A/N: Belated Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate! I hope you all had a fun Christmas! I apologize about this update taking longer than usual but I was busy with work and recently became re-obsessed with Snape. (I know it's weird but I totally ship Sevmione and may have spent most of Christmas reading fanfics about them...) Also, I had an idea for a POTO one shot that I spent some time writing (when I should have been writing The Angel's Shadow's sequel)... The one shot is now finished and if you'd like to check it out it's called The Phantom Of The Opera Is There Inside My Mind. Rambling done! Enjoy this next chapter! :D
-The New Managers-
*flashback*
Rehearsals, changes in the score, complaints - loud complaints - from Carlotta. All these things made the next week go by in a blur. All these things kept me from seeing Erik.
It has been a week now. An entire week since he kissed my hand, since he kissed my cheek. In my room, during the few moments I had to myself, I stared at the rose he had given me one week ago. Waving my hand over the rose, a light blue mist fell over it, reinforcing the spell that will keep it alive and looking like new. I didn't want it to fade, I didn't want it to die.
"Alouette?"
I turned my head to the direction of my name being called, unsure exactly where it came from but recognizing the voice. I waited for it to be spoken again.
"Alouette?"
Second catwalk above the stage, near the top where the lighting barely reaches.
A smile came across my face and I envisioned the dark corner not far from where the voice came from. Appearing in the dark, I quickly checked to make sure no one had seen me materialize before stepping out of the corner.
Walking up behind the looming figure searching for me, I quietly called his name, "Yes, Erik?"
He jumped slightly, whipping around and greeting me with wide eyes, "How do you manage to sneak up on me and I cannot sneak up on you? It truly isn't fair."
Giggling, I walked up to him, tilting my chin up to look at him, "Life isn't fair, Erik."
The smile on his face faltered, his eyes drifting to the floor, "How true."
His two words made my own smile drop, my hand taking on a mind of its own and reaching up to hold the unmasked side of his face.
What is your story? I have meant to ask so many times.
I heard the faint sounds of footsteps coming up the stairway beside us and gently nudged Erik deeper into the shadows with my hand on his chest. Turning around I smiled at the man who reached the top of the steps, "Bonjour, Buquet."
Joseph nodded back and spoke as he walked past me, the faint smell of alcohol trailing after him, "Bonjour, Madame de La Hye." He was about to turn his head towards me but I averted his gaze, a light blue flash attracting his attention on the other side of the catwalk. If he had looked my way he would have seen Erik hiding behind me. It isn't that I didn't want Joseph to see Erik, I merely knew that Erik didn't want Joseph to see him. And, if Joseph did see Erik, he would start with his tattling again. If that happened, Erik wouldn't be very pleased.
When we were sure Joseph was on the lower level, Erik stepped into the lighter walkway, his presence like a looming panther; green, precise eyes glowing in the dimly lit walkway. He held out his hand, a small smile spreading across his face, "You left this in Box Five last week."
I took my fan from him, blushing down at my hands, "Thank you. I was so distracted by your rose I had forgotten about it entirely."
His deep chuckle rippled through the stuffy air, "I'm pleased you liked the rose." He paused and then added, "It's beauty, however, can never compare to yours." I looked up, meeting his eyes that held uncertainty, as if he was afraid his comment had crossed an invisible boundary; as if his comment would fall onto ears that didn't want to hear it. How wrong he was.
The night of last week came back to me, our little meeting in the cellars sticking out in my mind. He had acted as if he wanted to kiss me. Am I wrong? Did I read his actions wrong?
Looking into Erik's eyes now I saw that same look he had a week ago. A million words being spoken and yet no sound slipping through those lips I wanted so badly to feel. I licked my own, trying to quench the thirst they felt.
Below us the chorus began the first act of Hannibal, doing what they can while they waited for the mysteriously absent Carlotta to arrive, "With feasting and dancing and song! Tonight in celebration!"
Staring into Erik's eyes, the music below us seemed to fade away, the sounds of his body becoming more musical to me than Chaleamu's masterpiece.
