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laurengattos-blog · 6 years ago

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Chapter 4, Part 2

{Previous Part}

When rehearsal broke midday, Lilith returned to her dressing room as quickly as possible. After she changed into a pink and grey day suit, she sat at the vanity, absently playing with different placements of the silver tiara in her hair, waiting, and getting more and more unsettled the longer she thought about what happened to Sorelli. Soon, the violin sounded, announcing his presence. “Good morning, Angel,” she said less pleasantly than usual.

The phrase finished, and after a pause the Angel spoke with almost as much annoyance. “Lilith, I am happy to oblige your schedule when the reason pertains to your work, but this is the second time you’ve asked me to reschedule because of M. Valère. I’m afraid dinner with a man is no excuse for shirking your duties.”

Lilith laughed. “Being with Geoffry is work. He never drops his act.” She glanced into the center of the room as if to an existent person. “You know I only dine out with Geoffry for the opera.”

“You’ve no need to lie to me,” he said. “You must feel some affection for him.”

Raising her eyebrows, Lilith slowly turned to stare at the empty space. “I don’t want to talk about him. I have to talk to him so much as it is.”

“Fine. But his intentions are not honorable. Be safe.”

Setting the tiara on her vanity, she turned in her seat to face the room and clapped her hands to her thighs. “Angel, I know all about Geoffry. If you truly want to educate me, there is something we could discuss.”

“What do you want to know?”

“What happened to Sorelli this morning?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I want to know if Sorelli was really pushed by the opera ghost.” She crossed her ankles primly. “You once told me that you’re omniscient when it comes to the opera.”

“Of course,” The Angel said shortly, “It’s my domain. Amira, no ghost pushed the ballerina. Her guilty conscience made her clumsy.”

Bitterly, she bit her lip. “I didn’t know she had a conscience.”

“She will now.”

Lilith cast out a breath of fire. “Is the Angel of Music bound to God’s commandments or do heavenly bodies do what they please?”

“Your sympathy for the girl is understandable,” he said with impatient rationality. “That tenderness is God’s mark on your soul. However, Sorelli had strayed so far from God’s path that he demanded she be redirected.”

“I’m sure God appreciates it—Rebecca certainly did—but Sorelli could have died. How would she have had the chance to redeem herself?”

She heard the quiet pluck of a violin string. Then he answered, “You’re more tenderhearted than I thought.” The Angel’s voice shifted into solemnity. “Lilith, there’s something I need to discuss with you. A test of your devotion is approaching.”

“Oh?” she spat.

“To prove your devotion to our work, and that you truly have no interest in fleeting pleasures, I will come to you after your first performance, and offer you a test.”

Her whole body softened, anger fading into surprise as she gaped at the wall across from her. “Oh. I didn’t know…I wasn’t expecting that.” A moment of silence lasted far too long between them.

He said with an inhuman lack of emotion, “You would rather not see me.”

“Of course I want to see you.” She stood and paced, hands folded at her stomach. “I think of us as friends, Angel. I enjoy your company.”

“Do you feel you cannot prove you are devoted to our work?”

She stopped, and stared back at the center of the room with the look of a ruptured bottle. “You doubt my devotion? Have I ever missed a session or turned down a challenge? Did I not hit high G for you?” She drew a jagged breath. “How could I not be devoted? Angel, you’ve given me my life back—” the words escaped her, somehow, without any warning. She shut her mouth, afraid of what might come out next, and shifted her weight from foot to foot. The Angel had a way of making her drop her shield.

With a voice like winter sunlight, the Angel said, “That was my sole purpose. I’m glad to have served you so well.”

Lilith made a low noise, deep in her throat. “Shall we practice, or would you rather I saved my voice?”

Leaning against the butcher block, Lilith stared into a canister of cocoa powder and tried to remember how much she needed. The other day, Rebecca had mentioned the truffles Lilith made for her birthday in April, and gave Lilith an incredible craving for them. However, the packet of recipes was yet another thing left behind in their flight. It pained Lilith a little; the truffles were one of the few memories she had of her mother, and whenever they weren’t running, she recreated the recipe in kind strangers’ kitchens. Now, in her final chapter, she was reduced to estimation.

There was a crash in the pantry. Fay spoke loudly to Lazare on the other side of the wall. Bridget and Lilith met each other’s eyes. She stroked her side, which she had strained looking for the source of the crash. Four days ago, Alianore had anxiously approached Lilith about removing the stitches, and to spare Rebecca, she offered to do it herself. Lilith smiled, remembering the pleasure that flushed Alianore’s cheeks when she came home from church to a large box of English sweets at her door. Lilith thought it was the least she could do. But should she do more? Should she, for example, tell Alianore about the Angel? Warn her that the opera ghost did exist, at least in a way?

Lazare strolled out of the pantry, carrying a sack at his stomach and staring at the ceiling in exasperation. “Nothing broke, and you got your salt down.”

“The shelves aren’t meant to hold a person’s weight,” said Fay, following after him.

He tossed the canvas bag onto the table adjacent to Lilith’s. “They hold all those damn heavy sacks—” His mother’s eyes lit up as she nodded towards Lilith. He saw her and hastily said, “Oh, excuse me, Mademoiselle.”

“I’m only bothered you don’t respect your boss and mother.”

“Madame knows I live to serve her.” He gave a stiff bow and kissed Fay’s hand.

Fay smacked him on the cheek. “Bridget, help Lazare fill the canister.”

After fetching the tin canister from the shelf behind Lilith, Bridget molded the canvas opening into a funnel as Lazare carefully lifted the sack, pouring out a steady stream of salt. Quietly, Lazare asked Bridget why she was there so late. She glanced at Lilith uncomfortably and whispered that her brother lost his job. She needed the extra wages. “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Lazare. “He’s a nice kid. Is he coming to walk you home?”

Bridget shook her head and patted the bag for Lazare to lower it. “He’s doing some odd jobs for the landlord. And he had to make sure Keely got them all fed without burning the place down.”

“Let me walk you home,” he said.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to.”

“You don’t live that far from here. Besides, I couldn’t let anything happen to Madame’s favorite,” said Lazare. Bridget giggled and accepted the offer. It was the first time Lilith had ever seen her smile. Embarrassed at eavesdropping, Lilith returned to buttering a tray.

Fay peered over Lilith’s shoulder, folding her apron over her arm, and knit her brow. “Don’t you need the ganache out of the ice box?”

Lilith narrowed her eyes at her buttered fingers. “Yes. About two steps ago.”

Squeezing Lilith’s shoulder with a quiet laugh, Fay offered to get the bowl of chocolate base for her. Lilith sang thanks. When she set the glass bowl of stiffened ganache on the butcher block, Fay asked, “would you like some clean spoons now, or would you rather butter-up my drawer handles?”

Lilith grinned. “Oh, you’re a dear friend.” Lazare and Bridget collected their coats by the exterior door, and Lazare told Fay he was walking Bridget home. Fay bid Bridget goodnight, and then placed a hesitant hand on Lazare’s arm and urged him not to be long. Cold air invaded the kitchen as the two stepped out the door. Fay gave Lilith two spoons, and after checking that everything else was in its place, Fay went home to her apartment on the ground floor.

Lilith stared at the unformed truffle mix. Less than a minute later, Rebecca and Meg peeked around the hall door. Lilith invited them in, and the posse of dancers filed into the kitchen like a line of ducklings, looking alien in their colorful day dresses. They bid Lilith a good evening. “Aren’t you out a little late for a Sunday night?” she asked.

“If you don’t want our help, we can go right back upstairs,” said Rebecca, picking at the blue cotton draped around her hips.

Lilith smirked. “As long as it won’t get you in trouble.”

“Mum doesn’t mind,” Meg quietly assured as Lilith pointed them to the aprons hanging on the wall.

Jammes directed a grin toward the other girls as she tied the apron strings around her waist. “Yeah, it’s not like we’re out with the Comte.”

Clarisse snickered at the other end of Lilith’s table. “The girls were so funny this afternoon. You should have seen them, Mlle. Samar.”

“What happened?” Lilith asked with a laugh in her throat to encourage the girls, although she was sure she didn’t care.

“Oh,” said Mathilde, dropping her chin unenthusiastically, “one of the girls asked Lauranne about playing Swanhilda, and Lauranne started impersonating Sorelli—bragging, and fawning all over Théodore like he was the Comte, you know. Then Carmeline pulled her capelet over her face and pushed Lauranne over.”

Lilith chuckled. “No love lost there, I see. Wash your hands,” she pointed them to the soapstone sink in the corner.

“Sorelli wasn’t very nice to anyone,” said Clarisse. “It’s been less than a week and she’s already annoying the dancers at the Opéra-Comique.”

“She’s working?” Lilith scoffed. “I assumed she would have let the Comte set her up with an apartment and an allowance.”

Jammes whirled around, her hands still wet, to say, “Actually, the Comte dropped her.” She paused, smiling coyly, to let it sink in and dried her hands on her apron. “Minna heard from the Comte’s valet that the Comte’s been getting less and less patient with Sorelli for making him wait backstage and hold her flats while she performed. All this time she thought she was charming him!” Jammes and Clarisse laughed, and the others gave comprehending little smiles as they took their places around the butcher block. Lilith instructed them to butter their hands, scoop out a spoonful of ganache, roll it into a ball, coat it in the cocoa powder, and set it on the tray.

Clarisse declined to participate, because she didn’t want to risk mussing her new satin suit. Still, she leaned forward on the table and continued Jammes’s story. “Minna also said he’s got his eye on some dark-haired beauty in L’Opéra Populaire.” Her eyes flashed insinuatingly at Lilith. “So, be sure to thank him for his sponsorship on opening night.”

“Oh,” Lilith started uncomfortably, finishing a nearly perfect sphere of chocolate, “I have no interest in the Comte.”

Jammes grunted in disapproval. “Just like you have no interest in M. Valère.”

“Honestly, what makes you so picky at your age?” Clarisse asked nonchalantly. “He’s rich, he’s a Comte, and he thinks you’re beautiful.”

Lilith set down the lump she was molding and stared at Clarisse. “At my age?”

“Really, girls,” Mathilde softly interjected from the other end of the table.

Changing the subject, Meg nudged Rebecca. “You’re quite good at this,” she said, dropping her lopsided truffle on the tray next to Rebecca’s almost heart-shaped ones.

Rebecca shrugged. “Lilith and I used to make these all the time.”

“That’s so sweet,” said Mathilde. “My mum and I never did anything like that.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever cooked before,” said Jammes.

Rebecca scoffed in disbelief. “That can’t be true. Your mother never asked for your help?”

“If that’s how you feel, don’t ask Clarisse,” Jammes said. “Mlle. Bourgeois had a cook.”

“I miss her dearly,” sighed Clarisse.

“Oh, I like Mme. Jermaine’s cooking,” Rebecca said, circling a ball of chocolate in her palm.

“Yeah, she’s fine,” Clarisse shrugged.

Mathilde chimed in with a smile, “Rebecca gets to learn her Don Quixote solo on Thursday.”

“Very exciting!” gushed Lilith, “although I guess your debut as a prima ballerina is happening sooner than planned.”

Rebecca widened her eyes. “I’m happy to be debuting with ‘The Ball’ solo. I’m far less likely to make a fool of myself.” They all cooed encouragement and reassurance, and Rebecca waved them away with a laugh. “I wasn’t seeking that, I promise.”

When they finished molding and coating most of the ganache, Lilith sent them to bed. The chocolate would have to set for an hour, and she didn’t want to keep the girls up any longer. She told them they’d get their chocolates in the morning. Some of the girls headed out, but Meg was still rolling the last bit of ganache in her hands, so Rebecca and Lilith waited for her. When she’d finally finished, Meg apologized for keeping them as she washed her hands, and said she hoped she could get all the cocoa from her fingernails. She didn’t want her mom asking questions. Lilith tilted her head in mock suspicion. “You told me you wouldn’t get in trouble.”

“Normally I wouldn’t. Mum wouldn’t have noticed,” Meg said. “But since everything that happened with Sorelli, mum’s been keeping a closer eye on me.”

“That’s sweet,” said Lilith.

“Eh,” Rebecca grimaced. “It’s been weird. Mme. Giry’s been watchful, but cold.”

Hopelessly, Meg said, “She’s worried that I’m getting like Alyse.”

“Who?”

“The girl I replaced,” said Rebecca. “What do you mean, Meg?”

Meg sighed, drying her hands, and suddenly lines were visible on her face that Lilith hadn’t noticed before. Lines of grief and distress, on a face far too young for them. “Before Alyse’s accident, she’d become obsessed with the opera ghost. One night, about a month before the season, she was in the dancers’ dressing room to get her bottle of cassis—she wanted to hide it before mum checked in the morning. On her way out, she says she saw him. A figure in black, with glowing eyes, and a chill all around him. The opera ghost had complained about her brother’s work in his past few letters, so she says, out of loyalty, she followed the figure. He went through a secret passage backstage and down into the cellars. But in the third cellar, she lost him. Then her candle went out, and a hand gripped her arm. She ran all the way back. She was out of breath when she got to the dormitory. When Jammes asked where the cassis was, she didn’t answer. Alyse didn’t really talk to anybody after that, except me.” Meg crossed her arms as if to hold something in. “She got sullen and nervous, and a little sickly. She and her brother would just whisper to each other about the ghost, and how to root him out, and she’d tell me about everything because she thought I was the only one who believed her. Then during rehearsal, a part of the catwalk fell and crushed her legs. Her brother’s toolbox was resting on it.”

“That’s tragic, Meg,” said Rebecca, taking Meg’s clammy hand in hers.

