Chapter Nine

Erik lingered in the shadows of the alleyways for hours, wandering from dark corner to dark corner without aim. Around him, Lyon throbbed with life. Hood up and face down, he could have been any gentleman making his way through bitterly cold streets. Unlike most he passed, his belly was empty having not been stuffing himself at some street side café, and he wasn’t drunk on fine wine. Erik did everything he could to avoid looking at the young couples that bustled about on their evening outings. They reminded him how abnormal his life was.

What right did he, a funereal beast in a mask, have to demand love from any woman?

He thought to return to Anna like a dog with his tail between his legs, but the buzzing in his mind made him stay away. She’d only reject him again. Not to mention he didn’t expect any woman to take back a man with such an inexcusable temper. Erik grimaced as he walked, rubbing his temples with this thumbs. The rising noise in his mind was growing difficult to think around.

Stopping before a store window, he stared beyond his black-masked reflection to a dazzling display of ribbons and hair silks. The ugly emotions Erik dwelled upon faded upon the idea of seeing Anna’s hair woven with such silk.

He was a blithering fool. If he kept going at this rate, he’d destroy the one good thing in his life. Erik knew he couldn’t ignore the madness rising inside of him. Left unchecked it would barricade him from Anna more than his temper already was. Damn fool indeed. Erik pulled the hood tighter around his mask, sealing his guilt closer to him. He entered the small shop determined to do what he could to make things right.

The bell jingled.

“Bonsoir, Monsieur,” the shopkeeper said drolly, only lifting his eyes from the woman he doted upon for a brief survey of the room. “Can I help you?”

Erik briefly regarded him then focused his attention on the ribbons. The bold emerald one would look shocking against Anna’s hair.

“I want the finest ribbon you have,” he said. “The green one—and tell me where I might find a gift for an infant.”

“And why might you need those?”

The condescending tone voice lifted Erik’s eyes. He slid them menacingly in the owner’s direction and looked at him with a great deal of annoyance. He didn’t need to explain himself to anyone, but Erik found he wanted to speak the words out loud. “It is for the woman I love and the child she bears. Wrap the ribbon in your finest box.”

The shopkeeper never turned from his patron, who, back to Erik stood like a statue as the owner fussed with the bonnet on her head.

“The silk in Lyon is the best, Monsieur. I will not haggle over my prices, so don’t even try.”

“What makes you think I would try?”

The owner huffed and adjusted the hat. He gave Erik one glance head to toe. “You can’t afford to keep mud off your cloak, your boots aren’t polished, and you wear wool—not cashmere.”

“You would reject me solely because of the way I look? My money is as good as the next man’s.” The pile of coins Erik poured on the counter clinked like high-pitched chimes. That should knock the shopkeeper’s arrogance down.

Instead, he grunted.

Anna was worth the wait for a hair ribbon and any insult that came along with it, though Erik had to dart his eyes everywhere to govern his temper. Scanning the countertop, his gaze landed on a paper, the headline instantly molding to him like hot wax. Not even here—in a store to purchase a ribbon for the woman he loved—was he dismissed of this manhunt. The sight of the decree mushroomed the noise in his mind until the sounds knocked from one side of his head to the next. The mere chance to apologize to Anna with a fancy gift evaporated with the words on that page.

Erik’s hand shot out from his cloak. With the reflexes of a cat and the skill of a pickpocket, he stuffed the decree into his pocket. The shopkeeper and his patron already had dismissed him and continued to study their reflections in the mirror. If he had any luck on his side, it hadn’t been read. Regardless, he couldn’t wait for any ribbon now. Erik headed for the door just as the shopkeeper stepped aside revealing the woman’s reflection—and her eyes were not admiring the latest fashion atop her head.

They were locked on Erik’s blackened face.

Instantly, the world he was attempting to tilt back to normal had spun off its axis. Erik had been battling the memory of Christine for a year. With one glimpse of the recognition behind her sapphire eyes, he was convinced he should hang from the highest fly in the Opera Nationale. Noise roared in his mind as he fled out the door.

Returning to the catacombs now would only jeopardize Anna and what sanity Erik had left.

The bell on the door rattled in his wake. Christine plucked out the pins from her hair as fast as she could and shoved the hat in the miller’s hands. As he walked off in a huff, Christine raced to the doorway, her hand shaking against her throat. Looking left to right, she searched the crowded streets, but Erik had evaporated like a puff of smoke. Christine leaned against the doorjamb her knees suddenly turning to mush. As she tried to slow her breathing, she scanned the window display, but that only made her hands shake more. The ribbons were indeed the finest of the bunch. Erik always did have exquisite taste, and green was her favorite color.

Raoul always gifted her with blues.

