Page 51 of Angel’s Flight (The Phantom Saga #4)

“Be careful wasting all your threats now, someone may begin to doubt your honesty in making them.” He kept his tone light and annoyed, even though he was seething.

“I think you know how serious we are,” Pauline trilled. “But, as I said, this is a parlay. I have an offer for you and you alone.”

There was something wild in the woman’s eyes, something that had become untethered from reason since the last time Erik had encountered her. Maybe he could exploit that.

“I’m listening,” Erik muttered.

“I will tell Bidaut, our employer, and anyone who will listen that I lost you; to give up the ghost, as it were, if you do one, simple thing for me.” Pauline’s face was bright with excitement as she inched closer and slid her hand across the table to grip Erik’s.

It made his stomach turn and his nerves go on high alert. “Something not entirely unpleasant.”

“What are you suggesting?” She couldn’t possibly mean what Erik feared she did, but she batted her lashes and looked at him with what he assumed was meant to be an expression of seduction.

“I think you know,” Pauline purred, but Erik was silent. “If you insist on clarity: I want you to fuck me.”

“Why?” Erik asked, holding in his horror and the impulse to pull his hand away. This wasn’t the time to deliver any sort of rejection to a madwoman.

“This case – you. You’ve changed me,” Pauline answered breathlessly. “The more I learn about you – how ruthless you are, how monstrous – the more it captivates me. I think about how you choked me in that cellar when I’m alone at night; the heat of you behind me and—”

“That’s quite enough,” Erik cut in, growing ill as he looked to the exits of the room. He tried to pull his hand back but Pauline snatched it in an iron grip, her eyes wide and feral.

“Oh, not enough at all,” Pauline whispered urgently. “I can give you things that a simpering soprano would never dream of. I will let you ruin me and ask for more. I want you to be a monster and destroy me.”

She looked as if she was ready to climb on him right there, which was disturbing in and of itself, but combined with her offer – her blackmail – it was worse.

“You think you can give me something she can’t,” Erik asked, stalling.

“I think that fool who gave up glory and gold wants you to be a lamb when you’re a lion,” Pauline replied. “All I ask is one night.”

“A night you think will win me over to you, so I will leave my wife behind,” Erik finished for her. “If she doesn’t turn me away when she finds out.”

Pauline shrugged, not denying it. “We’d be unstoppable, the two of us. We could burn the world down and dance among the ashes and corpses. With me, you’d be free. Would you rather keep up a war you know you will lose over a fortune you don’t need for a boring life with a wilting flower?”

“You make it sound so enticing,” Erik whispered, and Pauline’s mad eyes grew brighter. “Let us discuss this upstairs in my room.”

London

I t was odd for Shaya to be at the opera and not the Opéra.

It was also disconcerting that this version of Verdi’s Don Carlos was in Italian and not in French, as he had heard it before, and omitted the first act and the ballet.

At least that meant it was a shorter affair, especially considering the abruptness of the ending – as if the librettist had grown bored with the dramatics and simply decided to end the story mid-sentence.

Shaya was out of his seat before the curtain fell, rushing to the stage door he had scouted before the performance.

He hadn’t wanted to gain admission then and disturb Adèle, but he couldn’t afford to miss her now.

He’d been searching for her fruitlessly for days, unable to find her at any address she was associated with, and for a few hours, he had been worried beyond reason that he had been too late to protect her. Again.

The stage door was two doors actually. One leading to a small antechamber where a man was sitting behind a podium with a list, guarding the actual door inside.

“Sir? Are you here to see someone?” the attendant asked as Shaya entered the first door.

He couldn’t hear the orchestra or applause anymore, which meant curtain call was over and he had limited time.

Perhaps he was nervous because one too many sopranos had disappeared from under his nose after operas.

“I’m an old friend of Adèle Valerius,” Shaya replied, noting how the guard was taking in the color of his skin and his hat with some suspicion. He probably assumed Shaya was Indian, given the empire that Britain held there.

“You’re not on the list,” the man said after a beat.

“How would you know when you haven’t asked my name nor looked at your list?” Shaya replied, trying to remain calm.

“Madame Valerius was clear that she wanted no visitors. At all.” The man seemed honest, as far as Shaya could tell. This, combined with how hard it had been to find Adèle, meant she was being cautious, which made Shaya’s need to see her all the more urgent.

