Operatic Tragedy | Mikael

Chapter Nine

 For the next few weeks, Marguerite moved through finishing her latest run in The Magic Flute, studying Pierre's opera, and riding back and forth to the opera house with Mikael.

 Marguerite hadn't expected herself to ever really like Mikael, and she still wasn't sure why she liked him. He was quiet and sullen and never had anything happy to say about anything. To be quite honest, the was downright depressing. She should have found him depressing, but somehow she didn't. She liked him.

 Of course, she hadn't forgotten that danger he had talked about. She knew it couldn't have been an excuse to not have to see her, because he seemed to actually like talking to her (or maybe not-there never seemed to be any way to tell what he was thinking). She really didn't know what to make of all that, but she continued to spend time with him, anyway.

 Mikael hardly ever mentioned any events from his own life; all she knew about his past was that he was a widower with children who constantly evaded him. He did speak of his home country and some places he had traveled, but that was because she asked him to tell her. He seemed far more interested in hearing about her life than he was in telling her about his own, which only made him all the more mysterious.

 There was something else about him. Marguerite could feel that he had a secret weighing down on him, perhaps more than one. She wanted to tell him that he could confide in her and trust her, but she know how he would react to such a statement. Still, there was something dangerous about him.

 Some may wonder why Marguerite would continue to spend time with Mikael if she felt he was dangerous. It was the simple of her having no one's safety to worry for but her own. She had no living family left, at least none that she knew of. She had no real friends besides Pierre Blanchard. If she died, he would be upset, but he would move on. She had her career, but she was getting older; another ten years, and she would probably have to begin retiring. In short, Marguerite had no real attachments, so why should she have to worry so much for her own safety when the truth was that no one would really miss her?

~~~~~~

 The night before the premiere of Pierre's opera, Mikael asked Marguerite, "Are you going to tell me anything about this opera of your friend's?"

 "Les de Rochambeaus. It seems to be about a family who all hate each other yet love each other at the same time. I really do not understand what Pierre is trying to do, but he is the composer, so I don't question it. You will be there tomorrow night, won't you?"

 "Of course I shall. I would not miss a new premiere of yours, Marguerite."

 She smiled. "Then be there, please. Perhaps you can explain it to me in ways Pierre cannot seem to."

 The next night, Marguerite was stunning in her new role as the Lady de Rochambeau, just as she was in every role. This family, these Rochambeaus were cunning and vicious, yet they still seemed to care for each other however many times they stabbed each other in the back. The matriarch was just like the rest, of course, but was graceful in every movement she made, even in her death scene as her husband, played by Pierre, vowed vengeance on her killer, who just so happened to be one of their sons. The opera ended with father and son preparing to duel, and no one in the audience would know who lived and who died.

 Marguerite still didn't understand this family Pierre had written about, and how they could love each other so much but still hurt each other the way they did. But she didn't let herself dwell on it for long, since she had somewhere to be.

 Marguerite usually met Mikael on the sidewalk in the evening, and they would ride to her home together.

 "Mikael! Oh, tell me what you thought of it, will you?" she said, still flushed with excitement form the performance.

 Mikael didn't look at her, and it took him a long moment to reply.

 "I don't understand, Marguerite," he finally said. "You tell me I can trust in you, confide in you, but at the same time, you friend is writing this." He held up her copy of the manuscript Pierre had given her.

 "What do you mean?" Marguerite asked.

 "You talk as if you have no idea!" He threw the manuscript on the ground. "Answer me: where did your friend get this idea from? Hmm?"

 "He-he didn't say where he got it from. I thought he just made it up. Mikael, I really do not know what you're talking about."

 "Well. Perhaps you don't. You're honest, and you don't have anything to lose, so you would have no real reason to lie to me. But let me warn you, Marguerite: this friend of yours, this Pierre Blanchard, may not be as good as you think he is. If he knows this story, there could be more to him than you know."

 He stalked off, though Marguerite called his name twice. She bent down to pick up the manuscript, and when she stood straight again, he had vanished.

 "Marguerite?" Pierre came down the steps of the opera house. "Has something happened?"

 "Yes. I...I don't know. I don't know what it was. Pierre, I don't know what to do."

 "Oh. Here, let me get a cab. I'll take you home."

 As Pierre went to flag down a cab, Marguerite looked around, hoping to see Mikael. But he was nowhere in sight.