Somewhere out there had to be her lost senses. Erik wanted a hair ribbon for the woman he loved and a gift for the child she carried. When and how Erik could have ever have learned she was pregnant? Christine had to box all those thoughts away when a carriage pulled up in front of the shop. Her breath hitched when Raoul stepped out.

“Christine? Are you well? You look scared witless as if you’ve seen a ghost!”

That was an ironic understatement. She wasn’t frightened of any ghosts, not in the least; just of her past and the ever-confusing emotions she couldn’t escape. Thank heavens for the doorframe. It was the only thing keeping her from collapsing from surprise and what she couldn’t ignore as being her nerves.

“I’m fine, Raoul. Shopping simply left me a bit winded.” She fluttered her lashes in that coy way she’d learned could cover up any lie. Her eyes roved over their carriage to the street beyond where Legard and that bounty hunter waited on their horses. That demon! Christine hated Loup as much as her husband did Erik. If Erik was around, thankfully they hadn’t spotted him.

“Come, enough shopping this evening. I’ll see you back to the hotel.”

“No.” Christine popped off the doorframe acting as if nothing had been amiss at all. She pulled her cloak around her so Raoul wouldn’t notice her shaking hands. “Wasn’t it your intent to see the Persian tonight?”

“Yes, but it can wait. You look ill, and I’ll see to you instead. I insist.”

Even from across the street Christine could see an evil gleam behind the dark beads of Loup’s eyes as she headed to the carriage. “But nothing, Raoul, I’m fine. Besides, this manhunt involved me from the beginning; it will involve me until the end. I too have a Persian to see.”

It was a snap decision to go, one her acting skills covered up beautifully. But what choice had she? With Erik rearing up in front of her eyes, she couldn’t just return to a hotel as if nothing ever happened. The ride from the shop to the Persian’s apartment wasn’t long, but it seemed like an eternity. She had answered Raoul’s questions about her health in one-word sentences and turned on her girlish smile when he asked her about her day. She had just wanted him to be quiet so she could concentrate on what to do when face to face with the Persian. She couldn’t see Erik be hunted down, not now, not after his confession of love in the store, yet she couldn’t betray her husband either.

Now, standing outside the Persian’s apartment, Christine just wanted Raoul to kick in the door before her nerves gave away the secret she kept.

“Knock again. Harder,” Raoul commanded.

To her right, Legard balled his hand into a fist and did as Raoul asked. To her left, down the hall, Loup perched on the hallway windowsill, moving his head in a continuous scan of the streets below.

“You seem uncomfortable, Christine,” Raoul observed. “Why the sudden investment in seeing the Persian? You were against this before.”

Christine discreetly cleared her throat. “Is it wrong of me to stand by my husband’s side in matters such as this?”

The look of appreciation that heightened the blue of his eyes tore into her like brambles. She quickly looked away, her lie being almost too hard to hide.

“It’s ten o’clock at night!” The deeply accented voice calling from behind the door was not at all happy. “Who knocks at ten o’clock at night?”

A servant opened the door to reveal an older man, average height but hunched just enough to show a lifetime of weight on his shoulders. His dark skin drained of color as if a cork was undone in his spleen, as soon as he laid his jade eyes on Legard.

“Daroga of Mazanderan. Might we have a word?” Legard removed his hat and gloves.

“No, you may not. Go away.” The Persian nudged his servant aside and grabbed the door. Legard shoved a boot between the door and jamb before he could slam it shut.

“Forgive our intrusion, Daroga. It’s not our intention to disrupt your evening.”

The Daroga’s eyes widened as they shot beyond Legard to lock on Raoul’s face. Judging by how quickly his eyes narrowed, he wasn’t buying Raoul’s cordial tone. Christine glanced at her husband, noticing a faint twitch to his cheek that made his mustache jump. Raoul didn’t often display any nerves, but the Persian seemed to have a way of getting under his skin.

A curt mumble in a foreign tongue sent the manservant away as the Daroga invited their small party inside. Christine stood behind her husband and watched the Persian’s face twist as Loup sauntered in last.

“I know it’s been years, but there’s no point in wasting words, Daroga,” Raoul said. “I trust you’re aware that a year ago Erik mysteriously rose from the dead, causing my family great distress.”

Christine shifted. Maybe it was the Persian’s eyes or the way he studied everything that left her sympathetic to her husband’s nerves. The Daroga’s gaze left her face momentarily to rest on the swell of her child.

“One hears rumors,” he replied.

“Rumors can’t murder,” Raoul said with little preamble. “My brother was found dead on the banks of the Phantom’s lake. Are you to tell me Erik is a rumor?”

The Daroga moved toward his sideboard. Christine studied him with the same critical eye that he used on their small party, recalling a Daroga to be a member of the Persian royal police. Once an investigator always an investigator it seemed. He poured a small glass of amber liquid, carried it to the window and didn’t turn around.

“What do you want of me?” he asked to the drink.

