All right, my readers, this sequel is set in the middle of the epilogue from the last story (Ink, Invisible, if you haven't read it yet), so Erik and Katelienne are not yet married, or even – gasp – engaged.

Also, it has only been a short while since the events of the previous story's second-to-last chapter (i.e., just after they both "revealed" their names to each other).

Furthermore, you may have noticed the change in the chapter names in Ink, Invisible – you should Google what each flower or plant symbolizes in order to understand what I mean.

I hope you enjoy reading this sequel! Criticism/praise is welcome!

- Your thankful author, Coquillage

Foes, Formidable

Luke's eyes found mine, the clear blue irises gleaming in the dim light from the candles. He leaned forward, touching my cheek with the tips of his cold fingers; his teeth glinting as his lips drew back into a smile.

I shuddered and twisted my head to the side, trying to get away from those horrible, groping fingers.

He caught hold of my chin and pulled, forcing my head upward, but my eyes stayed stubbornly on the shoulder of his coat.

"What's wrong, Katelienne? Are you actually afraid of me?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him tilting his handsome head to one side as he tried to see into my eyes. His fingers tightened painfully around my chin.

"Look at me," he breathed. The smell of mint wafted unpleasantly into my face. "Do you know how easy it would be to simply snap your neck right now? How little control you have over me? Look at yourself – you're completely at my mercy. Completely… mine."

I spat at him.

The saliva spattered onto his shoulder, little spots darkening the blue cloth, sinking into the fine material.

We both held our breath for a moment – Luke in amused surprise, I in terror. Then he dropped his hand to the tile and picked up the gleaming knife.

I had never known before that metal had a smell; an odor rancid with pain, acidic with fear, seething with the cold tanginess of steel. I wished I had never found out.

Luke held my face still with one hand and raised the knife with the other, setting the tip under my left eye; lightly pressing it into the skin.

The metal sang shrilly, burning into my cheek like ice; I fought the urge to close my eyes or scream. Everything within me had suddenly fused into one single, all-consuming thought: Don't move.

Luke pressed the knife down slightly harder. I thought I felt it prick the skin.

Abruptly, I found it was impossible to breathe at all.

"You're so pale, dear," Luke observed detachedly, his white forehead bent so low that it nearly touched mine, so intent was he on my distress. "Are you fond of that eye? If so, I could take the other, instead. Perhaps an ear would be better, no?"

I made no answer. It was becoming harder to think – the knife had twitched a little when he spoke.

Luke shook his head and took the blade from my cheek. "You're so boring, Katelienne! I grow tired of this game."

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wall: I was in no hurry to see what he had planned next, and I was not willing to give him the satisfaction of my fear. Let him hurt me. Soon he would have his due; soon he would suffer like I had suffered.

But he was not moving; I did not hear the sound of fabric rustling, only the sound of light footsteps. Footsteps! I opened my eyes.

"Your noble rescuer approaches," Luke said, dryly, looking to the right.

I turned my head.

It was true, the Phantom walked towards us, barely visible in the gloom.

But as he came closer, I saw his form ripple and change. He shortened, grew thinner, stooped a little; his hair lightened and thinned.

He walked into the light, and my heart sank.

Cooper.

"Finally," the newcomer said, as if he had just interrupted a rather tedious business transaction. "It's time to go, Luke; he's waiting downstairs."

Luke picked up the knife, straightened, and took a slow step away from me, as if readying himself for something.

I looked, hopelessly, at Cooper.

The thin, balding man smiled benevolently at me, the lenses of his glasses winking gently in the light. "Goodbye, Katelienne."

Luke's mouth curled in an equally depraved smile, rivaling Cooper's horribly false one. He looked down at me, studying my face as if for the last time.

He spun the knife between his hands, and took a step forward.

"Goodbye, Katelienne, dear," he whispered.

He brought down the knife.

I woke in a panic, hardly able to breathe, the thunder of frantic heartbeats pounding in my ears. It was still night, late night, and my room was so quiet it frightened me. I fought my way out of the blankets and staggered blindly to the balcony door, pushing it open with both hands. They shook as they made contact with the cool glass.

The night air, though frigid, calmed me.

I shivered on the balcony, staring out across the silvered rooftops, my arms around myself. It had been two months since Luke's and Cooper's deaths; but I had not experienced such a vivid nightmare about them until now.

