Chapter 33 #2
“Do you really want to see?” he asked, and I felt more phantom fingers run down the length of my arm.
My thoughts felt heavy and slow, my mind as muddled as the fog surrounding me.
“Do you truly want to come to me?” A small part of me wanted to run, wanted to beat back the lulling waves of his voice that threatened to drown me, but then he spoke again, and every urge to flee retreated.
“Come to me, Christine. Come to your strange Angel.”
Father had once taken me to a small theatre to while away a rainy afternoon. We watched a variety of acts play out. There’d been dancing dogs and ventriloquist dummies, and I’d laughed and laughed, happy to be there with Father, sharing in the wonder.
But one performance had left me reeling in a cold sweat.
A man had come out on the stage, all by himself.
There’d been no props or silly costumes.
Just him. He’d explained that he was a mesmerist, a doctor who was able to cure patients by controlling the magnetic fluid within their bodies.
He could lull anyone into a trance and fix them.
He’d demonstrated with people in the audience, using only the power of his measured voice to subdue them.
Their eyes had turned glassy and listless as the man had them perform increasingly astonishing acts to prove his command over them.
When he’d asked me to join him onstage, I’d cowered under my father’s arm and cried.
I felt like one of those poor souls now, hypnotized, compelled, and ready to do whatever my Angel bid me. I could feel my soul reaching out for Erik, reaching for his music and the peace both would give. “Come to me, strange Angel,” I begged, my voice low and almost slurring.
Had I said that? Had he made me?
“Christine!” A new voice broke through the fog and my mind’s beguilement. I heard the thud of hoofbeats on soft ground, the whinny of a charging horse.
“Raoul?” What was he doing here? Couldn’t he see that I—
I blinked, suddenly unsure of what I was doing. I’d begun to take faltering steps back toward the large monument with the stone angel. I’d been drawn to it, seduced by it, like a sleepwalker caught in a heady dream. My actions had not been my own. My thoughts had not been controlled by me.
Raoul emerged from the swirling fog, riding a large black stallion. Its velvety lips were frothed white. They must have raced here at a breakneck pace. But why? Why was he here now?
“Leave her!” Raoul exclaimed as he dismounted and immediately crossed between me and the tomb.
I blinked again, hard, as if trying to clear sleep from my eyes. It was like a veil had been lifted, a reverie broken. All at once, I could see what I hadn’t been able to before.
There, up on the monument, crouched behind one angel, was another.
He was hidden in the swell of a full black cloak. A wide-brimmed, plumed cavalier hat helped to conceal the mask, but it was impossible not to recognize him.
Erik.
His lip curled, part smile, part sneer, as he stepped from the shadows. “Monsieur le Vicomte, what a surprise to find you here.”
Raoul had his arms outstretched wide. Was he keeping Erik away or trying to hold me back? “You have no claim on her. Leave her, leave us, now! Christine, we’re going.”
Erik scoffed, and a torrent of dark, ugly laughter burst from him. “Such spirited words. Are you so certain the lady wishes to depart?”
I wanted to tell them both to stop, wanted to shout and scream. I’d come here seeking answers. I’d wanted to sit beside my father’s grave and pour out my heart, and why couldn’t either of them understand that? Why had Erik followed me here? Why was Raoul interrupting?
Realization poked at me, as timid as a newborn fawn on trembling legs.
Erik had followed me. Erik, who had been behind the notes, the coercions, the falling chandelier.
Erik, who might have had a hand in Joseph Buquet’s death.
He’d followed me to lure me back to him.
He’d used his voice as a weapon, coaxing me into forgetting the bad so that only the good remained.
And Raoul…
Raoul was here, saving me.
He’d known, he’d somehow guessed my intentions, and he was here now, risking himself, for me.
I grabbed his arm and pressed my face to the curve of his shoulder blade. “Take me away from here,” I said into his ear, feeling faint. Whatever spell Erik had woven over me had not gone away easily. My mind still moved slowly, trapped in the fantasies the Angel had spun.
