Page 105 of Our Strange Duet

But now…

There was more at play than simply securing my own safety, my own well-being. There was more to consider than just me and my love.

It would be easy to run, to retreat to Raoul’s estate in Burgundy and to never set foot inside the opera again.

But that wouldn’t stop Erik.

He’d still be there, writing his notes, making his demands. And with me gone, his fixation would be free to fall on someone else.

Someone like Meg…

I balled my hands into fists, squeezing so hard my nails left little crescent moons indented into my palms.

This had to stop.

And I was the only one with the power to do it. I could draw Erik out. I could make sure he was caught. With him behind bars, the opera would return to its usual business. The singers, the dancers, the whole of the company would no longer be subject to his threats and whims.

By risking myself, I could save them all.

I crossed over to my writing desk and removed the pretty stationery I’d intended for my goodbye.

It wasn’t even a question. All my doubts and fears had ceased, and I felt a sense of peace sweep over me. My decision was made.

M. André and M. Firmin, I wrote, my handwriting spreading with bold confidence across the page.

I am happy to accept the role of Aminta in your upcoming production of “Don Juan Triumphant.” Please send the rehearsal schedule along at your earliest convenience.

Warm regards,

Christine Daaé

Chapter 36

The practice room was set up for a music rehearsal.

The upright piano had been rolled in from its usual corner, and rows of chairs and music stands arced in a wide semicircle around the conductor’s podium. Maestro Messenger’s stand was nearly twice as large as the rest of ours and was a littered mess of additional papers and long lists of trailing notes.

I took my seat in the front row between Ubaldo and Marc Haché, the bass playing Passarino, Don Juan’s servant. Despite her soloist role, just a few lines more than the chorus, Carlotta sat on the other side of Ubaldo, snarling at anyone who pointed out she shouldn’t be seated with the principals.

Behind us was the chorus. They chattered easily, until Maestro Messenger took to the podium.

“Welcome to the first company rehearsal for our newest production, Don Juan Triumphant,” he began, sounding impossibly tired. He flipped through his thick score, searching for the right page. “We’ve quite a lot to cover today, and we only have the chorus for the first half of this morning, so let’s begin with Act I, Scene iii. Then we’ll go back and work on principal arias after.”

Dutifully, we began flipping through our scores.

Maestro Messenger glanced across the room, checking to see that everyone was ready. “Monsieur Reyer?”

From his corner of the stage manager’s table, the répétiteur nodded.

“Monsieur Loggia?”

The pianist nodded and, with a flick of the conductor’s baton, we were off.

For a few measures, at least.

“No, that’s not right,” Maestro Messenger said, stopping abruptly after only a handful of bars. “Baritones, you’re early. And mezzos, late…I think. Again, from the top.”

They tried a second time. Then a third and a fourth. By the seventh attempt, the maestro had begun to loosen his cravat. By the ninth, he was dabbing sweat from his brow.