Chapter Nine

Where am I? What happened last night? Christine sat up and looked around. No, it was real. She smiled, running a finger through her thick, curly hair. She reached for the cord by her side, bringing the black canopy up when she pulled it. The music from the night before had haunted her dreams, and now some of it came back to her, compelling her to sing out her curiosity. Floating, falling, sweet intoxication. Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation. “I remember there was mist; swirling mist upon a vast, glassy lake. There were candles all around and on the lake there was a boat – and in the boat there was a man.” She turned to the organ, where Erik sat listening. “Who was that shape in the shadows? Whose is the face in the mask?” She reached to touch his face, fingering the mask, then pulling on it gently.

“Damn you!” he cried slamming her to the ground. She gasped in pain, as she banged her shoulder on the ground. “Damn you, no,” he repeated, whispering this time.

“I'm sorry,” Christine whispered, her tone matching his own. She stood, still holding her aching shoulder.

“Come, we must return. Those two fools who run my theatre will be missing you.” Wait, angel, no! I want to stay with you!

Above them, another young woman was weeping. Carlotta Guidichelli laid in the lobby where she had spent the night. Her usually bright, angry eyes were dark with sorrow and anxiety. Dark, puffy bags framed them, and her cheeks were stained with tears. Her nose was completely healed, thanks to the powder that Meg had slipped into her drink, but it was red from wiping it all night long. Her lovely satin gown was crumpled and soggy, the mauve color perhaps ruined forever.

It was upon the weeping woman that Meg stumbled in her search for Christine. “Oh, god, Carlotta, don't scare me like that!” she shrieked. She put a hand to her heaving breast, her breath coming fast.

“I'ma sorry,” Carlotta mumbled, lifting her head to gaze at Meg through blood-shot eyes.

“Carlotta, what happened to you?”

“You don'ta care, so why should I tella you?”

Meg took a deep breath. “I do care, I just don't like how you always boss me around. I want you to be alright.” She paused, chuckling, “That's why I put gypsy powder in your wine the...”

“You dida what?!”

“I put a special medicine in your drink that would make your nose heal. I've been going crazy these past few days without you! Please, tell me what's wrong!” She laid her hand on Carlotta's shoulder, preparing to jerk it back at any moment.

“Piangi 'as fadered a child... my child. Anda 'e does nota wanta me or it!” she buried her face in her hands, and her next words came out muffled. “I always want a baby, but Ubaldo, 'e always saya no. After losing my first, I never dought I'd 'ave children. It's been ten years, and dis is da first I 'ava conceived. But a child will ruin our careers, so Piangi kicka me out! 'E say, 'Bye-bye, now you really leaving!'” Meg gasped, then wrapped her arms around the prima donna.

“It'll be okay, Carlotta. Come, let's go find my mother. She can help.” Carlotta nodded, and rose stiffly. Meg held her hand out to help her, and Carlotta looked at her strangely before she took it.

“You were alwaysa meana to me. Why 'ava you changed?”

Meg chuckled. “Why did you always kick me around like a dog? As long as I can remember, you did every hateful thing you could to Christine and me. Why have you changed?”

Carlotta blushed. “Who says I've changed. I always 'ated you because of your mother. She was always better dan me. So now I hate you too.”

Meg stopped walking to look at her new friend. “Do you want to talk to her about... well, you know. If you dislike her so much!”

“Dere's no one else to 'elp me?”

“No, not unless you want to talk to Monsieur Reyer. His wife had a baby not long ago.”

“I sticka wit Madame Giry,” Carlotta giggled. Meg smiled in return. It was the first time she'd ever heard Carlotta come close to laughing, and it was music to her ears.