But no more. My thoughts were now entirely mine. My impulses were of my own volition.
As if sensing the tide had turned, Erik threw back the folds of his cloak, revealing a familiar-looking walking stick capped with a silver skull. It was one of his tinkerings, as dangerously deceptive as any of the automatons.
“Run!” I cried, pulling at Raoul.
But he only took a small step back as a fireball—as bright and burning as a comet—shot forth from the skull, aimed directly at us. It hit the ground at our feet, bursting into a shower of sparks. They landed on my cloak, singeing the wool fabric, and I hurried to stamp them out.
“What trickery is this?” Raoul hissed, then raised his voice, hurling words at our adversary in lieu of ammunition. “Such violence, such deception. You know that’s the only way you’ll ever hope to have her!”
Erik lunged off the monument, landing in front of the tomb with all the force of a meteor. More fire was thrown our way. It was only because of the damp that the ground was unharmed. Had this been the heat of summer, the entire cemetery would have gone up in a blazing inferno.
“Stay back,” Raoul warned. “Christine, get to the horse. Run!”
“Come with me,” I pleaded, fearing he meant to stay and fight. I couldn’t tell if he had any weapons under his coat, but I knew, even if he carried an entire arsenal, swords and daggers would be no match for Erik and his cunning inventions.
“I’m here, I’m right here, Vicomte,” Erik said, brandishing the cane. “Do your worst!”
Reacting with only fevered adrenaline, Raoul swiped at him, leaving a sudden gap between us. Erik easily avoided the blow, darting toward me before whirling back and shooting more fire at Raoul.
One bolt struck high on his chest, and he winced, clutching his shoulder.
“Come on, come on, monsieur!” Erik taunted, taking little steps toward me to spur on Raoul.
With a cry, he lunged toward him again. Erik lashed out, striking his arm before twirling round to smash the stick across his back. Raoul staggered to the gravel as Erik laughed.
“No!” I cried, and raced to them.
I ducked between the two men, just as Erik lifted the cane high above his head. His eyes flashed, and I was struck dumb by the murderous intent within them.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew Erik had harmed others. There was the carnival barker, when he was only a boy. The people beneath the chandelier. And no one had ever wholly explained how Joseph Buquet, a master flyman, had wound up so gravely twisted in his own ropes.
But…
All of those acts, those terrible, vile acts, had served a perverse purpose. I could almost see his twisted reasoning, see how he’d believe that such wicked means were justified to secure his freedom, to achieve his end.
I did not condone any of it, though I could understand how he would.
But this…
There was no reason for this. Harming Raoul wouldn’t further any of Erik’s causes. It wouldn’t make me sing. It wouldn’t make me love him. It only served to show how far he’d go to win what he thought rightfully his.
Me.
His deranged plan had backfired. Seeing the full force of his cruelty killed any trace of feelings I might have ever had for him. It burned away my reverence, my wonder. It ruined the awestruck exultation I felt for his music, his voice. It erased my pity.
Now, nothing remained but ash.
“Raoul, you need to get up. Raoul, we need to go.” I tugged at his arm, careful to grab the one Erik had not struck.
He shook his head. “Save yourself.”
“I’m not leaving without you,” I protested, gritting my teeth as I pulled him to his feet.
Erik had rounded away from us and now watched with guarded eyes. I could see him assessing, playing out scenarios in his mind, turning them over and over like a puzzle box, as he tried to make the situation play out in his favor.
I took advantage of his hesitation and all but dragged Raoul back to the stallion.
He insisted on helping me up first, before following after with a worrying groan. He wasn’t bleeding, not where I could see, but I wondered if Erik might have broken his ribs or shattered bones along his arm.
I took up the reins and, with a kick of my heels, spurred the horse to action.
“Don’t go!” Erik cried, a feral howl that played off the fog and made him sound as if he were so much larger, surrounding us with a force and fury impossible to best. “Christine!”
The stallion was quick to respond, but as we galloped away, I heard one last roar from Erik.
“So be it!” he shouted, hurling his voice to the sky. “Now let it be war upon you both!”