The Phantom and The Siren
Prologue
"Madame, I promise, she will be safe with me." The man in the white mask said to the woman dressed in black. "But only if you can let her go, now."
The woman shed a few tears and nodded. "One moment, please. I need to say goodbye." The man nodded.
The woman bent down to embrace the young, curly-haired child next to her. "Be good, my dear girl. He will take care of you now. He will keep you safe."
The girl just looked at her mother with a tired smile. "Yes, maman. I'll be good for the monsieur."
The curly-haired child took the man's outstretched hand. She followed him quietly down a long hallway for a while, until she began to stumble as her eyes refused to stay open. The man swung her up into his arms, and she buried her head into his neck.
"Monsieur?" she yawned.
"Yes, child? What is it?"
"What is your name?" she asked innocently.
"My name is Erik, my dear. What's yours?" he asked in return, although he already knew.
"My name's Christine." She answered before falling asleep on Erik's shoulder.
Erik stopped and looked at the tiny child in his arms. 'You will be safe, ma cheri. I promise you, I will keep you safe.'
15 years later…
"Erik, come on! We're going to be late for rehearsal!" Christine yelled, adjusting her mask.
"I'm coming, darling." He called back.
Erik chuckled and shook his head. Kissing Christine on the cheek, he took her hand and pulled her along after him. He reflected on the events that brought them together, as he did every morning. 'If that fire hadn't burned her, she might have had a normal life. But she'd be just another ballet rat, instead of The Siren.'
They reached the theater, and climbed into their usual places: Erik in the flies, Christine up by the chandelier. They watched as the troupe rehearsed Hannibal for the third time in five years. The familiar routine was broken by the arrival of Monsieur Lefevre and three strangers, all men.
'So, the opera house is under new management.' Christine thought. 'That's too bad, I liked Monsieur Lefevre. Let's just hope that the new ones will obey the rules. Erik'll be very angry if they don't…'
"I have a message, sir, from the opera ghosts." Madame Giry's voice floated up to the ghosts in question.
"Ghosts? You mean we've bought a haunted opera house?" Monsieur Andre asked disbelievingly.
"Don't be silly, Andre, ghosts aren't real." His partner, Firman, shot back.
"Don't be so sure, messieurs. Two ghosts haunt the Opera Populaire. We're lucky- most theatres don't have intelligent ghosts. They merely welcome you to their opera house-"
"THEIR opera house!?"
"And they remind you that their salaries are due."
"Their salaries?!"
"well, Messieur Lefevre used to give the Phantom 20,000 francs a month, while the Siren receives 10,000 a month." Madame Giry said, betraying no emotion.
"This is simply ridiculous. These so-called "ghosts" expect to be paid 30,000 francs a month? What do they do to earn these 'salaries'?" the tall, blond man asked.
"And who, precisely, are you monsieur?" asked Madame Giry.
"This is the Vicomte de Chagny, our new patron." Andre proudly announced.
"Well, Monsieur le Vicomte, the Phantom informs the managers of performers and stagehands who aren't working at the acceptable standard. The Siren, she's the Phantom's companion. She protects the dancers and chorus, and both of them are musicians, composers. If you're lucky, you may one day have the chance to see one of their works."
The Vicomte snorted. "Lucky? Madame, if I order it, these "ghosts" will compose a thousand operas." He stated arrogantly.
"And why, precisely, would either of them do that?" Madame Giry asked innocently.
"Because even ghosts must obey their superiors!" the Vicomte declared. "I am le Vicomte de Chagny, and someday I'll be le Comte. I promise you, Madame, Messieurs, Mademoiselles, I shall rid the theater of this scourge! If it even exists." He muttered under his breath.
"Monsieur, the theater has not suffered for having the ghosts around. In fact, several times the two of them have saved this theater from ruin."
The vicomte just smiled patronizingly at Madame Giry. It was obvious that he thought her just a simple commoner, and a woman at that. He turned and walked away, winking roguishly at the ballet girls, who giggled and battled their eyelashes at him.
A deep, hot anger filled Erik's heart. 'How dare this fop enter OUR opera house and deem us scourged, that HE must rid them of. I must find Christine; it's time to put our plan into play.'
