Hi, sorry this one took so long to update, I've been so busy this week. I've just started year 10, and there's tonnes of homework!

Anyway, enjoy!

Chapter 10

Erik once again found himself standing in front of the old man who ran the music shop. The old man had been visiting the entrance to his lair, the alleyway, and Erik had had enough. He stepped out from the secret passage and stood in front of him.

"What do you want?" He asked, in an unfriendly tone. He wasn't very happy, he had been watching Antoinette for a while and found her being surrounded by suitors, most of which she turned away. Except one, and it was getting on his nerves. He didn't know why he felt like this, possessive. He told himself he just cared about her, and didn't want her hurt.

The old man looked slightly taken aback by his forwardness. He frowned at the boy, whose eyes were older than his face. He found himself wondering what had happened to him (and also why he seemed to be living in the underground under the opera house). He had heard of an opera ghost, from the musicians who entered his shop, and realised that was this child in front of him.

He truly didn't know the answer to Erik's question, as he stood in front of him, the half-mask shining in the half-light. Erik didn't bother covering it, it would probably freak him out a bit. He frowned at the boy,

"I'm here... because..."

"Yes?" Erik said, impatiently.

"I was... wondering how the organ was working for you? Um... Is it okay?" He almost blushed with the intensity of the glare Erik gave him. He seemed to be sizing him up.

"It's fine." He answered slowly, a slightly confused look on his face. "Do you usually make personal visits?" he asked, wondering why he was here, really. The old man looked away again.

"No." He replied truthfully. Erik almost grinned at the sight, but he kept his composure. He stood there, his arms crossed in front of him a slight frown on his face, his head cocked slightly to the side. The old man looked back up at him, and grinned sheepishly. "Sorry." And Erik could hold it back any more, the corners of his mouth curled up into a grin, then he broke into a full smile, and shook his head in disbelief.

The old man looked at Erik in slight shock, he looked so much younger when he smiled! Erik uncrossed his arms, and half-smiled at him.

"Why are you here?" he asked again... "Really." He added. The old man thought for a second.

"I don't really know." He offered. "I wanted to know how you were." He grinned again. Erik looked confused.

"Why do you care?" he asked. "I'm only a customer, with money to pay for what he wishes. Why would you want anything to do with me?" The old man looked at him, was it pity? He looked away quickly, remembering how their last conversation ended.

"Where did you get the money to pay for it? From your parents?" he asked, how does a child gain that much? Erik's eyes flashed a fiery green.

"You think I'm a thief?" he asked. "I can assure you I got the money myself, honestly. So you have your answer, you can leave." The old man stepped forwards.

"No! I didn't say you were a thief!" he assured him. "I just wondered how a child—"

"I'm not a child!" Erik roared. "I was never allowed to be a child." He suddenly realised what he'd said. He looked at the floor, but the old man caught a glimpse of pain and suffering in the sea-green eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that you were a child. I just wondered how-"

"Well don't." Erik told him, and the old man stopped rambling. "Leave me alone." Erik said quietly, and turned away.

"Well if you ever want anything – you know where my shop is!" The old man called to his retreating back. Erik turned around, and looked him up and down... He had been thinking about purchasing a violin... He nodded once and went back into the passage. The old man looked slightly confused for a minute, and then he turned to leave.

*****

Henri was standing in front of his mother, his sword locked with the one his father had brought home with him. He seemed to have remembered that he would be threatened. Madame Dupet looked on in fear, her twelve-year-old son locked in battle with her drunken husband. Well she knew who she'd rather win, but she was unsure about what the outcome would be.

Henri backed up slightly, to his mother's side and whispered in her ear,

"Go, I'll hold him off, get your things, we're leaving." He heard her intake of breath and felt her nod. She replied to him.

"I'll get your stuff too." He nodded and she ran off. Monsieur Dupet shouted at her retreating back;

"What did he say???" Henri ignored him, and held his sword loosely in his hand. He took his father's temporary weakness to his advantage and thrust forwards, the blade cut into his arm, and he roared in anger.

Monsieur Dupet answered with a thrust of his own, but Henri easily parried it. He clashed the blade against his father's and saw him wince where he had cut him just before. He roared again and swung dangerously at him, but Henri easily cut the weight off, and made him stumble, Henri took advantage of it and swung at him. He hated this, his face contorted in fear and pain. He didn't want to hurt his father, but he knew he had no choice.

They clashed blades again, and Henri's mother winced from upstairs where she was throwing lots of clothes into a bag haphazardly. She forgot jewellery, and put money in. She bunged it full of necessities, frantically trying to ignore the grunts and cries of pain coming from downstairs.

Henri's father managed to draw blood from him, and he cried out. He swung back at him, and caught the blades together, he twisted his blade around that of his father's and the drunk lost his grip, it fell to the floor and Henri placed his foot on it. He roared in anger at the sight of his son standing over him, victorious. He slowly stood in front of him, and Henri pressed the blade to his neck.

"Bed." He spoke angrily, and Monsieur Dupet frowned at his son, but followed his wishes – he did have a blade pressed to his throat. Around this time, Henri's mother came into the room, clutching a large bag in her arms. Henri nodded at her, and forced his father backwards into his bedroom, where he sat down on the bed. Henri raised his eyebrows as he lay down, glaring at him, and slipped into deep snores almost immediately.

