After two hours of staring at her unfinished manuscript, making a few stray marks, and then nodding off in her chair, Lilith abandoned her room and went backstage to watch the ballet rehearse. The whole ballet was onstage for Franz and Swanhilda’s wedding in the final act of Coppélia. Meanwhile, Rebecca held onto one of the mechanical doll’s stands in the wings, lifting and dropping her heels in her new pointe shoes, which let out a low squeak with each shift. Lilith touched Rebecca’s shoulder and said hello.
Rebecca shushed her, and glanced to the stage. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to get in trouble,” she whispered. “What’s going on with Geoffry?”
Lilith rubbed her forehead. “He’s auditioning this morning for Gamal.”
“No!” Rebecca gushed and timidly covered her mouth. “It’s unbelievable.”
“Well,” Lilith shrugged, “I guess there are benefits. I mean, he knows the part.”
Rebecca squinted thoughtfully. “You’d also rather be embraced by Geoffry than Señor Cruz. Let’s be honest.”
Lilith tilted her head derisively. “But I still don’t understand why he’s here.”
“You don’t know why I’m here?” Geoffry asked. Lilith gasped and glared at him, a hand over her heart. “Rebecca!” he whispered. “Look at you! I knew you’d make it.”
Rebecca bowed her head and whispered, “Thank you, Geoffry.”
“What are you doing backstage?” Lilith snapped.
“I was looking for you. I wanted to thank you for not sabotaging my audition.”
“Well,” Lilith fidgeted. “I don’t really have a reason to keep you out, do I—?”
“Listen,” said Rebecca. “No one is more interested in this conversation than me, but could you please take it somewhere else?” Lilith nodded and led Geoffry by the arm to the hall behind the stage, outside the doors of the ballet foyer.
He thanked her again for recommending him. She crossed her arms. “Why should I disparage you? You’re a perfectly capable singer.”
Geoffry lifted his eyebrows. “Wow, that bullet really softened you.”
Eyes wide, she whispered, “How do you know about that?”
“In New York, A lady friend and I were waiting to board her family’s ship to La Rochelle, and the men at the dock mentioned a woman getting shot. Naturally I assumed it was you.”
“Is this friend how you’ve managed to get a room?”
“At Le Grand Hotel, as a matter of fact.” More gently, he asked, “Was it them? The Navraj?”
“Of course it was. But if you’re here to protect me, you’re complet—”
“I’m here because you didn’t say goodbye,” he said, his voice low with barely hidden anger.
She twitched at the sound. “We’re not a couple, Geoffry.”
“We were friends, Lilith. Thomas and I were friends too, and I had to find out that he was gone from the troupe.” Tears glimmered in his hazel eyes. “You couldn’t tell me that?”
Lilith looked down, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “Rebecca and I were fleeing. What could I have done?” She lifted her eyes for a moment, sadness roughening her voice. “My priority was to get Rebecca to safety, and I have. My and Thomas’s show is being produced in Paris. I can face the end without regret.”
Geoffry grabbed her shoulders. “You don’t have to face anything. Have you seen any of them here? I haven’t. You could be anywhere in Europe, or Asia, or Africa for all they know. You don’t have to constantly live in fear.”
Her eyes swept his graceful face doubtfully, and dropped to the floor. “They’ll find me, Geoffry. It’s what they do.”
“And what then? You don’t have to give into them.” He tenderly held her cheek and pleaded, “Let me protect you.”
Her eyes cooling as she met his gaze, Lilith stepped away from him. “Your presence will only be tolerated because Thomas would have wanted you here.”
That afternoon, the company gathered in the house. Mercier started the meeting by announcing that the baritone who played Count Di Luna had resigned after the incident with the anvils, and so Jacob Pawl, a young man from the chorus and the Count Di Luna understudy, would play the main baritone part in Les Souffrances du Amira. Then, Mercier introduced the American tenor that the managers had signed for the season, Geoffry Valère, who originated Gamal in New York, and would be reprising the role. Orelio stood. “Excuse me, Mercier, when we spoke you told me I would be Gamal.” As Moncharmin started to speak, Orelio burst with anger, saying his contract entitled him to lead roles, and they could not go back on their word.
