Page 125 of Our Strange Duet

“Christine!”

I felt the air knock from my lungs. That was Raoul’s voice, calling for me. He’d come! He’d found me! I wasn’t alone in this.

Suddenly, he was there, wading through the waist-deep water, up to the iron portcullis. His tuxedo jacket and cravat had been lost somewhere, and he was soaked to the skin.

“Raoul!” I screamed. I couldn’t help it. I tried running to him, but Erik blocked the way.

Raoul’s eyes blazed with fury. They raced over me, taking in everything. “Are you all right? Christine, has he hurt you?”

I shook my head. “No. No, I’m fine. I’m—”

“Sir,” Erik said, stepping between us. He addressed Raoul as if this were merely a social gathering, as if he’d invited him for tea. He even gave a gracious bow. “In my wildest dreams, I never thought you’d be resourceful enough to find your way here. But you have! This is…this is…” He turned from me, crossing to the throne with a delighted laugh, sat down, and folded his arms over his chest as if preparing to judge a performance. “Such a treat! You have truly made my night!”

I used the reprieve to race to Raoul and embrace him through the gaps in the cold metal bars. He pressed kisses to my hair as his hands smoothed over me, checking for injury, searching for harm.

“You’re hurt,” I said, gently holding his cheek. An angry-looking cut slashed across his temple.

“It doesn’t matter. Nothing does, now that I’ve found you. I’m sorry I made you sing. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. I will get us out of this, Christine. I swear it.” He bumped his forehead to mine, drawing comfort to sustain him in the fight ahead. “What are you wearing?” he said, only now noticing the giant white gown. I saw the moment he recognized what the dress was, what it represented. “I’m going to kill him,” he growled under his breath. Keeping one hand at my shoulder, he looked around me, searching for Erik in the gloom. “I’ll do anything you like, but you must free her!”

“Must I?” Erik called out, sounding entertained. “Go on and tell me more about what I must do.”

“Free her!” Raoul shouted, rattling the gate without much effect.

“Your lover makes a most passionate plea,” Erik observed dryly, his gaze now on me.

I turned from his glare and grabbed Raoul’s face, trying to lock eyes, trying to still the feral panic I felt rising in him. “Raoul, don’t goad him. It’s useless.”

“I love her!” he went on, even louder now. “Does that mean nothing?”

“Love is never nothing, but it seems as if we are at an impasse, Monsieur le Vicomte,” Erik said, his spread fingers rising and falling over the end of the throne’s arms like spiders about to spring to action. “You see, I love her as well.”

“But she’s mine!” Raoul cried, slamming his fist against the iron bars. I knew it had to be excruciating, but he balled up his hand and struck it again.

“I truly doubt that,” Erik said, watching with amusement. “I wonder, Vicomte, is this the first time in your life you’ve not been given something you wanted?” His head rolled back as he pondered the cavernous void above us. “How different the world today might be if someone had taught you the simple lesson of denial. Leave us,” he hissed.

“She doesn’t love you. Show some compassion!”

Erik bolted to his feet, his play at civility over as he snarled. “Compassion? Compassion? The world showed no compassion to me!”

“Raoul, stop,” I urged him, pawing at his arms, trying to break the mania Erik had kindled within him. He left me, wading deeper into the lake to better taunt Erik.

“Is this how you think you’ll win? Gates and bars? Hidden tunnels? She may be with you now, but it’s only an illusion. You’ve made her nothing more than a bird in a cage. She’d fly straight to me if you let her!”

Erik considered this, tilting his head with overwrought theatricality. “Do you truly think so, Vicomte?”

“See for yourself. Give her the freedom to choose!”

Erik’s sudden smile was dazzling and cruel. “Perhaps you’re right.”

He flicked his wrist toward the portcullis, and, as if by magic, the massive grate began to rise. It moved easily, without lumbering mechanisms, squeals of rusted metal, or grinding joints.

A lump of fear wedged in the hollow of my throat. I’d assumed the gate was a broken-down behemoth, a relic from the last war when the Prussian army had taken over the opera as a warehouse and field hospital. I’d thought it neglected and uncared for, but Erik had clearly brought it back to life, tinkering with it, rigging it to shift upon unseen commands. What other traps had he hidden here? I was in a den of vipers. One wrong step could be my last.

Raoul watched the portcullis rise, mouth slack at this feat of engineering. When it reached its zenith, the ends of the bars hung down in pointed spikes as if we were about to be devoured by a terrible beast.

Erik had watched the marvel with cool dispassion.

Perhaps we were.