A/N: This will be the last one for this week. The next update is this Wednesday.

CHAPTER THREE

…Erik was, by far, the best audience I'd ever had. He listened carefully and never interrupted. He never wanted me to change my plots and he always wanted to know more about the characters. I was over the moon that someone was so interested in talking to me that I never wanted to leave. I know it's hard to imagine but I finally had another child to talk with, another soul who knew what loneliness felt like and his cave was a magical place to me.

Erik came for me almost every night for a month and every night I would tell him a story that flowed on from the last. I'd leave before dawn and gather as much sleep as I could because my uncle would expect me awake by seven. When I told stories to the ballet corps, I had to be careful not to repeat myself, though it was tempting. My stories were often best with Erik but he was jealous. He didn't like sharing me or my tales so I kept them between us and made new ones.

Everything was perfect until one of the washerwomen passed away from influenza. The opening required someone small enough to get into crevices and I was the perfect size for the job. Erik was already angry at having to share me with the ballet rats but at least he got to listen in every now and then. As a cleaner and washer, I would have no time to entertain the ballet rats or himself, by extension and it made him rather upset to hear…

Spring, 1857
Catacombes
Paris

"I'll tell them not to!" Erik snapped, slamming his hands down on the work bench.

Margot rolled her eyes. "You're being silly," she said as she eyed one of the trinkets Erik had grown bored with. "The managers will never listen to you."

"But they might listen to the Opera Ghost." Erik mumbled as he began to smooth down the legs of the winged chair he was creating.

"A-ha!" Margot called, leaping from her seat. "I knew it was you!"

During Margot's time at the opera house, odd things had begun to occur. Props disappearing, curtains falling, actors tumbling off stage, banging doors that startled the living daylights out of people. Some had claimed it was her but a few incidents were simply out of Margot's skill and her alibi with the ballet rats quickly cleared her of any suspicion.

Erik hid a smile as he set the brass buttons into the reupholstered chair. "Perhaps."

"I knew it had to be you," Margot crooned. Tonight was a rare night; they'd taken a break from storytelling and were simply and awkwardly attempting normal conversation. "No one else could possibly be able."

"You didn't tell anyone, I assume." Erik said, idly, though he watched for signs of dishonesty.

Margot waved his instincts off. "Who would I tell?"

It was true; although sad to see her go, the ballet rats didn't care much for Margot outside of an entertainer and she doubted the washerwomen would care for what she had to say either.

"Touché, Margot." Erik replied, focused on getting the carved leather of his seat just right. Margot knew then to be quiet for a time since she'd quickly picked up on Erik's natural talent. He was a sculptor, painter, singer, designer and overall creator. Anything that could be made, could be made better by Erik.

When he finished, she picked up again as though she had never stopped. "But the managers still won't listen to a Ghost. Who would?"

"Someone in fear, Margot." Erik murmured, his genius brain fathoming a plan three steps too far ahead for Margot to see. "People will do much out of fear."

"I'm not sure I like where this is going Erik. But I guess I'm not going to have much of say, if I ever did." Margot said sighing. "This will be my last visit Erik. I'll be too tired to work if I stay up all night here." She'd seen her uncle nearly fall to his death the other day after spending too much of his night drinking and making funny noises with the lady next door.

"Stop saying that!" Erik growled. "It's not going to happen. You're going to stay right here."

"I can't Erik," Margot said, miserably. "If we ever talk again, I'm going to look like a washerwoman, with one of those horrible, angry faces."

Erik said nothing, merely turning away at her mention of faces. Margot remained oblivious to her callousness but Erik subtly reach for his new white mask to remind himself that it was there, a wall between him and the rest of society.

"I'm going to miss you Erik." She suddenly declared, hopping off her seat.

"You're not going anywhere." He argued.

"Shush, I'm talking!" Margot said, snappily. "I'm going to miss you Erik because you're my only friend here. And I hope that we get to talk again, even if it's not every night."

And then she put her arms around the boy with a mask and squeezed.

Erik, who had never been on the opposite end of a hug before, pushed her off. She landed with a gasp on the ground and quickly scrambled to her feet. "Erik!"

"What did you do that for?" he yelled.

"It was a hug!"

"Why?"

"Because we're friends and friends give each other hugs." Margot said as though it were obvious.

"W-Well, don't!" Erik huffed, thoroughly unnerved. To have someone so close felt awful and clammy. Margot turned away and rubbed her eyes, in a rather covert manner. Erik saw it immediately for what it was. "Margot are you…are you crying?"

"No I'm not." She sniffled. "Take me home Erik, I want to go to sleep."

