Chapter Two
Ash awakens with a start. The knock on the door does nothing to calm her fragile nerves. Covering her chest, she asks who it is. A male voice answers Philippe de Chagny. Ash chuckles at the slight femininity in his voice and asks a moment to put on a robe. For a moment she remembers that she doesn't have a robe, but apparently the Opera Ghost decided to make one more delivery during the night.
She slips on the black fabric and ties the red belt, moving her eyes to the mirror. Sure enough, the blanket has shifted slightly. As an afterthought, she pulls up her school trousers before telling him to enter. Taking a seat before the vanity, Ash watches as the door slowly opens to reveal not one but two men.
The first man, one she suspects to be the Philippe de Chagny, has graying blonde hair and a little moustache, his suit is green with silvery trim in a floral pattern. The second has short brown curls and a curled moustache. His suit is blue and simple in design. He does not seem as excited as the other man to be here.
"Hello, there, gentlemen." She greets with a closed lipped smile. The blonde man bows, the brunette follows.
"Bonjour, Monsieur Knight. Sorelli has told me all about you and your magnificent playing. I am Philippe, Count de Chagny. This is my brother, Raoul, Viscount de Chagny. We simply wish to welcome you to the Paris Opera with warm arms."
"A pleasure, sir." Ash looks in the attached mirror and turns violently. "Holy shit, I am a mess."
"At least you're honest," Raoul laughs positioning behind Ash in the looking glass. He tilts his head and shakes it. "Actually, you are rather dashing in comparison to the Americans that come to work here. Your hair is wild, though." Ash grabs one of the many curls that protrude from her scalp with a sigh.
"May I have a moment to freshen up? I need to be ready for rehearsals."
"Of course." Philippe nods at Raoul and they exit. Ash lays the robe on the back of the seat. She examines her reflection, slight bags from her wild night under her eyes, her hair ridiculously curled, but that is what the tonic is for. She straightens her clothes and begins the laborious and painful task of combing her rat's nest.
#
Hearing the beautiful music with Carlotta's voice was enough to make Ash shake in anger. Margarita is a soprano, of which she obviously is. However, not only is she almost thirty and performing in a teenager's role, her voice has way too much vibrato, like she is forcing herself to sound more operatic than necessary. The worst part? Carlotta would attempt to flirt with Ash when the conductor was not running the whole company.
She sits for an hour at the piano after everyone has gone for the afternoon for preparations. She lets in slow, even breaths. In a trance, she lays her fingers on the keys and begins to play and sing. She performs for no one the song she sang to sleep. From her lips, The Music of the Night flows with hypnotic passion, and a shadow from above stares in awe. And from the stage, a young girl feels her heart soar with every note.
This is her affirmation. With a wide smile, Christine prances away from him. It has to be him, the voice behind the mirror. Her Angel of Music.
#
Searching for reprieve, Ash asks where the quietest spot in the opera is. Many would suggest the fourth cellar, in the far corner. They would joke that that was the best chance to see the Opera Ghost. Asking for a place with light and a breeze, one dancer says that the roof is often breezy and has one of the best views in Paris.
After many flights of stairs, Ash finds a solid metal door. She tests the handle, and is let down when it down not move. She is about ready to head back down the stairs when there is a click from the keyhole. Pulling on the handle again, she is surprised when it just flies open and she is bathed in sunlight.
Instantly, she is awed by the sheer beauty surrounding her. In the mid-afternoon sky, the golden dome of the opera house shines. Atop the dome, is a gilded angel that seems to guide passersby to the opera, almost luring them in with his hypnotic stare. As he beckons, the shadows around his base shift. A cold northern wind blasts, knocking the air from Ash's lungs, pushing her to a shadowed corner far from the warm sunlight. She manages to stop before entering, but that does not stop her from being frozen by the glowing yellow orbs almost a foot over her head.
"Hello there, Monsieur Knight."
"Hello . . ."
"Come now, dear boy, there is no need to be shy."
"I am not shy, just," Ash wraps her fingers around the lighter still carefully nested in her pocket. "Just safe, is all. Your reputation precedes you, Ghost. What will the Bouquet incident . . . and countless others . . . One can never be too safe."
