"You...are...not...emoting!"

He stormed around the room shooting glances at her with an intensity that bordered on fury. "This is the apex of the aria, Christine. The love. The longing. The intense passion for your lover. It should all be in your voice, convincing everyone of your feelings. And what do you give me? A school girl's whimperings!"

She was breathing hard and fast, nearing a rage to match his own. On this icy, late February evening, it had been the fourth time he stopped her only to demand she start over. He began by accompanying her on the piano, then surged to his feet and began pacing around the room. Hands behind his back, he stared hard at her as she stood near the grand. And it made her nervous, which wasn't having a good affect on her voice.

He was a taskmaster of the worst sort, and there were days she wanted to plead illness, just so she didn't have to face his hair-trigger temper. He even expected her to show up for lessons on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Nadir fortunately had sided with her, and those two days were absolutely blissful, not only because she didn't have to see her teacher's thin unrelenting form, but she also had a visit from Raoul Christmas night.

They sat together in the parlor, side by side on the sofa, and she was thrilled when he presented her with a small box of chocolates. They gazed on the Christmas tree with all of its handmade ornaments and paper-chain garland, the little white candles a golden glow on the blue-green branches. Tucked behind a chair out of sight was a large bucket of water, just in case the pretty glowing candles caught their lovely spruce tree on fire.

"Would you care to go skating with me tomorrow? The pond is solid ice and the weather looks to stay real cold. Say you will, Christine," Raoul said in the most charming way he knew.

She held her box of candy on her lap and nodded happily. "I would love to. I need to get out of this house for a while. Can Meg come too? She's been moping around here for the past week."

He gave in gracefully about the Giry girl tagging along. Meg really wasn't such a bad sort. "Well, I guess so, if you think she would like to go with us."

Meg was thrilled to be invited along and wore her favorite wool suit, a deep blue with black ruching on the jacket and a wide flounce at the bottom of the skirt. She was hoping for something like this to happen since last month, and all her fevered wishing had miraculously come true. She was looking forward to a few hours with Raoul...

...and Christine, of course.

They went ice skating on Miller's Pond and had a wonderful time, the frosty air putting roses in their cheeks, and for the two girls, more happiness than they'd had in days. The three of them linked arms and glided over the ice laughing at anything and everything, until a couple of boys during some horseplay, barreled into them. They went down together in a flurry of skirts and red flannel petticoats. Christine and Meg laughed hysterically when Raoul jumped up with balled fists ready to do battle with boys no older than ten. He grinned sheepishly, and gallantly helped the two ladies to their feet. An enterprising youngster had set up a small brazier near the pond selling roasted chestnuts, and Raoul bought a bag for them to share. They had so much fun...

...and that is why she forgot the time and was a half hour late for her lesson.

They made the long trek home from the pond, their breath a white cloud in the chill night air, their talk animated and lively. The two girls had Raoul sandwiched between them, and he felt a little overwhelmed as he struggled to keep up with their steady chatter. Just before they turned down Broad Street, Meg gathered her courage and invited Raoul home with them for hot chocolate. He accepted rather quickly with one eye on Christine. She nodded. She had been about to ask him the very same thing, when with a horrified squeak, she remembered her voice lesson.

She hurried to the streetlight and looked at the watch pinned to the jacket of her suit. Nearly seven thirty! Blast and double blast!" she cursed, as her buoyant mood from the day evaporated and fear rose in its place.

"I have to go. I'm late," she said rapidly, in a light and breathless voice.

Raoul put his hand out to stop her. "Late for what, Christine? What are you talking about?"

"Not now. I must go! Good night, Raoul and thank you!" she threw over her shoulder as she flew up the street, leaving a confused Raoul and a happy Meg to follow slowly behind, not stopping until she arrived at Archer House.

She ditched her skates beside the kitchen door, hitched up her skirts, and raced up the stairs to the tower room with a hasty stop on the landing to catch her breath, her stays digging into her sides painfully. It was her habit now to touch the serene lady in her niche for luck before going to her lesson. Tonight she would need more than just luck. She would need a miracle. Her maestro would no doubt be appraising her with his disturbing eyes when she arrived, so patting the lady on the head in her usual manner, she sped to the tower and arrived out of breath and with dread in her heart. She was late and he would be livid.

