Author's Note: This story is dedicated to the very talented L'Archange, the author of The Sorcerer and the Magician. She's a great writer and I'm looking forward to reading more of her work. While reading her story, I was inspired to play around with the idea of the mischievous magical being who meddles in the lives of Erik and his young phans. Technically, this is a complete short story, but I did leave myself an opening to continue it, if I am so inclined. I should also add an apology for my failure to update regularly. As usual, my singing keeps me a lot busier than I expect and time gets away from me.

To the Honorable Arch-Enchanter Sir Roderic Wells-Wellington:

I am writing to respectfully and humbly request to be allowed to return from exile and to have my powers restored.

In my defense, I did exactly as the child asked, is it my fault that it turned out so badly?

How was I to know that the Phantom of the Opera wasn't a real man? She knew his name. She knew where he lived. She knew when he lived. She thought he was real. Is it my fault that she was a foolish teenager? Is it my fault that she mistook some silly fantasy for reality?

All I did was give her what she asked for. That's what I was supposed to do? Since when are wishes supposed to turn out exactly as we plan them? Mine certainly did not, but I don't expect you care to hear about that.

Don't ask me how I came to choose that particular brat. I'm afraid there is no explanation. I happened to be looking about for someone to bargain with and there was that skinny little chit with the ugly hair caterwauling along to some god-awful fake opera nonsense. Really, all I wanted to do was think up a way to shut her up. I was doing the world a favor, you can trust me on that.

So there she was, singing away about the Phantom of the Opera and going positively dewy-eyed over that romantic nonsense in between bouts of high-pitched shrieking. So, I decided to make her a deal, just like I'm supposed to. You remember how that goes? You get your wish and if turns out well, then good for you, and if it doesn't- and they never do, do they- then you're ours to do with as we please. You can hardly fault me for that, now can you? It's the exact same arrangement that was made with me, so many years ago. Well, it was mostly the same, different wish, but the same basic principle.

"I wish I could be Erik's Christine," she sighed, "I'd give anything for that." You see, it was practically textbook stuff.

I followed the rules to the letter, by the way. I knocked on the front door instead of materializing in her bedroom, just like I was told. "Don't materialize out of the blue in people's houses," you said, "it upsets them." I made every effort to do things properly.

Well, she didn't answer the door, so I had to ring again. After the fourth ring, I was getting somewhat annoyed with her. She had no manners at all. When it became clear that I wasn't going away, she finally crept up to the door and yelled, "I'm sorry, we're not interested." Not interested? Can you imagine that? She thought I was a common salesman!

"I'm not here to sell you anything, you silly girl. I'm here to make your fondest wish come true, now open the bloody door!" I snapped. What can I say? I'm not used to having obstacles thrown in my path by female persons. Most of them open the door right away because I'm really very charming. Everyone says so. I have, so they say, a innocent face and roguish eyes. Women like that sort of thing.

"You don't know what my fondest dream is, so just go away," she answered. Well, that was progress. You know you've got your foot in the door when they keep talking to you.

"You want to be Erik's Christine. Isn't that so?" I asked pleasantly, "Didn't you just say that you would give anything for that wish to come true?"

She opened the door a little bit and peeked out, "Are you from the Devil?"

Well, as you know, I've been asked that question before. As it turns out, it is considerably less upsetting when it is asked by a teenaged girl, as opposed to a Holy Inquisitor who is prepared to do all kinds of unpleasant things if you don't answer correctly.

"I'm not connected with the Devil and I don't want your soul," I explained. "There won't even be a catch. I'll send you to this Erik person and you'll take Christine's place. If it all works out, you can even bring him back here with you." That was a special added bonus from me. Normally, I'd have just popped her back to Paris, circa 1881 and if it worked out great, and if she couldn't live without shampoo it would be too bad. I'm just extra nice with my wish-granting. Like I said, none of this was my fault, I have had nothing but good faith.

"And if it doesn't work out?" She asked. They never used to do that. I blame the American cinema for making all those movies about how wishes never turn out properly. I never asked what would happen if my wish didn't work out. I was the sort of naïve, goodhearted person who doesn't go around assuming that getting magic powers would land a person in prison on suspicion of heresy and even if that did happen, you'd have thought that magic powers would have gotten me out of it.

"If you wish to undo your wish, then you call my name three times and there I am, quick as a wink. Then we agree on a price for me to undo the wish. You see, undoing a wish is terribly draining for me. I can't go about undoing things without a little something from you, but why quibble about that now? We can work that out, when and if the time comes."

Damn her if she wasn't going to turn me down. No one ever turns me down! What kind of eighteen-year-old is that suspicious? So I offered to prove that I was in earnest. There's nothing wrong with that? Who else would ever be that nice?

