Unmasqued: An Erotic Novel of The Phantom of The Opera (14 page)

But only her angel could make her feel…truly feel. Only with him was she able to leave the grief and emptiness behind her.

It was for him that she sang.

Perhaps…perhaps tonight, she would be able to see and feel him at last. “If I’ve pleased him,” she whispered to herself as Raoul took her arm with a proprietary air, following Madame Giry down the busy passageway.

“Pleased who?” he asked, slipping a finger down beneath the edge of her now-in-place bodice to smooth over her areola.

“My tutor,” she replied, pulling gently away.

“Tutor? You did mention a tutor. Who is it?” asked Raoul, his brows drawing together in an annoyed fashion.

“Do you remember when my father used to tell us about the Angel of Music? He promised to send him to me…and he has. My tutor is the Angel of Music! He will be waiting for me. And if I have pleased him…” Her heart raced in anticipation.

“What is it you are talking about, Christine? Waiting for you? Who is this man?”

She stopped in the hallway, pulling Raoul to the side so that the bustle of stagehands, dancers, and musicians could continue unfettered. “He is the Angel of Music, Raoul. He…he lives here at the Opera House, and of course he will be waiting for me in my dressing room. It is because of him that I am able to sing as I do.”

“He lives here? He’s not…he isn’t this—this thing that they call the Opera Ghost?” Raoul looked horrified. “The creature who ran Carlotta off the stage tonight? Did he put some sort of spell upon her?”

Christine reached for his cheek. “Raoul, he is not a ghost. And he is a friend to me…and a teacher.” A lover. “He’s been my tutor for more than three months, and since he has come to me, I have been so happy. You should be happy for me too. Since I lost Father, I have not been able to find peace…until my
ange.
”

“But Christine…a man? In your dressing room? Why, that’s improper!”

Christine smiled fondly up at him. “Improper? I am an actor, a singer.…I live in the world of the theater. And you were in my dressing room as well.”

“Christine, you cannot see him anymore.” Raoul was greatly agitated. “You must tell him that he cannot visit you.”

Now she dropped her hand from his face, her heart beating faster. She could never agree to that. “But why? Raoul, I would never do that.”

“Because…because my future wife cannot be meeting with strange men in her dressing room.”

Christine stared up at him in shock, but before she could respond, a strong hand gripped her arm. It was Madame Giry, and she had a most urgent, annoyed look on her austere face. “Christine, you will anger him if you tarry further.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, and started off down the hallway, bringing Raoul along with her.

“But, Christine…you…”

“I must go, Raoul. The angel is very strict and I do not want to anger him. It is because of him that I have had the success that I have. You saw what happened to Carlotta tonight when she failed to follow his instructions.”

“But…you will dine with us tonight, will you not?” Raoul looked at her so pleadingly, his blue eyes as desperate as the grip on her wrist. His hold caused her to stop just outside her dressing room door, and he spun her from her path to look at him.

She couldn’t turn him down. “I will. I must speak with the angel first…and then, yes, I will be pleased to have dinner with you, if he permits.”

“If he permits? Christine, what are you saying? That he is in control of you?”

“Raoul, no, not really…but he is a strict taskmaster. I will never reach my greatest potential if I do not follow his instructions. And…if I do not follow his instructions, he will cease to visit me. I could not bear that.”

“But, Christine, I do not understand. How can you allow this—this creature to control your life?”

“It is simple, Raoul. Without him, I would not be singing as I am today. I would still be simple, shy, lonely Christine Daaé. Under his tutelage, I have blossomed at last. Do not lie and say that you do not find my voice and my talent part of your attraction to me. I have seen it in your eyes.”

“Christine, I do not deny that my love for you is even greater with your success. But if you stopped singing tomorrow, I would still love you.”

“But I would not love myself. I find the greatest joy in my music,
and he has helped me to find this joy. Please understand, Raoul.…It is a joy, a freedom…a special beauty that I have not experienced since Papa died. I do not wish to talk on it further, Raoul. You cannot change my mind, and it really will not make for a friendly dinner if we are arguing.” She smiled at him, and saw his acquiescence. “So, yes, I will join you for dinner if he does not mind…but perhaps just the two of us?” she added, thinking of the uncomfortable way Philippe had looked at her the night before.