He was.

She entered the room shaking in her boots, to find him seated at the piano, scribbling on a composition sheet and sounding it out on the keyboard. His stillness and concentration on his work meant nothing. She could tell just by looking at his rigid back and his refusal to turn around, that he was in a fury.

Nadir had stopped sitting in on their lessons, satisfied that as long as he was present somewhere in the house, he was still fulfilling his obligation to Christine and needn't actually be in the room. And watching the two of them together as teacher and student had been painfully dull.

She stood there twisting her hands, her fair cheeks red as apples from the cold winter night. "Erik, I'm sorry. Really, I am. I was skating and...and I forgot the time. It... won't happen again..." Her words dwindled off as she waited nervously for some kind of reaction from him.

He neither spoke or turned around for what felt like a lifetime to her, but could not have been much more than two or three minutes. She was mortified.

Stay or go?

And remained firmly rooted to the floor, shifting from one foot to the other. Maybe if she was very quiet, she could back slowly to the door without him hearing her. Yes, she thought with a curl of her lip- and pigs will fly. He would most definitely hear her; his senses were uncanny. Her thoughts returned to her very first visit here, and she wondered briefly why she had ever been stupid enough to come back.

She had finally worked up enough courage to leave, when he cleared his throat, put down his pen and stood up. He approached her, deliberately taking his time, all the while assessing her as she stood in the middle of the room. He reminded her of a big, rangy tomcat stalking a tiny, yellow canary. If her maestro had a tail, it would be lashing back and forth at this very moment. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop the nervous giggle seeking to escape her mouth. Levity at this moment in front of this man, would not be a very good idea. No, not at all. As so often with him, she wanted only to turn around and flee.

"This is the dedication to your instrument? As soon as it becomes inconvenient, you push it aside for something more exciting?" He said the words calmly, but his anger was clearly palpable.

Christine tried to defend herself, but she knew he was right. She'd been having a nice time and her lesson had seemed far away. He had seemed far away.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir," the sir coming automatically, very conscious of his mood.

"Yes, I daresay you are. But thirty minutes of my time has been wasted, waiting for you. Was it the boy again?" he sneered.

"Um...well yes, but Meg also. W-We went ice skating on M-Miller's Pond. We g-go there every year..."

He clasped his hands behind his back as he always did, and observed her from his great height. "What you did before these lessons commenced is of no concern to me," his voice cutting with a sarcasm that made her feel small and insignificant. She resented him greatly for it.

He leveled a hard look at his student. "However, what you do now, does. You must discipline yourself better than you have been doing, or you shall never reach the pinnacle of your talent. You must prove to me that this is what you will work hard to accomplish. I find that I do not want to spend more of my time on a child who can not embrace her future. If merely living in the present and having fun is all you wish for yourself, then have at it- be on your way and don't let me stop you."

His words were harsh and biting, and she felt the tears threatening, just as they always did around her teacher. She became nothing more than a watering pot. He said the word fun as if it were something degrading and shameful.

Christine felt the happiness of the day disappearing just like the pond ice would, come spring. "I do want to learn," she mumbled, thoroughly subdued.

He cupped a hand around one ear and leaned toward her. "I'm sorry? I did not quite catch that. What have I explained to you about projection?"

He was toying with her in that deceptively mild tone he used... just before he unleashed a stinging rebuke.

She straightened her drooping shoulders and repeated herself. Louder this time. "I do want to learn...E-Erik."

"Then I suggest you get your priorities straight. And until you do, these lessons are concluded. See yourself out."

He walked over to the piano and went back to what he was doing before she slunk in. He was deliberately ignoring her again, but Christine could tell from the jut of his bony chin, that one more word from her and he would release that pent-up rage. Hot tears filled her eyes, a mixture of bitterness and anger, and she had gone home that night hating him with all of her might.

And returned the next evening for her lesson.

