The Magician's Witch

In Concert

Consciousness came in increments the following morning. She felt his presence next to her, the comforting warmth and weight of his body. Eilis sighed, content, cozy. She hadn't even opened her eyes yet.

"You're awake; I can tell," his voice informed her quietly.

"Barely," Eilis groaned into her pillow.

Eilis could tell by the angle of his body that he was sitting up in bed. She rolled over and peered up at him through one eye.

Erik sat reading her copy of The Phantom of the Opera. He was nearly at the end of the book already.

"How long have you been up," Eilis inquired her voice still thick with sleep.

"A while," Erik remarked off-hand, turning the page.

Eilis hauled herself upright, sitting up next to him and peering over his arm at the page. She straightened out the shirt she was wearing—one of Erik's shirts.

"Ah, yes. The torture chamber scene."

Erik wouldn't look at her. His face was like stone.

"Love," Eilis prodded gently.

"This book does not paint me in an agreeable light," he griped. "I am depicted as this demented madman who abducts young girls and torments my only friend. No wonder you believed something nefarious was happening between Christine and me. I am beginning to question why you came back at all."

Eilis observed his face; Erik was boring holes into the page with his glare. If he stared any harder, the book would combust.

"Erik," Eilis implored.

"This is the opinion of me you have carried with you for the last twenty years," Erik intimated. "You believed that this was a true recitation of the facts."

Eilis cringed. She had hoped this conversation could be put off...indefinitely would have been good.

Erik turned to her, his eyes full of injured trust. "You will not even deny it."

Eilis pursed her lips. "I know better than to hide anything from you."

Erik dropped the book in his lap; he stared at the wall in front of him, warring with himself.

"You did not believe me when I told you there was no understanding between Christine and me. You doubted me, even last night. Because of this." He brandished the book in his hands.

Eilis winced. "I didn't want to believe it," she whispered.

The silence sat between them like a weighted blanket, the pressure becoming oppressive.

"Ok," Eilis finally said, crawling forward on the bed and turning around to face him.

"I knew this conversation would have to happen at some point. You and I...we have both been through a lot. More than the average couple, I'd say. So...let's talk."

Erik scanned her face. He nodded. "Ladies first," he insisted.

Eilis bowed her head, thinking of the best avenue through her explanation. She looked at the worn and ragged book in Erik's hand. The cover had been taped back on several times; pages kept falling out of it. She smirked, removing the book from his grasp. She flipped through it, the words blurring by.

"You know, I read this book for the first time years before we met," she began. "This book was inspired by true events; the chandelier in the auditorium falls on an innocent opera-viewer. From there, rumors spread that it was possibly the work of a mysterious entity—the Opera Ghost," she hinted, winking at him. Erik didn't smile.