Chapter 10: Daroga

The golden key glistened between them as Christine held it upward. To her credit, her fingers trembled only slightly.

Erik puffed what might have been a sigh, muffled as it was behind his mask. "I wondered when you might share that with me."

"You knew?"

He shrugged sharp-pointed shoulders. "I am rather observant," he said, but Christine remembered how he had pulled her out of bed while she had been wearing only her chemise. Of course, he had seen it then… and who knew what else he had seen.

Christine felt her pulse leap in embarrassment, but she could not change what had already happened. The best she could hope for was to conduct herself with better etiquette from now on. Not that her actions with Erik had ever been grounded in the typical association that existed between a man and a woman.

"How did you come by it?" Erik asked. "I assume it was not in your possession when you first inquired me of it."

She slid the chain free of her neck and cupped the warmed metal in her palm. "Papa gave it to me." Staring down at the small metal key, she thought about how Charles had put it around her neck and hidden it within her collar without any explanation. "He told me to keep it safe, but he gave me no other information about it."

"May I see it?"

She let it glide from her hand to his outstretched one, and she watched while Erik examined the item closely. "He gave the key to me the last – the last time I saw him." Her throat tried to close, but she had to be strong, had to move forward if she was ever to get answers. "When those men were trying to break into our apartment, Papa made certain that I had it hidden. As though he wanted to be certain they did not discover it."

Erik took his time looking the key over, holding it up to the lantern like he was looking for any clues to its purpose. "Do you have any idea what it unlocks?"

She shook her head. "I do not even know if it is the same key that Raoul was inquiring about, but Papa clearly thought it was important enough to give it to me." During a time when those men were trying to break down their door. Why had Raoul wanted this key so badly? He had said it contained something about the company that he thought was important, but had that knowledge been enough to be involved in her father's death? How could he have done this to her – to Papa – after the times they had shared together?

An icy touch upon her cheek, and she sucked in a sharp breath, looking up to see Erik standing closer than before. He drew back his hand, which had wiped away a fresh flood of tears from her eyes. She hated everything about this situation save from one fact – Erik was now free, and he was continuously surprising her with his tenderness.

She looked away quickly, refocusing her attention on replacing the chain back around her neck after Erik handed it back. "Any ideas what it unlocks?"

"I have a few, yes," he said, stepping back out of reach again. He seemed to grow contemplative, folding his long arms across himself, eyes affixed to some unseen point. Then he pushed off the dresser upon which he had been leaning and strode quickly to the door. "Let me think on it tonight, and we can discuss the matter again in the morning. Goodnight, Christine."

Leaving her staring after him with his sudden departure, Erik closed the bedroom door behind him. But Christine was on her feet and hurrying after him, tossing open her door. He had vanished, his speed tremendously fast when he wanted to escape – she could tell by now when he was avoiding something that had troubled him.

A glance around the living area told her told her he was not there, and she dashed to the kitchen to find him gone as well. Besides the front door, there were only two more doors in this small home, neither of which she had gone beyond before. The door at the far end of the hall was larger and fancier, and it reminded her more of the front door – perhaps it was another exit?

She tried the closest door first, and a twist of the knob told her it was unlocked. She should have knocked, perhaps, but really, he should not have run off like that without allowing her to agree that the conversation was over.

A fire illuminated one side of the room that was clearly another bedroom, a large four-poster bed on the opposite side. The stone floor was covered in a lush red carpet, a stark contrast to the black patterned wallpaper. Heavy, dark furniture adorned the room. The room reminded her of Erik – dark and magnificent.

She had caught him in the process of removing his mask.

He stood in the middle of the room, clearly in the process of heading to what looked like another bathroom beyond the bed. At the sound of the door opening, he whirled, ducking behind the heavy black drapes that encircled the four-poster bed, but not before she caught a glimpse of a high, sharp cheekbone covered in gray skin and a yellow eye widened in an expression she had not wanted to see from him.

Fear.

She stumbled back a step, his movement to hide himself so explosive that she thought for a moment she would be run down by the force of it. Once the thudding of her heart began to settle in her ears, she could hear the sound of her own gasps for breath mirroring those of the man now buried in the shadows of the bed.

"Erik, I-" She paused, struggling to calm herself. "I am so sorry."

"Get out," he said, voice biting the words at her.

