Chapter 4

Christine shot up from the plush sofa, nostalgia forgotten, the bagel threatening to make an unwelcome return trip up her oesophagus. Meg's boyfriend was making noises of surprised disgust and looking very pale. Erik turned his head lazily towards the source of the commotion.

"Ah, good, I see it worked", he commented smugly. "Christine said people liked the Gothic vibe about me, so I thought I test dialing it up a notch."

"That is… yeah… quite Gothic… I'm sure it would do extremely well on... some platforms" Meg managed to stutter.

Christine gave the object of her affection a glowering look before moving to help Meg pick up the broken pieces and the coffee grounds. While Property Man escorted Meg to the kitchen via the drinks cabinet, Christine put the candle out. During the meal, the wax exterior had melted enough to reveal a metal layer underneath in the distorted shape of Erik's real face. She wondered briefly whether Meg had been scared by the skull looking back at her, or shocked by the very fact that Erik would put his face on display for a trick like that. All the same, the details in the metalwork were awesome. He could really do anything he set his mind to. She shook her head and turned to him.

"Of all the people you could have played that prank on! That's truly unkind. And did you really want to freak out the new boyfriend? Really Erik," she lowered her voice, "I know he's dull as ditchwater, but for Meg's sake if not mine, behave!" He had got up to join her by the console, and looked unrepentant but said nothing. He swiftly boxed up the candle again and put it in the tote bag it had arrived in. When Meg retuned to the room, Irish coffee in hand, Christine seized the moment to apologise on Erik's behalf, and invoked her need for rest to justify a fairly swift departure. In truth, she could feel a headache coming on.

When they arrived home, Erik tended to her with his usual devotion; he plied her with chamomile, books and cushions, and the rest of the day went by in hazy peacefulness. Erik drew her a bath and filled it with rose petals. Memories of the morning's mayhem faded under his delectable ministrations.

There was no performance the next day, so Christine took the opportunity to study new repertoire, discuss her planned tour, and chill. Erik flitted between his workshop, the music room, and a couple of callouts. Christine had been thinking on and off about the whereabouts of the candle, but it had never been the right time to ask.

In the end, she did not need to. They had just sat down for dinner when horrified cries erupted at the other end of the flat, accompanied by the sound of breaking crockery, followed by a stream of invective in Farsi. Moments later, Darius irrupted into the dining room, fury on his face and fesenjan all over his designer T-shirt. "You prick!" he roared, pointing a finger at Erik, albeit from the safety of the door-jamb, "you'll pay for this!" Erik eyed him up and down with a raised eyebrow. "Mmm, that looks tasty. And as for the candle, I wondered whether you'd actually try the sample I left for you. I'm sure Nadir found it most romantic."

Darius turned around in a huff and retreated to his wing, imprecations hanging in his wake on a waft of pomegranate molasses.

Erik looked smug. Christine looked irritated.

"Erik, what have you been thinking? I mean, I know Darius can be annoying, but he's the guy who's booking your callouts days in, days out, and who's gonna help you with those lawsuits you want to pursue. Why would you trick him?"

"Because the idiot had the temerity of 'liking' the product across all his social media accounts. Did he not think I would notice?"

Christine sighed.

"Alright. But promise me one thing."

"Mmm?"

"Please retrieve the darn candle and dismantle it, dump it or whatever. I am really sorry I ever bought it."

"Fine. I promise to add it to the other 500 I will have impounded and destroyed tomorrow. In return, I don't want to hear ever again about how hot my Gothic vibe may or may not be, understood?"

"If you insist", she said, with a dramatic sigh, "I'll stop... waxing lyrical about it."

He groaned. With a chuckle, she she led him to their bedroom.