by J. Smith
She set it atop her head, adjusting it until the fit was perfect. When she pulled her fingers away, she looked at them closely, and then brought them to her nose. She must have recognized the sweet smell of honey because she simply shrugged, and licked the saccharine liquid off her fingers. Erik gagged at the sight.
Carlotta sat down at her dressing table and reached for a deep red tube of lip color, pursing her lips into a pout before applying it liberally. As she sat there making kissing motions to herself in the mirror, Erik and Jenna tried not to snicker as her hand went up and scratched her brow. She reached now for the blusher powder kicking up pink clouds of dust as she patted her cheeks with the pouf. This time, her fingers went to the top of her head to scratch, as she muttered about the “Stupido wig!” giving a cluck of her tongue. She'd begun to apply her false eyelashes when she had to stop to scratch again. With a huff, she reached up to the side of her head, but her fingers flinched back with a start when she felt movement. “Che cosa?” she mumbled, as she turned to look in the mirror and saw the small brown spider climbing down her cheek. She let fly a blood- curdling scream as she jumped back from her dressing table, to fling the wig from her person. “Ragni, Ragni,” she shrieked, smacking at her head, as she found that several of the spiders had wandered from the wig and now took up residence in her hair. “Spiders! HELP!”
The door to the dressing room flew open and in ran Carlotta's consort, Signore Piangi. He grasped Carlotta's upper arms in his hands. “Il mio amore,” he asked in concern, “What is wrong?”
“Spiders!” she bellowed at him, and gestured to the wig, and to the few small brown arachnids still crawling around on her head. “O mio Dio,” Piangi exclaimed, as he helped to brush the spiders out of her hair, then helped the sobbing woman to her chaise lounge. Once she was settled, Piangi knelt and examined the wig, noting the stickiness and the small brown spiders that still remained within. Something white caught his eye, peeking out of a layer of false curls. He reached out to grab it, and found that it was a folded piece of parchment. Piangi unfolded the parchment and read the note out loud. For the sin of making the lady's skin crawl. Vigilantly yours, O.G.
Erik and Christine were a long stretch down the secret passageway behind Carlotta's dressing room, but they could still hear her carrying on. When they were a far enough distance away, they paused to slump against the wall and let their laughter consume them. It was naughty—it was so very naughty—Jenna knew, to be doing these things to the aging diva. But her demeanor was truly awful. Plus, Jenna was fairly convinced she would do almost anything to share these little conspiracies with Erik, to see his eyes gleam with mischief and his lips twist upward in that rakish smile.
“Did you hear her scream!?” she asked, between giggles.
“The far better question,” he responded, “is if there is anyone within Paris who did not hear her scream!”
They both laughed again at the ridiculous soprano.
When their mirth had quieted, Erik took a moment to glance down at his pocket watch. A look of mild horror came over his face. “Oh no!” he exclaimed, and Jenna immediately sobered up.
“What is it, Erik?” she asked in concern.
“It is nearly time for my lesson with Christine,” he stated, looking quite perturbed. “And I have not yet dropped you off beneath the opera.”
“That's not a problem, Erik,” she declared sweetly, trying to assuage his nerves. “I'll just come with you to the lesson. I wouldn't mind.”
“No, you don't understand,” he cut her off in agitation. “These lessons are very important. I cannot be distracted by small talk or questions. I must give my attentions wholly to Christine, with nothing and no one else to get in the way.”
Suddenly, Jenna's mirthful mood was replaced by a stabbing pain in her chest. Get in the way? Distraction? Is that truly what he thought of her?
“No worries, Erik,” she assured him. “I can be quiet. Remember, the frogs?” She reminded him of their first excursion for the second time that day, hoping to see that same smile spread across his face.
“See to it,” he snapped. “She cannot know you're there. She barely knows I'm there,” he added, as he began to stalk off in the direction of the chapel.
Jenna followed close behind, so as not to get lost. At times, he almost seemed to forget her presence, as he withdrew into that part of himself that he kept separate for Christine. For the first time in Erik's company, Jenna began to feel alone.