"But-"

"I want to go home now." Margot stressed, grabbing her ragged nightgown and tying it up before moving toward the entrance to the caves. Erik followed, unsure as to why Margot was suddenly leaking tears but unable to let her kill herself on the traps he'd set up on the way.

Margot's first few weeks as a cleaner was rather unpleasant.

First, she was given a mop she could barely reach the top of and a heavy water filled bucket. She cleaned down the stage, she swept the wooden floor of the orchestra, she scrubbed the windows and smoothed down the velvet of the chairs. When it came to the end of her second week, she finally met Madame Renard, who was a harsh and cruel woman who detested life and children especially.

Of course, this meant that Renard gave Margot one of the biggest jobs in the Populaire.

The ballroom.

The ballroom entrance, stairs and foyer of the Opera Populaire were huge. Margot had never seen anything like it in size and with Erik's rejection fresh in her mind, it seemed impossible to handle. However, she attempted valiantly and after almost an hour of wrestling with the too-tall mop, one of the cleaning ladies took pity on her and handed her rags to clean with instead.

"Just stay on your hands and knees," she directed. "And make circular motions. When you're done with the soap, use the water to rinse and then use the dry rags to dry up the excess."

The process was simple but the sheer expanse of the Populaire was nearly impossible to work with and after almost four hours, Margot had finally covered the entire ballroom and was beginning on the steps. Along with vinegar, the lye soap she had to use was acidic on her scratched, aching palms and as she began along the marble stairs, Margot began to focus more on the pain than the actual work itself. Her back ached, her hands were beginning to blister and worst of all, the fumes made her eyes water and her skin feel tight.

It was mid-afternoon when she felt eyes on her and heard Erik's voice whisper from an alcove inside one of the enormous carved marble pillars she was working near.

"What do you want?" Margot asked, miserably.

She couldn't see but she could almost feel his frown. "Why are you crying?"

"It hurts," she whimpered, holding her hands out subtly to the pillar. His eyes were barely visible from the darkened hole in the bottom band of the carved marble pillar but she could see them tighten at the sight of her raw hands. Margot suddenly remembered his rejection of her hug on their last night and turned away, sniffling from the fumes.

"Margot? Margot, stop ignoring me. It's irritating."

"Go away," she mumbled, petulantly. "I'm working."

"Girl!" Madame Renard suddenly screeched and Margot jumped to her feet, her head dizzy from the sudden shift in altitude.

"Yes Madame?" she asked, trying to sound eager and coming out as miserable.

The shrewd woman pointed to the wooden ladder that stood precariously beside one of the walls of the ballroom. "You're the smallest and the lightest so you'll be the one to go up and dust the cornices." She ordered, snappily. "Now get to it and don't let me see you slacking off or I'll have you beaten from this Opera House before you know it."

Margot let out a sigh of fear as she straightened the ladder and slowly began to climb, her heart beating frantically in her chest. "M-Madame?"

"What is it now girl?" came the exasperated reply.

"Madame, what if I fall?" Margot whimpered. There was a pause and a shrill laugh.

"Then you fall," Madame Renard replied, carelessly. "And we thank the heavens that you weren't one of my more experienced cleaners."

Margot nearly froze but Madame Renard's eyes on her back forced to keep going. She took the goose feather duster from under her arm when she was nearly at the top and tried not to look down at the astoundingly high height she was currently standing at.

As she brushed away the dust and cobwebs, her fear began to take hold when the ladder creaked beneath her. She felt as though she could barely breathe and not even Madame Renard's shrill voice could make her move.

"Margot, calm down, cherie." Whispered a voice from beside her and Margot's eyes caught a glimpse of Erik's white mask as he sat in one of the narrow passageways that ran around the top of the ballroom.

"Erik?" she could barely move her lips she was so far up. If she fell, she would die and that would be the end of that.

"Yes cherie, it's me. Now calm down and take a deep breath." His voice was low and almost hypnotising as Margot followed exactly as he said.

"Erik I'm scared." She could finally murmur.

"You shouldn't be."

"I could fall."

"You won't. I'm here. And you won't fall. Do you understand cherie?" his voice was so soothing that Margot found herself nodding. "Now I want you to go back down this ladder and by the morning, you will never be up here again."

"P-Promise?"

"Yes cherie."

"Okay Erik, I b-believe you." she stuttered, slowly moving back down the ladder. She knew Erik and she knew his strength and his cleverness. She knew Erik, she convinced herself, and she knew that if only for the sake of her stories and her company, he would never let her fall.

Madame Renard was furious and complained to Monsieur LeFevre who in turn scolded Uncle Franck, who in turn disciplined Margot but nothing any one of them had to say on the matter could make her go back up that dreadful ladder.

