Excerpt from the Societe Column -

The Monsieur's have outdone themselves! I, along with a select handful of press, was invited to the spectacular opening night at the Paris Opera House. Believe you me, the Opera Populare will never be the same! Their rendition of Aida was, as expected, superb. And, as we hoped, La Marguerite was outstanding - a real tour de force.

Now, on to the mysterious fantasy that is Monsieur Pierre d'Bienne, society's favorite bad boy. Rumors are that he has taken a fancy to one of the new chorus girls...

Chapter 2 - Beware the Ghost

Lana quickly discovered that the most difficult adjustment between America and France came in the bathroom. For one thing, most Europeans never use showers. Instead they build giant bathtubs, easily twice the size of most economy size American ones. Also, while she enjoyed living in her small but clean apartment, the one thing she couldn't seem to get used was the fact that she shared her tiny bathroom with the five other people on her floor. She had her own bedroom, a functional kitchen and dining area, even her own miniscule living room. Was it so much to ask to have her own tub?

It didn't take long for Lana to take advantage of the newly updated facilities offered in the dressing quarters of the theater. Shining new bathrooms with modern plumbing and interior; deep, European bathtubs - Lana was in heaven. Plus, because she tended to frequent the theater after hours, there was usually no one there.

Lately, she was finding herself spending more and more time at the opera house. Most of the workers at the theater - seamstresses, ushers, stagehands, janitors - loved her for her quiet demeanor and curious interest in their jobs. While she might not have many friends on stage, Lana was a popular figure behind the scenes. Although they found her a bit odd by their own standards, because she was beautiful was well as kind, they chose to attribute her slight eccentricities to her unfortunate Americaness.

It was not two weeks into performances. Lana had been living in France now for two months. While she had made fast friends with Bella, s he was still having trouble completely adjusting. Her father's death was fresh on her mind. Perhaps that was part of the reason she immersed herself so completely into the quite solitude of the theater. She coveted her silence.

Glancing at her watch, Lana groaned. It was 2 a.m. already. The last of the patrons and well wishers were long gone, the performance over hours ago. The stagehands had cleared the scenery away long ago leaving only an empty stage. Lana sat perched on the railing of one of the many boxes overlooking the dimly lit theater. Percy, the master stagehand, knew how much she enjoyed her after-hour exploring and always left a few lights on.

Hugging her knees to her chest, which was not an easy thing to do when perched precariously on a slim banister at least thirty feet in the air, Lana allowed her mind to wander. Her father dreamed of having her sing - a prima donna of the stage. But, she was a chorus girl, one of the world's best, mind you. But she was a chorus girl all the same. Right now, even a small part outside of the chorus seemed out of her reach, let alone replacing someone like La Marguerite. It would take time, she told herself. Time and talent... well at least she had plenty of time on her hands. Talent was another matter.

The place was empty. Tentatively, she began to sing the opening words to the aria:

Celeste Aida, forma divina,

Mistico serto di luce e fior,

Del mio pensiero tu sei regina

A sudden noise from the stage startled her into silence. Her eyes widened, searching the stage for any sound of movement. It was empty. All was silent.

She could have sworn she heart a voice down there, whispering as she sang. Lana's cheeks began to burn in embarrassment. Was someone down there listening? Logic told her she was the only person fool enough to be at the theater this time of night, but her heart raced all the same.

"It was just the building settling," she reasoned with herself. Surely that's all it could be. The building was ancient. If it wanted to settle, let it settle. No one was down there. No one was watching.

So why did she feel so damnably nervous? The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up. All at once, an overwhelming sense of panic washed over her. She felt eyes bearing down on her - hidden eyes coming from the darkness, bearing down on her.

Out of the corner of her eye, something caught her eyes. Something was down there, moving. Two pale yellow eyes were staring straight into her own.

For a moment, Lana was startled so badly, she almost lost her balance, tumbling off the railing, but she caught herself. She turned to stand on the ground, her heart lurching into a sickening tango. Her eyes flew to the stage.

A figure, draped in shadow slowly began to materialize. It moved forward, taking shape in the faint light. Lana watched in dawning horror. It wasn't so much that the figure walked towards her. It was more like flickering from one shadowy pool to the next. Even though she was still many feet away, she could still make out the old fashioned cloak the man wore. A hat was pulled low over the man's face. Only his glowing yellow eyes were visible. She could feel them staring at her, burring into her skin.

"...A ghost," she whispered, itching curiosity suddenly overtaking her fear. Throwing caution to the wind, Lana bolted from the box, racing for the stage floor entrance. She wasn't sure what she would do if the ghost was still there by the time she made it, but that didn't really matter at the moment. Hopefully she would figure it out when she got there.

