To Outwit an Angel

19. The Price of Knowledge

(A/N: There's more French dialogue in this chapter, a little more than last time, actually. As before, the English translation is in an A/N at the end of the chapter in order to avoid spoilers. Happy reading!)

Loretta's POV:

Raoul had called us all to a destroy-the-Phantom's-pocket-dimension meeting that afternoon. We always held them at the opera, whenever we could be certain no one was there. Today was Sunday, so with prudish Victorians flocking to church, we were in the clear. Already, Sharlene, Meg, Madame Giry, Piangi, and I were assembled for this meeting. Raoul had yet to show.

 "If that man is even more late when I already left Mass early for this..." Madame Giry muttered, pacing before the front row of seats in the theater.

 Meg clicked her polished leather boots together and adjusted the tight, frilly collar of her dress.

 "The fact we had to attend at all..." She huffed. Her mother's sharp gaze made her politely redirect her sentence. "The fact we had to attend at all, when the only thing we could think of was this meeting, is a true testament to our devotion, isn't it, Maman?"

 "That it is, Meg. Good to see you recognize it." She said shortly. 

 She resumed her pacing, and I caught Meg's tiny sigh of relief from my seat next to hers. I was currently decimating my already short nails through my teeth. I tried to discern Sharlene and Piangi's tense whispers from their end of the theater, but that was hard.

 Why were they always murmuring to each other in corners? Being lovers was one thing, but couldn't they incorporate themselves into the wider group at least sometimes? One of these days, I'd muster my courage to intrude upon their private chats and force them to assimilate into the rest of us.

 Today was not that day. My pitifully awkward self would have to bolster my courage if I risked being perceived as a nuisance.

 The doors to the theater slammed open, flying back into the wall. Raoul strode in, looking somehow both frenzied and dead inside all at once.

 One thing became clear instantly, and my heart sunk to the pit of my stomach. He had come empty-handed. There was no papaya.

 "Damn it, you two are lucky I'm so invested in your time-travel hijinks by now," he exclaimed, reaching all of us assembled in the front row of seats, "I have not slept all night. Not a wink! Did I finally sleep this morning before reaching you all this afternoon, you may ask?"

 His demented laugh stunned us all into silence, as he swayed slightly on his feet. Any minute now, he would topple over. Holy shit, what had this man been through on account of one papaya?

 Of course, Sharlene was the only one with the nerve to address him.

 "Well, did you? Sleep in this morning, I mean?"

 "Of course not!" He said, slouching into a seat. Upon a closer look, I saw the hideous effects of his long night for myself. Dark patches rimmed his eyes, and his hair was tousled by constant, distressed sweeps of his hands through it. He repeated himself, as if the facts were still uncertain to him in this halfway crazed state. "No, of course not! Sleep in? Not at all! No, I'm telling you all, I've prowled through every street corner in Paris in the dead of night looking for this awful fruit. And guess what? I've jumped through more hoops than a circus animal, and I've still had no luck!"

 If he hadn't looked so pitiful, I might've snickered. It astounded me to find Raoul de Chagny, proper and collected gentleman, clinging to his last thread of sanity by a thin tether. But I restrained myself. If any of us dared to laugh at him right now, I wouldn't be surprised if bloodshed was suddenly on the table.