Immortal Darkness (Phantom Diaries #3) (19 page)

Faust chuckled.  “Yes, I’m sure you were, but I still feel I need to take you away from all this.  You're much more like your ancestor, Kristine, than you seem to want to admit.  Kristine was a lost and empty soul, and she tried to fill the void with material possessions, public accolades and frivolous affairs.”  He pointed a claw at me, circling the air in front of my face.  “I see you taking the very same path.”

“No,” I shouted.  “You know nothing about me, or the path my life is taking.  I’m in no way a wanton woman like Kristine was.  I’ve never thrown myself at a man.  I’ve never flaunted my body in front of a man.  I’ve never manipulated a man the way she did.”

“Perhaps,” Faust conceded, “but you always have your insecurities.  You even have your doubts about the ones you love.  You of so little faith, you easily allow me or my minions into your mind, your heart so that I may destroy the love you have for Eric, Aaron or Chace.”

Eric looked defiantly at Faust.  “Annette has a loving heart and a passionate disposition.  You can’t fault her for that.  Try as you may to make something evil out of loving, but the truth is that you’ll never know what love can be.”

Faust balled his ugly little claws and waved them around in a rage.  “Enough!” he shouted.  “Call her as innocent as you want.  Vouch for her until the sun goes down.  I don’t care.  I’m out a soul.  Whether she’s innocent or naïve or a real tramp, I want her soul.”

“That’s not the way it works, and you know it.”  Aaron pulled a small handbook from his breast pocket.

“What insignificant rule are you going to come up with now, Aragon?”

“She’s never given consent,” Aaron said.  “You can’t take anyone’s soul without their consent.’

“I should have known,” Faust said with a knowing laugh.  “You think she’s so pure and perfect that she couldn’t possibly have ever given her consent.”

Everyone turned to look at me.

“Annette,” Aaron said.  “Did you?”

“Of course not.”

“The devil never forgets, darling.  I may be slow in collecting, but I never forget a promise, no matter how softly it was whispered, not matter how dire the situation that brought the promise.”

Shaking my head, I looked at Chace, Aaron and Eric.  “I didn’t.  I swear.  I think I’d remember if I’d ever done such a thing.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Faust shook his claw at me in reprimand. “Your mother had found some documents regarding Kristine.  It was the first time you’d heard of this relative from your distant past.”

I looked at him, remembering that day some years ago.

“You were rather intrigued with this woman.  Of course, at thirteen, it’s easy to understand how you could be as interested in her as you were.  She was a grand singer on a grand stage in some of the world’s grandest operas.  Oh, how you envied her, didn’t you?  You wanted to know what it felt like… being on stage, being adored by the masses, having the critics rave about you.”

I frowned, remembering my fascination with Kristine.  I’d seen photos of the opera house in Paris and couldn’t believe anything could be so beautiful.  I listened to operas whenever I could, though opportunities were rare.  The photos of Kristine showed a vibrant woman who captivated everyone who laid eyes on her, especially a naïve thirteen year old who dreamed of singing before a filled room.

“Your dreams of being a world renowned singer were big, so big you’d give… anything.”

“No,” I muttered softly as I shook my head and tried to remember what my exact words had been.

“You’d give anything… even your soul… just for the chance to sing in a real opera house in front of a real audience.”

As if a wave was slowly riding high above me, preparing to crash down and drown me, smother me, kill me, the memory of that day so long ago came back.  “I was just a kid,” I said, turning to him with trembling fists.  “It’s just a way of putting things, a pattern of speech, an expression.  For crying out loud, it was just the silly words of a young teenager.  You can’t hold me accountable for that.  Every other teen has probably uttered such nonsense at least once in their lives.”

Faust cocked his brow.  “Yes, I know.  Thank heavens for the loose lips of youth.”

“How can you be so…?”

“So evil?”  He reached out for my hand.  “Dear Annette, though these promises are often spoken without full understanding of the consequences, believe me, every single soul that has been promised me was done with a full and earnest desire to receive what they wanted.  I held up my end of the bargain… every time.  If ever there was a wish or desire I couldn’t fulfill, I didn’t hypocritically come around to collect.”

He glanced around at Aaron, Eric and Chace.  “I have some integrity, after all.”  He turned his attention back to me.  “And you got your wish, dear. For the past months you’ve sung for all the world to hear.  People love you.  Critics adore you.  What more could you ask for?”

“But this still remains Kristine’s doing.”

Faust grabbed my arm and pulled me to him with a swift jerk.  “She wanted to give you immortality,” he shouted.  “You all got what you wanted.  Now it’s my turn.  I’m tired of having to renegotiate every time I come to collect.  She’s mine and that’s all there is to it.”

Eric put his hand to Faust’s chest and pushed him back.  “No, take me.”

“Tempting, but no.”

“Why?” Eric asked.

“It’s what she used to exchange hers.”

