Chapter Twelve || Who Is It There Staring?
~*~
I neither heard nor saw Loki for most of the next day. It made me anxious, not knowing his whereabouts and what he was up to. The last time I stopped keeping track of him, Buquet ended up getting killed. And we don't need another mortal's death on our hands. Odin will have a field day as it is; wherever he is, if he's still living.
Terrified beyond comprehension, the entire opera house began the preparations for their dictator's opera: Don Juan Triumphant. Of course Erik would choose this opera; the opera that is set at the banquet for the leading lady, Amnita, before she runs off to marry her lover. Of course he chose Christine to play Amnita, the sweet and melancholy Amnita, Don Juan's final quest - Erik's final quest. I already knew Erik would come in as Don Juan, to seduce Christine away from Raoul just like Don Juan seduced Amnita the night before her wedding.
Without the help of my assistant music director, I wearily plowed through the third hour of today's rehearsals. No one blamed our Amita for not showing up; not after learning who her teacher supposedly was. Although, Raoul hasn't been too pleased with his fiancé's sudden absence, remembering that the last time she went missing, she had been with him, his rival. I don't know where Christine is, but I do know she isn't with Erik now, or even in the opera house. And as for Erik, he's been busy making his own preparations for his opera. Yet another thing that wasn't part of my knowledge and added to the already stressful day.
"Madame de La Hye, someone is singing off key!" The shout of our Passarino pulled me from my thoughts. Jean looked accusingly Piangi, who sat with his sheet music in hand, looking oblivious.
Everyone was on edge, the tension so tight you could bounce a coin off of it. A few of the others also spoke their complaints and I shushed them with a wave of my hand, "Yes, yes. Piangi, would you mind singing that last part again, please?"
"But, Signora de La Hye, I am not singing it off-key-"
"Please, Piangi, once more s'il vous plaît (if you please)." I ran my hand over my face and shifted in my uncomfortable wooden chair.
He let out a heavy sigh and waited for the pianist to begin playing. His accompaniment beginning, he sang, "Passarino, faithful friend! Once again recite the plan." We all groaned at the last note that was at least two bars lower than it should have been.
Closing my eyes and shaking my head I said, "No, no, no, Piangi. It's," I signaled the pianist to play again and sang it myself, making sure to keep the power of my voice ordinary to prevent a repeat of yesterday's carelessness that summoned Erik, "Passarino, faithful friend! Once again recite the," I paused, then emphasized the last note, "plan. Plan. Up. Higher. Plan. You try."
Piangi straightened again, "Once again recite the...plan."
I used both hands to cover my face this time, feeling at a loss with the tone deaf opera singer. I have no energy to be enhancing his voice all the time.
The crowd of actors began arguing again, their tension and anxiety boiling over. I didn't bother stopping them, it wouldn't have done any good.
One voice raised above the crowd, smothering the other bickering, "Why do we have to do this opera, huh?" Camillé placed her hand on her cocked hip and eyed everyone, "The composer isn't even here to help us put it together!"
Just then a chuckle rumbled quietly throughout the theater, going unnoticed by most. Listening, I searched for Erik to see where he was. With my ears I searched in Box Five, I searched in the jungle above the stage, I searched his perch above the auditorium. I heard nothing; not his steady breathing, not his rhythmic heart. I plummeted my hearing to the cellars, winding down the stairways with my ears. I found him there, his body calm like he was merely sitting and working on either his music or a piece of artwork.
Furrowing my brows I looked around the stage again, wondering who the chuckle could have come from.
"Do we even have to do these rehearsals? It's not like he can hear us!"
At this the chuckle came again, this time louder. The red curtains trembled along with the meager frames of the actors onstage.
Pierre, the pianist, screamed and jumped away from the piano, the bench toppling over with a crash! A faint green mist traveled up to the keys of the piano, sinking between the cracks. The piano then played on its own, the invisible eyes reading the music splayed before him.
Instead of watching the possessed piano with mortified eyes like everyone else, I looked to the curtain, finding the manic green eyes watching from the darkness. Without my attention or my direction, the chorus now sang the intro to Don Juan with voices as flawless as frightened angels.
After rehearsals I scouted out those green eyes, finding them walking along a hallway backstage. Quickening my pace I caught up with Loki, "And what was that?"
He casted a sideways glance at me, his step still quick, "What was what?" He flashed me an amused smirk.
"You know what, Loki!"
"Come on, Alouette. Did you not like my playing? You are the one who taught me. If there are flaws then the fault lies in your teaching."
Rounding a corner I grabbed Loki by the lapels of his Midgardian jacket and dragged him into a secluded corner. Pinning him to the wall using my grip on his lapels and my body, I hissed, "What is wrong with you?"
