A/N: This is a 'Work-in-Progress' as of 14/3/05. Currently I've written three parts, but it will probably end with at least four. Gaston Leroux's novel 'The Phantom of the Opera' is in the public domain. Susan Kay's 'Phantom' was published originally by Delacourt Press. Please read and review!

Erik 1853

'Master!'

The erratic beat of my heart and my uncharacteristically heavy footsteps echoing against the smooth stone walls had deceived me into believing I was being followed. The sound I was hearing must be my own whispering thoughts. Who would dare to follow me tonight?

I had not the heart for idle magic tricks and vocal acrobatics to delight and amaze. That girl's utter revulsion of me in my room earlier had pierced me to the core of my ever-darkening heart. Would it have been that despicable to lie with me for just one night? I would have treated her like a princess; she deserved more than being called property by the shah. Alas, she was probably already dead because of her refusal.

'Master?'

The cool Persian air blew in from the darkened hallway that stretched out before me. It was the very corridor that led to the kingdom's private gardens … and my release from the torments of this night. The night who would hide me in her dark and loving embrace. She was the only woman who would ever take me in her arms willingly. The shah would pay for his 'gift'. He might even pay with his life if I could arrange it. The breeze was cold enough to abate my body's hot physical desire for that wretched odalisque. It dissipated with a little help from the burning liquor I had downed before blindly stumbling past Nadir. The combination of the two was barely enough to quell that pure and unsullied heat. There were still the flitting images running through my vivid imagination of her lying naked below me. Smiling. Reaching up to caress my face.

My face.

At last, a deep primal shiver released me from even those erotic murmurs. I felt resigned. There was nothing for me but pain when pursuing the delicate sex.

'Monsieur! Erik!'

I could no longer pretend not to hear that voice, or the faint patter of satin-lined footsteps following me. I turned bravely with my head held high. I would not show weakness in front of anyone. Detachment and indifference would suit my purpose exactly in this unexpected meeting. My abrupt turn allowed my cloak to swirl this way and that, and then wrap gracefully around my body like two long black wings.

Before me stood a heavily veiled girl wearing the garb of one of the khanum's hand-maidens. Pale blue silk clung to her lithe form, and I noticed the outline of her breasts through the transparent fabric of her top. I was glad then for that drink of arrack. She instinctively dropped to her knees and fell against the tiled marble; her forehead and the palms of her hands pressed against the floor.

'I am yours to command, O Master Magician and Right Hand of the Shah.'

The word order was correct, but her enunciation indicated 'foreigner' as she spoke. The address, however, made me smile. If only the khanum could be here to witness one of her own grovelling at my feet. I'd give back some of those emeralds I had pilfered from her bedposts. That had been quite an accomplishment to steal right under her hateful gaze. Lost in my own wicked thoughts I had forgotten the girl that lay crouched before me. I saw her in the peripheral of my vision. She lifted her head from the dusty floor to stare at me expectantly with pale-coloured eyes outlined in thick charcoal.

'Yes, Master Magician,' I said shortly, 'what is it that you want from me? Because all I want from you is to be left alone!'

She cocked her head to the right and continued to stare quizzically. 'Master?'

'Forgive me,' I looked down at her, 'what does the shah require tonight? A public humiliation of the most recent events, but with you playing my leading lady? Shall I rape you first and then toss your still beating heart into the khanum's lap?'

A film of tears blurred her vision, but only caused her eyes to sparkle more brightly in the low torchlight of the stone hallway. 'Don't assume I want anything from you. I only came to warn you. The khanum wants your life to be forfeit once the palace is finished. I came because …'

'Because? Speak up, child.'

'I'm not a child,' she said and her eyes glinted with surprising malice. 'When the shah had my parents killed in front of me for spreading the word of Jesus Christ to the non-believers I was already of age to be married. He would not lower himself to keep an infidel in his bed, but for some reason his mother took pity on me and my life was spared. The khanum demanded that I serve her, and I have done so for three years. Nothing evoked any … fascination for me until you were brought here.'

I admired her anger. Her passion. Her tragic past.

'I was not brought here, mademoiselle, I came of my own volition.'

