Raoul stood at the foot of Christine's front steps and watched her go inside. He stood there in silence beneath the clouds and didn't notice when the rain began to pour more heavily. His hand drifted idly to his lips. He sighed happily. Pulling his hat back onto his head, he finally departed when the light in her entrance hall was switched off. When she was out of his sight, his mind drifted back to her employer.

He had gone into the Navy just in time to miss the Great War, and had returned from active duty only the year before. He was not afraid to square up with a no-good lawbreaker should he have to—of course, he ignored that by patronizing the establishment at all, he was descending into much the same debauchery.

He resolved to return to the establishment and speak with this employer—or, as Philippe may be wont to say, have words with him. He would defend Christine against this person, who, for one thing, clearly had no taste if he would so easily be rid of one of the finest singers Raoul had ever heard, and for another, was clearly a heartless wretch entirely incapable of pity if he could turn a penniless, charming young lady out on the streets without a second thought. He would let this man know that nobody would disrespect her while he was around to protect her. A nervous thrill went through him as he went to the front door of No. 5. He'd never been in a personal fight. And certainly not over a woman.

Perhaps a drink to calm his nerves.

The doorman that seemed eternally present—wasn't his name Gabriel, or something similar?—gave Raoul a long up-and-down look as he came to the front door, and nodded.

"You been with Miss Daaé tonight, sir?"

Raoul raised his eyebrows and adjusted his coat. The doorman took a step towards him. "Ah, yes, I accompanied her home."

The doorman crossed his arms—although he was in polite company, he was without a coat, his dirty white shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing sinewy, strong forearms. "You know, I don't take very kindly to fellas with funny business on their minds."

Raoul raised his eyebrows further. "Well, sir, I—"

"You ever hear about the last guy to mess around with Sorelli before your brother?" The doorman's voice was now a hiss; he was no more than two feet from Raoul, his head tilted condescendingly as he eyed him like a predator sizing up its prey.

Raoul shook his head, more than a little confused. The doorman smiled—a smirk of satisfaction and the promise of brutality. "Neither did anybody else."

And with a grin, the doorman stepped aside, casually admitting Raoul into the establishment without another word.

He supposed that the man hadn't heard about Christine's termination. What reason had he beyond that to care about what happened to her? None of the creatures in this business actually had any morals.

Raoul ordered a neat bourbon. Drinking was intimidating. It wasn't to be done without Philippe present—of the few rules his older brother enforced, this was one adhered to carefully. Until now.

The idea of breaking his brother's rule combined with the thrill of fighting for Christine, of doing something not because he wanted to but because he wished to please her, gave him a heady sense of pleasure. This was dampened, only slightly, when Sorelli sidled up next to him and sat at the bar, still fully clothed in her costume.

"Hey there, kiddo," she said a little tiredly, face still pink from exertion. She was removing pins from her hair and freeing, as she did so, feathers and sequins. She let them fall to the floor. Raoul swallowed down his drink, coughed, spluttered, and gave her a watery smile.

"Hello," he replied, a little woodenly. Sorelli clapped him heartily on the back—whether it was an affectionate greeting or to stop him from choking, Raoul wasn't entirely sure. "Where's my brother?"

"Headed home," she said, and Raoul did not miss the look of mild regret that crossed her face like a cloud hiding the sun. "Had a headache, poor guy. How 'bout you? Where've you been? An' why're you back here?"

Raoul frowned, and gestured to the bartender for another drink. Sorelli ordered something elegant and cold with rum and chunks of ice. When his drink had been refilled, Raoul swirled it about in its tumbler pensively. "I think I'm here to see the boss."

The dancer raised both eyebrows. "Now what on earth could make you wanna go and do something like that?"

The bartender slid Sorelli's drink across the oak bar, and it was received with an impressed smile and a wink.

"Christine," Raoul said, not without a little reverence. Sorelli chuckled to herself and downed a decent gulp of her drink.

"You'd think she'd go see him herself," she said. "They're good friends, ain't they?"

He took a reserved sip. "No! Good heavens. No." He found the thought leaving a bitter taste in his mouth stronger than that he was getting from his drink. "He dismissed her. Just this evening." How anybody could even apply the term 'friend' theoretically to such a crook was utterly beyond him.

She looked extremely unimpressed; swallowed down all of her drink at once. She gave only the slightest wince. "Why'd he do that?"

"She—" Now, Raoul was blushing, remembering the few precious hours he'd spent with Christine in the preceding weeks, remembering the way her arms had felt around his neck as she had let him kiss her.

Sorelli had the audacity to laugh.

"I didn't think you had that in you, kiddo!" she said unreservedly. Heads turned towards them. A couple in the corner that Raoul vaguely recognised as associates of his brother's whispered to one another, their eyes judgmentally fixed on him.