“I will call the carriage and be back for you right away,” Raoul told her, a bit reluctantly. “And I will make arrangements for just the two of us to dine.”

When he released her and strode away, Christine turned and found herself face-to-face with Madame Giry. “You are playing very dangerously, Christine,” she told her.

“No…no, I do not know what you mean.”

“He will not be pleased with your delay tonight, and he will be most especially displeased that you have been flirting with the
vicomte
, of all people. If he should find out it is Raoul de Chagny who has caught your attention…” She pressed her lips together. “I have warned you.…Take care that you do not anger him or you may very well lose him. You saw Carlotta’s disgrace tonight. Make no mistake: Though she brought her own destruction upon herself, he helped to manifest it. And listen to me carefully: You must not tell the
vicomte
or his brother
anything
of him, do you understand?”

But she already had. Christine’s saliva dried in her throat. “I will heed your advice, Madame Giry. I do not wish to do anything to lose
mon ange.
”

“Very good. Now, into your dressing room. He will come to you soon.”

But even after Christine had entered the room and changed from her costume into a lace-trimmed dressing gown, Erik did not
make his presence known. She sat on a quilted seat in the center of the room, watching herself in the mirror as her face grew graver and more worried while the moments ticked on.

A pounding on her door distracted her momentarily; she cracked it open to find an impatient Raoul waiting for her. “Come, Christine, the horses are becoming restless, and so am I.”

Christine cast a glance behind her. The room felt empty; perhaps Erik was angry and was not going to come to her tonight.

“All right…give me one more moment to change into street clothes and to get my cloak.” She closed the door and started toward the small wardrobe that held her meager collection of street clothes.

But before she had even pulled the doors wide, she felt the air in the room move.

“Erik!” she cried, relief sweeping through her.

She knew his presence; though he had yet to announce himself any other way, she sensed him. The five lamps sputtered, then were doused, leaving only one burning low.

But then, there was nothing. Silence…harsh and empty.

“Erik? Angel?” Christine called.

The shadows grew tall, crisscrossing the room, as the half-moon of light left by the single lamp sputtered. The air chilled, moved, and shifted, sending the hair at the back of her neck on edge and her nipples tightening.

“Where are you?”

“Christine? What is it?” Raoul’s voice came through the dressing room door, accompanied by his pounding fists. The doorknob jiggled in vain. “Unlock the door, Christine!”

But she had not locked it.

“Erik? Are you there?” she called again, her voice rising. “Angel?”

“Christine!” Raoul shouted, pounding harder, shoving at the door.

“
Christinnnnne
…,” her name came at last, on a breath that swept through her.

“Erik. You
are
there! Where are you?”

“Christine! Open the door!” Raoul had resorted to kicking at it, if the low, dull thuds were any indication. “Are you all right? Say something!”

“
Christinnnne…step to the mirror.
”

At once, lust surged through her body at the memory of her bare flesh against the cold, silver looking glass. The teasing and the pleasure he’d given her…the rising, pounding orgasm he’d brought her to…

But when she came near the glass, she saw that the mirror was moving…and suddenly, strong arms were pulling her, tugging her into what had been solid, imposing glass, which had somehow melted away. Into the mirror.

She was encloaked in something heavy and black; it smelled like damp wool and sandalwood…and then the dressing room and the mirror were behind her and she looked up for the first time into the face of the Angel of Music.

It was shadowed; half was dark and hidden.…The other half bore an eye that gleamed, not with gentleness and caring, but with fury and determination. Half the mouth was not shadowed; it was formed as sensually as she had imagined, with full, defined lips that curled angrily above a set jaw.

Before she could say a word, express any kind of relief—but did she even feel relieved, now that she saw the forbidding expression on his half-hidden face?—Erik tugged her harshly away from the mirror, and began to pull her down a dark passageway.

