The Magician's Witch

Plots and Twists

Raoul had had a terrible night's sleep. Tossing and turning all night, he kept having the same nightmare—he was drowning in a river, gasping and clawing at the surface. The water was unusually warm, almost hot, and it had an odd viscosity to it, and it smelled of sulfur.

Just as he felt himself going under, a hand reached out and grabbed him by the arm. Gratefully, he held on. He looked up at his rescuer—an unusually tall man in a long, black cloak, his free hand wrapped around a long pole meant to steer the watercraft he stood in. Raoul recoiled in horror—at the face of Death. The skull grinned at him. The hand that gripped him was claw like, bleached white even in the dim, red haze. It was then that Raoul realized that his arm was covered in thick, oozing blood.

After the third time Raoul had attempted to drift off to sleep, he had given up. He got up, pulled on his dressing gown, and then sat down at his desk. He pulled out a piece of paper and his ink well and pen, then stared at the blank page. What was it he intended to write? And to whom?

Agitated, he got up and began pacing the room. Gaston had not returned to the house as promised. Had he not been successful in dispatching that gruesome enemy? And where had Erik spirited Christine off to? Raoul had called around to Madame Valerius' house, despite the late hour, but no one answered the door. He picked up the ring Christine had flung at him, holding it tightly in his fist as he continued to pace.

The sun came up a little while later. Feeling cranky and sleep deprived, Raoul got dressed. His chamber maid was surprised to see him awake so early, but he paid her no mind.

He trudged downstairs to find the breakfast table vacant; normally, Phillippe was down before him. He found a note from his brother placed in the middle of the table, addressed to Raoul, explaining that he would not be home until later that day, as he was visiting his mistress.

Raoul grumbled to himself about his older brother's apparent luck with women as he plopped down into a chair.

Breakfast was a quiet affair. Afterward, Raoul went into the library. In an attempt to occupy his mind from the constant worrying, Raoul selected a random volume from the shelf, sat down in one of the chairs by the fireplace, and began to read. After rereading the same passage several times, he gave up, tossing the book onto the table with a huff of frustration. He rubbed his eyes. He kept them closed, weariness overcoming him.

He must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake by a slender hand, a familiar, musical voice calling his name.

"Raoul, Raoul, are you alright? Wake up!"

His eyes were wild and disoriented when he opened them. The sweet, dear face of Christine came into focus. Immediately, he was wide awake. He grasped her by the shoulders.

"Oh, thank God," he murmured. "You are here. I went to your house last night, but you were not there. Where did that monster send you?"

Christine shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears. "He sent me back to the opera house. He meant to follow me there—but he never returned. But I was met by this gentleman," she turned, indicating Nadir who was still standing by the door of the library. He bowed politely. Christine turned back to Raoul. "He said he knew you and would keep me safe until I could come to you today."

Her voice hitched and she sniffed, trying to hold back a torrent of emotions. "Oh Raoul," she whispered.

Raoul bristled, remembering her brazen attitude toward him the night before. He reached into his pocket, fingering the ring she had thrown at him. "Why did you tell me that you no longer wanted to marry me," he demanded, the pain in his voice unmistakable. "Why, Christine? You were so hateful. Have I ever given you reason to doubt my word? I love you. I only wanted to keep you safe from...from him."