Despite the warning in that tone, she took a few shaky steps forward. "Please, I am sorry. I had no idea that you would be-"

"I have asked you to leave my bedroom, mademoiselle. As this is my house, if you refuse to do so, I shall have no choice but to take action."

His threat made shock slice through her, and she could feel her face drain of color. And yet, she did not leave, not because she was frozen to the spot in fear, but because she worried that somehow, she had crossed a line that could not be overcome if she left. Even with the threat, even with the chill in his voice, she still did not believe he would harm her.

"As master of this house, that is your right," she said softly. "I did not mean to intrude upon your personal space, and I certainly did not mean to catch you in a moment with your mask undone."

"Christine!" This time with a touch of pleading.

She continued as though speaking to a wild, caged thing that could spring at her at any moment. "I would never seek to catch you unaware on purpose. May I come to you, Erik? You have your mask back on, don't you?"

When he did not protest, she began to cross the room, the warmth of the fire calming her jumpy nerves. She allowed her footfalls to be loud and obvious on the carpet. Once she stood in front of the fire, she could see Erik's towering form outlined in the shadow of the bedpost, his golden eyes watching her every movement.

She did not come closer than this – it was enough to be able to see him again. "I am sorry. For what it is worth, I did not see much beyond a bit of your cheek. Now, I am going back out to the drawing room. Would you please join me when you are ready?"

She perceived a slight bit of nod, so she turned and headed out of the bedroom, focusing on keeping her footsteps slow and her limbs loose. However, once she closed the door behind her, it was all she could do not to dash back to the main living space.

What she had almost glimpsed of Erik's face… she knew he wore the mask for a reason, knew he kept his visage a total secret from her. He had once used revealing his face to her as a threat to make her leave, had he not? She had seen that slight line of gray skin, that angular cheekbone, and she had known however the rest of him might appear, his reaction to her glimpse of him was even more momentous that the slight revelation of his appearance itself.

She sat upon the piano bench, peeled back the cover, and allowed her fingertips to plink randomly across the keys. She had never possessed any sort of talent for instruments, but it felt soothing just to touch the smooth ivory, to feel the slight give under her fingers and hear the piano correspond.

She did not hear him enter the sitting room, instead feeling him at her back as he approached. A sad smile plucked at her lips, but she did not turn to greet him, instead remaining focused on the keys. Thus, she was only mildly startled to find his arms to either side of hers, his chest subtly pressing against her shoulders as he bent over her. His sleeves rode up, revealing healing red bands around his wrists, his bandages removed. His fingers spread across the keys, and he began to play.

It did not take her long to recognize the aria as the one she had sung outside his window that night that seemed like a lifetime ago. That night had shattered her long-held illusion of a life she might build with Raoul and made her realize the current reality of the man being beaten beneath Raoul's company. That night, she had come apart, and only song had managed to put her back together again.

Now, Erik was offering the song back to her, and she could only accept it the best way she knew how. She began to hum along with him, not quite emotionally ready to put her voice to words once again. In this, they had a connection, a shared love of music that could carry them through any tension that formed between them.

When he pressed the last notes, she rested her own hands atop his, willing him to stay and not flee again. At her back, he shuddered but held still. Perhaps it was because they were not face-to-face, perhaps it was because she had not asked that caused him to think he could offer. Whatever it was, he began to speak, his voice hovering just above her head.

"My face…" She heard the wet sound of him trying to moisten his mouth, and she shivered. "My face has plagued me since the moment I was born. The nuns at the orphanage kept my face tightly bound, so much so that sometimes I could not even see. Even after I escaped, I realized that those around me needed my appearance covered, and they would go to great lengths to keep it so."

Christine's lips parted, but she held back any reaction of her own.

"However," he continued, "I have learned that there are two types of people in this world – those who desperately need my face covered, and those who are willing to exploit it to their advantage. Few others do not fall into one of those categories. While you, little bird, have proven yourself willing to stomach my presence, I am not willing to subject you to the full horror of my appearance."

He went to straighten, sliding his hands from underneath hers. In a rush of panic, she twisted around on the bench and grabbed onto the lip of his waistcoat. It was an awkward angle, but one that caused him to freeze in position, yellow eyes staring down the sloped nose of his mask at her.

"I do not stomach your presence, Erik," she said, feeling a flush come over her. "I-I very much enjoy your company, and I am certain I would continue to do so without your mask."

