CHAPTER TWO

ANGUSTIA

Raoul sucked in a deep breath. The Phantom's revelations stirred unwelcome empathy. The blond man hardened his heart to reply, "As well, she should."

Ignoring the taunt, Erik's mind had already begun to whirl, his life replaying before his mind's eye. "Madame Giry…"

Once again the woman took pity on him, "Antoinette Giry befriended you upon her heart's bidding, Erik; without prompting from us, or the enemy."

"The decision to live underground below the Opera was a sheer stroke of destiny. Solitude could finish what Javert had started." Dakkar crowed.

"She would have been a close friend, Erik, but it would have thwarted the Tribune's plans. They allowed her to help you but refrain from close contact with you,"Transient moisture shone in her eyes: the woman started to place a delicate, long fingered hand on his arm, hesitated then dropped it to her side.

Erik had never met this woman before. Authority and entitlement draped her tall, somewhat frail persona, yet her voice hinted at regret, "You stopped her?"

"Aye. It took threatening her child and the loss of her husband, but we finally convinced her." Dakkar's lip curled.

"Monsieur Giry's death was not due to illness?" Raul queried, tightly. "Why did you keep Madame Giry alive?"

"She was not meant to be his bride, but a vessel for our use. She continued to impede the Tribune's rules." Dakkar spoke darkly. She was not careful and the enemy followed her. We did not contribute to Monsieur Giry's demise; a rogue enemy spy poisoned him. The Tribune quickly dealt with him."

"She still grieves for her husband." Erik ground out. "Little Giry?"

"Magdalene Giry is well trained, also unaware of hidden talents." The sing-song voice spoke again.

Erik's quick mind quickly did the math. Vessel…Little Giry…talents. Another innocent mixed up in the chaos.

"Gustave Daae?" Raoul interrupted, brow furrowed.

"Fortunately, he was unaware of Christine's gift. It was not completely uncovered until his untimely expiration." Brycefield spoke.

Suddenly feeling the caverns stark chill, Erik closed his eyes, picturing a fragile, doe-eyed child screaming, pummeling the bed upon her Papa's death.

"Completely?" Raoul once again interrupted Brycefield, with a frown.

"We had long suspected. Her childhood forays…by the way with you, young Vicomte, did not go undiscovered. Girlish screaming when you chased her with a frog left an unsuspecting farmer homeless. Another incident when the two of you overturned that boat and a fisherman was without a way to make his living. His boat erupted in flames. We make it a priority to examine the unexplained."

Watching Raoul's sad face, Erik felt a familiar, unreasonable stab of jealousy tear into his heart. The boy had been allowed to enjoy those days with her, laugh with her, and touch her; while he had to remain hidden for ten long years.

Turning the subject from his rival, he asked, "How does she produce the pyrokinetic combustion?"

"Our scientists have not yet discovered the secret. Our Christine isn't the only human with this talent. We have four others in our labs across the world. Christine has the ability to create the greatest damage; therefore, she was not detained in a lab for fear of inadvertently diminishing it."

"But allowed to grow up in an Opera House?" Raoul questioned, feeling like a parrot.

"We had great faith in Erik's ability to protect her. His loneliness and penchant for Persian habits enabled us to control him to a degree."

"It was easy to turn your bouts of depression and self hatred into spiels of insanity. If Christine were to accidently detonate, we had the Phantom of the Opera, to blame it on." Dakkar turned to Erik smugly.

"She could have inadvertently hurt herself. What if we accidently stumbled on the pyrokinetic note?" Erik stiffened, muscles rock hard, his dark captors tightening the coils of catgut that cut into his body.

"We are not your enemies." The woman spoke softly.

"Careful, Jasmine one would think you had a heart." Dakkar spoke in a cold undertone.

The woman pulled herself up proudly, her cool gaze challenging.

Used to the silence of catacombs, Erik filed the strange exchange away to ponder upon later.

Brycefield gestured to Raoul and Erik. "You both have been kept well compensated for your sacrifices. As I recall, you both took our word at face value upon our contact. We have not required action from you until now."

"The first thing the Tribune requires is the two of you desist in any manner of wooing Christine Daae."

Erik pulled against the ropes encircling his body. Raoul stiffened his posture, fingers working convulsively.

The woman's raspy voice had now turned to ice. "Her life as an orphan has kept her good stead. If she were to worry about a family member or lover, it could cost her life. She is but seventeen. A woman in the eyes of the world; but she is very naïve. "

"It is time to start another part of her training." Dakkar finished.

"What training?" Erik ground out, as Raoul licked suddenly dry lips.

The man with the sing-song voice changed the subject. "There is a mole at the Opera House, the two of you are to work together and find him."

The woman watched Erik and Raoul measure each other with long, distrustful glances. One man dark and deeply damaged, physically and mentally. The other: blond, unaware of the beauty of soul and self… Day and Night personified. Both men dangerous, thanks to the intervention of two enemy councils in their lives.

She hoped the revelation of a few of the Phantom's secrets would enable the Vicomte to see his partner as a man, subject to the weaknesses of men.

"We cannot allow the interloper to become suspicious, if the two of you cannot work together, we will terminate your services and find others to train Christine Daae." Brycefield interjected.

"I would enjoy taking your place, gentlemen." Dakkar taunted.

Erik stood still refusing to rise to the bait. Silently he mulled over Brycefield's hidden threat. His stomach clenched, they wouldn't hesitate to hide Christine from him.

Watching Erik's reaction, Raoul blew through his lips. He was to entrust his life with his most hated adversary. "Are we working for the good of the world, or its downfall?" He countered, "Remind me why you conscripted us? What makes you different from the Macht?"

A small man almost swallowed by his outer clothing stepped from his seat. "I know that was a rhetorical question, Vicomte, but allow me to refresh your memory."

"The past one hundred years have been one of great discoveries of which you are aware. The United States has become a formidable entity in World Power. Britain and France have already started on a course to Imperialism and France will be coerced into a war with Prussia, one that she cannot possibly win."

"The unification of a German state is inevitable. An Italian state will arise as well."

Raoul frowned, "France must fight, stand her ground against the enemy."

The older man looked down and sighed, "The vain posturing of world powers are as dust in the wind. The outcome of this war and others are inevitable. Principalities and Powers greater than Kings, and presidents decided the conclusion; intricately planned the years to come. France cannot hope to overcome this invasion."

"The Tribune is massive, but the 'Macht' is even more so." The woman retreated back to her stone seat.

"Power." Erik snorted, "Very original.

The older man sighed, "Yes, very original. ' Macht' has been around since the beginning of time. The Macht's downfall is its pride; the Tribune has stayed solvent partly by circumventing that pride.

"Macht's allure resembles siren voices to mankind. For centuries the Tribune continues to clean up after the evil known as Macht. Not always the way we would have liked; but there just the same."

The bald, tuft covered skull under Erik's wig had begun to ache, "Riddles. You all speak in riddles."