Face reddening furiously, Raoul laid his hand on Sorelli's wrist. "I- I don't! That—I mean, that is not, of course, to say that I wouldn't like to, I mean I find her—no! No—that's not—no. No. I mean—no. No."

"Sheesh," laughed Sorelli, running a hand through her massive hair and withdrawing a few hairpins as she did. She had graceful hands, Raoul thought. One night Philippe had drunkenly waxed poetic about her hands. Raoul had never reminded Philippe of that incident, and assumed quietly that he didn't remember.

"Sheesh," Raoul echoed quietly, finishing his drink.

x

"Help me, will you,"

The two men stood over the motionless body—it was not yet a corpse—and the taller shook his head, taking off his hat and running a hand through greying hair. "He's not this reckless. This is not him."

"Boo-hoo," said the shorter man, attempting again to lift the form at least into a sitting position. "I said help me."

The taller man rolled his green eyes and stooped; the two of them managed to support the motionless figure with not a little effort. There was blood on the waxy forehead and in the greased black hair.

"Christ," murmured the shorter man, his arm around the unconscious figure's waist. "Who'd he annoy?"

The taller man sighed. "Someone he shouldn't have. I do wonder... He dismissed the blonde doll tonight…"

"So…"

The green eyes drifted about languidly, searching with only mild interest for witnesses. When he saw nothing, the two managed to get the unconscious man to their automobile at the end of the alleyway. They leaned him against the door in the back seat, and the taller man slipped in beside him. The shorter went to the front seat and started the engine with a seasoned ease.

"So," said the man in the back seat, continuing, "You know how careful he is. Something's wrong."

The driver muttered something moodily, dark eyebrows knitting.

"Beg your pardon?" asked the passenger, a smile crossing his weathered face.

"Nothin', sir," said the driver, eyes on the road. "Nothin' at all."

x

Philippe heard the front door slam and raised his eyebrows, casually rising from his armchair in the parlour and moving to the entrance hall, where his kid brother was pacing in agitation. He made every effort not to give a slight smile, pursing his lips around his pipe.

"Girl trouble?"

To Philippe's surprise, Raoul turned to face him with a look of savage frustration. There had been no opportunity to confront Christine's former employer; when he tried to go to the man's office a lackey had informed him rather brusquely that the gentleman had already left for the evening. "That—that jerk!—Do you know—all she did—"

Raoul stopped at seeing the amused look on his older brother's face.

"—What?"

Philippe arched an eyebrow, exhaling. "Girl trouble," he confirmed to himself with something that wasn't quite a smirk. "Look, kid, sometimes there's another fellow, and all you have to do is—"

"Ha! Another fellow!"

The line of Philippe's mouth tightened ever so slightly under his moustache. "Raoul?"

"No." Raoul said, shaking his head. "No, her boss—do you know—all she did was—she just wanted to see me, and her boss—what's the man's name?—dismissed her. The dirty crook dismissed her for seeing me! And now she has no job, and she has bills to pay! The indignity of it!"

Philippe picked a piece of lint from his left sleeve. "This is what happens when you encroach on another man's territory."

Raoul's ears turned a bright, livid shade of pink.

His brother raised an eyebrow, and paused for a moment. "You're really interested in this gal, aren't you?"

Now, his ears were red. He nodded like he had when he was a child and was caught in a lie.

"Mm. I'll see what I can do. She needs her job back?"

"No! Philippe, no!" Sometimes, he swore his little brother had stepped out of some romantic melodrama. "No, she can't go back. This boss of hers—he's… why, he's no good. I don't want her to go back there. I—when I was… She doesn't deserve it. Not—no."

Philippe grinned indulgently, shaking his head. "Alright, kid. Alright. I'll see."

Raoul nodded, lips pursing, and moved upstairs, muttering quietly to himself.

Philippe rubbed his temples, took another drag from his pipe, and moved back to his drawing-room. He picked up his telephone receiver and paused for a moment, staring, before having his call connected. He wasn't quite sure about Christine, but then, he had certainly been fervent the first few times he'd been interested in a girl. Raoul would move along soon enough, he was sure, and if he was a dramatic little so-and-so in the meantime, well…

"Joseph Buquet, esquire, gourmand, and lounge lizard, who is this?"

Philippe smiled. "Don't give me that, Joe."

"Ahh, Phil!" Philippe's smile turned to a cringe. "How ya doin'? Lookin' for a reservation for you and your lady friend?"

He cleared his throat. "Not this time, Joe, no. Although I will have to ask her if—" A pause. "That isn't the point right at the moment. Do you remember that little blonde girl from No. 5? The singer?"

He heard Joe exhale. "The one with the eyes and the legs?"

"Ah, yes, that'd be the one."

"Oh, ho, finally moving onto a younger lady, are we?"

"Joe-" Philippe found himself cradling his face in his hand. He took up his pipe again. "No. I was wondering if you were interested in giving her some employment. She is extraordinarily talented, as you know, and it would do your business good to have someone like her."