“Sir, on my honor, I’m an old friend of hers. If you take my name to her, she will admit me. It’s a matter of great importance that I see her.” Shaya didn’t know if this stranger would care about the honor of a foreigner he had never met, but he looked at least interested.

“Wait here,” the man said with a sigh and rose to stick his head through the second door. He yelled: “Oi, Jim, come here!” Through the glass in the door, Shaya saw a burly man approach.

“What? I got places to be,” Jim asked.

“I need to get a message to Mrs. Valerius. Tell her that— what did you say your name was?”

“Shaya Motlagh,” he replied, daring to feel some smidgen of hope.

“Shy-a mouth-lot – or something like that – is here and insists he’s got to see her. Foreign chap,” the guard said. Shaya fought against rolling his eyes. This was something. Adèle would say yes.

The man returned to his post, looking dubious and waving Shaya out of the way into a corner as another guest entered and approached the podium. Shaya made himself as unobtrusive as possible out of pure habit and observed the man.

“Good evening, has Mrs. Valerius left yet?” the new visitor asked, and Shaya’s eyes flew to the man’s face. It was one he recognized. He had seen this man go into Pomeroy’s office when he had sent Meg in. The day she had learned they were searching for Erik.

Shaya signaled as subtly as he could from behind the man, trying to get the guard’s attention. The man made a face as he met Shaya’s eyes and Shaya shook his head vigorously, mouthing “Say yes” as clearly as he could.

“Uh... yes. She was quick about it,” the guard stammered. “Wasn’t takin’ callers anyway so, best you’re on your way.”

Shaya spun away when the man turned around, making a show of checking his watch. He felt the other detective’s gaze linger upon him as he stepped out of the door without further questions. The moment he was gone, the door guard jumped from his perch.

“Now, what was that about?” the man asked, clearly not amused. “I went along with ya ’cause Miss Adèle said no men in glasses. She was very specific about that, but what—”

“She’ll see him straight away!” Jim’s booming voice interjected.

Shaya didn’t wait for a second more before rushing to the inner door and following the larger man through the backstage corridors.

They came to the dressing room and the door burst open.

Shaya was pulled inside and into a hug before he knew what was happening.

“Shaya!” Adèle cried, slamming the door behind them in poor Jim’s face. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to warn you and – perhaps our mutual friends – that they have been discovered to be in London,” Shaya answered. “Because of me.”

“So they were tracking our mail,” Adèle sighed, to Shaya’s surprise. He felt like he was joining a conversation already in progress. “They were worried even something I sent might be caught, but I assured them it was fine. That must have been how the bastards knew to set up a snare here.”

“They’ve been discovered?” Shaya asked, heart seizing. “Where are they?”

“They left the night they were discovered. The detective that’s after them is a man named Bidaut. He set up a reward among the cutpurses and petty thieves for word of a man in a mask,” Adèle explained. “It was unfortunate how they were found. They had started to like London.”

“But they’re gone now?”

“Yes,” Adèle sighed. “Too fast.”

“But you’re still in hiding.” Shaya took a moment to look over Adèle. She seemed healthy and in one piece, if perhaps tired from her performance.

“I haven’t been in hiding, I’ve just been avoiding the public, celebrity that I am.”

“Another man was trying to get in to see you!” Shaya exclaimed. “I recognized him – I saw him in Paris. He works for the men who were spying on me.”

“The man with glasses,” Adèle said grimly. “Damn.”

“Who is he?” Shaya asked, eager to put a name to a nemesis.

“That was Bidaut! He’s ruthless,” Adèle answered, taking a seat at her vanity. She looked worried, which troubled Shaya: she wasn’t the sort of woman to worry lightly. “I don’t want to know what he wants with me.”

“We intend to threaten your life in exchange for a fortune.”

Adèle sprang up and Shaya jumped in front of her, placing his body in between her and the man who stood in her dressing room door. The very man they had been discussing.

“Monsieur Bidaut,” Shaya intoned, furious at himself for not coming armed, but not about to let this man guess that.

“Did you really think I couldn’t bribe my way in here, Monsieur Motlagh? Especially after noticing your presence,” Bidaut said as he stepped into the room, closing the door ominously behind him.

Shaya could feel Adèle’s tension, and it made him helplessly furious that she should be in such a situation again because of him and this mess. “There’s no need to involve the lady.”

“I don’t think that’s the right term for this one,” Bidaut sneered over Shaya’s shoulder towards Adèle – then blanched at the unmistakable sound of a pistol cocking.