Page 31 of Angel’s Flight (The Phantom Saga #4)

Meg darted down the alley where she was set to meet her mentor, frowning in frustration about how little they had learned even though she had spent the last week listening to every story and exploring every nook and cranny of the Opéra.

There had been more sightings, she knew that now.

Tales of a masked shadow were increasing, shared in hushed tones among trusted friends. ..

“Careful, Meg: someone could sneak up on you.”

Meg jumped at the admonition, spinning to see Shaya behind her wearing his accustomed wry smile. “I expected you to come from the other way!” Meg protested. “I was watching.”

“You have to watch all ways at all times.”

“You make it sound so simple.” Meg scowled but tucked the lesson away in her head. “I was wondering what we’re going to learn about the ghost from me going into a detective’s office.”

“As I told you: I’m not sure my spy is related, but I have a feeling it might be and that’s as good a reason as any to pursue more information.”

“Is it?” Meg balked. “I have feelings about lots of things and I don’t get nosey about them.”

“Don’t you?” Shaya chuckled, and Meg made a face. “What are you feeling right now?”

Meg regarded the man. She had quickly come to like him over the last week. He was kind, intelligent, and spoke to her like an equal, but he was clearly keeping his own secrets. “There’s something you’re not telling me about the old ghost.”

“There’s a great deal I’m not telling you about him, that’s correct.”

“How did he die?” Meg blurted out, and Shaya raised his brows in surprise. She had been bold, but she hoped it would be rewarded.

“Of a broken heart,” Shaya replied, voice soft and sad. That had not been what Meg was expecting. She had thought, perhaps, some sort of duel between him and poor dead Philippe de Chagny or the presumed-dead Antoine de Martiniac.

“He loved Christine Daaé, and she left Paris.”

Shaya nodded. “She loved him in return.”

She had been the woman in black at the masquerade. She had sung down the chandelier. Now she was gone, disappeared off to who-knows-where. “That’s so sad.”

“Are you ready?” Shaya asked, changing the subject. “Do you remember what you’re to say?”

“Yes, I’ve rehearsed it. Much easier than a pas de deux,” Meg smiled. “Now give me the money. I always wanted to say that.”

Shaya smirked as he handed Meg the envelope holding several hundred francs. She hoped it was enough. “Good luck. Leave immediately if anything feels wrong or dangerous. You won’t be able to see me, but I’ll be right here.”

“You’re a strange sort of guardian angel,” Meg quipped and wasn’t prepared for the quick flash of emotion on Shaya’s face. “Oh. Do you not believe in those? I thought that your people – I mean – your faith isn’t Christian, but—”

“There are angels in the Quran,” Shaya answered warmly. “I was thinking about something – someone else I once knew who had a keen interest in them.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Meg didn’t know why she said that, but it felt right. Shaya seemed to take it to heart. “I – thank you. I hope I won’t disappoint you.”

“You could not, Mademoiselle Giry.”

That made Meg swell with pride. It meant something for a person such as him to believe in her. She could do this, she was certain of it. She wouldn’t disappoint him.

Meg straightened her dress and hat as she made her way out of the alley and across the boulevard.

She was wearing her Sunday best – a nice dress of blue that contrasted with her blonde hair, and a smart pair of shoes with white and black leather, newly cleaned.

She felt more like a lady than usual and hoped the costume would be adequate.

The offices of Pomeroy and Associates were pointedly unobtrusive.

It made sense to Meg that a business that relied on secrets would have such a plain storefront and nearly unreadable signage.

The only people who came here were the ones who really needed these services, or who had heard of them from someone else.

Meg and Shaya had decided she was the former because she didn’t want to be caught in a lie claiming she was the latter.

Meg braced herself as she walked inside and the little bell over the door rang.

The front office was small and taken up by an empty desk.

Beyond that was a hallway leading to other offices.

It took a moment for one of the hallway doors to open and for an older man to emerge.

He looked at Meg and then the empty desk and gave a powerful sigh.

“I should never have sent her off,” he muttered, then turned his attention back to Meg. “Good day, Mademoiselle, may I be of service?”

“Yes, I hope so,” Meg said with her most charming smile. “I need a detective for a delicate matter involving, well, a man of means.”

“Really?” The man huffed. He was almost what one would call burly, with a greying beard and a keg of a belly, but his eyes were bright and thoughtful as they looked over Meg.

