The Music of the Night (2 page)

“Indeed.”

He held her chair for her. “Please,”
he said, “help yourself.”

“Aren’t you going to join me?

A faint smile played over his lips.
“I’ve eaten. Please, enjoy your meal.”

And so saying, he went back to the
organ.

It was the strangest meal she had
ever eaten – her sitting at the table, him sitting at the organ, the air filled
with music that soothed her soul and excited her at the same time.

She studied him surreptitiously,
noting the way he swayed ever so slightly to the music, the graceful play of his
long, tapered fingers over the keys, the intense yet faraway look in his eyes.
His white shirt emphasized his broad shoulders. The ruffled front should have
looked feminine but there was nothing feminine about this man. His black
trousers hugged well-muscled thighs. And the mask . . . It drew her gaze again
and again as she imagined what lay behind it.

Glancing at her watch, she took a
last sip of coffee and pushed away from the table.

As though pulled by a string, he
turned towards her, his fingers stilling on the keys.

“Thank you for breakfast,” she said,
looking around for her handbag. “And for putting me up for the night.”

“My pleasure.” In a fluid movement,
he rose and moved towards her.

“You don’t really live down here, do
you?” she asked. “I mean . . . do you?”

“It has been my home for many years.”

“Do you work for the opera?”

He laughed softly, the sound moving
over her like silk warmed by a fire. “No.”

A sliver of fear trembled in the pit
of her stomach. No one knew she was here. If she disappeared, no one would know
where to look.

“Would you like a tour?”

“Some other time,” she said, backing
away from him. “I really have to go.”

He moved to close the distance
between them. “Christine –”

His nearness played havoc with her
senses. “It’s Christiana, actually.”

“I’ll see you up,” he said.

She nodded, suddenly finding it hard
to speak.

He plucked his cloak from the bed and
settled it on his shoulders in an elegant flourish that would have made any
Phantom worth his salt proud.

“My purse . . . ?”

He found it on the floor and offered
it to her with a slight bow. “Shall we?”

He handed her into the boat, poled
effortlessly across the lake, escorted her up a long, winding stone staircase
and out a narrow wooden door into a dark alley.

Christie gasped, surprised to find
that it was night when she had thought it was morning.

“Will I see you again?” he asked.

“I don’t think so. I’m leaving for
home in a few weeks.”

“You don’t live here?”

“No, I live in the States.”

“Ah.”

“You don’t really think you’re the
Phantom of the Opera, do you?”

“No, my fair lady. I don’t think it.
I am indeed he.”

“But that’s impossible. You’d have to
be . . .” She lifted one hand and let it fall. “I don’t know, over a hundred
years old.”

He nodded, as if such a thing was
perfectly natural.

“Very funny.” No doubt about it, she
thought, he was quite mad.

A hint of anger sparked in the depths
of his eyes. “You don’t believe me?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure the
Phantom was real.”

“I’m quite real, I assure you.”

“And you’re over a hundred years old?
How do you explain that?”

“Quite easily.” He smiled, revealing
very sharp, very white fangs. “I’m a vampire.”

She stared at him and then, for the
second time in as many days, she fainted.

Christie woke in the Phantom’s lair
again. It was becoming quite a habit, she mused. Only this time the organ was
silent and she was alone. She glanced at her watch. The hands read six o’clock,
but she had no way of knowing if it was morning or evening.

Rising, her heart pounding, she found
her handbag and hurried towards the lake, only to find that the boat was gone.
Chewing on the inside of her lower lip, she glanced at the water. How deep was
it? Did she dare try to swim across? The water looked dark, forbidding. It was
said that there were alligators in the New York sewers and, while she had never
heard of any alligators in Paris, who knew what other dangers might lurk beneath
the dark surface of the lake?

Retracing her steps, she sat at the
table, only then noticing that the dirty dishes had been taken away. A clean
cloth now covered the tray. Lifting it, she found a thick ham and cheese
sandwich on white bread, a bowl of onion soup, still warm, and a pot of tea.

Never one to let anything go to
waste, she picked up the sandwich, wondering where her host was. No sooner had
the thought crossed her mind than she sprang to her feet. Good Lord, he was a
vampire! How had that slipped her mind? She had to get out of there before he
returned! Vampire. Had he bitten her while she slept? She lifted a hand to her
neck, relieved when she felt only smooth skin. No bites, thank God. And she
wouldn’t wait around to give him another chance.

Grabbing her handbag, she ran to the
water’s edge, her fear of the man who called himself the Phantom of the Opera
stronger than her fear of the water. She removed her shoes with a sharp stab of
regret at the thought of leaving them behind. Manolos were hard to come by,
especially on a teacher’s salary, but her life was worth more than a pair of
shoes. Stuffing her handbag inside her blouse, she waded into the water. It was
dark and cold and she had gone only a few feet when she realized she had made a
horrible, perhaps fatal mistake. Not only was the lake deeper than she thought,
but a swift current ran under the water’s calm surface. She shrieked as it
caught her, carrying her away from the Phantom’s lair, sweeping her along like a
cork caught in a rip tide. Helpless, she flailed about as the waterway grew
narrower, darker and as the light from the Phantom’s lair grew faint and then
disappeared.

