A full head shorter than Erik’s six-foot frame, he was dressed in an orange button-down shirt that was tucked into a pair of belted black jeans, and he wore a neatly tied black and orange-patterned ascot at his throat.
Drawing closer, the man let out a dramatic gasp and placed a hand over his heart before he practically lunged for Erik. The sudden movement made him want to snarl. Normally, he would have pulled away if someone tried to examine his face too closely, maybe growled a warning, and shown his sharp, elongated canines, but this guy didn’t look horrified or appalled, wanting to gawk at the freak. Honestly, he looked like he was about a hairsbreadth away from going into raptures.What the fuck?
“Oh, look atyou!” The man clapped his hands together, his pale blue eyes wide with wonder. “What marvelous work! And the contact lens is a nice touch.”
The man pulled an old-fashioned monocle from his pocket and raised it to his eye. “Is that silicone? The detail is incredible! I can’t even see where the edges of the prosthetic were glued down.”
Ah, that explained it. The guy thought the damage to his face was intentionally placed there, a sculpted appliance. Removable. Erik could only wish.
The guy was still examining his face, looking for those glue lines he wouldn’t find. “Is this your work? Are you a makeup artist?”
“No.” A hint of a growl managed to escape before he could swallow it down, but the guy was too preoccupied to notice.
Finally, the man pulled back and looked up into Erik’s eyes. “No? Then why…?” That hand was back to the heart again as his face fell. “Oh, you sweet boy.” He reached out as if to touch him, but stopped just shy of Erik’s arm. “Our Phantom has already been cast.” The man’s hand came up to the side of his mouth as he whispered conspiratorially, “Though if you can sing, I might reconsider our choice.”
Erik cleared his throat. “I’m not here to audition. You advertised that you needed set painters.”
The man’s shoulders jerked in surprise. “Oh!” He looked at Erik’s scars again in confusion and then uttered a softer, horrified, “Oh,” as all the rosiness drained from his face. Seeming to pull hisdignity around him like a cloak, the guy bowed. “I am speechless at my own thoughtlessness. It was incredibly callous of me. Please, I do beg your pardon.”
“Don’t sweat it.” Honestly, this guy was turning out to be kind of a trip, and if his reaction was the worst he was going to get here, he’d take it.
The man bowed again, adding a flourish with his hand. “I am Lattimer Wilkes. I run this fine establishment.” Straightening up, he offered a proud smile. “But everyone calls me Lattie.”
Erik dipped his chin. “Erik Leroux.”
The man jerked his head back, his eyes widening. “Truly? How ironic.”
It wasn’t ironic at all, though he could see why Lattimer Wilkes thought so, considering the show he was even now preparing to run. In the labs, he and the others hadn’t had names. They’d been assigned serial numbers to identify them. After they’d been freed, they were able to choose names. Some, like Kong, Leo, and Lynx, had chosen their name for the animal with which the majority of their DNA had been spliced. Others, like Jayla, Lark, and Nova, simply took a name they liked. And while the majority of them had taken Colonel – now General Davies’ last name to honor him for freeing them, Erik had gone a different route. It had taken him over a year to decide, but he’d finally chosen his name based on one of his favorite musicals:The Phantom of the Opera. Erik for the disfigured Phantom, and Leroux for the author of the book.
“Well now.” Lattimer clapped his hands together and rocked forward on his toes. “Let’s head inside, shall we? It’s a bit chilly out here.”
Erik thought the temperature was perfect, but whatever. He followed the older man, who walked rapidly to the entrance. As he unlocked one set of double doors, he looked at Erik. “Did you bring a portfolio or have a website where I can see your work?”
“I have some pictures on my phone, but I also have a site.” Lark had just recently created an online presence for him and uploaded high-definition images of his work. Murals, oils on canvas, his pencil sketches, as well as the many tattoos he’d done for his fellow Beasts.
“Excellent! I can’t wait to see it.”
The way opened, they stepped into the luxuriously appointed foyer, and Erik stilled when he heard a woman singing “Think of Me.” Though somewhat muted behind the closed doors of the theatre, the voice was still incredibly beautiful.
“Ah, Chloe’s here,” Lattimer told him with a grin. “Our Christine.” That hand of his went once more to his heart as he gushed, “I still can’t believe I landed such a diamond.” Conspiratorially, he confided, “She performed at the Met, you know. If I had my druthers, I’d announce it to every media outlet in the nation and brag about obtaining such a prize.” He flapped his hands around his head like he might try to take flight. “But it’s all hush-hush, hush-hush. Though all the secrecy adds a touch of mystery, Isuppose. A hint of spice.” He bumped Erik’s arm with his shoulder and grinned slyly. “And I do love a bit of spice.” He bounced on his heels. “Shall we pop in and have a listen?”
Erik nodded, eager to hear her sing more clearly. Chloe Powell, the once Prima Donna of the Metropolitan Opera House, had disappeared from the spotlight roughly a year and a half ago. News articles had claimed she had retired from the stage to live a quiet life away from the public eye.
With another one of his flourishes, Lattimer opened the door, and the song hit Erik squarely in the chest. Unmiked and unaccompanied, the pure notes reached him even here in the back thanks to the power of the vocalist and the acoustics of the room. As she hit a high note, chills pebbled Erik’s flesh. Stunning. Her voice was stunning. He closed his eyes to savor the sound.
In his mind, when the time came, he silently sang Raoul’s part, imagining himself up there, performing with her. Christine picked up the melody once more, and Erik could barely breathe. Beautiful. He could almost hear the orchestra coming in for that final climactic ending. And this was just an informal rehearsal; he couldn’t imagine how spectacular the live performance would be.
“Brava!” Lattimer shouted, clapping as Erik finally opened his eyes and looked for the woman behind that extraordinary voice.
She stood center stage, dressed in jeans and a baggy gray t-shirt with running shoes on her feet. A dark gray baseball cap hid herhair and shaded her eyes, but the smile she offered was wide and happy. “Lattie!”
“Come,” Lattimer prompted as he began to make his way down the stairs toward the stage. “I’ll introduce you.”
Still smiling, she walked to one side of the stage and levered herself down so she was sitting on the edge, her legs dangling and gently kicking as she waited for them.
As Erik drew closer, circumventing the orchestra pit, he waited for that smile to fall. Waited for her to get a good look at his face and for horror to replace the joy in her expression. It never happened, and for a moment, he wondered if she couldn’t see him properly. But no, the house lights were on, not the stage lights. She could see him just fine, yet she still smiled brightly at him as she asked Lattimer, “Who’s this?”
“Chloe Powell, may I present Erik Leroux. He’s an artist who might be working on our sets.”