She promised herself that she would make music her priority and never be late again. But she would not choose between it and Raoul. Her maestro said nothing the following night when she arrived for her lesson five minutes early, and he went through that hour as if he never issued her an ultimatum.

But that didn't mean he had forgotten.

Winter had moved along, mostly filled with snowy days and nights, and the occasional brief warm-up, then a plunge in temperature once again, but all the while her teacher gradually shaped her voice into what he had always known it could be. Christine was pleased with the progress in her singing and couldn't fathom stopping now.

But although Erik knew his business when it came to music, he was not a patient man...

She realized when she walked in the tower room that late February evening and saw his vest, she was in trouble. Over the months, she noticed something very curious about her teacher. His moods were tied to the choice of a waistcoat for that particular day. She watched him over time, fascinated by her discovery, knowing it was bizarre, but also that it was true. A green or dark gold waistcoat meant a quieter almost thoughtful Erik; a deep red vest was a warning- he was going to be irritable on those days. But the unrelieved black waistcoat, minus even embroidery was the worst. Then he was moody, sarcastic and quick to anger.

And that's what he was wearing on this particular night.

He finally sat down, and once more started playing. He pointed a long finger at her. "Again."

And for the fifth time, she began the aria, confident that she could become the part, and truly feel the passion and longing her teacher wanted from her, but as hard as she tried, her heart wasn't in it. She reached desperately for the notes, needing very much to please him, but with a crash of chords, he abruptly stood up, knocking the heavy bench over with a jarring crash, making her jump in fear.

"ENOUGH!" he bellowed at her. "You are wasting my time, girl! Why? You're not even trying tonight!"

Her anger had dissipated as his grew. She couldn't take it anymore and she started to cry. He always brought out the worst in her, and she reverted to child-like behavior in the face of his wrath.

"I am trying, Erik! Maybe if you didn't p-push me so hard..." She sneaked a peek at him, then looked at the floor. His eyes held an angry gleam in them. He still had the ability to make her extremely nervous.

Nadir appeared at the door, huffing and puffing, clearly out of breath from his hasty sprint up to the tower. "Allah have mercy! What is going on in here, Erik? Are you moving that piano clear across the room?"

The masked man snorted at that. "Hardly. I was merely getting Christine's attention." He looked at his student, eyes gleaming with ill humor. "It was wandering again," he said dryly.

The Persian looked from his friend to the little Daae, who had obviously been crying. "Well, perhaps you can find a quieter way of accomplishing that," he responded, looking peevishly at his friend. Then he glanced at Christine. "Are you all right, child?"

She sneaked another quick look at her teacher, who looked calmly back at her, then nodded slowly. "Yes." She studied her shoes, feeling extremely embarrassed and wishing the floor would simply open and swallow her.

The Persian sighed and shook his head, giving them each another long look. "I will be down the hall if anyone needs me," and he looked pointedly at Christine.

Once he had gone, Erik replaced the bench and glanced at her. "Well? Can you try this again, or are your delicate nerves too fragile from Erik's attack on your sensibilities? He can be quite the ogre, can't he?"

He continued to look at her, and confused, she nodded her head. "Y-Yes...I mean...no." She felt an involuntary shiver. "Yes, I can continue."

And he began playing.

She was hopelessly tangled in the aria. The notes were strained and anything but precise. The emotion wasn't there either; she was flat, and she knew it stemmed from her nervousness and despondency.

Her teacher knew it too. He jerked his chin toward the chair by the window. "Sit."

She took a seat, wondering what he planned, when he started to play again. Her jaw dropped when she heard his voice in the very same aria she was trying to sing. It was in a different key, to be sure, but the beauty and strength of his dramatic tenor was astounding, and the passion she couldn't find in her singing was readily apparent in his. She sighed in pleasure, feeling a prickling behind her eyelids. His singing was just as impassioned as his playing- he was wonderful.

Erik turned and looked at her very briefly after he finished, then said between his teeth. "This lesson is over. Go home, Christine," and he turned his back on her.

His obvious contempt for her and her singing abilities after his beautiful rendition of the aria, was the last straw. She needed very badly to justify herself to him.