There was a distance between us that one of us closed; I hadn't noticed who, I hadn't noticed when. All I noticed was the close proximity of Erik's lean frame, hovering over me despite our heights being almost the same. He reached up, lightly grabbing a lock of my loose hair. The style was improper for this era but I didn't care. He watched as it slid through his fingers, the black blending perfectly with his leather gloves.
Again the distance between us began to vanish, our faces mere centimeters apart, our lips holding out their arms to each other, wanting to be joined, to be acquainted, wanting to be complete. It was happening so fast and yet it was all going so slow. His breath on my face made my eyes flutter shut.
"Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Please!"
The shouts from below caused me to step back, snapping the fragile line that had been pulling us together. I peered over Erik's shoulder to the stage below us, the footlights illuminating my face. When I moved to see better I felt Erik's nose brush against my cheek and heard him take in a subtle breath, the tip of his porcelain mask gently poking my skin. My front lightly pressed against his chest, our hearts coming face to face, both beating separately; Erik's the main tune and mine a quicker harmony to his internal song.
Before I could get too lost in this blissful, unfamiliar contact I saw three men who didn't belong onstage, recognizing one as the manager of the Opéra Populiare.
The conductor, who is as stressed as I am about rehearsals and opening night, exasperatedly exclaimed at the unwanted interruption, "Monsieur Lefévre! I am rehearsing!"
I disconnected my chest from Erik's and looked up at him, "I'm sorry, there seems to be commotion onstage. I better tend to it. I'm sorry-"
"Stop apologizing and go." He smiled, his rich voice sending rumbles to my own chest, "Your public calls, Music Director."
My lips pulled up into a smile, and before I left I leaned up on my toes, pressing my lips against his left cheek, pausing momentarily to savor the feeling of his flesh against my lips. I didn't dare look at him or tell him farewell, afraid he would see the blush in my cheeks or hear my fast beating heart.
Quickly descending the plain staircase I fixed a strand of hair that escaped one of the pins that kept it away from my face. More sounds of exhausted complaints came from the stage as I stepped onto the shiny wooden floor. Reaching the center of the stage, the source of all the hubbub, I knit my brows together and stared at the group of men, "Is there a problem, Monsieur Lefévre?"
The aging manager turned towards me. The stress of the Opéra Populiare (and its ghost) had scared the color out of his once chestnut hair and created lines in his weary face. His blue eyes had an apologetic look but an amused sparkle deep within them. His mustache moved along with his lips as he answered me, a smile on his face, "No, no, Alouette. Everything is going just fine. I merely wanted make an announcement."
"An announcement?" I asked, noticing the gossipers, otherwise known as the Opéra Populaire's cast, gather round to hear better.
"Yes," Monsieur Lefévre said, his posture hunching over slightly, "an announcement." He paused, his eyes scanning the crowd of people. "Uh, Madame de La Hye, where is La Carlotta?"
Scanning the group myself I answered, "I'm not sure, Monsieur. She appears to be absent from rehearsals this afternoon."
Monsieur Lefévre brought his brows together, "Isn't opening night tonight?"
"Oui (yes), Monsieur."
"And she hasn't come in for rehearsals?"
I shrugged my shoulders slightly and shook my head, "Apparently she is late. I sent Emile to her apartment when rehearsals started and he hasn't come back with news yet."
"Ah." He grumbled, mumbling about Prima Donna's under his breath. "I will have to make the announcement without her. I am sure she will hear about it sooner or later." He eyed the cast members and then straightened his posture, raising his chin a centimeter, "As you know, for some weeks there have been rumors of my imminent retirement. I can now tell you that these are all true," the gathered crowd broke into a loud mixture of exchanged words and glances, "and it is my pleasure to introduce to you the two gentlemen who now own the Opéra Populaire."
Up until now, the two men who had accompanied Monsieur Lefévre had been silent, casually observing their surroundings. Monsieur Lefévre gestured to one of them, the shorter, older one, "Monsieur Richard Firman." The shorter man nodded his head to the crowd with a tight smile on his face. "And Monsieur Gilles Andre." The taller one that Monsieur Lefévre was just now introducing nearly missed his name being called; his attention, and his eyes, too busy observing me. I ignored his gaze and the sound of blood rushing to his lower abdomen, regarding him with disinterest.