Mind you, I could see my little teenager's wish in her mind. She really did believe that this Erik person was alive and well and going about his business at the Paris Opera House in 1881. So, what harm would it do to send her there for a little while? She prances around in a fancy dress for a day or so and comes home before she has a chance to start missing modern conveniences like dishwashers and music videos and such. Maybe this Erik person sings to her a bit or gives her a voice lesson through the wall, but no worries there. By the time she comes back in, oh, eight hours or so, she'll be hooked and it's all a done deal.

Upon reflection, I think that perhaps she only agreed with my lovely plan because she thought I was quite out of my mind. She'd click her heels three times, and there she would be, exactly in the same spot as before and me standing there with egg on my face. Well, I showed her. One two three and off she went.

All right, so I sent the girl to a realm of imagination instead of to Victorian Paris. I sent her to her phantom, didn't I? There is nothing in the handbook about conjuring archetypal characters out of thin air in the realms of thought, now is there? Granted, there isn't a handbook at all, but if there was one, I feel confident that this situation would not have been covered in it. So what if wished an Erik into being who is at once all the Eriks that have ever been imagined and none of them? So what if I sent the girl to Erik's world. It can't have been that bad can it?

If you ask me, the child was having a lovely time at first. She didn't look at all unhappy and Erik was simply delighted with her. She was his Christine, after all. He brought her into his sitting room and served her tea and little biscuits. They sang together, not that awful garbage that she'd been singing before, I think it was some little thing from Mozart that he taught her. The he showed her all around his realm, which turned out to rather more expansive than you'd expect for an opera basement. You wouldn't think that a basement would have space for so many candles and I'm still not quite sure how he came up with the magical forest. Perhaps the magical forest was too much and that's why things turned sour? I had nothing to do with the forest, you know.

So, this puts us where, I think about four hours into our little girl's, or perhaps I should say our little woman's, eight hour stay and so far so good. Everything is pleasant and everyone is happy and the mood appears to getting rather romantic. She's read the book, so she knows better than to spoil things by messing around masks and the like. Really, there was nothing other than her own perversity to get in the way. Erik took her hands into his and looked deep into her eyes. I felt quite chuffed because with a good four hours to go, there was plenty of time for nature to take its course so to speak, and once it did, there was no way she wouldn't want to go straight back. It would take her a good couple of weeks to get tired of the psychosis and the lack of modern dental care and then she was ours.

I watched her close her eyes as Erik kissed her. It was really very touching, quite gentle, even a little timid at first and then you could see her warm to it. She relaxed right into his arms. Well, obviously, I wasn't going to keep watching at that point. I'm not like that. I figured that I'd nip off and give them some privacy to get to know each other a little better. So, off I go only to be shocked to the very core when I suddenly found myself materializing with a "pop" in Erik's bedroom. Well, I assume it was his bedroom, since it was in his house and there was a good deal of black satin involved. So, there's the teenager lying on the bed, crying and coughing both at the same time, and looking very red in the face and there's Erik on the opposite side of the room, sitting very quietly and there you are standing in-between them shouting, "Jonathan Candlewax, what have you done?!?!"

I hear tell that that Erik was sitting quietly because he was unconscious. He was knocked out when you threw him across the room, right into the far wall, which would explain the dent in the plaster. I expect he thoroughly deserved it.

You did not give me an opportunity to answer your questions then, but I will do so now. Yes, I am well aware that it against our laws to allow anyone to die without first offering to undo their wish thus saving their life. This wasn't really a wish. Yes, I could see that she was awfully young, anyone would look awfully young curled up like that and crying, but she was still technically old enough to make a bargain. No, I didn't intend to zap a fictional character into actual existence, how many times have I mentioned that I though he was real? With all due respect, there's no point in telling me that we don't do that sort of thing when I've just done it, now is there?

Besides, there's no real harm done, is there? You sent the girl back to her own world believing that everything that happened was only a dream. Erik is locked up in his own world and won't be bothering anyone, now will he? The only victim in all of this is me.

Is it my fault that she didn't think she was ready to be Erik's lover? I thought that American teenagers were all over that sort of thing.

Can I be blamed for his paranoia? How was I supposed to know that he had some sort of memory of being abandoned by his Christine over and over and thought she meant to leave him for some random fellow I've never even heard of?

Was it really necessary for him to try to choke the life out of her? Yes, I suppose it is rather cruel to leave him locked away all alone, but what's done is done.

I didn't try to hurt anyone, and I don't see why I must continue to suffer. I have thought about what I have done, as you instructed me, and I promise to never ever do it again.

I beg you to restore my powers and reinstate me into the Guild of Enchanters.

Most sincerely, gratefully and respectfully yours,

Jonathan Candlewax