“I think someone was watching me.”
“Perhaps they were. Does it matter? Are we not working toward the goal of you performing for an audience?”
“Yes, but that’s not what I…never mind.” Mustering my courage, I stride over to the door and fling it open.
Nothing. Just an empty hallway littered with debris and dust, so dark I can’t see very far along it.
I shut the door again. “I guess I’m jumpy today. I’m going out tonight for a drink. That should help me relax. Except I know Meg is going to beg me to audition with her tomorrow.”
“Audition?”
“Yes, for a new musical. Meg says they need dancers and a chorus. They’re holding open auditions here at the New Orpheum, in the theater itself. I guess the guy who wrote the musical has connections to the building’s owners.”
“Excellent. Your homework is to audition for the musical.”
“What? No…I’m not ready. I’ve told you, I can’t sing for people.”
“Then don’t sing forthem,” he says softly. “Sing for me.”
“For you?”
“I’ll be listening. When you stand on the stage, block out everything else, and sing for my ears only. Pretend you’re right here, in our sanctuary, and perform the way you do when we’re alone.”
“That won’t work.”
“Try. That’s all I ask of you.”
My palms are sweating at the mere idea, but I don’t feel sick to my stomach, which is an improvement. “You’ll be there?”
“I will. I promise.”
I’ve only known the Angel for about a month, but he has been present every single day since he promised to teach me. Granted, he’s a ghost, which means he probably doesn’t have much else to do…but he’s someone reliable in my life. Even Meg can’t always be there for me—she has obligations of her own.
If the Angel says he’ll be at the audition, I know he means it.
He speaks again, his voice swirling around me like a caress. “You’ve come so far in these few weeks, Christine. You amaze me…you inspire me. This gift you possess—it cries out to be shared with the world.”
My very soul cringes. “I think I would hate being famous.”
“Fame is irrelevant.” There’s a tremor in his voice, a fervor he doesn’t usually express unless he’s singing. “Adulation and accolades mean nothing. The only thing that matters is the power you possess to stir a soul, to move emotions, to alter the course of a heart. Music can do that.Youcan do that. I know you can, because you’ve done it for me. I am resurrected every time I hear you sing.”
Tears pool in my eyes. “That’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“So you’ll try,” he urges gently.
“I’ll try. For you.”
Tension vibrates in the air, in the chasm between our voices. I’m trembling as I stand there alone, in a maze of concrete and shadow, goose bumps rising along my arms from the cool air, waiting for something. Waiting for him to speak to me, sing to me…touch me.
What the hell am I doing?
It’s been well over a year since my parents died, and I thought I had a decent handle on everything, that I was doing pretty well. Butmaybe I’m more vulnerable than I thought, because I am becoming far too attached to a literal ghost.
So when his lovely voice glides into the first few bars of “You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine” for our finishing duet, it’s too much for me to take.
I don’t sing with him. Instead, I run.
6The Phantom