I nodded to my two new bosses, "Welcome, Messieurs, to the Opéra Populaire." They nodded back and then to the rest of the crew.
My head snapped to the West Wing, hearing the frantic footsteps of Emile before anyone else could. Some of the others turned their heads toward that direction, too, their eyes confused by my sudden movement to what they thought was nothing. My eyes fell onto one person who stuck out of the crowd, Madame Giry. Only her eyes were fixed on the fan in my hand. My own eyes lowered to the fan and then met Madame Giry's narrowed, knowing gaze.
Emile tripping through the crowd made the others turn their heads and distracted me from what Madame Giry's knowing gaze actually knew, "Madame de La Hye! Madame de La Hye!" He waved a piece of parchment at me as he came closer.
I looked down at the small person of panic, "What is it, Emile?"
"It is La Carlotta!" He stopped just in front of me, his breathing harsh from running no doubt, "She told me to give you this!"
I took the paper from him, silence falling over the auditorium as I read the note to myself. I finished the last sentence and lowered my hand, my mind racing. Above me I heard a creak and tilted my head up slightly to see Erik still standing on the catwalk watching, his hands holding the railing, his white mask jumping out of the darkness that surrounded him. My eyes flickered to Christine and back to the note in my hand.
"Well? What is it? What's happened?" The shorter, more anxious manager, Monsieur Firman, took a step closer to me, his eyes darting around in hopes to lock eyes with someone who knew what was going on.
My eyes went over the small man's head to meet with Monsieur Lefévre's gaze, the man I was used to calling manager, "Carlotta is too ill to perform. She...she has lost her voice." I almost lost my own voice at the stressing thought of losing our lead soprano.
This time the taller manager spoke up, the blood now rushing from his lower bodily organ to his face, "She is too ill to perform?! It's opening night and the star is too ill to perform?!"
The short man went close to him, muttering loudly, "A full house, Andre! We shall have to refund a full house!"
"Christine Daaé can sing it, sir." I heard the words before realizing it was me who had said them. Above there was another creak, a faster more deliberate one, and I heard Erik quickly retreating off into the opera house. On the other side of the stage I heard a small gasp, Christine's doe eyes staring widely at me. I turned my head towards her, not fully sure myself. I waved her to come over, which she did, slowly.
When she reached my side Monsieur Firmin peered down his nose at her, "A chorus girl? Don't be silly."
Christine twisted her head up to look at me and shook her head frantically, her voice just above a whisper, "Madame Alouette, I cannot possibly-"
I ignored both their objections and kept my eyes fixed on the new managers, "She can sing it, sir. She knows this opera and has been trained by a great teacher."
"Oh, really." Disbelief was evident in the old man's voice, "Who?"
I looked down at Christine's frightened eyes and nodded my head, putting on the most reassuring smile I could muster. She gave me one last shake of her head, silently begging me to back down. When she saw her efforts were in vain she turned to the three men: the one ex-manager and the two virgins to the theater business. Her voice trembled like a feather fluttering to the ground, "I don't know his name, Messieurs."
A silence fell as the two managers regarded the delicate girl beside me. The taller one broke the silence, his eyes trailing down Christine's petite frame, "Well, she's very pretty."
"And her voice is even prettier I can assure you. Here," I put my fan in the pocket of my dress and ushered Christine to the center of the stage, "she can sing for you now."
Christine pushed against me, desperately trying to change my mind, "Madame, you haven't even heard me sing! How could you know tha-"
"Hush, Christine. Your Angel has taught you well." I shoved the music into her hands, not meeting her perplexed eyes.
I took two steps back, nodding at Monsieur Reyer who breathed in a deep breath and pursed his lips, his baton at the ready, "From the beginning of the aria then please, mademoiselle."
Needless to say, the managers allowed her to sing. Although they were not amazed, they were pleased - and left with no choice - at her voice. She had sung well. Wobbly at first but she had come through. Erik had indeed taught her well.
