Chapter Eleven

People were mindless sheep herded forward by their blind trust in a shepherd.

Erik burrowed himself deep in the opera house, taking the last few days to let the musty smell of old costumes, the strangely sweet odor of new varnish, and endless scents of patrons sink back into his soul. He didn’t care how much time had passed since he left Anna, Christine, or their God on the opera’s roof. He just cared about having an empire to rule again.

Hauling his body up ropes and across flies, Erik nestled himself unseen high above the stage. He closed his eyes as the instruments warmed up and listened to the familiar hum of patrons.

Idiots. Had they no idea of the wolf in their midst?

His shoulders knotted and Erik shifted his position to undo the tension. It irked him that the thought of Raoul living high and mighty could still affect him. Erik smirked though. Perhaps, while the comte sipped wine and dined on quail, he occasionally read a report of a Phantom sighting in Lyon. Not that Erik had made his presence known to anyone. It was just his wishful thinking that something would make Raoul would choke on a bone. Erik watched a young man escort a lady into a seat and any mirth Erik had at the thought of Raoul’s demise vanished. The woman cradled a boy of about five. The child might as well have been a moth around a flame he fluttered so much.

Erik’s heart was just as unsettled.

Thoughts of the child Anna carried were the only thing keeping total insanity at bay. When the nights got too long and the noise too loud, Erik calmed his mind by counting down the time until his birth. When the time came, he’d return to Anna, given that she didn’t move on from Lyon without him. He thought to hunt her down if she did, but would only remain long enough to claim what was his. Such would spare her the horror of raising a child like him. He’d then slip away to live out his life in peaceful oblivion. She was better off without him and the baby anyway.

Erik breathed deeply and allowed his discontent to dissipate. Slowly breathing out, he stared at the box that would be the equivalent of the Chagny’s had this been the Garnier. If that pathetic boy only knew that he could be found exactly where they left off. Erik wondered, with Lyon being so close to Chagny, if Raoul ever thought to take in a show here? Wouldn’t that be a delight!

Below him, the violins buzzed. He pushed down his longing for Anna and shoved aside the image of Christine in that shop. The idea of taking Anna out on Sundays, swinging a child gleefully between their arms, yielded to a surge of jealousy. It squeezed his gut the instant he had seen Christine’s swollen womb. That child would have everything.

Erik rattled such thoughts from his brain and focused on the concert. Tonight belonged to him. He would think only of the music and nothing else. The patrons hushed and the lights dimmed. He wouldn’t think of—

Christine?

“Again, thank you, you are kind,” Christine said.

Would they all just go away? The patrons around her acted like a swarm of hungry bees instead of than anything Christine considered kind. Tight at Raoul’s side, she hastened her way down the path he managed to plow through the crowd of admirers planted around her dressing room. If any of them so much as stepped a toe out of line to make their way toward her, Raoul would stab them with a look that had them back in place. For a change, she favored his overprotectiveness and sighed in relief once Raoul opened the door and they were safely inside.

“I never knew the sound of a lock could be so soothing,” she laughed, taking a seat at the dressing table, though the sentiment behind her laughter didn’t reach her eyes.

“Can you blame those crowds? You were magnificent! Nothing outside of heaven could have bested you.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so. As a matter of fact, the management would like to extend your performances. Isn’t that exciting?”

His mustache did that weird flutter. It was always a good judge of his mood and this time it said he was putting on a happy face.

“What is exciting is that I am the Comtesse de Chagny, Raoul.” She took his hand. “My spot is by you. But, thank you for permitting this last performance.”

His mustache was as solid as the grin on his face now.

“Come,” he replied, smiling even broader than before. “I’ll take you to an early supper.”

If only he hadn’t smiled that much. “No, Raoul. If I’m to give all this up forever permit me some time here? Alone? Just to soak it all in?”

His head dipped, as did his grin. “Very well. I’ll see to it the hall is cleared and the managers make sure you’re left in peace. Take your time. I’ll return later. You truly were magnificent.”

She turned, giving his lips each of her cheeks and kept a phony smile on her face until he shut the door behind him.

“That, Christine, was horrible.” She exhaled unaware she’d been holding her breath.

