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Rossignol	By : Savaial Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 5240 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Rossignol
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Ch 4
- 5-Ch 5
- 6-Ch 6
- 7-7
- 8-Ch 8
- 9-Ch 9
- 10-Ch 10
- 11-Ch 11
- 12-Ch 12
- 13-Ch 13
- 14-Ch 14
- 15-Ch 15
- 16-Ch 16
- 17-Ch 17
- 18-Ch 18
- 19-Ch 19
- 20-Ch 20
- 21-Ch 21
- 22-Ch 22
- 23-Ch 23
- 24-Ch 24
- 25-Ch 25
- 26-Ch 26
- 27-Ch 27
- 28-Ch 28
- 29-Ch 29
- 30-30- Epilogue
- 15
- 16
- 17
It was a leap of faith now and he knew it. He knew it. Vernon had jumped to his death because he’d asked him to, and now he was offering to let me stay safely on the ground. He wasn’t denying that my leap could be every bit as deadly as Vernon’s.

I felt the acceleration of my heart increase it’s maddening tempo as we stared at each other. The rain matched the frenetic pounding in my blood. I watched the water drip steadily off the brim of his wide felt hat; saw the gold in his eyes reflecting every drop. Our breath came as clouds of steam and tension.

I heard his voice in my mind, a not- so- distant memory. "Erik is your guardian angel Celeste, and Erik has been the angel of music from time to time, but Erik is also an angel of death. No excuses, no pretense." And my own voice, sometime later. "You have quite a diabolical style, don't you Erik? It must get boring to kill with only your voice." I hadn't known how truly either of us had spoken.

Underneath the significant fear rose another feeling. Fear of discovery. There was a dead man on the curb far below, and though I couldn’t see it I knew a crowd had to be gathering. Neither of us could afford to be found here. If I didn’t answer him soon he’d have to kill again. I now had no doubt he would kill a score of people if so motivated. I had to go with him or I might seal the fate of innocent people.

"It's getting cold up here," I whispered faintly.

It was neither the yes nor no he waited to hear, but he nodded in agreement. His eyes softened even more, if possible. Patiently, calmly, he stood his ground and did not make a move to touch me. I was grateful for that. If he had tried to seize me I would have fled. All the assurances of my safety he’d uttered would not have mattered. He looked fearsome despite his soft eyes.

Slowly, I backed to the ledge. Bracing myself, I looked down. Vernon’s broken body seemed so far away, but the blood… I didn’t think a body could hold so much blood. The pool continued to spread though I knew him quite dead. My broken arm twinged.

A flare of vengeful pleasure briefly warmed my chilled body. Vernon had broken my arm. He’d traveled all the way to America to visit his brother, stopping by to pay me a pleasure visit on the way home. My poor arm had been payment for refusing him. Now he was dead, broken into more pieces than my fragmented mind.

And Erik would kill his brother if given half a chance.

I turned my head. Erik stood only a few feet away from me, hovering as if he feared for me. I understood he thought I meant to join Vernon. He would stop me the second I moved to kill myself. I could be as quick about it as I liked, but I’d never make it over the side before he grabbed me. His duality made my head spin.

He’d killed someone right in front of me and yet he feared I would kill myself. If he wanted to he could command me back from the ledge and I wouldn’t be able to resist. Involuntarily, I admired him. I shied away from it, but the sheer impressiveness of Erik kept bringing me back. Vernon had been an ant under Erik's shoe, no more troublesome than an insect. What magnificent power! What mastery over the human mind…

And I had his concern. He was troubled on account of me.

I gave him no answer, but walked past him to the door. My back turned, I waited. In moments he was behind me, his long arm reaching past my body to merely rest on the knob. His heat caressed my cold, damp body. Shivers shot up and down my spine as I felt his warm breath go down the back of my cloak.

“If you go back down you’re as good as mine,” Erik said. “As it is, you’ll never forget me.”