"Never hurts to be safe, I understand. All the same, I would appreciate a bit of trust, so keep your hands where I can see them," A black clad figure comes from the shadows. In the finest dress clothes, a skeletal man emerges, his cape moves silently with the wind, his hood shadowing his face. But his eyes are ever watchful, so Ash complies. "Thank you."
"Do you have a reason for coming to see me, Ghost?" Ash asks, her teeth grinding as she fights not to set him on fire. In the musical, the ghost was nothing more than a man. She's willing to wager it is the same case here. Then, reconsideration. If he truly is a ghost, better not to risk it.
"I have an opportunity for you that would be foolish to overlook. In exchange for your loyalty and services, you will receive triply your current hundred francs a week pay, immunity from being fired and from being at the butt of one of my little . . . excursions. As for loyalties, you will deliver my notes, deal with the more intimate parts of my plans, and keep the musicians from sounding completely abhorrent."
"Ah, your dirty work, eh? Not meaning to sound rude, but what if I refuse your generous offer?"
"You will not leave this roof with your life."
"You wouldn't dare. Moncharmin and Richard would become suspicious if someone they hired yesterday, literally, just disappeared." Ash gives a sly smile and a raised brow. "Eliminating that option."
"Really?" The Ghost tilts his head, eyes twinkling in mischief. "Accidents can, and will, happen at any given time. You may be aware of the "suicide" of Joseph Bouquet. Then the rope holding the scenery aren't entirely stable, one might say extremely dangerous. They could fall at any minute." He leans forward to make their twin eyes level. "Perhaps even the minute you are walking below."
"Touché. When do I begin?" He lays a cold hand on her shoulder.
"Today. I have plans for the opera tonight, and they cannot fail. I will give you the poison you will require. Simply slip it in Carlotta's drink and everything will fall into place." The Ghost places a small vial in her hand, the liquid the color of berries. Ash holds the glass to the light.
"Poison Carlotta, are you insane? The managers will lose their shit if they find out."
"It is not hazardous to her health. It is a remedy to steal her singing voice."
"If you can call it singing." He lays a hand on her shoulder and begins to squeeze. Ash feels her bone pop and hisses in pain. "What the hell?" She claws at his hand, scratching the leather glove.
"You better not fail me. Any failures will make the deal void, and you will be eradicated." He removes his hand and steps back into the shadows. "Have a pleasant evening."
#
"It is made from honeysuckle nectar and water from the springs deep in the American wilderness. It is very expensive, and I believe, because of your beautiful voice, that no other deserves this rare remedy." Ash pours the poison in a glass of water, watching from the corner of her eyes as Carlotta stares in wonder. Ash thinks about what Carlotta believes she is seeing.
A tall, handsome-maybe-American man present to her a potion that will enhance her already angelic voice tenfold. And then, Ash thinks while stirring the mix with a spoon, she believes she will get in my pants for a wild night. Actresses, the Sex Maniacs of any time.
"Now simply drink and wait thirty minutes give or take for it to take full effect." Ash holds it out for Carlotta to take, but the woman is hesitant. Though she is the classic ideal of Spanish beauty, her flat green eyes spark with nerves, her red lips tremble, and her caramel skin shakes. Ash wonders if, by some strange force, Carlotta was frightened or her-or him, rather.
"And you are certain this will work?"
"Many of the Scots-Irish back home recommend it. They say the Indian folk concocted it for their strange little ceremonies. Nothing to be fear."
"Well . . . alright." She takes the glass and sips it down. With a blush, she thanks Ash with a curtsy and excuses herself to get ready for the evening. Ash, taking three steps back, breaks into a run when Carlotta is nowhere to be seen.
Oh there will be hell to pay when the woman realizes she was double crossed. Sadly, as she thinks about it, there could be a chance of Carlotta becoming an amazing singer. If only she would just . . . not try as hard, strange as it is to say.
Ash is almost to her room when she must skid to a halt. Before her is a dark skinned man in a white turban and violet robes waltzing about the foyer. He is not blocking her way to her room by any means. There's just . . . something off about him. He acts as though he is searching for something. Or even someone. Shaking down her wild nerves, Ash descends the marble steps with dignity.
When he turns, his eyes widen. It is almost like he thinks Ash is who he is looking for. Which is preposterous, Ash has never seen him around the opera or anywhere else in Paris over the two days she has been there. All the same, his eyes lose their recognition when she walks by him with a sneer. He scratches his beard and takes one last look at her.
