Disclaimer: I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

Title: Peccata Mundi

Summary: The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

Assignment 2: The Fountain of Youth

Summary: After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

Author's Note: Welcome to Assignment 2 of the Detective Erik series! Thank you for returning or, for those new comers, for joining. Anyone that is just joining, this is the second installment of the Peccata Mundi series. The first story is called The Nightingale. Anyway, you don't necessarily need to have read the first book in order to understand the events in this one. There could be some very slight confusion, but I'm going to try to reiterate some points stated in the first installment. Moving on now, thank you all again! I was really happy with the responses The Nightingale received. I'm hoping I can continue to live up to your viewer expectations and do this story justice. Thank you for reading and, hopefully, reviewing! Now we shall begin.

Oh, by the way, I absolutely adore this chapter! You'll see why. .

Section 1

- A Night at the Ballet

It seemed like ages since this had been occurring. Every morning it was the same routine. Sleeping in had become a foreign task within the household. If ever it felt like there was a lack of sleep before, it had become ten times worse. Mornings were dreaded. Racing into sleep at an early hour became the norm. Remaining quiet about the intrusion seemed the hardest thing to do. It wasn't even known why silence about the subject had to be maintained. Perhaps it was out of politeness. Perhaps it was to avoid any awkward situations. But a single thread was holding up that heavy weight, and it was about to snap.

There it came again, right on cue. It was like some sort of alarm clock from Hell. There seemed to be no way to stop it. It just went on and on and on. Regret about the decision to house this nuisance began to arise. Was it much of a decision, though? No, not really. It had all happened too quickly to do anything intelligent about it. Now they were stuck. There was no way to go back. In fact, that wasn't even desired. It wouldn't be right. Some inner presence did not want to change the past. So there had to be some sort of solution. There had to be some sort of compromise or alternative.

Because ever since Christine Daaé had come to the mansion and discovered the grand piano in the sitting room, Erik had not been able to sleep into the morning.

He tossed. He turned. He wrestled with the blankets until a cocoon surrounded him. Still, nothing blocked out the loud twitter of piano keys. It wasn't a bad melody, but it also wasn't a good melody. It was just frustrating to hear such noise in the early morning hours when he wanted to remain in bed. For Erik to want to remain in bed was a feat, too. It had only started up when she had moved in. She was exhausting, yet, strangely, refreshing.

Right now she was in that exhausting stage. Erik, groaning, finally pushed his way out of the tangle of blankets and sat up. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he yawned deeply. There was no way he could continue to rest. He was giving in, but not necessarily giving up. He picked up the white porcelain mask on the side table and placed it over the right half of his face. He tousled his hair slightly, not really paying any mind to it, and set his feet on the carpet-less floor. Slipping on a black robe and matching slippers, he emerged from the confines of his room.

He followed the trail of music, for he was still unable to properly see, until he was awash in the stuff. Standing in the doorway of the sitting room, he stared in, his eyes slightly strained, at the young woman occupying the piano bench. Her posture was perfect—spine straight, arms free, just enough room between her and the instrument. She was already dressed in one of her ratty black frocks. Her brown hair was down and kept out of her face with a thick black headband. That hair was curlier than he had originally thought, but that wasn't a bad thing. No, not on her.

Her fingers flew at the ivory keys. No sheet music was set up before her, so her gaze was on her hands. She hadn't noticed his presence, which he used to his advantage to simply watch her for a few minutes until he was fully awake. Then, still utilizing the surprise on his side, he cleared his throat loudly expecting some sort of big reaction. However, she didn't move and she didn't stop. Had she not heard him? He tried it again, but to no avail, so he went to the next level.

"Hey," he muttered, and when still no response came, louder, "Hey!"

The tapping on the keys became lighter so that a proper conversation could ensue without ceasing the music completely. Christine, however, did not turn around or flinch. She kept looking down at her fingers and the keys.

"Hay is for horses, Monsieur," she called at a proper pitch over her music. "Do I look like a horse?"

Erik raised an eyebrow at her gall, but was more amused by it than offended. He came further into the room so that he was in line with her peripheral vision.

"How long has it been since you moved in here, Christine? A week?" he asked casually.

"Yes, sir, I believe so," she answered.

"Yes, and do you know how long I've had this migraine for?" he continued.

"Well, Monsieur, it would be awfully hard for me to know such a thing," she replied unfazed.

"A week!" he almost shouted.

That's when she stopped playing. She finally brought her emerald eyes up to meet his hazel ones. She didn't react to his appearance or mention anything about it. Instead, she held his gaze in all seriousness, waiting for him to make his point.