Bursting onto the stage, she searched. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and not just from running. Her breath whistled in and out of her chest as she searched the stage. Part relieved, part disappointed, Lana slowly exhaled. "Damn," she muttered. As she feared, he was already gone.

She walked towards the center of the stage, right about where she guessed the man had stood. Kneeling down, she bent examining the wood. Four cuts along the grain formed an almost invisible square. A trapdoor... Lana had stood on this stage for hours during both practices and performances. Never before had she ever once noticed it before. Her fingers traced over the ancient floor boards. She longed to go down there and see what all the fuss was about. The choice was taken from her, however. There didn't appear to be any way to open it from this side.

"And besides Lana," she chided herself firmly. "Even if you could get down there, you know you're not allowed. Not to mention the fact that you promised Bella." She ran her fingers longingly over the wood one last time. Sighing, she stood back up. It was a long walk home and the night was almost gone.

"Perhaps later Monsieur Fantome," she spoke in perfect French, an ironic smile playing at her lips. She bowed formally to the trapdoor, touching an imaginary top hat at her forehead.

Feeling tired and more than a little weirded out, she set out of her little flat. The moon was hidden behind overcast clouds, but she didn't' mind the darkness. Content in her apparent discovery of a potential ghost, she walked home, a song on her lips. Not once did she notice the shadow that followed close behind, that stopped when she stopped, and moved as silently as the night itself. Perhaps if she had seen the glowing yellow eyes that stalked her steps, her heart might not be so light.

But then again, Lana was always an oddity.

"You saw what?!" Bella nearly shouted, oblivious of the attention she was garnering in the small crowded cafe.

"Bella, it was just a shadow, I'm sure of it." Lana tried to reason. God only knows what possessed her to mention this to Isabella in the first place. "Besides, I was probably hallucinating. You know I haven't been getting enough sleep here of late."

Bella was not to be placated. "You've seen the ghost. The Ghost! And you call it a shadow. Don't you realize how dangerous that thing is? This isn't a game, Lana."

She frowned. "I don't scare easily, Bella, and I know this isn't a game. I'm not treating it as one. Anyway, ghosts don't hurt people. They can't."

"Oh?" Bella countered. "Well this ghost does. If you would have bothered to learn even a hint of history while poking your nose in that place you would have already known that. This fantome kills and has for centuries." She shook her head in disgust, pushing away the basket of fresh croissants.

Lana stifled a long-suffering sigh. She should have known Bella would react like this. Too bad she was her only source of information. "Then tell me, Bella," she coaxed. "Tell me about the ghost."

Bella eyed her suspiciously. "Why do I get the feeling your going to do something stupid?"

"Bella..."

"Oh, alright," she snapped irritably. "I'll tell you what I can." She paused dramatically, gathering her thoughts. It was obvious she didn't want to discuss the opera ghost, yet she couldn't resist the opportunity to be the center of attention. Lana suppressed a grin.

"It's hard to grow up a theater brat without hearing something about the haunted Paris theater. I've probably forgotten more legends than most people ever hear," she mused with a smile. "When the renovations started at the old theater, there were all of these little 'accidents.' Those old stories suddenly didn't seem like stories anymore. I don't know all the details, but I do know that it got people whispering about the ghost again." Her voice trailed off, eyes growing distant.

"Bella," Lana whispered, reaching across the cluttered cafe table to grip her friend's hand. She was surprised that it was ice cold. "Bella, tell me."

"He wasn't always a ghost, you know. They say he was a man once. A horrible, cursed man with the voice of an angel, but the face of a demon."

"Oh, he sounds delightful," Lana couldn't help but quip. "Too bad he wasn't born during the golden age of plastic surgery."

Bella glared. "Did you want me to tell you or not? I know this sounds crazy, but it is what it is. Take it or leave it."

Lana smiled meekly, waiting patiently for her to continue. Once Bella felt her audience was listening properly, she continued, unconsciously slipping into French. Lana listening with rapt attention, grateful for all the extra practice.

"There are so many legends and stories surrounding the phantom, I'm not really sure where to begin. So, I'll tell you what I believe. The phantom was born around two hundred years ago - that much most stories pretty well agree on. He was born with the gift of music, a gift given to him by God himself. Not even the angels in heaven could sing as pure. But it was more than just singing. Any instrument the boy picked up, he could play. Not just as an amateur, mind you. He could play as if he were a great aged master. His skill was unmatched by any man who had ever walked the earth. But there was a terrible price for this gift. His face was hideous. His face was that of death itself. They say that he was so ugly, even his own mother could not stand to look at him. So, when he was still a small child, she gave him away to the gypsies to use in their freak show."

"My God, that's terrible."