"Erik?" The Daroga whispers. He is confused. It is impossible for that to be Erik, and he is aware of that. All the same, those eyes, the skin, the hair. It cannot be mere coincidence. Like his father always said, "There are no coincidences," and the Daroga walks away.
#
With only a few hours before the performance, Ash decides what she needs more than anything is a nice, warm bath. There is a door near the vanity, but she just thought originally that it was a storage closet or something equally unimpressive. She decides closer inspection is required.
The door opens inward, revealing a brass tub, a fire place, and faucet for water collection. The room is illuminated only by the light from the bedroom, she lights the nearest candle and gathers her robe and undergarments. She will wear her bra, but something tells her the purchase of some bandages to wrap around her breasts will be best to keep up the male façade she was put into.
Lighting the fireplace, Ash begins to fill the copper tub and thanks God for this opportunity.
#
Ash has to admit, the suit makes her look rather sexy. The red and black fits her pale skin perfectly, almost enhancing it. The knee high boots press down on the fabric, not enough to wrinkle, and make her legs seem longer. Using the tonic, she slicks her hair, parting to the right, with curls at the tips. Oh how she wishes she has a camera. She sees one last item in the box, a pair of black leather gloves and slides them on her hands.
She takes one last glance in the mirror with a wink. Collecting her music, Ash turns on her heels and exits the room, floating on air.
In a matter of minutes she is taking her seat at the piano, feeling the eyes of the others pound on her. They begin the overture, waiting patiently for the performance to start. Ash looks under the curtain, from her angle she can make out legs, all of them rushing. She sees the shoes that belong to the Margarita actress freeze right behind the curtain.
The girl bends on her knees and looks under the curtain, her blonde braid touching the floor. Ash is shocked to see Christine Daae meet her gaze. Not knowing how to react, Ash smiles reassuringly and winks. Christine is young, beautiful, Ash is certain she will do well. Blushing, Christine flees from the scene right as the curtain rises.
#
The audience is roaring. Christine was amazing, no spectacular. The entire orchestra rises in applause, but none as excited as Ash. Calming, Ash sees Christine sway and is on the stage right as the girl collapses from her success. The curtain falls and the other actors gather around Ash and Christine. While everyone else panics, Ash takes Christine in her arms and asks Meg to escort her to Christine's dressing room.
The girl's room is decorated in pink and white, but it is simply done. A vanity, a floor length mirror, a wardrobe, a bathroom door, a bed. It is simply a feminine version of Ash's, and she lays the girl on top of the comforter. Going through the motions, Ash removes her shoes and takes her hair down. She is about ready to loosen Christine's corset when a loud cough is sounded.
"What are you doing to Miss Daae?"
"Making her comfortable, of course," Ash turns to see the younger Chagny brother standing in the threshold, arms crossed, eyes flaming in anger. "Corsets are cruel and constricting, we are lucky she did not pass out from exhaustion mid-performance. So, I shall remove it, cover her with a light blanket, and leave the room." Ash unlaces the device and lays it on the end of the bed.
"That is enough, young man."
"Not until she is comfortable, sir. I mean her no harm." There is a white blanket to Christine's left, so she leans over Christine's body and pulls it over her. Moving a lock of hair from Christine's eyes, Ash turns violently and gets two inches from Raoul's face. "There, I'm done. You're coming with me." She grabs his jacket, and laughs at his attempts to break free.
Ash softly closes Christine's door, feeling a rose carved into the metal handle. Raoul is shouting quietly at her, about the audacity and utter rudeness of her actions, and how dare she treat him like second rate garbage.
"Just who do you think you are?" He remarks. Ash lets out a calming breath, grabs the man by the collar, and lifts him off the ground, making them eye level.
"I think I am going to kick your foppish ass! I can tell you have feelings for Christine. You know, that does not bother me. But, I do have a problem with men who think any other man is a threat to his conquests. Christine is a friend, a sister even, and barely so, seeing as how I have been here for two whole days." With a cheeky smile, Ash drops him on his ass and bows. "Have a pleasant evening, Viscount."
Ash clicks her heals and walks down toward her room. Halfway there, she starts to laugh, tears flowing down her cheeks. The one from the musical is ten times more threatening than this kook, and more attractive as well. She had her hand around the handle when she feels it, the same rose carved into Christine's door.
