Page 69 of Our Strange Duet

“Go!” he commanded, screaming with feral rage before he disappeared in an explosion of sparks and smoke.

Even through the noise and confusion, the panicked cries for help, the frustrated shouts for people to move, move faster, move out of the way—for God’s sake, just move!—everyone’s gaze shot upward as a single metallic crack sounded, seizing our attention.

Another link had broken.

All of the chandelier’s lights went out, plunging us into sudden absolute darkness.

And then, it simply plunged.

Chapter 22

I’d never heard screaming like that.

Screaming like an animal wounded and mad with fear.

Screaming like a soul ripped from its body.

Screaming like the world was ending.

Screaming because it had.

There was so much screaming—hundreds of voices, including mine, joined together in howls of fright and despair. I feared it would never end. We would be trapped in this seething darkness until the trumpets of Judgment Day sounded. Only they would be loud enough to silence these screams.

But then came the fire.

And a new kind of screaming began.

I woke in silence.

There was just enough light glowing around a set of drawn curtains for me to see that I was not in my apartment.

My head swam as I sat up, and I could feel the muscles along my back protest with their sudden use. My eyes were lined with crusted sleep so thick it hurt to rub away. Despite the soft floral scent filling the rest of the room, here in this unfamiliar bed lay something fetid and rank. It smelled of old sweat and smoke. It smelled of fear.

I twisted my neck, sniffing my shoulder, then recoiled.

The smell was me.

I glanced about the room as I stretched, turning on a gas lamp as I tried to place where I was. I had no memory of arriving here. Panic bubbled within me. Had Erik abducted me once more?

But when the bedroom door opened, it was Raoul who came in, his face drawn and worried, and I nearly sobbed with relief.

“Christine!” he exclaimed, and hurried to the side of the bed. “She’s awake! Madame Henry, come quickly! She’s awake!”

The housekeeper, dressed in a dark-blue skirt and a white apron, bustled in, carrying a tray laden with a pot of tea and an assortment of small glass bottles. “Good to finally see you up, mademoiselle,” she said, greeting me as she busied herself at a table on the far side of the room.

“It’s so good to see your eyes open,” Raoul confessed, taking my hand and bringing it up to his lips. He clasped it carefully, as though I were made of delicate glass he was terrified could break. “How are you feeling? What can I do for you?”

“I’m all right, I think.” My mouth was dry, and my hair hung loose, its waves tangled from sleep. I noticed I wore a long linen nightgown, far nicer than anything I’d ever owned. “Where am I?”

“Home. My home. In Faubourg Saint-Germain. After the…incident, I brought you here,” he explained. “I had to know you were safe. I had to keep you…safe.”

I rubbed the side of my head and winced when my fingers touched a swollen lump across my temple. “What happened?”

“You fainted. Your head struck the stage, and, oh, Christine, it was such a ghastly sound. You’ve been asleep for days. Do you…do you remember that?”

When I shook my head, my vision blurred, momentarily doubling everything.

“Do you remember anything?”