His eyes squeeze to happy slits. I put the letters on my pillow, turning my head toward the wall’s vent, and trace the ribbon tattoo under my shirt sleeve. My ears ache for the sound of a violin’s serenade. I wish I knew he was safe.
Last night when we were kissing, our pent-up emotions and suppressed appetites overcame us. Things got intense, but we stopped ourselves. That kind of intimacy should never be rushed. Even though both of us admitted it might be our only chance to be together.
Etalon helped me to my feet and we danced instead, face-to-face in reality, for the first time. He told me, in that grinding voice that incites my succubus to ravening heights, that when all the bad is behind us, he’ll lay me down on a bed covered in rose petals and kiss every inch of skin until my body is aflame with song.
I didn’t answer, because I was too busy blushing, but I’m going to hold him to that.
We talked as we danced to the sound of crickets and buzzing bugs. I asked him all the things I’ve been wanting to learn: his birthday, his favorite color, his favorite foods and books, how it felt the first time he helped an animal, and how long Diable has been his companion . . . details that might seem insignificant to other people, but for me and Etalon, we already know each other’s deepest soul-secrets. Now, I want to know the little things that make him tick. Unfortunately, even that was cut short, because we had plans to make.
I shut my eyes, humming the melody he taught me on the violin. It was incredible, performing with him in reality, side by side. It was like our dream-visions. Joined together in triumph to align the planets and rule the universe.
That’s what inspired his scheme, in fact. He believes those visions were the stars intervening, telling us how to defeat the Phantom.
Many of the operatic arias that have possessed me throughout my life were songs Christine learned via Erik’s tutelage with the Stradivarius. And there’s one song they sang together that Etalon’s convinced can break the Phantom: the duet they shared when she was dying.
It’s a ballad. The same sweet, gentle melody that Etalon has played for me through the vent these past weeks to help me sleep. He knows it from his childhood, having heard Erik hum it subconsciously anytime he was busy doing something that made him nostalgic for Christine.
Etalon taught me the lyrics. They tell a story about a tree that’s ugly and withered, losing all its leaves. But the leaves lift to the sky and become shimmering, glittery stars. Decay becoming new life; disfigurement becoming beauty. So poignant, knowing the Phantom’s history as I do now.
Tonight, everything will go according to the Phantom’s original plan, in the beginning. Tomlin is going to sneak out to a party in the city so Erik can use his gas mask/jackal costume and take his place at the masquerade. Erik is a master at mimicry, and has already perfected Tomlin’s voice. He’ll lure me into the hallway away from the party with the excuse of discussing a missing grade. Once we’re out of everyone’s sight, Erik’s plan is to kidnap me through a secret passage . . . to take me to his labyrinth where Etalon will help him perform the transfer.
But things will never come to that with Etalon’s revised strategy.
I’m going to dress like Christina Nilsson for the party. It’s a far cry from the zombie banshee I was planning to be, but Etalon’s observation—that the only thing that ever made the Phantom aspire to be human was Christine—makes this our one and only shot.
The goal is to throw the Phantom off his game when he sees me. He has a portrait hanging on his wall where she’s dressed as Pandora. All I need is a dark golden wig to reflect her Swedish coloring, a long white column dress, a gold-leaf tiara, and a panel of sage fabric to use as a wrap. There are endless costumes and hairpieces behind the locked doors of the opera house. Etalon assured me we have everything to complete the look. He’s putting it together today, using the portrait as a guide. He’ll place the articles in a bag in the orchestra pit this afternoon, since rehearsals were canceled to allow everyone time to get ready for the masquerade at six.
When the Phantom arrives, it’s up to me to make him vulnerable. Shake him back to reality and the ugliness of his obsession. We expect him to move past his initial shock. He’s too determined to be stopped that easily. So I’ll pretend I believe he’s Tomlin, but as soon as we step out of the party, I’ll make a run for the stairs . . . lead him to Bouchard’s workshop on the second floor. Jippetto will already be waiting inside to force Erik to face the quiet, gentle man he used so callously and the animals he inadvertently slaughtered.
If that’s not enough, I’ll serenade him with the deathbed ballad.