Page 64 of Angel’s Flight (The Phantom Saga #4)

Julianne gave Meg a grim look. “Maybe hiding in the walls I saw one too many of them forcing themselves on girls younger than you. Maybe I started to feel helpless being forgotten so easily. After all the slights and insults and... Maybe I wanted to show someone that I had chosen the right side and make cruel, entitled bastards pay. Maybe the first time it happened, I saw what Tremblay tried to do to a girl your age and couldn’t tolerate it anymore.

I don’t expect you to understand it,” Julianne replied.

“Some days, I don’t understand it myself. ”

Meg felt small and hopeless in the face of such quiet, seething rage. There was nothing she could say that would offer comfort that wouldn’t be trite or empty, but perhaps she still had to say it. “I think you’re on the right side.”

Julianne gave a bitter laugh, looking down at the mask in her hand. “I thought I was too when it started. Now I’m not so sure.”

“Why?”

Julianne’s eyes met Meg with a look of guilt and despair. “Because it was not me that robbed the Opéra.”

Coolaney

E rik had only begun to explore the house he now – apparently – owned, and already, he had decided which rooms he enjoyed and the few he preferred to avoid.

The attic was of the latter category. It was comically full of dust and cobwebs and stank of the droppings of mice and bats.

The detritus of a century of neglect remained there in such a state that Erik couldn’t even tell what was old furniture and what was kindling.

Now it was theirs and he had no idea how to sort through it. That suited the situation.

Erik had ventured up to the top story to avoid the crowd of people who had descended on the manor all day.

Some had been curious villagers, alerted by the news that the French woman and her mysterious husband had indeed taken over the manor from Sir Edward.

Erik looked out a cloudy window down to the village, trying to pick out the house where the old knight now officially resided in his room near the inn.

Erik was impressed the man had managed to live long enough to complete the deal.

The fiction that Christine was some distant relative had been maintained, because no one in town wanted to dispute it, and papers of dubious veracity and legality had been signed this morning.

News had spread, and seemingly every person in Coolaney had come to offer some token of welcome to get a glimpse of the people who now owned the fallow lands and crumbling house.

The attention had tested Erik’s resolve to stay here, and he had kept to corners and avoided their eyes. Christine had been his only savior.

She had been in her element, happy to receive bread, firewood, and baskets of fruit, politely asking in her accented English if someone might help her clear out some of the fireplaces and remove the pigeon nest in the kitchen.

Siobhan had been happy to help, commenting that many hands make light work.

Erik appreciated that the fires were burning and that they had been treated to a real meal, but he was quite ready for everyone to be gone.

At the same time, he was melancholy because Shaya had left so quickly.

The Daroga had left all his things in London and his life in Paris, so it was understandable, but his old adversary and friend had been a piece of home.

From the attic, Erik watched as the sun sank into the horizon.

He had thought rather naively that he might be able to see the ocean from so far up, but the view was mainly of the village and the rolling hills beyond.

It was beautiful and familiar, and Erik didn’t know for sure if he would be able to stand looking at it for years.

That was the point, perhaps, of this strange bargain.

He’d chosen the world for Christine, and now, this was the one he would have to live in.

“There you are.”

He turned at the sound of Christine’s voice, kind and warm and perfect as ever. Her smile was perfect too when he looked at her. For the first time in a long time, perhaps ever, he felt like he was worthy of it.

“The commotion was a little much for me,” Erik demurred, picking his way through the debris to where Christine waited at the top of the stairs. “Be careful up here.”

“I looked for you in the library first.” She took his hand and guided him to her, all tenderness. “I assume I’ll find you there often.”

“I haven’t even examined what sort of books are there,” Erik said, squeezing her hand, and instantly warmth filled him.

He hadn’t noticed how cold it was in the dark, hidden part of the house.

Or perhaps it was that the house itself was warmer now.

While he had been hiding away from the rush of humanity, they had brought some life back to the old building.

It was warm and whatever ghosts lingered seemed to have retreated.

“I’m sure the piano is a disaster,” Erik added with a smirk.