"Ferrand, if she cannot work, she has no place here." Monsieur LeFevre said in the main apartment. Margot listened through the door as Uncle promised to knock some sense into her and soon enough the door opened, revealing an absent LeFevre and an angry Uncle.

"You little brat," he snapped, stalking toward her. "You've been living the high life with my brother too long, you spoiled twit! You will work Margot and you will go to Madame Renard tomorrow with apologies and beg for another chance!"

She went to bed that night, exhausted from crying and with her hands burning, with fresh bruises on her arms and the back of her head from where Uncle had gotten aggressive.

It was almost a surprise when Erik came for her that night.

She hadn't seen him since she started working and with the hard days, she'd been lonely for a visit, though still hurt that he wouldn't let her hug him.

"Margot, are you alright?" Erik asked, quietly as they traversed the long passages together.

She nodded, tiredly. "I have to go back tomorrow Erik. Uncle will make me leave if I don't."

"None of that will come to pass. Now come, I've got something for you." he said, confidently.

After a week of cold, harsh, painful, frightening reality, the sight of the candlelit cave was magical. Margot began to sit on the stone rocks near the lake again but Erik guided her toward the winged chair which now sat, made of beautifully carved brown leather, proudly in the corner.

"It's so comfortable Erik!" she said, surprised as she bounced on the seat. He smiled slightly as he pulled a tray toward them from his bench. "What's all this?"

He brought a finger to his lips and slowly began to mix the odd looking materials together into a creamy substance which he gentle spread across her blistered palms. It didn't sting surprisingly, but remained cool and soothing as he wrapped bandages around each of her hands carefully. Margot knew better than to assume it was entirely for her; Erik's keen eyes told her that she was indeed an experiment and that her reactions would no doubt be recorded somewhere inside that brilliant mind for future use.

"It feels nice…" she hummed, dreamy with relief. "What is it?"

"…It's probably best you don't know…" he mumbled as soon as he fingers were bound with the silken bandages.

"Thankyou Erik." Margot whispered, feeling drowsy. She'd never fallen asleep down here before and part of her wondered what would happen if she did. Would Erik keep her down here as he always wanted? Or would she awake to find herself in her bed, all the better for it?

"Sleep Margot, it'll all be fixed when you wake up." He murmured and suddenly Margot found her eyes drifting shut as she fell into a deep sleep amongst the candles.

Erik was the first to admit his reasoning was neither entirely self-serving nor altruistic.

As he snuck through the halls into the Opera House manager's office, he pondered the separate parts of him that considered this an appropriate act.

The first part was in anger over Margot and how close she had come to death today. The fools in these offices, he thought, would rather see a child fall to her death than suffer a spiderweb during one of their operas. It was utterly ridiculous and the sight of her red raw hands had confirmed his suspicions that the cleaning ladies were working with toxins and acids. While he didn't care much for the cleaning ladies, he had scheduled a stop for Madame Renard's rooms before this trip and had taken great delight in switching her normal teapot for one laced with the same toxin that had scarred Margot's hands.

She would be out of the Opera House, if not dead, by the tomorrow's end.

Regardless, part of his reasoning for the late night excursion to the manager's office was to do with his reaction to Margot's hug and his unreasonable guilt concerning her tears afterward.

Despite the friendship he felt with the little girl, he had to remind himself constantly that she was nowhere near his level of intelligence or isolation. She did not think through her words or actions which his only other acquaintance, Mme Giry was constantly doing which pleased him somewhat but it did mean that when she wrapped her arms around his neck, it was incredibly difficult not to take it as a sign that she was attempting to strangle him.

Thinking back on it, if he focused on the little things, like the smoothness of her cheek against his, the soft embrace of her hands on his back, the innocent smile she gave beforehand, he found himself aching for another of Margot's hugs, though he would have to be better prepared next time.

Opera Ghosts, he reminded himself as he stepped out of a passageway into Monsieur LeFevre's office, did not stammer and push away hugs like a child.

Which brought him to the other reason for his late night trip.

He had been leaving notes in Monsieur LeFevre's office every so often for months now, even before Margot had arrived. Each was a courteous welcome to his Opera House and a reminder that if things were to run smoothly, it would be best if Monsieur LeFevre indulged him on certain points of management.

Often they were dismissed but lately, in accordance with some of his more damaging pranks, LeFevre was eying the notes more carefully than normal.

