Chapter 33 Christine
Christine
Mirrors. I’m in a maze of mirrors, broken pieces of my own reflection staring at me for miles. Beyond the mirrors, there is darkness, and behind me…something. A powerful connection, drawing me back into a body stricken with pain.
Something flickers in the dark, a misty shape. A ghost. I’ve seen one before. It’s approaching me, sailing out of the sea of nothing. Its image isn’t repeated in the mirrors.
“Dad?” I whisper.
The ghost halts before me, close enough to touch yet so blurred I can’t discern its features. Then it splits into two forms, and my mind goes blank with shock.
Thomas. And Edith. My little brother and sister.
“Oh my god,” I whisper. “Oh my god. You’re here.”
“Just for a minute,” says Thomas. “We can only stay for a minute.”
“I love you,” I choke out. “I love you so much, and I’ve missed you…and I’m so sorry.”
Edith reaches for my face. I feel her touch like a cool mist.
“You didn’t do this to us,” she says. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“But I lived,” I sob. “I should have died, too.”
“Oh, no,” says Thomas. “The Lady spared you because she knew one day he would need you, and you would need him.”
“What does that even mean? Where are we? Am I dead?”
“No.”
“But I’m here with you.”
“Only for a minute,” repeats Thomas. “We have to go.”
“It’s peaceful where we go,” says Edith. “But you can’t come with us. Not yet. She’s sending you back.”
“She?”
“The Lady,” they say in unison. “The Morrigan.”
“We love you,” whispers Edith, and Thomas echoes, “We’ve always loved you.”
They’re drifting, and I reach out my hand…but I don’t scream or sob for them to return. This moment is consolation, not desperation. I won’t ruin it for myself or for them.
I saw them once, and once will do.
A sound like a plucked string echoes through the mirrored space, and my reflections shiver, like reflections on rippling water. Everything blurs, and I blink, trying to clear my vision.
My eyes open to two faces hovering above me. One is pale, scarred, and anxious, framed by wavy black hair. The other is flushed, ice-green eyes shining, a riot of coppery curls tumbling over his forehead.
“Christine,” says Erik. As if my name is the one word essential to his happiness.
Raoul kisses me on the forehead, and the warmth of his lips brings me fully back to life.
I touch my throat, remembering the teeth. My skin is smooth, unblemished, though still sticky with blood.
“Where is she?” I murmur, lifting my head.
“Philippa is gone.” Raoul’s voice thickens. “I got her off you, but if I’d been faster, you…you wouldn’t have…”
I sit up and put both arms around his neck.
He’s wearing Erik’s coat and nothing else, and his skin is ice-cold.
“Thank you,” I whisper. As I’m hugging him, I spot the sea god Manannan, standing in the doorway that leads to the stairs.
Then I see Philippa’s naked body and her right leg lying a few paces beyond her corpse.
My arms tighten around Raoul. “We need to get you warm. And I think we could all use a good meal.”
Raoul lifts me to my feet. I hang on to him, mostly to keep his attention focused on me so he won’t have to look toward Philippa’s body.
Manannan shifts his bulky form aside for three of us to access the stairs, then he takes up the rear as we descend them.
While Raoul and I were pursuing Philippa, we saw many of the shifters fleeing, escaping Manannan’s waves. I’m not sure how many got away, but I know the death toll must have been high. It’s a small relief that there are no bodies in the hallway when we reach it.
“A lot of people died here tonight,” I say. “What do you think the cops will make of it? Can we be connected to this?”
“No,” says Manannan gruffly before Erik can reply. “All the bodies will be transported out to sea, and I will wash the place clean.”
“And then you’ll join us at my lair,” Erik says. “It’s yours now, since you helped us.”
“What?” I exclaim, and Raoul says, “Fuck no.”
“I made the bargain,” Erik says calmly. “I’m happy to fulfill it.”
“But what about all your things?” I protest.
“I have the only two treasures that matter to me right here.”
“You sicken me, Cernunnos,” Manannan growls. “And I decline your offer. I have no use for a drafty basement full of human garbage. You may keep the lair, as you call it. Now be off with you. I have work to do.”
“Call me if you ever want to learn a few things,” Erik replies.
Manannan scoffs. “Not likely.”
We circumvent the gym, which judging by the smell is full of river water and dead shifters, and make our way outside by an alternate route.