“Funny thing was he hadn’t taken his toolbox up to the catwalk,” Meg said.

The numbness in the girl’s voice sent a shudder through Lilith, slow and intense. She drew a breath in dread. “You truly believe in the opera ghost, don’t you, Meg?”

“How could I not?” Meg demanded. “You didn’t see what he did to my friend.”

“Meg, don’t upset yourself,” whispered Rebecca. “It’s horrible what happened. But a ghost couldn’t have done it.”

Fire in her eyes, Meg snapped, “You’ve forgotten your first night here so quickly? I’ve seen him, Rebecca. You don’t know the horror of staring into something that cannot be. He’s dead and alive, all bone and sin and cold, and if you for a moment stand in his way, he will punish you.”

Early Thursday morning, the sky rouged with the rising sun, Alianore sat at her vanity brushing her hair. With every stroke, more mousy auburn hair collected in the old silver brush. It was part of a set, a wedding gift from her husband, so worn now that it was hard to remove the hair without pulling out the bristles. As she pinched and tugged at a knot in the brush, she thought she saw movement in the empty breakfast tray beside her. Then he spoke. “You look exceedingly lovely today, Alianore.”

She recovered from the jolt with a huff, looking at him the mirror as she answered, “Thank you. That’s my highest accomplishment.” He leaned against the wall panel and breathed a soft laugh. This caught her off guard more than his sudden appearance. She swept her long hair over one shoulder and turned to see him fully. “You’re in good spirits this morning.”

“I have reason to be,” he said, pulling at the sleeve of his morning coat.

Since he often didn’t know to tell her, Alianore ventured, “Because Amira opens tomorrow?”

“Not just that.” He gave her a lively, teasing look. “Lilith is coming to visit me.”

Her heart stopped. Her fingers twitching against her skirt, Alianore wondered if Lilith knew she was going on this trip. “Oh. So you’ve…extended the invitation?”

He tilted his head, the black mask fading into his hair in the dim morning light. “Don’t talk down to me. I know you disagree with the decision.”

“I still think it’s incredibly unsafe, Erik.”

“She’s devoted to me, Alianore. She’s a remarkable woman. Certainly, she can learn to ignore…” he gestured to his mask, “my secrets.”

“How long will she be visiting you?”

“Five days.��

“What about the opera?” Alianore stood, wrapping her arms around herself against the morning chill. “I can’t imagine she’d be happy with you for making her miss her opera.”

With the tips of his fingers, Erik lifted her wool shawl from the dresser beside him and handed it to Alianore. She accepted it with a look of affliction. “If she wishes to return, I will bring her back,” Erik said. However, as he turned away, he added, “But I don’t think she will want to return. I have many plans for our reunion. Will you still send the food?” With an anxious sigh, Alianore nodded. He moved as if to reach out to her, but instead rubbed his gloved hands together. “Thank you, dear friend. We’ll be leaving the opera house after the performance tomorrow, so please keep the ballet away from her dressing room.”

Twisting the ends of the shawl around her hands, she said, “That won’t be difficult. They’ll all be reviewing the gentlemen in the foyer.” He gave her another smile—it was strange to see such a warm expression on him—and placed his hand on the wall panel to leave. “Erik,” she called one last time without any idea of what she should say. “Please be careful.”

“Of course, Alianore,” he chuckled, letting the panel fall open to the thin bare passage, and close behind him with a shallow rush of air.

Thank you for reading! Find the rest of the book here!

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laurengattos-blog · 6 years ago

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Chapter 4, Part 1

{Previous Part}

Prima Ballerina

By the time she was nine years old, they had been on the run for two years and had circled around Europe to a town along the German border. They found a street corner in the market place and set themselves up. Sitting on the only suitcase they had left, Thomas played the guitar while Lila danced, and together they sang. When the orange summer sun began to set behind the low buildings, Lila and Thomas organized their marks and francs and headed for the back door of a stone tavern, as they’d learned to do. Taking pity on the rosy, cherub-faced children, the owner’s wife brought them into the kitchen and served them soup and bread. They ate ravenously at a little work table. The owner’s wife lowered herself to them and asked if they were with the gypsy show. Although their worn country clothes set them apart, she said she’d seen them playing on the street.

Thomas swallowed, wiped his mouth, and answered, “No, Madam. We didn’t even know there were gypsies here.”

“Oh, Thomas,” pleaded Lila, reaching across the table, “can we go?”

He sighed, with an apologetic smile towards the owner’s wife, and whispered to his sister, “Lila, I don’t think it’s safe. Besides, we shouldn’t be wasting our money.” With a pout and downcast eyes, Lila told him he was right. The owner’s wife touched her heart and offered to give them the money for admission. Thomas refused at first, but she forced it on him, saying that he was such a good brother, and they deserved a night of fun.

That evening, they followed laughing, blithe young couples and families to the edge of the town, where the gypsies had pitched tents in the field. A loud man in a hideous green and purple waistcoat announced that women and children would be admitted first, while another exhibit just for gentlemen would open in half an hour. Lila nudged Thomas and suggested that he go. “No, Lila…” he started, but he saw her grin and realized she was teasing him. Thomas shook his head. “Father would be horrified that you already know what that is. And you don’t really know it, Lila. That’s not the kind of world you want to live in.”

“Come on, Thomas. I was only teasing. I promise I won’t become a hooch dancer.” As they approached the tent, the man in the waistcoat told them they couldn’t bring their luggage inside. With a pensive glance at his guitar case, Thomas took the suitcase from Lila’s hand and told her she should go in first. She threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek. Dropping her ten cents into the gypsy’s palm, she followed the other children into the tent.

The first few tents were joined together as one long, dimly-lit labyrinth, and the exhibits performed in their individual cells. A contortionist, a tattooed lady dancing, dwarves sitting atop a strong man’s weights. The other children cried out in amazement and screamed with laughter, but Lila hadn’t felt any reaction so strong. There was a man with no nose and his tongue split, dressed in reptile skins, with live vipers winding up his arms, and a barely-clothed woman who stuck two foot needles through her hands, cheeks, and the flesh of her belly without drawing a single drop of blood. Lila had to look away. She had wanted to be brave, and she had wanted to enjoy it, but clutching her purse with moistening hands, she wished Thomas had come with her.

Before the portal to the last tent were several wooden signs, painted with warnings about the dangerous exhibit behind the curtain. The thing was a rare specimen of life-in-death, and was so dangerous, it had to be shackled. The signs warned the children not to go near it. Even its captors feared the demon’s wrath. A hooded man drew the curtain open and invited the children inside. Her heart beat loudly in her ears. Why couldn’t Thomas have come? She didn’t want to go on alone. She stood, frozen in her place as children pushed past her, until finally she was swept in by the sticky, chubby little mob.

They filed into the dark terminal tent. Lila found herself at the back of the crowd, and saw only the torches at the edges of the room. The hooded man explained in low notes that to see the creature’s face was so disturbing, the gypsies tied a scrap of fabric around his head to shield them. But to satiate the curiosity of his audience, the hooded man would reveal the demon in its entirety.

The hooded man went into the light, a wooden rod in hand. She heard the rustling of fabric, and then the abrupt, overwhelming screams of the children around her. The crowd started pushing back toward the exit as the hooded man shouted unintelligible words in between the thwacks of his weapon, answered only by weak grunts. In their hurry to escape, one of the children knocked her purse from her hands. She dropped to the dirt floor to find it as mad feet trampled her hands and legs.

Finally, she picked up her purse, contents still intact…but the sudden silence filled her with dread. She looked up. The hooded man and all the children were gone. She was alone in the tent with the shackled creature, its scarred white back to her. Hearing her step toward the exit, its head turned slowly in her direction, scraggly white hair covering its face. She never did see that face. Not knowing that face would fill her dreams with terror through adulthood, even though she often forgot the source of her fear by morning.

Thrashing in the black water, Aamin fought the hands viciously, but they had already let go. “Erik! It’s me!”

“I know it’s you,” Erik snarled, drifting backwards. “That’s why you’re alive.”

“Why did you pull me in?” Aamin yelled as his coat grew heavy in the icy water.

“You stole my boat! If I have to go home sopping wet, so do you.” Erik lifted himself into the row boat, shirtsleeves clinging to his muscular, laborer’s arms. He extended a cold white hand to Aamin and heaved him aboard.

As Erik rowed them back to the beach, Aamin bitterly asked, “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Erik sneered. “Do forgive me. I’m not prepared to entertain.”

“What kept you so late?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“Fine,” said Aamin. Then he caught sight of a thin straight twig in Erik’s vest pocket. “Will you at least tell me what that is?”

“That,” Erik mockingly articulated, his dark hair matted against his mask, “is the reed that could have ended your life.” Unable to suppress his pride at the simplicity of the trick, Erik explained how he could easily breathe and sing through the reed while walking under water. “I could have educated you earlier if you hadn’t left so abruptly.”

“You know very well I only went to Frankfurt to protect you.”

“Why are they even questioning you, Daroga?” Erik spat Aamin’s title like a slur, which to an extent, Aamin viewed as fair. Being the chief of police under a dictatorship had made him nothing more than a high ranking puppet. Erik leapt out of the boat to guide it to shore. Aamin joined him when they reached shallower water. Erik went on, “They should be happy with the five thousand francs every month. If they aren’t, I’ll happily stop providing it.”

Aamin climbed to a dry, solid part of the shore, near what he recognized as Erik’s violin case, and stripped off his sopping coat. “It wasn’t about the money. They’re happy with my profits.” Aamin shook out his wet hair and said, “They’re starting to think I’m in touch with you.”

Erik crossed his arms over his skinny torso and shrugged. “I guess that’s to be expected. I trust you led them astray.”

“I thought I did, but…”

“What?”

Aamin furrowed his brow. “Erik, what do you know about this Samar woman?”

Erik let out a relieved chuckle. “You suspect her?”

“You don’t? They’ve hired plenty of women like her to spy for them in foreign countries. She could even be a mercenary. They’ve secretly raised the price on your head several thousand dinar, although they still claim they’re just looking for definitive evidence of your death.” Aamin flung water from his fingertips, blemishing the grey rock. “I could tell she knew who I was the moment she saw me.” Realizing how long his companion had been silent, Aamin checked for the normal ambiguous signs of emotion.

Incredibly calm, Erik folded his hands behind his back. “She isn’t a spy, Aamin. She’s too conspicuous, let alone talented at what you would have as her guise. You think the Navraj is training spies to sing in four octaves?”

With an arched brow, Aamin casually stepped toward Erik. “You seem very trusting of this foreigner.”

“I just don’t see anything suspicious about her,” Erik said, staring across the lake.

Anxiety rose in Aamin’s chest. “Have you…communicated with her?”

Erik gave him a sidelong glance. “Even if I had, it wouldn’t change the fact that she’s just a singer.”

Terror shuddered through Aamin—not for himself, but for the poor woman. Spy or not, she didn’t know the monster she was baiting. “Erik,” he cried with a wavering voice, “she could be setting a trap. You’ve lost your sense of self-preservation over a pretty face? That isn’t like you.” The stillness in Erik’s eyes disturbed him further. “You’re not telling me everything.”

Erik snatched up his violin case and tucked it under his arm. “You’ve over stayed your welcome on my shore. Stop trying to sneak into my home.” With a proud march into the water, Erik pushed his boat out and jumped inside.

“Erik! Think about what you’re doing! You don’t want to die on a machine of your own creation.”

Erik shouted from the boat, “I fooled the Daroga with a reed. I like my chances.”

The next morning, half an hour into rehearsal in the ballet studio, Mme. Giry stopped everyone, very little temper remaining for so early in the morning. “Rebecca,” she said and pointed for Rebecca to come to the front, “Will you please show the corps—Mathilde! Isabelle!—how to turn in attitude?”

With an apologetic glance toward her friends, Rebecca took on fourth position. She swept her front leg straight up, and easily planted it further forward, arms falling gracefully into place. Her back leg lifted parallel to the ground, arced behind her as she rotated on a demi-pointe and ended in an arabesque. “Lovely,” Giry whispered. “Would you be so kind as to remind the corps of the opening choreography for ‘The Ball’?”

She modestly blushed, but as she turned around to step further back, she beamed at Balás eagerly. He smiled back, congratulatory, and lowered his face to the sheet music. Rebecca bounced through the balancé en tourants and glissaded into a pirouette en attitude. Giry overheard Sorelli saying to Minna, “Who can tell what she’s doing? She’s so skinny, you can’t see her from the side.”

Giry pounded her cane into the floor. Rebecca and Balás cowered to a halt. Giry turned on her heel to face the prima ballerina. “Sorelli,” Giry enunciated menacingly. “Is there something you’d like to say?”

Sorelli cocked her head conceitedly. “I just don’t see why you keep using the new girl when you have so many more experienced dancers.”

“Perhaps she makes a better example,” Giry said, her intent clear. Low whispers of excitement rumbled through the corps.

Her nostrils flaring, Sorelli gripped her hips and stepped forward. “Perhaps you’re jealous that one of your dancers has gained more influence than you ever could.”

Giry scoffed, and then called, “Rebecca, you danced the solo for ‘The Ball’ in the New York production, correct?”

“Yes,” she answered in a small voice.

“Well, Sorelli,” Giry hissed with narrowing eyes, “With all the Comte’s power, I’m sure you can keep up with the new girl. If you know the solo better than her, you’ll get her part in Don Quixote. If she out performs you, she gets this solo, and I don’t want to hear another spiteful word out of you, because you, dear, have already forsaken ballet to become a rich man’s pet.”

