Page 58 of Angel’s Flight (The Phantom Saga #4)

“I hope you are not so angry,” Christine said sweetly to Erik, playing her part. “Of course, we would like to visit the house first.”

“Must you?” Siobhan asked, looking suddenly ill. “The house isn’t prepared for guests at the moment.”

Erik had never been to the old manor house outside the village, even when he had visited years ago.

As far as he had known then, the old knight lived there alone and did little to maintain the house or lands.

It was Sir Edward’s neglect that had let Coolaney keep up some old ways when it came to tradition, but he hadn’t pushed the village to prosperity or progress either.

That had been years ago, and Erik shuddered to think how dreadful things were now.

“Are you interested in my house?” Sir Edward asked, blinking like he had just seen Erik and Christine for the first time. “You must be quick with your offer. There’s a lady coming today to sign for it straight away!”

“Saints preserve me,” Siobahn sighed, looking to heaven.

“How bad is it?” Erik asked the poor woman. She didn’t seem to be a born liar; more likely, she was trying to save her job and community by taking advantage of an opportunity that had been presented.

“Well, you see,” Siobahn began. “It’s a very large house for one old man and his maid, and so, Sir Edward has been staying in town these last few weeks, to save on heating costs. It takes an awful lot of wood to keep the fires lit in a place like that. That’s all.”

“We’d like to see it,” Erik repeated, with what he hoped sounded like good humor. “We’ll stay the night if you don’t mind. Believe me, I’ve stayed in worse places.”

Siobhan looked between Erik and Christine as if the woman she thought was on her side might help her.

“We’ll pay for firewood?” Christine offered, and that brought a light to Siobahn’s face.

“If you insist,” Siobhan said, finally giving a nod.

“Siobhan, I want to get some rest before my guest arrives,” Sir Edward declared out of nowhere, sinking into his chair again and immediately nodding off.

“Either I’ll be up to let you in once I’ve attended to my master here, or I’ll send someone,” Siobahn sighed, looking down at the unconscious man she had somehow been saddled with keeping alive. “It’s good to meet you, Miss Pauline and Mister...”

“My name is Christine.” Both Siobahn and Erik turned to Christine in surprise and she slowly continued, looking to Erik for some help. “I did not want to use my—”

“Real name. For reasons of security,” Erik finished for her. He couldn’t blame her for not wanting to keep up the ruse of being Pauline; he wouldn’t want to be saddled with the name of an enemy either. “And I am Mister Gilbride.”

“You’re Irish?” Siobahn asked in shock, looking over Erik anew. Her eyes remained uncomfortably on his mask as he nodded. “There used to be a Gilbride family in this very village.”

“I’m your countryman only by descent. It’s a complicated story,” Erik muttered.

He didn’t want to tell that story or find any sort of connection with this woman or this place.

This was temporary and they needed to deal with things quickly before Pauline’s subterfuge was found out. “We will see you at the house.”

Erik didn’t wait for more questions, leaving the pub as fast as he could with poor Christine muttering apologies. She rushed to keep up with him as he slaked back to the carriage and wrenched open the door. Pauline was positioned on the floor with her feet bound and a gag in her mouth.

“It takes a rare sort of wickedness to trick a whole town. Did you really think someone as inept as you could make such an insane plan work?” Erik demanded of their hostage, taking care to speak in French in case anyone was walking by. “Did you really think I’d care?”

Pauline, still gagged, scrunched her face rudely, managing to look smug, even in this state.

“Leave her be. Let’s get to our accommodations,” Christine muttered, pulling Erik back before shaking her head at Pauline and closing the door.

This time, she joined Erik on the driver’s seat of the carriage, her closeness both a comfort and a torture. He was delusional to think he could ever give it up, and yet, just as delusional to think he deserved this or that she couldn’t do better.

“I still think you should go back to London. This can’t be all they’re planning,” Erik finally said. It didn’t feel any better to have it out in the open.

“I know you think that, but you’ve been overruled,” Christine replied, firm and foolish. “You were overruled in that respect the moment you asked me to marry you.”