There was a small scar on his cheek, just below his left eye, and Meg wondered if he was a former soldier of some sort, or if his past was even more intriguing.

“You look too young to have that sort of business. Where are your parents?”

“Well that’s what I need to find out,” Meg replied. “This man of means may be one of my parents, but I don’t know for sure and I was hoping you and your firm might help me confirm that. If that is the sort of thing you do. I assume you’re Monsieur Pomeroy?”

“I am. And we attend to all sorts of matters here.” He looked Meg up and down. “For the right price; a high price for the utmost in service. You need to know that before we waste each other’s time.”

“I can pay. I assure you.” Meg patted the pocket of her dress. “Perhaps there will be more if the result is to my liking? Is that something people do?”

“It is, indeed,” Pomeroy replied with a circumspect squint.

“Would you be handling this, or...” Meg made a show of looking around the empty office. “It says associates on the sign, but I don’t see anyone else here. Not that I would mind being assisted by the man in charge.”

Meg surprised herself with the way she said it – she was sweet and flirtatious. She usually hated making a show of being small and feminine and vulnerable for old men, because the patrons of the Opéra needed no encouragement, but there was a spark in Pomeroy’s eyes when she spoke.

“Yes. Well,” Pomeroy sighed as if this was an ongoing annoyance. “Many of my agents are in the field and working today. I do have one who specializes in female troubles, but she’s abroad at the moment.”

“Abroad?” Meg asked, batting her eyes. “Your agents travel so far?”

“Indeed,” the man said, puffing up proudly. “Our network is not as extensive as the Pinkertons, but it will be one day. My agents are willing to go to the ends of the earth for our clients. Though I can’t imagine your case will take us so far.”

“It must be thrilling to travel on such errands,” Meg smiled. “Shall we discuss more in your office or were you waiting for the rest of your staff? I’m sure there are many of them.”

“They are due back any moment,” Pomeroy replied, looking out the window and widening his eyes at something he saw. Meg moved to look, but the man stopped her – seizing her by the shoulder and herding her back down the hall. “Yes. You should wait in my office. I will deal with this.”

Meg was fascinated to see the man so flustered.

What had he seen and who was coming inside that had upset him?

The bell over the door rang just as she was shut in the office.

Meg froze, listening. She was supposed to see if she could find any files or correspondence that might reveal who had hired these people to spy on Shaya.

But that gut feeling – the one Shaya himself had told her never to ignore – wanted her to listen.

“What in God’s name are you doing walking in here looking like that?” Pomeroy growled.

“Thank you for your concern. I’m healing well,” a male voice replied with acid in his tone. “I thought you’d be happy I’m alive to keep doing my job.”

“You’ll only use this to ask for a raise,” Pomeroy replied. Meg dearly wished she could peek out the door and see what sort of state this other man was in.

“It would be a one-time bonus for being stabbed,” the man replied. Meg bit her lips so she wouldn’t gasp.

“Well, you won’t get a damn thing from me or Madame de Martiniac after how badly you bungled,” Pomeroy hissed. “I had to personally advance the money for Pauline to get a ticket to America only for it to be a dead end. You’re both useless.”

“He’s a wily devil. Any luck here?” the other man said as Meg’s brain started to feel like a kettle at a high boil. Had he said the name de Martiniac? How could that be?

“Nothing of note with the foreigner. Pierre is sick of following him,” Pomeroy answered. Meg nearly whooped in joy. She hadn’t had to riffle through files at all.

“Pauline has a plan, but it’s mad. We should check in with the client. This is getting expensive, not to mention dangerous,” the injured man said with affected boredom. He was pretending, and a man like Pomeroy would know that.

“Oh, you can’t fool me. You want to catch them as much as she does, don’t you? For pure revenge now,” Pomeroy said after a beat, proving Meg right.

“Do you mean Pauline or the client?” the other scoffed.

“I will discuss it with you later. I have someone in my office now who may have something simple for us that doesn’t involve a wild goose chase across Europe.”

“Or a fortune and a trail of dead bodies.”

“You didn’t die, for God’s sake. Pierre is at the Tuileries. Find him and bring him back so we can strategize.”

Meg once again heard the tinkling of the bell above the door. She barely had time to rush back to her seat before the desk and compose herself before Pomeroy reentered.

“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, Mademoiselle. Please, tell me more about what we can do for you.”