A mischievous smile curled Loki's lips and he repeated my question, "What is wrong with me?" His cold hands ran down my sides and settled on my hips, somehow finding a gap in my clothing and rubbing his fingers into my flesh, "You can help with what is currently wrong with me." Grabbing me he pressed me into his hips, forcing me to feel what was "wrong" with him.
Grimacing, I pushed against his chest, "Why am I not surprised?" I turned away when he nuzzled into the crook of my neck. "Loki, enough." Still smirking he released me.
He remained leaning against the wall, his eyes raking down my disgruntled form, "What is wrong with me, dearest Alouette?"
Fixing my disheveled dress I said, "You've been acting strange since last night. What is the matter? Is it Erik? Is it because he came to see me?"
Sighing wistfully Loki dropped his arms to his side, his hands slapping against his thighs, "It's always Erik, Alouette. And you know me," his gaze slowly raised to mine, the intensity and darkness within it causing my skin to crawl, "I'm always jealous."
No kidding. That's how we got into this mess to begin with.
I tugged once more on my sleeve to cover the unrest I felt, "I thought we agreed not to pose as Erik anymore. The mortals fear him enough already."
"Yes." Loki looked away absentmindedly, his eyes watching the people in the theater, "Yes, we did. No more posing as Erik." He emphasized Erik's name not sarcastically, but thoughtfully.
I narrowed my eyes and watched his distracted staring, "You're planning something."
Loki looked back to me, a large grin now plastered on his face, "Have you ever known me to not be planning something?" And before I could breath in to say his name - he vanished.
~*~
Later that night I stayed up, pacing the floor and unable to sleep. The light from the clock across the street casted an oblong yellow rectangular box on my dark floor and a soft glow on my walls. I listened to the steady breathing of the Opéra Populaire's slumbering residence and the rubbing of the floorboards against each other as I walked across them.
Beneath the opera house I heard Erik shifting around his lair like an unpredictable shadow. For the millionth time I swept through the theater with my ears, searching for the cause of my insomnia. In the East Wing I heard the whistle of air going through the noses of the sleeping mortals and the snores of the hardworking men. In the West Wing I heard the same noises, including the harsh breath of two lovers making up for their time apart during the day. On a higher floor I heard the faint snore of the vicomte, who insisted on acting as a guard to his delicate fiancé, not knowing that any attempts he made to protect Christine against the Opera Ghost would be as harmless as a kitten fighting against a pit bull. What use is the vicomte now, his body weakly succumbing to the warm embrace of sleep? In the depths I heard the swishing tail of fish who swam in the underground lake and the scuttle of rats in the damp hallways. Amongst all this noise I heard no trace of the frozen Jotun heart I have been searching for since he vanished before me.
I wrung my hands together and quickening my pacing. Coming to the window I stopped, pushing the curtain further aside to look outside. The grand clock stared back at me, it's face informing me it is almost midnight. I frowned at it and went back to what I had been doing since this afternoon.
What is he up to now? What other terrors will the monster of Jealously bring from his dark soul?
A creak in the West Wing caused me to halt abruptly. I tilted my head towards the sound and listened, ready to take action if action needed to be made. Another creak came, this one sounding like the whines of wearing springs in a mattress. I heard the mortal place their bare feet against wooden floor and shift their weight onto them as they stood. As the person washed their face and changed their attire, I heard the heart of the opera house thump louder as Erik wound his way to the West Wing. He listened as I did and then, after a short moment, the dominant heart left, winding his way back down. Only he stopped short of the cellars, turning instead to the stables. A soft grunt preceded a dull thud! and I heard a man crumple to the floor.
I teleported to the stables, hiding behind one of the carriages and analyzing the unconscious driver from afar for any major injuries. Thankfully, he had none, apart from the bump on his head.
Looking up to the roof I listened as that same delicate soul quietly padded by the soft snore of the dreaming vicomte who sat outside her room. Christine made her way to the stables, emerging from the doorway dressed in black, a matching veil concealing part of her face. Climbing into the carriage, she addressed it's driver, her eyes never meeting his figure, "To the cemetery."
The driver, dressed in charcoal black, nodded, taking the reins and adjusting his cloak to better hide the porcelain mask beneath it.
Up in the West Wing the vicomte snored in his chair, completely oblivious that the woman he was to be guarding had slipped past him undetected. Watching the black carriage turn out of sight I followed it.