21 LESSONS LEARNED
Jenna watched Erik pace back and forth in the little passage behind the chapel. There were still a few minutes left before his scheduled lesson with Christine, but he was a bundle of nerves. In the time it took them to get from Carlotta's dressing room to the chapel, he had transformed from the smooth, confident opera ghost to a barely contained animal—almost like a zoo tiger traipsing back and forth in its cage, anticipating the keeper's arrival.
“Erik, you should try to calm down,” Jenna said softly, trying to soothe him from her place in the shadows. “She will be here soon.”
“And you said you could be silent,” he snapped at her, glaring as he rounded in her direction. “Remember, I said no distractions.”
“Oh yes,” Jenna spat back at him, quite perturbed at being relegated to nothing more than a distraction. “I heard you loud and clear!”
Erik turned from her and resumed his circuit on the stone floor. He was being absolutely ridiculous, and Jenna could not stand to watch it.
“Erik,” she began again, hoping to make him see reason. “Why are you so nervous? You are the teacher.”
“Apparently, not a very effective one,” he snarled at her, “I have not been able to teach you to be silent!”
“You are being hateful,” she shot back. “And my point was that Christine is the one who should be nervous! She's the student here. You're the one she has to impress.”
“Impress me?” Erik looked at her incredulously. “She impresses me just by existing. I am not worthy to breathe the same air as her.” His eyes took on a faraway look, as his voice hushed. “She is truly the angel, Jenna. I am merely an imposter.”
Jenna regarded him silently. It was clear Erik had strong feelings for this Christine. They were written all over his face when he spoke of her—such a look of reverence and awe overtaking his features. It was as if a fire suddenly glowed behind his eyes at the mere mention of her name.
She was surprised to note a sense of sadness come over her at the realization. Why should she care? She rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of the notion. Just because they had shared some laughs and had some tea together, didn't mean she expected him to glow for her the way he glowed for Christine. Just because it thrilled her to watch him carry out his crazy schemes with such confidence and grace didn't mean she would contemplate abandoning her own world to stay here with him. Just because he had sung to her, and held her when she'd cried, and made her believe, even for the briefest of moments, that she was worthy of a prince…
“Angel…?” Jenna's thoughts scattered when she heard a female voice, clear as a bell, float through the opening in the wall. Erik caught a silent breath at the sound, and turned toward the small fissure. “Angel, are you here?”
“I am here, Christine.” Erik's voice was deep and hushed.
“Oh, Angel,” Jenna heard Christine respond, relief and excitement evident in her voice. “It is so good to hear your voice.”
“Yours as well, child,” Erik uttered softly, in golden tones. “Have you practiced your breathing exercises?”
“I have, Angel!” the crystalline voice responded. “They have helped greatly.”
“Very good,” Erik nodded, even though Christine could not see him. “I am pleased. Now then,” he continued, assuming the mantle of teacher, “take a deep breath for me, Mademoiselle, and begin your scales.”
As the bird like warbles of the young soprano issued through the wall, Jenna's eyes were on Erik. His lips were slightly parted, and his
eyes half closed as a look of divine ecstasy washed over his face. His head was inclined slightly back, and the breath seemed to still in his chest. He was so entirely transfixed by the sweet strains coming from his pupil, that he never noticed Jenna inch closer, until she too could gaze upon this mysterious creature called Christine.
The first thing Jenna noticed was the hair. Long and curly, it was the deep, rich color of mahogany. It framed a heart shaped face of porcelain skin that betrayed the slightest hint of blush on the high cheeks, and rosebud lips that were rounded in song. Her eyes, large and blue, looked like they could hold the entire ocean in their depths. She was small in stature and delicately built, and her dainty perfection shattered Jenna's spirit like a crystal glass carelessly dropped on a stone—her heart pierced by the shards. Christine was exquisitely beautiful and her voice was flawless to match. Of course Erik was enthralled by her. What man wouldn't be?