Christine jumped as Loup’s sharp laugh broke the tension in the room.

“Such formality. Are you two always this cordial?”

The Daroga turned, his green eyes narrowing at Loup’s disjointed saunter through his small apartment. “Who are you?”

Christine licked her lips in an attempt to moisten her dry mouth. She wanted to shove everyone out of the room for a moment alone with Erik’s former confidant, but she dared not act improper or betray the actual reason she came. She moved closer to her husband as he replied.

“Loup is my bounty hunter and is working with Inspector Legard. He has been hired to track Erik.”

“And Anna. The Phantom’s other lover.” Loup grinned when the Daroga set his glass down and lifted a graying brow.

Christine turned away, trying not to make her discomfort evident as the Daroga flicked his eyes over to her. She was reasonably sure she was failing.

“Gentlemen, I severed ties with everything associated with the Phantom five years ago. It’s late. You’re no longer welcome here.” He headed for his door and yanked it open.

“You’re telling us you know nothing about Erik’s whereabouts?” Raoul asked.

One swift flick of the Daroga’s wrist and the door slammed shut. “I’m telling you I refuse to get involved! I know nothing of his apparent—resurrection! The situation that occurred a year ago involved you and your family. Not me. Hunting Erik is your problem. He’s no longer on my conscience.”

“Do you have any idea where he may travel? What he may do? Where he might go?”

“Monsieur le Comte,” the Daroga spat, “if I were to look for Erik I wouldn’t start by disturbing innocent people in their living rooms.”

“Please, Daroga,” Raoul’s hand outstretched despite the Daroga’s obvious anger. Christine watched as Raoul balled it into a fist and shook in cadence with his words. “For the sake of my brother’s good name, help us. You always admired him.”

Those words bowed the Persian’s head. Silent for a time, he studied the floor as though seeking an answer in the intricate pattern of the carpet. When he looked at Raoul, it was with the intensity of a man carefully weighing his words.

“I regret the recent passing of your brother, Monsieur le Comte. No one deserves the scandal that has followed his name around. But I’ll have no part in any vendettas.”

“You can’t hinder an investigation Daroga,” Legard added. “You know that. In Persia, you were an officer of the law just like I am.”

The Persian folded his arms. “Is that so? Then tell me, Inspector, just what evidence have you against Erik that should make me want to help you?”

“The mere fact he’s alive should be evidence enough of his desire to see my family harmed,” Raoul replied. “You know what he is capable.”

“You can’t prosecute desire.” The Persian studied each person in the room and dropped his clipped tone before he addressed Christine. “You’re with child.”

It took a few seconds to unknot her tongue. She wasn’t used to being addressed so bluntly, or scrutinized with such intensity. Christine’s cheeks heated. “My second already, Daroga. Our son, André Thaddeus Marie, the Vicomte de Chagny was born several months ago.”

His breath left with a heavy sigh. “Children are always the ones harmed by the sins of the parents,” he said somberly. “For the sake of his innocence, I’ll tell you this. If I were to look for Erik, I’d start where I left off. Paris, after all, isn’t the only place with an opera house.”

An opera house, of course! Christine caught herself in time to swallow a gasp, just as the Daroga looked her in the eye. She didn’t know if that news made her excited or nervous. But the entire situation carried such tension she swore the air could crack. The Daroga’s somber expression changed when he glanced at Loup.

“I’d wipe that smile off your face, Monsieur. He’ll be traveling alone. As much as he might have desired a companion during the time I knew him, Erik only had one true love.”

“We’ll see about that,” Loup replied.

All Christine could do was bow her head and try to ignore the eyes leveled on her. She nodded as Raoul turned to her and escorted her toward the door. His hand felt strong, but possessive, on the small of her back. As the servant opened the door, the blast of air that rushed in from the hallway, wasn’t as chilly as the silence the descended the room.

“Thank you for your time, Daroga,” Raoul said, escorting Christine through the door first. He was about through himself them when the Persian called out.

“I never want to see you again, Comte de Chagny. Erik is your concern. Not mine. But one more thing.” The crowd assembled by the door turned. “No matter how calculated you think Erik is in his vengeance, deep within he is a repressed gentleman. He’d never harm a child.”

Raoul tipped his head in a polite nod but didn’t reply. Once alone and reconvened in the hall, Christine grabbed his arm.

“I forgot a glove. I’ll only be a minute.” She quickened away before he could see the evidence of her fib still on her hands.

Palm on the door, she waited until Raoul and the rest of the party slipped around the corner before rapping once. She didn’t wait for an invitation to enter. Making haste to where the Daroga frowned at her from the window, she took his dark, wrinkled hand in hers. She pressed her calling card into his palm with a strength she never knew she had.

“If you ever hear from him, contact me privately.” Her words passed her lips before she could control them and by the time she was back through the door the Persian’s look of shock was embedded in her mind.