Naturally, I reached the cemetery before the two I had been following. From behind a decaying crypt I watched the black carriage innocently arrive. The young woman stepped out, one hand holding the handle to steady herself while the other possessively clutched a bouquet of decaying roses. The gate to the cemetery squeaked open as Christine walked in, her face heavy and forlorn. Behind her, the cloaked figure snapped the reins, the horses pulling him away. Erik's hooded face turned as he drove away, the cloak falling and revealing a portion of his white mask. His eyes watched Christine walk deeper into the cold forest of headstones and statues while my eyes watched him. It was only when I heard the carriage stop a half a block away that I left my place behind the frozen monument to some deceased mortal and went to find where Christine had gone, knowing Erik wouldn't be far.
The moon shone bright, begging to be noticed and angry that her time to shine was when the world decided to hide and sleep. The ground felt cold under my feet, even for me. A shower of snow had now begun to fall, looking like the angels were sprinkling powdered sugar over the dead to bring some joyous color to their gloomy residence. Peering through the many pillars of carved stone I saw Christine, resembling a floating spirit making her rounds through the town of the deceased and forgotten. Even though the air was bitter, and the ground was hard with ice, she went on unfazed, her mind too far from her body to cause her to shiver.
I stopped behind a stone angel whose wings had deteriorated long ago. The angel's hands covered her face to hide her shame and embarrassment of losing such a beautiful thing. Looking around I saw a few of the others had also lost their wings, their faces filled with sorrow like they had been cast away and demoted of their ranks in God's powerful army. They were as abandoned and forgotten as the soulless bodies they watched over. Much like the two breathing humans who now lurked within their domain; the orphan and, what Erik had always called himself, the Living Corpse. Both were lost and searching for someone or something to fill the void that had been creating so many years ago.
Christine lowered herself onto a set of gray steps that lead to a large, tomb-like grave set above ground. Her mournful eyes brought themselves from their downcast positions to look at the stone structure above her, sitting high at the top of the stairs like unbreathing royalty.
I looked to the top of the crypt, taking in a breath of air once I read the engraving.
"Gustave Daaé," I whispered, white swirls forming at my mouth due to the chilly air. My mind racing, I realized that today, on this cold January day some ten years ago, the kind hearted man named Gustave Daaé had passed. And now his only child sat alone at the foot of his grave, offering a bundle of flowers to him, remembering him. A breeze stirred up the gathering snow, the sighs of the other corpses, wishing they too had someone to bring them flowers like they had the first years of their deaths.
I placed my fingers to my lips, allowing the tear that had formed to slide down my cheek and hang it's head in respect at the tip of my chin. Reaching out just beyond the statue I hid behind, I whispered peace onto the dead in my native tongue and revived the dying flowers Christine had placed on the steps with my magic as a tribute to her father.
Gustave had been such a kind man. We had great times together, even though he never saw me. He adored his daughter and she adored him. To see Christine now, so many years later as a grown woman, sitting at the foot of his grave...it made my heart ache.
We both sat in silence until the clock outside my window chimed 12 AM. The snow had thickened considerably but neither of us cared. Raoul had stirred, but never noticed the empty bed of his fiancé. Erik kept hidden somewhere in the graveyard, keeping as silent as me to allow Christine time to mourn.
Far off to my right, I heard a faint noise, different from the typical sounds of night. It thumped stiffly, like a frozen heart. It lingered on the outskirts of the cemetery like a wolf sniffing unknown territory, contemplating his next move.
I was about to go investigate, knowing that Erik would never harm or let any harm come to his little Christine. He still loved her too much for that. But before I could place one step in the direction of the erratic thumping, a different sound rooted me to the frozen ground. It came from somewhere within Gustave's grave; a mere whisper of a violin, shy, like a spirit awakening from its long, restful sleep. Christine looked up from her lap, her brows knitting together at the strange, out of place sound. The music then grew, its arms stretching out as it yawned sleepily. I knew the song by now: The Resurrection of Lazarus.
Christine's eyes fluttered shut and her head lulled back, Erik's playing taking her to far off places much more beautiful than the world she lived in. I knew this because Erik's music had the same effect on me. He casted his own spells of love and desire that has infiltrated my soul since the beginning. Only now, I pushed away his charms, pressing closer to the back of the statue and watching the scene before me.
Christine leaned onto her hands, the music pulling her closer, summoning her. Her bosom rose and fell with every deep and desperate breath she took. When the music came to an end, the silence fell upon her and she opened her eyes, sagging against the steps.
Then another whisper came from inside the tomb, gentle and shy like the music that just came from it, "Wandering child, so lost, so helpless. Yearning for my guidance."
Christine raised her head to the voice, a glimmer of fear flashing across her eyes, "What do you want?! Who are you?!Are you Erik?! Are you my father?!"
The voice floated out of the crypt again, fluttering like the snow that gracefully fell, "Have you forgotten your angel?"