'As do I this night. I'm here to warn you of her plans. She wanted to send me to your apartments instead of the other concubine — they thought it more fitting to send someone of foreign blood to bed you — and they conspired to have me spy on you,' she said, sitting back on her heels and eyeing my concealed body. 'She was especially interested in your performance tonight. It is perhaps better that you turned that girl away for she would only have betrayed you. The khanum is going to personally poison you once her son's palace is finished to his liking. Make no mistake of that.'

'Why are you telling me this?' The news shocked me no more than if she had told me that a scorpion's sting held venom enough to maim a grown man. I had become too powerful at last. I knew the day would come when I would have to leave this place. Just as I had had to leave all the other places I once laid my head. Yet, there had to be plenty of time to finish my work and make plans to escape.

'I believe that God gave you certain talents and abilities for a reason. You are meant for greater things than to be the lapdog of the Persian shah.'

I grinned at the visual. 'But this lapdog has canines and a vicious bite. Are you not frightened of me?'

There was a long pause then. She absently fingered the layers of silk that had gathered along her bent knees. The only sounds were the crackle of wood being burned by the torches' flames behind her and wind rustling the leaves in the garden behind me. Then a soft swish of fabric as she stood up with her feet apart and hands clenched at her side.

'I do not fear you. I have seen your face' — she paused again to gage my reaction — 'your true face. The day the khanum demanded you remove your mask or face the life of a eunuch; I was there on the balcony. I've seen you kill men, but here I have seen many men kill others on a royal whim. No, I do not fear you. I fear her wrath and I fear what she will do to you.'

'That's very noble of you, but are you sure you are so brave?' And with that the mask came off in one fluid movement and I held it inside the folds of my cloak. It went against everything I had achieved by wearing the damned thing, but I had to test her. There was some sick fascination in it for me. 'Do you still fear her before me.'

There was no immediate revulsion. A slight palpitation of her pupils that went almost undetected, but I — who can see in the dark as well as day — caught it. All but her eyes lay hidden beneath a veil, yet she did not shrink back in horror. She did not scream as so many before her had done. Instead she held out her hand, palm up, as if she were volunteering to make physical contact with me. My own arms remained beneath my cloak.

'I do not fear you,' she repeated with confidence. 'I simply wish to warn you of your enemies. And powerful enemies have ways of making their competition disappear.'

'Excuse me,' I said roughly — ignoring her outstretched hand and replacing the mask, 'but how do I know that this isn't an exquisite little mind game devised by the khanum to break me?'

Indignation crossed her eyes, but she continued to stand erect and proud. 'She is not that intelligent. There is no thought behind her actions, as you know well already. Raw emotions govern her, and I'm sure that's how she raised her son for him to behave the way he does. I think she is quite predictable and very dangerous because of this simple flaw. She will have you killed, Erik, please believe me.'

She had used my name like we were accomplices against the entire Persian army. I wanted her to say it again. Not since Luciana, had a girl, a young woman, said my name with such simplicity. There was no deception in her voice. Or, she was a very good actress.

'Indulge the idea that I do believe you,' I continued steadily, even though my palms had started to moisten and the hairs on the back of my neck rose, 'how do you think someone in your position can help me?'

She looked down defeated. 'I don't know. As soon as it is discovered that I am missing I shall be beaten for my insubordination. Members of the harem — even lowly ones — are not allowed to wander the halls unaccompanied. And even though I am a worthless infidel, I am still bound by her rules.'

'But you would be willing to spy for me?'

'Yes. The hate I have for that woman only grows deeper the longer I remain trapped here.'

I knew what it was like to be enslaved by a cruel and imposing master. There were seemingly only two choices for a girl of her age with no parents or husband to look after her: serve the shah and all that that entailed, or serve the next most powerful man in Persia. In the deep recesses of my mind I knew that I would have made the same decision — before my own talents far outstripped my master and brought his jealousy and eventual death at my hand. Isn't that how it happened with Javert?

'Very well,' I started to use one of my most endearing gifts, 'you shall serve me in secret now.'

Her eyes snapped to attention, drawn to my mouth beneath the mask. 'I serve no one but myself. I will help you, but only because I have no other choice. I would not make it very far on my own once I cut her throat.'

Surprise and delight filled my mind. This child … woman … was abnormally strong willed. Had she been a boy I might have taught her a few slight of hand tricks to begin her own collection of gorgeous jewels courtesy of her benevolent mistress. But I had come to learn that girls had their own ingrained sense of morality. Marie Perrault always looked at me severely when she found I had stolen something of my mother's and hidden it. … There would be a time when she would need wealth in place of a man to survive in the world outside of Tehran. I could always reward her with a few tokens of my own for her fidelity.