I had thought (rather ignorantly), that their deaths, violent as they were, would have freed me from the vile mixture of grief, rage, and pain that had plagued me for so long. But now, it seemed to have only intensified – their deaths had both been caused by my proximity, my place in those final moments on the hotel rooftop. And there were questions now, questions I would never know the answers to.

Had Luke ever truly loved Claire?

Had she guessed at his true nature?

Had Cooper ever felt remorse for his actions in helping Luke?

Why had he even assisted him in the first place? I would have certainly chosen jail over covering up an innocent woman's murder; but Cooper had bent so easily under Luke's blackmail.

But the question on the forefront of my mind; the one that would not leave me alone, was something of a smaller (and yet) a more immediate nature. And this one, unlike the others, could be answered.

Where was the Inspector?

I turned restlessly from the city, rubbing my hands down my arms. The Inspector had mysteriously vanished after his defeat; even my and Madame Giry's visit to the police station had produced no results. Rather, the policemen had assured us there was no such inspector as Inspector Bulstrode, and that there had never been such a man at all.

Needless to say, we left rather quickly after that.

Erik and I had, begrudgingly, (on my part, not his) agreed to lay aside the Inspector problem for now, and focus instead on the Opera House.

Namely, my job.

"And on avoiding reporters," he had said, frowning. "I never thought the results of your engagement to the Opera's vanished manager would have been this interesting to the public."

I sighed in agreement and poked at the eggs I was frying. It was Tuesday night, and we were in Erik's kitchen, relaxing after a long day.

"I didn't either," I said over my shoulder. "Can you find the pepper for me? And you know Paris is only all astir because they have nothing better to talk about. It's the same everywhere – the only thing they ever talked about before was you. The Phantom of the Opera – what will he do next? It's so entrancing!"

Erik laughed and opened a cabinet, bending over for a moment to dig the missing pepper out.

"Don't flatter me; it will go to my head. Here you go. But, truly, Katelienne, you can't find the Inspector now; you have work to do and people to avoid. I thought you told Cooper you'd finish those new ads tonight."

I scraped the spatula against the bottom of the pan and turned an accusing gaze on him. "You weren't there when he said that. How would you know?"

"Guilty," Erik said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I was there; only not in sight. I was passing by, and I… happened to overhear."

"You're a liar," I said, and lifted the pan off the stove. "I know you were spying on me. You're going to have to stop doing that, or I'll have to do something about it."

"What?"

His tone was light; his voice ripe with amusement.

I laughed, a little self-deprecatingly, and started scooping the eggs onto the plates, shaking my head. "I knew you wouldn't take me seriously. No, but really, Erik, you don't need to listen to my conversations. Not only is it unnecessary, but it's also a little creepy."

"I'm not creepy," he protested. "I'm not. And you still have to finish those ads."

"I'll finish them if you stop spying on me," I said, holding out my hand. "Bargain?"

Erik took my hand and shook it, rather longer than he needed to, and grimaced. "Bargain. Now can we eat?"

"Now we can eat," I agreed, and sat. "Tell me about your day, why don't you?"

But now I stood on my balcony, alone, and the threat from the nightmare was still sharp in my mind. It would be necessary to find the Inspector after all: I wanted answers, and seeing as he was the last person I knew who had come into contact with Luke, he would have the most information.

Besides, he was as cruel, or possibly crueler, than Luke had been – he needed to be dealt with. For some reason, he seemed a more formidable enemy than the previous manager of the Opera. Maybe it was his levelheadedness, his easy ability to slip into the character of another person and inhabit it so fully that everyone believed his lies, or maybe it was the way he had spoken to Luke after my kidnapping. He was the man on top, the one in charge, the king piece in the chess game. Luke, Cooper, the other men – they seemed like mere pawns when compared to him.

And he had fooled me (and Erik, and everyone) a total number of three times – Luke had only ever managed to foil us once. He had been three different people, all of which were only façades: the grumpy Monsieur Dumont, the comforting Inspector, the menacing Boss of Luke's little group. We had yet to discover his true persona.

And yet – and yet, I could not do so without leaving Paris, without leaving Erik. While I loved him, I was bound to the Opera House, caught within its walls; while he loved me, I could not depart.

Because of this love, I was not free to pursue my enemy.

I looked down at my feet, distraught. It was clear that I was still wrapped in the consuming, utterly relentless coils of revenge. I did not know how to break them, though, or how to stop this cycle of vengeance. I needed… I needed something, but I did not know what.

I did not know how to fill this void.