I closed my eyes at the sensual tragedy in his voice. If he moved only a step closer I would be resting against his lean body. His heat and scent both drugged and sharpened my mind.

“But you could go into the chapel and wait for your brother. No one will see you,” Erik went on. His hand still rested on the door, preventing me from going anywhere. I realized he wanted to hear me speak my wishes. I wasn’t going to get by with wordless assent this time.

It was the first time he’d insisted I speak outside of dreams and drugs. Fittingly, he wasn’t coercing me, but simply stating his mind. I turned to face him, quivering at his close proximity. He remained motionless, his arm still out and his body so close that our cloaks wrapped together. All that stood between us was a few inches of troubled air; air that reeked of my indecision and his god-like madness.

We had come to a significant point. If I wanted a relationship with him I would have to accept him, as he was, a killer.

I began to pant with the effort to remain still.

Had I not enjoyed seeing Vernon’s corpse? I was a lying hypocrite to tell myself no. Vernon wasn’t worth mourning. Vernon had hurt me. Given half a chance he’d have raped me too. No, I wasn’t sorry he was dead. I wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore.

The rain came as a torrent, a flood of bone-chilling cold. Erik shifted toward me, putting the brim of his hat over my exposed head. Very slowly, as if to show me his every movement in time for me to stop him, he brought the other side of his cloak out beside me. I stood in a storm break made entirely of Erik. He wouldn’t even let the elements harm me.

He was the same to me as he had always been. At any moment the police could burst out of the door behind us and he would face them; he wasn’t rushing me into my decision. He wasn’t afraid for himself at all, just for me.

The thought was enough for me to decide. I had to trust my angel. No matter what I saw or what Erik did, I had to have faith he would never change from the way I knew him right now. I had to believe his voice would never induce me to kill myself. I had to believe he wanted me safe. I had to believe in him.

I put my hand in his. “Take me back to your home Erik,” I whispered.

**************************************************************************************

Her approval to return rendered me unable to do anything but stare. I had expected many things. I had anticipated a regression in her progress. I had waited for her to flee my presence. I had been open to the idea that I might have to coax her into staying. I had even prepared myself to take Celeste back down forcefully; for I couldn't trust the word of a fool that Pierre wasn't close by. Yes, I had expected every eventuality, or so I thought. I hadn't anticipated that Celeste would go willingly. I hadn't used my power on her once! And though she looked at me differently than she had this morning, I saw nothing of the terror that Christine would have shown.

She was measuring me; I saw it in her blue eyes as they met my stare. Judging me. Deep inside my body I quivered. For some reason, her ruling felt significant. I wanted her approval, much as I hated to admit it. It frightened me that I cared what she thought, shook me to my very core.

Would I never learn? I felt deeply for this woman, else her opinion wouldn't mean so much.

A glimmer passed through her gaze. She visibly relaxed. She'd worked me through and hadn't found she wanted to leave. I wasn't absolved, but neither had she condemned me. And she was waiting for my response.

I opened the door and led her back to the underbelly of the opera.

She kept her hand inside mine the entire trip down. When we came to the gondola she shivered and hesitated. My heart recognized her symbolic fear and I stopped moving. I wanted her to decide on her own. We had been speaking of the Underworld in light terms only an hour before, but now she writhed under figurative meaning. Now she truly stood on the edge of the Styx, and I, her oarsman, seemed as pitiless as Charon.

Celeste looked up at me. An emotion I did not know lit her eyes from within, turning her gaze into blue flames. “My legs are weak,” she whispered. “I need your help to get in.”

She clung to me as I lifted her into the gondola. I trembled with pleasure while she pressed herself against me. Her heated curves banished all rational thought. Feeling surreal, I placed her on the velvet cushion and took up the oar.

It was wrong of me to bring her back. She was unstable. My indulgence in murder had made our rapport dissolve. I feared if I spoke to her I would influence her thinking. In her current state she was unmade, raw, a lump of clay on a potter’s wheel. Any touch of my hand might shape her into a vessel that belonged only to me.

