Chapter 12 Christine #2
Raoul notices, too, and his voice comes out slightly breathless, a quaver here and there. But I look into the shadowed eyes of the mask, and I sing like I’m serenading the devil himself.
Maybe I am.
I can still feel the crowd—they’re frenzied, carried away by the strange energy they sense coming from the two of us.
But I feel something else—taut cords of power linking me and Raoul and the stranger in a triangle sharp as a knife, keen as desire.
Everything else blurs into a soft watercolor, and the three of us glitter in high definition while the bass thumps and the guitar twangs.
I could swear a third voice slithers in the background, between mine and Raoul’s, but the stranger’s lips are barely parted. It couldn’t be him.
The song ends, and I’m left swaying on its edge like a woman on a clifftop, a breath away from jumping.
The Alouette erupts with cheers and applause.
Raoul draws me to my feet. We bow, wave, collect our things, and pass the spotlight to another group.
They jump right into a jazz-blues number while Raoul guides me past several enthusiastic people who apparently became hard-core fans of ours during our three-song set.
One woman waves cash in Raoul’s face until he gracefully accepts the tip, and another man won’t stop asking if we have a website.
I shrink behind Raoul while he suggests the man come see Sidewinder when it opens.
Then we’re out in the cool evening air, and I can breathe again.
Grit crunches under our boots as we head down the sidewalk toward the parking lot. Neither Raoul nor I say a word, but he keeps glancing back over his shoulder. I risk a look backward once as well, but I don’t see the masked man.
Back in the Alouette, I heard the Angel’s whisper by my ear.
At least…I think I did. Hard to tell, since I hear him in my head sometimes, clear as a bell.
I can’t help wondering if it’s just a coincidence that the stranger showed up right before I heard the Angel…
but the Angel is a spirit. A disembodied voice floating in a stairwell.
He doesn’t smell like a deep forest and carry exquisite blood in his veins and fuck people in alleys.
It doesn’t fit. They are not the same.
Cautiously, I peer at Raoul, who clears his throat but says nothing.
Okay, so I guess we’re not going to talk about the masked man and the fact that we’ve clearly both run into him before.
Fine with me. It’ll be one more secret piled up between us.
Just as well. Secrets keep people apart, and I need to keep my distance from Raoul de Chagny.
He’s the director of the musical in which I’ll be playing the lead during the showcase.
If anyone related to Sidewinder saw us out together tonight, there are going to be plenty of rumors racing around the New Orpheum, and the last thing I want to do is feed the gossip mill.
It’s best that we remain distant friends.
We get into his car and ride back to the New Orpheum in silence. Only when he pulls up to the curb at the entrance do I finally say, “Thank you for this. It was fun.”
“It was.” He gives me the ghost of his former smile. “I hope you didn’t strain your voice.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“And now you know you can perform for a crowd.”
I don’t point out that tomorrow night, the audience will be full of critics, that the stakes are entirely different, and that he won’t be onstage with me, comforting me with the warm tones of his guitar and his voice. He did something nice for me tonight, and I’m grateful.
I climb down from the truck, and then impulsively, I step back up to say, “I’ll be singing for you tomorrow.”
Raoul’s eyes light up again, and I grin at him before shutting the passenger door.
So much for keeping my distance.
As he drives away, my smile fades, because those words felt like a betrayal.
I enter the New Orpheum by the side door and cut through the dance school wing on my way to the residence area.
Back in my room, I drop my bag on the floor and sit limply on the bed, feeling utterly drained.
My weariness tonight isn’t exactly physical.
Being a vampire means that my body’s cells—all except the blood cells—regenerate fast. I’m basically immune to disease, I heal quickly, and I have more strength, speed, and stamina than normal humans do.
My vampiric nature is a huge advantage when I dance, and it will ensure that any strain to my vocal cords heals swiftly.
But it doesn’t keep me from feeling mentally exhausted, and while I need less sleep than most people, I still require at least a few hours to help my brain reset itself.
I tug off my boots and flop back on the bed, trying to banish the masked man from my mind. Instead, I focus on Raoul’s lean, earnest face, his lovely green eyes, his smile.
“Raoul,” I whisper.
“Simpering fool,” hisses a voice.
I sit bolt upright, goose bumps breaking out on my skin.
After a long moment, I venture a whisper of my own. “Angel?”
“That boy is no true devotee of music.” The Angel’s voice seems to come from the very walls of my room. “He uses wires and electronics and tricks. He is pretty, yes, but ensnared with the fashions of modern performance. Do not let him lead you astray.”