Fluttering her eyelashes with a sardonically sweet smile, Sorelli replied, “I happily accept your challenge, but understand, Madame: neither outcome will change the fact that for you, the bloom has fallen off the rose, and the rose was never that pretty.” Sorelli marched past her, meeting Rebecca’s eyes with malicious confidence.

Rebecca turned away to collect herself, blowing out a hard breath. Then she caught Balás’s gaze. With a faint, sincere smile, he gave her a reassuring nod. She shook her head, and even when she saw her friends in the corps watching eagerly, Rebecca found little comfort. But she took the starting pose as Balás played the preceding bars. In a balancé en avant, both dancers swept their arms forward with a bouncing step, and bowed as they stepped back. They both turned, échappéd on pointe, swung their legs en cloche with regal air, and all the while Rebecca focused on the joviality and charm of the choreography, not the terrifying and likely possibility of losing her first solo in Paris to a far more experienced dancer. With the upbeat tempo, they leapt a grand jeté, then raised a leg behind them in a développé, arms stretching out and above in third position.

Then, Sorelli faltered. She pirouetted al a second too soon, and paused, lost. With a few gliding steps and arms opening into second, Rebecca went into the pirouette, right leg fully extended to the side as she whipped in a circle. She ended with her right leg crossed behind, arms reaching up in elation…which was quickly quelled by the horror and rage on Sorelli’s face. Rebecca’s friends in the corps applauded, as did Balás, and then Giry. Sorelli only stopped glaring to turn to the ballet mistress. “Madame, you know we’ve barely practiced—”

“You’ve barely practiced,” Giry answered. “And you happily agreed to the terms of my challenge, unless anyone heard differently?” A chorus of no’s rang out from the corps de ballet, and even among Sorelli’s soloist friends, like Carmeline, who carelessly draped her arm around an abashedly silent Lauranne.

Sorelli quaked indignantly, fists clenched at her sides. She charged Giry, “If you insist on insulting your star dancers by favoring this pretty nothing, I am more than happy to leave. The Comte de Chagny has friends in the Opéra-Comique!”

“Then I suggest you meet with M. Moncharmin about your contract,” said Giry with a cool grin. “I’m sure he’d oblige, but I do feel I should send the Opéra-Comique an apology.” With a huff, Sorelli stormed out. Giry glanced at Minna and Théodore, the cavalier, but no one even stirred to follow her. With authoritative pride, Giry said, “Congratulations, Rebecca.” Mathilde chirped in glee, and a few dancers fluttered toward Rebecca, but Giry pounded her cane, sending them back to their places.

Lilith stepped out of her dressing room, careful not to catch her full black skirt in the doorframe. One week and a few days until opening night, and only two of her costumes were finished; her mourning dress in the beginning and the mauve dress she wore to the ball. It was her fault, not breaking in the corset in time, and now the costumers were overloaded with the ballet and chorus alterations as well. She adjusted the silver, rhinestoned headpiece that held half of her hair in a bun, while the rest of the curls cascaded over her bare shoulders. “Lilith!” someone called. She turned to see Jacob approaching, and shifted away from him with a smile. “The crown suits you,” he said.

“Ah, yes,” she answered. He revolved in place and asked what she thought of his costume. “Very debonair for a secretary, but I suppose that’s just you.” He laughed and gave a little bow in thanks. He was so nice. She couldn’t believe he could be associated with them. But the possibility remained, and she had to keep her distance.

“Do you know where Geoffry is?” Jacob suddenly asked. “I wanted to run something by him.”

“Shocking as it may seem, I haven’t seen him yet this morning. Oh,” she nodded down the hall, where Geoffry was coming out of his own dressing room, with Mme. Amory still picking at his cuffs. Hearing a rush of footsteps behind her, Lilith spun around to see Mathilde, Meg, and Rebecca flitting her way. “What is it, girls?”

“Rebecca has some news,” said Meg, bursting with glee.

Rebecca threw a hand toward Lilith. “Sorelli stormed out and quit this morning, and I got her solo!”

With a gasp of happy surprise, Lilith held Rebecca’s bare shoulders. “My dear, that’s wonderful! But why did she quit?” Just as Mathilde uttered the first syllable, there was a loud shriek and rumbling from the stairwell. They hurried to join the crowd forming around the open door. Sorelli laid crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, like a marionette cut from its strings, clothing and cosmetic cases spilling out of her unlatched suitcase. She convulsed and cried out. A large, muscular stagehand pushed through the crowd and then bent on his knee to help her.

He asked her what happened. “I was just going to see the managers, when…he pushed me,” she whimpered, gripping the stagehand’s arm. He asked who pushed her. “The opera ghost!” she sobbed. “I heard his voice in the tunnel to the dormitory, and footsteps…and a cold hand on my shoulder…he was at the top of the stairs.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. Two other stagehands ran around her up the steps, but said no one was there.

At the top of the stairs, Moncharmin asked to be let through, and when he descended on the scene, he asked with paternal eyes, “Dear God, what has happened?”

“She says the ghost pushed her, Monsieur,” said the stagehand who held her, contempt in his voice. Lilith bent down and asked Mathilde who the stagehand was.

“That’s M. Buquet,” she whispered with pity, “the chief sceneshifter.” Before Lilith could ask why she spoke so sadly about him, Mme. Giry stepped forward.

“Oh please, Messieurs. I must inform you that Sorelli left leçon this morning in a huff, and quit the company.”

“Who can blame her?” said Buquet, kneeling with his arm around Sorelli. “Ballet is dangerous work with a ghost in the rafters. Why is it you can’t protect them?”

Giry drew herself up. “Are you accusing me of incompetence, Monsieur? Or of maiming my own students?”

“Joseph! Alianore!” barked Moncharmin, “This is not the time to argue! Dear,” he lowered himself to Sorelli. “Do you think you can stand? Here.” With Buquet’s help, Moncharmin lifted Sorelli to her feet. She mewled and grazed her ribs with her fingertips. Théodore came forward to take Buquet’s place. “Let’s get you to your dressing room,” said Moncharmin, “I’ll call the house doctor.”

Before they hobbled off, Rebecca caught sight of something gold glittering in the wreckage around Sorelli’s suitcase. When she realized what it was, she screamed, “Hey!” and snatched it up. Everyone turned back to look. It was Rebecca’s heirloom bracelet, engraved with her name.

Jammes confronted Sorelli, arms crossed like a thug. “How come Rebecca’s jewelry is in your bag?”

“No,” Sorelli breathed, her voice still cracking, “I stopped him from stealing it—”

“And then put it in your suitcase, you idiot?” cried Clarisse.

“Wait, this is mine!” said Lauranne, finding a silver cross, and then a locket, “and this is Minna’s.”

“How could you, Sorelli? We were friends!” Minna cried.

“Girls,” Giry said firm and low. The dancers retreated. “I’m sure M. Moncharmin will come up with fitting retribution.”

“No, Madame,” he said. “Retribution is a privilege reserved for employees of the opera company.”

“Monsieur, you can’t fire me!” Sorelli griped tearfully, and then raised her head in defiance. “You will never see another penny from the Comte.”

“My dear,” he said, turning to lead her down the hall, Théodore still supporting most of her weight, “ballerinas have come and gone, but the Comte has always been faithful to us. Besides, Mme. Giry says you have quit, and she is not to be contradicted.”

As Sorelli was ushered out of the hallway, the crowd disbursed. The other soloists converged, Lauranne falling into Carmeline’s arms for comfort. Hearing Alianore sigh, Lilith looked up. Shaking her head, Alianore said heatedly, “I hate these scenes.”

Lilith came closer and answered, “It isn’t as though you caused it.”

Alianore looked at her, sourly tilting her head. “I didn’t help.”

“What could you do? …She was so scared. Alianore,” Lilith began, glancing briefly around them, “You don’t think someone actually pushed her, do you?”

“Ha,” Alianore breathed. “You’ll notice that the ones most often accosted by the opera ghost are the ones who cause enough trouble on their own.” With a glance over Lilith’s shoulder, Mme. Giry excused herself to tell Mercier about the change in “The Ball.” Lilith thought of approaching Rebecca, but the new ballerina was surrounded by her friends, all trying to comfort her, Mathilde with an arm around her shoulder, Meg enveloping her hand, and Clarisse and Jammes mocking Sorelli to try and cheer her up. Even Balás drew close behind her, reached out, and then decided not to touch her, leaving without her ever knowing he was there.

Lilith gave a sad smile as he departed, and realized she should head back as well. But before she moved, she caught sight of Joseph Buquet not ten paces away, examining her body. His cold eyes rose to hers and held her gaze. She squared her shoulders and glared back. Suddenly Geoffry stepped in front of her. “All this worry over the Persian, and you work with this ruffian every day,” he said.

“Are you referring to yourself?”

“I’m referring to the sceneshifter.” Geoffry looked over his shoulder, but Buquet had left. “I don’t like the way he looks at you. If he approaches you, or if you ever feel unsafe, just call for me.”

“And you’ll do what?” she scoffed.

“I’ll give the marching orders. Point you and your dagger in the right direction.” With a playful smile, he clasped his hands behind his back and leaned closer to her. “Honestly, Lilith, you can’t be mad that I’m concerned about you. So your brother rubbed off on me; have I lost my roguish charm?”

“It never worked for you anyway.”

“I hope it’s not so much of a loss that you’d cancel dinner with me tonight.”

Lilith rolled her eyes. “I’m still going to dinner with you, Geoffry.” As he took her arm and led her to rehearsal, he told her what time the coach would arrive for them, and where they would be going.

{Next Part Coming Soon}

#poto #POTO fanfic #poto fanfiction #dark romance #romantic suspense #daroga #women in horror #poto ballet dancers

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laurengattos-blog · 6 years ago

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Chapter 3, Part 3

{Previous Part}

A week later, Lilith stood at the stove in the dormitory kitchen, hard-boiling an egg and heating water in Mme. Fay Jermaine’s kettle. She had reached an arrangement with the cook in which she paid a fee to use the facilities for breakfast, as long as she was there early enough to be out of their way. Fay set three jars of preserves on the butcher block and then covered her mouth as she yawned. Lilith had learned to call the cook Fay, and Fay called her Lilith. Knowing the cook’s first name excited Lilith, because “Fay” was all that was signed on the letter Rebecca’s mother had left her.

The kettle whistled. Lilith shut off the stove and scooped a spoon full of tea leaves out of a small paper bag. “Fay, do you want some tea?”

“Oh,” said Fay, tying the strings of her apron around her waist. “All right. If it’s not too much trouble.” Bridget came in through the exterior door, the first of Fay’s employees to arrive. She curtseyed when she saw Lilith. Fay thanked her for finishing the work of another girl last night. Bridget only nodded, exhaust worn into her young face, and asked what they were making for lunch. “Chicken Fricassee. Get the potatoes out of the pantry,” ordered Fay as she pulled two cups out of the cupboard beside the stove. Her skirt brushed Lilith’s as she shut the cupboard door and set the cups on the counter along the stove’s edge. Fay poured herself a cup of rich, searing tea and inhaled the steam. She gave a deliberate shiver and Lilith hummed in agreement. It was a cold, cold morning, and it wouldn’t be warm until the staff lit the brick island stove. Even at the smaller stove, Lilith had learned to wear her velvet wrap when she cooked.

Bridget dragged two sacks of potatoes out of the pantry and set them next to a chair with habitual ease. As she picked the apron off the hook and began to tie it around her waist, Lilith startled her by saying, “Bridget, you’re welcome to tea as well.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” she protested with a faint Irish accent, glancing to Fay.

“It’s fine, if you want it,” said Fay. “I don’t want my best worker losing her fingers to the cold.” Blushing a little, Bridget thanked Lilith with downcast eyes and poured herself a cup. Lilith poured hers last. Reluctantly, she turned off the stove and spooned her still blistering hot egg onto a plate. She carried her breakfast to a butcher block while Bridget and Fay discussed what vegetables they would use that day and what looked like it may last through the end of the week. The egg cooled quickly against the table. Lilith tapped it against the butcher block and pressed her thumb into the shell to elongate the cracks. When she had finished her breakfast and set her dishes in the sink, Fay told her that Lazare would be there soon with the things she’d ordered, so she might as well wait.

Bridget sat in her chair, peeling potatoes with a short blade. Fay shoveled a load of coal into the bottom of the brick island stove. She lit a crinkled roll of newspaper and tossed it and the match into the stove’s open mouth. She turned to Lilith, rubbing her hands. “You know, you’re not as helpless in the kitchen as I would expect for an actress.”

Lilith gave a tired laugh. “Rebecca and I used to be in a small troupe. Everyone cooked together there.”

Fay lifted her eyebrows and said, “Knowledgeable and cooperative! Surely, you can understand my prejudice, knowing Señora Cruz. Was M. Valère in your troupe? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Oh…yes, he was. I can’t believe you’ve heard about him.”

“The ballet girls have been blathering on all week about how handsome he is,” Fay grinned. Lilith shook her head. “You don’t think so?” Fay asked.

“His charms have worn off on me, I guess.”

“I read you two were quite the hit at the manager’s party Wednesday night. The paper said you had ‘undeniable allure,’ and that your ‘desire was palpable’.”

Lilith chuckled. “I’m just doing what I can to promote my opera. And Geoffry lives for attention.” Lazare came in off the street with a hamper of things for Lilith: eggs, a small jar of honey, butter, cocoa powder, and a few apples. Lilith began to put her purchases away on a shelf in a cupboard Fay assigned to her, next to one that she learned belonged to Alianore. Lazare held out the change to Lilith, but she told him to keep it. He thanked her with a little bow, and then turned to Fay.