And that was so tempting I felt myself grow hard.

I landed the boat in record time. Again she held onto me as I lifted her, and again he curvy body elicited delighted pain deep inside me. I opened the door and she moved with me, keeping contact. Even as we divested ourselves of our sodden cloaks she stayed mere inches away.

Her eyes were as blue as the wildest ocean. I felt myself drifting into her beauty, unable and unwilling to stop myself. I was tired of having a heart made out of iron. I held open my arms. Celeste rushed into me like the tide, her good arm going around my waist. The sudden ecstasy slid my eyes shut. It was the second time in my life I'd been voluntarily embraced. The first time had been Celeste too, happy over her newly found voice, but this time was different. I wrapped my arms around her gently, inhaling the clean scent of rain in her hair.

I was lost. She had me now; I knew it with every cell that comprised me. Not only would I kill for her, I would die for her. But I was more monster than I wanted to believe, and she was an innocent despite what she had gone through. To ask her to love me would be criminal. To take her flesh... unforgivable. The smartest thing I could do was hurry Pierre Lescot toward his fate and send Celeste away from me.

What if his brother had been writing to him, telling him about Raoul and Christine coming here with Celeste? It would take a week or more for him to get to Paris... I would have to bring the de Chagny’s here too. Raoul wasn't cunning enough to keep Christine safe, and if either one of them died it would be on my head. Celeste would be heartbroken; I couldn't have that. Even if Lescot hadn't received any letters, the absence of contact would alert him that his brother had run into trouble. The obituary would be in the papers, as notorious as my opera house was. Rumors of the ghost would start flying again, especially since I had taken the time to meddle in the manager's affairs this morning. The acceptance for Christine to take the role of Tosca would bring both of them here in the morning. I would bring them below after she reunited with her career. Raoul wouldn't like it at all, but I cared very little.

Second by second ticked by and still I held her. It was torment and bliss in one and I let it take me. I held a woman in my arms, a smart and beautiful woman who seemed to trust me despite the terrible thing I had done before her very eyes.

"Erik, would you help me build a fire in the bathroom? I'd like to take a hot bath this evening, in a scorching room.” Celeste murmured into my chest. I felt her breath keenly. It was a new sensation, a powerful feeling.

"I will." As gently as possible, I disentangled myself from her. "Celeste," I said, bringing her chin up so she would look into my eyes. "Are you alright?" She knew what I referred to and shivered.

"I think so," she answered lowly. "I had nothing in my mind to prepare me for...” She halted, taking a deep breath. "I keep telling myself what I ought to feel, but I'm not listening attentively. The voice will get tired and stop if I don't listen to her." She leaned into my hand, closing her eyes. "There's another voice too, one that wants to drown her out, and she talks of blood and wrath and vengeance." She opened her eyes again, pinning me. "It isn't that I want to dwell either way. I would rather not have to listen to either voice."

I pulled her back to me and she came willingly, sighing. "Very plainly spoken," I said into her hair. She trembled, pressing closer still. "I can't influence you either way my dear, this is something you have to decide yourself. My decision was made long ago and it's part of me now. I would rather you not hear my opinions while you think, you understand that, don't you?"

"Yes, I understand very well." Celeste's breath escaped in something akin to a laugh. "I would grasp onto anything that would help rebuild the identity I've lost. I might take your opinions as my own."

I marveled at her plain but elegant summary. Celeste was smart; there was no getting around it. It boggled my mind that Raoul could have thought her retarded. "You don't need to rush into your decision," I cautioned. "If there hadn't been the possibility of danger I would have encouraged you to stay on the roof until you were sure you wanted to come back with me. Keep to your own schedule now. Don't seek me out unless you want to."

"Oh Erik," Celeste pulled back. "Don't you see? I would have to be artless to miss your style, but heartless not to appreciate Vernon Lescot's fate. The man deserved everything you gave him and more, but he couldn't fight you. You've mastered your duality, now I have to master mine."

