Neeps... Sorry for taking such a long time to update. I really am horribly lazy, and I know, I should change it. But I guess that's what summer vacation does to you. Bugger; let's just get on with it. Another Nathaniel chapter, I'm afraid. Kitty will come soon enough, and Bartimaeus as well. Anyway, I think that I've made Nathaniel a bit of an ass this chapter. So, this is an apology in advance for whatever he does in this story... After all, I am the writer. Bah, I'll shut up.

Angel of Darkness- Wow! Thanks a lot for such a great review, but you know what? I had actually realized that I hadn't gone into much detail in the last chapter. In this chapter, I think that you'll be able to see how I developed Farber's character... After all that was just the first chapter; sort of her introduction, but thanks anyway! I'm happy that you gave your comments.

Kettch-22- In a way I suppose. I mean, the stories are hardly going to have any similarities, but you'll eventually see the direction I'm headed towards. Thanks for reading by the way!

Simply Myself- Hmm, thanks. I guess you can say that I edit my work, I mean, it takes me eons to write (probably because I'm so lazy) and I'm really a big fanatic on proper grammar and spelling. I'm quite O.C. about it sometimes. Gah, I really should know when to shut up.

Black Skittles- Thanks a lot for reading! Nathaniel may be a prat, but goodness knows we love him just the same.

Bowles- Heh heh, I read your story as well. Needless to say, I quite like your Morris! Anyway, thanks a lot for stopping by and reading.

The Phantom's Mask

Chapter Two

Nathaniel: Demons of a Different Sort

The sunset that Nathaniel beheld was breathtaking. It cast soft, amber rays over the lackluster buildings, radiating an evanescent ocher into the depthless sky. Yet Nathaniel was left in the suffocating darkness of his town house. For a moment, he wondered why he had been so attentive to the sunsets, but he cursed himself immediately as he encountered yet another deviation from his work.

After a day of searching through musty libraries and endless file cabinets, Nathaniel retired from Whitehall and headed directly to his town house. Much to the blubbering anxiety of Annika Farber, he had fled from her attention as quick as he possibly could and jumped into the chauffeured car, which sped immediately from Whitehall. Nathaniel ignored Lenny's more than audible sniggers and offhand remarks and relished in his momentary tranquility without Annika.

She seemed to be a nice girl with genuine intentions, but her incompetence was starting to prod Nathaniel to the edge. In her first day, she managed to knock down two thirds of the objects in his office, trip numerous times over someone's feet, if not her own, get her foot stuck in a trash can, overturn her desk, and get tangled into a mesh of telephone cords. Devereaux had been oblivious to his cousin's daughter's performance, and Nathaniel had no intention of telling him.

Nathaniel winced as his attention strayed from his workload again. He swiveled his chair towards his desk and stared at the stack of dusty books and brittle documents that were scattered over the desktop. He had spent a few hours scouring the library at Whitehall, and he had only managed to find less than an armful of books and a dozen or so documents that could possibly have a relation to the Phantom's Mask. After reading each book and studying each document three times over, Nathaniel had taken down notes whenever he had found anything that would seem relevant to his investigation. Yet so far, his observations had only filled three pages in his notebook, and most of the information he found, Nathaniel had already known.

'This will not be a substantial start,' moaned Nathaniel as flipped through the pages of his mostly empty notebook. He picked up another one of the books and read it once more, ignoring its fusty texture. Although he had an affinity for old books, he was beginning to feel the mold peel onto his hands and harden underneath his nails. It was not a pleasant feeling.

Groaning to himself, Nathaniel dropped the book and stumbled out of his chair. He walked through his house, which had recently gone under a minimalist makeover. Most of the furniture he had acquired over the months he lived in the townhouse, he had kept in storage. He resorted to minimalism when he chose to refurbish his house. The few colors that dominated his home were black, white, and silver and the sleek design of his custom-made furniture added a professional and mature undertone to his house. But as much as Nathaniel tried, he still couldn't picture his townhouse as a home.

