A/N: Thank you for your reviews!

Christine sat silently in her chair, glancing over the sheet music her maestro had just handed her. The notes looked somewhat familiar, but she was not very skilled in reading them, and was embarrassed to admit it. She looked up at Erik, nervous and lost.

"What's the matter?" He asked.

"I'm not very good at reading music, monsieur. I'm sorry."

He smiled gently beneath his hat while his eyes stared at her. "That's all right. I will play the song for you."

Christine watched as Erik walked over to the piano, taking off his hat and setting it on the lid. He removed his cloak and set it down next to the hat. He looked fit to attend a dance, wearing an evening coat with a maroon dress shirt. Still, though, he wore that strange leather mask on his face. It bothered Christine a little, but she had never made a mention of it so far.

"Come, Christine."

She obediently stood and approached the teacher. He took the sheet music from her and set it before him on the piano.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, monsieur."

He started to play the simple tune, slowly, and Christine listened carefully. Now that she was hearing the music, she could more easily imprint the song in her head and remember each note. It was easier for her to learn this way, far easier than attempting to read the sheet music.

"Can you sing it now?" Erik asked her as he finished playing.

"Yes, monsieur. I think so."

Erik played the tune again, and this time Christine sang. She remembered each note, though she stumbled a little on the higher ones, but for once she actually thought she had done well. Erik seemed to think so too, because he was smiling as he finished the tune and turned to her.

"Do you have much trouble reaching those notes?" he asked her.

"Not most of the time, monsieur. I think it would help if I warmed up my voice a little."

"Yes, I think so too. Come, would you like to practice on the stage? After all, it will be yours one day. Come along." He picked up his cloak and put it around his shoulders again.

He suddenly seemed excited, eager to take her to the stage to practice. His last comment made Christine grimace, but she followed him any way, out the door into the hall. He took out a large ring of keys from his pocket and locked the door. Christine, though she was very curious, did not ask how he managed to acquire those keys. She walked after him, watching his heels and noticing the way he kept his hand lightly brushing the wall beside him.

"Do you like to be on stage, Christine? Do you like being before an audience?"

She shrugged. "I do enjoy it...but I become so nervous at times, monsieur. Sometimes I fear that I may be sick and cannot go on."

He nodded gently. "That is natural, of course you may feel nervous performing before an audience. It will take time to become accustomed to the stage."

As she followed her maestro downstairs, she could not help but wonder if he had experience on the stage before. He seemed to have some knowledge of what it felt like to perform on stage. Perhaps he had been an opera singer in past years; he was an older man, after all, she could tell by the deepness of his voice and the way he walked. She made a mental note to ask him later about his experience.

"Here we are," he announced as they arrived at the black door Christine knew well. He once again took out his ring of keys and unlocked the door. Immediately Christine recognized the familiar musty scent of the stage; old lumber and sawdust, wood varnish, a faint trace of laundered costumes and makeup powder. She sighed deeply.

The floorboards groaned beneath their feet. It was dark save for some late afternoon light filtering through small windows near the ceiling. Christine shivered though it was warm; the heavy presence of the stage never failed to effect her. She watched her teacher's hand float over the nearby crates and pieces of machinery, touching everything beside him, stroking. His behavior was eerily fascinating. She bit her tongue so her damned curiosity would not prompt her to ask a rude question.

"Here we are." He slipped through the wings and onto the darkened stage. At this time there was no one in the area, and so it was completely silent, warm and dimly lit by a few lamps in the house and a ghost light sitting on the stage. Christine stopped as Erik continued towards the ghost light and reached out his hand and touched it gently.

She heard him take a deep breath.

"I have not been on this stage for quite a while," he whispered softly.

"Maestro?" Christine said tentatively.

He turned towards her. She saw his bright green eyes glowing dimly in the ghost light and she shivered again.

"Yes, mademoiselle. Would you like to warm up your voice? Try your scales."

Christine nodded hesitantly, feeling foolish. Though there was no audience, just the teacher, she still felt incredibly nervous. She clasped her hands and tightened them beneath her breasts as she had seen the prima donnas do a hundred times. She opened her mouth, took a breath, but she could not force her voice from her throat. She tried again but she only managed an embarrassing grunt.

"Is something wrong?" Erik asked her, still standing beside the ghost light with his hand wrapped around the pole.

Christine sighed, defeated and dropped her hands. "I'm terribly sorry, monsieur. I cannot make myself sing on this stage, I feel so nervous."

He stood for a moment. He looked like he was thinking. He removed his hand from the ghost light and cracked the joints in his wrist and knuckles. Christine blinked expectantly at him.

"You're nervous," he said softly, as if he were confirming the statement to himself. He walked a small distance from the ghost light, taking small, calculated steps.

"When you are nervous before a dance...before you make your entrance...what do you do?"