Erik remembered that. The vivid knowledge in the dark under the Opéra that, if Christine Daaé agreed to not just be with him, but to be his wife, that he would be brave enough to walk in the world of light with her.

They had wed among friends, he had shown his face in the presence of the divine, and sworn to her, and that should have changed him.

Now here he was, willing to run back to the dark again to save her, and she wouldn’t let him, because he had shackled her with those vows.

She was doomed if she didn’t let go, like the poor people of this village tied to this dying land ruled by a distant queen.

Would his poor Christine end up like the manor they headed towards – empty and crumbling and forgotten?

Paris

M eg was sick of waiting to make her escape after rehearsal. There were simply too many people going back and forth, especially new and potential patrons who seemed to be everywhere. Meg resented them more than before, and that was saying something.

“Why are you in such a tizzy?” Marie demanded after Meg craned her neck to see if the hall was empty for the fifth time.

“I need to find someone,” Meg muttered.

“Everyone you know is here except your mother,” Marie replied, blunt as always.

“Where is your sister? Shouldn’t you be fetching her?”

“No, she’s sick today,” Marie pouted. “Leaving me to deal with all the attention. I honestly don’t know if this fame is worth what Monsieur Degas paid me.”

“At least he paid you,” Meg sighed. “Where’s Blanche and Rochelle then?”

“Blanche was whisked off by some patron! Taking her to dinner with someone very special!” Marie giggled. “Didn’t you hear her bragging about it earlier?”

“No, I was distracted.” Meg’s stomach was uneasy at the prospect.

Blanche was older than her by a few years, but that didn’t mean much in terms of her resilience and wisdom when it came to all of this.

What if she was getting herself in trouble and the ghost was needed?

The ghost who might very well be a thief endangering everything Meg held dear?

“I’m going,” Meg declared, unable to stand it any longer. She left Marie without another word and headed down. Down, down, down, as far as she could go, into the dark where no one would hear her but the dead. Or someone close to them.

She came to a corridor of stone, dark and ominous, brimming with thick darkness.

She couldn’t see beyond, but she could feel it; how the air was colder.

Stiller. It carried a sense of mourning and emptiness that made Meg shiver and question the choices that had brought her here.

The darkness was watching in a way she had not felt before.

“Are you there?!” Meg cried.

No response. No words, at least. Meg swore she heard something like movement in the dark, and a groan of pain. Was it her eyes playing tricks on her or was the shadow moving?

Meg screamed when a firm hand locked around her wrist, yanking her away from the abyss. She tumbled to the ground, cries stifled, thrown by her captor. Her rescuer, a looming figure in black glowering at her from behind a mask.

“Stay away from there. It’s dangerous,” the ghost whispered.

“I need to talk to you!” Meg blurted out.

The ghost looked surprised, as much as a phantom in a black hat, cloak and mask covering the entire face could look surprised.

“I told you to be patient.”

“I can’t be patient when everything is at stake!” The intensity of Meg’s voice was a shock to both of them. “You have to give it all back!”

The ghost stared at Meg and fear rose in the young dancer. She had gone too far. She had been mistaken. She had...

“Meet me tomorrow at midnight. Right here,” the phantom whispered, voice eerie and certain. Meg nodded and made the mistake of blinking too slowly; that was all the time the specter needed to disappear.

Meg stared after the ghost into the darkness, praying she had not made everything worse.

Coolaney

T he manor was worse than Christine had feared, and she had feared it would be terrible.

It was built of stone, mostly, with a few additions of wood and plaster that looked like they had been added haphazardly in recent years.

The bones of it were older, she could tell, past the swaths of ivy that covered the place, but all parts of it were crumbling.

The entrance to the grounds was bordered by briars and overgrown shrubs, interspersed with twisted oaks still clinging to their summer leaves.

Maybe there had been a wall, long ago, to keep the commoners out.

Now, the few stones and thorns served to contain something that might have been a garden once.

There was a carriage house and stable, but it looked of dubious stability.

Erik took the horses in as Christine checked that Pauline was still alive.

There may have been some disappointment to find her fully intact.

The woman had slept through much of the journey, thankfully, freeing Christine from more conversation had she taken off the gag.