Once we reach the fresh air again, I turn around to see the building where we spent the most harrowing night of my life.
A handful of huge letters still cling to the brick exterior, but I have no idea what they’re supposed to spell and no mental capacity for playing hangman at the moment.
“What’s the plan?” asks Raoul. “I have literally nothing, not even my clothes. And my phone is probably still in Box Five.”
“Mine is in my dressing room.” I shiver, rubbing my arms.
We turn to look at Erik, who’s unusually silent, his face illuminated by the light from his phone. He taps his thumb twice and glances up. “Our ride is on the way. We’ll meet him at the street corner two blocks east of here. We should get moving.”
***
One Year Later
The standing ovation is thunderous. So loud, in fact, that my mind goes back to that night in the abandoned gym when Manannan crashed through the doors and sent his waves in to drown the shifters of the Collective.
A knot of panic twists my stomach. It’s tiny, but it could get worse fast.
I squeeze Erik’s fingers tighter as we lift our hands, bow, and bow again.
His warm fingers hold mine securely, squeezing three times. I love you.
Then it’s over—we’re retreating, and the curtain is coming down. I didn’t have a panic attack. I made it through.
Erik leans down to murmur in my ear, “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” I kiss him lightly, but he’s never satisfied with that. He pulls me close to his body and seals his mouth over mine with a sigh of decadent satisfaction.
“You sang like an angel tonight, my darling,” he murmurs against my lips.
“It might have been my best performance since we took this show on the road.”
“Such humility. So charming.”
I poke him in the ribs, and he laughs. He laughs so much more now, and though I enjoy his darker moods, I’m delighted by the fact that he’s happy—that this life makes him happy.
By the time Sidewinder ended its run at the New Orpheum Theatre, it had garnered such accolades that theaters across the country were begging for us to come and perform.
At the time, Nashville was coping with the mysterious disappearance of multiple prominent citizens, including Philippa de Chagny and Gil Leveque, all of whom vanished overnight without a trace.
Neither Raoul nor I were considered suspects, and Erik kept a low profile, making himself invisible except for performances.
But within a week, Carlotta Vanetti and her followers stirred up rumors online, questioning why Raoul would choose to keep the musical running in light of his sister’s and his manager’s disappearance.
With Marj’s coaching, Raoul made a public statement praising his sister for her support of his dream and dedicating the remaining performances to her.
After his emotional speech, the rumors and reporters only fed the hype surrounding our musical.
The mystery associated with Sidewinder was nothing less than publicity gold.
But those same rumors and reporters also made it difficult for the three of us to enjoy life in Nashville, so the idea of taking the show on the road could not have come at a better time.
Besides, none of us were comfortable with the idea that a pervert like Firmin Richards might get rich off our work.
So Raoul sold his family home, liquidated the assets, and took Sidewinder on tour.
It was the true severance we all needed from the city that brought us together.
The day after we left, Erik leaked what he had on Firmin Richards. From what I’ve heard, he’s divorced now, and he sold the New Orpheum to none other than Carlotta Vanetti herself, whose voice—and ego—have returned with a vengeance.
Manannan agreed to watch over the lair for Erik.
He grumbled about how inconvenient it was for him, but he also paid very close attention when Erik taught him how to use the technology in the lair.
Judging by Erik’s mental check-ins with Manannan, the sea god is adapting well to modern conveniences—just as Erik, Raoul, and I are adapting well to a life of travel, music, fine cuisine, and indulgent sex in luxurious hotels.
We’re headed back to one such hotel tonight.
Erik has become an expert at guiding me through clusters of people, whether it’s our friends in the cast and crew, fans eager for autographs, critics looking to ruin our day, or reporters in the guise of show enthusiasts.
He’s quite skilled at deploying a bit of mist here, a few shadows there, or a ghostly distraction at just the right moment so we can slip away for some much-needed privacy.
A handful of the Nashville ghosts came along for the tour—the ones whose loyalty to the former death god outweighed their postmortem connection to the city.
The cast and crew are all comfortable with the idea of the ghosts now, whether they’ve actually seen one or not.
If a prop falls or a glass breaks, it’s always “the Sidewinder ghost” who’s to blame.
Sometimes the Sidewinder ghost is to blame when people arrive late to rehearsal, run into traffic, or forget their lines.
It irritates Marj, who maintains that ghosts are not real and should not be used as excuses.