However, there was one other man in the Opéra Populaire who had not been pleased with our new opera singer.
"She isn't ready!"
"What do you mean she isn't ready?!"
"I told you her voice isn't reaching its full potential yet!"
"Erik, she sung beautifully, both of the managers are pleased with Christine."
"The new managers are imbeciles. They don't know the first thing about music, let alone running an opera house." He ran his hands through his black hair, his legs moving quick as he paced the lair, "Now I have them to worry about, too." He let out an angry breath and stopped to look at me, "Can't you find someone else to sing for that toad Carlotta?"
"On opening night?! Erik, please, you're being ridiculous." I shook my head at him, my hands slapping my thighs as they fell to my sides. "She'll be fine."
"No she won't!" Erik resumed his pacing, his footsteps occasionally stepping on and muddying the sheet music that laid on the floor, "I tell you she isn't ready!"
I sighed, "Erik." I walked over to him and held his shoulders to still him, forcing him to meet my blue eyes, "I promise you, she is ready."
His helpless eyes gazed into mine, "How do you know that?!" As he said this, he lifted his arms and shoulders, letting them drop unceremoniously.
I stared deep into his soul, speaking to the unsure man within him, "Have I ever been wrong when it comes to music, Erik?"
He paused, his green eyes darting between mine, "No."
I stared deeper, my voice dropping to a softer tone, "Do you trust me, Erik?"
His tense shoulders relaxed, his knitted brows separating, "Yes, I do."
I smiled, the warmth in my chest stealing my breath, "Then trust me when I say, Christine is ready."
The commotion backstage was worse than usual given the fact that a lot of costumes had to be refitted for Christine before the doors opened for the show. I made all the last minute checks, dashing around scenery being moved and ropes being tugged. Passing by stage left I heard something, voices. Three male voices drifted through the thick wall and down to me. Two belonged to the new managers, the third coming from someone I had never heard before. Listening closer I realized those three voices came from the forbidden box, the Phantom's box, Erik's box: Box Five.
"Madame Alouette!" The sound of Anita's voice called my attention, "It's Christine. She wishes to speak with you."
I nodded once in response and started for the Prima Donna's dressing room, Anita following close behind. Opening the door I stepped back, fearing that the amount of chaos inside would spill out and knock me over if I didn't move out of the way. Christine's worried eyes spotted me at the door and she broke free from the costumers lacing her dress, "Madame Alouette! Please, I beg you to reconsider!" She grabbed onto my forearms, her eyes pleading up at me.
My own hands gently held her upper arms to comfort and steady her, "Christine, trust in your Angel. Can you do that for me?"
I could see the faint glimmer of guilt flash across her face as she heard her Angel's name, "Y-Yes, of course. How could I not trust in him?"
Smiling down at her I released her, "You will do great. I have no doubts. Now finish getting ready, the show will start in less than ten minutes."
The crowd of maids seemed to swallow Christine back into the overpopulated room. The minute she was out of eyesight, my smile fell and I disappeared into the upper walkways of the opera house.
Pacing the catwalk above the stage, I closed my eyes and shook my sweaty palms. I took in steady measured breaths, trying to slow my fast pulse.
You can do this, Alouette. You haven't done it before but you can do it now. First time is the charm, right?
I grabbed the railing and let out a puff of air. I can do this. I can do this. How hard can it be? Easier than teleporting? I hope so.
The auditorium fell silent, my eyelids slowly rising with the heavy curtain. I stared down at the stage, not caring if the footlights blinded me. To my left I could see Box Five. But instead of Erik sitting there there was another man, a younger man. He had golden hair, a pure face, and unadulterated blue eyes. On my right I saw the two new managers in their box, their eyes frequently darting to this trespasser as if they worried about his approval.
And then the show began.
I didn't stop my anxious pacing.
It had to work. It must work. The show depending on it. Christine depended on it. Erik depended on it.
I stood in the center of the catwalk as Act III began. Deep under the stage I heard the faint familiar beat of that heart I loved to hear. I feared for the stranger sitting in his box, restricting Erik to listening to the opera instead of seeing it. Especially tonight, the night his little pupil will make her debut.