Isabella nodded solemnly, completely absorbed in her story. "It gets worse. The gypsies took good care of him, even if they never let him become one of their own. They gave him a mask to cover his ugly face so that he could move around them without fear of anyone seeing him. Eventually, they gave him freedom of movement throughout their encampment. Some say that the gypsies took him into their confidence, teaching him dark secret magic."

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Lana couldn't help but ask.

Bella merely shrugged, continuing on with her story. "As the boy grew to a man, he made one fatal mistake. He fell in love with the gypsy king's daughter. He tried to mesmerize the girl with his voice, enticing her with the beauty of music to replace his own lack. At first, the girl wasn't afraid of him - perhaps the man had learned some magic after all, keeping her enthralled. But one night, something tragic happened."

She paused, taking a sip of her water. Lana, who was sitting on the edge of her chair, knew better than to hurry her. After a dramatic pause, Bella continued.

"On night, the young man tried to lure the enchanted woman to her bed. She came willingly, perhaps enticed by her own morbid curiosity more than anything. When he had her alone, she pulled his mask off before he could stop her. She screamed when she saw his ugliness, alerting the whole camp. The man tried to take his mask back from her, and she lost her balance in the struggle. Somehow when she fell, the gypsy king's daughter hit her head and broke her neck. He had to flee for his life."

"That must have been awful," Lana sighed.

"When the gypsy king found his daughter dead, her cursed the phantom to a life bound in darkness. Until he could win the love of a woman, he would be forever banished from the light."

Lana shivered, remembering how the ghost appeared to move from shadow to shadow. Perhaps Bella wasn't so far from the truth no matter how outlandish her story seemed.

"They say that after his banishment, the man traveled the world studying science, mathematics. I've even heard rumors that he became a great architect while spending time in Persia and the middle east, always staying in the shadows."

"Like a vampire?" Lana grinned.

"Maybe something like that, who knows. But about the architecture thing - some people say that the ghost actually helped build the theatre himself."

"You're kidding," Lana murmured, enjoying the story now. It was unbelievable, but Bella was having a good time telling it.

"Well, I guess it's because the phantom loved music first and foremost, you know. Perhaps that's why he chose to reside in the bowels of the opera. Can't you imagine the phantom being their when the opera was first built, creating his own underground kingdom?"

The thought was a little disturbing, now that she mentioned it, Lana realized. "Is that why we're forbidden down there?"

Bella stared, her amber eyes completely serious. "Make no mistake, chere. He still owns that underground labyrinth, just as he always has. But let me finish my story. It's not quiet over yet. In the late 1800's, there was a singer - a beautiful young singer who caught the man's eye. He taught her to sing. To really sing. She was just a chorus girl at the time, but when he was through with her, she was the new prima dona. He gave her the gift of music. All he wanted in return was love. But love was something the girl could never give because she had already given her heart to another man. A young, filthy rich viscount."

"How sad," Lana murmured.

"Sad?" Bella repeated, incredulous. "That treacherous bitch made the man crazy, my dear. Up until then, the ghost had never harmed a soul - well, if you ignore the little incident with the gypsy king's daughter and all those rumors of all the time he spent in Arabia. But after that singer turned his world upside down, there have been at least five different murders attached to his name and at least two disappearances."

"Disappearances?" Lana asked skeptically. "Let me guess, it was the singing trollop and her boyfriend."

Bella raised her eyebrows as if to say "Yeah, and what of it." Lana swallowed, suddenly speechless.

"Haven't you ever heard of the accident with the great chandelier?"

Lana shook her head no.

"Well, one night during the heart of a performance, the chandelier came crashing down, killing at least one person. The investigators later found that the rope had been cut. Apparently the managers at the time were threatened by an O.G. if they did not premier his little protege that evening. When they refused, he punished them." She shook her head in disgust. "Make no mistake, Lana. The man was a murderer in life. What on earth makes you think he wouldn't be in death? Why do you think I've been begging you since day one to stay out of the catacombs?"

The bell tower struck eleven making both girls jump. Bella laughed good naturedly, dropping a few bills on the table to cover their check. Neither girl had eaten anything, but now Lana's stomach was too unsettled to even try.

"Oh, before I forget," Bella said as they hurried down the Rue de Pais towards the Opera. "My parents are throwing a party this weekend. The managers and all the investors are supposed to come. It would be an excellent chance for you to make a name for yourself, you know?

Lana smiled weakly. "You know parties really aren't my thing."

Bella sighed her own little sigh of long-suffering. "If you don't learn to make them your thing, you can kiss ever leaving the chorus behind."

"I'll think about it."

Without another word, the pair hurried towards the looming theater. Once inside, they went their seperate ways, involving themselves in their own individual worlds of ballet and song.

It would be two sleepless nights later before Lana saw the ghost again.

A/N: I hope you guys like this chapter - please please keep reviewing. I know I've left several unanswered questions. Trust me, everything will be clear before too much longer.