"Must you insist on waking up the entire country with your playing, Christine?" He was forceful, but not mean.

"Is it that terrible?" she asked emotionlessly.

"No, it is not terrible at all. You are a bit out of practice, but it is not terrible." He paused and shook his head, figuring out she led him off track. "Now, Christine, I must ask you to cease this morning ritual and move it to the afternoon or evening or some time when I am not trying to sleep."

She nodded once. "I understand."

"Good."

He was about to turn around and head back into the bedroom, when she interrupted his pivot.

"Madame Giry wants to take me into town this afternoon to buy a proper gown for Meg's ballet performance tonight," she informed. "Will you be accompanying us?"

"I am not a very avid shopper when it comes to female apparel. In fact, I have no sense in the matter. I would be very poor company under such an occasion, so I must decline," he said truthfully.

There was a pause, then, "I understand. Thank you for allowing me to attend the recital. It is very kind of you."

"There is no need for that, but you are welcome, nonetheless. I probably wouldn't have been able to keep you away even if I had wanted to. You and Meg have become a nice pair."

It was true. Ever since her arrival, Christine and Meg had taken to each other spectacularly. They both had been missing a female peer in their life, and now they had each other. It was a perfect fit. They had become instant best friends. They laughed and joked and gossiped together, as well as stuck up for one another. Erik had actually begun to feel slightly ganged up upon. There was a ration of 3:2 in the women vs. men category of mansion inhabitants, and the fact that Joseph Buquet was rarely seen unless called upon did not quite help the situation.

"That we have," Christine answered.

Erik nodded once and turned to leave. He barely got to the open doorway before the music came back at full force, jarring him slightly. He stopped in mid trek and turned back around. Christine had resumed her original stance and task.

"Christine," he called, "what did we just discuss?"

Without stopping or peering over at him, she reported, "Well, sir, this is the way I see it. You are currently awake. Therefore my playing is disturbing no sleep. Therefore our contract still holds. Unless, that is, you would like to come to some other verbal agreement?"

There was nothing he could say. He probably wouldn't have even been able to produce a word if he had thought of some come back. He was rendered speechless, which was becoming a common thing around this young woman. Instead of even trying a rebuttal, he let his agape jaw gently close and his muscles to lax. She was a tricky one. She had a very good head on her shoulders. However, he had been unaware of how good. Now he turned away defeated, gliding conquered back to his room with naught but the girl's astounding wit within his head.

At the beginning of the day, the count so far was Christine 1, Erik 0.

-----

"Madame Giry, I cannot stress the urgency in which we must depart," Erik called up the curving staircase. "At this rate we will end up arriving at the play's ending, missing Meg in her debut."

"We are almost ready, Monsieur," Madame Giry called back down to him.

Erik pivoted away from the sight of the steps, as if the sight of them upset his stomach. He looked out the open door at the waiting carriage and Joseph Buquet's frame standing next to it. Erik had made sure that the driver had worn his best outfit to take them to the Opera house. He had had the horses well-groomed and primped until they shined. He wanted everything to be perfect for Meg to show how proud he was of her being cast in the lead.

Even he himself had adorned his best suit. It was black, like all of the others, but was finely cut and designed. There was a hint of black silk around the edges, as well as the rim of the matching top hat. He had his shoes shined, and wore his white hand gloves. The cane he carried was specifically for such special occasions. It was long and black, fashioned of the finest wood. There was a small gold bottom and then a gold emblem of a rose on the top. The rose had some splashes of crimson on it, making it completely unique. The crimson matched a real rose, which was tucked into his breast pocket. He had also brushed out his usually unruly black hair so that it matted neatly down. Even the mask hiding the half of his face seemed to make his appearance all the more elegant and important.

Soft footsteps carefully descending the carpeted steps reached his ears as he was straightening out his jacket. It was like the noise had been Heaven sent. He didn't think he would ever hear a more liberating sound as long as he lived. He was antsy, it was more than evident. He just didn't want to miss anything.

"Finally," he projected. He turned to greet the ladies as he continued, "Really, I don't know what could have taken you so long…"

The last word trailed out of Erik's mouth as his jaw dropped slightly. His eyes widened, and he stopped all movement in mid-fuss. His heart had to have stopped for a brief moment, too, because what he saw, what rendered him speechless once again, was entirely breathtaking. Coming slowly down the staircase, taking one step at a time, was Christine Daaé in the most glorious state he had seen her yet.

