Chapter 30
Chapter thirty
Remy
Fascinating creature.
Beautiful, one might even say angelic. She gives the impression of frailty. It’s deceptive.
“I was hoping you could shed some light on a few occurrences we’ve had at the opera house,” I say.
She blinks once and takes a careful sip.
“I’m not sure how I could,” she replies evenly. “Aside from rehearsal, I’m rarely there. But go ahead and ask.”
How generous. Permission.
“Meg mentioned you were both at the opera house before it closed.”
She nods. “Yes.”
Most people would fill the silence. Justify. Elaborate. Offer context.
Neither she nor Meg ever does.
Interesting.
I purse my lips. “You were there when Professor Thorne died?”
“I was.” She doesn’t hesitate. “But you already knew that. What is your actual question?”
Erik has shifted to the opposite end of the sofa, his attention fully locked on her now. Rapt. Unguarded.
I incline my head slightly. Fair enough.
“Had you heard of the Dark Angel?”
One shoulder lifts. The coffee cup never wavers. “We all heard the stories. It was impossible not to.”
“What did you hear?” I press.
She tilts her head, considering.
“I was never sure how it became a she,” she says slowly. “At first it was just… righted wrongs. Small things.”
Her gaze drifts, memory pulling her inward.
“A video sent to someone’s partner exposing an affair. A bully suddenly made very uncomfortable in public.” She licks her lips. “Petty things, really. Prankish.”
“How?” I cut in.
She chews lightly on her lower lip. The most reaction I’ve seen from her yet.
“Itching powder in the costume of a lead who constantly belittled their understudy. Flat tires on the car of a malicious gossip.” She shrugs. “That kind of thing.”
She looks back at me then. Clear-eyed.
“I don’t know when it became a legend. Or when it turned darker.” She pauses. “It’s possible someone used the reputation to hide something else.”
Erik leans forward. “Expound.”
She looks at him. Says nothing.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t look away.
“Please,” he adds.
I choke on my coffee.
She smiles at Erik.
“Since you asked nicely.” She takes another sip. “The professor.” Her lip curls around the title. “Silas Thorne. Or as I liked to call him STD.”
“What?” I ask.
“I always added dickhead or dickface to the end,” she shrugs. “It felt accurate.”
Erik watches her without interrupting.
“He was a predator,” she continues. “But his parents were influential. Donors. Board members. People who made problems disappear.”
The room tightens.
“So when he fell,” I say carefully, “you think…”
“I think people like him don’t lose their footing by chance,” she says. “And when they do, the story that survives is never the real one.”
Erik’s fingers curl against his knee.
“And the Dark Angel?” he asks.
She holds his gaze for a long moment before answering.
“Legends are useful,” she says. “They keep everyone busy looking in the wrong direction.”
A pause.
“Whoever killed him understood that.”
She shifts slightly in the chair.
“We were all questioned. You should really have Meg in here for this.” Her eyes flick briefly toward the door. “She was there too.”
I pull out my phone and text Meg.
Can you come over?
I nod at Erik. “Get the door.”
He rolls his eyes but does it.
Meg steps in a moment later, changed into shorts and a blouse. She shoots Christianna a questioning look. Christianna shifts just enough to make room, and Meg crosses the space to sit beside her, tugging the blanket up over their laps.
I take them in. Opposite sides of the same coin. One all cascading blonde hair and blue eyes, the other dark curls and brown eyes.
I don’t understand why one of them affects me and the other doesn’t.
“I’ve been asking Ms. Daye about the history of the Dark Angel,” I say. “She mentioned you were there as well. Thought you might help us understand.”
Meg nods. “Oh. That.”
Both women seem remarkably unconcerned for something that altered the course of an entire institution.
Do they really think I didn’t run background checks?
Christianna speaks first, voice low. “I told them what I remember. It started as pranks. Then it changed. STD died. I still don’t know how it became one, a woman, and two, the killer.”
Meg snorts. “I always assumed it was a woman. My question was why it took so long.”
Christianna nods once, sharp agreement.
“What did he do?” I ask.
Meg lets out a humorless laugh. “Better question is what he didn’t do. We were all in the production. His parents bought him into directing. He controlled casting, recommendations, everything. We were taking a music appreciation course under him.”
She doesn’t soften it.
“If he cornered you, he tried to fuck you.”
Erik and I both straighten.
“He was assaulting students?” Erik asks.
"He went beyond students." Meg shrugs. "He was a 'pretty boy,' a 'popular boy.'" She makes air quotes. "The kind people followed before they knew better. He had that peaked in high school football look. And it was a different time. Before Me Too. The school knew. They buried it."
Her jaw tightens.
“You slept with him to keep your GPA. Especially if you were on scholarship.” A pause. “Things happened.”
She looks at Christianna.
Christianna’s lips part. She looks away.
“I was a scholarship student,” she says quietly. “With distance, it sounds as if there is choice. But students that talked were no longer students. My housing and meal plan were scholarship dependent. There was no choice.”
The room shifts.
Her eyes shine. She blinks once.
I feel like an asshole.
Their hands are clasped beneath the blanket.
She looks at me. Direct. Controlled.
“Why do you need to know?” she asks. “It’s painful. And it’s private.”
I glance at Erik, weighing whether to answer.
He surprises me by stepping in.
“He’s trying to protect me,” Erik says. “The Dark Angel has been leaving me notes. Playing for me. Remy thinks I’m in danger. That’s why we’re asking.”
Christianna’s expression doesn’t change.
“I don’t know you,” she says evenly. “I won’t bare my soul to you.” A pause. Measured. “There were lasting consequences from what happened to me. That’s enough.”
Her gaze sharpens, pins us both.
“Even if I knew who the Dark Angel was, I wouldn’t tell you.” Her voice never wavers. “She protected us. Every one of us. If she killed him, I’d buy her a drink.”
She lifts her chin.
“I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.”
I stiffen. “So she exists?”
She studies me, then gives a small, sad smile. “For the purpose of this conversation, let’s say that at that point in my life, I needed her to.”
She lets that land.
“Whether she was flesh or story doesn’t matter.” Her gaze shifts briefly to Erik. “As for your concern about him,” the smile returns, thinner now. “The figure from the past only ever avenged. Harm invited consequence.”
Her eyes come back to me, steady, unapologetic.
“If you’ve caused no harm, there’s nothing to fear. If you have, you earned what followed.”
She rises, gathering herself with quiet finality.
“I’m leaving.”