Author's Note: Okay, this one's just a bit longer by a few words but, like I promised, more exciting! Strap on your seat belts, ladies and gents, and don't forget to drop a review when you reach the finish line!

( four )

THE DEVIL

Opéra Populaire's premiere for La Albinia proved to be a busy affair for everyone, including Jovan. While working with the scene-shifting throughout the show proved to be a challenging task, it failed to completely exhaust her, leaving her without any excuse but to mingle with the people at the gala. When Elea had dragged her out of the rafters with the intent of forcing her to socialize with the crowd, Jovan complied with Elea's request on the condition that she only interact with the employees of the opera house. The ballerina had been quite reluctant to accept her terms but she knew better than to drag out Jovan into the audience, which was mostly composed of noble-born men and women and families with titles to their name ― exactly the kind of crowd that Jovan was doing her best to avoid. And so Elea had pulled down the redhead backstage, where the majority of the crew members and performers had long begun to celebrate into the night.

Even among faces that were familiar to her, socializing proved to be a far more tiring task than working as a stagehand. Not only did Jovan have to bear with the small talk but, at one point, she had to fend off a stagehand's wandering hands (another punch would've drove him away for good, but she didn't want to ruin Monsieur Lefèvre's good mood that night). When it became apparent that Jovan was merely going to have an experience that was far from relaxing, she took her leave and quietly made her way to the dormitories, careful not to run into anybody who didn't work at the opera house.

She took her sweet, quiet time on the way to her room, blending in and out of the shadows in the current corridor that she was prowling through. It was dimly lit with only a few candelabras lit throughout and, as far as she knew, empty, save for one of the chorus girls that had ran past her just a moment ago. The girl had looked scared out of her wits but Jovan simply waved it off as the alcohol messing with the girl's mind and senses. After all, in a dark corridor, the eyes could be easily tricked into seeing shapes and faces that were not actually there.

Jovan's mind went blank when she slammed into something sturdy, and her heart jumped in her chest ― she'd just walked straight into someone and hit their chest, she belatedly realized. She quickly backed a step away to give the person and herself some much-needed space as an apology stumbled out of her mouth.

"Apologies, monsieur! I was not looking where I was headed and―"

The words froze in her mouth when the nearest candelabra's candles went out without any warning. A gust of wind blew by and snuffed out the lives of the small flames, trapping Jovan in the darkness with the stranger. She rapidly blinked her eyes to adjust to the darkness and saw, in front of her, the lean outline of a man standing still as a shadow. The smell of faint perfume and candle wax permeated the air.

Jovan felt herself grow cold and her heart roared painfully in her chest. Every rational thought in her head was screaming at her to run but her feet refused to move, as if they were glued to the floor. Her mind was spinning rapidly towards a frenzied degree when she heard the dark figure speak.

"Careful now, or it won't be a gentlemen you'll bump into next."

That voice. The mockery in his tone was unmistakable but Jovan herself overlooking that as she listened to the words that were rolling off his tongue like it was made of silk. Deep with a warm richness that she'd never heard from any other person before. She couldn't help but be reminded of velvet and honey and―

The poet in her was rising to consciousness. She had to control herself.

"Why? Are you a gentleman?"

"I like to think myself as one." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Humor me, mademoiselle."

"Explain the candles first."

"Magic." Jovan couldn't determine whether he was taunting her or not, but she noticed that his tone had grown light.

"Ah, not only a gentleman but a magician as well. I see," she answered warily.

Chattering sounds came from one end of the corridor, voices belonging to that of a male and female. Laughter rang out in the corridor as Jovan felt a leather-gloved hand grab her wrist and press her to the side of the corridor, her back slamming against the wall.

"Ow!" She exclaimed, more out of surprise than in pain. She was immediately shushed by the stranger, as she watched two dark figures pass by in front of her.

"Damn, it's dark in here, isn't it?" one of them said, a stagehand.

"I reckon someone forgot to light the candles in this part," the other replied, a ballerina.

Once the couple were out of the dark part in the corridor, Jovan felt the grip on her wrist loosen. She tugged her arm away and searched in the dark for the stranger in vain. Her heart stuttered. She felt some distance put between them and she felt grateful for it. Their close proximity earlier left a heady effect on her senses.

"Who are you? What are you?" She tried not to snarl out the words. Her exhaustion had finally caught up to her and it was making her irritable. She struggled to keep her temper in check.

A deep chuckle resounded in the dark. "A musician, an artist, a magician, an inventor, and an architect. I am many things, mademoiselle."

Jovan blinked. She was not expecting such an answer. "What in the Devil's name are you, really?"

Somewhere in the dark, the sound of soft footfalls approaching her reached her ears. He was walking towards her. Jovan backed away until she was finally back in the illuminated part of the corridor. Only then did the footsteps stop, and the stranger halted before he could step into the light.

"A gentleman would introduce himself," Jovan remarked dryly. Only the outline of the man remained visible, his features obscured by the dark. She didn't know whether to be irritated with the confident way he carried himself.

"I just did, mademoiselle. Were you not listening?" came his cool reply.

"You answered my question of 'what,' not 'who.'"

"It is not an easy question to answer, mademoiselle. I go by many names."

"Then tell me the one you go by most."

Nothing in the world could prepare Jovan for the stranger's next words.

"The Opera Ghost."

Jovan's pulse quickened if that was any more possible. The hairs on the back of her neck bristled but other than that, the fear never set in. There was something that stirred in her but it wasn't fright. Unease maybe, but nothing more. She wasn't scared, she realized. For some reason, she wasn't. Because for all the stories that she'd heard about the Opera Ghost, they were all false. They all spoke of a ghost, a frightful creature who haunted the walls of the opera house. But they were all wrong, she knew that now. Because he wasn't a ghost, no. He was only a man, someone she could touch and smell and hear. She was right after all. At that thought, she couldn't help but feel a shiver of satisfaction.

She was right.

Or, maybe, this was just her mind trying to rationalize the situation.

Another chuckle came from the Phantom. "I have that effect on people," he said. Only then did Jovan realize that her mouth was hanging open. She snapped it shut.

"Most people would run. I didn't," she answered with newfound courage.

"True. That must be an achievement around here. You have my permission to brag about it," he said wryly. Jovan was stunned. He sounded nothing like the character that the stagehands described in their stories! Where was the malice? Why wasn't she being threatened yet? If anything, he only sounded sardonic.

"No one would believe me. They'd demand proof, those imbeciles."

"Nothing I can do about that," he sighed dramatically.

"You could show yourself."

"Mademoiselle, I refuse to reveal myself to you alone. What makes you think I'd show myself to the fools who work in here?"

"Please don't tell me you seriously considered that, I was joking."

"You call that a joke? I feel sorry for you."

"You did ask me to humor you. Apologies if my sense of humor didn't reach your standards."

An amused chuckled rumbled in his throat. "I hate to cut our lovely conversation short but it seems that you are needed."

Before she could ask what he was talking about, a voice called from behind her. "Jove! Are you talking to the shadows?" Elea shouted.

Jovan glanced behind her to see the ballerina approaching fast. She looked sober enough but there was a spring in her steps. She shot one last look into the dark but her eyes failed to make out the form of a man. He was gone and he had slipped away silently as a ghost.

A pang of disappointment hit Jovan before she gave a shake of her head. She shouldn't be disappointed, she should be glad ― glad that she was unscathed from an encounter with the fearsome Opera Ghost.

But he wasn't a ghost, was he?

Blinking hard, Jovan shoved away her thoughts as she turned on her heel and went to approach Elea.