“What else does Madame require this frigid morning?” he over-articulated.

Fay stepped close to him, and grabbed his ear. “Gut the chickens. Then help Bridget, and don’t test me today.” When Fay let go, Lazare deeply bowed and left. Fay shook her head and said to Lilith, “Two months ago, I asked him to call me Madame at work. This is the result.”

Lilith closed her cupboard. “I’m surprised you keep him on.”

Fay shrugged. “In spite of his attitude, he works hard. And if I have it in my power to make sure my insolent son stays employed, I’m certainly going to take advantage.”

Later that morning, in the costuming department, Lilith gripped the wood frame of a full length mirror as Mme. Amory tightened the first corset Lilith had worn in two weeks. She stared into the distance to distract herself; seamstresses swarmed tables covered in spools of fabric and illustrations, sewing machines and dress forms in various stages of nudity scattered evenly around them. “Still have to break it in, I see,” said Amory. Lilith nodded, unable to draw breath to speak. Even though her wound had closed, the pain made her fear she would bleed, if not pass out. When it seemed like Amory was done, Lilith relaxed and pulled up the top of the sleeveless chemise she would wear under all her costumes. The costumer slung her measuring tape over her shoulder. “I hate to take someone’s final measurements with a new corset. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wear an older one, for accuracy’s sake?”

“Unfortunately, I’ve already gotten rid of my old corsets. I promise, they were unwearable. Why don’t I wear this one all day today and tomorrow, and you can measure me on Monday instead?”

Amory hummed in thought. “That may work, but don’t blame me if we’re rushing last minute to make sure you’re clothed opening night.” After she helped Lilith into the rest of the underclothes, Amory slinked a frilly, mauve skirt and matching bodice down Lilith’s raised arms and bust. A tapping at the door interrupted them. Amory looked up. “What is it, Jammes?”

Her long face flushing, Jammes shuffled inside. “I ripped a hole in one of my pointes.” With a pin between her teeth, Amory tsked and asked how. “Well, I pirouetted in the hallway, and got caught on a raised nail or something.”

“Why were you pirouetting in the hall?” Amory asked. Jammes dropped her eyes, her cheeks reddening further. “Ah. You were showing off, in front of a boy.”

“A gentleman, actually,” Jammes corrected haughtily.

Amory chuckled, holding Lilith’s hips while she examined the fit of the skirt in the mirror. “Who? M. Marquis? M. Rémy?”

Jammes dropped her eyes again, “I’d rather not say.”

Lilith smirked and told Amory over her shoulder, “That means M. Valère.”

“I see!” Amory widened her eyes and excused herself to get a new set of pointes from one of the labyrinthine closets. “If there’s a duel while I’m gone, my money is on Samar.” A couple nearby seamstresses laughed in agreement.

“Thanks, mum,” Jammes said, trudging toward Lilith with her arms folded. “I hope you aren’t cross with me. It’s not as though you’re engaged.”

Lilith removed her clip as it started to slide out of her bun. “It’s fine, Jammes.”

Jammes walked over to her mother’s table and poked the half nude dress form in the stomach. “Good. I’m glad. Because, you know, everyone’s fawning over him. It wouldn’t be fair to just punish me.”

“All right, Jammes,” Lilith laughed, twisting the half bun up again.

Jammes lifted herself to sit on the table, and laid her arms out over her voluminous skirt. “You’ll be very proud of Rebecca. She got the role of Graziosa, the gypsy chief’s daughter, in Don Quixote. She gets a fabulous solo in the second act.”

Sticking the clip in place, Lilith turned around. “Really? That’s wonderful. I wonder why she didn’t tell me.”

“Technically no one was supposed to know until this morning. Mme. Giry told Rebecca privately last night, and Rebecca swore us to secrecy.” She glanced up, grinning. “Mme. Giry just made the announcement during leçon. Sorelli was furious!”

Lilith arched an eyebrow. “Why? That’s role’s too small to concern her.”

Jammes leaned back, swinging her legs. “Sorelli and her friends had this whole plan, where Sorelli would pass on the lead, Kitri, so that Carmeline could play her. Then, Sorelli would play Dulcinea, which is a much shorter part, so that she could spend more time offstage with the Comte, and Minna would be Graziosa. Now, Carmeline is playing Kitri, Minna is Dulcinea, and Sorelli is a no name shop girl in the first act! Doesn’t even have a solo.”

“They did all that scheming behind Giry’s back? I’d stick her in the corps too.”

“Oh, Sorelli has been saying such disrespectful things: basically, that Mme. Giry has no power, and that if there’s anything Sorelli doesn’t like, she can just have the Comte step in and change it for her. Last Saturday,” Jammes whispered with serious, brightening eyes, “she went out to dinner with the Comte and didn’t even come back. She missed church in the morning,” she sat back, her eyebrows lifted meaningfully. Then Amory returned with a pair of new pointes, and told Jammes to start breaking them in immediately.

After her fitting session was over, Lilith changed back into the grey silk day suit she’d picked up from the dressmaker the day before. As she walked toward the stage, she still felt naked; she had left her dagger in her room, worried that she might have to explain it to Mme. Amory. Her half-bun growing heavy again, Lilith reached back and found the clip slipping. She sighed. All the dressing and undressing had made her hair impossible. Alone in the hall, just around the corner from the hall of dressing rooms, Lilith took out the clip, letting her hair fall down her back, and re-wound her bun.

“Well, what exactly have you been up to?” Geoffry called smugly.

Lilith turned around. “I do believe you know the dangers of sneaking up on me.”

“I think I can hold my own against you,” he smirked. It was irritatingly attractive. She rolled her eyes. “What?” he asked. “When did we stop being civil in private?”

“When you started stalking me backstage.”

He clasped a hand to his chest and said, “I’m going to rehearsal. It’s part of my occupation. Would you care to join me?”

With a groan, she walked toward the stage doors, Geoffry quickly joining her side. Quietly, so the stagehands couldn’t overhear, Lilith said, “You could be a little more polite yourself. I think you enjoy being extremely annoying.”

“You’re the only one who finds me so. But I will say, I enjoy the way you pout when you’re mad,” he said. Lilith touched her lips, but before she could form a thought, Geoffry took her shoulder and turned her to face him. “Listen Lilith, let’s pretend that you’re a normal woman who finds me attractive and doesn’t threaten her friends with violence, and go out to dinner tonight.”

Over his shoulder, Lilith caught sight of a middle-eastern man in black suit and an astrakhan cap, staring intently at her from the end of the hall. The man removed his eyes from Lilith long enough to hand a small envelope from his case to a chorus girl. Then, he closed his case and started walking towards them. Geoffry went on, “The managers said it could be good for publicity, since we did so well Wednesday night. And it will prevent me from telling stories behind your back.”

“Oh, Geoffry,” she whispered and grabbed his wrist. He grinned, clearly about to say something unnecessary, so she repeated to stop him, “Geoffry, have you seen that man?” she asked, nodding discretely down the hall.

Geoffry glanced over his shoulder. “Yes. That’s M. Bahadur. The Persian. I bought some cayenne pepper from him yesterday,” Geoffry said, touching his throat. The Persian called Geoffry’s name as he approached. “M. Aamin Bahadur,” Geoffry said, shaking his hand, “this is Mlle. Lilith Samar.”

“Mlle. Samar needs no introduction,” said the Persian. “You have a lovely voice, Mademoiselle. I was here the night you sang in the middle of Il Trovatore.”

As he spoke, Lilith noticed the gold ring on his right hand, although she couldn’t get a clear look at the emblem on it. He was a thin man, past forty, with short, wavy black hair and deep brown eyes. She forced a little smile and said, “Thank you. M. Valère tells me you sell remedies.”

He gave a sociable laugh. “Yes. It started as a hobby, really, but it gets me into the shows for free.”

“So this isn’t your full-time work.”

“Lilith, don’t be rude,” whispered Geoffry.

The Persian held up a hand. “It’s fine. I’m retired from my practice. You’re from my part of the world, aren’t you, Mademoiselle? With a name like Samar?”

She paused, examining his expression, but decided to tell the truth. “My father was Arabic, Monsieur, but I was born in France. Aren’t you quite young to be retired?”

“You flatter me,” the Persian said with a laugh, touching his hand to his forehead and then to his chest with a bow.

Jacob opened the stage door and told Geoffry and Lilith that Mercier was waiting for them. Geoffry thanked Jacob, bid the Persian a good day, and steered Lilith to the stage. Mercier didn’t embarrass them for their tardiness. Instead, he leaned against the piano where M. Gabriel, the chorus master, sat and told everyone he wanted to work through specific scenes before the ballet came to take over the stage in the afternoon. He asked everyone but Jacob and Geoffry to step offstage and told the crew to bring out what they had of the set for Gamal’s study, the scene that concerned Mercier the most. Jacob asked Mercier’s permission to suggest something. Then Geoffry, who was becoming good friends with Jacob, patted him on the shoulder and explained, “We were talking yesterday, and we came up with a way to make this scene more interesting, if you’re all right with starting out lighter. While Naseer reads the letter from Amira, we thought it would be funny if he was imitating her, and then Gamal could interact with him, like he’s Amira.”

“But when the letter gets more serious—when she says she can’t marry him—we’ll stop,” Jacob added.

Mercier removed his hand from his mouth to say emotionlessly, “I don’t know if it would work with the music. Just show me.” With an energetic nod, Geoffry left for his place at the beginning of the scene, outside the study door, stage left. Jacob circled the hollow, wooden desk, taking on the springy gait of Naseer. He eyed the door, and then cautiously drew open the bottom drawer. Naseer pulled out a flask (to the giggles of a few chorus girls) and glancing to the door again, he untwisted the cap. With the metal rim against his lips, Gamal flung open the door and startled Naseer into dropping the flask into the drawer and kicking it shut. Gamal closed the door behind him, dropping back against it melodramatically. M. Gabriel started playing the light, languishing melody. Gamal asked if his beloved Amira had answered his letter yet.

Naseer told his master not to fret, and pulled a letter from his coat pocket; Jacob pantomimed unfolding, and straightening, and unfolding, and straightening the invisible letter, causing even Orelio to laugh. Then Naseer began to read the letter, and how Amira missed his sapphire eyes and his soft, inviting voice; at the end of a phrase, he peeked at Gamal flirtatiously over the top of the letter. Gamal lunged for the letter. Naseer coyly stepped out of the way, and through the next verse they escalated into Gamal chasing him around the desk, Naseer reading of the warmth of Gamal’s embrace, his lips like honey.

Offstage, Richard joined Lilith’s side. “Glad to see you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Oh,” she said, startled. She had been focused on ignoring the throbbing in her waist from the new corset. “Yes. Jacob’s very talented.”

Richard nodded, a hint of suspicion still lingering in his eyes. “Don’t forget M. Valère. I introduced him to Baronne Audley, one of our most involved patrons, after the Coppélia opening last night. She was quite taken with him, and the flattering way he spoke of you.” Watching the cheeriness fade from the scene onstage, Richard sighed. “You know, I didn’t care for Valère at first, but I’m starting to see the appeal.”

“I guess brazen overconfidence can be attractive.”

He lifted his eyebrows at her. “And you have what? Sultry cheekiness?”

Lilith laughed in surprise and met his stare. “I’m not that much like Geoffry.”

“Honestly, Mademoiselle, I’m struggling to find a difference. You’re well-matched for each other. It makes for an engaging performance. Even engaging banter.”

“Et tu, Monsieur?” she moaned dramatically, although she tried to keep a hint of a smile. “The managers in New York were trying to push us together, not to mention the pushing Geoffry has done on his own.”

“You’re personal life is none of my business,” said Richard, passing behind her to leave, “But your connection is what’s selling tickets. It wouldn’t hurt for you two to be seen in public more.” The now tense music thundering to an end, Jacob held his last note as Geoffry finished a darker phrase, Gamal fearing for Amira’s fate. M. Gabriel stopped playing and Mercier gave his quietly pleased approval. After playing with the scene for half an hour, Mercier asked that the stage be set for the earlier ball and for Lilith and Geoffry to come to the center for the first song after the ballet. As Lilith stepped out onto the stage, she heard Carlotta proudly point out to one of her plainer cronies that the songs Mercier found most displeasing did not include her or her husband.

Mercier set Lilith and Geoffry in the middle, and Jacob in the background by a table that would be dressed with food and wine, filling the rest in with the chorus. “Now, Mademoiselle, what did you do for movement in this scene in your first production?”

“We had a line of couples dancing in the middle—”

“I meant you and M. Valère.”

Geoffry grinned at her avoidance and answered, “Well, after we see each other, we do a little bit of a waltz, and then after her part begins…why don’t we just show you?” Lilith rolled her eyes. Mercier sent them to their places, across from each other downstage, and had Gabriel start playing the sensuous introduction.

Lilith felt a jolt of energy, like every time she’d heard this song since the Angel came. He visited her every night in her dressing room after rehearsal, sang with her, for her, and played his violin. She sang for him too, and they discussed books and operas and the others in the company. Recently she had even begun asking his advice on the opera she was trying to finish. The magic of their encounters often erased the oddness from her mind, although when she thought about him in the light of day, she was annoyed by the enigma and prayed she wasn’t putting Rebecca in danger.

