Chapter Two

Training went as smoothly as Christine felt it could. She memorized the most popular cocktails and mixes and learned the standard protocol for sanitary measures. At the end of her shift, she was given a list with her nightly chores, and she knew she had spent so much time practicing mixing drinks that she would never finish them by the end of her shift. She hoped they would grant her overtime pay, but without the clocking in and out system found in most food and drink establishments, she was doubtful.

As she wiped down the counter, she sang bits of an aria she had overheard earlier, not knowing the words and simply vocalizing as quietly as she could. She was sure no one was left in the opera house as the opera had ended at least two hours ago, but she could not help but feel self-conscious.

The longer she sang, though, the more she forget herself and her volume increased. She transitioned into another song halfway through, one she knew the words to, and by the end, she was singing at full strength. As she sang the last line, she noticed a flash of a black suit in the corner of her eye, and she stopped abruptly, the last note ringing out in a squeak.

"Please, do not stop on my account," a voice spoke, and she turned around to see a tall man not quite facing her, only the left side of his body exposed to her.

"I am so sorry, sir, I thought no one was here - " she stammered, and he peered at her out of the corner of his eye, his position unmoving.

"Did I not just tell you that you should not stop on my account?" He snapped, and she wondered if it was in jest. His tone seemed too curt to be humorous.

"I...right, I'm sorry." She replied, her head hanging low in embarrassment.
He groaned. "How many times a day do you apologize?" he mused, now facing her, as if her acquiescence was what finally captured his full attention. Her confusion increased when she noticed the white mask that covered half his face. She studied the rest of his body, now aligned with hers; he was overwhelmingly tall and dressed impeccably well in a black jacket and pants that emphasized the length of his body. His hair was dark brown and slicked back, and his eyes were such a deep amber, they were almost golden.

She stuttered once again, and he angled his face so that she could not see the mask.

"Ah, yes. I suppose you've never seen a man casually walking about in a theatrical mask. I wear it out of necessity, I assure you, not solely because I have a penchant for the dramatic."

"Right, of course, I didn't - I didn't mean to stare, sir, I am - "

"Sorry?"

Her mouth opened and closed several times, unsure of what to say. Who was this man?
He cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting on his feet. "Your voice was...quite adequate, I must admit."

Adequate? Was she supposed to take that as a compliment? "Thank you - " she began before he quickly cut her off. "You need practice, though, and a proper instructor. I would be inclined to help you, if you so wish it."

Help her? Help her sing? "Do you mean...you'd give me lessons?" She asked, confused as to why a stranger would offer her such a service when the rag dipped in cleaning solution that she held should have indicated she likely did not have the means to pay for them.

"Indeed. I would not charge you - not now, at least. My sole payment will be shaping a new talent in desperate need of a teacher."

Desperate need? She wondered again how he could be so simultaneously generous and insulting. "I...I simply don't understand, sir. You heard a few notes from me - "

"A few notes is all a true teacher needs to hear."

"Can I think about it, please? This is a lot to take in at once," she breathed shakily, attempting to laugh to lighten the mood but finding she only sounded more nervous.

"Very well," he replied, placing a slip of paper down onto the bar. "Email me when you have made your decision...what is your name, dear?"

"Christine. Christine Daaé," she replied.

Something about the name caused his amber eyes to glow, as if he was envisioning it in lights.

He must be insane.

"Christine Daaé," he tested the name aloud, his rich tenor making her name sound more elegant than it ever had, even when placed on fancy stationary or read by an announcer at an awards banquet. "I hope we will see each other again, Christine Daaé," he spoke before turning around and exiting the lobby of the opera house.

She stared down at the paper, the screen name he had written in messy script confusing her even more at its lack of professionalism, causing her to wonder just what kind of teacher he was:

operaghost

A/N: Please feel free to laugh at the email address. At first, it was just until I could think of something better, but then I decided to keep it just to emphasize to Christine how freaking weird Erik is. I mean, can you imagine meeting some guy in a mask and that's the email address he gives you? Erik is a weirdo, but he's our favorite weirdo :) hope you guys liked this chapter! Also, HUGE thank you to a-partofthenarrative on Tumblr for editing this. She'll be helping me throughout the entire ride, and I am so SO grateful!