"Are you sure you can’t stay around?" Philippe asked me as I left my dancers in his capable hands. "It would be helpful for all of us."
"I know I probably should," I confessed, "But I have some errands to attend to and if I don’t take care of them now they’ll never get done…you know how it is."
"Far too well." The stress of overseeing an entire ballet company had already begun to take its toll on him; his eyes were rimmed with shadows and his smile a trifle more wan than it had been a few months ago. "Ah well, I suppose it can’t be helped. All right ladies," he turned from me and addressed the class, "let’s see if you’ve been paying attention to Mme. Giry…"
With my girls safely in Philippe’s care, I set out on the hunt. From Meg’s discourses on the Phantom, I knew there were two places in the Palais Garnier which were regarded as his exclusive territory. And since I had no intention of attempting to solve that vast maze of corridors in the Opera’s lower levels, I made my way to Box Five.
A fabricated excuse regarding a friend who had misplaced her fan granted me access to the concierge’s key ring, and thus armed, I ventured onto the grand tier. Once I stood before the door to Box Five, however, my confidence wavered. What did I hope to accomplish? I was no longer a young girl; I had responsibilities and ties and I had no business snooping around like this. But right or wrong, I’d come this far and the thought of backing down was unacceptable. Ever since that day, I’ve wondered what might have happened if I turned away, or even if I chose to postpone the indulgence of my curiosity. For certainly, if I had not entered that box when I had, I would have found nothing peculiar, and then what might have become of me—or of any of us, for that matter?
As fate would have it, the final dress rehearsal for Orpheus and Eurydice was well underway, and the dramatic chorus of the Furies concealed the sound of key in lock. I took one step into the velvet-lined space, closed the door behind me…and I saw him.
A man sat in one of the richly upholstered chairs, his back to me. From this angle I could discern nothing save the outline of a fedora on his head and a thick black cloak which cascaded over one armrest to pool on the carpet. He did not appear to notice me, but watched the action on the stage with rapt intensity. He might have been a statue, so still was he…and yet even in that static pose a potent energy radiated from his person; a sense of power and vigor pulsed in the air around me, drawing me closer. This was no intangible shadow, I realized. This was a being of flesh and bone and blood like myself, a man to whom I could reach out and lay a trembling hand upon his hard, round shoulder….
Abruptly he whirled, catching my wrist and flinging me to the ground in one swift stroke. In the dizzy blur of falling, I caught a glimpse of something stark and white where the soft flesh of the face should have been—a man with no features, Meg’s voice echoed in my mind. Then the floor slammed against my back, stunning me with the impact. My attacker took one menacing stride forward, hands moving for the kill…and a shaft of light revealed his true nature.
The dress suit and cloak were far finer than his previous attire, and the bone-white mask obscured his face…but the eyes, the quicksilver eyes betrayed him. I think if he returned to the earth in another form, as the people of the East say we do, I would still recognize him by his eyes…
"Erik!" The name rose from my throat unbidden, but the impulse quite probably saved my life.
His hands froze a hairsbreadth from me, trembling in the air around my throat. The fierce storm in his eyes abated, stilled by shock, and then recognition filled its place.
"Adele Giry."
My body, hearing itself called by that delicate yet undeniably masculine tenor, gave a shiver in response. He either did not notice or chose not to acknowledge my reaction. "It was you, then," he continued, "that girl from the fair. I’d thought so, but I couldn’t be entirely certain…"
Mortification, dormant for several years, awoke within me. "You—remember me?" I gasped, unsure if I was pleased or dismayed.
"Remember? My dear woman, how could I forget? A lady who doesn’t scream at the sight of me is a rare thing…and rarer still one who dared return for a private showing."
A blush burned on my cheeks as I tried to ignore the blood stirring in rhythm to those dulcet tones. "I wanted to see you," I confessed, "I wanted to ask what brought you to such…"
"Degradation?" I was surprised to hear him pluck the word from my thoughts. "You saw the answer yourself, as I recall. One must take precautions in dealing with a dangerous animal, no?"
He spoke with such resigned sorrow that I could not help but ache in sympathy. "You’re not—"
He silenced me with an irritated slice of his hand. "Do not patronize me, Madame. I don’t care for it, and I should hate to be given cause to regret your appointment to this company."
