Chapter Six || You Must Love Me
"In this strange labyrinth how shall I turn?
Ways are on all sides while the way I miss:
If to the right hand, there, in love I burn;
Let me go forward, therein danger is;
If to the left, suspicion hinders bliss,
Let me turn back, shame cries I ought return,"
~ Sonnet 77 by Lady Mary Wroth
~*~
"I am perhaps indiscreet, but only love is capable of working such a miracle, of causing such a drastic transformation. Two years ago we heard Christine Daaé in her competition at the conservatory and she gave us charming hope. What is the origin of the sublime talent she had today? If it did not come down from heaven on the wings of love, I must believe that it came up from hell and Christine Daaé, like Ofterdingen the mastersinger, had made a pact with the devil! Anyone wh-"
The door across from my office slammed shut, causing me to jump and crumple the newspaper article in my hands.
I looked at the ball of paper in my open palm like it was some cursed object; my breathing rapid and my sweat cold. Smoothing out P. de St-V's review, I silently reread part of the first sentence, "...but only love is capable of working such a miracle..."
I captured my lower lip between my teeth, pulling hard on the sensitive flesh. Voices from last night echoed in my mind:
"Christine, you must love me!"
"How can you say that to me, when I sing only for you?"
Those words rattled in my brain much like they had before, when I had held this very review the first time. I shut my eyes tight, wanting to silence the voices in my head.
"Tonight I gave you my soul, and I'm dead!" Christine's tear filled voice rung in my mind.
It was plain, as clear as the water surrounding the Cook Islands. She loved him. He loved her. All Christine had needed - and still needed - was a little assurance, a little push.
This time it was Loki's voice that resonated within my head, "And she will love him because of the desire you planted in her."
I had given her that push. I had sung Desire into her head when she slept one night and when she awoke, she knew nothing else but her love for Erik. She was no longer unsure but certain that she would love him and that he would do the same for the rest of their lives. Me. I had used music's power of desire. I had been the one to guide Christine to Erik, just like I accidentally guided him to her. Why? Because I love Erik and I knew he loved Christine. Yes, I know he loved her because of me, but I cannot change that. I have the power to create love but not to diminish it. And, I knew - know - he would be crushed, heartbroken, if she decided she couldn't trust him, couldn't love him, couldn't accept him. And now here I am, about to put all those negative thoughts I just listed into her head so I can win Erik; so I can reverse and change history.
Am I being selfish?
That is a rhetorical question you needn't answer.
I can do this. I can do this. I kept chanting those four words in my head like a mantra my life depended on. Tonight will be the start of our plan, Loki's plan.
A flash of green interrupted the tranquility of my office, disrupting the comforting blackness the early night Fall provided. I remained standing at my desk, the moon's rays shining through my uncovered window to light my anxious face. Without facing Loki, I asked in a clipped, low voice, "Well?"
Loki walked over to the table containing my drinks, brushing off some makeup power that got onto his black, leather armor, "I've stirred up the new managers enough, stolen a few things from the superstitious performers. All will surely be blamed on the Opera Ghost." He picked off a stray costume feather, regarding it shortly before making it disappear completely. "I'm surprised he hasn't been more active in terrorizing the opera house." He picked up my pitcher of water and poured himself a glass, the clear liquid turning into a deep red wine once it hit the bottom of the crystal glass.
I shook my head and folded the article that was still in my hand, "Monsieur Lefévre kept him happy when he was still the manager."
Downing the crimson liquid, Loki replied, "Hopefully we can keep these new managers disobedient to the commands of your future lover."
Your future lover.
The corner of my red lips flinched into a pained smile that Loki didn't notice.
Loki traced the sharp rim of his glass, "Perhaps you can do some manipulation of your own."
I played with the corner of my desk, my voice meek, "I can't control minds, Loki."
He looked at me and inwardly scoffed, "You can, you just don't want to. Music has the ability to manipulate anyone's mind, Alouette. You know that."
My blue eyes flickered up to Loki with uncertainty, "Are you sure about this? I mean," I nervously pushed my loose hair out of my face, "isn't there another way?"
Loki placed the glass back on the table and looked at me with false soothing eyes, "Alouette, as I told you before, this is the only way." He came over to me, his fingertips brushing against my exposed arms, "We need to rile him up a little, Alouette. We need to put fear into his little pupil's heart. Without you singing Desire into her, our job is halfway complete."
