Page 14 of Angel’s Flight (The Phantom Saga #4)

“We’re not going to the train station,” Erik replied, the same darkness in his voice that had been radiating from him since he attacked those men.

They had deserved the fight, Christine knew that, but it still didn’t make seeing Erik like that again any easier.

She had thought they were done with the violence they had left behind, but it had found them.

“What do you mean?”

“We’re going to see Jack.”

Christine dared to meet Erik’s golden eyes. They were as deadly and determined as ever. “For all we know, Jack was the one who led those men to us,” Christine protested.

“Exactly. If he is, I will find out who he told.” Erik’s tone made it clear he wouldn’t be arguing this point, but after a beat, his eyes behind the mask softened, and the tension in his body dissipated. “If he wasn’t, then we need him as a friend.”

“What if it was someone who followed me?” Christine whispered back, sickened. “Pauline or Patricia or—"

Erik grabbed her hands as she began to shake. In her mind, she saw it again: the chandelier falling. The bodies. She heard the screams and then the gunshot...

“Christine, don’t do this to yourself,” Erik commanded, forcing her to look at him as he tore off his mask. He breathed slow and deep, making her match him. “The evil of others is not your fault,” he told her as the queasiness ebbed and her heart slowed.

She wanted to argue, to ask if that applied to him, but she couldn’t. She had married him, knowing all he had done, and forgiven him. Because he had changed, he had chosen life. A real, free life for them that seemed unreachable now.

She embraced him instead, taking comfort in his solid form against hers and the familiar weight of his arms around her. The only consistent thing in months of wandering was him. He was all she had, and that had to be enough.

The carriage lurched to a stop, and Erik pulled back to look at her. She had to be a mess, with her hair falling from its bun and cheeks red from crying. She envied Erik the mask as he replaced it on his face.

They left the carriage waiting and made their way into the ancient building where Jack lived. The hall was barely lit this time of night (or technically early morning) and the paint on the door was peeling, but it opened quickly after Erik’s knock.

“What in the devil—” Jack stopped in shock.

Christine knew what he saw: Erik in his old mask, mouth uncovered and set in a grim line, gold eyes blazing with danger as he stood at his full, imposing height.

Then there was Christine next to him, with tear-stained cheeks, looking as if she had just run for her life.

“I would like to know, my friend, if you are surprised to see me alive and free,” Erik demanded slowly. “Please think carefully before you answer.”

“I’m surprised to see you at my door in such a state,” Jack answered, not obeying the order to think at all. He was rumpled and in shirt sleeves, with ink stains on his fingers. “What is this about your life? Are you in some sort of trouble? Signora, are you alright?”

Jack leaned forward, but Erik stopped him, eyes locking with Jack’s and boring into his soul to determine what Christine already knew – that this was not the person who had betrayed them.

“Men – paid thugs – came to our flat and assaulted our landlord, trying to find us,” Christine explained, and Jack looked appropriately astonished by the revelation.

“Why would someone be trying to find you? Is it a debt, or have you done someone some greater offence?” Jack asked, more concerned than suspicious. “Can I help?”

The menace left Erik, like shadows driven away by a flame. “Thank you. May we—”

“Yes, of course, come in.” Jack ushered them into his untidy bachelor’s flat, and Christine shook her head at the state of it.

There wasn’t a clear surface in sight, with every table covered with music, books, and a few unwashed wine glasses.

There was no carpet and hardly enough furniture.

“The maid has not come by this... month,” Jack muttered.

“We won’t stay too long,” Christine said politely (and hopefully).

“You can’t go home if someone is looking for you,” Jack countered, meeting their eyes. “May I know why my friends are being pursued?”

“It’s a long story,” Erik said. “One that I fear will diminish your regard for me. If this arrival has not done so already.”

“There was a reason we had to leave Paris,” Christine cut in, sighing at her husband’s dramatics. “We made many enemies there.”

“I made enemies there,” Erik corrected. “We can’t tell you more and risk harm coming to you by knowing too much. Just being here...”

Christine could tell that Erik was beginning to regret this. She could read the thoughts racing through his head clear as day – that he was cursed and knowing him brought only sorrow and suffering to those around him. That all of this was what he deserved.