Pregnancy had apparently taken its toll. The surge of hormones had changed her range, and her abdominal muscles were shot, affecting her control. The audience seemed not to notice, and Raoul remained ignorant. She did have a reputation to uphold.

Christine groaned. What was she even doing here? She should never have accepted this invitation to sing no matter how much she desired it. Not to mention that this engagement came with conditions that made her skin pebble. Thank heavens the door was locked. If patrons couldn’t get in, neither could that vile huntsman. Raoul insisted Loup stay close for her protection, but the sight of him made spiders march down her spine. He hid in shadows and drilled unsuspecting people with questions about Anna Barret. And those awful, sniffing hounds! Did he have to take them everywhere?

Christine rubbed her eyes. Mercy, she was exhausted. It wasn’t the singing or Loup that were totally to blame. Her reflection in the mirror said it all. More dreadful than the hunter himself was the vivid reminder of her confession to Loup.

“Damn you, Erik,” she whispered, automatically feeling her cheeks heat. She glanced around to see if anyone heard her cuss, ridiculous though that was. She shook her head and stared in the mirror wondering who she’d become.

Five years ago she knew what she wanted: life on stage. She had all the pieces carefully arranged. But time is a caravan that tends to sway and shift as it wanders down the road. What caused her life to bend so drastically in the opposite direction of all she knew as safe and secure? She traced her reflection momentarily searching her image for a missing piece of her dreams.

“Damn you. Damn, damn, damn, you.”

Christine massaged her temples. Cussing Erik wouldn’t do any good. This time she should curse at herself! She deserved it. Raoul had what he needed from the Persian. They only stayed in Lyon longer than necessary, so she could sing again. Selfish woman! She should cancel her appearances and return to Chagny. There was no chance she was going to extend their stay. She needed to lock herself away behind the security of Chagny’s walls before she went completely mad. Hands flat on the dressing table, Christine took a deep breath. She had no right being here dwelling on her lost connection to Erik. She was the Comtesse de Chagny, and comtesse is who she shall be.

Christine’s forehead fell into her hands upon that thought. Bit by bit she’d lost herself to her title and new life, and was too weak to gather up what pieces remained. That glimpse of Erik at the milliner, not to mention singing tonight, brought the glory of her life on stage—and how Erik had idolized her—all back to her as suddenly as a flash flood.

She sighed again. “That was simply horrible.”

“I would say abysmal, an abomination, an atrocity and—for good measure—an absolute outrage.”

Shouting in shock, Christine rose to her feet so fast her chair toppled from under her. Her arm sent hairbrushes and various sundries to the floor. A brush skidded into a shadow.

Blood rushed from her face to her stomach as soon as Erik emerged brush in hand. He returned it to its table and up-righted the chair.

“You act as if you have seen a ghost, Christine. It is not becoming on you.”

She backed away. “You!”

Erik took a seat beside her dressing table. “You looked well, a bit tired perhaps, but life is obviously treating you with kind regard.” He nodded toward the door. “Seeing as you locked that, I am assuming you fancy privacy. Your wandering huntsman is a bit daft, however. Did your husband not provide an accurate description of me? I am quite distinguished.”

“Then it was you I saw at the milliner!”

“Yes. With so many black-masked men shopping for ribbons I can see how you might question that.”

Christine wobbled to her chair fearful her knees would give out. She sat stiffly, a sharp contrast to the casual way he reclined. “What are you doing here?”

“Where I am and what I am doing is of no concern to you. But since you asked, last I checked I was fleeing from marksmen. Which would be why I am here—because they are not.”

“My husband has been searching the wilds of France for you. Something inside me said all along you would be near music.”

Erik leaned toward her. “Congratulations are in order then. You found me. Are you going to scamper off and tell the boy? Because if you are, I would appreciate you telling him I freed you from Richard Barret and Anna risked her neck to save yours. Perhaps if you do, I can get rid of the annoying kink I am getting from watching my back.”

Christine clamped her teeth and took a moment for composure. She was glad she couldn’t see his face his tone was sarcastic enough. “You act as if I can stop this whole thing.”

“Have you even tried?”

“Don’t you dare raise your voice to me! Why should I? You’re a murderer.” That word stung her tongue words like she’d bitten a poisoned apple.