“Señor,” Lilith purred and touched his arm, “Gamal is just a pretty boy. He has a narrow range of emotion, and his songs reflect that. Mercier, the managers, and I thought your talents would be better suited for the role of Hasib. He’s dark and brooding, and has a much more challenging vocal part.”
“Yes, we believed it would better showcase your versatility,” said Moncharmin. Subdued, Orelio told the managers they would discuss it later. Mercier continued to read out the cast.
As Lilith took her seat beside Geoffry, he leaned in and whispered, “That speech sounded quite like the one you gave when we arrived in New York.” She shushed him. He had switched off the grief and was back to friendly-flirtatious jabbing. He must have known it annoyed her the most. He looked off in thought, and quietly continued, “It was an entirely different show, and I definitely recall the words ‘narrow range of emotion’ and ‘pretty boy.’” When Lilith wouldn’t answer, he whispered behind her back to Rebecca, “She thinks I’m pretty?”
“Was that a secret?” asked Rebecca. Before he could respond, she heard her name whispered, and turned around to see Meg beckoning her three rows back. Rebecca snuck to her friend and Meg patted the empty seat next to her, saying that the ballet was supposed to sit together.
“Mother thinks if we mix with the rest of the company it will be too easy for us to sneak off after,” said Meg.
Jammes leaned forward to add, “Like anyone would risk that.” She offered them a handful of marshmallows. “You might get punished for sneaking out at night, but she’d behead you for skipping rehearsal.” As they each took a few pieces of candy, Jammes nodded toward Geoffry and asked, “Rebecca, why were you hiding that beautiful man from us?”
“Oh,” Rebecca smiled, amused. “We didn’t know he was coming. We’ve worked with him for a few years, and all the while he’s been chasing Lilith.”
Jammes bumped her shoulder into Meg’s and said with a brazen curl to her lips, “I think Meg and I can change that.” Meg blushed furiously and shook her head. Then someone dropped, panting, into the aisle seat beside Rebecca. Balás ran a hand over his collar and cravat, clutching a notebook to his stomach.
“Are you all right?” Meg asked with an airy giggle. “We didn’t know where you were.”
“Mercier s-s-sent me to his house to get his n-notes for the designers,” he whispered. “How late am I?”
“It’s only been about ten minutes,” Rebecca assured him. Balás grimaced. “What is it?” she asked around the marshmallow on her tongue.
Balás tapped his foot against the carpet. “He wanted me to give these to him before the meeting started. I don’t know if I should go up now or if I should wait.”
“For what?” mocked Jammes, leaning over Meg. “Just go.”
“He shouldn’t interrupt,” said Meg.
Rebecca countered, “But what if Mercier needs them now?”
“Please stop tormenting me,” Balás whispered.
“Balás,” Mercier called coolly, “Be quiet. It’s rude enough to be late.”
Balás sunk down into the red velvet seat. With a pained expression, Rebecca held a marshmallow out to him and whispered, “I’m sorry.” He sighed and thanked her for the candy, blushing the moment he made eye contact with her.
After the meeting, Geoffry chatted with Moncharmin and placed his hand in the middle of Lilith’s back. As she pursed her lips and considered stepping on his shoe, the new baritone approached her, allowing her to step away. “Mademoiselle,” he said, “I just wanted to tell you that I’m so grateful for the opportunity that you’ve given me.”
“Oh, I’m flattered, Monsieur…”
“Jacob, but I really didn’t have anything to do with casting. I was just trying to help the managers with Señor Cruz,” she said, suddenly very aware that Geoffry had stopped talking behind her.
His broad shoulders dropping warmly, Jacob said, “Well, that may be true, but with the reason behind M. Ferretti leaving, I can’t help but think you’re partly responsible—not that I’m accusing you of anything, of course—”
“Excuse me,” Geoffry interceded, good-naturedly taking his spot at Lilith’s side, “What has Lilith done now?” Lilith stared off in annoyance.
“Oh, no,” Jacob laughed. “She hasn’t done anything. You didn’t hear about last night?” Geoffry gazed at the young man distrustfully.