Nathaniel stopped at one of the doors in a long, yet narrow hallway. The door was fashioned identically to the other doors that surrounded it, but as Nathaniel turned its smooth knob, a different world appeared and greeted him. The one room he had chosen to leave unchanged was his library. Although he had taken a leaf out of Jessica Whitwell's book when regarding the change of style, he had strangely refused to remodel his library and the books that inhabited it. Nathaniel had originally planned to bind all of his books in uniformed leather, but after he had delayed doing so for such a long time, he had grown to love his books. As strange as it sounds, he valued the individuality he found in all of them, as he stroked their covers and admired their impeccable printing. He couldn't bring himself to condemn his books to an ugly uniformity. So, he kept them, and his library untouched throughout the entire process of renovation.

Running his hand over the spines of his books, scanning the titles briefly, Nathaniel was distracted as he tried to find a book that would assist him in his work. As he inhaled the stale, yet welcoming smell of the room, his mind clouded and all sense of urgency escaped him. Randomly, he pulled out a book and opened it carefully.

It turned out to be a book on demons and other evil spirits, whether mythological or not. The book must have been printed extremely early in time, as it referred to demons as 'daemons' and 'daimons'. Nathaniel had been quite familiar with the text in the book, as he had read it over and over in his spare time. It was simply by chance that he had pulled it from its place in the shelf.

Nathaniel's eyes swept over its cover. The slowly decaying emerald leather had been embossed with a number of archaic and forgotten characters. In the bottom right corner of the cover was a small, but intricate pattern of latticed lines and spiraling shapes crafted into a pentagonal shape. And in the symbols center, Nathaniel could barely make out a few faded characters from the same text used in the upper part of the book cover. The characters and the symbol had long remained a mystery to him, since no books or files shed any light over the two.

'Daemons,' recited Nathaniel monotonously after he opened it to a random page, 'are notorious for their manipulative and conniving mannerisms. Some have been known to haunt the minds and spirits of unwitting victims until they are driven to the brink of madness,' the unsavory thought of Bartimaeus lingered in his mind, 'Many a daemon are granted powers far above human perception, yet the vital key to superiority is possessed by humans, as they are able to summon and control such entities,' Nathaniel smirked at this note, 'But still, renegade daemons, those powerful enough to escape control, have the ability to manipulate humans, whether through subtle or unconcealed ways,' Nathaniel turned the page subconsciously, all sense of his loyalty to his work disappeared, 'These daemons have the ability to linger in a humans mind. They haunt the humans through memories of previous, unpleasant encounters, in which the daemon manifests itself into the hallucination it creates. Though the process has no approximate duration, the human is eventually guaranteed a descent into the primitive, senseless recesses of his or her mind.'

Nathaniel shut the book carefully and his fingers rapped softly upon it as he thought to himself. Demons came in all shapes and sizes and they could connive as easily as wizards could conjure. Though wizards held power, ultimately, could it withstand the wrath of the oppressed entities?

A sudden shriek jarred Nathaniel's thoughts in a fleeting instant. It had disappeared only a moment after Nathaniel had heard it. His heart raced as he jumped from his seat. The book fell to a dull thud on the carpeted floor. Nathaniel's head pivoted every which way, trying to figure out where the scream had come from. He raced from the library and darted through his hallways. Broken into a cold sweat, he stopped at his balcony.

Cradling his head in his arms as he leant on the cool metal railing, Nathaniel tried hard to remember the scream in his mind. The timbre sounded feminine, as its pitch was rather high. It was excruciatingly piercing, yet the pain had disappeared in a fleeting instant. As short as the scream may have been, it was imprinted into his mind. It replayed over and over, like a haunting melody that left you in a dark, frigid place in your mind. And the more he heard it in his mind, the more he found a hidden familiarity laced within in.