Amira lifted her eyes to the man across the ballroom. Gamal gazed back at her, honest fervor in the way he stepped forward. Enraptured in his smile, Amira accepted his outstretched hand. They danced, the warmth of his embrace curling around her as they floated across the stage. He stopped, staring into her eyes and bent down to kiss her, but Amira pulled away in hesitation. She sang of desire, of an unexpected change in fate. When she turned her back, Gamal grasped her shoulders and sang of her grace and beauty. He ran his hands down her arms and softly begged her to say she felt the same longing. Sweet and unyielding, the heat of his body penetrated the layers of fabric between them. Amira tilted her head back, unable to deny the attraction, but told him they should not give into passion. He turned her around and stroked her cheek, singing that love should not be fought.

Then suddenly Lilith pushed away from him, wobbling, eyes shut tight. The stabbing pang in her side was now impossible to suppress. Mercier stood, and whispers passed through the chorus. “It’s all right,” Geoffry assured them, scooping his arm under Lilith’s to hold her up. “She’s always had delicate senses.” She glared at him, her tongue in her cheek, and told Mercier that she was fine. He asked if she was sure.

“Yes,” she said with a cringe, her stomach bent as much as a corset would allow. “Although I would like a moment to collect myself. I’m a little lightheaded.”

“Fine, fine. Do you want to see the house doctor?” Mercier asked.

“Oh, no, it’s nothing that serious,” she breathed. Realizing she was taut against Geoffry’s firm torso, she tried to push herself upright, but was unsuccessful. “I just need to sit for a moment.” Geoffry led her offstage, while Mercier called Carlotta and Orelio forward. Geoffry helped her slide into a chair offstage, and Lilith half-heartedly thanked him.

“You can make up for it by going to dinner with me tonight,” he said.

She looked at him doubtfully. “It’s Friday. Every restaurant will be busy.”

“Lilith, we’re trying to advertise your opera.” Then, with his rakish, warm grin, he said, “Of course if you’re that embarrassed of me, we can always have a private dinner in my hotel.”

Lilith glanced up and drew a deep breath. “For the sake of the opera, we can go out tomorrow night. My corset is bothering me too much today.”

“Ah, well. I’d offer to help you out of it, but I know how you like to pretend you don’t need me. If you change your mind, I’ll be just over there,” he said, nodding to the opposite wing. Lilith mockingly thanked him again and sent him on his way. She sat back and discretely stroked her side, breathing deeply.

In the center of the stage, Carlotta and Orelio were singing the chirpy duet in which Nesrine and Hasib plan their ill-fated wedding day. Not two minutes later, Lilith spotted Geoffry across the stage, leaning against a pillar and softly speaking to some young blonde creature. Lilith shook her head. This was the fourth new girl in seven days. Further upstage in the left wing, Lilith caught sight of Jacob whispering to someone very seriously. She leaned to peer around the curtain leg, and was filled with dread and disbelief: sweet Jacob was in a deep, secretive conversation with the Persian.

Shoulders hunched, Jacob glanced around and went on whispering, an unrecognizable graveness in his eyes. Jacob had been trying to become friends with her—now she worried that this was the reason. Lilith forced herself to breathe deeply. There was no real cause for panic. She still had no evidence that the Persian was with the Navraj, nor that he had any desire to harm her whatsoever. Then Carlotta stopped the song to loudly argue with Mercier over direction, and Lilith lost her train of thought.

Midnight drew near. Aamin Bahadur stepped out from the dark stone tunnel to the shore of the underground lake. The ink-black waters lapped against the bedrock beach, glittering in the sparse moonlight from the street grate in the Rue Scribe. Aamin looked up at the thumb print of a street grate, five stories above. He ran his fingers through his hair, and realized he’d left his hat in Jacob’s dressing room. But he didn’t have time to think about that now. The matter at hand was far more pressing. At the other end of the stone vault was a thin offshoot of the lake, which led, Aamin knew, to Erik’s apartment, although he had never been inside. He had trailed the shoreline before, which narrowed into nothing as it circled the lake, but never even caught a glimpse of the front door. However, this time, he didn’t have to walk. The iron post that usually stood bare among the smooth rocks now had a rowboat tied to it.

Dubiously, Aamin checked the boat for traps, but it had none. Erik wouldn’t be so careless. Perhaps Erik had left this for him. Usually Erik knew when Aamin needed to talk to him, not that he was ever so kind about it. Praying this was an act of courtesy Aamin pushed the boat out into the lake and hopped inside, regretting that he would once again have to walk home in wet socks and shoes. The steady beating of the oars disturbed the swirling, unnatural flow of the water and the light that danced off the lake, along the cavernous walls. The lake was really quite peaceful, Aamin thought, in an upsetting, other worldly way.

Softer than a whisper, airy, angelic singing rose off the water. Aamin stopped rowing and drew a deep breath. This was a trap the boat had triggered. “Erik,” he called. The singing grew nearer, so pure, so light. If he hadn’t know its owner, Aamin could have easily been fooled. “Erik,” he tried again. The singing was beside the boat now. Aamin peered over the edge and immediately recognized his stupidity. But by then, it was too late. Two hands had emerged and dragged Aamin into the water.

{Next Part Coming Soon}

#poto #POTO fanfic #poto fanfiction #daroga #dark romance #romantic suspense #women in horror

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laurengattos-blog · 6 years ago

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where are my fellow hysterical women who would have either been a) an oracle in ancient greece or b) burned at the stake in medieval times…..make some noise ladies

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Chapter 3, Part 2

{Previous Post}

After two hours of staring at her unfinished manuscript, making a few stray marks, and then nodding off in her chair, Lilith abandoned her room and went backstage to watch the ballet rehearse. The whole ballet was onstage for Franz and Swanhilda’s wedding in the final act of Coppélia. Meanwhile, Rebecca held onto one of the mechanical doll’s stands in the wings, lifting and dropping her heels in her new pointe shoes, which let out a low squeak with each shift. Lilith touched Rebecca’s shoulder and said hello.

Rebecca shushed her, and glanced to the stage. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to get in trouble,” she whispered. “What’s going on with Geoffry?”

Lilith rubbed her forehead. “He’s auditioning this morning for Gamal.”

“No!” Rebecca gushed and timidly covered her mouth. “It’s unbelievable.”

“Well,” Lilith shrugged, “I guess there are benefits. I mean, he knows the part.”

Rebecca squinted thoughtfully. “You’d also rather be embraced by Geoffry than Señor Cruz. Let’s be honest.”

Lilith tilted her head derisively. “But I still don’t understand why he’s here.”

“You don’t know why I’m here?” Geoffry asked. Lilith gasped and glared at him, a hand over her heart. “Rebecca!” he whispered. “Look at you! I knew you’d make it.”

Rebecca bowed her head and whispered, “Thank you, Geoffry.”

“What are you doing backstage?” Lilith snapped.

“I was looking for you. I wanted to thank you for not sabotaging my audition.”

“Well,” Lilith fidgeted. “I don’t really have a reason to keep you out, do I—?”

“Listen,” said Rebecca. “No one is more interested in this conversation than me, but could you please take it somewhere else?” Lilith nodded and led Geoffry by the arm to the hall behind the stage, outside the doors of the ballet foyer.

He thanked her again for recommending him. She crossed her arms. “Why should I disparage you? You’re a perfectly capable singer.”

Geoffry lifted his eyebrows. “Wow, that bullet really softened you.”

Eyes wide, she whispered, “How do you know about that?”

“In New York, A lady friend and I were waiting to board her family’s ship to La Rochelle, and the men at the dock mentioned a woman getting shot. Naturally I assumed it was you.”

“Is this friend how you’ve managed to get a room?”

“At Le Grand Hotel, as a matter of fact.” More gently, he asked, “Was it them? The Navraj?”

“Of course it was. But if you’re here to protect me, you’re complet—”

“I’m here because you didn’t say goodbye,” he said, his voice low with barely hidden anger.

She twitched at the sound. “We’re not a couple, Geoffry.”

“We were friends, Lilith. Thomas and I were friends too, and I had to find out that he was gone from the troupe.” Tears glimmered in his hazel eyes. “You couldn’t tell me that?”

Lilith looked down, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “Rebecca and I were fleeing. What could I have done?” She lifted her eyes for a moment, sadness roughening her voice. “My priority was to get Rebecca to safety, and I have. My and Thomas’s show is being produced in Paris. I can face the end without regret.”

Geoffry grabbed her shoulders. “You don’t have to face anything. Have you seen any of them here? I haven’t. You could be anywhere in Europe, or Asia, or Africa for all they know. You don’t have to constantly live in fear.”

Her eyes swept his graceful face doubtfully, and dropped to the floor. “They’ll find me, Geoffry. It’s what they do.”

“And what then? You don’t have to give into them.” He tenderly held her cheek and pleaded, “Let me protect you.”

Her eyes cooling as she met his gaze, Lilith stepped away from him. “Your presence will only be tolerated because Thomas would have wanted you here.”

That afternoon, the company gathered in the house. Mercier started the meeting by announcing that the baritone who played Count Di Luna had resigned after the incident with the anvils, and so Jacob Pawl, a young man from the chorus and the Count Di Luna understudy, would play the main baritone part in Les Souffrances du Amira. Then, Mercier introduced the American tenor that the managers had signed for the season, Geoffry Valère, who originated Gamal in New York, and would be reprising the role. Orelio stood. “Excuse me, Mercier, when we spoke you told me I would be Gamal.” As Moncharmin started to speak, Orelio burst with anger, saying his contract entitled him to lead roles, and they could not go back on their word.

“Señor,” Lilith purred and touched his arm, “Gamal is just a pretty boy. He has a narrow range of emotion, and his songs reflect that. Mercier, the managers, and I thought your talents would be better suited for the role of Hasib. He’s dark and brooding, and has a much more challenging vocal part.”

“Yes, we believed it would better showcase your versatility,” said Moncharmin. Subdued, Orelio told the managers they would discuss it later. Mercier continued to read out the cast.

As Lilith took her seat beside Geoffry, he leaned in and whispered, “That speech sounded quite like the one you gave when we arrived in New York.” She shushed him. He had switched off the grief and was back to friendly-flirtatious jabbing. He must have known it annoyed her the most. He looked off in thought, and quietly continued, “It was an entirely different show, and I definitely recall the words ‘narrow range of emotion’ and ‘pretty boy.’” When Lilith wouldn’t answer, he whispered behind her back to Rebecca, “She thinks I’m pretty?”

“Was that a secret?” asked Rebecca. Before he could respond, she heard her name whispered, and turned around to see Meg beckoning her three rows back. Rebecca snuck to her friend and Meg patted the empty seat next to her, saying that the ballet was supposed to sit together.

“Mother thinks if we mix with the rest of the company it will be too easy for us to sneak off after,” said Meg.

Jammes leaned forward to add, “Like anyone would risk that.” She offered them a handful of marshmallows. “You might get punished for sneaking out at night, but she’d behead you for skipping rehearsal.” As they each took a few pieces of candy, Jammes nodded toward Geoffry and asked, “Rebecca, why were you hiding that beautiful man from us?”

“Oh,” Rebecca smiled, amused. “We didn’t know he was coming. We’ve worked with him for a few years, and all the while he’s been chasing Lilith.”

Jammes bumped her shoulder into Meg’s and said with a brazen curl to her lips, “I think Meg and I can change that.” Meg blushed furiously and shook her head. Then someone dropped, panting, into the aisle seat beside Rebecca. Balás ran a hand over his collar and cravat, clutching a notebook to his stomach.

“Are you all right?” Meg asked with an airy giggle. “We didn’t know where you were.”

“Mercier s-s-sent me to his house to get his n-notes for the designers,” he whispered. “How late am I?”

“It’s only been about ten minutes,” Rebecca assured him. Balás grimaced. “What is it?” she asked around the marshmallow on her tongue.

Balás tapped his foot against the carpet. “He wanted me to give these to him before the meeting started. I don’t know if I should go up now or if I should wait.”

“For what?” mocked Jammes, leaning over Meg. “Just go.”

“He shouldn’t interrupt,” said Meg.

Rebecca countered, “But what if Mercier needs them now?”

“Please stop tormenting me,” Balás whispered.

“Balás,” Mercier called coolly, “Be quiet. It’s rude enough to be late.”

Balás sunk down into the red velvet seat. With a pained expression, Rebecca held a marshmallow out to him and whispered, “I’m sorry.” He sighed and thanked her for the candy, blushing the moment he made eye contact with her.

After the meeting, Geoffry chatted with Moncharmin and placed his hand in the middle of Lilith’s back. As she pursed her lips and considered stepping on his shoe, the new baritone approached her, allowing her to step away. “Mademoiselle,” he said, “I just wanted to tell you that I’m so grateful for the opportunity that you’ve given me.”

“Oh, I’m flattered, Monsieur…”

“Jacob, please.”

“Jacob, but I really didn’t have anything to do with casting. I was just trying to help the managers with Señor Cruz,” she said, suddenly very aware that Geoffry had stopped talking behind her.

His broad shoulders dropping warmly, Jacob said, “Well, that may be true, but with the reason behind M. Ferretti leaving, I can’t help but think you’re partly responsible—not that I’m accusing you of anything, of course—”

“Excuse me,” Geoffry interceded, good-naturedly taking his spot at Lilith’s side, “What has Lilith done now?” Lilith stared off in annoyance.

“Oh, no,” Jacob laughed. “She hasn’t done anything. You didn’t hear about last night?” Geoffry gazed at the young man distrustfully.

Lilith reached out to the managers, who were talking with Mercier and a sceneshifter. “M. Moncharmin, I think it’s time you have the conversation with M. Valère about your highest paid employee.” Moncharmin lifted his eyebrows and agreed. But before he forgot, he handed Lilith an envelope from his coat pocket: the advance on her paycheck. Since the managers were occupying Geoffry, and Rebecca was back to watching the ballet rehearse, Lilith slipped away to her room and got her wrap. She had to go out and order some clothing. Inside the envelope was a stack of cash and a note from Moncharmin suggesting a variety of boutiques (Reboux, Duvelleroy, but mostly dressmakers) that she should visit, “to avoid M. Richard picking a dress at random again.”

