Page 27 of Our Strange Duet

“Certainly not the way we wanted to begin our tenure,” Monsieur André began with a laugh that fell away flat. “But La Carlotta will be back. Certainly,” he repeated, looking pained.

“Do you think so, monsieur?” Madame Giry asked.

A little white envelope fluttered down from the fly loft, causing a fervor of whispers to ignite through the cast. It landed near Madame Giry, and she picked it up before breaking open the red wax seal.

“A message, sirs, from the Opera Ghost,” she announced after scanning the missive.

“God in Heaven, you’re all obsessed!” Monsieur Firmin scoffed.

Madame Giry offered out the letter, but when neither of the men motioned to take it, she withdrew the note and began summarizing it aloud. “He merely welcomes you to his opera house.”

“His opera house?” Monsieur André tittered nervously.

“He commands that you continue to leave Box Five empty for his use—”

“Commands?” Monsieur Firmin bristled.

“And reminds you that his salary is due.”

She paused, watching their confusion with an amused half smile.

“Monsieur Lefèvre paid him twenty thousand francs a month, but perhaps you can afford more, with the Vicomte de Chagny as your new patron?”

I froze, unsure if I should look to Madame Giry or the managers for confirmation.

Chagny…

It had been years since I’d heard that name. Years since I last saw the family. Years since I’d thought of the vicomte’s son, Raoul…

“Madame, I had hoped to make that announcement myself,” Monsieur André snapped, looking entirely put out. Both of the new managers had lost all trace of their former bravado. They’d entered the theatre like conquering heroes, eager to see what treasures they’d laid claim to, but now…now, I realized, they had the same nervous look that had weighed so heavily upon Monsieur Lefèvre.

They looked haunted…

Madame Giry only blinked, unrepentant. “Will the vicomte be at the performance tomorrow night?”

Monsieur Firmin ground his teeth. “How the devil did you know that? Yes, in our box.”

Monsieur André broke away from his partner, crossing down to the lip of the stage to shout at Maestro Messenger. “Who is the Elissa understudy?”

The conductor gaped in disbelief. “Are you in jest? Carlotta has no understudies.”

This was it. This was exactly what the Angel and I had been waiting for. I wanted to step forward and claim it myself, but my heart was suddenly racing, thudding painfully high in my throat, and I couldn’t squeak the words out. I was frightened, frozen in place and unable to move.

“What do you mean she has no understudies? That’s absurd!” Monsieur Firmin gripped the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache. “Can you believe this, André? First set pieces falling from the heavens, then a ghost who demands a retainer, and now…this. A full house, and we’ll have to cancel! Why did we ever think it was a good idea to—”

“Christine Daaé could sing it.”

Meg’s voice rang out in the air, soaring over the beleaguered manager’s diatribe.

Both of the men turned to look at her. “Who?”

She gestured toward me, urging me to take a step forward. I was too stunned at her bravery to move, so the ballerinas around me all scurried back instead, leaving me exposed and alone.

“A chorus girl?” Monsieur Firmin looked justifiably dubious.

“She’s been taking lessons from a great tutor,” Meg said, nodding brightly at me.

I could feel her urging me to speak up, but my throat still felt closed off. The words would not come.