And within the dead of the night, he heard the voice again. Nathaniel was jarred from his thoughts and he staggered to the floor. It shrieked as loud as it had before, yet this time, he was sure that he heard something else.

'Nathaniel!'

Few knew his birth name, and two of them had already been lost from the world. Nathaniel knew that none of them possessed a voice such as that, yet he was so certain that he had heard such a voice before. Perhaps it was Bartimaeus' disquieting memory. As the book he read had stated, demons had the ability to mess with your mind. Nathaniel knew that Bartimaeus was not above that, but it would be near impossible for him to accomplish something like that. And Nathaniel doubted that Bartimaeus would go to such lengths.

This was the work of something else, whether an unknown power or his failing sanity.

'I need help,' muttered Nathaniel as he slumped against the metal railing of his balcony. His voice was dripping with sarcasm, yet he meant it completely. His work demanded stability, whether physically, emotionally, or mentally, and at the moment Nathaniel felt reasonably vulnerable. 'A lot of help,' he muttered again. The frigid lock that seemed to have shut down on his legs wouldn't allow him to get up, and exhaustion got the better of him. In a matter of moments, his eyes drooped to a close and sleep overcame him.

A sickly splat awoke Nathaniel the next day. He looked up in shock to find a rather large pigeon caught in his drain pipe in a seemingly futile attempt to fly. Its backside was glaring Nathaniel in the face and left a little present for him. Groaning in disgust, he took out a handkerchief and wiped off what the sordid pigeon secreted. After he wiped off whatever was on his face, he immediately winced at he realized just what he used to wipe off the pigeon waste. The handkerchief was too many pounds expensive.

This was not a pleasant way to start the day.

His hair was disheveled. He had fallen asleep in a very expensive suit, which was now rumpled and stained. He had a cold from sleeping in the open air and from inhaling whatever fumes he was spared from when he was inside his townhouse. And to top it all of he was fifteen minutes away from being late for work.

Although the realization of the last statement had come late, as soon as it had, Nathaniel bounded from his slumped position and ran through the door of his balcony. After muttering a few obscenities he jumped into his bathroom and shed his no longer desirable clothes and took the quickest shower he had in his life (it had surprisingly beat the one he had yesterday). He rammed all of his papers and necessary books into his satchel, which was bursting at its seams by the time he finished. He grabbed a bagel from his kitchen and bolted out the door.

His chauffeured car was waiting there as usual. Lenny was leaning against the passenger's door and he had an expecting look on his face and tapped his watch with a disapproving look on his face, 'My, my, Mister Mandrake... When the people at Whitehall find that the Head of Internal Affairs is tardy, it will certainly blemish your so far spotless reputation.' Nathaniel scowled at Lenny's sick sense of humor.

'Morris, you will drive as fast as you possibly can,' snarled Nathaniel, refusing to play along, 'Without any regard for pedestrians, laws, or even your personal health! I need to get to work as quickly as possible!' It would hardly be appropriate for him to show up late and looking rather rumpled after all Mister Devereaux had done for him. He was looking forward to his free day tomorrow, and tardiness could set off the Prime Minister's fuse.

'Now, Mister Mandrake, you know that custom prevents me from driving any faster than recommended,' sarcasm was laced so intricately in his cockney accent, 'but perhaps there are some things that could sway my dedication to the rules?' Nathaniel raised his eyebrows at this statement. Corruption seemed so far from the carefree, albeit simpleminded and asinine chauffeur. Lenny continued with a glint in his eyes, 'You see sir; I'd gotten up quite early to be here. I left my wife's side so early that you'd think she was married to a ghost. And after bolting out my front door, thinking that you'd be up and ready out of professional courtesy, I completely forget to have any breakfast!' Lenny eyed Nathaniel's bagel with a delirious sort of hunger.