Weighed down by her clothing, her
arms and legs quickly tiring, she screamed for help one last time before she
sank beneath the dark current.

Erik cursed as the sound of
Christie’s cries reached his ears. Foolish woman. Why hadn’t she waited for his
return? Foolish man. Why had he refused to let her go? And yet, how could he?
Her face, her voice – so like Christine’s of old, and yet uniquely her own. He
had lived in solitude for so long. Surely he deserved a few years of
companionship? If she would but stay with him, he would grant her every desire,
fulfil her every wish. If she would love him. He laughed bitterly. There was
little chance of that. A woman like Christie, so young and so beautiful, could
surely have her pick of handsome men. Men who walked in the sun’s light without
fear.

He raced towards the lake with
preternatural speed. He had no need of illuminations to find her. He followed
her scent and when he found her, floating face down, he plunged into the lake
and drew her into his arms. Relief surged through him when she coughed up a
mouthful of water. A thought took him to his lair. A wave of his hand lit a fire
in the hearth.

Cursing his selfishness, he placed
her on the bed and quickly removed her sodden clothing. If she died – no! He
would not let that happen. Wrapping her in a thick quilt, he gathered her into
his arms and carried her to the rocking chair located in front of the fire.
Sitting down, he held her close, his hands massaging her back, her arms and her
legs. The scent of her hair and skin filled his senses, the throbbing of the
pulse in the hollow of her throat called to his hunger, tempting him almost
beyond his power to resist. But he would not take advantage of her, not now,
when she was helpless. Nor, he realized, could he let her go – not when fate had
been kind enough to send her to him; not when she knew what he was (though if
she told the tale, he doubted anyone would believe her).

Awareness returned to Christie a
layer at a time. She was warm. It was quiet. Soft music filled the air. A gentle
hand was stroking her brow –

With a start, Christie came fully
awake to find herself cradled in the Phantom’s arms, staring upinto his dark
eyes.

Vampire
.

“Please,” she murmured tremulously.
“Please, let me go.”

His knuckles caressed her cheek.
“Please stay,” he urged softly. “Be my Christine, if only for a little while.”

Fear made her mouth go dry. What
would he do if she refused to stay? She closed her eyes for a moment,
remembering how she had always hated Christine for leaving the Phantom and going
away with Raoul. Christie frowned. Hadn’t she always said that if she had a
choice, she would have stayed with the Phantom? But this wasn’t a play, and this
Phantom was a vampire.

His voice rumbled in her ear. “A
month, my Christine. Won’t you stay with me that long? The world you know will
still be there when you return.”

“And if I refuse?”

He had meant to keep her against her
will, if necessary, but looking at her now, seeing the fear in her eyes, he knew
he would not. “No harm will come to you,” he said. “I will take you back to the
theatre where I found you.”

Relief washed over her, but only for
a moment. How could she refuse him? Never before had she seen such pain, such
utter loneliness, reflected in anyone’s eyes. And yet, how could she stay? How
did she know she could trust him to keep his word? What if he only wanted to
drink her blood, or worse, make her what he was? The mere idea filled her with
revulsion.

“I will take nothing you do not wish
to freely give,” he said quietly. “I want only your company for a time.”

Christie glanced at her surroundings.
She had come to Paris looking for excitement. Was she going to turn her back on
it now? She was in a place no one else had ever been, with a man no one believed
existed. Think of the stories you’ll have to tell, she thought, ignoring the
little voice in the back of her mind that warned her she was being a fool to
accept the word of a vampire.

“Will you stay?”

“Yes.” The word seemed to form of its
own volition. “Yes I’ll stay.”

He smiled at her then, and she
thought she would promise him anything if he would only smile at her like that
again.

They were sitting side by side on the
bench in front of the organ. At Christie’s request, Erik had played The
Phantom’s score for her; played it with such fervour that she had seen it all
clearly on the stage of her mind.

Such a beautiful, bittersweet story.
With a sigh, she glanced at Erik. “How did you come to be here?” She lifted her
had to his smooth cheek. “What happened to you?”

“Three hundred years ago, when I was
a young man. I ran into a burning building to save a child. A wall fell on me.
It burned the right side of my face and most of that side of my body. They took
me to the hospital where the physician said there was nothing they could do. I
was dying. Late that night, a woman came into my room. She said she could save
me, if I was willing, and when I agreed, she carried me out of the hospital and
made me what she was. Years later, I came to this place while it was in the last
stages of construction. It has been my home ever since.