Christine sensed her lover's anger, and hurried to his side to calm him. "Erik, love, calm down. He'll bring the gendarmes in for a performance or two, and then he'll forget we exist. Don't do anything rash."
"Too late. Take a look onstage; your debut will be tonight." Erik said in a dark voice.
Christine swiftly turned around just in time to see Carlotta stomp off the stage in a fury so typical of her. The panicked voices of the managers reached their ears, lamenting the refund of a full house.
"Messieurs?" Madame Giry asked. "There is one woman who can take La Carlotta's place. You mustn't judge her by her appearance, though."
The managers exchanged a skeptical glance. "Well, let her sing. We don't exactly have any other choice, do we?" Andre conceded.
She smiled. "Very wise choice, gentlemen. I'll go retrieve her." she walked backstage. "Christine? Erik? Are you there?"
Christine appeared from the shadows, with an annoyed look on her masked face. She followed the black-clad ballet mistress onstage.
"This is the girl? Why does she wear a mask? Who is she?" the managers asked one after the other.
"I will sing for you, messieurs. Who I am and why I wear a mask are not important. My voice is the only thing you need from me." Christine stated.
The two men looked at each other. "Very well, Mademoiselle. We'll accede to your wishes; we don't exactly have much of a choice. From the beginning of the song." Firman sighed.
The music started, and Christine began to sing. Everyone stopped and listened to the sound emerging from the lips of the masked woman. After five years of listening to La Carlotta, they were amazed. This girl didn't screech…didn't wail the lower notes…didn't use enough vibrato to collapse the building. Her voice was sweet and clear, with a crystalline quality that made every heart on the stage ache for the beauty of it. When Christine walked off the stage that night, the stage was not visible underneath the flowers the audience had thrown.
Christine pushed her way through the crowd and entered the Prima Donna's dressing room, which was covered wall to wall with flowers. She locked the door, and when she turned, her masked lover was waiting for her, smiling. The masked Prima took two steps forward and slumped into her lover's waiting arms.
"You brought God to his knees tonight with your singing, my love. I couldn't be more proud of you." Erik murmured into Christine's silky curls.
She smiled. "I thought you didn't believe in God."
He backed off a step and held her shoulders. "I hold one of his angels in my arms. How could I not?"
Christine shook her head and sighed. "Erik…"
Erik bent his head and claimed her lips. Wrapped around each other as they were, they almost didn't hear the knocking on the dressing room door. As it started to open, Erik tore himself from Christine and bolted behind the mirror.
"Ah, Mademoiselle. There you are. You were absolutely wonderful tonight. Oh, where are my manners? I am the Vicomte de Chagny, the new patron. But you, my dear, may call me Raoul." He preened.
Christine smirked. "And does your rank as a Vicomte give you the right to enter a woman's dressing room uninvited, Monsieur? I did not give you permission to enter. I could have been indecent."
The blonde gave the masked beauty what he supposed was a seductive smile. "I don't think you'd truly object to that particular situation, mademoiselle. But why discuss it, when I can show you?" he said, moving slowly closer.
"Monsieur, I must ask you to leave. This conversation is wildly inappropriate, and I have no desire to share your society." She snapped.
"Why don't you start by removing that little mask of yours? A pretty thing like you shouldn't cover her face…" he muttered.
Christine kept backing away from the Vicomte, yet he didn't notice. She was about to release the catch on the mirror to escape, when the blonde man reached out and yanked off her mask. Before he could remove anything else or truly see what lay beneath the covering, the room went dark and he felt something hard connect with his jaw. A light flashed briefly, and then he felt no more.
When he awakened, groaning, the masked lady was nowhere in sight. He looked in the mirror and fingered the bruise on his face. He picked up the envelope lying next to his leg and examined it. It was sealed with a red wax skull with an ocean wave at the back. He opened it and read the note inside.
Monsieur, it read,
You have made a grave error in interfering in our affairs. Because you do not know the rules, we have chosen not to end your life. But rest assured, if you pursue us, we will not hesitate. Obey the ghosts, and you will be spared. Disobey, and we will kill you. Do not test us, Vicomte. We have more power than you know.
PtO, StO