"Regret—" Realization began to form out of the shadows of memory.
I did try to put in a good word for you…but Lefèvre refused to budge. I can’t imagine what changed his mind…
If you work hard and don’t make trouble with others, he’ll take favor to you and advance your career…
"You—did you—request I be given this position?" I asked hesitantly.
He pursed his lips, suddenly tense from my bout of clarity. "You’re a very astute woman," he noted. "That will make things rather difficult…for both of us. Oh, do get up, Madame; you look like a scullery-maid down there."
My legs were suddenly as clumsy as those of a newborn foal, and I was forced to brace one hand against the wall in order to stand. He, meanwhile, crossed the box in a few graceful strides to settle in one of the chairs. I realized I’d never seen him unfettered; he moved less like a man and more like one of the great cats of the jungle, and the melding of grace and power in his gait made me feel even more gauche.
"Yes, I—suggested to Lefèvre that he appoint you as ballet mistress," he began. "The twit he favored would not have suited at all."
"I—please understand, I am grateful for the opportunity, but why me?"
He shrugged indifferently. "Because you have a true passion for the art, but your lack of experience would have led them to dismiss you out of hand. And because you should be able to properly provide for your daughter."
"Is that all?" I asked, amazed by his kind yet detached manner.
"Perhaps…because you did not scream." His eyes were lowered, and I was certain he had not meant to voice the thought. But before I could reply, he rose up regally and drew near to me with that predatory stalk that made me light-headed with fear and exhilaration.
"Well now," he said in a deceptively amiable tone, "What am I going to do about you?"
The image of Marcello’s garroted corpse returned to me with unsettling clarity. "You don’t think I’ll—say anything…." I quavered.
"If I did, I would hardly be standing here holding a conversation with you," he replied acerbically. "And yet, you know a great deal now, and I don’t care for potential liabilities…"
I wanted to pray, but my mind in its terror couldn’t even form the Pater Noster. "Please, my daughter—"
"Must be looked after," he finished, dropping the veil of menace so quickly it jarred me. "And you fill your position quite capably, Madame; it would be more trouble than it’s worth to find a replacement." He chuckled ironically. "No, I’ve a better idea…" He turned his back to me, gazing down at the rehearsal which remained ignorant of our presence.
"If my existence here is to continue in the manner which I desire," he said, "I shall require…an associate, an aide-de-camp, if you will. Someone who will carry out those tasks which I am unable or unwilling to deal with myself. This is not the sort of duty I can entrust to just anyone, you understand; it’s quite difficult to find a person clever enough to work independently and discreet enough to avoid any unnecessary risk. However—" he cast a glance over his shoulder at me, "—I think you might fit the position nicely."
I’m not sure which surprised me more: the offer itself or the suddenly mild manner in which it was extended. Less than ten minutes ago he had meant to kill me—or at least, terrify me within an inch of my life—and now he not only treated me with courtesy, but was proposing an alliance! I would never become used to that, I’m afraid: Erik’s unpredictable temperament would always catch me off guard, even when I became certain I could anticipate his every mood.
It took me a moment to find my voice. "What exactly would you require of me?" I asked guardedly.
"Oh, nothing illegal!—No, that’s not entirely accurate. Rather, nothing at which you could not pretend ignorance should worse come to worse." He turned to me, a cold, sad fire flashing in his eyes. "I suppose I don’t need to tell you I have—reasons for wishing to avoid human contact. Unfortunately, this does present some difficulties. With your aid, I could continue to live in comfort without any awkward restrictions. Most of the tasks would be rather menial, I’m afraid: fetching and delivering items, and so forth. However, given the peculiar nature of the arrangement I would be willing to provide far greater compensation than might normally be expected for such labor, should you accept my offer."
"And if I refuse—or is that option available to me?"