"Angel!" Christine sobbed and crawled up a few of the steps, a wet smile spreading across her face, "Oh, speak! What endless longings echo in this whisper!"
At this, the metal doors to Gustave's grave opened, revealing the coffin inside. The voice from the grave came out stronger now, Erik's true identity bleeding through his angelic facade, "Too long you've wandered in winter, far from my fathering gaze."
Christine backed away from the voice that was becoming more and more familiar to her. Gathering her cloak around her for protection or warmth, she, too, sang, "Wildly my mind beats against you."
I could feel Erik become tense, frustrated that she wouldn't fully succumb to his manipulations, "You resist yet your soul obeys!"
The boom of his voice dragged Christine completely under his hypnotic trance, making her mind his once again. I watched in awe as Christine walked up the steps, her arms limp at her sides and her footing sure despite her glazed eyes that were kept forward.
Erik's voice continued to hum from Gustave's grave, the anger in him evident as he coaxed Christine closer to his eager and impatient grasp, "I am your Angel of Music. Come to me, Angel of Music." Christine obeyed, her mind lost to the tantalizing voice that beckoned her.
Christine reached the top of the stairs, about to enter the grave that called for her. But before she could step foot into it, another voice called from behind us, "Christine, no!"
Christine's lashes fluttered as she blinked, her body half turning away from the opened tomb.
Hearing the voice of the vicomte breaking the hold of his hypnotic trance, Erik called for Christine again with more ferocity, "I am your Angel of Music! Come to your Angel of Music!"
Raoul then bounded up the steps, taking Christine's shoulders and shaking her, "Christine!" Christine then blinked again, the trance broken. Raoul continued to shout, "Whatever you believe, this man, this thing, is not your father!"
A crazed cry came from the top of the crypt and in a flash a black figure fell beside the two young lovers. Christine screamed at the sight of the Phantom, his sword drawn and his eyes wild. Raoul drew his own sword, pushing Christine into a safe corner.
In the midst of their battle I kept hidden, flinching towards them whenever one of the swords came dangerously close to Erik. There was a fire in Raoul's eyes I hadn't seen before, one I hadn't thought I would ever see in him. Raoul may be idiotically heroic yes, but never infested with crazed anger and murder written out on his eyes.
Christine also watched with bated breath, not knowing exactly who she feared for the most: the vicomte or her angel. She followed them, keeping at a safe distance as they fought and yelled and clanged their weapons together.
I, too, followed from behind the statues, watching intently. Raoul staggered back, confused by the whirl of fabric as Erik flung his cape in front of Raoul's sweaty face. It distracted Raoul enough for Erik to strike, the blade of his sword digging deep into Raoul's left bicep. Raoul screamed, the blow knocking him off balance and causing him to falling onto one of the graves. The blood from his arm seeped into the pure snow that had collected there.
Erik took a step back, the exposed part of his face twisted, looking more minacious than the side that was covered. He watched as Raoul laid half across the stone grave, his chest heaving for air. From where Erik stood, he could not see Raoul's face. But from where I stood... From where I stood I could see the green eyes that blazed with hatred. The green eyes that were supposed to be blue.
The unsteady beat that I had heard now thumped loudly on top of the grave, rage boiling deep and heating the frozen heart within Raoul's imposter. He screamed, the sound coming from deep within. He spun around and swung at Erik whose sword came up barely in time to block it. The new spry attitude of Erik's rival took the Phantom by surprise. He backed away from the mad man's persistent advances, tripping and falling onto his back. The faux vicomte kicked away Erik's sword, leaving the masked man unarmed and vulnerable. Loki raised the arm that held his sword, ready to penetrate the mortal lying on the ground. Erik raised his arms to protect himself as Loki's arm came down.
"No, Raoul!"
Loki stopped, the point of the blade a mere inch from Erik's chest, just over his heart. Both men looked over at Christine, her face drenched with tears, as were mine. I stared at the quarreling men through her eyes, each of her actions mine as I controlled her, "Not like this."
Loki smirked when he saw the blue haze deep within Christine's eyes. Taking his foot off of Erik's chest, he sheathed his sword and came over to Christine without a glance at the man he nearly killed.
The near fatality diverted, I collapsed behind the granite angel, shivering not from the cold but with relief. I heard the horse begin to gallop away. When I turned my head to look after them, I met the eyes of Loki who stared back at me through Raoul, a devilish grin on his face telling me he was not yet defeated.
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A/N: I know I said I would try to post this yesterday but I got busy again! Sorry!
So this chapter (along with the last chapter and the epilogue) was my favorite to write for some reason. I hope you all enjoyed it!
Stay Phantastic and Lokitastic!
xx
~ Mabelle