Page 33 of Angel’s Flight (The Phantom Saga #4)

“It’s alright. When Mrs. Gilbride mentioned last night that she was a friend of yours, she didn’t explain how close,” Letitia said with no judgment.

Adèle looked at her curiously. “How did you come to be invited to one of the most infamous and exclusive gatherings in London – one I myself have tried to attend?”

“You’re welcome any time,” Letitia countered as Christine fumbled for her own answer.

“We... made a friend in Italy who helped us in a difficult patch. He’s acquainted with Letitia.” Christine wanted to cry again at reducing the dramas of the last few weeks to so simple an excuse.

“Italy? My goodness, I’ll have to hear all about it. I assume you aren’t travelling alone, Mrs. Gilbride ?” Adèle asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

“No, of course not. Erik and I are here together,” Christine said, and the happiness in her voice was genuine. She hoped the relief in Adèle’s face was too.

“You know Mr. Gilbride too?” Letitia asked, and Christine winced. She didn’t want Adèle questioned about this. She knew more about Erik than almost anyone and had paid the price for that before.

“Only in passing through my dear Christine. I’m surprised you met him, but I’m glad to hear he is being sociable,” Adèle replied, smooth as ever.

“Only when I force him, which I think he enjoys in a strange sort of way,” Christine said. “But Letitia didn’t bring me to her visit to hear my tales. Tell me about you! I didn’t think you would leave Paris so soon. How is Julianne? She’s not with you, is she? I haven’t heard from her at all.”

“I received very good care from Julianne, but I’m too old for her. I knew it was time for a new start. Your departure was really what inspired me,” Adèle answered with a twinkle in her eyes.

Christine had never been entirely sure what had happened between Adèle and Julianne – brief love affair or a deep friendship. It wasn’t her place to pry, but if it had helped Adèle, she was grateful for it.

“Why London?” Christine asked.

“Why not? It’s quite the city, and so different from Paris. I needed a change.” There was sadness in Adèle’s eyes for only a moment. “And I had an excellent offer from the Opera at Covent Garden, thanks to a recommendation by Armand Moncharmin. The journey was a chore, however.”

They all sank into seats in Adèle’s well-appointed parlor as they relaxed into conversation. It was comforting to talk of everything and nothing – to hear the predictable tales of rivalries and affairs at the London Opera House that were so similar to what had gone on in Paris.

Adèle was doing well, receiving great acclaim by the audience, but had yet to be welcomed into polite society in the city – being a singer and French were two sins too many.

Letitia assured her that it was of little import, and that she would see her acquainted with the underground of artists and creatives that she knew.

Apparently, she had recently met a man claiming to be a sorcerer and member of a secret society of magicians, something Erik would be fascinated by, and she felt comfortable saying as much.

Soon enough, an hour had passed and it was time to go – at least for Adèle, who had to prepare for curtain.

“You will visit again soon? I’m free tomorrow,” Adèle asked as Christine rose. “Tell me all the things you can’t today.”

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time,” Christine muttered and received a gentle glare for her trouble.

“I want to see you here tomorrow, for luncheon. Bring your husband, if he can bear it.”

“If I can tear him away from whatever dusty tome or composition he’s engrossed in, I shall.”

“Good,” Adèle said, and pressed a friendly kiss to Christine’s cheek. “I’m so glad you are well.”

“And I you,” Christine said with all the sincerity she could muster. She was grateful, truly, for old friends and new. It made her feel like more of a complete person to go out and about, even as, at the same time, it made her eager to get home to Erik.

Home was a strange thing to call their rooms in the hotel, but as she had sworn to him and kept reminding herself, there was no home for her but him.

Paris

“H ow many more churches will we be going to?” Darius demanded the moment Shaya stepped into their flat. He looked as frustrated and exhausted as Shaya felt, which was saying quite a bit. “I’m one more record room away from converting.”

“No luck for you either?” Shaya sighed. Perhaps it had been a stupid idea to look through parish records for any note of a marriage between Antoine de Martiniac and the mysterious Madame that had hired men to spy on Shaya and traipse around Europe hunting a ghost on the same person’s whim.

“None. She could be lying, whoever she is,” Darius offered.

“If my hunch is right, then she’d want a paper trail, at least to give things legitimacy.”

“What sort of things?” Darius asked with narrowed eyes. “I know there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“It’s just a suspicion. I might not have seen what I thought. I can’t always trust these old eyes,” Shaya muttered. “But if you insist—”

The revelation was cut off by furious knocking at the flat door. Shaya and Darius exchanged looks before his former servant answered it, perhaps out of habit.

“Who are you? Where is—” Meg Giry demanded as she craned her neck to look into the flat. “Oh, there you are. I’ve been knocking on doors and I think I may have upset one of your neighbors.”

“You were following me?” Shaya balked, more impressed than annoyed.

“Well, you haven’t contacted me at all since I solved your case!” Meg cried, entering without invitation as Darius stepped back.

