He’s alive.
But . . . that means the Phantom is alive, too.
What was it Christine said on her drawing? Legends never die.
That knowledge doesn’t seem as intimidating now. He’ll never hurt me again. Etalon will see to that.
I blot my eyes with my jacket’s cuff and turn to the chapel. That ache begins once more in my heart . . . such a deep longing I can hardly breathe. I didn’t plan to go inside; I didn’t think I was ready. But a magnetized, tugging sensation winds through my tattoo, making it impossible for me to walk away.
My hands hover over the serpent door handle, spurring a gut-twisting memory of Etalon inside that glass case with snakes under his feet. I shut down the fear, because he made it out okay. I can find peace in that, even if I never see him again.
Just please, wherever you are, be happy, Etalon. Don’t hide anymore. Live.
He deserves that, after the childhood he endured, and after all he did to save me and the school despite it.
A knot builds in my throat, belying my brave front. I’m selfish, because I don’t want him to be anywhere else. He’s part of me. I want him here. Now and always.
I shove the door open, painting the dirty stone floor with a slash of yellow sunlight. The soft illumination continues in colorful patches along the walls, stamped in place via the stained glass. I close the door and silence engulfs me, other than the whispers of wind seeping through jagged cracks in the windows. The scent of damp stone tinges the air, overpowered by the aroma of roses.
I move forward, taking cautious steps across the gritty surface as my eyes begin to adjust to the filmy yellowish light gilding the room. My breath locks in my lungs when I see the baptismal and my dad’s violin propped at its base. Beside it, a blanket cushions the stone, dusted with a layer of duotone rose petals.
“I know I promised a bed, but I couldn’t fit the box springs through the baptismal.”
A sob catches in my throat at the sound of that broken French accent. I turn and he steps out from the shadows on the other end of the chapel—tall, strong, and gentle. My maestro.
He holds Diable in his arms. The cat scowls, disgusted by the confinement. As Etalon and I stare at one another in silence, Diable twists around, his collar jingling, until his “master” finally sets him down.
The cat bounds my way in a flurry of bells and wooly fur, stops long enough to wrap my ankles in greeting, then races into the shadows behind the baptismal. His jingling stops, a sure sign he found a way out.
Etalon hasn’t budged from his spot, other than to take off his shoes. His dark wavy hair has been trimmed and swept into some semblance of order. He’s wearing a lightweight navy sweater, dark-blue blazer, and ribbed navy pants, and stands beside his discarded shoes, showcasing my toe socks.
I clasp a hand over my mouth, caught between laughing and crying. My legs jitter, ready to run to him, my arms ache to embrace him. I’m hungry to kiss those lips and mess up his silky hair with my fingers. I’ve wanted it for a month. But I can’t move. “You look . . . so normal,” I mutter between my fingers.
A chuckle rumbles from his chest. “Well, there’s a first time for everything, yes? I had a job interview in Paris today. Veterinary assistant. At last, I can use my talents once more to heal instead of alter. Erik pulled some strings.”
To see Etalon so content, to know that he can start to atone for what he’s done—it should unkink the twist in my gut. But the image of Erik pulling strings on any level sends shivers through me. I still remember how he held the scalpel to my throat, then did the same to Etalon, actually cutting him.
And I remember how I thought I’d left Etalon for dead.
“No.” I drop my hand and struggle to contain the current of mixed emotions rising in me. “We’re not doing this. Having a typical conversation like neither of us went through hell and back. You could’ve at least sent me a note! Something! Anything to let me know—”
He’s towering over me before I can finish, a graceful slash of deep blue through the sunlight dappling the walls. “I thought you did know.” He catches my palm and pushes my jacket’s sleeve to my elbow, tracing the ribbon’s band along my wrist and igniting the coils with delicious fire. “This should’ve told you.” He lifts my knuckles to his soft lips then shakes his head. “I forget sometimes. The concept is foreign to you still. One day you’ll learn to trust your intuitions.”