Christine frowned. She hated the plummeting feeling she got in her stomach before she entered on stage. "Sometimes I dance nervous. It is difficult. I feel tense and ill. But other times I am able to calm myself beforehand if I warm up my legs, my body."

"Then warm up," he said. "Before you warm up your voice, warm up your body."

"But... monsieur," she stumbled, feeling her face grow hot. "Forgive me, but I don't think I can warm up with you watching me."

At first Erik seemed surprised. He blinked and smirked a little. "Would you prefer me to go away?"

"Oh no, no, don't go away...but...if you don't mind, it's terribly rude of me...but could you face away from me, stage right?"

His smile had disappeared and it was impossible to see his facial expression behind the mask. Christine began to feel terrible. "I'm sorry, monsieur, never mind--"

"No. I won't watch you."

He turned away from her slowly to face stage right. Christine sighed.

She knelt down gently on the stage and shut her eyes. She breathed deep, filling her lungs with musty air and breathing it out through her nose. She arched her arms above her head and clasped her hands, then brought her arms down again to rest at her sides. She bent her neck and rotated it slowly in a circle. She breathed again.

A hand touched her shoulder.

Her breath caught briefly but she continued to breathe. A second hand came to rest upon her other shoulder. She could feel their weight. They gently and slowly pulled upwards to cradle her face, tilting it upwards, exposing her thin, pale throat.

Someone was breathing in her ear...

Christine opened her eyes immediately. There were no hands upon her face. There was no breath against her ear. She whipped her head about and saw Erik still standing obediently stage right, facing away from her. She suddenly became aware that she was out of breath and inhaling quite noisily.

Erik turned his head to face her. "Is everything all right?"

She felt her face. It was warm. "Yes...yes, monsieur. I suddenly feel a little ill...may I rest for tonight, and perhaps try again tomorrow?"

He turned around completely. "Yes. I am sorry you are not well...go and rest, mademoiselle."

"Thank you, monsieur."

She stood and walked briskly out of the theatre. When she turned back to catch one last glance of her teacher, he was gone.

Christine lay alone in bed that night, listening to the other girls whispering like gossiping old women. From the sound of it, one of the older dancers had had quite an exciting experience with a stagehand backstage and was describing it in graphic detail while the other girls gasped and giggled. Christine peered out from behind her covers and saw the older girl slapping her rear quite loudly. Christine could not help but choke with suppressed laughter.

She rolled over and sighed, her smile fading. She was often painfully aware of her sexual inexperience when the girls talked about their men. They had had many lovers--or so they said--but Christine had never had a lover before. She often found herself praying to God to give her a good man who would love her and offer his hand in marriage to her. Even as a small girl she dreamed of becoming a little bride with a pretty train and a bouquet of white roses and baby's breath.

Christine shuddered when she remembered the hands on her face. For a moment then, she had thought they were Erik's hands...her good teacher's hands that had been touching her! But when she had turned to look, he was still standing with his back to her...it had only been her imagination.

I wish it had been his hands.

'No, Christine,' she chided herself firmly, pinching her thigh. 'You are thinking like a whore. Like the girls. No.'

She buried her face in her pillow and tried to sleep.

"Thank you for the stew, Nadir. It was quite good."

Nadir lifted his eyes. His friend had finished the last of his supper and was sitting back in his chair.

"Ah...you're welcome, Erik."

Erik was smiling. Nadir felt uneasy.

"What's the matter with you? Did you kill someone?"

Erik snorted and opened his arms wide. "I, Nadir? I? No, of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?"

Nadir chose not to respond to this and gathered up the dishes at the table. He glanced at Erik and saw him lazily running his hand through his hair.

"For God's sake, Erik. Are you drunk?"

"No!" he laughed. "If you must know, I have a voice student."

Nadir nearly dropped his empty teacup. His poor heart skipped several beats and he slammed his hand upon his chest to calm it. "A voice student!"

"Yes," Erik replied, obviously swelling with pride. "I am going to teach her to sing."

"Is she young?" Nadir asked him, his shock slowly shifting into suspicion.

"Yes."

"Is she willing?"

"She seems to be."

"Is she pretty?"

Erik sighed. His grin faded. "I don't know."

"You haven't..." Nadir hesitated.

"No."

Nadir nodded gently, and took the dishes to the kitchen. His hand shook slightly as he pumped the water into the sink. Erik has a student...

The news in and of itself was not exactly bad. He was happy for Erik, but at the same time, he was fearful...Erik did not like to mingle with people who lived above. To venture up there so often was risky, and if he was somehow...attracted... to this young woman, he could become easily distracted.

As he finished washing the dishes and set them back in their cupboards, he blew out the lanterns and headed for bed, but he stopped at Erik's bedroom door first. His friend was standing with his back to him, turned towards the window with its panes painted black.

"Goodnight, Erik."

"Goodnight, Nadir."

The glass eyes in the velvet box on Erik's nightstand stared at him. Nadir grew cold and shut the door gently.