Nathaniel's eyebrows fell back down and the shock that overwhelmed him vanished in an instant. Of course, food was the only thing that controlled Lenny's heart and mind. Sighing, Nathaniel stared longingly at the sesame seed speckled bagel before throwing it to an eager Lenny Morris. He caught it deftly and in a swift movement he opened the car door, 'Get in, Mister Mandrake, you have a tardy notice to avoid!'

Nathaniel scowled at his chauffeur before sliding into the car. Lenny shut the door with an audible click after loud chuckle and got into the driver's seat as well. In a matter of moments, the car roared into action and all Nathaniel saw from his window was a blur of the outside world. He sighed and leant into the plush, cushioned seats.

'Mister Mandrake, sir!' called Lenny, his voice a bit frantic, 'The next stoplight there is still green. Shall I speed it?'

But before Nathaniel could reply with a biting remark, the car skidded to a halt, 'Damn!' yelled Lenny, hitting his steering wheel. Nathaniel looked out to find that they were directly under a stoplight, and he could see a glaring red radiating.

Laughing out of spite, Nathaniel looked out the window at a sight he saw each day. Although he frequented trips throughout the streets of Westminster, he had hardly ever paid full attention to what surrounded him. Nathaniel looked around, searching for familiarity, anything that he may have remembered as he passed the streets. But he saw nothing that reminded him of anything. They were only people, setting out to live their lives, as he was doing himself. Caught in the drab colors of London, and blending into the background so well.

But then one thing caught his mind. For a brief moment, a vibrant burst of black sped along the streets, a lot faster than the lethargic, almost requisite pace others had taken. It was a girl from what Nathaniel could tell, as her black hair whipped past her face and flew behind her. She seemed to be carrying a rather large bundle. Nathaniel squinted into his window to get a better view of her, suddenly intrigued by her presence.

But in that brief moment, his focus was shattered and he fell back into the cushioned seat of the car. The stoplight had suddenly turned green and Lenny had hit the gas pedal as quickly as his reflexes allowed him to. Nathaniel learned with a sudden disappointment that Lenny's reflexes were indeed quite alert.

After a few more minutes and a few disregarding safety precautions, Nathaniel had made it to Whitehall, surprisingly unscathed. Lenny had opened the door for him and offered Nathaniel a cheeky grin, 'Believe me Mister Mandrake, it was a bagel well spent.'

Glaring at the loud mouthed chauffeur, Nathaniel slid out from the car seat and hurried into the building. Yet the moment he stepped into the carpeted he was bombarded with another wave of thick black hair. Nathaniel groaned as soon as he realized who it was.

'Mister Mandrake! I thought that you were going to be late! Not that you are of course, since you are early! Well you aren't really early, but that doesn't mean you're late! You're on time, yes on time!' Nathaniel winced inwardly as the poor girl babbled on and on, 'It's good to be on time isn't it? I mean it's better than being late, but not as good as being early... Not that there's anything wrong with you being on time! I mean, maybe being early is a bit overrated, wouldn't you say? There's all that-'

'Miss Farber, would you please acquiesce with my request for you to cease spouting off your inane prattle?' spoke Nathaniel in the coldest voice he could manage. He stared her down for a few moments and continued through the corridor, making his way to his office.

She shriveled underneath his withering gaze and shut her mouth, but it did not stop her from trailing after her boss. They wove their way through the mess of wizards and demons and after a few more moments, Nathaniel found himself inside his office.

The four walls, decorated with frames and other tacked up knickknacks were a comforting sight to Nathaniel. It was a reliable place when he wanted to escape the corridors filled with shady demons and work driven magicians. The events that had taken place last night came to mind and he would have to approach them cautiously. Nathaniel dropped his worn satchel onto his desk and he swiveled around to face his personal assistant, 'Miss Farber, if you would indeed like to be of assistance to me, I would have to ask a favor of you.'

