, Gus, such a tiny man. You, however, are quite strapping."

I wasn't sure how to take her comment. I simply nodded and tightened my fists beneath my sleeves, afraid my height offended her.

Cathedra struggled to stand. She planted both hands on the bench where she sat and leaned forward, moaning as she made an attempt to rise to her feet. Without thinking I swiftly moved to her side and offered my right arm, which she accepted without question.

She leaned into me once she was on her feet, her body resting against mine. I turned my head away so that she wouldn't see my mask, and felt her head against my upper arm.

"I need a moment," she requested, breathing heavily as she continued to cling to me. I wasn't sure what to make of our close proximity, the way her breast touched the crook of my elbow and her cheek rested against my upper arm. She stirred something within me, something strange and delightful that was beyond my comprehension.

"How were you able to walk here on your own?" I questioned, ignoring the odd sensation curling within my belly.

"By the grace of God. This walk would have normally taken me five minutes at most. Today was nearly an hour with frequent breaks along the way to regain my strength. With your aid, I am certain I will be home in fifty minutes flat."

"Forty-nine, Senora. I am quite confident."

She genuinely laughed at my words, the warmest, most musical sound I'd ever had the pleasure of hearing in my youth. Her reaction made me smile beneath my hood, warmth heating my cheeks when she gripped my arm tighter. My stomach tightened, and I felt quite light-headed in the most delightful way.

"I was quite determined to see you, my dear ghost," she confessed. "My desire to speak to you kept my feet moving, one in front of the other."

"I desired to speak with you as well," I replied.

She clutched my arm and motioned toward the door. "Shall we?"

I nodded back. "I am at your command."

"Erik," she mused. "What a masculine, strong name. It suits you."

"You flatter me."

"I do indeed. Are you embarrassed by my flattery?"

Embarrassed wasn't the correct term, but for the life of me I couldn't put into words what I felt in her presence. Madeline was maternal warmth and affection while Cathedra drew out something far more primal. I liked it, whatever it was, this feeling of being untamed.

"Why did you decide to become a ghost?" she asked.

"The decision was not my own."

"I'm not sure I understand."

We took our first step forward together.

"The life of a phantom is preferred to that of the living when one has lived a life of misery."

"Misery," she echoed.

"Yes, Senora."

"I can tell by your voice that you are quite young," she said. "Seventeen?"

I didn't want to tell her I was much younger than she guessed, so I simply nodded.

"Far too young to be miserable," she said. "Leave that to us older folks in our forties and fifties."

She laughed at her own words and took another, careful step forward.

"Do you live within the theater?" she asked.

"I prefer not to divulge such details," I answered.

Cathedra nodded. "Understood. There are many corners and crevices within the theater for one to hide if so desired. There were stories for many years of a man who dedicated his life to building this very theater only to disappear into the catacombs, never to be seen again. He has yellow eyes and a head that detaches from his body and roams the depths of this very Opera House."

The flames around us unexpectedly flickered and Cathedra gasped, gripping my arm tighter. My breath hitched, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

"I do not think we are alone, dear boy," Cathedra whispered.

The wind, I told myself, but I didn't dare speak aloud in case we were in the presence of Gus as I had no intention to offend my fellow ghost.

"May I ask you a question?" I said quickly, attempting to quell my own fears.

"Ask as many as you wish."

I thought a moment, attempting to recall some fascinating question I had rehearsed earlier in the day by my lake, but nothing came to mind.

"Do you like sweets?" I asked instead.

Her smile widened. "I do indeed," she said. "In fact, it was part of my contract that these delicious, fluffy little chocolate cakes had to be in my dressing room nightly. They were from my mother's collection of recipes that I wrote down by memory and I dare say the theater baker made them better than I remember from my childhood."

"What were they called?"

"Cathedra cakes," she said. "At least that's what my mother called them because I would eat every single one if she wasn't watching."

I grinned beneath my hood. "I would have done the same."

"You are fond of sweets as well?"

"More than anything, besides music."

Cathedra offered a wistful sigh. "More than anything? I wonder what I will miss most when I am no longer of this world. Sweets? Yes, I will perhaps long for the taste of chocolate. Music? I've had enough to fill my soul for many lifetimes."

I listened intently as we took three more steps forward, ravenous for details of her life.

"Intimacy," she said.

I must have given a physical indication of my surprise as Cathedra laughed and patted my arm.