"Isn't she working for—y'know, him? I've heard he hates getting his girls poached… there was that one real Oliver Twist, what was her name? Cecilia something? Biggest hair, biggest smile, biggest—"

"That won't be an issue, Joe," said Philippe, composed as ever. He paused to take another puff from his pipe. "You've got that piano just sitting there, and… well, it's a bit of a waste, ain't it? She'd bring in some more customers, that's for sure."

"I tell you what… bring the girl in, we'll have a talk, I'll see."

Philippe smiled with satisfaction. "Raoul will accompany her."

Joe made a sound of comprehension on the other end of the line. "Gotcha. Tell the kids to come in Tuesday, an' I'll see."

"Hm."

"God, you think you're hard-boiled, don'tcha?"

"Thank you, Joe."

"Eh? Yeah, it's nothin'. Hmph."

"They'll be in contact soon."

Joe harrumphed again as Philippe placed the telephone back in its cradle. He sighed, shook his head for his little brother, and sat back in his armchair, taking a long draw from his pipe.

x

Christine had slept long and well for two nights in a row, and both mornings when she woke the apprehension she should have felt didn't come. She smiled, pushed her hair back from her face, and wrapped her arms around herself. Unemployment was survivable with a boy like that in her life. Still she felt the warmth of him as if he were there with her.

What on earth are you thinking?, she asked herself, blushing, as she rose from bed and set about making her coffee. Since her Bible had mysteriously changed position, she had kept it in the kitchen overnight, and was reassured and confused when there were no further disturbances. She was still reading her passages, but she was too ashamed to go to Church—had been for a long time. People knew, somehow, where she had worked, and did not look at her in the same way. Perhaps, now, she could return. If, of course, she could stop having sinful thoughts about men who patronised speakeasies.

As the thought crossed her mind, she was frowning self-deprecatingly at the floor. A blush crossed her face—again. This wasn't like her.

She poured her coffee into the pewter mug that she kept by her stove. She'd never had it with milk or with sugar; the stuff she drank was bitter, but it gave something like an electric shock and woke her up until late in the evening. Sometimes she wished she had the money for sugar. But… well, she'd be struggling to pay for bread now. She had some money put away in the bank, and she could pay rent on that for a few weeks while she looked for something. Meg's mother ran a dance studio, and Christine played a little piano—perhaps she could find somewhere to practice and at least help the little girls to warm up. Perhaps she could get something for that. Beyond, however… well, she certainly didn't want to take a man, but if she couldn't find a good situation soon, she may have very little choice. A few from No. 5 were paternal, kind, older gentlemen… her stomach filled with apprehension and she banished the thought away as quickly as she could.

When she had finished her coffee and dressed, Christine sat in her living room, styling her hair, when there was a knock at the door. Embarrassed, she tugged her hair over one shoulder and opened the dead-bolt before turning the knob.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is this a bad time?"

He looked devastatingly put-together. She closed her eyes and sighed at herself. "Hi! Oh, no, not at all! What brings you here?"

Raoul smiled.

"I… well, I thought I might…" he screwed his eyes shut as if remembering something he'd memorised. "I thought I might take you to lunch if you weren't busy and it weren't any trouble."

Christine smiled back. "That sounds nice. But it's… it's only, what, ten am?"

His face lit with embarrassment. "Oh! Yes, excuse me, if you need more time, that's no issue whatsoever, please don't rush, but lunch wasn't going to be until later—you see, I thought perhaps—if you wanted—we could perhaps, you know…"

She was laughing at him.

He flushed red.

"Take a breath, Raoul."

He did. "What I meant to say was…" Again, he screwed his eyes shut for a moment. "You can take your time, but we can go later, and before lunch there's somewhere else I'd like us to go."

"Sounds swell," Christine said, sincerely. "Will you give me a few moments? I hope what I'm wearing is alright."

"It's perfect."

She shook her head. "Would you like to come in? I have some coffee. I hope you don't take sugar…"

"No, no, that's quite alright. You just get ready."

Christine grinned and stepped aside to let him in. He stood awkwardly in the living room, and she escaped into her bathroom to do her hair. She saw the smile on her own face in the mirror and averted her eyes with embarrassment. Silly girl.

When she emerged, Raoul was apparently using the front window to fuss with the front of his shirt. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed with concentration.

"I'm ready," she said quietly. He turned, shocked, to face her, clasping his hands together behind his back.

"Excellent!" he chirped, before quickly amending, his voice closer to normal: "Ah… good."

"So, where are we headed?"

A look of amusement passed over his face, and he placed his hat carefully back on his head. "I hope you're in good voice today."

"Every day, naturally," she replied haughtily with a grin. He laughed, and when they were outside, offered her his arm. She locked the door securely and accepted it.

They walked in step down the street together, and this time, there was no figure in the shadows to watch them.

x