'Oh, anything Mister Mandrake!' replied the girl immediately, jumping at his call, 'Mister Devereaux gave me this job and I wouldn't want to disappoint him! I mean, it would ruin him if I ruined you. Not that I have any plans of ruining you! I'm sorry, Sir, it just came out of my mouth!' The girl babbled as a vein in Nathaniel's forehead popped.

'Miss Farber!' reprimanded Nathaniel in a brusque tone, cutting her off, 'What had I said earlier about your prattle?' Her eyes widened and her mouth clamped shut in an unattractive fashion, 'Now, this favor I shall ask of you is to remain confidential. You do know what 'confidential means, right?' There was an unnecessary nastiness in his voice, but there was something unsavory about the girl. He wasn't even quite sure why he was entrusting her with such a task.

She nodded erratically.

'Excellent,' responded Nathaniel dryly, 'And you shan't ask any questions. Understood?' She nodded again, 'Lovely. Now, I need you to find me a psychiatrist, not too high profile, but with satisfactory credentials and schedule an appointment for him or her to meet me in my townhouse after work.' He glanced at her pointedly as he leant on his desk, 'Is that clear Miss Farber?'

She nodded less erratically, but she glanced at Nathaniel with a confused look, 'So, that would mean I would have to give him your address?'

It took Nathaniel all the self-control he possessed to keep from lashing out at the girl. Instead he gave her the coldest glare he could manage and through clenched teeth he spoke, 'I shall leave you to make that decision on your own Miss Farber.' The girl stayed rooted in her spot, 'Now go!'

She let out a shrill whimper, but bolted for the door immediately. Nathaniel scowled to himself as soon as she was out the door. He walked around his desk and fell into his cushy swivel chair. After a moment of stress relieving reflection, Nathaniel picked up his satchel and started emptying out its contents. All of the books, documents, and notes cascaded in a careless manner onto his desk. The books toppled loudly upon the hard wood and the documents limply flew lightly over the surface. All the regard he held for old books and documents had vanished at that moment and a deeper scowl formed on Nathaniel's face as soon as he saw the scrying disk fall out as well.

It landed on its side on one of the books. It twirled a few times before falling flat on its face. Nathaniel glanced at it cautiously, as it flickered defiantly in the bright lighting of his office. Slowly, his arm extended towards it, his fingers outstretched and his gaze fixated. He could almost feel the coolness of the metal radiate onto his fingers.

'Mandrake!'

His fingers recoiled as the door to his office flung open, only to reveal a disheveled George Ffoukes. There were dark rings under his eyes and his hair was jutting out in a number of odd places, 'Mister Mandrake, sir!' Ever since Nathaniel's promotion, Ffoukes had taken his previous position, 'I've found a few names that may help our case.' He handed Nathaniel a scrap of paper.

'Few' was the vital word in Ffoukes statement. He scanned the piece of paper quickly only to find six names written in Ffoukes illegible penmanship. Nathaniel glanced at him skeptically, 'Devereaux briefed you on the mission?'

'Yes, sir,' replied Ffoukes courteously. Nathaniel could see a faint twitching in his left eyebrow, 'Mister Devereaux has only informed a select few in our department, and I was worthy enough to be one of them.' His chest was puffed up with so much pride and it sickened Nathaniel.

'Well, did he tell you about what would be happening tomorrow?' A sadistic, yet weary grin spread over Nathaniel's face. It was quite a fun sport, watching your underlings squirm under your gaze. It was simply Nathaniel's long due payback to George Ffoukes.

Ffoukes looked shocked, needless to say. He had worked hard to ascend in the political ladder and Nathaniel knew it. 'No, sir...' Nathaniel smirked inwardly as he heard a loud gulp from Ffoukes. He knew it was wrong, but all of the built up sadism within him had to be released, 'Uh, Mister Devereaux hadn't told me anything about tomorrow...'