“My husband is a good man, despite what he may think or imply,” Christine said, taking Erik’s hand and turning to poor, bewildered Jack. “He has endured many cruelties and abuses and done dark things to survive, but he – we – are trying to leave that behind.”

“I know,” Jack said to their surprise. “I can hear it, I mean. In every note you write and play. Erik, I haven’t known you for long, but I know your soul in your music, and it strives for the light. Yours is a gift worth protecting. You are a man I am glad to know.”

“For now,” Erik muttered, looking away to hide that he was moved by Jack’s words. Christine squeezed his hand. One day, she would make him believe fully in why she chose him each day. “We need to get out of the city—”

“And you can’t risk a nosy landlord or a long passage. I have the perfect solution for you,” Jack said with a grim expression. “You will go to my house in Lucca.”

“Where your family still resides?” Erik scoffed.

“I’ll have you know I have a respectable set of rooms that are mine alone,” Jack said, puffing up in pride. “That I inherited. The quarters are close, but I will send a letter explaining that you’re a friend in need, not to be disturbed! And I’ll be there in a few days!”

Christine looked to her husband, letting hope flare in her heart again. “We can rest there, hope whoever is looking for us loses the trail, and then decide where to go.”

Erik’s shoulders sagged in agreement. “Fine. It will be temporary, and...” Christine watched as a new flare of fear filled Erik’s eyes, his gaze darting worriedly about. “You must warn them about the mask and not to ask about it.”

“I will, of course,” Jack said quietly. “Am I allowed to ask?”

“No,” Erik almost growled, and Christine stepped between him and Jack.

“Erik. He has told you he is your friend,” she chided. “He will understand.”

“It’s alright,” Jack said with a weak smile.

“Whatever injury or scars you bear, this is what has kept such a brilliant talent from taking its place among the greatest of our generation. Something beneath that mask has forced you to hide, and that seems to me a great tragedy. For music, and for you.”

“I...” Erik stammered.

Christine was pleased to see him surprised by someone. It happened so rarely. “He also detests the politics and people of the musical world,” Christine added, and Erik looked at her in consternation. “It’s true. You’re opinionated and quarrelsome.”

Jack shrugged as Erik looked to him for support. “She said it, not me.”

“When can we depart for Lucca?” Erik asked with a sigh. “We have a carriage outside and a driver greedy enough to take us that far.”

“Let me write a few letters, and then you can go immediately,” Jack said with a smile. “While you’re here, look at what I have on the piano and make your quarrelsome opinions on it known. Please eat if you’re hungry: there’s bread and oil in the kitchen.”

Christine gave Erik a nod. It was alright to indulge his friend. She wouldn't be taking the offer of food, however. All the fear and anxiety from the past hours had taken up residence in her stomach, leaving no room for hunger. At least now they had a place to go.

Was this what it had been like for Erik all his life?

Moving from place to place when things went wrong?

She knew his tale now, from beginning to end.

He had told her on their journey to Geneva in the long hours on the train.

It had felt then as if they had reached the end of that story, the happily ever after that so few found and fewer deserved.

But it hadn’t ended. Their life had gone on and on.

There had been good days and there had been terrible ones.

Today had been both. Christine could barely comprehend that before sunset, they had marveled at the beauty of the city and reveled in possibility together.

Now, they had to leave it, and even with Erik right there, she felt so alone.

Paris

M eg was a poor detective , but in her defense, she had received little training.

And she had no place to work outside of, well, work.

She couldn’t very well compile her findings at home, where Mother might find them.

To that end, she had decided to keep her notes and anything else she found hidden at the Opéra.

She had a perfect spot – an old prop room where no one went except to occasionally steal a nap on a decrepit old bed (scenery from some bygone production back at the old opera on the Rue le Peletier ).

Meg had told her mother she needed to practice alone as her excuse for going to the Opéra so early. Now, she was tucked in a corner with her little oil lamp and the papers she hoped would help her understand something.

Remove the following, or I shall . Meg read the note again. She had memorized the names in red ink: de Lancey, Goncourt, de Montier, Tremblay, Sabran . All patrons.