"Can't be a coincidence. Silly Ghost . . ."
Sorelli is sitting at her vanity, wearing her villager costume with the sleeves down to below her shoulders. Her long hair is down, her lips painted in red. She bats her eyes and waves Ash in. Ash, trying to understand what is before her, closes the door and leans against it, afraid to move forward. Something dark blossoms in her chest.
"All right, I will come to you." Sorelli stands with her hands on her hips. "I must stay, you impressed me tonight, Monsieur Knight." She runs a finger down Ash's face and pulls lightly on the jacket, coaxing in down off Ash's shoulders. Her breathing becomes shaky.
"Sorelli, what are you doing?"
"Hmm . . ." She taps her finger on Ash's lips in consideration and answers, "You." With passion in her eyes, she grabs the collar of Ash's shirt and plants her lips on Ash. The woman runs her fingers though Ash's hair, melting against the body of the man she lusts after.
Ash nearly moans against Sorelli before the realization of just how dangerous this situation is comes to her. Oh how she hates it. Ash grabs Sorelli's shoulders and pushes her away. Sorelli steps back, not shocked per say, more confused than anything. She watches as the man wipes his mouth in horror, body convulsing. Ash glares and Sorelli lets her arms fall to her side.
"What the hell was that?"
"I . . . I though . . . do you not like women?" That's the problem.
"Sexuality has nothing to do with any of this. You kissed me, you don't even know me how can you kiss me?" Ash jerks her jacket from the floor and tosses it on the bed before sitting down beside it, head in hands. She growls in distain.
"I just . . . other men, they . . . they just want the sex . . . they don't care about me or what I feel or . . ." She walks shamefully to the door, opening it. With sorrow in her eyes, Sorelli smiles politely. "You're different from the other men, Ashton Knight. It is a good different, though. Thank you." She leaves.
Ash, without a second thought, rushes forward and locks the door behind the woman. She is so frustrated. Sorelli is beautiful, intelligent, and talented. Yet, she wanted Ash-no, Monsieur Knight-over all the men she has known for years. And sex in this time is so dangerous anyway, no birth control, no condoms, more STIs than imagined. And if Sorelli discovered what Ash really is . . .
Needless to say it was a close call on all accounts.
Ash undresses, hanging the suit back in the wardrobe, and removes a white shirt for bed. She blows out every candle, humming like the night before. Not Music of the Night, but Masquerade. It feels fitting. Hiding her real identity to avoid becoming an outcast or worse. She climbs in under the covers, exhaustion catching up with her.
"Hide your face so the world . . . will never . . . find you." She hugs the pillow and closes her eyes. Sleep does not come, but the feeling of eyes creeps on her like wildfire. Wrapping the comforter around her shoulders, Ash sits up and yawns.
"Ghost, is that you?"
"Indeed."
"Where are you?"
"Sitting at the vanity. You have excellent taste in hair tonic, Monsieur."
"Thank you," She says through a yawn. "Please be quick, I'm falling asleep sitting here."
"Of course, lad. I wish to tell you how magnificent you were tonight. You exceeded all expectations I had of you. Yet, this will be short lived. Carlotta is going to return tomorrow, she has rejected every kind attempt I have made to convince her otherwise. Now, the poison won't work and I highly doubt she'll let you within two meters of her."
"Ah, yes. She fell for that old trick easily. I don't know what you expect me to do about her."
"First, deliver a note to the managers undetected. Those cowards will listen enough to talk to her. Second, hiding her throat spray will anger her. If you want to, there is one other thing that might help." Ash feels the air shift, a breeze brush past her left shoulder and the bed creak under the Ghost's weight.
"Uh . . ."
"I happen to know that Carlotta has been using opioids to lose weight so she can fit in the younger women's costumes. Take than, there is no chance the she-devil will come. Also, please remove the cover from the mirror, you're making me nervous."
"Funny."
She gets no response, and the weight is gone from the bed. Rolling her eyes, Ash falls backward on the bed. Within moments she is asleep, her dreams searching for answers to everything around her. But mostly they think on the Ghost. She dreams of what she wore in Ninth Grade, and how the mask covered half her face. She dreams of what she saw on the roof, and her dreams compare them.
Her dreams deduce that this Opera Ghost is more dangerous than what she portrayed on stage. The only problem is that once morning comes she won't remember a thing.