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The staircase we started down was like none I had taken before. It was dirty with misuse and abandonment, the candle-holders dusty and blackened, small things scurrying into the shadows as we went past. Several times I nearly slipped on the oily stairs, but caught myself on the sharp metal railing before I fell.
The third time blood ran in a speedy rivulet down my fingers, spattering crimson droplets onto the grimy steps, and the Phantom snagged my wrist with a quick movement. I flinched away and then forced myself to relax. He was trying to help, it seemed.
He spread out my fingers gently, head bent in examination as my hand flexed automatically, trying to unsuccessfully to close around the gash.
"Try and hold still," he said quietly, turning my hand this way and that to see the cut better.
"It's not deep." He uncapped a small bottle of clear liquid, dropping my hand to turn the lid. "But it should be cleaned out. This will hurt."
I nodded, bracing myself, and he took my hand again and poured a small amount onto my palm.
It stung and burned like acid, as though it ate away my skin, but as he poured, I watched the liquid run purple (black with soot, red with blood) and clear again, and I knew the liquid had done its job.
The Phantom let go of my hand, snapped the bottle shut, and wiped the blood on my palm away with a handkerchief.
"Do you need a bandage?" He was holding out another cloth.
"No," I said, shaking my head. It was only a thin line; the bleeding had stopped. Whatever that potion was, it worked very well. "It's fine, thank you."
He turned away, and we continued down the stairs. There were three staircases after this one; they were extremely long, stretching out beneath us like rows of decaying teeth.
"So," I said, keen to break the oppressive silence, "Luke showed up today."
The Phantom eyed me. "And?"
He had put himself between me and the railing. He probably thought I was very clumsy, which I was not, but it was clear that I wasn't going to be able to prove that unless I stopped tripping and grabbing stupidly at sharp objects.
"And he somehow came to the conclusion that we're having dinner tonight at eight, but since he didn't show up, I guess it's off. For now, at least."
I didn't doubt that Luke would stop asking, even if he hadn't done so tonight.
The dark-haired man beside me raised his eyebrows. "And you came with me to avoid him?"
I looked down at the stairs, watching my feet, for the steps were getting steeper. "Yes. And no. I came with you to see your house, and to avoid him. He… has begun to disturb me."
"He will just come find you again later. If you want me to" – he paused, and I looked up at him, curious – "I could do something about it."
"I know you can," I said, hoping he didn't mean what I thought he did. If Luke died at the hands of the Phantom, I would never forgive myself. I didn't want Luke dead, only behind bars, and only as long as the proof against him was sound. "What do you propose? I can't think of anything that doesn't require a considerable amount of deceit."
"I could intercept him on the way to your room."
"And scare him again? Do you think that would make him leave?"
"Possibly. If it doesn't, you should lock your door and ignore him. He will probably go away when I show up, however."
"That would be extremely generous of you," I said. "Do you mind me asking – how do you plan to scare him?"
The Phantom's lips lifted at the corners. "That is really none of your business, is it?"
I wondered how exactly he was going to keep me from asking questions. "Oh, really?"
He only looked at me, so I shrugged and dropped the subject.
"How much farther is it to –"
The Phantom clapped his hand over my mouth, backing me up the stairs with him, one arm wrapping itself around my shoulders as I tried to pull away in shock and discomfort.
His voice was soft and rough. "We have visitors."
I shot a look back down the staircases as we hurried back around the corner we had just rounded, and pulled his hand off of my mouth. I hadn't seen anything, but I could hear faint voices and footsteps echoing from below and growing louder.
The Phantom pushed me quickly into an alcove, holding up an authoritative hand in command that I was to stay. He went back around the corner.
I glared after him, annoyed that he thought I was one of those people incapable of self-defense, and crept quietly out of the alcove.
Peering stealthily around the corner, I saw a group of dangerous-looking men below on the farthest staircase, climbing up towards my hiding place.
The Phantom was nowhere in sight.
At the head of the group was Luke, his light blue eyes intent as he hurried up the stairs, one hand on the hilt of the sword he often carried around the Opera. I had thought till now that it was just for show, but it was clear that he considered it a weapon from how his fingers gripped the hilt.
The four men behind him were talking loudly, grabbing occasionally for the railings when they stumbled. One was singing a lewd song, filling in the words he didn't know with off-key humming.
Garmin turned abruptly and hit the offender hard in the face with the back of his hand. The man staggered back and nearly fell, holding his nose in pain, and glared over his fist at Luke, who ignored him.
"Stop singing! The rest of you, shut up! When we get to the writer's room, you'll do what we agreed to. Afterward, I'll come in, pretend to knock you around; when I kick you out, leave."
He had stopped above them, staring down like a king above his subjects.
"Why are we talking to her?" complained a tall brown-haired lout, scratching at his chest absentmindedly. "I thought we were going to go to the tavern." His voice was one of those nasty nasal ones that irritated you even after it finished speaking. I wrinkled my nose in disgust.
"After you do this little task, then you can go celebrate, John." Garmin looked around one more time at his group of ruffians, surveying them with a calculated air. He was apparently pleased with what he saw, for he continued, "So, you kick in the door and scare her – but don't try anything – and then I'll come in, toss you around, and make you all leave. I'll bring you your pay tomorrow. Got it?"
"Yes," they grumbled in faulty unison, continuing up the stairs.
I drew back into the shadows, my heart pounding. As their boots clumped noisily against the stones, I felt frantically for my knife.
It was gone.