"You speak out of ignorance," he said thickly.

Maybe so, but Christine hoped she would be as strong as her words. "I speak out of sincerity," she countered.

He stared at her for a long moment while she held her breath, his eyes almost piercing her resolve. Then he disentangled her fingers from his vest and, just when she thought he was going to leave, he bent to his knees before her. Suddenly, she found she could not breathe even if she wanted to. Willing herself to move, she maneuvered her legs around the bench so she could fully face him, tucking her skirt around her legs as though that might shield her from this moment.

Would that he would say something, but he did not. Instead, he took one of her hands and shaped her fingers around his mask, the fabric neutral under her fingertips – neither warm nor cool. Two of her fingers curled around the firm shape of the nose, another two around the smooth surface that covered his mouth; there, it was warmer, and her stomach gave a little flutter. Her thumb had just enough breadth to reach the lip of the mask near his ear.

"Why?" she whispered.

When he spoke, she felt the rumble of his words under her fingertips. "To shatter any delusion that you have about who I am. About what I am. And then I cannot be accused of hiding anything from you for my own benefit, can I? Once you know the worst parts of me, I will no longer be lying to you, will I?"

Her thoughts spun. This situation had spiraled out of control so suddenly. Never had she thought he was lying to her. Hiding the truth, yes, but so often that seemed to be an act of protecting her rather than deliberate falsehoods.

The worst parts of me. What did he mean by that? He was waiting for her to remove his mask so that he could systematically peel himself apart before her, but that was never her intention. Although she wanted to know everything about him, in time, she would never have insisted before he trusted her enough to give over himself on his own.

He had never demanded anything differently from her.

She shifted her hand so that instead of grasping his mask to remove it, she was cupping his covered cheek. Her fingertips slid just ever so slightly beyond the edge of the mask, and the skin there felt rough to the touch. Was the rest of his face the same? She pushed away such thoughts and concentrated on the sound of his shuddering breath. His yellow eyes darted back and forth to each of hers as though if he could not find reassurance in one, he sought it from the other.

"I cannot do this to you, Erik," she said as gently as she could. "Not until you are ready for me to see. What brought this on? Was… was it the key?"

In a swift motion, he had straightened to his feet, ducking from her touch and backing away before she could initiate anymore contact. She stood as well but did not do anything else.

Erik shook himself as though coming out of a dream. "While I have some ideas for what that key might open, this is beyond my kind of knowledge. I tend to dabble more in picking locks than using keys." He turned slightly away from her, the long line of his body held stiffly. "I do, however, know someone who knows more about this type of security."

"Would he be willing to help?"

"I can be persuasive enough for him to do so."

Christine's heart leapt, and she could not help the smile that curved her lips. Despite what had just happened between him, despite the cataclysm she might have just dodged, she desperately wanted to pursue this thread. It was her last link to her father.

"I will go to him and see what I can discover. I will need to bring your key."

She reached up to grasp the small bit of metal resting below the collar of her bodice. "I- I do not want to be parted with it. Could I not come with you?"

His eyes narrowed. "This is not up for debate."

"I wasn't debating – I was asking." Her hand tightened, the shape of the key cutting into her palm. "Please, Erik. This is all I have left of Papa, and it is the only clue I have as to… as to why he died. I need to go with you. If it has anything to do with Papa, you will need me there."

"The walk will be long and unpleasant."

She tilted up her chin. She could deal with a long and unpleasant walk if at the end of it, she could finally get some answers. And anyway, she might feel a bit better about her present situation if she could glean more information about where exactly they were currently residing.

She knew that she could do little if Erik decided to leave her here, especially because he would have to take the small boat in order to do so, possibly leaving her stranded. Something was going on with him, something he was hiding from her, and she could only smooth his worry if she was there at his side.

"Let me come with you," she said, stopping short of pleading.

Now he did turn fully away from her, shoulders stiff. "We will need to wait until later in the night. I suggest you rest for a few hours while you can. I will wake you when it is time." Without waiting for a reply, he strode quickly from the sitting room, heading back down the hallway to his bedroom.

She did not dare follow him this time. So much seemed to be left unsaid within his comments. She was beginning to realize that sometimes, whenever the subject turned too uncomfortable, Erik dealt with it by cutting the topic off shortly and leaving. Christine still had so many questions – she still did not even know where they were, for instance.

