The Treasure *Phantom of the Opera* (sequel to The Quest)

II

For a Price

Chapter II

When words leave off, music begins. Heinrich Heine

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(Paris, France)

In the cramped parlor of her shabby tenement, with the low flames from the candelabra her sole light, Dominique, who had long taken the name Madame Giry, sat at her task in studied concentration. She planted her elbow on the writing desk and rubbed her fingers back and forth across her forehead, wishing to dispel the ache within.

Shadows appeared to waver beyond the weak pool of gold that spilled out onto the difficult letter she composed. Startled, she swung her gaze to the right.

Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Her worn chaise longue stood against the wall, the crimson and green coverlet neatly tucked around it. A stack of books sat on a table nearby. No dark wraith from the underworld stealthily approached. No thick darkness closed in to torment her. Lack of sleep likely clouded her perception and meddled with sound reasoning. Yet her self-assurances did little to quench her unease.

Without conscious thought, her fingers slipped down to clasp the silver cross around her neck, a continual reminder that she had nothing more to fear from the dark spirit they at the opera kingdom called Phantom. Those years of fearful servitude were behind her. As long as she continued this new course, as long as she never again crossed the threshold of the opera house, she would be safe, she and her daughter ...

Or so she hoped.

She looked over her shoulder, to assure herself of her continued solitude, then reminded herself she had no reason to fear discovery. Hindered by the heavy cast that encased her leg, Meg would not be leaving her bed to spy. Dominique sensed her daughter's curiosity had soared these past few days after witnessing her mother's odd behavior, and she grinned in feeble irony as the name resurfaced. The name she had refused to use for sixteen years now slipped into her thoughts with cutting ease once she made her decision. By allowing that small fragment of her former life a foothold in the present, she felt as unwise as that imprudent girl of so many years ago.

Frowning, she looked over what she'd written.

I would not seek your aid, but for Margarette's sake. She is all that is dear to me. I know I have long been dead to you

Madame bit the inside of her cheek. Non, that would never do. She crumpled up the paper and pushed it aside, to join similar wretched attempts. To remind him of past indiscretions would not aid her cause. He would never forget them.

Retrieving another sheet of vellum, she began afresh, measuring each sentence, each word before she penned it. At last she felt satisfied with her efforts and blotted then folded the page, slipping it into an envelope. She dripped wax from a candle onto the flap to seal it, then hesitated as she held the message that could alter the course of their lives.

Old secrets once disclosed could mend a past, but they could also ruin the future. Had she not learned this truth from all that happened at the opera kingdom? The Vicomte had helped her to see beyond veils of ignorance, but he had then formed a conspiracy once she shared with him the truth about her Maestro. That had led to an entire kingdom demolished ... so many lives destroyed...

She stood and drew her cloak around her before the doubts sank in to again weigh heavy on her heart.

"I will return in no more than an hour, Margarette," she called out, unwilling to enter her daughter's bedroom. "I have an errand to which I must attend." If Meg were to see her face, she would recognize her anxiety, and then would come the questions. Always, the questions.