Meg woke up on the floor of her living room, makeup smudged from not taking it off before she slept. She struggled to remember the night before and realised with a jolt of fear that her mother had been arrested.

She stood and ran to her room, dressing as fast as she could and throwing on her winter cloak. She ran out and mounted her dapple-grey horse. She rode him fast to the police station in the centre of Paris, where they (her mother and her) had spent the past couple days, wishing for news on Christine and Raoul.

She ran inside and came to the main desk.

"May I please see my mother-she was taken into custody last night and I'm not sure where she's been taken, would she be in jail yet?" she said hurriedly, pleading to know where her mother was.

"Name?" the clerk said, obviously bored, not even looking at her.

"Antoinette Marie Giry" she gabbled, hoping she was here.

"Oh yes, she still in there for questioning" he said, pointing down the corridor. She instantly began to walk down there and he followed her, shouting that it was off limits. She came to the door and pounded on it, screaming to be allowed in.

The chief of police opened the door and sighed.

"Your mother had just fallen asleep-we were letting her sleep for an hour before we continued questioning. You just woke her up," he hissed, recognising Meg's angelic face and golden blonde hair. She looked frazzled and worried, with streaks of black makeup smudged all over her face.

"Let me see her!" she said tensely, now embarrassed from waking her mother.

"No I'm sorry but that's not allo-" but he was cut off as she pushed the door and him out of the way and ran to her mother. "Are you okay Maman?"

"Meg, I am fine, I haven't told them anything. Listen" she said and lowered her voice to a whisper as the chief of police and the desk clerk argued about him letting Meg in

"you must find Christine and Erik, if they are found by the police he shall be hanged. You know he shouldn't be, but you must find them before they do. Please Meg, find Christine and save Erik, you're their only hope now"

"Yes Maman" Meg said quickly as the police officers resolved their argument; the chief had won and they heard the clerk muttering curses under his breath as he walked off.

"What are you two whispering about?" he said suspiciously.

"Oh, just instructions for my daughter while she is living alone, you have taken her carer from her you understand?" Anne replied icily.

"She's sixteen-should be getting married now anyway out" he said to Meg and she kissed her mother on the cheek and ran from the room.

As she left the station she heard the clerk call out to her.

"Thanks lady, you just got me 20 off my salary this week for not being able to control unstable customers" he said sarcastically and she turned to look at him. He was young, twenty-two maybe, Meg thought.

"Well, maybe you should learn how to control unstable customers then? If it's losing you money. Aux revoirs" she said and went to walk out the door.

"Wait! That was your mother in there?" he asked and she nodded "so she's a ballet mistress at the opera house-are you a dancer?"

"Oui monsieur, but I have to go," she said nervously, remembering the opera house as she last saw it-in flames with injured and frantic people everywhere. She shuddered at the memory.

"No wait, I love seeing the operas there-I think I recognise you-were you in Il Muto?" he asked, now interested in the girl standing before him, frazzled and worried.

"Oui monsieur, I was the chambermaid, now if you excuse me" she said, trying to leave politely, she did not have time to discuss operas with office clerks.

"No, I remember you, you were good, even though I did not like that particular opera-operas are supposed to be exciting and dazzling, not trivial and full of crap like that one," he said, looking at the pretty girl. She was gorgeous and she was so young, blonde hair and blue eyes she looked like an angel. "Tell me did it hurt?"

"Excuse me monsieur!" she said, unsure of his meaning.

"When you fell…"

"Fell?"

"From heaven?" he said, smiling at her. She blushed and looked down, mumbling something. She realised what she was doing.

"I'm sorry monsieur" she began

"Maric" he cut her off "Maric Lautrec"

"I'm sorry Monsieur Lautrec but I must go, it is urgent," she pleaded. He got up and began to walk towards her.

"And you are?" he asked.

"Meg Giry" she said nervously as he neared her.

"Okay then, I'll see you around" he said, shaking her hand.

She began to say something but the Chief of police walked in shouting.

"Honestly son, how could you not hold off such a small girl-she only looked fourteen? What the hell's wrong with you boy, letting people into questioning?" he stopped, looking at Maric, his hand still holding Megs.

She looked from Maric to the Chief and realised, that smooth pale skin and that same chocolate brown hair, with those dark blue eyes-he was the son of the Chief of police.

"Miss, I think you can go now," he ordered and Meg walked out the door, softly bidding Maric goodbye. She heard his father yell at him as she walked from the building.

"Honestly son-chatting up women in office hours-why must you be so bad at this?" he yelled.

"Pa, you know I don't want to do this…" he said tiredly.

"Oh yes, you want to paint! That's right-you're an artist!" the father shouted, a mocking tone entering his voice.

"THAT'S RIGHT!" Maric yelled in anger and Meg heard the door slam behind her. Maric walked up to her along the pathway.

"He's insane my father, thinks I am just like him cause I look like him, idiot" he said bluntly.

"You want to paint?" she said, looking at him with that angelic innocence.

"Yes" he said.

She walked along and mounted her horse again; he turned and looked up at her, high on her beautiful grey horse. He held out his hand.

"I hope to see you again, Meg Giry," he said and she shook his hand

"Me too Maric Lautrec" she replied then let go of his hand and galloped off, along the roads, the carriages and other people stopping and dodging out of her way as she rushed through and out of his sight.

He shook his head; what was he thinking? Daughter of an accessory in murder? He mounted his own horse and trotted off into the streets, unsure of where to go.