Page 54 of Our Strange Duet

“Of your part within it. I can’t imagine he’ll be pleased with you playing a silent role.”

The memory of Erik’s scribbled-upon cast list danced across my vision, and I stabbed at a prawn, trying to direct my focus to the present. “I…I don’t think he concerns himself with such trivial matters.”

“I was in the managers’ office, and you should have heard the uproar over how the casting played out.”

I set my fork and knife down, suddenly suspicious that Raoul’s questions might not have been as innocent as they’d first appeared. “Who was upset?”

“Oh, everyone. Firmin and André. Signora Giudicelli and that tenor of hers. Even the Opera Ghost seems to be displeased.” He took another bite, watching me carefully as he chewed. “You don’t believe in all that nonsense, do you?”

“Do I…?”

“The Opera Ghost,” he elaborated. “Seems like a load of superstitious drivel to an outsider—if you don’t mind me saying so. I was simply aghast to hear that Richard and Gilles go along with so many of his whims.”

I took a larger than necessary sip of wine and felt my thoughts reel under its power. “He’s quite knowledgeable, you know. He oversees so much of the opera, and—”

“Christine Daaé!” Raoul exclaimed. “You do! You believe in a ghost!”

“Well…” I fumbled as I wondered why this was any different from believing in the Angel. Last night, Raoul had taken that confession at face value, but now, in the bright light of day, he seemed bemused by it all.

“I just wonder who’s behind it.”

I tilted my head, not understanding.

“Someone is. Someone real, I mean. Real and decidedly corporeal. Do you think he’s a silent partner? An enigmatic patron? I’m told he’s constantly sending out letters and notes to make his demands known. I even got one myself this morning.”

I felt sick, envisioning Erik as the Opera Ghost. Erik writing to Raoul. “You did?”

He nodded. “That’s how I know someone is masquerading behind the moniker. Ghosts could never have such fastidious penmanship.” He drained his glass.

“What…what did he say?” I tried to school my voice into an unaffected airiness, but my heart pounded, and a line of sweat broke out along the nape of my neck.

Had Erik been behind all the Opera Ghost’s notes? I tried to think of every story I’d heard, tried to remember each instruction that had been made.

Only…if my Angel had been writing them, I wouldn’t have been cast as Serafimo. I’d seen the original list, with Meg playing the page boy and Carlotta’s name crossed out in order to give me the role of the Countess.

“It doesn’t matter,” Raoul answered. “I don’t believe in ghosts, and I certainly won’t be bullied into doing anything one tells me to do. I don’t believe the new managers will either. Certainly not in the way Monsieur Lefèvre was.” He let out a mirthless laugh. “I think the Opera Ghost may find himself quite out of luck these days.” He studied me with acutely sharp interest. “Are the prawns not prepared to your liking?”

I glanced down at my untouched plate. “Oh. No, they’re fine. I only…” I picked up my utensils and made a decisive slice down the middle of one of them. I popped half of the buttered crustacean in my mouth and chewed until my eyes watered.

“One thing the Ghost did get right, though,” Raoul went on. “It really ought to have been you singing the Countess. I haven’t heard much of her yet, but Signora Giudicelli sounds impossibly tired and past her prime compared to you.”

I swallowed. “What do you mean? The Opera Ghost wanted me to sing the Countess?”

Raoul nodded and signaled once again for the garçon. “I think we’d both enjoy a little sweetness next…Perhaps the iced mousse? With verbena cream?”

“Very good, sir.”

“He fully demanded it,” Raoul carried on, as though our conversation had never been interrupted. “He cited ‘a disaster beyond imagination’ if the managers didn’t comply.” Another short laugh. “I don’t want to do anything to upset the status quo yet, but try to get through this Il Muto, and then I’ll have a word with Gilles and Richard. I think they are both men who incline toward reason, and if reason fails, there are always other means of persuasion.”

I was touched Raoul believed in me so earnestly.

But also…

I was enraged.

At Raoul. At Erik.

I didn’t need anyone, Angel or Ghost—bossing management around, demanding I be elevated into bigger roles. Only last night, I’d sung the soprano lead in Hannibal, and my voice had soared. The audience had stood on their feet, cheering for an eternity. I’d shown that I could achieve greatness by my own hand. I didn’t need Raoul easing my passage with bribes of money or powerful promises.