He drew in an indignant breath. "Don’t you think that if I meant to coerce you into my service, I would have done so from the first?" His tone had turned icy again and made me bitterly ashamed of the veiled accusation. "No, don’t say anything," he continued, killing the apology I meant to voice, "I am accustomed to such assumptions." He lifted his head, his demeanor obdurate and cold like that of an Egyptian idol. "Tomorrow night, I shall be watching the performance from this box. Should you decide to accept my proposition, return here at that time and we’ll discuss the arrangement further. Should you refuse…do nothing, and on my word you and yours shall continue on as you have before." His stare darkened, pinning me against the wall. "But know this, whatever you decide: if you ever breathe a word to anyone of what you have seen today, or anything you may see from now on, you will regret it for the rest of your life. And that won’t be a very long time. Is that clear?"
No person with any wit would have doubted the sincerity of that threat. I nodded mutely, shutting my eyes against that mesmerizing gaze.
"Very well." He was so close I could feel the hot silk of his breath against my skin, spurring a shudder through me that had nothing to do with terror. "I leave you to make your decision."
If I saw the route he took from the box, my confused emotions wiped the memory from my mind. I fled the place at once, only barely remembering to return the key ring to the concierge.
"You were gone longer than I expected," she said as she took it from me, "Did you find what you were looking for?"
"Yes, I did," I replied in honesty. And it was more than I had bargained for.
* * * * * * * * * *
I lay awake for much of that night, trying to find my way through a labyrinth of thought.
It was mad—mad, dangerous, and probably immoral. Any sane person would recoil from such a proposition. Then why did I continue to consider it?
I retraced Erik’s words, recalling his marked distaste for human contact. It occurred to me that the near-universal revulsion his face had led him to endure must have left him socially incapacitated. Simple tasks such as having a suit altered by a tailor, shopping for necessities…these would be difficult at best and impossible at worst. Could I deny him those common yet vital things and leave him helpless?
But he’s hardly helpless, the fear at the back of my head reminded me. He has killed…He might have killed you today…
Cold terror pierced my stomach with that memory, but the fright became increasingly tempered by self-reproach. What had I expected, after all? One should not approach a wolf or tiger without the greatest care and respect for its power. His reaction had been instinctive and, in its own way, understandable. And oddly enough, he seemed less inclined to dispose of me now that I knew the truth—indeed, he had offered the chance to benefit from the knowledge.
The money tempted me; I won’t deny it. Oh, well may you sneer indignantly at that, monsieur; you who have never known want a day in your life, who have never despaired of putting good food in your daughter’s mouth and a solid roof over her head. Meg and mine’s situation had improved since those first years after Jules’ death, it was true. But we were not past all anxiety. A sudden illness or injury could very well pauperize us again, and the security of a little money earned on the side would be very reassuring. Then, too, I was becoming aware of the fact that I was no longer young and I would not always be strong. If I had the fortune to outlive my ability to perform honest work, I would need the means to see the rest of my life out in comfort. I couldn’t bear the thought of becoming a burden on my daughter when she came into the prime of her life…
The thought of Meg brought me out of my bedroom and to the threshold of hers. I often watched her as she slept, puzzling out my concerns for her as I marveled in her growth. She was a few months away from her thirteenth birthday then: a fresh, rosy girl on the cusp of womanhood. How innocent she looked, sleeping in the moonlight! She was so young, living in a world filled with laughter and romance, unaware of the dangers lurking in the shadowed halls of her future. Vindictive rivals, faithless lovers…she had a few more years before the latter became a concern, but I knew there were perverted and rapacious men who would not scruple to violate a child unprepared for such intimacy. Could I turn down the means to provide for her and myself should the worst happen? And could I refuse a man in need of my help, when I had spent years encouraging charity in my own daughter?
I left the doorway of Meg’s room and returned to my own bed. With the decision made, I fell asleep easily. In the end, I’m not sure whether I did it for Erik, for Meg, or for myself. I think it may have been all three.
The next night, while Orpheus was bemoaning the death of his beloved, I returned to Box Five. The door was unlocked, but there was only velvety darkness present to greet me when I entered. I looked about me in confusion and dismay. Perhaps he had changed his mind…
"Madame Giry."
Erik stood in a place which had been vacant when I turned my back on it seconds before—a habit, I realized, which I must become accustomed to. He folded his arms beneath his cloak, glancing at me with a mixture of amusement and respect.
At that moment, my sense of the theatrical took over. I dropped into a low révérence before him, and with four words cast my fate with his:
"At your service, Monsieur."
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