A/N: okay I'm going to apologize in advance for the shortness of the beginning chapters and the fact that most of them will be cliffhangers and exposition. I'm just trying to get the ball rolling so please be patient with me! And a special thank you to Twinkle22, my first EVER reviewer, thanks for reviewing!

Disclaimer: I obviously don't own any of the characters in POTO or I wouldn't have kidnaped Erik and stuck him in my closet... did I say that out loud ?

Anne D' Aubigne had been sitting at a bureau in the managers' office of the Opéra Populaire for nearly two hours, listening to two old men prattling on about some phantom who had been living in the basement since before they had come to the opera house. Supposedly he had been nothing but trouble since the day the managers had arrived, and now the wanted to make sure he'd never bother them again. It sounded absolutely ridiculous to her, but she wasn't about to turn down a job or disgrace her uncle, and listened in anyway.

They called him the Opera Ghost. He apparently considered the opera house as his own and demanded a salary from the managers of twenty thousand francs a month to ensure that no "accidents" would occur in the Opéra Populaire.

Some ghost, she thought. In Anne's opinion it sounded like this "Opera Ghost" was shaping up to be nothing more than a greedy stage hand who had infinite knowledge of the trap-doors and passage ways of the opera, which covered an entire block of Paris in size. She had a feeling this was an insiders' job, that possibly more than one person was involved in these pranks and crimes.

They had called her in to investigate and assassinate this "ghost" because, as they explained, a priest who was convinced the devil himself lived in the opera house, a rabbi whose yarmelke was stuffed down his throat, a witch doctor which apparently was beaten with his own cane and an entire Parisian police squadron were incapable of doing what they were asking her to do. She didn't know whether to be flattered that they'd considered her or insulted that they wanted to send her after someone she had no way of identifying .She chose the latter.

" You do realize that you both sound like you've lost your minds with all this talk of phantoms and monsters, don't you?"

M. Firmin was the first to respond." We know it sounds far-fetched ,Mademoiselle, but we have no other choice. This man, it has become apparent to us already that he is in fact of flesh and blood is no amateur murderer and our last defense is to fight fire with fire. Only, we hadn't expected to be sent... " he trailed off.

Anne sighed ," A woman?"

Firmin cleared his throat, " Well, yes..."

Well obviously she was a woman, and he was absolutely correct, no one would suspect a woman in these times to carry a pistol, let along know how to use one . With society the way it was, it was easy for her to get rid of most targets without raising an eyebrow. She had spent the last few years of her life studying swordplay, though the weapon was becoming less and less popular among fighters and ne'er do wells, and the finer points of firearms were etched into the back of her head .She could hit the apple off a man's head from opposite sides of a city street after a few months practice .But right now , all she was ,was insulted.

"Gentlemen," she began,"I understand your position of desperation , but given the circumstances and your obvious lack of evidence, I must decline from your offer. I am an assassin, not a murderer." she stated as she got up to leave.

"Is there really any difference?" André muttered to Firmin. Realizing their last chance to be rid of The Phantom was walking out the door Firmin called out ," Perhaps , Mademoiselle, you've heard about the unfortunate fire that happened her three years ago?"

Anne froze. A shadow seemed to fall over her ."Who could forget it ?" she said in a dark tone, still facing the doorway. The managers could see they had plucked a chord in the young woman who had an obvious connection to the unfortunate night. One they knew would be the fuel to their flame.

"As for the matter of proof, we do in fact have evidence which proves this man is at fault for the whole incident," André said as he reached into his desk and pulled out a box. Anne turned slowly and made her way over to the desk, not wanting to seem eager to see. She leaned forward and peered inside the open box. Whatever it used to be it was white and shattered into pieces. André then reached into the box and began to rearrange the porcelain pieces together like a jigsaw puzzle. When Anne peered inside again , the pieces had been arranged to make a mask. She furrowed her brow and looked up at he managers.

" It was his. He had been wearing it the night of the fire. Our leading soprano pulled it from his face moments before he sent the chandelier crashing down onto the audience, nearly killing everyone underneath it instantly the moment it-"

"I know what happened," Anne snapped at Firmin, cutting him off from his graphic recollection of the brutal incident. Oh yes , she knew what happened. That night started a series of events which lead her full circle to the very place where it all began, and now she new the same man she had a personal score to settle with was one and the same with The Phantom of The Opera...