"And I caused it," I countered. "I could have controlled you both and you would have never seen."

"I would have been very angry," Celeste replied just as quickly. "If you hadn't given me the option I would have felt patronized and weak, feelings you have not inspired in me from the first day I came. You did right not to shield me." She sighed heavily, putting her hand to her forehead. "I went from being protected and pampered to being abused and neglected. The longer I stay here the more I come to my own ideas of what I want and what I think, and it's because you protect me while allowing me my own mind. I value every second I'm with you."

I leaned back against the wall to think. Celeste had the grasp of what I'd always intended for her. Independence. The freedom to think, and to feel as she wanted. Safety. Not worrying about her own skin while she healed. The enforcement that not all men were evil. The power in believing in yourself. I had taught her better than I'd intended, and I rejoiced in it. Her ability to bounce back simply amazed me.

"But I want my bath Erik, I'm soaked to the bone." Celeste reached out and took my hand. "Come and help me build the fire so I can bathe and banish the chill from my bones.”

“Of course my dear,” I agreed readily. A hot bath didn’t sound bad to me either.

I built the fire and hovered around her solicitously a few minutes. She finally shooed me away and I retreated to my own bathroom.

As I lay in the marble tub trying to wash away the chill of rain, the Rue Scribe bell sounded. The curses I let fly as I threw on my mask and trousers were terrible even to my own ears. Dripping wet and wrathful, I hurried toward the parlor. Celeste met me in the hallway. She said nothing, merely walked alongside me while trying to struggle into my Persian print robe. We got to the door and I helped her quickly. As one we turned and eyed the clock.

"Too late for Raoul and Christine," we chorused. Celeste smiled grimly.

"But maybe not, news of Vernon Lescot will be all over Paris by now," she said, a wry twist to her lips. "Raoul would want to make sure I was unharmed."

"Yes, this is true." I agreed, shaking an irritating drop of water off my jaw. Celeste nodded, and then looked back to me suddenly. I thought of my scars. They were all over me. Whip marks, knife wounds, and abrasion cross-hatching, the mottling of nearly forty years of violence. I awaited her verdict in silence.

"Erik, this may not be the time, and I may not be a lady for saying so," Celeste murmured, "but you're just as impressive without your Phantom accoutrement."

I did not know what to say. The genuine appreciation in her tone brought heat to my face. I hadn't blushed in years! I tried to formulate a response, but a beating came at the door.

"Erik? Celeste?" It was Raoul and Christine. Relieved I wouldn't have to commit another murder in front of Celeste, I tripped the door lock.

They came in with haste, but slid to an abrupt stop at the sight of us. I supposed we had to look guilty of something, for both of us had been at our baths, but the look of horror on the Vicomte’s face irritated me. I slammed the door. Christine looked me up and down, her eyebrow raised. Did I see a smile on her lips? I glared at her. Her expression turned business-like. "It is very late for visiting," I growled, moving over to the fire. They had let a cold breeze in and I was soaking wet. "I suppose you heard about the death of a Lescot and came to see about Celeste?"

Raoul let his eyes wander over us with suspicion, lingering on me. I wondered if he wanted to look at my back. It tempted me to offer it to him; I was so disfigured he wouldn’t be able to tell if I had fingernail gouges or not. He hadn't forgotten any of what I said the night before, if I were to judge by the set of his shoulders and the outward thrusting of his jaw.

"Yes, that is essentially the reason for our visit," he said at last. He went to Celeste, his arms out. "Are you alright? I wish you could tell me what has happened." He cast a dark look at me, his meaning clear. He wouldn't trust a word I said.

"I'm fine Raoul,” Celeste answered clearly. "Vernon was the one who died, not me." She smiled.

Raoul took a step back, his face amazed. "Celeste! You can speak!" He came back, dragging her in his arms for a hug. She returned it.

"Yes I can," she said with a little laugh. "Erik showed me how."