She knew she should go lay down in her room, exhaustion plucking at her eyelids even now. However, her heart pounded with a new nervous energy, and she instead decided to explore the sitting room. Built-in shelves were arranged around the room, and she perused their titles, selecting a copy of Wuthering Heights before settling in front of the fireplace.

Even though she had read this novel before, she found she could not concentrate on the words. Soon, she gave up and fixated on the flames licking across the planks of wood. She must have closed her eyes, because the next moment, she felt a hand upon her shoulder and a voice calling her name.

"It is time," Erik said, straightening once she had woken with a start. "Dress warmly."

Nodding, she hurried off to her bedroom. There, she found thicker gloves and a fur muff for her hands. She pinned up her hair and attached the bonnet with a thin, short mourning veil, sucking in a shaky breath at the morbid reminder. She found Erik waiting by the fire with black cloak, which he held aloft for her to shrug into after she approached. The cloak was trimmed in soft fur that surrounded her neck when she clasped it at her throat.

"Warm enough?" she asked, presenting herself in an effort to keep the tone light. In truth, she felt uncomfortable dressed all in black, an obvious testament to her loss.

Erik's sharp eyes swept over her. "Indeed." He himself had also put on a black overcoat, which skimmed his calves and made him seem even more imposing by the way it broadened his shoulders. A wide-brimmed hat cast his black-masked face into further shadow. They made quite the pair, dressed all in dismal color as they were.

Erik took up a lantern, which he lit. "Shall we go?"

She could feel the metal of the key at her throat. "I'm ready."

She expected them to head back to the dingy they had used to cross the lake, but Erik turned and led them to the door beyond his bedroom. He opened it, revealing a passageway yawning into darkness. The light from the lantern could not reach far enough to reveal any sort of end to it.

He glanced at her. "Frightened already, yes?"

Yes. She bit the inside of her cheek and shook her head in defiance. Stepping into the passage, Erik turned enough to offer her his free hand, his long fingers encased in a black leather glove.

Swallowing, she slid one of her hands out of her muff and gripped those sure fingers.

They began to walk down what quickly turned into a tunnel rather than a hallway. Leaving behind the warmth of his home, Christine was thankful for her thick clothing. Even though she was frightened by her surroundings, Erik's firm grip on her hand kept her grounded. She focused on following the tall line of his back, assured that he was thinking of her safety, his eyes flitting down to her every so often.

Soon, their path ended at a thick metal door. Erik produced a key, but even with it, he had to twist a serious of bolts and knobs to cause the door to swing open, revealing that this tunnel merely spilled into the side of another. A thin stream of water drifted down the middle of this channel, which was lined in paving stone.

Christine's eyes widened. "The sewers?"

"Yes," Erik said simply, tugging her to the left. "We are fortunate that it has rained so much recently, no? That should keep down the smell."

"Are we to travel down here the entire way?"

"Mostly. Do not forget that I am a wanted man, and you, mademoiselle, are considered missing. The gendarmerie will have posters with your likeness posted about the city for a while yet." He picked his pace, and she had to sometimes trot to keep up with him. "Quickly now. We have quite a distance to cover."

They walked in silence for a while, Christine losing track of how many turns they made. She would never find her way back in this labyrinth of passageways, and she had no idea how he managed to keep his bearings straight except by extensive experience. Her life had turned so upside down, walking as she was beneath the city of Paris. Her father was gone, her belongings likely lost, nothing left except the man striding before her, his confident footsteps scraping against the stone.

Yes, she did have Erik, and he had made it clear that he had no intention of leaving her side. She gave his hand a squeeze, causing him to glance down at her, eyes glowing in the lantern's soft light.

"Don't you suppose you should tell me where we are going?" she asked.

"If you believe you need to know, then I shall tell you. We are going to Rue de Rivoli, near the Seine."

She blinked. "We are going to the Tuileries Garden?"

He chuffed what she thought might have been a sort of laugh. "Indeed not, unless you wish for a midnight stroll in the dark. I know a man who lives across from the gardens, or at least he did when last I saw him. He was once the Daroga of Mazandaran – Persia, that is – and therefore should be knowledgeable enough to help you."

"Daroga?" It was not a word she had heard before.

"Police Chief."

She stopped walking, bringing them both up short even though she did not let loose his hand. "You are bringing me to the police?"