Lilith reached out to the managers, who were talking with Mercier and a sceneshifter. “M. Moncharmin, I think it’s time you have the conversation with M. Valère about your highest paid employee.” Moncharmin lifted his eyebrows and agreed. But before he forgot, he handed Lilith an envelope from his coat pocket: the advance on her paycheck. Since the managers were occupying Geoffry, and Rebecca was back to watching the ballet rehearse, Lilith slipped away to her room and got her wrap. She had to go out and order some clothing. Inside the envelope was a stack of cash and a note from Moncharmin suggesting a variety of boutiques (Reboux, Duvelleroy, but mostly dressmakers) that she should visit, “to avoid M. Richard picking a dress at random again.”
The side effects from the night before had faded into minor dehydration, so Lilith spent the entire afternoon on the Rue de la Paix, and found one seamstress, who although not nearly as famous as Worth, had Lilith’s sense of humor. Although the seamstress was reluctant to take orders for Rebecca when she wasn’t there, Lilith gave the measurements she knew for Rebecca and said she could only bring her tomorrow, as Sunday was the one day the ballet didn’t rehearse. However, Lilith needed suits and evening dresses in a hurry. The seamstress told her it would take at least two weeks, but when Lilith mentioned they would be seen at L’Opéra Populaire, the seamstress promised to have the first two done in a week.
Lilith brought the dress prints back to her room, where Rebecca, Meg, and Mathilde poured over them, sprawled out on the pastel throw rug while Lilith sat at her desk, her unfinished manuscript in front of her. Soon she came to terms with the fact that she would get no work done while these girls were on dinner break. (She refused, however, to dwell on the truth that it was Thomas who was better at the score, whereas she was better at the librettos.)
“They’re gorgeous,” cooed Meg.
“What colors will this one be in?” Mathilde asked, holding up a picture of a narrow shouldered day-suit.
“Blue and gray,” Lilith answered, shifting in her seat. The desk chair had pinned the dagger in her skirt pocket against her thigh. But it was worth the sense of security out on the street.
Rebecca held out a sketch of a voluptuous ball gown. “Lilith, isn’t this one similar to the gown you wore yesterday?”
Lilith looked at the sketch. “I don’t think so.”
“I’m sure the bodice is exactly the same.”
“No, no, the neckline on the violet one is higher, and trimmed with black velvet. Let me show you.” She stood and went to her wardrobe, where she had put the dress away that morning, but she couldn’t find it. Lilith went through all the drawers and then looked through the dresser. The gown had vanished. A chill raised the hair on the back of her neck.
Then a dark figure loomed in the doorway. “Girls, have you eaten dinner?” Mme. Giry asked. The girls said they had. “Then get back to the theatre and get into costume.” They all apologized and obeyed.
Staring into the wardrobe, Lilith said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep them.”
“They know their responsibilities. Speaking of which, as if I am your secretary, the managers have given me the key to your dressing room,” Giry said, more curt than usual.
Still staring into the wardrobe, Lilith didn’t notice until Giry was holding out the key until she cleared her throat. “Oh, thank you. I’m sorry,” Lilith said. Giry nodded and turned to leave. Realizing she didn’t want to be left alone, Lilith asked, “Um, where is my dressing room?”
“Where all the dressing rooms are,” said Giry.
Disappointed, Lilith simply said, “Fair enough.”
Giry sighed. “I don’t have much time before rehearsal starts again. Do you want me to show you where it is?”
“Thank you,” gushed Lilith. She made sure to lock the bedroom door behind her and followed Giry to the stairwell.
“Still feeling the effects of your indulgence last night?” Giry muttered.
Lilith laughed uneasily. “The effects are about as foggy as the memory now.” Giry huffed. They descended in silence until they reached the empty underground passage and Lilith quietly added, “I know what you must think of me, Alianore, but I assure you, this isn’t a common practice of mine. It’s extremely upsetting to have no recollection of an entire evening.”
“I wouldn’t know, Mademoiselle,” she snapped, without a glance in Lilith’s direction. “And thank you for flaunting your new dresses in front of my students. The ones who come from good families rarely receive anything from their parents.”
“Alianore.” At the end of the tunnel, Lilith stopped between Giry and the door. “Is something wrong? I can’t believe you’re only mad at me.”