"Tidbit gave birth to one kitten, and sh-she won't feed him. I think he is going to...to die." She was horrified when she started to cry again, doing her now famous rendition of a watering pot.

Her teacher said nothing, and Christine grabbed her coat and started to leave. But before she made it out the door he stopped her.

"Wait."

She turned to him, wiping at her eyes with both hands, ashamed that her nose was running as well.

"I thought you ladies were supposed to have a handkerchief for times such as these," he said gruffly, handing her a meticulously folded one of his own. She mumbled her thanks and mopped up her tears, while he silently watched her, wincing when she noisily blew her nose. "Since a lesson seems beyond us, I suggest you show me this cat of yours," and motioned for her to precede him through the door. He grabbed his hat and cloak on the way out, and together they walked over to the Stone carriage house. Patches of ice were still abundant, which is why Christine more than once slipped. Erik gripped her by the elbow, and with his easy grace, steered her safely across his yard and into hers.

She held the lantern while he opened the door and they entered, to be greeted by Tidbit and the weak cries of a hungry and lonely kitten. Nellie shifted in her stall and snaked her head over the door, watching them curiously. Erik approached the straw where they could see the tiny black kitten, his head poked in the air, sightless and frail. He scooped up the kitten in one large hand and peered closely at it, before laying him gently back in the straw.

"Get the kitten's mother and put her down with him."

She did as he requested and put Tidbit in with her kitten. She immediately stalked off, and the baby's cries became more desperate, sensing his mother and nourishment.

Christine became agitated. "Do you see what I mean? She wants nothing to do with her baby! What's wrong with her?"

He gave a slight shake of his head, then picked up the kitten again. "It doesn't really matter much, does it? She is rejecting him, pure and simple. Not all mothers automatically love their offspring."

"So the kitten is going to die, isn't he?" she said sorrowfully, already mourning its death.

He glanced at her woebegone face, still blotchy from her more recent bout of tears, and one corner of his thin mouth lifted in a rare smile. "I never said that, now did I? He's going home with me where I can watch him. Let me try. Maybe I can keep him alive long enough for him to gain some strength, and for you to take an interest in your lessons again."

The words rushed out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Erik? You have a lovely voice. I...well I felt privileged hearing you tonight," she said shyly.

He sighed with impatience. "I wasn't entertaining you, Christine. I wanted to show you how the aria should sound. Use your own feelings, your...your longings, to give the music life. You can do it, but you must try."

She nodded and smiled weakly. "I do, but perhaps not hard enough. I'll do better. I promise, Maestro." She gestured at his hand which cradled the kitten. "At least I feel better about him."

He started to leave the carriage house then stopped. "I make no promises, you understand."

Christine felt a rare warmth toward her teacher, his actions now, so very different from his previous behavior. "Thank you for at least trying to save Phantom."

He paused again on the threshold and gave her a peculiar look. "And why would you give such a name to this ratty little mite?"

She felt defensive now at his tone. "It's for the bounty hunter. The one no one knows very much about. Surely you've heard of him? I admire the man. He's going after thieves and murderers others are afraid of, just to make our towns safer to live in. Why, he puts himself in terrible danger everyday!"

She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a challenging look.

Erik made a sound of disgust. "What utter claptrap! Bounty hunting means exactly that- collecting money for riff raff the law cannot seem to catch themselves. I daresay they would still be running around loose, if there wasn't a nice finder's fee involved.

"Now get yourself indoors before you catch a chill."

He turned and was swallowed by the darkness, and she reflected on how easy it was to lose that warm feeling she briefly felt for her teacher. Utter claptrap indeed! She closed the door and extinguished the lantern, setting it near the walk with the intention of returning it to him tomorrow. Then she went in the house, hoping he could work a miracle on the kitten. On Phantom.


All through the week she pestered him on the kitten's progress. Well, as much as someone like Erik could be pestered. Friday evening he agreed to show her the kitten.

They were practicing Barbarina's aria from Mozart's opera, and Erik was being his usual exacting self. "This aria is tailored for a soubrette. You are young, I'll admit, but you can do it. You have many times, but it is your consistency I worry about! You have the range for much greater roles- as a lyric coloratura if you focus, Christine. Once more!"