Just as that thought went through my head, Erik's prized student walked onstage, the footlights making her sparkle like the Royal Jewels. I froze at the railing, staring down at her with a pale face.
The music - my music - started, the lone notes being played by the piano drifting up to me. I focused hard, blackening out everything else in the auditorium but Christine.
I hope this works. Please work.
I closed my eyes, taking in a shallow breath. I thought of Christine, her voice, her sweet soul untouched by anything dark and evil. I saw my magic leave me, a bluish ghost separating itself from my form. It floated down to the stage, swooping up behind Christine and clinging to her soul. From inside Christine, I saw the crowd stare back with expecting eyes.
Then came the first lyrics. I tensed, praying I wouldn't falter, praying I wouldn't fail. And then, we sang, "Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye. Remember me, once in a while please promise me you'll try." I held each note, each word, and sent them soaring out over the crowd. They hung like a puppet on strings with me as its handler. I lifted not only her voice but her soul, both Christine and I losing ourselves in the music, my music. And when we finished, neither of us heard the ground shaking roar of the applause.
Roses, hats, scarves, gloves were being tossed onto the stage as sacrifice to Christine's voice, my voice.
I bowed. She bowed. I smiled. She smiled.
I broke free from her...and she collapsed onstage.
I heard the crowd gasp, their noise not as loud as it would have been had I not used up most of my energy moments ago. Clambering down the rickety staircase I felt my way in the darkness of the backstage, trying to get to where the dancers had carried away Christine. In the midst of all this I heard him near, Erik. His heart pulsed just as quickly as mine as we both raced to the Prima Donna's dressing room.
"Ah! Madame de La Hye!" A hand grabbed onto my arm and yanked me towards him, "We owe you a large thank you for brining young Mademoiselle Daaé forward! She was magnificent! We have never heard such an angelic voice!"
"Oui, Monsieur Andre. But you needn't thank me." I tried my best not to be too forceful as I pulled free from his hold. "Now if you'll excuse me-"
"No don't leave just yet! I'm sure the house doctor can do more in helping Mademoiselle Daaé than either of us can."
Admirers, performers, actors, stagehands, prop hands, maids, they all rushed past me like a stampede. From across the theater I heard a voice, faint and weak, "No, I'm alright. I'll be alright."
I let out a relieved breath.
It had worked. I had done it. Her voice had soared and she is okay. I am okay. At least I think so.
A hand at the small of my back drew me from my mind. I faced the taller manager who had a sick look of hunger in his eyes. His lips turned into a smile I could almost mistake for a predator's snarl, "I'd like to get to know you better, Madame de La Hye."
I pushed away his hand, keeping my voice calm, "As my new manager you will get to know me pretty well, but not in the way you're implying. Excuse me."
I quickly made my escape, more for his safety than mine. I unclenched my angered fist and made my way across the theater, slower this time. On my way there I passed the young man I had seen in Box Five. He came close to my height, but not quite. His golden hair gleamed in the darkness of the theater, his blue eyes bright with childish wonder. We locked eyes, only for a moment. I smelled the faint aroma of Christine's perfume as he went past me, the shorter manager close behind him and speaking loudly.
I stopped, the boys image plastered in my mind, an uneasy feeling crawling up my tired flesh.
The crowd had gone now, leaving the hallway by Christine's dressing room black and lonely. Then I heard it, booming within the room I was standing merely thirty feet away from.
"Christine, you must love me!"
"How can you say that to me, when I sing only for you?"
"You must be tired."
"Oh, yes! Tonight I gave you my soul, and I'm dead!"
"Your soul is very beautiful, my child, and I thank you. No emperor ever received such a gift! The angels wept tonight."
I knew those voices, I knew those heart beats.
Long after Christine had left for the dormitories, her fur coat wound tightly around her like a beast holding her captive, I stepped into the empty room, no sounds echoing except mine. Daisies, lilies, peonies, and lilacs nearly overflowed from the small room. One stood out amongst the sea of colors. I picked up the lone crimson rose on Christine's vanity table, feeling my Spell of Life vanish from my own red rose in my room.