She had on a jade green dress that did wonders for her form. It hung off the shoulder, revealing smooth, pale skin that made Erik tremble. A sparkling black choker was strung around the base of her neck and matching earrings dangled from her lobes. She had her untamable hair pulled partly back in an antique black clip, but small strands had come loose and fell to the sides of her face. That face…it was made up slightly, perfectly. Light rouge complimented her high cheekbones. Lip cream created a fuller, redder, shinier appearance. There was a little bit of color around her eyes, enhancing their already natural astounding color. In fact, the entire outfit did wonders to those eyes. Through the entire get up, Erik knew it was her expression and the gleam in her eyes that snatched the attention in the room the most. What was there was intriguing and curious. There was brightness and a smile, and one received a strange sensation like she was reading one's thoughts.

Christine stood in front of Erik, expectantly, but not impatiently. It was another awkward moment before the jumble that became his mind had worked itself out into an organized system. She was idle about two steps up still. So he extended his hand out and slightly upward, without saying a word. A small smile crept to her cherry lips, and she fit a black gloved hand easily in his. He assisted her down the last two steps. Even with heels on, he remained at least one head taller than her, side by side.

"You-" Erik began, but had to stop abruptly and clear his throat. He began again, his tongue free and rationality back in his brain. "You look nice," he complimented, acted uninterested.

Christine merely smiled. She knew. She knew what he was really thinking. She knew that he was ensnared in her beauty and elegance and poise and how she held herself like she was part of the elite class instead of having had to live in pretty much a shack of a house. She knew that her appearance had shocked and stunned him in a good way. She knew that he fought with all of his might to keep a tremor that threatened to erupt throughout his entire body because of her mere touch at bay. She knew, but she did not let it known.

"Thank you," she whispered femininely.

Madame Giry, whom he had not even noticed had joined them, interrupted the moment by slapping a shawl over Christine's shoulders. Erik and Christine's hands fell apart. She adjusted the overcoat herself for maximum warmth, while Madame Giry adorned her own.

"Shall we go then?" Madame Giry asked.

"Yes, the carriage is waiting."

Erik ushered the women outside and closed the door behind him. Madame Giry had already taken her seat within the carriage and Christine was in the process of being assisted up and in. He watched her back disappear into the darkness of the interior then looked to Joseph Buquet, who was red in the face from a massive blush. When Erik approached, the driver pulled him aside swiftly.

"My word, sir, but tha' is some beauty. Why, if she'd ever look my way-"

Erik held up a hand to stop Joseph before he revealed too much information. He shook his head once, trying to get any image remnants out of his mind before it was too late.

"You have worked for me for a long time, Joseph, and you are very well in what you do and the secrets you keep. So I am going to pretend I did not hear any of that."

Joseph nodded. "Sorry, sir."

"Yes, we must practice some self-control," Erik continued as if he hadn't heard the man. "Anyway, drive on. We don't want to be late." And he jumped into the carriage.

The entire ride there, Christine couldn't help watching the scenery that passed by outside the window. Erik couldn't help staring at the side of her face. Once, when he caught the stare being projected at him by Madame Giry, he stopped. She had become protective, like a mother over her daughter. Well it was true that those two had grown close, also, not just Christine and Meg. In fact, Christine was very contagious. She had a personality and an air about her that made it almost, if not completely, impossible to detest her. Perhaps it was her innocence or her naivety. Or perhaps it was her underlying strength and courage that only became apparent after close scrutiny.

They arrived at the Opera house, and Christine was awed by the majestically dressed couples entering the grand building she viewed from the safety of the carriage. Not only that, but her eyes traveled up the edifice of the building, over every detail, over every part. She soaked up the grandeur that was the Opera Populaire, and Erik was sure she was picturing herself up on stage within its confines and singing her lungs out to a sold out audience.

As soon as she stepped outside, though, that air of regality replaced the awe. She held her chin high and acted as if this was normal routine for her. Erik had her arm, and he distinctly noticed envious glares shot his way and lustful stares shot Christine's way. Something inside of him was proud, while something else was upset at how they looked at her, and another just wanted everyone to mind their own business.

Walking inside, Christine was unable to hold her true feelings back any longer. The place was so beautifully decorated and so much more elegant than anything she had ever seen that she couldn't help commenting on whatever caught her eye, which turned out to be basically everything. Erik smiled at her spirits and her inability to look on without pointing or exclaiming at each chance she got. Even though she would have loved to have just remained out in the foyer the entire time and fully take in everything there was, they made it to their designated seats in box five.

"Do you attend performances here often?" Christine questioned him after they had gotten comfortable.

"Often enough," Erik replied. "This box is never rented out to anyone but me."

"If I had my own personal box, I would be at the Opera every weekend," Christine breathed dreamily.

Erik smiled again, but was unable to make any reply because at that moment the lights began to dim and the orchestra struck up.