"You are thinking of sex," she said. "I expect as much from a young man of your age, but as wonderful as that has been, I will miss the way my husband used to run his fingers through my hair or kiss me in the dark along my shoulders and throat. My body would tingle all over, alive in ways I didn't know were possible."

My heart thudded, my mouth gone dry with her words. I knew nothing of tingling and kisses or sex, but I wanted to know what she meant, to experience such lusty moments of fingertips through thick hair and lips against a supple throat. I wanted to be alive in such a way, instead of existing as I had.

"Have you been with a woman?" she asked.

I was ashamed to give an answer and stammered for appropriate words.

"A rude question, Erik. Forgive me. Perhaps it is better if we speak of candies and cakes."

"You may speak of whatever you wish," I said hoarsely.

Cathedra laughed again. "I feel at ease speaking with you," she said. "All of my life I have been asked dull questions that pertain to performing. Not a single question about my mother's cakes or my dearest Maurice. You are dear to me, my ghost."

I smiled beneath my hood. "You are dear to me as well, my soprano."

We were about to take another step when she paused and turned to face me, her chin lifted and brow furrowed.

"H-have I misspoken?" I asked. "If I have offended you–"

"Would you draw back your hood, if only for a moment?"

"My ghost face, Senora–"

"You are not a ghost, much as you desire to be," she reminded me. "You are a young man hiding from something or perhaps someone, but you are not hiding from me, are you?"

I shook my head.

"You wear a mask," she said.

I wasn't sure if she expected me to answer, so I simply remained frozen at her side.

"You wear it now?"

I nodded.

"Then allow me to see your masked face, if only briefly."

Cathedra held tight to my arm, bracing herself as we stood in the doorway of the chapel.

"It is a macabre request."

She quickly shook her head. "There is nothing macabre about my interest."

"Then why do you desire to see my mask?" I asked.

"Not the mask, but I would like to see your eyes one more time," she said. "Such beautifully morose eyes of an old, tormented soul. I have thought many times of the moment in which I first saw you, how you gazed at me from across the room. You looked into me, my dearest ghost, and I believe you felt the same."

I swallowed, torn between doing as she requested and keeping myself hidden.

"Please," she said.

I turned my head to the side and reached up, pulling my hood back so that it rested at my hairline. Every nerve felt as if it had been set aflame, my toes curled in my boots and breath held.

Cathedra didn't look directly at me. She stared at my chest and offered a smile of encouragement. I felt as though I disrobed before her, gawky and awkward in my inexperience, standing before a woman who was more advanced than I could ever imagine.

"Pull your shoulders back," she said. "You are slouching terribly."

I stood taller, doing as she asked.

"Lift your chin."

I obeyed without question.

She took a step in front of me and brushed her hand across my chest, causing me to lean slightly back at her unexpected touch.

"You are younger than seventeen, I think," she said. "But you are built like a man in his twenties. You are often mistaken for someone much older, aren't you?"

I gave a tentative nod.

"Have you forgotten how to speak?" she teased.

I looked directly at her for the first time and forced a smile. "You make me…"

"I know." She smiled back at me, warm and intoxicating. "I can tell."

We both chuckled and she told me to take a breath, which I did, grateful for the permission.

"Those eyes," she said fondly. "You have experienced quite a lot in your brief years. You needn't say what you have survived, as I can already tell."

My jaw twitched. The heaviness I carried seemed momentarily unbearable.

"You are strong," she said, her voice rough like a growl. She grabbed my shoulder and gave me a shake. "Stronger than you realize, than anyone ever gave you credit for. Do not forget it."

Her words ran through my veins, fueling every beat of my heart. "Yes, Senora," I said, my tone matching hers.

"Use your height to your advantage when you think of how others have made you feel small," she said. "Keep your chin up, even when you feel as though you have been beaten down your entire life. The theater ghost is not to be trifled with," she said. She motioned for me to raise my chin higher. Not the theater ghost," she mused, turning her head to the side.

The theater outcast, I said to myself. The forgotten boy who roams the catacombs.

As if sensing my thoughts, Cathedra cleared her throat and laced her fingers with mine. Her touch was electrifying, and the jolt of our flesh touching sparked something within me that I had never experienced before. At once I forgot about the scars and the mask. I reached a climax that wasn't sexual in nature, but that was empowering in a way I'd never felt before.

"Not a ghost. You are the Phantom," she said. "The Phantom of the Opera."