The Opera Ghost was gone...

Paris, March 1896

The Opera Ghost was gone.

The absurd thought was with me from the moment morning’s pale light spilled in through hastily drawn curtains, prodding me away from dreams both fearful and divine.

He’s gone.

The sudden certainty was so startling I sat up with a gasp and pushed aside the twisted tangle of linens, even as my bedfellow groaned.

Ignoring his protestations – already he’d rolled over and fallen back asleep with an ease I envied – I quickly dressed and abandoned the chamber, the town house, and the man they contained before ordering a hansom cab to take me back to the place I’d sworn so many times I’d ever return: the Opéra Populaire.