The Vicomte released her and walked toward me, positively beaming from ear to ear. Despite my dislike of the boy, I felt myself responding to his handshake with graciousness.

"Thank you monsieur, thank you! I am overjoyed that my sister can now lead a more normal life." He ran back to Celeste and picked her up for a twirl. Her laughter rang out in the room.

"Raoul, you silly man, you'll make me dizzy! Put me down this instant!" Celeste made an attempt to straighten her hair. I wished she'd leave it. When rumpled and awry Celeste was absolutely delectable to me. But then, she always was, hence my pain.

"You've done a wonderful thing Erik,” Christine said, joining me. "More for Celeste than for Raoul, though he is almost beside himself with joy."

I spared her a look. Her face wasn't nearly so hard to view as it had been in the past. "She wanted to speak," I said, "I just helped her remember how to do it."

"Still, you were the cause." Christine eyed the happy siblings, her face going soft. When she turned back to me though, her look was nothing short of sly. "Did we interrupt something?" she asked lightly, teasingly. "You know what Raoul would say."

"No, we were simply getting our separate baths over with before retiring," I answered hotly. "And even if I thought it right to do as you infer I am doing, I would not give one burning ember in hell for your husband's opinion on it."

"Erik," Christine chided softly, "If anyone knows how you feel about Raoul, it's me." She glanced at the two again, shaking her head. "I wasn't trying to be rude, I was hoping you'd found a match."

"As in, a woman who could put up with me?" I couldn't help myself from saying it. Christine narrowed her eyes at me.

"If that's how you want it, yes. I have a feeling about her...” She strayed to Celeste again, a smile easing out on her mouth. "If you want her Erik, don't let her de Chagny blood stop you. I can testify to its allure after all, can't I?"

I couldn't believe my ears. "Are you saying you hope I'll make this woman live down here with me? You are saying this?" I crossed my arms over my chest to keep from flailing them about. "Don't you have any loyalty to your own sex?"

"Not really, no," she answered abruptly, mimicking my stance. "And you are putting words in my mouth in a way completely different from the way you used to, if you get my meaning." She let out a puff of air from her nostrils, a little sign of disgust I recognized well. "You listen to me Erik, for once in your life. Celeste is not needful of the kid gloves that were required for me. She is like you."

"What are you talking about?" I was interested now, wondering if some conversation had happened between the two women, a conversation I had not been privy to that involved me nonetheless.

"I'm talking about fire and passion,” Christine answered lowly, taking a quick look at her husband. "Most people are candles or lamps Erik, shining a little light wherever someone carries them. You are a bonfire that people carry themselves to, and so is she." She leaned in while speaking, commanding my attention. "You think I don't know what she's like? Raoul's told me some things about his sister, most of which you would enjoy like a bottle of Montrachet."

"I'm listening," I said. "Please enlighten me."

"When she was two she disassembled Raoul's favorite wooden puzzles and combined them all to make one huge puzzle. There were no spare pieces. When she was three she started spending time in the stables and even the wildest horses wouldn't harm a hair on her head. Many a morning they found her sleeping under the hooves of their sire stallion, with him standing motionless to keep from stepping on her."

Christine paused, her eyes straying to Celeste. "When she was four she started sleeping in the woods, up in trees. No one could climb the ones she made a home; they simply had to wait until she came down of her own accord. At the age of five Celeste's mother set her down in front of a canvas with her paints and told her to occupy herself a few hours. When she came back Celeste had painted a portrait of Raoul, the painting is hanging in his study even today. I thought a seasoned artist had done it."

Christine jerked her head toward the pair demonstratively. "She's gifted. I found her mother's diary in an old cupboard just a few days ago. The woman was frightened of her abilities. I think she made Celeste out to be stupid just to keep her from being burned at the stake." Christine smiled as Raoul and Celeste began to make their way to us. "Mind what I've said Erik," she whispered aside, "or at least think about it."

"Isn't it wonderful?" Raoul laughed, leaning in to kiss Christine on her smooth forehead.