Afterward, he swiveled around on the bench and leaned forward, hands on his knees, regarding her thoughtfully. "I have it on good authority that The Marriage of Figaro will be the house's very first performance. Auditions will begin, I'm told, sometime in late March. Perhaps sooner."

He watched her face for a reaction, and was gratified to see the excitement shining from her wide blue eyes.

"And I want you to audition for a spot in the company," he said quietly. "Barbarina would be a good role for you."

"Oh! Do you think I'm ready, Erik? That would be wonderful though! Imagine! Me onstage. Aunt Edna will be thrilled!"

"You are more than ready for this part. It's small, and as you know you will only have to contend with the one aria, but you will shine in it, Christine. You must enjoy yourself first of all, and giving you too much to think about, will only overwhelm you. Your voice will suffer for it."

She gave her teacher a bright smile. "You're right. A larger role would overwhelm me. So that's why we've been focusing on this aria."

He turned back to the piano."Yes. You have all the time in the world to be the diva. For now, we get you comfortable with the stage, then after your voice matures you can take on the larger roles."

He began to play in F minor, and she started again, putting aside the exciting images of herself onstage in the St. Joseph Opera House. A diva- her?

And so it continued until during a lull, she finally had to ask, "You haven't said much about the kitten, Erik. Is he doing well?"

He looked up from the keys and stared at her, making her want to fidget. "If you haven't noticed, we are not finished here, Christine."

Her face fell, and he said with some exasperation, "Fine. I'll take you to him. Will that satisfy you?"

She gave him a huge smile. "Yes," and walked over to the chair to get her coat.

"Uh, uh, uh. Did I give you leave...to leave?" he said irritably.

She dropped the coat and turned around, staring daggers at his narrow back as he sat at the piano.

"Over here, if you please. We still have ten minutes of this lesson."

She sang through the aria once more, thinking she did a fairly decent job of it, but not expecting any praise. Erik never gave it.

He rose from the bench. "Your lesson is hereby concluded. Care to see Lucifer?"

Christine stopped dead in the doorway. "Lucifer?"

"Yes," he said quite firmly as he walked downstairs with her. "What other reward would I get for saving the little beast's life?"

Feeling braver around this more relaxed Erik, she cut her eyes up at him and smiled, "You simply hate the name Phantom, don't you? Admit it."

He gave her a scathing look. "Nothing of the kind. I do not begrudge you your schoolgirl delusions about this saddle tramp, but why make the cat suffer as well?"

"All right, all right. You may call him that. It's the least I can do to show you how grateful I am." Her tone became softer. "I do appreciate what you're doing, Erik."

He said nothing and led her through the house to a door in the hallway next to the kitchen. They went down a narrow wooden staircase and into a cavern-like room with stone walls and floors, lit by a pair of iron sconces. The drop in temperature was immediately felt, and she clutched her coat tighter. There were passages to the left and right of the space they were in, and Erik went to the right, leading her further under the house, the darkness held back by the flickering light of the wall lamps. She kept close to his tall form as they walked through the dimness. She felt sorry for Pha...Lucifer, down here all alone.

He finally stopped before a heavy oak door and opened it, ushering her inside to squawks, squeaks, an occasional chirp, and a flurry of loud honks which tended to drown out the other inhabitants of the room. There were cages set against the walls; some with furry bodies in them, others with feathers and... She wrinkled her nose. Reptiles. A large wooden table stood in the center of the room, with small metal instruments, round glass jars, and neatly piled white strips of cloth arrayed to one side. There were several sconces lit in the room and a large pendant light over the table. Erik watched her as she looked round the room, and he pointed to one corner where a wicker basket sat on a wooden crate.

"Come and see him, Christine. I think he is doing quite well. Rather like his namesake. Lucifer- God's fallen angel."

She approached the basket and looked inside, where the kitten was nestled in straw. "Oh, Erik! Why, he's so big!" With a huge grin on her face, she looked to him for permission, and at his nod, she picked up the kitten who looked drowsy and content, no longer starving. He was a different animal. In just five days, he had plumped up and looked much healthier.

