Spanish Angel (Phantom of the Opera)

Chapter 7

"I can't let you see him. He will kill you." Candela replied frankly as she reached for the pole to her boat. "Your wife's name hasn't been spoken in this place since my arrival and I won't be the one to bring it up. If you wish to save the Comtesse, you must seek somewhere above the ground. There is no cure here for you." Her voice was colder than the tunnels he had traversed to arrive in the Godforsaken underground home. Yet, her responses were unsurprising.

"I understand." He muttered before turning and departing without another word to spectral Spaniard, alone on the dark water.

E-OC

"Supper's ready!" A call interrupted Erik's music accompanied by the smell of something delicious. While on normal occasions he might have been drawn in by the lure of food and pretty smiles (oh how he loved pretty things!), he snarled, frustrated with her intrusion into his quietude.

"Leave me alone!" He shouted back, returning to the dark entr'acte he had been composing for his opera. while shrouded in the wild music he wanted nothing more than to stay there. Stay where nothing hurt. Where he could feel nothing.

But, such a delight was not to be as moments after his order, the door to his room opened and that bright ray of annoying sunshine walked in, a bright smile on her pale lips and a bit of glitter sparkling in her eyes. With her was the tray that held his dinner.

"No need to be so grouchy about it!" She said, the smile weaving its way through her voice and grating on his ears as fingernails on chalkboard. None of his moods seemed to affect her, something that irritated him to no end especially when his temper was foul. Oh! There were times he seriously wondered about thrusting her into the mirrored room she had changed into a clothes' line.

"I'm not being grouchy. Leave Erik alone. He's not hungry." He replied, without even glancing at what he could only assume due to the smell was beet and potatoes soaked in gravy.

"He may not be hungry but I'm sure you are." She said, jabbing playfully at his habit of referring to himself in third person. Usually, he shrugged it off or glared at her but this was the last straw for him. Rising to his feet in all his phantom persona, he roared at the dark-eyed girl,

"Get. Out!" She blinked a couple of times in his direction before huffing and spinning on her heel.

"Well, if that's all the gratitude I'm going to get you'll be making your own suppers from now on." Head held quite proudly, she stalked from the room, leaving the bewildered ghost to stare where she had once been.

All the responses he would receive upon the surfacing of his anger was a tossing of her hair and a "humph" which would be followed by her dramatic exit. Never once did she cower, or snivel, or shrink into a corner. If anything, she responded with her version of a fine temper.

E-OC

"You don't mean them, do you, Candela?" The girl asked herself, after her dinner, as she carefully counted out her francs to see if she could afford a nicer dress for her opera date. "You'll be back to cooking his supper by tomorrow night. Perhaps you should go apologize." At this, the Spaniard wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

"Nope, he was the one who was in a foul mood." With a thoughtful frown, she continued, "Perhaps it was a good thing I never mentioned the Comtesse. It would have just caused problems."

"The Comtesse?" Candela tensed immediately at the sound of her master's voice in the doorway of her room. Glancing upward, the girl found the Phantom seemed to have forgotten their little tiff before the evening repast and was keen on letting the subject drop. As for his over-hearing her recent comments. Speaking out loud every thought did have its draw backs.

"Yes..." She trailed off and quickly determined how much of her past to tell him. "I met my former employer today who spoke of his wife. She is unwell."

"A Comtesse?" Candela nodded, knowing full well the term was a painful one to him. Even if he didn't know she spoke of the Comtesse de Chagny, the title reminded him all too much of her.

"Yes. Did you enjoy your meal?" She asked, quickly agreeing and shifting the subject, not keen to upset her current employer's delicate mental balance. While she never did fear his anger or worry over her safety, she wished to cause him as little pain as possible. His pain was quickly becoming hers as she found herself being more and more biased to his side.

Even without knowing the details of his no doubt sordid past, Candela never once believed it filled with anything but torment. The warmth in her heart to the odd ghost she served grew with each passing day in his presence and, surely there would come to reason to tell of the Comtesse.

"Why do you count your money?" He asked, completely ignoring her former question as if to avoid the subject entirely. Conceding, she replied,

"I need to buy a nice dress. I met someone today who is going to escort me to the Opera in four days' time." If the mask hadn't been securely in place, Candela was convinced she might have seen the look of possessive concern flash across the surface. As it was, his eyes narrowed and his shoulders straightened, his figuring filling the doorway completely.

"With who?" The tone of his demanding question reminded her of an overly protective father or even that of a jealous lover. The last option, she chose to ignore and merely let a charming smile cover her features in a soft light.

"Nicolas Jules, the Marquis de Bonnaire. He is an old friend of my former employer. A middle-aged but pleasant man with no vices. He didn't recognize me from his many visits at the manor house and seemed quite enamored with me, for some reason." She brushed a dark lock of hair behind her ear and smiled at the memory of all she knew of the Marquis. "He was married once but the woman ran off. He believes I'm the niece of an eccentric gentleman who never escorts me home when I'm out at night."

To all this, the Phantom snorted, sending Candela into a fit of giggles. His mask shifted into what she could only assume was his puzzled expression, only seeming to prolong the laughter.

"Forgive me, Monsieur Phantom. Night has fallen and I have quite lost my mind." A slow nod was all she received from the aloof man as she rose and tucked away her money, determining to count it all later. "Come, let's forget the Marquis and have a nice chat in parlor."

Upon Candela dragging the reluctant Phantom who muttered about having music to compose, she pushed him into an arm chair and handed him the newspaper she had bought that afternoon. Grabbing her crocheting, she instructed him to read to her something fascinating.

It wasn't long before their highly intellectual conversation digressed into Candela inquiring if cats had unique fingerprints like humans did.

That was when Erik threw the newspaper onto the coffee table and fled to his room, not quite sure if he could handle anything more from Candela. Though unbeknownst to him, the green seed of jealousy was planted deep within his dead heart by thinking of Candela on the arm of a man.

A man that wasn't him.