Seething, Alianore said, “I have a right to be! You almost died last night! Don’t pretend to care for me when you can’t care for yourself!”
“What are you talking about?”
Alianore pointed the head of her cane at Lilith’s chest. “Last night, when you came home drunk out of your mind, you nearly drowned in the bath tub.”
Lilith let out a sharp breath, paralyzed in shock and dread. “Oh God.”
Alianore recoiled. “I spent most of my early morning cleaning up after you and making sure you were still alive, so forgive me if I seem—”
Before she could spit another word, Lilith embraced her, warm and sincere. After a long silence, Lilith lifted her cheek from Giry’s shoulder. With a look of deep sadness, Lilith brushed the sleeves of Giry’s suit and dropped her hands in front of her. “Thank you, Alianore. I apologize for putting you through all that. It won’t happen again.” Giry scanned Lilith’s face, and nodded in acceptance.
When she had pointed out which dressing room was Lilith’s, Giry left to return to the ballet. Lilith unlocked the door and turned what she thought would be the knob of a gaslight, but was actually electric. The room was modern and relatively large, with a velvet couch, an ornate rug down the center, and a white vanity opposite a matching dresser, both painted in pastel floral patterns. At the far end was a floor-to-ceiling mirror, its dark walnut frame ornately carved with flourishes and budding flowers. On the vanity sat a new make-up box, containing greasepaint sticks, brushes, powder, powder puffs, and a letter from Moncharmin, hoping that she liked the dressing room and telling her not to hesitate to ask if there was anything more she needed.
Lilith sat at the vanity and let out an endless breath. She hadn’t realized how poorly she was handling her grief. Massaging her temples, she wondered if she could ever make it up to Alianore. No, of course not. What could atone for the distress Lilith had caused her? She folded her arms on the vanity and dropped her chin to its surface. Then she heard a faraway violin playing Amira’s first aria. Lilith lifted her face and stared into the eyes of her reflection. She could not let herself wallow in misery. She had a purpose here. The violinist practicing in the hall had reminded her of that.
She stroked her silver locket. Looking for something to take her mind off Thomas and her near death and her unfinished opera, Lilith tore the paper end off of a black greasepaint liner, wondering how close the pigment was to the greasepaint she left in New York. Without applying a basecoat, Lilith traced her upper eyelashes with a feline stroke, from the inside of her nose to the bone at the edge of her eye. As she lined the lower lashes, she could have sworn the music seemed closer than before. She must have been imagining it. Why would the violinist have moved mid-song? Finishing the other eye, Lilith began to hum along. The sound of the violin struck her as familiar in a way she couldn’t name.
Amira’s aria ended, leaving a very brief silence before a new song began. When Lilith recognized it, she jumped to her feet, nearly knocking the make-up box off the vanity. It was one of her father’s unpublished concertos. She glared at the door, feeling for her dagger. This was one of Geoffry’s stunts. He was out in the hall with a violinist from the orchestra, just trying to get her attention. She marched to the door and flung it open. The hall was empty, not a soul in sight, and darker than she remembered.
Chills coiled up her spine as the source of the violin shifted behind her. She whirled around, dagger in hand, but still found no one. The music was coming from the absolute center of the room. She circled the dressing room, feeling the walls for vibrations, but they all felt the same. The violin was so clear: it came from the center. She paced, annoyed and alight with fear. Then, gathering her courage, Lilith stretched a hand into the invisible violinist and gasped. She was bathed in music. In her frustration, she hadn’t realized how beautiful it was. To be surrounded by the song, the melody pulsing through her body—it was a staggering, miraculous sensation.
As she felt the sconces dimming around her, Lilith opened her eyes. She withdrew from the heart of the sound. “What’s wrong, Amira?” a voice called from nowhere. Jaw tense, Lilith backed into the wall and scanned the room. She turned up the dial on the electric sconce, and to her slight relief, it worked. “Don’t be afraid,” the voice said smoothly. It was a man’s voice, she was sure. “I’m a friend.” She laughed emotionlessly under her breath. Then she tried to clear her mind of the sensations and think logically. “Do forgive me for intruding,” the voice said. “I wanted a private audience with you.”