"Hardly, little bird. He does consult work for the gendarmerie now, but I would never put him on the same side as them. I suppose if I had to assign him a compliment, it would be that he does an excellent job of skirting the law without breaking it." He began walking again, and she let him pull her along. "You may tell him what you wish, Christine, without fear. I will let you decide how much you want to reveal."

"Will he not mind being awoken in the middle of the night?"

"Oh, I hope he does." He sounded like he liked the idea very much.

The resonance of rushing water picked up, and they turned a corner to find a thin waterfall that rose up nearly to the top of a dead end. Erik raised the lantern to look about, casting the light onto a metal ladder in front of the cascading stream.

"Hold this," he said, handing her the lantern. Then he fished in his pocket for a roll tucked within his coat, selecting two thin bits of metal. Climbing the ladder to what looked like a storm drain, he proceeded to pick a padlock there. This freed the grate so he could move it aside before poking his head out to look around.

He slid quickly back to the floor of the tunnel. "No one in sight, and there is a moon overhead. We will not need this." And he snuffed out the lantern, casting them into near total darkness.

Christine struggled to let her eyes adjust to the lack of light, and she felt Erik's hand in hers again, pulling her forward until he pressed her palm against the first metal rung of the ladder.

"Go on," he said behind her. "I shall follow."

Taking a steadying breath, she felt her way up the ladder, hearing Erik's murmur of apology before his hands gripped her waist and hoisted her onto the street above. It was by far an unpleasant experience, climbing onto the paving stones, but she was glad to breathe fresh air again. Erik sprung himself free, replaced the grate with lock intact, and they were off again into the deeper shadows against a building.

"Not far now, brave little bird. We will take the door, yes? And not the window."

"Y-Yes." She was rather done climbing right now.

Half a block, and Erik shouldered his way into a door next to what looked like a book shop. Christine stumbled into the stairwell behind him, happy to be out of the cold, and kept close to her companion, the light much dimmer in here. They climbed several floors and arrived at a nondescript apartment door at the end of the hallway.

Erik tapped a knuckle against the door, quietly as though trying not to wake any other inhabitants here. When no answer came from within, he knocked again, then pulled out his tool roll as though to pick the lock.

"A moment," came a lightly-accented voice from within. They heard some rustling, and the sound of someone kicking something over followed by a muffled groan of pain. Erik turned his eyes to the ceiling.

"The hour is too late for visitors," the voice said, closer now. "Who is it?"

"Open the door," Erik said, "or I shall."

The scraping of several bolts being pulled aside, and the door opened a few inches. Around Erik's arm, Christine caught a glimpse of a middle-aged man with darker skin, his brown eyes wide as he peered up at Erik.

"You are alive, after all!" He stepped aside immediately, allowing Erik to sweep inside. Christine followed so the door could be shut behind them, and the man looked her up and down. "And not alone, I see."

"Clever observation, Daroga," Erik said. He gestured at her. "This is Mademoiselle Christine Daaé. Christine – this is Nadir Khan."

Christine put out her gloved hand, which the Persian accepted to shake, his grip firm but warm. "Pleased to meet you, Monsieur Khan."

"Likewise, Mademoiselle Daaé." Even though he seemed dazed by their appearance on his doorstep, he was recovering quickly. "Please, make yourself at home here. Erik, stoke the fire, will you, while I put on some tea?" He hurried into what must be the kitchen, and she could hear a kettle clank against the stove.

Erik crouched to do as Monsieur Khan had requested, and soon he had enough of a blaze going to warm Christine's chilled face. Khan seemed nice enough, and when he returned, he had put himself together moreso than before, dressing in a patterned silk gown that reminded Christine of the one Erik had given her to wear, a squarish hat with a golden tassel atop his salt and peppered head.

Erik had seemed confident that this man could aid her in discovering the purpose of her key. As he sat beside her on a sofa, with Nadir Khan in an armchair adjacent to them, one of his knees bounced with a nervous energy. She had hoped this venture might give her some clear answers, a nudge toward the path she was supposed to take next, but now she worried that she might simply come away with more questions about Erik.

Christine waited for him to speak, but since he did not do so, she opened her mouth to explain why they were there.

However, Khan raised a hand to cut her off. "I can guess you are here wanting something from me, Erik, but I will need some answers first."

And from his robe he pulled out a pistol.