“That was in the distant past.”

“Distant past? How dare you! You killed my brother-in-law!”

A majestic silenced leveled upon him. Christine swallowed a heated lump and watched him press his fingertips together in an attitude of prayer. His lip twitched in such a way it unnerved her.

“I will not address that other than saying I did not come here to speak of Comte Philippe. I had nothing to do with his death. I suggest you recall what I did a year ago, Christine.”

She’d rather not. The affairs at the Opera Garnier had started this mess into motion. He dropped his hands from their previous position and tilted his head. He crossed his legs and made a casual gesture that seemed far too—human.

“You grow white,” Erik observed. “Do I frighten you still? I am merely sitting here. I would never harm you. But forgive me my temper. You see, it has not been a prosperous year.”

“Where have you been?” Christine studied her lap.

“Wherever wandering takes me. I left everything behind. Music, wealth, a roof. It has not been ideal. I would very much like those comforts returned to me for more pressing reasons. So, tell me, will you say nothing?”

“If you are asking if I’m going to tell my husband you’re here—no. They’d lock you away, or worse. I can’t see that happen.”

Erik rose. “You insult me. I will never be locked away. Nevertheless, in light of your arrival, I will not be here much longer either. I have obligations to tend.”

Panic set in as soon as he moved. He couldn’t leave, not yet. “Are you here alone?” Christine blurted. A yoke seemed to wrap around his shoulders making them stiff as a board. “The manhunt... they are looking for both of you.”

“My affairs are my business.” Without warning, he lunged across the dressing table, caging her in the chair. “Don’t think you are some Siren who can hold me here against my will, Christine. You tell your beloved comte; no matter what they think because of your lies they are to leave her out of this! Anna’s involvement in this charade is because of you. If I ever hear that so much as one of your Chagny guards has come near her, your precious Monsieur le Comte will learn just how unpredictable I can be!”

Christine gasped as the dressing table shook when shoved off of it.

“Not that I know or care where she is.” He paced, his laughter derisive. “And if Erik is alone it is by choice!”

Christine pressed her hand to her heart fearful it would leap from her chest. He referred to himself in that bizarre manner again. Madness made him do that. That much she remembered of him all too clearly.

Erik stopped pacing and shrugged. “It was merely coincidence you and I ended up in the same place.”

Her fear turned to insult. The nerve of him! “Coincidence you ended up hiding in the shadows in my dressing room?”

“That was intentional.” He made for the door. “I could not leave Lyon without giving you my review of your performance. Adieu, Christine.”

“It’s gone! My voice, it’s ruined!” She squeezed her eyes shut. What was she doing? Let him go!

Erik’s forehead fell forward until it knocked lightly on the door. His voice was soft. “So I noticed. What happened?”

André happened. “I fell ill.” Christine instantly regretted the lie.

“Ill? How ill?”

The genuine concern to his voice made a puff of air break through her lips. “I’m fine, but it took me away from the music for quite some time. My entire respiratory system was affected. I lost control of my voice, my diaphragm—”

“I know. Your pitch. Your range. Your stamina. Your breathing was hoarse. Your voice muffled. You had no control over your sound; your top range has all but disappeared. Christ, you have become a female baritone! Did your husband ever think of getting you the appropriate medical attention? You have destroyed my instrument!”

“I assure you Monsieur le Comte provided the appropriate care. Training again has been hard. I don’t know what to do.”

Erik jerked a finger toward her womb. “First off, think twice before laying with your husband!”

Christine indignantly straightened as if poked from behind. So—he did acknowledge her condition. “And just whom should I have laid with, you? Jealousy is unbecoming of you, Erik.”

She regretted her arrogance and scrambled to her feet as soon as he twisted the key in the doorknob and threw it aside. “Please, Erik! Don’t leave! If we are both here, then please help. The management wants to extend my performances. I know I’m the enemy, but I’m not going to tell them where you are. I need my tutor again. Didn’t you say I am your music? If you still believe me to be such, Erik, then I know you can’t turn your back on me.”

She reached for his mask but came up with nothing but air. Erik yanked the hood of his cloak over his face, and flung open the door, causing Christine to stumble backward.

“Watch me.”