"Yes Raoul, I'm very glad." Christine said. "But I'd like to spend a little time with Celeste myself for a few minutes. I'd like to indulge in a little girl talk."

The two women sailed away. Celeste paused just at the door of her room to look at me. Her eyes went over me briefly, as if she indulged in a last look! Then, she smiled and was gone. Raoul stepped into my line of sight, his eyes heavy with meaning.

"I owe you an apology monsieur."

"You owe me nothing Vicomte." I stoked the fire. A burning branch rolled onto the hearth and I threw it back in. What did he want me to say? I felt weary of speech. I understood how Celeste felt. Actions were far more weighty than words.

"But I do. At the very least I owe you for Celeste's life today. What happened?" Raoul seated himself.

"Her brother in law tried to capture her. He'd tracked you to the opera a few times and deduced Celeste was here. When we went out on the roof for some air this morning he followed." My jaw clenched with the memory. If I could kill the animal all over again I would, only this time I would be slower about it. Perhaps I would tell his brother’s heart to stop and start over and over until I felt satisfied Celeste had her revenge.

"You pushed him off the roof?"

"No, I never laid a hand on him. I talked him into his eternal reward."

Raoul shivered. "I believe it," he mumbled. "Made him jump did you?"

"I persuaded him that it was for the best, let's leave it at that."

"Celeste saw it?"

"She saw everything,” I admitted, "To my regret. There wasn't time to get her somewhere else." I flexed my shoulders. I was tired. "And for safety's sake, I can't let you and Christine leave until Pierre Lescot comes to investigate. Who knows what other agents you might accidentally bring here?"

"I anticipated you might insist." Raoul said with surprising calm. I shot him a look. He smiled. "It would be a natural deduction monsieur," he said. "I emptied the house before we came. If Lescot comes there first there will be no one to question."

"A good thought," I said rather grudgingly.

"It heartens me that I got your approval on something in regards to my sister,” Raoul replied sarcastically. "You might think I'm worthless as a brother, and I might even agree with you, but it isn't too late to start trying, is it?"

"No, it isn't. Celeste loves you." I sat directly on the hearth, hoping my pants would dry soon. They stuck to me in an uncomfortable way. The tiresome Vicomte and his tiresome talk were wearing me down.

"May I ask you a personal question Erik?"

I looked up, surprised anew. "I suppose. I don't have to answer you."

"What the hell do you do down here?"

"What?" I felt confused. What was he talking about?

"I can't help but notice your scars monsieur, you're covered in them." Raoul looked uneasy. "Ordinarily I wouldn't ask such a thing, but..."

"But mine are extraordinary,” I finished for him dryly. "It's nothing that happened here Vicomte, or can't you tell by the whiteness?"

"Yes, of course, please forget I mentioned it at all, it was rude." Raoul backed down immediately.

"Rude maybe, but not a killing offense,” I snapped. "Don't pander to my temper; it makes me madder than when you show your ass."

Raoul grimaced at my outburst, but said nothing. After a few minutes the silence became oppressive. I was almost glad when he spoke again.

"Is the bed large enough for Christine to sleep with Celeste?"

"It is, but I wouldn't pair them. Celeste might do her harm while she sleeps, she has a violent streak."

"She does?"

"Yes."

"You are judging this on something other than the mirror?"

"In a way. I merely want to make sure she doesn't mistake Christine for an enemy in the dark. I imagine she enjoys sleeping alone and it might confuse her to have a person beside her in the bed."

"Of course." Raoul sounded embarrassed.

"I have another room the two of you can sleep in. I didn't always sleep in a coffin."

"I didn't mention it,” Raoul protested, his eyes moving down the hallway. "I would not have mentioned it."

I sighed. "No, you wouldn't have."

More silence. The ticking of the grandfather clock was irritating me.

"A game of chess monsieur? The women may take awhile."

I looked at him, amused despite myself.

"Set up the board then Vicomte."
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Rossignol