Tonight would test if his stunts and notes had successfully positioned Monsieur LeFevre where Erik wished, a place where he could manipulate the manager at will. Positioning the letter on LeFevre's desk just so, Erik ran through the note's contents for the hundredth time:

Monsieur LeFevre,

It has come to my attention that you are allowing children to take the brunt of work which should be allotted for more experienced professionals. I shall not have my operas ruined because of a drooling toddler, Monsieur. See to it that such individuals are reorganised into rolls more befitting their skills. I find that in the case Mademoiselle Ferrand, something into which she can grow would be greatly beneficial, wouldn't you say? The costume department perhaps?

Should the girl not be removed and placed there, first thing in the morning monsieur, it will be to the great misfortune of that shrill cleaning fox. We shall speak later of my salary for bestowing such advice.

Until then, I remain

Your ever obedient servant,

O.G.

Tomorrow, Erik thought, whirling out of the room, leaving the door locked from the inside behind him. Tomorrow, they would see if Monsieur LeFevre was ready to pay his ghost.

Margot woke to find herself back in her bed in Uncle's apartments, her hand still bound in silky bandages. She slid on a pair of work gloves that had shrunk enough to fit over her hands and dressed quickly, wondering if Erik was right about not having to go back to Madame Renard.

She fretted over what might happen if she didn't go back and mused over what Anna would have done before fading quickly. Anna wouldn't even be in this mess, Margot thought bitterly. She would've climbed that ladder fearlessly and she would've used it to beat Madame Renard out of the Opera House.

However as she fried the sweet toast her Uncle and she were used to having for breakfast, a knock on the door disrupted the morning's routine.

"Well," Uncle grunted. "Go get it, girl."

Margot hopped out of her chair and slowly opened the door, revealing a rather pale Monsieur LeFevre.

"Petite, I have news concerning your employment," he said, shakily, dabbing at his neck with a handkerchief. Margot frowned.

"Oui Monsieur?" she echoed, curiously.

"I-It has come to my attention that children make m-mistakes, no, I mean, they should not be responsible for such areas of my- the Opera House." Monsieur LeFevre stuttered, looking exhausted and fearful.

Margot tried to remember how Mama would have handled the shaking Monsieur and brought forward the rickety chair she ate breakfast in. He collapsed into it thankfully.

"What's going on Monsieur?" Uncle Franck asked, his portly face confused. "I thought Madame Renard needed someone as small as Margot?"

"Yes, yes, well now Madame Renard is in need of someone with a medical degree, isn't she?" Monsieur LeFevre snapped, sweating profusely. "I ignored it this morning and now Berangere Renard is a mute." LeFevre leant forward, covertly. "You know what the rumours are lately?"

"Oui monsieur," Uncle Franck responded in a quiet tone Margot did not believe him capable. "The ghost. My new hand, Buquet, said he saw it the other day, hiding in the alcoves, wearing a mask."

"The rumours are true Ferrand," LeFevre claimed in panicked undertones. "I receive letters from him weekly and with everything that's been happening, what, with what happened to Renard-"

"What happened to Madame Renard?" Margot asked, half curious, half frightened. Erik what did you do?

"She woke this morning perfectly fine and by the time she was dressed and fed and ready for work, she could not speak and her face had broken out with blisters!" LeFevre claimed in a gossipy whisper.

"Mon Dieu," Uncle breathed. "We are haunted indeed Monsieur."

"And what's more, he asks for money!" LeFevre sighed.

"Money?" Uncle repeated. "What need does a damn ghost have with francs?"

"He wishes for a salary of 20,000 francs a fortnight," LeFevre said, before realising in whose company he was in and straightening. "For dispensing his advice and avoiding his usual pranks."

"A ghost," Margot echoed, breathily. Erik is a ghost now. Good Lord.

"You do not intend to pay him, Monsieur?" Franck demanded.

Monsieur LeFevre stood and quickly made his way to the door. "I've said too much already. I have much to think on but I intend to have your niece moved to the costume department this afternoon. It is," he glanced around the roof of the apartment. "another's bidding. Good day Ferrand."

"And you sir." Uncle Franck said as LeFevre left. There was a pause before Uncle spoke again. "Well consider yourself lucky Margot. You were a threat to the Opera Ghost's operas by the sound of things and he didn't kill you." he chuckled, shaking his head and getting back to breakfast.

"Kill me?" Margot breathed, eyes wide. "Would he really?"

"Mais oui, one of my stagehands disappeared after he mixed up the paint tins." Uncle Franck turned back to his morning paper, chuckling and wondering how he would spin the story to his stagehands this morning.

Margot merely looked down at her hands and smiled.

Translations:

Renard- French meaning 'fox'

Cherie- French term of endearment meaning 'darling, dear'

Mon Dieu- French meaning 'My God'

Mais oui- French meaning 'But of course'