“It will be an excellent project for you to rehabilitate it then,” Christine smiled. “If the books are nothing but old dictionaries, we can replace them. Maybe we’ll hear from Shaya soon that it’s safe for us to write to Julianne. She can send some of your things that she’s been watching.”

A cloud of worry passed over Christine’s face briefly, and Erik hooked a finger under her chin. “She’s fine, I’m sure. And that’s an excellent idea. Though we’d need to be careful.”

“You should write to Jack. See if he can visit soon and work on that symphony with you.” Her smile had returned, and Erik couldn’t help but echo it. “I can ask Howard and Letitia to come too when they can; maybe even Adèle.”

“We will be quite a destination.”

“Just because we can’t go anywhere doesn’t mean we’re cut off,” Christine said, ever the optimist. To Erik’s surprise, it didn’t fill him with guilt or dread to be reminded of his deal.

“I can’t go anywhere. Without taking precautions,” Erik countered, slyly. “You can go wherever you like.”

“The only place I want to be is in my home with my husband,” she whispered, voice husky and seductive as she pulled him close to her.

He melted into her kiss, and the house seemed to grow even warmer.

Her eyes were dark and loving when she pulled away.

“The one I have chosen and will choose again and again.”

“An honor I will continue to try and be worthy of,” Erik replied, and let his wife lead him down the hall.

Erik felt as if he were floating when Christine pulled him into a room with a crackling fire.

It was a different chamber than where they had slept last night when they had collapsed on the first bed they could find.

This room was bigger and boasted a four-poster bed that was in relatively decent condition with bedding that looked clean and new.

“Courtesy of a new friend that Siobahn introduced me to,” Christine explained. “They had a mattress as well. I think we’ll sleep much better tonight.”

“You’ve done well settling in,” Erik remarked, proud but thoughtful.

Christine closed the door behind them and locked it, for good measure. Though they were alone in the manor, it gave Erik some sense of safety to know no one could barge in. It was security she knew he needed. “I know you’re thinking that things will change.”

“People tend to become less kind when they learn there’s a monster living on the hill,” Erik sighed.

Christine shook her head and approached him.

She didn’t flinch when she removed his mask, and she was sweet and loving as she kissed his cheek – kissed his scars and hideousness.

Kissed the bridge of his sunken nose and his forehead.

“Maybe they won’t. Or they will and we will find a way to overcome it.” Christine pressed her body against him and slid her hands up his chest and then around his neck. “Together.”

“I don’t think I understood until recently what that meant,” Erik murmured, amazed by her. “What it really meant to marry you.”

Christine smiled, soft and curious. “Tell me more.”

“It’s easy to love you. Easy to swear that I will love you until the stars are cold and we are but dust and shadow,” Erik began, his voice like a song.

“I thought choosing to follow that love into the light was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but it was just the beginning.

It’s hard, every day, to be the man you deserve and the one I want to be.

It’s hard to fight the darkness that’s in me, pulling me down.

It’s hard to let go of the pain and the wounds. ”

“I know. It’s hard for me too,” Christine confessed. “But we can’t heal if we don’t rest and help each other. Walk side by side, through the dark, into the light.”

“I couldn’t do it without you. Without your support and understanding and—”

“Stubbornness?” Christine laughed. “Or – what’s a good word for being willing to put you in your place and pull you back from your head?”

“Bravery, I think,” Erik exhaled, and kissed her, deep and thorough. She looked beatific when he pulled back, like something in her was finally at peace. He had done that, and it filled him with joy. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever known, my Christine.”

“Brave enough to live by your side.” It was a new promise, one Erik wanted to return.

“As long as you’ll have me.”

A spark kindled in Christine’s eye, devious and delicious. “And how, pray tell, may I have you?”

“Any way you like,” Erik grinned. “Though I do think we lost those lovely restraints Letitia gifted you.”

“Oh, she gifted me a few things. She’s a generous and informative friend,” Christine purred.

Erik was almost embarrassed by the eager way his heart began to beat at her tone and the hungry, rough way she kissed him.

He chased her lips when she pulled back, but she grabbed his hair to hold him at bay and clucked her tongue.

“I want you to undress and await me beside our bed. Face the window, legs against the frame.”