“You can leave your lover to wonder where you have gone,” he
snapped at the sound of Christine’s dressing room door splintering behind them.

“Erik, please, you have misunderstood!” Christine tried to pull away from him, but his grip was too strong. Her heart was jamming madly in her chest, and she regretted those foolish moments in the wardrobe room with Raoul.

“I misunderstand
nothing
,” he told her tightly, continuing their mad rush down the hall. She tripped and stumbled and without his hold she would have fallen more than once. “I did not misunderstand that boy’s hands down your gown, did I? Or your tongue down his throat? Did I, Christine?”

It was a cool fury that iced his words, and that frightened her more than any blistering rage would have done. The fact that it was so calm, and so measured…and the expression in his one visible eye so harsh…Christine began to fear, for the first time, what her tutor might do to her.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

“You will find out soon enough.” He pulled her around a corner and she saw, to her amazement, a white horse standing, bridled and saddled, glowing from the illumination of a single torch. Despite the dim light, she recognized the mount as one of the set animals that had disappeared from the Opera House stable some time ago. Cesar was his name.

Erik helped her up and, taking the reins, began to lead the stallion down another, wider hallway.

Erik remained at Cesar’s head, in front of Christine, and all she could see was his tall black figure, with the billowing cape that fell past his knees. She had yet to see him in full light; it seemed as though he was purposely keeping to the shadows.

When the long, sloping hallway ended, after many twists and turns and junctures, Erik helped Christine down—none too
gently—and she found that they had left the underpinnings of the Opera House and were on the shore of a small underground lake. A boat waited and, without words, he directed her into it and pushed the vessel off with a long pole.

Her hands had grown clammy and her pounding heart had not slowed; it continued to drum in her chest, sending tremors reverberating through her. Christine wondered what was to become of her. What Erik planned to do with her.

And in spite of the towering, angry presence behind her, the harsh, curt words he’d spoken to her, and the impersonal touch when he’d helped her into the shallow boat, she warmed to him. Her nervous body responded by awakening and wanting him…wanting his touch, his teasing lips and his gentle, elegant fingers. Her throat was dry, her cheeks were warm, and her fingers clasped together as Christine realized that, despite Erik’s angry distance, she was anticipating his touch.

For surely…surely, now, here, wherever they were going, she would be able to see him and touch him.

At last, the boat slid onto the stone boundary of the underground lake, and Christine saw a small structure, a house, that appeared to be built into the side of a wall, or cavern. A low yellow light glowed in one window.

“Welcome to my home,” Erik told her unkindly. Yet now he was not rough or rude when helping her from the boat. She noticed he had pulled a hood up over his head whilst they rode in the boat, and it continued to obscure his face, leaving most of it in shadow.

Christine stepped down and found herself in ankle-deep water. It was cold, and it shocked her through her silken stockings and fine leather slippers, eating into the hem of the laced and ruffled dressing gown she still wore and weighting it down. She slogged through the water onto the smooth, hard beach, noticing the grayand
black-shining stones scattered along the water’s edge, painted with the white glow of six torches affixed to the sides of the vast, domed, stone chamber that housed the underground lake.

Inside the small building, Christine was surprised to find that it was outfitted as comfortably as any home.

“It must be…terrible living in darkness all the time, Erik,” she said, reaching for his arm as he brushed past her.

He nearly flung her away, keeping his hooded face averted as he strode into the structure. “Save your pity,” he snapped, stalking away from where she stood in what was the kitchen and eating area.

Christine watched after him, her apprehension growing. What was he going to do with her? Was she a prisoner?

Moments later, she heard his returning footfalls. They slowed, pausing almost imperceptibly as they approached the room where she sat…and then sped up as if to get there quickly. Get it over with.

When he walked in the room, Christine saw him for the first time. Out of the shadow, out from under the hood. Black and powerful and intimidating.

Erik stood, hands on his hips as if braced, and glared down at her.

She realized now why his face had seemed to be half-shadowed all the time…why, when she had reached back behind her that first time he came to her…and when he’d hung her from her wrists on the opera stage…why his face had felt…strange. Unyielding and leathery.