Henri turned to his mother, and ran to his bedroom, he opened the safe behind a photograph, and pulled wads of cash out – he'd been spoiled rotten... He stuffed them into the bag, pulled his belt on, put his sword into the sheath, grabbed a couple of daggers and stuffed them in his socks where he had a holder for them. His mother looked on in wonder as he concealed another in his lower back and the back of his neck. He looked at her, and spoke in a low voice.

"Don't leave my sight." He warned her, and she nodded worriedly. Together they left the house, and took the carriage Henri had been taught to drive a while ago.

Headed for places unknown.

*****

Erik stood in the shadows looking down at the young ballerinas. They were having a break, and Antoinette stood talking to the young man whom she had not turned away. He felt a strange anger rage up in him when he touched her hand. He narrowed his eyes at him, and the young man – he looked around 18 years old. Antoinette was only 16. He frowned at him again, as the ballerinas began to dance once again, and he stood watching, with a small smile on his face. Erik turned away, he couldn't watch any longer. He fled the scene and went to watch the new 18-year-old diva who they had managed to persuade to come and perform at their opera house.

Carlotta was from an Italian Opera house that had been pulling in hundreds of visitors, and she had been in the chorus. The leading soprano was exquisite, and there was no chance of obtaining her, but Carlotta was several times better than their current soprano and she was reaching her peak. Her voice was strong and easily reached the back of the hall. Her accent was a bit strong, so most things she said were hard to understand, but she was increasingly good at French, and could sing the lyrics well enough. Erik found her amusing, she seemed slightly big-headed, going from a chorus member to the prima donna of the stage. In a word, he would describe her as... Smug.

He heard her rehearse for a while, and wrote a note about her pronunciation and commanded someone get her a more efficient tutor who would work on it. He watched Antoinette when she came on stage, and immediately chastised himself when he noticed what he was doing. He looked away from her and made his way away from the stage area, they would survive without his notes for today. He went to M. LeFevre's office where he stood talking to his son.

"Yes, father, I know you like it here, but you know you can still visit often. You are getting on in years and I don't think you should have the stress of taking on the Opera House all by yourself. I assure you, I will provide suitable funding, you know I love the music here." LeFevre looked down upon his child's eager expression and sighed.

"You don't understand, boy. You're still so young. I –"

"I'm not a child, father. I am 19 now, I'd rather prefer if you treated me as I am. You have told me everything about this place, I know everything that goes on, I understand how this sort of thing works, you're trained me long enough. Am I to be a child forever?" He looked up at his father stubbornly, and Erik found himself smiling slightly at the scene in front of him. It was so natural. The smile faltered, his father hated him. He wouldn't have let him argue, he knew it would have been the whip. He looked down, why did this affect him? He didn't need their love, or anyone's! He was fine the way he was.

"I know you aren't a child." LeFevre was saying. "I just –" He didn't know how to say it.

"You haven't told me everything." The young man said, looking his father in the eye. "There's something else, the reason you've got more lines on your forehead, the reason you're finding it so hard nowadays." He frowned. "And maybe the reason the Operas have improved?" LeFevre smiled at his son.

"You know me too well, my boy." He bowed his head. "There is something..." He stopped, when his son looked at him eagerly. "You don't want to know." He muttered, and the younger man sighed.

"Father, we've been through this. I'm not a child, I can handle whatever you throw at me." He winked, "I take after my dad." LeFevre laughed at his son's antics, and Erik found tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. Why couldn't he have something like this? LeFevre looked around, warily. Erik knew that he hadn't told his son about him, what else was there to protect him from? He shook his head, if they could see how weak he was at that moment, a thirteen year old boy who was forced to do what he did to save his life, and mind from becoming corrupted forever.

LeFevre's son looked confused at his father's worried look, and asked who could possibly hear what he had to say. He was answered, told that 'he' knew everything that was said in the Opera House. He was confused at that, but he let it pass, asking who he was talking about. He heard the word Opera Ghost, and scoffed. He thought it all sounded like some sort of ridiculous prank. Even after his father told him everything, he was only annoyed that he went along with it and that he was being cheated out of so much money. He went to cross the name out of the pay list, when Erik realised he would have to do something.

"Don't you dare." The spoken threat echoed through the room, and the young man froze in slight fear, his father's eyes widened and he began to shake. Erik grinned at the way his voice could inflict fear into his victims.

"LeFevre, I command you keep a hold of your son. He seems to be slightly unruly at the moment, and is disbelieving of my existence. I assure you, I will be incredibly displeased if I do not receive my pay this month." LeFevre's son spoke up.

"What does a ghost need with money?" Erik was becoming annoyed with that question. He threw his voice across the room, like only he and a handful of other people could do and whispered in his ear.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" The boy jumped, his father started, not hearing the voice that had hissed in his son's ear.

"I said, didn't I? Don't mess with him." His son shakily nodded his head, he had not managed to find a source to the voice he had heard, and Erik was almost laughing at the look of shock and panic on his face. He dropped the quill he had been going to write in, and edged away from the paper. Erik smiled. It seemed the new manager wouldn't be much problem.

He walked off, humming a tune almost silently, and smiling slightly. He rounded a corner in the darkness, and looked through the next peep-hole. The smile slipped from his face. No. He backed away from the wall, then turned and fled through the tunnels, he could not have seen it! NoNoNoNoNoNoNo.

He felt jealousy sear through his veins, he couldn't believe it.

He had just caught Antoinette and her suitor kissing during her lunch break.

:) how am I doing? Boring you yet? I'll introduce Christine soon, dont worry.

Please let me know if there's anything I'm doing wrong, or you have any ideas, I'd love to take any feedback you can give.

Oreal