The side effects from the night before had faded into minor dehydration, so Lilith spent the entire afternoon on the Rue de la Paix, and found one seamstress, who although not nearly as famous as Worth, had Lilith’s sense of humor. Although the seamstress was reluctant to take orders for Rebecca when she wasn’t there, Lilith gave the measurements she knew for Rebecca and said she could only bring her tomorrow, as Sunday was the one day the ballet didn’t rehearse. However, Lilith needed suits and evening dresses in a hurry. The seamstress told her it would take at least two weeks, but when Lilith mentioned they would be seen at L’Opéra Populaire, the seamstress promised to have the first two done in a week.

Lilith brought the dress prints back to her room, where Rebecca, Meg, and Mathilde poured over them, sprawled out on the pastel throw rug while Lilith sat at her desk, her unfinished manuscript in front of her. Soon she came to terms with the fact that she would get no work done while these girls were on dinner break. (She refused, however, to dwell on the truth that it was Thomas who was better at the score, whereas she was better at the librettos.)

“They’re gorgeous,” cooed Meg.

“What colors will this one be in?” Mathilde asked, holding up a picture of a narrow shouldered day-suit.

“Blue and gray,” Lilith answered, shifting in her seat. The desk chair had pinned the dagger in her skirt pocket against her thigh. But it was worth the sense of security out on the street.

Rebecca held out a sketch of a voluptuous ball gown. “Lilith, isn’t this one similar to the gown you wore yesterday?”

Lilith looked at the sketch. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m sure the bodice is exactly the same.”

“No, no, the neckline on the violet one is higher, and trimmed with black velvet. Let me show you.” She stood and went to her wardrobe, where she had put the dress away that morning, but she couldn’t find it. Lilith went through all the drawers and then looked through the dresser. The gown had vanished. A chill raised the hair on the back of her neck.

Then a dark figure loomed in the doorway. “Girls, have you eaten dinner?” Mme. Giry asked. The girls said they had. “Then get back to the theatre and get into costume.” They all apologized and obeyed.

Staring into the wardrobe, Lilith said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep them.”

“They know their responsibilities. Speaking of which, as if I am your secretary, the managers have given me the key to your dressing room,” Giry said, more curt than usual.

Still staring into the wardrobe, Lilith didn’t notice until Giry was holding out the key until she cleared her throat. “Oh, thank you. I’m sorry,” Lilith said. Giry nodded and turned to leave. Realizing she didn’t want to be left alone, Lilith asked, “Um, where is my dressing room?”

“Where all the dressing rooms are,” said Giry.

Disappointed, Lilith simply said, “Fair enough.”

Giry sighed. “I don’t have much time before rehearsal starts again. Do you want me to show you where it is?”

“Thank you,” gushed Lilith. She made sure to lock the bedroom door behind her and followed Giry to the stairwell.

“Still feeling the effects of your indulgence last night?” Giry muttered.

Lilith laughed uneasily. “The effects are about as foggy as the memory now.” Giry huffed. They descended in silence until they reached the empty underground passage and Lilith quietly added, “I know what you must think of me, Alianore, but I assure you, this isn’t a common practice of mine. It’s extremely upsetting to have no recollection of an entire evening.”

“I wouldn’t know, Mademoiselle,” she snapped, without a glance in Lilith’s direction. “And thank you for flaunting your new dresses in front of my students. The ones who come from good families rarely receive anything from their parents.”

“Alianore.” At the end of the tunnel, Lilith stopped between Giry and the door. “Is something wrong? I can’t believe you’re only mad at me.”

Seething, Alianore said, “I have a right to be! You almost died last night! Don’t pretend to care for me when you can’t care for yourself!”

“What are you talking about?”

Alianore pointed the head of her cane at Lilith’s chest. “Last night, when you came home drunk out of your mind, you nearly drowned in the bath tub.”

Lilith let out a sharp breath, paralyzed in shock and dread. “Oh God.”

Alianore recoiled. “I spent most of my early morning cleaning up after you and making sure you were still alive, so forgive me if I seem—”

Before she could spit another word, Lilith embraced her, warm and sincere. After a long silence, Lilith lifted her cheek from Giry’s shoulder. With a look of deep sadness, Lilith brushed the sleeves of Giry’s suit and dropped her hands in front of her. “Thank you, Alianore. I apologize for putting you through all that. It won’t happen again.” Giry scanned Lilith’s face, and nodded in acceptance.

When she had pointed out which dressing room was Lilith’s, Giry left to return to the ballet. Lilith unlocked the door and turned what she thought would be the knob of a gaslight, but was actually electric. The room was modern and relatively large, with a velvet couch, an ornate rug down the center, and a white vanity opposite a matching dresser, both painted in pastel floral patterns. At the far end was a floor-to-ceiling mirror, its dark walnut frame ornately carved with flourishes and budding flowers. On the vanity sat a new make-up box, containing greasepaint sticks, brushes, powder, powder puffs, and a letter from Moncharmin, hoping that she liked the dressing room and telling her not to hesitate to ask if there was anything more she needed.

Lilith sat at the vanity and let out an endless breath. She hadn’t realized how poorly she was handling her grief. Massaging her temples, she wondered if she could ever make it up to Alianore. No, of course not. What could atone for the distress Lilith had caused her? She folded her arms on the vanity and dropped her chin to its surface. Then she heard a faraway violin playing Amira’s first aria. Lilith lifted her face and stared into the eyes of her reflection. She could not let herself wallow in misery. She had a purpose here. The violinist practicing in the hall had reminded her of that.

She stroked her silver locket. Looking for something to take her mind off Thomas and her near death and her unfinished opera, Lilith tore the paper end off of a black greasepaint liner, wondering how close the pigment was to the greasepaint she left in New York. Without applying a basecoat, Lilith traced her upper eyelashes with a feline stroke, from the inside of her nose to the bone at the edge of her eye. As she lined the lower lashes, she could have sworn the music seemed closer than before. She must have been imagining it. Why would the violinist have moved mid-song? Finishing the other eye, Lilith began to hum along. The sound of the violin struck her as familiar in a way she couldn’t name.

Amira’s aria ended, leaving a very brief silence before a new song began. When Lilith recognized it, she jumped to her feet, nearly knocking the make-up box off the vanity. It was one of her father’s unpublished concertos. She glared at the door, feeling for her dagger. This was one of Geoffry’s stunts. He was out in the hall with a violinist from the orchestra, just trying to get her attention. She marched to the door and flung it open. The hall was empty, not a soul in sight, and darker than she remembered.

Chills coiled up her spine as the source of the violin shifted behind her. She whirled around, dagger in hand, but still found no one. The music was coming from the absolute center of the room. She circled the dressing room, feeling the walls for vibrations, but they all felt the same. The violin was so clear: it came from the center. She paced, annoyed and alight with fear. Then, gathering her courage, Lilith stretched a hand into the invisible violinist and gasped. She was bathed in music. In her frustration, she hadn’t realized how beautiful it was. To be surrounded by the song, the melody pulsing through her body—it was a staggering, miraculous sensation.

As she felt the sconces dimming around her, Lilith opened her eyes. She withdrew from the heart of the sound. “What’s wrong, Amira?” a voice called from nowhere. Jaw tense, Lilith backed into the wall and scanned the room. She turned up the dial on the electric sconce, and to her slight relief, it worked. “Don’t be afraid,” the voice said smoothly. It was a man’s voice, she was sure. “I’m a friend.” She laughed emotionlessly under her breath. Then she tried to clear her mind of the sensations and think logically. “Do forgive me for intruding,” the voice said. “I wanted a private audience with you.”

“You forgot to present your card,” Lilith scoffed, barely hiding her hostility.

The voice laughed, low and tender. “I assure you, Lilith, we’ve met before.”

She lifted her chin, stroking the dagger handle with her thumb. “When you were stealing my father’s music, or did you take it from my room just now?”

“I did not steal your father’s music. He gave it to me as soon as his pen touched the paper,” the voice nearly sang. Lilith pressed her ear to the wall to see if she could locate the speaker. Suddenly the voice whispered in her other ear, “Put the knife away, Lilith. You cannot harm me.”

She gasped, and demanded, “What do you want?”

“You are lost. I am here to guide you,” the voice said, so soothingly. “I am the Angel of Music.”

“Ugh,” Lilith groaned.

“You felt it yourself,” the Angel said, the violin resounding once again in the center of the room. “You know it to be true, Lilith.” As he spoke, she fought the urge to step back into the heart of the music. “You have a great destiny, and I am here to help you achieve it.”

Lilith forced out a steady breath against her desire, and crossed her arms. “Only enemies are helping with my destiny these days.”

The Angel sighed. “They are after you, Lilith, but they have yet to accomplish killing you.”

Her heart stopped. She gripped her dagger. “Who?”

“Your father’s enemies. The Navraj,” he said.

Lilith threw the dagger through the heart of the music, sticking it in the opposite wall. “How can you know that and not be one of them?” She whirled around, searching the room as the Angel spoke.

“They are the enemy of all things pure. Of course I know of them.” Then, his voice growing, he said more forcefully, “I can protect you from them. You are an agent of God. He has gifted you with that beautiful voice to spread his glory on Earth. Let me help you achieve that destiny, the destiny your father wanted for you, and you will be shielded from their wrath.”

She forced her lips not to quiver. “And what do you want in return?”

The Angel was quiet for a long time. “Your devotion. It is a trying path you’re on, and you cannot be distracted. There are people who want to occupy you with frivolity.”

“Ah,” she whispered, dropping onto the vanity bench. “What about Rebecca?”

“Rebecca is part of your destiny. She will be protected as well. Oh, Lilith, if you devote yourself to your work and God, not only will you be safe, but I can lay all the world at your feet. Will you let me guide you?”

“If you know about the Navraj, I’m sure you can understand why God and I are not on speaking terms.” She stared at the floor, hands folded beneath her chin. Amidst all this magic, she nearly forgot about the so-called opera ghost. “Divine or not,” she said, “I’m sure you understand why I can’t trust strangers, let alone disembodied voices.”

“Of course,” the Angel said gently, his voice now beside her. “That’s the challenge of my station, but I am up for the task, if you accept my assistance.”

“When you say assistance,” Lilith began, crossing her ankles as her anxiety faded into mildly frightened curiosity, “do you mean sending me costumes as evening wear?”

The Angel was silent again. “Yes,” he said finally. “I’m sorry it displeased you.”

“I certainly appreciated the thought. I was in need. However, sending me the costume of an expensive prostitute isn’t what I would expect from an agent of God.”

“Métella is not a prostitute—” he said with emotion, but then calmed himself before adding, “Regardless, it suited your unofficial debut.”

“Did you assist me in that as well?”

“Amira, tell me why you haven’t practiced your opera since you arrived. Outside of what you performed last night, you haven’t touched the manuscript,” he said so tenderly, so sweetly, completely ignoring her question.

She shrugged. “I’ll practice when rehearsal starts. It’s engrained in me, anyway.”

“You haven’t practiced because you’re in pain, Lilith,” he whispered.

Lilith stood. “I don’t like to be told what I feel, no more than I like my career decisions made for me.”

“I’m not here to fight you.” The violin moaned to life, playing the introduction to a duet between Amira and Gamal. “But if you sing, I can help remove the pain.”

A scowl twitched in the corner of her mouth, staring into the spot where the music dwelled. “You make a lot of promises,” she whispered. But when Amira’s part drew near, she stepped into the heart of the music and sang. The Angel sang too, Gamal’s part, powerful and true. Not a note, breath, or word out of place. His voice lived within that music. Their voices interlaced faultlessly. Then, when the song ended, the lights came up and the Angel was gone.

{Next Post Coming Soon}

#poto #POTO fanfic #poto fanfiction #dark romance #romantic suspense #women in horror

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laurengattos-blog · 6 years ago

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Chapter 3, Part 1

{Previous Part}

The Angel

“Alianore…”

Wrapped in a warm wool blanket, Alianore dreamed of a summer in her youth. She and her cousins swam in a river, out in the country. There were birds and crickets chirping, and laughter. “Alianore…” Then she felt ice seeping through the blanket on her shoulder.

She woke with a gasp, but calmed down when she realized who it was. He removed his hand and whispered an apology. She rubbed her palm into her eye and rasped, “Erik, do you know what time it is?”

Erik stood as she turned up the kerosene lamp on her bedside table, his black mask glinting in the flame. He wrung his wrists and shifted his feet like he wanted to bolt. “Alianore, I need your help.”

Squeezing her eyes shut in vexation, Alianore sat up in bed. The last time he needed her help, he ambushed her with that garment box on her way out of the water closet. Alianore doubted there’d be anyway out of helping him this time either. “What do you want me to do?” she asked, reaching for her dressing gown.

He turned away as she got out of bed to put it on. “First, some of your dancers are waking up. I need to make sure they don’t go into the hall, for at least an hour.”

Tying the waist of her dressing gown tight, Alianore went down the hall and heard the couple she’d suspected to be the noisemakers whisp-ering and giggling from their private room. “Carmeline! Lauranne! Go to sleep!” she hissed. Checking that their door was locked, she turned and saw Lilith’s door was ajar. Alianore crept down the hall into Lilith’s room and shut the door silently behind her. Lilith lay sprawled across the bed in her chemise, soaking wet. Erik watched her, rubbing his neck. Alianore slapped his arm with the back of her hand in panic. “What happened?”