When her scales were complete, Erik smiled and said, “Brava, Christine. Now, let's try some arpeggios and glissandos. On C.”
Christine began and Jenna watched Erik once more. One thing was certain—he had not needed to worry about her presence being a distraction. She was standing rather close to him now, and still he did not notice she was there, such were all of his energies focused on the petite songbird in the next room. Likewise, the girl was wholly focused on him. She hung on his every word, and did every exercise exactly as he asked, as if her very existence depended on the sweet morsels of praise he allowed her with each successful note. An invisible thread seemed to tether one to the other, their attentions so singularly honed on their own interactions. Teacher and student, angel and ingénue—the rest of the world faded to irrelevance when compared to their mutual fascination with one another.
Jenna took a few steps away—not that Erik noticed—and sat on the floor with her back against the wall. She had wanted to see Christine. She had wanted to meet this seamstress about whom Erik had spoken so highly. She had wanted to share this lesson with him, to understand this part of his life. So why was she now feeling so incredibly shaken?
Because now you know you will never have him! a voice in her mind answered her unspoken question. With Christine in his life, he will never be yours.
Of course, that line of thinking was ridiculous! She was not even from here. The universe had played some kind of strange trick on her, thrusting her out of her own time, sending her back 130 years! She did not know how or why it had happened, but she had to get back to her own time. Erik was trying to find a way to send her back. There was no way they could ever have been together.
But you were beginning to want him anyway.
Jenna shut her eyes tightly against the realization that once again, she had begun to fall for the wrong man. She had such an incredible talent for finding ways to make herself miserable! Even now, when her focus should be on trying to figure out this mystery and find a way to get home, her traitorous heart was dallying with yet another ridiculous romantic notion. So what if he was dashing and talented and smarter than anyone she had ever known? So what if he made her laugh, and made her furious, and made her feel so utterly alive? One look at him with Christine, and she knew he was as unattainable as the stars in the night sky. And to think she had even briefly wished that he could be her prince! It was clear that the only royalty to which he would ever swear allegiance was standing on the other side of the wall.
Jenna covered her face with her hands and felt a velvety softness tickling her finger. She reached behind her ear and retrieved the rose Erik had taken from Carlotta's dressing room and given to her. It was the tangible reminder of a frivolous moment in time when they had felt so right together—two parts of an unbreakable team. She held the smooth, thornless stem and gazed at the lush red petals, a delicate, sweet aroma wafting up to fill her nose. She reached up and loosed her hair, taking the black ribbon, and tying it around the rose's stem. Its elegance was now entwined with darkness—the black satin a perfect symbol of Erik's own shadowy grace—and the bloom's beauty was greater for it.
“Will you be here tomorrow, Angel?” came the high-pitched voice of the girl behind the wall.
“Of course, my dear,” was Erik's velvet reply.
Through the pain in her chest at hearing their sweet exchange, Jenna realized that the lesson was winding down, and she removed her cloak, hastily stashing it behind her on the floor.
“Until then, Angel,” there was the hint of a giggle in her voice.
“Until then, Christine,” and even though his pupil couldn't see him, Erik bowed low in the direction of the wall which shielded him from the object of his affections.
He made to linger there until Christine left the chapel but Jenna coughed loudly and startled him out of his reverie. He glared in her direction to silence her, but Jenna only placed her hand to her mouth, wheezing in a deep gulp of air, as if she were going to cough again.
“Angel,” Christine called again, sounding a bit confused.
Erik made no reply. Instead, he silently moved over to where Jenna sat and dragged her up off the floor, meaning to charge off toward the boat. After they took a few steps, however, Jenna dislodged her hand and dashed back to where she had been sitting to retrieve her cloak, earning an annoyed huff from Erik. As she bent down to grab the fabric, she leaned her palm on the wall for balance, tapping it lightly with her fingers as she did. Once her cloak was in hand, she hurried back to join Erik, who was growing more and more impatient by the second.