“The case, as you call it, is far from solved,” Shaya stammered. “And I was allowing you to observe goings on at the Opéra.”

“Someone stole money from the box office,” Meg sighed, much to Shaya’s surprise. “It’s apparently been going on for a while in small amounts.”

“Armand would have told me about that,” Shaya said, more to Darius than Meg, worrying what it meant that he hadn’t known about it.

“He doesn’t know! One of the clerks has been trying to have an assignation with an alto from the chorus – which says a lot about him – and he ran to her today in a panic over the discovery and I heard it all.”

“And that’s what you ran here to discuss?” Darius asked, garnering Meg’s attention once again.

“Who are you?” Meg looked the man over, surely noting that he was Persian like Shaya, but smaller and softer around the edges.

“Darius Veyssi,” Darius replied with a bow of his head.

“He is my—” Of course, Shaya was the one at a loss for words. It wasn’t easy to describe what Darius was to him. No longer a servant or a vassal, not a lover of the normal sort, but still family. Still his heart in this strange land. He settled on the simplest title. “My companion.”

“Oh. That’s lovely. You know, my great aunt had a companion she lived with until she was ninety.

Lovely women, both of them. So strange they never married,” Meg remarked and Shaya saw Darius holding in a chuckle.

“But I didn’t come to tell you about the money!

Well, I did. I had no idea where to find you yesterday or this morning, so I went to the agency to see if you were lurking about on some off chance. ”

“I do not lurk,” Shaya huffed.

“You do. Technically,” Darius interjected, much to Shaya’s dismay.

“I like him,” Meg grinned. “Anyway. I went to Pomeroy’s, but you weren’t there, so I waited and then I saw him!”

Meg was nearly vibrating from excitement as she gripped Shaya’s hand. “Who?” Shaya asked, utterly at sea now.

“I didn’t think I had seen right – is that the term – and maybe I recognized him wrongly.

I mean, I only ever saw him from a distance at the Opéra.

Before I could check, Pierre – your man, the one who hates following you – went off and I followed him to see if he’d lead me to you and he went to the Tuileries and soon enough, you came by and I followed you here. ”

“You had two people following you here and you missed it?” Darius scoffed.

“I knew he was there and I lost him when I went into Saint-Eustache ,” Shaya sniped back.

“But not me!” Meg piped up. “Because you told me to be patient. So I was, though I did stop for a crêpe, and by the time I was done, you were far down the street and I ran after you – to here!” Meg paused breathlessly and grinned. Darius cleared his throat, prompting Shaya without words.

“Yes, you did an admirable job,” Shaya sighed, and Meg grinned. “But who did you see at Pomeroy’s?”

Meg’s face was instantly dire as she leaned in to explain. “Firmin Richard!”

Now that was unexpected enough that Shaya had to take a moment.

“He’s the old manager,” Meg added softly.

“I know who he is,” Shaya muttered and looked at Darius. “Why would he be involved?”

“He was de Martiniac’s partner in his endeavors,” Darius replied darkly, because, of course, he was faster than Shaya or Meg in these connections.

“What endeavors? Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?” Meg squawked. “You know things about de Martiniac and this Madame that you don’t want to tell me, don’t you?”

“You’ve taught her well, Shaya,” Darius said with a smile that Shaya answered with a frustrated glare.

“You’re not helping,” Shaya muttered.

“But you have, and I know as well as you that this is all connected. Your spy and what’s going on at the Opéra and the ghost.” Meg looked up at him (for she was nearly a foot shorter) with piercing, impatient eyes in her innocent face. A face that he could not lie to.

“It is, but some aspects must be kept secret. I must ask you to trust me about it,” Shaya replied at last. “There are things that even I do not understand, and what you’ve revealed today makes it all the more confusing.”

“What were you doing in Saint-Eustache ? I thought your people went to a different sort of place?” Meg asked, directed to both of them.

“It’s called a mosque. I wasn’t there for worship, but to examine their marriage records,” Shaya answered with a sigh, making his way to his seat by the fireplace. It was too warm still to light it, but he missed the glow.

“Trying to discover who married de Martiniac?” Meg asked, again earning an approving look from Darius.

“It’s a fool’s errand, you’re right,” Shaya said.

“Especially when one of your secrets is that you already have someone in mind,” Darius said. “Someone who was engaged to him perhaps?”

Shaya cast the other man a toothless glare even as realization dawned on Meg’s face. “I need to be sure, and it’s a very dangerous thing to investigate that family.”

“For you,” Darius corrected softly. When Shaya looked at him, there was a dangerous spark in his eyes. Meg saw it too.

“Me?” Meg gaped. “Seeing a detective about a made-up case is one thing, but you want me to spy on the de Chagny family? Why?”

“Because if Firmin Richard is involved now too, we must know how dangerous this case has become,” Shaya replied. “And how much they have at stake.”