I shook my head and turned away from him, "Making Erik angry can be dangerous. There has to be another wa-"
"Alouette," his commanding voice came out strong and harsh, making me flinch, "do you want that man as your lover or not?"
Visions of Erik kissing my flesh and whispering love notes into my ear flooded my weak and weary mind. I wobbled on my feet and touched my temples, my eyelids fluttering shut on their own accord. I felt the strong pull of longing deep within my chest and answered faintly, "Y-Yes."
"Then you must trust me." This time the lips that brushed against my neck were Loki's cold and sadistic lips, not the lips of Erik that my mind created. I hid my cringe by turning away.
Loki's attempt at reassuring me failed. I don't feel comfortable poking at a sleeping giant when he looked so peaceful and deep in sleep. It made a sense of uneasiness fall over me. If Erik had dormant demons he kept sedated I didn't want to nudge and prod at them. Its like poking at a coiled up cobra with a stick. Who knows just how powerful the hold those demons had on Erik's soul?
Loki's nose rubbed against my ear. I smelled the faint remains of a woman's perfume on him, recognizing the fragrance to be of little Giselle's. I felt a twinge of disgust in my stomach. She isn't even twenty yet. Her hips haven't even begun to widen, her long legs still clumsy and awkward when she danced amongst the corps de ballet. I thought of Loki taking advantage of her innocence and tasted bile in my throat. He had taken that very innocence and naivety from me and now look at what I've become. A selfish woman tearing apart another person's life for my own greedy desires.
Loki saw me inhale the sickening aroma and pulled away, a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes scanned the distaste on my face before making his way to the water pitcher again, "That head stagehand will need to thank me for boosting his popularity amongst the theater women."
My head whipped around to look at him as he poured himself another glass, "Buquet? Joseph Buquet?"
He brought the glass to his lips, disinterest laced in his voice, "Is that his name?"
I didn't answer, afraid to know what Loki had done in poor Buquet's form.
"Whatever his name is," he put the now empty glass down with a quiet thud, "I should take his form more often. His haunting tales of the Opera Ghost seem to..." He paused, tilting his head to the side, trying to find the appropriate word, "...excite...the theater women." He winked at me and chuckled at my disgusted expression. I spent the next minute or so trying to wipe that image out of my abused mind, trying my best not to hurl my supper and weep.
Loki smiled and sat on edge of the table, resting his leg over the corner, "It's funny," he ran the pads of his fingers across his amused lips, "the managers are saying that you are the Opera Ghost's wife."
My brows quickly came together in confusion and angst, "Me?" I didn't want them to link me with Erik right now. I had to remain in the ordinary to make our plan work. The last thing I needed is their beady eyes watching my every move. Why would they think that anyways?
"Well not you exactly." He chuckled at my reaction and rested his hand on his right thigh, "Some old woman found your fan in Box Five and the managers assumed it belongs to the ghost's wife. And since the fan belongs to you that makes you the assumed wife of the Phantom of the Opera."
Madame Giry eyeing the fan in my hand during rehearsal entered my mind. She had been the one to return the fan to Erik. I wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing now that Giry knows I'm acquainted with Erik. It has always been difficult determining just where Madame Giry stood when it came to Erik, or matters in general.
Loki adjusted the sleeves of his wardrobe, "You didn't hear them?"
"I wasn't listening." I bit my lip again, wondering how much Madame Giry knew exactly.
Faint and frail, I heard the two voices of the managers inspecting Box Five, exclaiming about "some Opera Ghost" and how people were trying to make fools of them. I would have chuckled a hundred years ago, but not now.
We have plans for Box Five, Loki and I. Last night Erik had been so struck by Christine's breathtaking performance he had forgotten his box was taken from him. Tonight, however, he was determined to have his normal place to watch the show. I know this because I had heard him. He had told Christine that he will watch her from Box Five and that she will sing only for him. Christine will sing tonight, and I will give her her voice like I have done before, but Erik will not get his box.
When the day had officially started, I went through my many tasks with unease sitting heavily on my shoulders. I have never seen the full extent of Erik's wrath. His short tempter, yes. But his wrath...never. However, if his short bursts of anger were a glimpse of what his wrath may be... The cool tingle that ran up my spine caused me to shudder.