When the dark-haired soprano heard the light rapping on the wall, she turned back from the door she had just opened. She felt a trembling in her chest as she walked back into the room, and had to take a breath to quiet herself. There, on the floor beneath the far wall of the chapel, lay a flawless red rose. She knelt down before it, extending a shaking hand to retrieve the delicate bloom, bringing it close to her face to sniff its fragrant perfume. “Angel…” she whispered as she gathered the blossom to her chest, knowing that she would always treasure this gift.
“I thought you could be silent!” Erik hissed at her as they sailed the final distance to the underground home. He was so incensed by her little distraction after the lesson, that he stood as he used the long paddle to steer them toward the shore.
“I was silent!” Jenna insisted, irritated by Erik's show of temper. He had no idea how hard it had been sitting there watching him make goo-goo eyes at his beloved Christine. It was all she could do not to wretch at the memory.
“Silent? Really, Mademoiselle? Because to me it you sounded like a cat trying to vomit,” he seethed.
“There was something in my throat,” she insisted, indignantly. So what if it was not true? She had just needed him to get moving for her idea to work. “Perhaps it was some dust. If we had not been hiding behind a wall it might not have happened.”
“If you had any decorum it might not have happened either. Have you never learned to clear your airways properly like a lady?” he shot her an incredulous look.
“No! I guess I never before had the benefit of etiquette lessons from a man who climbs into women's dressing rooms through their mirrors,” she snapped back. She had been so tempted to tell him what she had done on his behalf—how she had left the rose to make Christine aware of his fondness for her—but now she could barely stand to be in his presence. She longed to reach shore for no other reason than to storm away from him and slam her bedroom door in his loud, obnoxious, complaining face. Ungrateful, insufferable…jerk that he was!
“At least I can conduct myself with stealth,” Erik shot back with great affectation, still fuming over her uncouth, inelegant, and graceless behavior behind the chapel. She could have ruined everything with Christine!
Jenna merely huffed in response and looked away from him, crossing her arms over her chest. She'd been rather stealthy herself, she thought spitefully, considering that he had no idea she had left her rose for Christine. Her rose. For Christine. Despite her annoyance with Erik, Jenna could not help but feel h
er heart ache a bit at the memory of slipping the precious bloom through the opening in the wall, so that the true object of Erik's affections could enjoy its beauty.
They traveled the rest of the way in silence, Erik too annoyed and Jenna too somber to speak. As they began to dock, however, a terrible bellowing assaulted their ears. Despite the tension between them, their eyes quickly met and Erik was out of the boat first, ushering Jenna behind him, placing his body between her and the unnamed threat.
“Let me out of this thing, will you,” came the desperate roar once again.
Jenna gasped in surprise. Erik had warned her that there were many dangers in his lair—many traps to capture those who dared to enter with ill intent. Had someone been trying to attack him tonight? Had someone meant to threaten his home?
“Erik!” the voice shouted, “Erik, this isn't funny. Let! Me! Go!”
Jenna noticed Erik's stance relax a tiny bit, and when he glanced back at her, she saw his lips curl into a wicked grin. He sauntered arrogantly into the sitting room, Jenna following closely behind. When she saw the source of the mournful cries, she put her hands to her mouth to hold in her giggles.
Omid, stood on the tips of his toes, his arm upraised above the bookshelf, seeming to be reaching for something inside a…book? Judging by the way he was struggling with his whole body to retrieve his arm, he was, apparently, stuck.
“Good evening, Daroga,” Erik drawled. “Care for a drink?”
“Get me out of this…contraption, Erik!” the Persian sputtered.
“Did you get my note?” Erik asked, eyebrow raised, head cocked to one side as he leaned his long body against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.
“Yes, Erik,” he hissed, between clenched teeth. “I got all your notes. The one you placed in the liquor cabinet that said, Not here. The one you placed in the kitchen that said Try again. The one you placed inside the piano that said, Think higher. Really, Erik, did you think I was going to look in the piano?”