“You forgot to present your card,” Lilith scoffed, barely hiding her hostility.
The voice laughed, low and tender. “I assure you, Lilith, we’ve met before.”
She lifted her chin, stroking the dagger handle with her thumb. “When you were stealing my father’s music, or did you take it from my room just now?”
“I did not steal your father’s music. He gave it to me as soon as his pen touched the paper,” the voice nearly sang. Lilith pressed her ear to the wall to see if she could locate the speaker. Suddenly the voice whispered in her other ear, “Put the knife away, Lilith. You cannot harm me.”
She gasped, and demanded, “What do you want?”
“You are lost. I am here to guide you,” the voice said, so soothingly. “I am the Angel of Music.”
“You felt it yourself,” the Angel said, the violin resounding once again in the center of the room. “You know it to be true, Lilith.” As he spoke, she fought the urge to step back into the heart of the music. “You have a great destiny, and I am here to help you achieve it.”
Lilith forced out a steady breath against her desire, and crossed her arms. “Only enemies are helping with my destiny these days.”
The Angel sighed. “They are after you, Lilith, but they have yet to accomplish killing you.”
Her heart stopped. She gripped her dagger. “Who?”
“Your father’s enemies. The Navraj,” he said.
Lilith threw the dagger through the heart of the music, sticking it in the opposite wall. “How can you know that and not be one of them?” She whirled around, searching the room as the Angel spoke.
“They are the enemy of all things pure. Of course I know of them.” Then, his voice growing, he said more forcefully, “I can protect you from them. You are an agent of God. He has gifted you with that beautiful voice to spread his glory on Earth. Let me help you achieve that destiny, the destiny your father wanted for you, and you will be shielded from their wrath.”
She forced her lips not to quiver. “And what do you want in return?”
The Angel was quiet for a long time. “Your devotion. It is a trying path you’re on, and you cannot be distracted. There are people who want to occupy you with frivolity.”
“Ah,” she whispered, dropping onto the vanity bench. “What about Rebecca?”
“Rebecca is part of your destiny. She will be protected as well. Oh, Lilith, if you devote yourself to your work and God, not only will you be safe, but I can lay all the world at your feet. Will you let me guide you?”
“If you know about the Navraj, I’m sure you can understand why God and I are not on speaking terms.” She stared at the floor, hands folded beneath her chin. Amidst all this magic, she nearly forgot about the so-called opera ghost. “Divine or not,” she said, “I’m sure you understand why I can’t trust strangers, let alone disembodied voices.”
“Of course,” the Angel said gently, his voice now beside her. “That’s the challenge of my station, but I am up for the task, if you accept my assistance.”
“When you say assistance,” Lilith began, crossing her ankles as her anxiety faded into mildly frightened curiosity, “do you mean sending me costumes as evening wear?”
The Angel was silent again. “Yes,” he said finally. “I’m sorry it displeased you.”
“I certainly appreciated the thought. I was in need. However, sending me the costume of an expensive prostitute isn’t what I would expect from an agent of God.”
“Métella is not a prostitute—” he said with emotion, but then calmed himself before adding, “Regardless, it suited your unofficial debut.”
“Did you assist me in that as well?”
“Amira, tell me why you haven’t practiced your opera since you arrived. Outside of what you performed last night, you haven’t touched the manuscript,” he said so tenderly, so sweetly, completely ignoring her question.
She shrugged. “I’ll practice when rehearsal starts. It’s engrained in me, anyway.”
“You haven’t practiced because you’re in pain, Lilith,” he whispered.
Lilith stood. “I don’t like to be told what I feel, no more than I like my career decisions made for me.”
“I’m not here to fight you.” The violin moaned to life, playing the introduction to a duet between Amira and Gamal. “But if you sing, I can help remove the pain.”
A scowl twitched in the corner of her mouth, staring into the spot where the music dwelled. “You make a lot of promises,” she whispered. But when Amira’s part drew near, she stepped into the heart of the music and sang. The Angel sang too, Gamal’s part, powerful and true. Not a note, breath, or word out of place. His voice lived within that music. Their voices interlaced faultlessly. Then, when the song ended, the lights came up and the Angel was gone.
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