I turned on my heel and looked down at the moonlit city; busying myself with thoughts of Erik, silly things like the warmth of his smile and the firm line of his jaw, his dark eyes. I closed my eyes and imagined his face.

Perhaps, I told myself, perhaps, it will all be better in the morning.

Madame Giry was waiting in the breakfast hall when I entered the next morning, her dark hair drawn up into a bun, her face serene. She looked up as I sat down across from her and smiled.

"Katelienne, dear," she said, offering me a roll, "I was wondering what happened to you. Did you sleep late again?"

I took the roll from her and shook my head. "No, I was just finishing my ads. I brought them down to the Count's office this morning. Has anything interesting happened yet?"

A few ballet girls passed, waving at Madame Giry; she inclined her head graciously to them.

"Goodbye, girls. I'll see you in a few minutes."

I broke my roll in half, tore a piece off and popped it into my mouth, waiting for Madame Giry to speak. She did not begin talking until the girls had left the hall; apparently, whatever she wanted to tell me was personal. Or it was about Erik.

She pushed her plate away and folded her hands in her lap. "Yes, there is some news, actually. The Count has found a new patron; but he probably told you that, so I can skip to the next-"

I held up a hand to stop her, managed to swallow without choking, and said, "A new patron? Who is it? No, he hasn't told me."

Madame Giry looked a little flustered. "A patroness, actually. A woman. Her name is Soirée Van Guardant."

"There's something you're not telling me," I said, putting down the remainder of my roll. Her eyes were overbright; her motions slightly erratic. "What is it? Is she awful or something?"

"Well, she is rather odd, but the real problem… the real problem is that she claims to be a seer."

"A what?"

"A seer. A psychic, or something like that, you know. I thought the Count would have told you."

I straightened in my chair, trying to take this in. "No, he wasn't in his office. But… A seer. That is absolutely ludicrous! Er… I hope you don't actually believe in that nonsense."

The woman across from me shook her head emphatically. "No, no, of course not. Also, Lady Van Guardant claims that she was… er… 'drawn here by an irresistible force,' and, as she puts it, her mission is to 'free the Opera House from the terrifying reign of the mysterious Opera Ghost'."

The corner of my lip twitched spasmodically. "Oh… right."

Madame Giry picked up her cup of tea. She appeared to be holding back laughter. "So we may have a slight problem with her after all. And you know we can't ask the Count to find someone else; he had a hard enough time finding this one."

"Yes, I know. I suppose we'll have to deal with her, then. But I can't wait to hear what Erik says about this." I smiled; it was not difficult to imagine the look on the Phantom's very expressive face when he heard the news.

"This is going to be an interesting year," Madame Giry agreed happily, and set her teacup down. "Oh, yes, and the other news is that the new opera we're performing is Les élémens, by Destouches. The Count finally decided on one. I like it."

"A opera-ballet?" I asked, surprised. "That sounds exciting. I haven't seen one of those before."

"Why don't you come down to the rehearsals today and watch?" Madame Giry asked, getting to her feet. "We'll be doing the first scene today."

"Perhaps I will," I said. "But first I'll go see Erik. I have a few things I want to talk about with him."

Madame Giry shrugged her shoulders gracefully. "Alright, then, dear. I'll see you later."

After breakfast, I stood on the shore of Erik's lake, throwing pebbles into the water, watching the large black circles ripple out into the distance.

Plunk. Plunk. Plunk.

"Is something wrong?"

I turned, dropping the rest of my pebbles on the shore.

"There you are. I was about to go in and get you; usually you're out here sooner."

Erik crossed the shore, his lean frame edging carefully around the piles of papers, stopping in front of me. "I was composing in the back – I've finally thought of a new violin piece."

I smiled up at him. "You'll have to play it for me."

"What about tonight? Madame Giry said she'd show up for dinner. Oh, and the Count. I decided it would be best to invite him – despite the fact that I still think he's terrified of me."

I raised my eyebrows. "Of course. That sounds lovely. Do you mind giving me a moment of your time? I need to talk to you."

"About what?"

There was suddenly an inordinate amount of tension in the air; I sensed with a sinking heart that the Phantom was desperately hoping I was not going to bring up the Inspector again.

"Only a few things," I said. "I'll tell you later. But for now, I'd like to go watch the rehearsal. And I remember you mentioned you'd show me the view from the rafters."

The masked man laughed. "I remember, yes. I'll take you up there now, if you want."

"Yes," I said, decisively, and smiled up at him. "And on the way I'll tell you about the new patroness. I'm sure you'll be entertained."