Disclaimer: I don't own POTO, but I got chocolate!

Review replies:

Beckswashere: I'm updating! I'll try to limit the time between updates. A week tops!

Mrs. Malfoy: gee thanx, great to know someone appreciates my work!

Rose: wow, you're my first flame ever. BTW no ones forcing you to read this phic. I thought my summary was pretty clear that this was another time travel thingy.

angel of mystery: Thanx. And to answer your question she's around 20ish.

kathy.L: here's his reaction.

Someone there

She squeaked and fell of the back of the bench. Hand to her chest scrambled to her feet still staring wide eyed at the large instrument.

That's it her thread of sanity had just snapped. It was the only plausible explanation, she had finally checked out of reality for good. Though, she thought, she was thinking rather logically for being crazy.

So maybe she was dreaming, slowly backing away from the organ she thought. Of course she was dreaming, so many of her fantasies had started this way. Being in her room than suddenly being in Erik's lair was one of the multiple ways she had envisioned getting here. Though in her dreams getting here was a lot more complicated involving fairy rings.

She backed up to something solid. Under her hand, she felt polished wood. A shiver ran down her spine, secretly she had hoped the coffin part of all phics were exaggeration. Now she knew differently. She concluded that she wasn't dreaming or hallucinating, because last she checked you couldn't feel anything in dreams.

Realization hit like a ton of bricks. She was in his lair. SHE was in HIS lair. Surprisingly calm, but with a small smile on her lips, she exited the main room into a hallway. If she was in his house she wanted to see all of it before she ended up punjabbed. Several doors led off the main hallway, it's time to explore.

XxX

Erik swirled his glass of red wine in his gloved hand, pondering. He sat in his study dressed in his evening's finest, dark coat and white cravat immaculate, his waistcoat such a dark crimson it was almost black, black trousers and Hessian boots. His mask was fixed firmly in place, but his amber gaze was searching, his manner brooding.

His angel was to arrive soon for a lesson.

Ayesha, who had been curled comfortably in the other red velvet chair, immediately pricked up her ears, gazed fixed on the door. She gave a short meow before gracefully leaping from her perch. Erik watched as she slunk from the room. Leaving the glass on the side table he followed. Someone was here.

Quietly he strode down the hall. His gripped tightened on his Punjab lasso. He reached the Louis-Phillipe room when Ayesha slipped into the room. Leaning against the wall, he listened.

"Hello, you must be Ayesha," a distinctly feminine voice whispered. The cream colored cat meowed, and then purred. He turned to stand in the shadowed doorway, facing into the room.

She was a dark figure silhouetted against the lights. Ayesha was rubbing against her legs purring for all she was worth. The woman laughed slightly and stroked the soft fur, and in a soft tone asked, "Where's Erik?"

"I'm right here." His voice was low and dangerous. She straitened, and faced him. It was the first time he had a good view of her face. Her blue green eyes shone against the lights. Her skin was pale, slightly paler than was fashionable nowadays. Red curls framing her face, her lips curled into a smile when she saw him.

"What are you doing here Madame?" She looked confused.

"I'm no Madame…" then realized the mistake, glancing at the ring on her finger. "This isn't a marriage ring, or an engagement ring for that matter. It's just something I found."

"I repeat my question, mademoiselle," he tightened his grip on the lasso; he didn't miss the flicker of indignation and just a touch of fear in her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Frankly," she crossed her arms, hiding the text on her shirt, "I'm not quite sure how I got here."

"Surely you would remember how you came here. One just doesn't appear out of thin air."

"If I remember correctly, you're pretty good at it." She lifted a brow at him. His eyes narrowed, she had cheek for someone who had ventured to his home. "Who are you?"

She smiled, "That, is privileged information."

"So is my name, but you seemed to have come by it." He entered the room and strode to her. She lifted her chin slightly, "My name… is Tamara, but I prefer to be called Tammy."

He circled her, she didn't move. Only following him with her eyes, tracking his movements. She had great courage. He almost admired that.

"Why are you here?"

"You've become awfully repetitive haven't you," she sighed, "Besides this being my dream for quite a while? I'm not sure, last thing I remember was telling Chris off, going back to my apartment, and here I am."

Her accent was strange, not like the occasional English patron that came to the opera house. Who was this Chris?

"You're not English are you?"

"Nope," she chirped, "I'm a full blooded Yankee, well with ties to Scotland, England, and so forth."

"I've heard Americans; they don't have your accent or pattern of speech…"

"There's actually a simple reason for that, I …."

She was interrupted by a sharp knock on the front door. They both tensed. She glanced at him.

"Go answer the door. I'll disappear for now." With that she swept out of the room and down the hall. Not before he caught a glimpse of her shirt, "J'adore Erik". He raised an unseen brow.

XxX

A string of curses ran through Tammy's mind. She was currently sitting at the dark cherry wood table in Erik's kitchen. Only allowed to listen to his music. Not allowed near his precious angel. Not allowed to warp her fingers around Christine's scrawny little neck. Her expression darkened more. Sure she was the one to volunteer to disappear only because Erik would have asked her to any way.

In nearly every phic she had ever read, except Misty's of course, the phan Erik meets with comes after Christine's left him high and dry. Here she was stuck in the middle of it.

The song started a new in the other room. She cursed audibly this time. If she had wanted to just listen to him play she might as well have stayed in her own century.

Realizing what she just thought she cursed again, this was quickly becoming a habit. She didn't want to go back to her time. She had had only one conversation with him, lord knows she blew that one.

She stood and paced the small room, she never paced but that's how aggravating this was. She needed some thing to do, something to keep her hands busy. Spying ingredients she grabbed a bowl and mixing spoon. If she was banished to the kitchen she might as well make something to eat.