“Where have you been?” Angry tears spring to my eyes. “I waited for you that night, after my audition.”
“One night.” His voice dips low, a menacing purr. “You waited for one night, and when I could not meet you, you gave up on me—on us, Christine. You abandoned your teacher, abhorred my guidance. You achieved a little success, and now you believe you do not require any further instruction.”
“That’s not true,” I gasp. “Well…maybe it’s true that I gave up on you too quickly, but you didn’t reach out to me. You’re a ghost. You should be able to speak with me anytime. Just like this.”
“A ghost,” he repeats dryly. “Yes, to you, I’m nothing but a phantom. Your mysterious angel from whom you drink knowledge until you are glutted, and then you abandon me for someone like him.”
“Raoul is a good person, and he’s talented.”
“Had I not taught you and guided you, you would never have had the courage to sing for him or anyone else.”
Sighing, I tug my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them.
“I’m grateful to you, of course. But I was angry when you didn’t meet me.
So many people have disappointed me throughout my life, but I thought I could trust you to always be there.
When you weren’t, it hurt. I thought you were disappointed in me, or that your job as my teacher was done so you left without saying goodbye.
I didn’t go back to look for you again because I was afraid of more disappointment. Can you understand that?”
“Can I understand the fear of rejection?” His voice is softer now and very near. “Yes, I know that pain.”
I frown, tilting my head. “Where are you?”
Abruptly, his voice changes. It seems to come from my bedroom door, then it bounces nearer as if he’s sitting at the foot of my bed. “I am here. With you. Always in your heart and in your mind.”
The last three words are a whisper in my left ear, and I startle, clapping my hand over it.
“God, don’t do that!”
“Ask a question, expect an answer.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m too glad to hear his voice again to be angry for long. “I’m singing the lead in Sidewinder for the preview performance tomorrow night.”
“I know this, as I know everything. I have come to give you another lesson.”
“It’s late. I can’t sing here,” I reply. “Do you want me to come to the stairwell?”
“The lesson is a simple one,” he says. “Not so much instruction as direction. Tomorrow night, when you perform the role of Eugenie, you will sing it for me. No one else.”
A chill travels up the back of my neck. When I told Raoul I would sing the role for him, we were completely alone, not a soul along the street, no one in the plaza in front of the building. Only a ghost or a spirit could have overheard what I said.
Every time I begin to wonder if he’s really a spirit, I’m faced with more proof of the fact that he must be. So why is there still a lingering doubt in the back of my mind?
He makes a rough sound of impatience, a harsh contrast to the usual beauty of his voice.
“You will sing for me, not him. Trust me, I will be watching, and I will know the difference. Tomorrow night, you will reach down into your own chest, seize your soul, and drag it up through your throat. You will deliver it to me on the wings of your voice, and I will accept the sacrifice.” His voice vibrates with deadly intensity.
“Give me everything, Christine, everything, and perhaps then I will deign to be your teacher once more.”
Breathing hard through the pounding of my heart, I hug my knees tighter to my chest. The dark possession in his tone thrills me right down to my bones, appeals to some primal, monstrous side of me.
I feel my fangs slipping from their sheaths, even though I don’t need blood.
I manage to keep them from elongating fully, but they swell against my upper lip as I reply, “You’re asking me to choose between you and Raoul. ”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I demand your entire focus, your undivided attention. Only when you fully trust me can I transport you to the peak of your true potential. You can play frivolous songs for drunken crowds, or you can soar to the heights of real excellence.”
“Some people do both,” I venture.
“This is not a debate, Christine. You must choose. I will accept no compromise. Tomorrow, when you sing the final solo, I will know your decision. Will you belong to the delicate poet, with his dramatic libretto and his mediocre music, or will you belong to me?”
His voice fades on the last words, growing more distant, and in the silence that follows, I sense that he has left me again.
But he was there. I heard his voice, melodic and lovely, fragile and powerful, rich with the heat of desire and the pain of rejection.
I can’t deny it—he awakens a side of me that I keep concealed from everyone else.
The passionate ambition I’ve been afraid to confess, the murderous rage I sometimes feel, the darkness my soul tends to inhabit.
Raoul is light and comfort, but the Angel is a dark, rich violence I can’t help but adore. I didn’t realize how much I missed him until I heard his exquisite voice again. If I could fuck a voice…
But ghosts don’t have dicks.
Maybe angels do. Maybe I should ask him.
Stop it, Christine.
Still pondering our conversation, I prepare for bed. I feel a little odd changing my clothes, because even though I’m pretty sure the Angel left, what if he can see me?
And then I smile, because what if he can?