“Then what about this?” Eric shoved his Aragon ring into Faust’s hand.  “I don’t want to be immortal.  I willingly give you my immortality.  Surely that’s worth many souls, isn’t it?”  Eric wrapped his arm around me.  “Take my immortality instead of her soul.”

Before anyone could see what was going on, Eric ripped the crucifix from my neck, flicked open the vile and whipped holy water at Faust.  Chace quickly caught on and took up the same battle, holding out the crucifix he’d held onto so tightly since all this had begun.  Both moved in unison as they pinned Faust to the wall and set their crucifixes on his brow.

“Be gone!” Chace said. “Be gone, Devil.”

“Be gone!” I called out with Eric and Aaron.

Faust turned to me, his eyes menacing.  “I’ll be back, Annette.  I’ll come back for you.”

As I stared at him with the fear of his promise, he disappeared.

The loud rumbling of the Opera House suddenly ceased and we all stood looking at each other.  Relief, shock, disbelief played in all their eyes and I could only imagine what I looked like.

Eric reached out for Chace and gripped his shoulder with pride and appreciation.  Aaron joined them, the three men silently congratulating each other for a job well done.

“I can’t begin to thank you… all of you.”  I joined them and for a long moment we stood there, hugging each other and reveling in the victory over Faust.

Eric finally backed away and Aaron took a long hard look at him.

“I owe you… big time.  You saved the Opera House, despite my running of Rupert’s opera.  You were right.  I should have backed off and let it all go.  I shouldn’t have brought back Kristine’s journals and her personal items.”  He put his arm around my shoulder.  “I also want to thank you for helping me save what’s most important to me… Annette.”

Eric looked at Aaron. “No need to apologize.  I know I would have done the same… as an Aragon.”

“Why?” I asked.

“It’s an Aragon thing,” Aaron said.  “We don’t take defeat lightly.”

“That’s right,” Eric chimed in.  “We don’t.”  He frowned suddenly and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and coughed into it.  His coughing went on for a few minutes and when it finally ceased and he prepared to put the handkerchief back into his jacket, he fell back, leaned against the wall for stability, then slid down, clutching his chest the whole way.

“Eric,” I said as I rushed to him.  “Eric!  Are you all right.”

His eyes glazed over as he continued to clutch his chest.

“Aaron, do something,” I said in a panic.

Eric gasped for breath and his eyes widened as he sought a gulp of air.

Chace and Aaron came to my side.

“Did you see this?” Chace said.  He picked up the handkerchief Eric had let fall to the floor.  It was soaked in blood.

Aaron shook his head as he put his hand to Eric’s brow and gazed at the kerchief.  “It doesn’t look good.”

Before he’d even finished his sentence, Eric fell limply to the side and lay in an unconscious heap.

Epilogue

February 13
^th
, 2011

Dear Diary,

I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt so lost, so out of control.  The opening night of Rupert’s The Traitor will forever be a turning point in my life.  I will always remember the Annette I’d been before that grand night and the Annette I became after it.

Is that what they call maturing?  Maybe.

After Eric collapsed and lost consciousness, I thought my life was over.  I couldn’t imagine my life without him and the thought of losing him drained what little energy I had left.

For over a week, he was in and out of consciousness.  For over a week I was elated and hopeful then demolished and depressed as I heard the constantly changing news on Eric’s condition.

But after that horrid week of questions and doubts, he finally was able to get up and walk around, though not enough to get out.  He was finally able to talk to me, though he had little to say.  His comments often reverted back to his time in France, his time with Kristine.  He seemed to be reaching for something, or someone, who was no longer there.

It broke my heart, though I was increasingly hopeful with his progress.

Since then, however, his progress has stagnated.  His health is now so fragile, so tentative, so exhausted.  The slightest upset can leave him in bed for a day and even his good days are mediocre at best.

I’ve tried to be strong; strong for him, but I can’t help but let my worry and concern show.  On more than one occasion I’ve sat on the edge of his bed with tears in my eyes.  At other times, I’ve openly wept, unable to contain my great and growing sorrow.

At those moments, Eric put extra effort into being strong.  He would reassure me, pat my hand and show his concern for me.  I wish I had the power to make him stronger, but I’m at a loss.

The silver lining in all this has been his relationship to Aaron.  Strange how the catastrophe that was The Traitor has brought them closer together.  Though I wouldn’t say they were best buddies, they certainly have come to terms with their past and their present.

Aaron finally accepts Eric as an Aragon, something I never thought would happen.  Though Eric hasn’t said much about it, I know it makes him happy to know he’s finally acknowledged by an Aragon.

That acknowledgment came with a heavy price tag, though.  Eric had sacrificed his immortality in order to save me and the Opera House, and the loss of his immortality is more evident with every passing day.  It seemed the past hundred years were catching up to him all at once.

As for my stint at the Opera House, everything has been put on hold.  Monte is gone and finding another director doesn’t seem to be in Aaron’s priorities at the moment.  There’s also the question of the next opera.  The Traitor was permanently shelved, but with all the costs involved in bringing the short lived opera to the stage, building up a whole new production could prove too costly.