As I marked the changes to be made for tonight's gala, I thought of how Erik had been when we first met, when I had first discovered him. He had been short tempered, his anger triggered as easily as an adolescent, hormonal mortal. Now, he was different, calmer; a gentle giant who ruled over the Opéra Populaire. Perhaps it was his lessons with Christine that soothed him. Her need of him making him feel like he finally belonged somewhere; that he was needed by someone like he needed them. Or, perhaps this change in Erik was because of me. Maybe it's my new found selfish nature but, I'd like to think it was me.
In the middle of the first act, I stood above the stage, overlooking the audience and the actors from the lowest catwalk. I looked to my left, eyeing the shadowy First-Tier Box Five. Going against many warnings, the golden hair of the Opéra Populaire's new patron, the Viscount Raoul de Changy, glowed brightly against the black lightless box. His blue eyes that sparkled with youth watched the actors perform their parts onstage, his full lips turned up slightly, visibly enjoying tonight's entertainment - especially our newest soprano. Convincing Raoul to sit in First-Tier Box Five was easy - there was no other place to sit but Box Five. With Christine as our new soprano, the seats had sold out in record time. This was the first step in our plan; bait for the angry demons who slept soundly within Erik mind.
Mingling with the steady beat of the bass drum I heard the pulse of the hunted panther, winding his way up the inside of the hollow column in Box Five; his normal route to his self assigned seating area. I heard the inaudible sound of the door sliding open and the increase heart rate once Erik's eyes fell on his box's trespassing occupant.
Raoul felt the telling dank breeze when the hidden door opened. He didn't see Erik, he didn't know he was there, but Raoul looked as if he was about to flee, his movements as quick as a rabbit sensing, but not seeing, the hungry eyes of a wolf. I moved closer to the railing, knowing there wasn't much I could do from here to keep Raoul in Box Five unless I teleported. Unfortunately teleporting would raise too many questions. Raoul mustn't show fear. He must be defiant, brave, bold like Erik. I know Erik, and I know this is the only way to heat the blood in Erik's veins.
Just before I thought the Viscount would run, a faint green mist danced its way over to Raoul, slithering its way up his sturdy form. His tense shoulders then relaxed, his body settling back into the red velvet seat, acting as if he didn't notice the change in air or the eyes burning into the back of his skull. A moment later, Erik left, his breathing harsh with fury and his heart keeping the rhythm of war drums. My eyes flashed to Raoul's, except now, instead of being a robin's egg blue, they were an electrifying green. Loki's eye winked at me before Raoul blinked, and the original color of his eyes returned.
Act III came and went, my aria and Christine's voice soaring like it had last night. The crowd roared, cheered, whooped, whistled. The amount of flowers and belongings thrown up to her in adoration doubled in quantity. Erik listened from beneath the stage. I imagined his eyes had fluttered shut, her voice robbing him of the ability to keep them open. He had always done that when he heard her sing, even after I had stopped helping her. He was too in love to noticed the difference in tone and clarity. Others had noticed, but not Erik. Not her lover, her angel; the father of her children and the man who stood by her side for better and for worse.
For worse.
The worse is about to come.
"Christine, do you believe...do you believe it is the spirit of your father coaching you?"
"Who else, Meg? Who?"
I listened to the exchange of Christine and Little Meg in the chapel from the highest walkway after the show. I heard Christine mention how she didn't feel like herself when she sang and how it was beginning to frighten her. That was because it wasn't her that sang; it was me. I will have to remember to reassure her next time she sings so she won't lose her passion for it. It always pains me to see an artist lose interested in their art of music. It would pain me more to know that I had been the reason for them to lose their love for music.
Tonight will be difficult. Tonight will be the night Erik finally reveals himself to Christine. Not as her Angel of Music, not as a voice or a spirit, but as Erik the man, the human, the physical being. Will Christine accept this other mortal? Will she accept that the Angel of Music her father had supposedly sent to her was in fact the infamous Opera Ghost? The man that everyone feared and wanted dead? It had been my job to make sure she did accept this man who craved one woman and redemption. This time around, it will have to be my duty that she doesn't.
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A/N: *cringes because it's been a week since I've updated* So sorry this took longer than usual. It's been unbelievably crazy here for the past week and a half and I've been spending most of my time writing The Angel's Shadow's sequel. I've been trying to finish at least a chapter and a half before I publish another chapter of The Art of Manipulation so that it'll be finished before I publish all of this story. I hope this chapter made sense! I kind of did a quick edit so I could have it up. If any of it is confusing, or if I made any mistakes, please let me know!