“She came back from dinner intoxicated, and…she drowned a little in the bath.”

“A little? Is she breathing?” Alianore swept Lilith’s hair out of her face and felt the column of her neck for a pulse. “Her heart’s beating.” Then she felt the slow, steady breaths coming from Lilith’s parted lips.

He let out a deep, nervous sigh. “I got to her pretty quickly—I was in the closet next door—but she was already unconscious.” Smoothing back his jet hair, Erik rested against the dresser and asked, “Do you think she’ll be all right?”

His voice was so tortured that Alianore had to look away. He’d told her that he hated the look of sympathy she sometimes wore, so to avoid his gaze, she wrapped Lilith in the bed’s wool comforter. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

Suddenly he stretched out a hand, “if she has any questions about tonight…”

“I’ll make something up.”

He sighed. “Thank you, Alianore. I don’t deserve your friendship.”

Alianore shrugged. As Erik retreated to the corner in thought, Alianore gazed at Lilith, who—while she was pretty and a fine singer—didn’t seem extraordinary. “Erik,” she asked, “are you sure she’s the one?”

His frozen blue eyes lit, and his shoulders expanded with hope. “She has to be. I couldn’t find the earring, but that’s her song. And her voice, that voice like moonlight.”

“How do you know she doesn’t have the earring?”

“I got her out of her room last night,” he said, waving the event away.

Alianore shook her head. He was so jaded about harassing the company. “You know pestering her with little tricks isn’t the way to gain her favor.”

He flashed her a bitter, sidelong glance. “What do you suggest?”

Crossing her arms, Alianore looked out the window and shrugged.

Lilith moaned awake, her brain swollen in her head. It was too heavy to lift. All she could see for the first few minutes was light, but slowly her eyes began to focus. As she sat up, fleeting images of last night’s dinner and all the wine she drank passed through her mind. Her waist itched—the dressing was gone. She pulled up her chemise to see her stitches. Nothing was broken, but she didn’t remember how the bandage came undone, or getting into bed, or even coming home.

She looked around. Her hairpins were in their place on the dresser. Her underclothes were folded over her desk chair. Piled on the desk were clean cotton bandage strips. Lilith ran her hands back through her hair and massaged her scalp. Well, she woke in her own bed. How bad could last night have been? She sat whenever she could while dressing, and when she had to stand, leaned against the foot of the bed. The dizziness and nausea kept her from forming complete thoughts—this was the second time she had been drunk in her life, and for the second time she swore it would be her last. With her half-tangled hair clipped back, Lilith left her room, her stomach aching for food. The dark-haired friend of Rebecca’s hopped around the corner, one ballet flat on and the other in her hand. What was her name? The girl smiled up at Lilith. “Are you running late too?”

“For what?” Lilith asked less articulately than she’d wanted. Madeline? Mathilde. The girl’s name was Mathilde.

Mathilde shook her head and tapped her temple. “I forget that not everyone starts as early as we do.”

“Oh,” Lilith said for some reason. “Tell me, dear, where can someone not in the ballet get breakfast around here?”

Mathilde tilted her head in thought, slipping on her other shoe. “Mme. Jermaine will probably help you. She runs the dormitory, and she’s the cook.” Shaking out her gauzy skirt, Mathilde offered to show Lilith the way, since she was headed to breakfast herself. Lilith thanked her, and followed her down to the kitchen door where they parted ways. She didn’t want to embarrass Rebecca by going into the student dining hall. After Lilith knocked, a freckled, red-headed girl peered around the cracked door at her. Lilith told her she was an actress in the company. The girl let Lilith inside and called for Mme. Jermaine.

Mme. Jermaine was a lithe, light-skinned black woman with high cheek bones and an unaffected grace. She stood over one of four vats of barely boiling water, built into a brick island with a slate tile countertop and an iron gate under each vat for fire. Although the vent in the far wall was open, the staff were all sweating from the heat. On two large butcher blocks to the right of the brick island, one scullery maid was slicing baguettes and a second was setting them on plates with butter and a scoop of strawberry preserves. Calling Lilith’s attention away from the bread, Mme. Jermaine politely asked what Lilith wanted. “Forgive me for intruding. I was just hoping to get some breakfast.”

“I’m sorry, Mademoiselle,” said Mme. Jermaine, soberly looking Lilith over. “This food is only for the ballet students.”

Lilith lowered her voice. “I will give you ten francs for a slice of bread.”

Mme. Jermaine turned to the red-headed girl. “Bridget, get the lady a plate.” Bridget curtseyed and obeyed. As Bridget handed Lilith one of the servings from the butcher block, Mme. Jermaine asked, “Are you the guardian of Rebecca Haines?”

“Yes, I am,” Lilith smiled, even with the headache.

“Ah,” Mme. Jermaine nodded, “You’ve raised a very well-mannered girl.”

“Thank you,” Lilith said groggily, breaking away a piece of crust from the baguette, “She makes it easy.” Stepping out of the way of the staff, Lilith leaned against the far counter and ate with the plate close to her mouth, pushing the preserves around with the crust. Bridget and the other kitchen maids carried trays of plates into the dining hall, the voices of chattering young people flooding the kitchen each time they opened the door.

A young man a little darker than Mme. Jermaine came in through the street entrance with a paper-and-twine-wrapped package over his shoulder. Lowering it to the crook of his arm, he bowed exaggeratedly to Mme. Jermaine and said, “Your chuck, Madame.”

“Lazare, that better be the whole shoulder,” Mme. Jermaine warned, slicing another baguette into four servings. “What took you so long?”

Lazare shrugged, rolling the package into the icebox. “What do you expect? You sent me out late. The butcher was busy.”

“Mind your behavior. We have company.” Mme. Jermaine nodded towards Lilith. When he took his head out of the icebox and saw Lilith, Lazare took off his hat and apologized. Lilith pressed a hand to her mouth as she swallowed, and asked them not to mind her.

After Bridget came back with the last empty tray, the staff each took a serving Mme. Jermaine had made. As they rigidly circled a little wooden table in the corner, the staff glanced at Lilith and pleaded wordlessly to Mme. Jermaine. Before anything could be said, there was a knock at the door. Bridget sighed and answered it. A meek voice asked, “I’m so sorry. Is Mlle. Samar in there?”

“Rebecca?” Lilith answered. Bridget opened the door wide between them.

Clutching her frothy skirt, Rebecca sighed. “Oh, good. I need to talk to you,” she said, and visibly tensed as she caught sight of Mme. Jermaine. Before Lilith could ask what to do with her plate, Bridget took it from her with a curtsey, accepted Lilith’s ten francs, and ushered them out into the empty hall.

Lilith lifted her eyebrows with a little grin. “Have you met Mme. Jermaine?”

“What? Yes. We met yesterday.”

Lilith leaned in excitedly and whispered, “Do you think she’s the one?”

Rebecca groaned. “I don’t know. I mean, she looks kind of like my mother—but that isn’t the point. Lilith I really need to tell you something. One of the pages was just telling Minna...”

“What?”

She paused, biting her lip. “Promise you won’t be mad, and remember, I had nothing to do with it. Ok?”

Lilith stiffened. “Dear, you’re scaring me. What is it?”

Rebecca closed her eyes, took one final deep breath, and said, “Geoffry’s here.” Her forehead creasing, she looked up at Lilith through narrowed eyes.

Lilith drew back, her face hard as stone. But then she shook her head, cracking a smile. “No. No. How could he be? We barely made it. And there are no decent rooms available in Paris—Oh GOD, he’s not going to stay here, is he?”

“I don’t know, but you can ask him. He’s in the opera with the managers. Well, I have to get to leçon.” Rebecca curtseyed and ran to the stairwell.

Lilith hurried to the managers’ office, but when she turned the corner into the administrative hall, she heard a familiar, warm, pompous laugh. The three men stood in the anteroom, beside Rémy’s vacant desk. Geoffry clapped his hand to Moncharmin’s shoulder and said to Richard, “She never could hold her liquor.” Lilith suddenly had the sensation that she was choking, and wished she’d put her flask in her pocket. She thanked God that they had the decency to be far away from the company. Nodding a lush blonde curl out of his eyes, Geoffry spotted her. Lilith shook her head in rage and turned to leave, but he cheerily called, “Lilith!” and started after her. With long graceful strides, he caught up to her and held her shoulders. “Dear girl, how are you this morning?” he asked.

She glared up at him, but stretched a smile across her lips as the managers approached. “I hope you’ve made your peace with God,” she hissed to him.

“Be a good girl and I won’t have to use a crucifix,” he answered, kissing her cheek.

“Mademoiselle, you must be thrilled!” Moncharmin beamed, “Your partner has come after all.”

“This man is not my partner,” she said with no hesitation, although with a bit of a slur. She shut her eyes and swallowed a wave of nausea.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry if I misled you,” Geoffry said in soft notes. “I’m not her composing partner. I sang opposite Mlle. Sinclair—”

“—Samar—” she whispered.

“—Samar for many years. We even traveled across America together,” he said, with a peachy blush. “We’re singing partners.”

“I told you her partner’s name was Blake,” Richard chided Moncharmin, and then told the actors, “Armand heard the American accent and just assumed.”

Geoffry graciously pressed his hand to his heart in apology. “No, it’s my fault entirely, Messieurs. I didn’t introduce myself properly.”

Lilith pursed her lips at his performance. Trying to disguise her anger as benign annoyance between friends, she rolled her eyes at him and asked Moncharmin, “Did you manage to find out why he came?”

“Why am I here?” Geoffry laughed, “I wanted to see your debut in Paris!” Then he addressed the managers, “I love Les Souffrances du Amira. I created the role of Gamal in New York. Do you remember,” he said to Lilith, softening his voice and clasping her hand between his, “the columnist in the Times who called us the sweetest, truest couple to ever grace the stage?”

“Charming,” Moncharmin chirped. Then Rémy dashed from the foyer and said a page was arguing with Geoffry’s coachman, who refused to leave. Geoffry excused himself to deal with the matter, and as soon as he turned the corner, Moncharmin asked with a playful smile, “Tell us, Mademoiselle, is he as good a singer as he says he is?”

“Well, I’m not certain what you’ve heard…” Lilith chuckled, praying they wouldn’t think of casting him. Why would they? They have a star tenor. They have loads of tenors. They could have any tenor in Paris. “Why do you ask?”

“To be perfectly frank,” Moncharmin began in a lower voice, checking the hall before he continued, “We don’t think Señor Cruz is the best fit to sing opposite you.”

“To be actually frank, we’d like to put some pressure on Señor Cruz, because as of now he’s more powerful than us in our own theatre,” Richard amended.

“Don’t you have any other rising stars?” Lilith asked, worry straining her voice.

“None with enough reputation to draw an audience. Loving Orelio Cruz has become fashionable, which is good for business, but bad for contract negotiations. I’ve heard the name Geoffry Valère before, and he’s obviously charismatic. Do you think he’s talented enough that we could engage him without embarrassment?”

“Oh,” Lilith rubbed her hands together in thought. “Well, he is a very good singer, and he would certainly fit in well with your patrons. He likes to charm people, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, and he does have a good professional reputation. I’m sorry, I don’t feel comfortable deciding for you whether or not he should be in your company.”

“We would certainly have him meet with M. Mercier first, but Mademoiselle, I sense that you’re hesitant.” Moncharmin leaned in sympathetically. “Has he been involved in a scandal?”

“Nothing that wouldn’t make him more popular,” Lilith answered. Moncharmin laughed and offered to lead her out. Moncharmin told her they would have Geoffry audition that morning, so if Mercier approved, he could be at the first production meeting that afternoon, where the cast would be announced. Then Moncharmin patted her hand and asked, “How are you feeling this morning? Did M. Richard get you home safely?”

“What are you accusing me of, Armand?” Richard scoffed. “I took her all the way to her floor. Isn’t that right, Mademoiselle?”

“Oh, yes,” Lilith mumbled, trying to hide the blush of uncertainty in her cheeks.

{Next Part Coming Soon}

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laurengattos-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter 2, Part 3

{Previous Part}

That afternoon, Lilith unpacked what was left in her trunk. The desk in her room had locks on two of its drawers, so Lilith tucked away her father’s compositions in the first. She was trying to use them to help fill the holes in her next, unfinished opera, which went in the second drawer. Knowing the bloodied dress from the day before was in the bottom of the dresser, Lilith folded and put away the rest of her clothing in the upper drawers, which didn’t take long. Then she spread her rouge and powder boxes, hairpins, brushes, and perfume bottles across the top of the dresser.

At seven o’clock, she stood in front of the mirror in her camisole and petticoat, pinning the last of her curls into place with a rhinestoned hair pin, finishing a final scale in preparation for her brief performance. Her silver locket dropped heavily against her breast bone as she shut its clasp around her neck. She was rubbing her chest against the shock when Mme. Giry knocked at her door and brought in the bustle. As she expanded the collapsible metal frame, Giry told Lilith that two sets of hands were needed to put the bustle on. When Giry fixed the last button around Lilith’s hips, Lilith thanked her, and again after she helped button the side of the massive violet skirt, and then again after she buttoned the back of the bodice. “Really, thank you, Mme. Giry,” she said as Giry stepped back to see if everything was straight.

“It wasn’t much of a sacrifice. I have the time right now, and frankly, Mademoiselle, you had trouble bending before you were attached to a metal cage.”

“I must insist that you call me Lilith.”

“Fine…Lilith,” Giry said, picking a stray thread off of the skirt. “I’m glad someone’s getting use out of the bustle. I’ve only worn it once, and that was almost three years ago.”

