A/N: Don't own anything! Really!

Once again, thank you thank you thank you everyone for my reviews! I'm always so excited to check my email and see that I have reviews to read! For those of you who have commented that Magdalene is a bit childish, well that's because she is. In many ways, Christine was too. She will go through a period of maturation, perhaps aided by a new ally! ;-) She will, of course, maintain her inherent quirkiness.
Hope you all enjoy Chapter 7!


Vanished. He had completely vanished. Magdalene had not even felt a current of air to denote his movement. It was as if he had simply melted into shadow. She looked up and down the corridor. George was gone too. After a moment's hesitance she realized that she must also flee or the consequences would be severe. Before she was able to sprint she felt rough hands close around her shoulders.

She was spun around and slammed roughly into the stone wall. Her head struck the unyielding surface and she briefly saw white stars. As her vision cleared, the unpleasant sight of Bouquet's face inches from her own swam into focus. He had her pinned to the wall, a thick arm held tightly across her throat.

"Where is that rodent! I want him now!" Bouquet growled. His breath smelled of stale wine and Magdalene suppressed a gag.

"Monsieur Bouquet, I do not know what you are talking about!" she stammered. Bouquet's arm pressed tighter against her throat and she felt her air supply diminish. Her hands clawed at his arm but she was no match for the laborer's brute strength.

"Don't lie to me you little tart! I saw you!" he spat, "You stole that cat away and hid him from me."

"Please, monsieur! We are not allowed animals in the opera house. Why would I risk my position here by doing something like that?" Magdalene's voice was hoarse as she was only allowed shallow gasping breaths now.

Bouquet's eyes narrowed and he showed a line of yellow teeth. "I'm not sure why you would risk your position here. I would think that you would have a lot to lose."

Her heart stopped. What did he mean by 'a lot to lose'? Was it possible that he knew her secret? She shuddered at the thought of being turned out on the streets again. The City of Light was much darker than most people saw on the surface. She would not last long alone and unprotected.

She stopped struggling and her hands fell limp to her sides. Bouquet loosened his hold on her but did not let go.

"Oh yes, girlie. Old Joseph is not as stupid as you may think. I see many things that go on in this opera. No one's secrets are safe here. The very walls have eyes."

Magdalene visibly paled. She swallowed hard against the lump that had risen in her throat and tasted copper. She had always been so careful, so clandestine in her movements in and out of the opera. Only on the rainy night that she had rescued the kitten had she thrown caution to the wind and swept through the halls to her dressing room without paying heed to anything or anyone around her. It had been so late that night and the weather so foul that she was sure everyone had departed already. She had been sure until now.

It couldn't be. He must be bluffing. Hell, he was drunk right now, how could she trust what he was saying? Magdalene attempted to collect herself but Bouquet's far too immediate presence was keeping her from thinking clearly. Panic was clouding her thoughts.

"Perhaps you can persuade me to keep my silence," Bouquet shifted his hold on her, holding one hand to her throat while the other began to twirl a lock of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. He licked his lips and gave her a knowing smile.

Oh. Hell. No.

She felt a bead of cold sweat trickle down her temple. She couldn't think straight. She'd had this problem since childhood. Whenever she was extremely anxious or frightened she would lose the capacity to function at all. Her mother had told her that when faced with such a situation, to find on thing, one idea, and focus every thought on it. During her first performance at the Opera Populaire, when she stood in the wings with Meg and the others, hands sweating and mouth dry, she envisioned her mother's face. Noelle LaFreniere was the picture of beauty and serenity. Magdalene saw her quite clearly in her mind's eye as she had danced, smiling with encouragement. As the routine concluded, her mother's eye's shown with pride before the image dissolved. It was at that moment that she knew she had made the right decision joining the opera; not only because it would have made her mother proud, but because Magdalene felt a little bit of Noelle lived on in her art. The very spirit of the theatre itself would have captivated her mother. And she was not about to lose that.

She felt Bouquet's finger leave the lock of hair and travel along her jaw.

"Monsieur, you will maintain your distance." Her voice was piteously weak. Focus, her mind raced with images to center on but nothing was working.

"Eh? What's that, missy?" Bouquet's finger left her jaw and trailed down her neck moving lower.

With more force now and through gritted teeth, "You will remove your hand, step away and act like a gentleman!"

A gentleman. The racing images in Magdalene's head stopped abruptly. The masked man. The man named Erik.

"Perhaps I don't feel much like a gentleman tonight." Bouquet had made no movement to follow her commands.

"That doesn't surprise me. Monsieur Bouquet, however you will do as I command or I shall be forced to call for assistance."

Bouquet's greasy laugh rung through the vacant corridor. "Assistance! Who would assist the likes of you! There ain't nobody near 'nuff to hear you anyway."

"Ah but there is, monsieur." All timidity was gone from her countenance. Magdalene was no longer the cornered animal but the hunter. She spread a predatory grin. "I do believe you are acquainted with him as well. Surely you know of the Opera Ghost?"

Bouquet's mirth vanished in an instant. "You're talkin' crap," but his voice held a quake of insecurity.

"We're quite close actually, first name basis," Magdalene inspected the fingernails on her right hand in a nonchalant way, "and I know for a fact that he is nearby at this very moment."

Bouquet was now the one that seemed nervous. His head turned in all directions as if he expected the Phantom to materialize out of thin air before him. Magdalene continued to grin and dropped her hand to her side once again. "You tell me how you know that, girlie!"

"Why I thought you would be familiar with the signs."

"What signs! Spill it!" The hand at her throat tightened slightly.

"There are three signs that prelude the Opera Ghost. First, there is a chill in the air. Do you feel it?" There were no boiler vents in the corridors, only in the rooms, and the near November air had cooled the empty hall. "Then there is a still silence." The orchestra in the main hall had concluded a song and had yet to begin another. The echoed silence was opportune.

"It is awfully quiet…and cold…" Bouquet's voice trailed off. It was his turn to sweat.

"Finally there is the third sign." Magdalene found herself enjoying this a bit too much. "The silence gives way to a distant roll of thunder."

"I don't hear thunder." Bouquet's hand did not loosen at her throat.

"Are you sure? Listen hard." His face bunched up as he concentrated on listening.

"I think… I think I hear something."

"As do I."

CRASH!

Magdalene had brought the two cymbals together with surprising strength on either side of his head. The clamor was loud enough to hurt her own ears and she could only imagine the sound that had just reverberated through Bouquet's skull. He had dropped his hold on her and staggered backwards clutching his ears. His boot caught the edge of the floor runner and he fell with a thump to the floor.

Upon release, Magdalene had slid down the wall to her knees. Her hands smarted from the cymbals' wooden handles and she wrung them together, as she stood. She surveyed the scene and realized that she must look decidedly evil, standing there wringing her hands over the supine form of a man she had just knocked out. The very picture of evil with a furry monkey tail. She had the sudden impulse to laugh maniacally just to complete the image.

The laugh died in her throat when she realized that someone else was already laughing. It had been so quiet at first, she had barely noticed it. She glanced down at Bouquet, but he was still quite unconscious. The deep laugh grew until it was rumbling off the walls, echoing down the corridor. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Magdalene heard it next her, above her, behind her. She even felt it ring through her.

Bouquet moaned and began to stir once again. Magdalene wasted no more time and fled down the hall toward her dressing room, pursued the entire way by the insidious laugh.