'I suppose it's for the better then,' responded Nathaniel in his most flippant voice, 'I wonder why, though. He told me that he only told those he trusted. I mean, he told Old man Jenkins, the janitor! He even told Jane Farrar, I'm sure. I thought that everyone would know, but I guess I was wrong.' His performance was award worthy, 'Oh! Not that I think you aren't reliable Ffoukes. I don't think that at all!'

Ffoukes stood rigid in his spot, surprisingly, it was the one Annika had occupied not too long ago. He stammered and his voice choked as he spoke, 'Thanks you Mister Mandrake, sir. I'm certain that Mister Devereaux had good reasons to keep me in the dark.' Nathaniel chuckled inwardly as the gaunt magician was reduced to a quaking mass by his fourteen year old superior. 'Is there anything I can assist you with?'

Nathaniel's attention returned to the scrap of paper handed to him, 'Yes, I would like you to find the contact details of the people you've written down here, as well as background checks.' Nathaniel returned the scrap of paper to him, 'Give them to me when you are finished and afterwards, fetch me a copy of the Phantom of the Opera?'

His assistant cocked an eyebrow upwards, 'Do you think that it would have any relation to the actual mask? I mean, it is fiction after all.'

'I know that, but there may be a connection. Whether the fictional mask was inspired by the actual mask or if the actual mask was inspired by the fictional mask.' Nathaniel sat pensively in his chair, 'It would most likely be the former, but I would like to check some thing. Are we clear?'

'Of course.'

'Good,' nodded Nathaniel with conviction, 'I shall see you later.'

A few hours had passed since Ffoukes has left his office. The scrying disk was brushed back into his satchel and he cleared his thoughts of it. Nathaniel was alone and he had a new stack of old books on his desk. Scribbling down notes at a quick rate, even though their significance could have been minimal, Nathaniel's attention was completely focused on his work. He knew that the pen in his hand was starting to spew ink over his hands, but that didn't keep him from scrawling on and on.

After a few more minutes had passed the pen had finally given away, and large blots of black ink had fallen upon his crudely made notes. Cursing loudly to himself, Nathaniel reached for a starched handkerchief that lay across his desk.

His fingers suddenly recoiled as it was centimeters away from the handkerchief. A dark form had eclipsed the napkin and a large portion of his office. Nathaniel froze in his position with a growing confusion, 'It's twelve o'clock in the afternoon. Why on earth would there be a shadow, this long nonetheless?' he thought skeptically. The shadow seemed to form a body, a woman's body, most likely. But the shadow was long and disproportionate. It cast a wave of disquieting darkness over Nathaniel.

A hissing sound found its way to Nathaniel's ear. Garbled sounds (that were too unintelligible to be called words) in sleek, yet disturbing tones that sounded so familiar. Yet Nathaniel had never experienced such a feeling before. It seemed as though all of the blood had drained from his face and vision was unclear and distorted. His body was frozen in place, but his mind was racing.

Breathing heavily, Nathaniel gripped the armrest of his swivel chair tightly. Something must have been behind him. Disregarding the time, something, or someone must have been creating the shadow. Quickly turning around in his chair, Nathaniel was ready to face whatever was behind him.

Only to find nothing, but a lovely view of Westminster.

Turning back again, the shadow had disappeared, yet Nathaniel's anxiety had not. Therapy sounded lovely at that moment, and the sinking feeling within the pit of his stomach only increased his yearning. In a similar fashion to this morning's events, Nathaniel swept all of his work into his satchel, without any regard for value or fragility. He sped out of his office and ran as fast as he could outside Whitehall, trailing ink as he went.

Neeps... Sorry for anything you are displeased with. Everything after all, is accountable to me since I'm the author. As they say, 'absolute power corrupts absolutely.' And who's to say that I haven't been corrupted by power. Sigh, delicious power... Argh, I better stop talking now, I don't think it's healthy. Anyway, thanks for reading, and if you still are, I apologize for my incessant babbling. Gar! I'll stop now! But one last note! Please don't forget to review! Thanks!