“It wasn’t a gift from the opera ghost, was it?” Lilith chuckled.

“Ah,” Giry shook her head in contempt. “I heard you found out about all that. Don’t let the idiots around here fool you. It’s a publicity stunt the managers have been milking for far too long. Every once in a while the ‘ghost’ does something that gets him in the papers—and the argument could be made that the superstition keeps divas in line, although I suspect that won’t be the case with you.”

“You’ve got that right.”

Giry looked into the mirror and smoothed back her own hair. “I suppose if I must call you Lilith, you should call me Alianore—but not around my students.”

“Alianore. That’s a lovely name.” Lilith smiled, and then touched her velvet-clad wound for reassurance. As Giry headed to the door, she told Lilith that Rebecca would be in the dancer’s foyer after the show, if she needed her.

Lilith left a few minutes later, heading to the grand foyer to meet the managers. However, in the hall of dressing rooms, she turned the corner and ran into a frazzled woman in dark work clothes, carrying a black, grommet-speckled gown. The skirt spilled out of the woman’s arms, but Lilith caught it before it dropped out of reach. “Oh, do forgive me. I wasn’t looking,” Lilith said, pretending that she was brushing something off her bodice as she stroked her waist. The woman told her it was perfectly all right, no harm was done, and continued down the hall. Going the same way, Lilith asked, “Is this Leonora’s costume?”

“Yes, from Act IV. Carlotta decided we had altered it without telling her and demanded that we let out the waist—for the very last performance, mind you.”

“That’s a rather wild assumption.”

“Actually there was a pool going to see when she’d notice. One of my girls was hoping for an emotional breakdown onstage—not that I encouraged any of it.” The costumer looked Lilith over and asked, “Are you the new singer?” Lilith affirmed that she was. “Then I hope I didn’t frighten you, because we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other. I’m Emeline Amory. I’ll be yours after this production.”

“You aren’t Carlotta’s?”

“No, you see, there is a God. Because of this alteration debacle, I’ve been reassigned.” As Mme. Amory stopped at the end of the hall at the largest dressing room, she seemed to leer at Lilith’s dress. “Are you singing tonight?”

“Yes, I am,” said Lilith, glancing down to see what she was scrutinizing.

“I guess that explains it. But please tell the managers to ask before they take things from our storage again.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“That’s Métella’s costume from last season’s La Vie Parisienne.” As the last word left Amory’s lips, the door opened behind her and a puffing, middle-aged dresser pulled her inside. Before Lilith could form an articulate thought, Rémy took her arm, telling her the managers had changed their plans and asked him to take her to their box instead. As they climbed the staircase to the manager’s tier, Lilith realized for the first time that the opera ghost could be trying to sabotage her. She felt a flicker of panic at the thought that there was no way out now. If the plan was for her to be embarrassed by wearing the recognizable costume of a trollop, he’d won. However, when she voiced her concerns to the managers, Richard’s stark honesty soothed her: “For God’s sake, it’s just a dress.”

“Wasn’t there a card with it, Mademoiselle?” Moncharmin asked, guiding her into her seat. She told them it wasn’t signed, and Moncharmin stared at his partner meaningfully.

Richard rolled his eyes. “Sorry, I must have forgotten to sign it.”

Lilith raised her eyebrows doubtfully. “I beg your pardon, are you now saying you sent me this dress?”

“Can you blame me for not taking the credit after your reaction?” he asked, taking his seat. “I feared you might need one for tonight. Please forgive my forwardness. I simply didn’t want you to be unprepared.”

“M. Richard,” said Moncharmin, as he lowered himself into the seat between them, “You should have let me know. I nearly misled the poor girl this morning.”

Richard glared at him and growled, “Forgive me, Armand, it escaped me.”

The gilded, scarlet-felted auditorium was soon completely filled with finely dressed patrons, gems and silks glittering even in the upper balconies. But Lilith noticed the box across the theatre from the managers’ remained dark and empty. When she asked if some important party had canceled, Richard muttered. “No, that’s another one of the opera ghost’s demands.”

“Of course. Have you paid him yet?” Lilith mocked.

“We did not,” said Moncharmin, less spirited than usual. “Our investigators have insisted that we do not indulge him. But we have locked up the anvils in a closet, until they are needed.”

“You don’t sound very hopeful, Monsieur,” Lilith said.

“Moncharmin is just nervous,” Richard sneered contemptuously. “He thinks we’re dealing with some sort of wizard.”

Moncharmin huffed at Richard before defending himself to Lilith: “The ghost has a way of getting what he wants.”

Lilith hummed a laugh and whispered to Moncharmin, “Perhaps he’s one of your richer patrons, someone with too much time on his hands.” Moncharmin smiled, but then her words prompted a thought, and he started advising her on the patrons she would meet after the show.

Soon, the opera started, and Act I came and went without a hitch. Then towards the end of Act II, the baritone playing the Count Di Luna neared the aria the phantom mentioned in his letter.

“What bold and raging love, and aggravated pride

My rival dropped every obstacle, it seemed, to my desire…”as the baritone sang, Lilith watched Moncharmin’s knuckles whiten, gripping the armrest between them. Then the baritone uttered the anticipated phrase, “The light of her smile eclipses the beam of a star—” Immediately, a clang resounded in the theatre, but the baritone went on, “The splendor of her face brings me new strength, new courage.” The clanging continued as more anvils joined in.

The managers jumped to their feet and fled backstage in barely enough time for Moncharmin to beg her pardon. Not about to be left alone, Lilith hurried down the staircase after them. At the backstage entrance, Mercier handed Moncharmin a new letter and ran a hand through his graying hair. He told them he stood when the anvils started going, and when he turned around, the letter was on his chair. Joining the managers, Lilith spotted Rebecca across the stage in her lone, coral evening dress, waving to her and mouthing what’s going on? Moncharmin read the letter, and then handed it to Richard, who scoffed and passed it to Lilith. It read: The anvils seem disturbed. You should pacify them with Samar’s seraphic voice, which you so selfishly wished to keep to a select few.

Lilith let out peeved groan. Richard asked if she would do it. She sighed, “Why not.” Moncharmin thanked her, and sent Mercier to cut off the struggling conductor and have the curtains closed for the moment. Moncharmin went out first and apologized to the audience for the mechanical failures they were experiencing. He shouted over the lessening ring of anvils that while they sorted everything out, their guest for the season, Mlle. Lilith Samar, would preview an aria from her upcoming opera.

As soon as Lilith stepped out through the curtains, the anvils stopped. She curtseyed to the audience’s vexed but polite applause and waited for Balás to settle in at the piano, while the orchestra’s pianist rubbed his face in irritation. The familiar first notes sounded from the pit, and for some reason gave her a chill. But she smiled, and sang the aria strong and true, the love she had for that song overcoming everything else. She managed not to break any stitches, although her side was very sore. When she finished, applause overwhelmed the house. Lilith graciously curtseyed again, flashing a smile at Balás in the pit. Clapping himself, he blushed and looked down at his music.

In the singer’s foyer, a very proud Moncharmin guided Lilith around and discretely pointed out the most important sponsors. He gave the names of the Duc and Duchesse who were laughing with Carlotta and Orelio. Lilith noticed Orelio stroking the Duchesse’s arm, and couldn’t suppress a look of repugnance.

“Look out. The Comte is coming,” Richard mumbled to his partner.

“Ah yes.” Moncharmin nodded toward a middle-aged man with coiffed blonde hair, who directed a dimpled grin Lilith’s way. “This is Comte Philippe de Chagny,” he said, extending an arm to the Comte as he introduced Lilith.

The Comte bowed to kiss the back of her hand, and lingered. She felt her eyes flicker involuntarily, but she plastered a kind expression to her face and curtseyed. “You’re very talented, Mlle. Samar,” said the Comte. She thanked him, gently removing her hand from his grasp. Over his shoulder, she saw the doorway fill with frothy white costumes as Sorelli and Minna and other older dancers scanned the room, corps de ballet girls filling the space around them.

“We told you about Mlle. Samar’s opera, didn’t we?” asked Richard.

“Yes, you were quite enthusiastic about it. Now I see why,” he grinned again at Lilith. She bit her venomous tongue and grinned back. “I’ve actually been meaning to catch up with you on the season. Are the three of you available for supper tonight? I have a private room at the Café Tortoni.” Moncharmin merrily accepted for the three of them. Lilith caught sight of Sorelli, whose jaw dropped dramatically as she glared at the Comte. Then she whirled around and left, Minna at her heels. Rebecca, Meg, and the others chirped excitedly. “Shall we go?” asked the Comte.

“Oh, just a moment,” Lilith gestured to the dancers. “I need to speak to my ward.” Moncharmin explained Lilith’s apprentice to the Comte with glowing admiration as Lilith left to meet Rebecca.

Rebecca lifted her chin at Lilith’s approach, and teased, “Aren’t you too famous to speak with us?”

“How’d you like the supernatural assistance I received?” Lilith asked.

“Oooo,” said Clarisse, swooping into their conversation, “You’ve done it now.”

“Sorelli can’t believe you stole her suitor,” Jammes added gleefully.

“How absurd. Who?” Lilith asked. Jammes nodded toward the Comte. Lilith groaned, “Ugh. Yes, we’re going to supper tonight. Will you be ok?” she asked Rebecca.

“I’ll be fine,” Rebecca mocked her concern. “They do feed the ballet. Now tell us about this Comte.”

Lilith shrugged. “He’s just a patron.”

“Come on, we saw you making eyes at him,” said Clarisse.

“I was not—Oh, this is ridiculous,” Lilith said emphatically. “Just tell Sorelli she can have him back. I’m off. Good night, ladies.” Lilith returned to the managers, reluctantly taking the Comte’s arm as he led them out of the theatre.

Just after two o’clock in the morning, Lilith leaned into Richard as he escorted her to the street entrance of the ballet dormitory. A combination of grief and blood loss had let her become so tipsy that he wouldn’t allow her to walk in alone. He diligently unlocked the front door and locked it behind them, and led her across the courtyard, through the salon to the stairwell. “You’re too kind, Monsieur,” she said, shaking herself out of his overcoat and returning it to him.

“Well, I can’t take the risk that my wife will be awake when I get home.”

“Really, M. Richard,” Lilith slurred, “This isn’t like me at all.”

“I believe you. You have shockingly low tolerance for an actress.”

“I’m used to being the sober one. This was the first night in a long time that I haven’t had to watch Rebecca.”

“I understand. Our housekeeper did the same when my youngest left for Somerville Hall.” Richard opened the stairwell door with one hand. “Can you make it upstairs?”

“I’m sure I can,” she nodded and patted his shoulder, but wobbled on her third step away. He groaned and hooked his arm under hers. When they had climbed the flight and made it to her door, he leaned her against the stairwell doorway and asked if she had her key. She retrieved it from her pocket and said, “Yes, thank you.” She unlocked it, bid him goodnight, and closed the door between them. Cautiously lifting her hands every few paces, Lilith eventually made it into her room, and then to the matches and candle on her nightstand. After picking at the buttons for a while, she got out of her bodice, and then started on her skirt. In the distance, she could have sworn she heard music playing. She drew the skirt up over her head and threw the mass of it over her desk chair. She thought her side should ache, but she couldn’t tell.

It was a violin playing.

Lilith unfastened the bustle and collapsed it enough for her to climb out. Some poor violinist must have been begging on the streets, on such a cold night too. A deep sob swelled in her chest. How it reminded her of Thomas.

Lilith snatched up her dressing gown and went to the bathroom. The music stopped. She turned up the gas lights on either side of the broad mirror. Numbly, she stared into the dark eyes of her reflection. All she saw was her brother. As she pulled the pins out of her hair and set them on a short white cabinet, she thought of a similar cold night in Baltimore or Washington D.C. when she was eleven, and they hadn’t made enough money, so they slept in the street.

At some point, the violin had returned. She swayed to it a little as she plugged the drain in the bathtub and turned on its faucets. Peeling off her camisole and her petticoat, she thought the song was familiar. Sitting on the side lip of the tub, Lilith unhooked her stockings and garter belt and pulled them out through her pantaloons. She threw them into the pile with the rest of her clothing, and then stood. She pulled up her chemise and felt the cotton dressing that bound her waist. It was too tight. It bothered her. Unwrapping it strip by strip, she threw each one into the pile of clothing. She stared at the stitches in the mirror, a strip of gnarled pink flesh crossed with black scratches. Tears streamed down her cheeks although her face remained hard. She was shot fleeing. She left him with their enemies, without trying to save him, without even knowing his condition. She just fled with Rebecca. Well, she knew his condition. That’s why she left. She knew there was nothing to be done.

Lilith plunged herself into the water and shut off the faucets. She drew her knees in, and wrapping her arms around her chest, she wept herself blind. Under her choking sobs, she didn’t notice that the music had grown louder. Suddenly, the violin ebbed, and there was a whisper, “Dear child, why are you crying?”

She looked up at nothing, bleary-eyed and answered, “‘Child,’ sir? You can’t be talking to me.” After a moment, the violin returned with a remorseful melody. Lilith laid her head on the rim of the tub, her cheek grazing the water.

The whisper asked again, “Queen of sorrows, what makes you so unhappy?”

Annoyed with this hallucination, Lilith growled, “None of your damn business.” The whisper didn’t answer, but the music began to soften and the song came to an end. Closing her eyes, Lilith sighed, “Don’t stop playing.” A new song started, entrancing and soulful, and tears fell more slowly from her dark lashes as she listened. Her chest rose and fell with even breaths, but then her body shifted and she sank below the water. The violin screeched and movement rumbled behind the wall.

{Next Part}

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