"Actually, we are just in time for his feeding, and you may have the honor tonight." He moved away, readying the kitten's meal, while she held him, nuzzling her face into his soft fur. Christine glanced into the box and noticed a thick cloth wrapped around something. She reached her hand in and discovered a pocket watch inside the rag.

"What is the reason for the watch in his basket? Surely he can't tell the time yet?" She giggled. "He's too young to know how to do that!"

He looked over his shoulder at her. "The ticking calms him. It is a passable substitute for his mother's heart."

He came back carrying a bowl of warm milk he'd heated using the Bunsen burner sitting on the scarred table. In his other hand he held an eyedropper. He dipped the tip of the syringe into the milk until it was full, and handed it to Christine.

"Just put the tip near his mouth and gently squeeze the bulb. He will do the rest."

She did as he instructed, and the kitten's head wobbled as he eagerly swallowed the warm milk. Christine was charmed. "Oh, the little dear! Erik, you are so clever!"

"He was hesitant at first, but the poor blighter was really too hungry to hold out for his mother anymore. That fickle feline. This is goat's milk, and he seems to be doing very well on it. There, Christine- dip it in the milk again. It is simple really. The dropper has replaced his mother's teat, poor substitute that it is, but it gets the required job done. Notice how he still tries to suckle?"

He continued watching the kitten and missed Christine dropping her eyes, the cursed blush staining her cheeks.

She hastily changed the subject, and nodded at the watch chain draped across the front of his gold waistcoat. "Do you have a watch on the end of that chain, or have you lost it until he's out of the basket?" she asked him with a playful smile.

He pulled the chain out of the pocket, showing her the plain silver watch. "I am willing to help him, Christine, but it is hardly likely I would sacrifice my only timepiece to a cat!"

He returned the watch to his pocket and looked at her with what she would swear was a twinkle in his yellow eyes. "If you must know, it is that pesky old Persian's watch," he said mildly. "And if you tell him where it is, I shall deny everything and give you the kitten back to take care of yourself."

Her dimples were out in full force, and she giggled to think of poor Nadir searching in vain for his watch. "I promise to keep your secret, Maestro."

Her eyes were full of laughter as she cradled the kitten and looked up at him. His gaze never wavered from hers, but held steady until she looked away. Lucifer had finished his meal, and she put him back in the basket where he curled up next to Nadir's watch and went to sleep.

Christine stepped away from him and gestured at the cages, neatly filled with straw, bowls of food, and water. "Where do they all come from?"

He went around checking each cage and stopped near one with a young goose inside, its wing bandaged. "Here and there. Injured- some of them, but most are orphaned. I tend to have an affinity for orphaned things."

Christine moved over beside him. The goose honked loudly at her and flapped its good wing, obviously upset with her presence. Erik nodded at the goose, his mouth grimmer than usual. "This fellow is wearing out his welcome very quickly. He has a broken wing and will probably never fly again. I have given him exceptional care and feeding, but does the silly goose show any gratitude? None whatsoever! Just honking, day and night."

She laughed, thinking it funny that a goose could ever show gratitude. "Can't you just let him go? Maybe he needs to fend for himself."

"The wing needs time to heal. He is young yet, but a nice size. I am afraid he will end up as someone's next meal, but I tell you, child, once he hits that last nerve of mine, in the bag he goes, after which he will be adorning my dinner table!"

The goose as if sensing Erik's displeasure with him, set to honking again.

She grinned, wandering in front of a cage that held a dove with a bandaged foot. It cooed softly. "Were you, Maestro? I mean- an orphan?"

He put a bowl of clean water in a cage holding a rabbit. "Yes. One of the parentless- unloved and abandoned." He turned to her, masked face eerily blank, but his eyes held all the sorrow in the world before they hardened, appearing cynical and disillusioned once again.

"But trust me, Christine. There are worse things out there than growing up in an orphanage." He turned from the cages and gestured with one hand. "Shall we?"

He led her over to the door, and she looked into the room one last time. Many layers to her teacher. And she was only just beginning to peel them back.

One layer at a time.