'At least tell me your name, so that I can arrange some form of communication,' I was teetering on the edge of a very steep precipice.

'They call me "Nājia" in the harem, but my name was Esmée before my life was changed at the stroke of a blade.'

The cruelty of her Persian name did not escape me. 'I will honour your martyred parents and call you Esmée, if that is what you wish.'

'It is as you wish, Master,' she made to fall to her knees again.

I held out my hand to stop her. 'I wish that you continue to call me Erik. It is, after all, my given name; I'm not your master anymore than she is your mistress. You've already said as much yourself. You can break free of these chains if you so desire it.'

o . O . o

I had been summoned to the torture chamber the next morning. And there I searched in vain for those eyes of Caspian green. The khanum demanded that I pull the curtain back from the viewing window of the device my drug-induced mind had concocted. Imagining what I would find behind the double-paned glass I raised my shaking hand with apprehension. Inside I found the virgin girl, and while it was painful to see her there I was greatly relieved it was not Esmée. Her absence behind the lattice curtain among the rest of the harem had unsettled me.

Weeks passed unnoticed, as time is apt to do when I am absorbed in my work. I thought little of the conversation I had had with my new foreign spy.

The executions of innocent and guilty men at my hand continued, and my sharp addiction to opium turned days into weeks of oblivious action without recourse. I killed when commanded to do so, but I spent as much time building my secret Garden of Echoes away from the bloodshed of Ashraf and the royal demands of a childish king and his equally spoiled mother.

o . O . o

One particularly hot August day, as the court moved methodically to its summer retreat in the Shimran Hills, the shah was attacked by Babi dissidents. In the ensuing scuffle I caught sight of Esmée ducking into an abandoned quarry of limestone. Checking to make sure I was not being followed or watched I disappeared successfully in her wake.

The sunlight fell in patches on the rough rock walls, and as soon as she heard someone following her she turned wielding a small dagger in her hennaed hand. Once she saw the mask she dropped it.

Picking up the dagger and handing it to her hilt first, I said, 'You wouldn't make a very good assassin. The trick is to let the target's momentum work against them and drive your metal further into their flesh and closer to their heart. If you angle it just so you might even pierce a lung with a blade like that. Horribly painful death, but it ensures victory.'

'Morbid information, but useful,' she responded from behind a pale pink veil lined in silver braid encrusted with miniscule seashells. The dagger was sheathed and tucked somewhere behind her back. 'I'm sure whatever just happened out there will buy you some more time. I understand that not only are you to be killed but all of your workers as well. Can you imagine how many bodies will be the consequence of his reign? And he's still so young.'

Her question immediately reminded me of my own growing body count. It was true that those unfortunate souls were killed by his command, but never by his hand. Their blood covered my conscience. My hands. My soul!

'Great men are made on the edge of a sword,' I answered half-heartedly. 'I believe it was Marcus Aurelius who first said that, but even he saw the futility of it later in life.'

She pondered this statement, as she walked slowly towards the entrance of our make-shift hiding place.

'The shah has certainly taken those words to heart. He probably has them scrawled on the satin of his pillows,' she said with a wry smile.

I laughed. Then, remembering her absence, 'It is not my place to question you, but where have you been these past few weeks? I was summoned to her presence on several occasions and you were never in the vicinity.'

'That insecure … whore … had me whipped for my disappearing act.' Her face flushed crimson. 'She thought I had taken a lover without her permission.'

I sighed heavily. 'It was my fault you were missing. If you had not been concerned for my well-being you would have slept safely in your bed that night.'

'I do not blame you!' she peered out into the bright void. 'I knew the consequences of my actions and I chose to do what I believed was right.'

For the first time I could see the skin between her top and the thick fabric belt holding her silken pants. It was still raw and raised in places, but these marks only drew attention away from the white scars of past tortures. My heart pounded so profoundly in commiseration. I, too, had been teased and beaten when trapped inside the metal bars of an animal's cage. A moment later, I reached out to touch her skin.

Esmée flinched beneath my touch. 'It's not healed. It's so raw in places.'

'She will pay for this,' I said through clenched teeth.

She turned, smiled at me, 'And now you have become my Angel of Mercy,' and with that she disappeared into the blinding light of day.