AUTHOR'S NOTE: Here's your update. And let's strike a little bargain, shall we? Five reviews and I'll hurry to bring up the new chapter, more and I'll hurry even more. Agreed? And I'll make my Erik answer your reviews, just like my friend CC (Silent Phantasy on this site) does with her Erik. How's that? And for those who want to earn themselves a special private Erik purr… a few lines in these chapter are a result of my sister listening to her precious Hugh Panaro on my computer while I was writing it. Find the lines and name the song and the show it originates from, and the Angel will be pleased with you. Have fun.
jtbwriter: Of course Delannay will yet have to pay. But this will take some time, I'm afraid…
Beregond's Girl: Odd looks? You should have seen my mother's face when I decided to sing along to "Stars" from Les Mis was a good idea… obviously she did not like the idea of falling as Lucifer fell much… But back on topic. I used that build-up on purpose, of course (duh…), and that Maurice was telling Delannay all that stuff quite calmly is meant on the one hand to describe him, on the other… well, he knows perfectly well what he's dealing with and it doesn't scare him one bit, obviously… now which side is he on? Yes, and you're definitely Erik-affected!
Pertie: This chapter should answer your question. No need to worry.
Morleigh: Two reviews to answer at once. Yes, César is allowed some character, too. He's the Phantom's horse, after all. ;) Madame Giry could make me nervous, too, I think. Especially when she swings her cane about…
Dern: Oh, look who we have here! Valjean, at last we meet each other plain... right, sorry.
Bea: Whoa, surprise. (lol) Yes, in general I do enjoy researching. I could not find one bit about what precisely those defences looked like, and my dad couldn't help me either, though I asked him about it with some persistence, so we went on to discuss Gambetta and his balloon excursions from the opera house roof. Ear-boxing? I might be able to arrange that…

-.-.-

V. You always knew

Curse you, Chateaupers! Silently snarling defiance at the city defences, those pits and barricades and attempts at ramparts, the Phantom moved further into the shadows. César was waiting at a little distance; he wondered how he should get him here quickly enough if he found an opening at last to slip through the guards' hands unnoticed, but if he called him here right now, he would surely be discovered immediately.

Damn, damn, damn.

But he would get back in, and if he had to bare-handedly strangle every single man guarding that gate!

Though it was not very likely that he would succeed in that, to be honest.

Like a roaring furnace, the anger inside him shot up hot sparks that made his blood boil. At this moment, he hated everyone, everyone behind this thrice-accursed gate.

Except Christine, of course. Christine, the sweetest, fairest girl he had ever seen, the most angelic being in the world. Right now, she was sleeping peacefully; he could clearly feel it, and despite the rage boiling inside him it made him smile to himself. He could almost see her, stretched out on her back and with her eyes closed, her dark tresses spread out on the pillow around her, and for a moment he wanted nothing but sit there and stroke her hair while she slept.

Then a sudden gust of cold wind hit him where he was crouching, and he pulled his cloak around himself tighter, muttering a curse. He was used to the cold, but at least there was no biting wind in his lair. And if it grew too cold for him down there, he could always crawl under his blankets. The idea of maybe having to spend the entire night out here was a highly unpleasant one.

Hell consume him alive, he had to get back in! He had to! And not only because he could feel the folded-up message against his thigh. Automatically he patted his trouser pocket as if to check whether it was still there, although he could feel it was without reaching for it. He did not know its exact contents, but he had a pretty good idea what this was about: instructions, and demands for more detailed information. It seemed that Nordstedt's staff had liked the idea of a messenger regularly getting in and out of the city, and if he could not provide the information they needed, well, then he would have to go back to the heavily guarded city to collect it for them. Damn them, who did they think he was, a dog? Slipping in and out of his hut at his master's call? He had hinted that those errands were bothersome. But they had ignored it. He had clearly stated it. But they had refused to listen. Instead, they had wondered in his presence to what kind of other uses they might put him as well.

At least he had gotten a few hours of rest, too, in a tent Nordstedt had provided, on a hard thing not really deserving the name mattress and wrapped in an itching woollen blanket, but at least it had been undisturbed rest. And at least the nightmares had not come this time. His dreams had been strange and disturbing, but they had had nothing to do with Créon and his stories. When Nordstedt himself had woken him, two hours ago it might have been, he had at least felt more or less rested.

And he would get quite enough rest soon, he thought bitterly, if he did not manage to come up with some idea of how to slink past those guards in a matter of a handful of hours. Getting out had been much easier, though still very troublesome; nobody had expected anyone to slip out, which had helped. But they all were expecting somebody to slip in, and the defences had been made so that it was highly difficult, with many guards – he could see the specks of light when he closed his eyes – making it practically impossible. Climbing over the ramparts was out of the question, there hardly were any footholds; and he would be seen, there was light spilling over the defences' crowns from a large number of lanterns. If it were just him alone, it might work, though, if he was careful, but with César… And he certainly would not leave the horse behind.

And if he manipulated one or two of the men to open the gate, he would catch the attention of lots of others, and he doubted he could enter their minds all at once without them raising the alarm first. He could control several minds at the same time, but it was difficult and dangerous, and when he closed his eyes, he counted over twenty men in his immediate proximity, and it was like that everywhere; he had tried several places already.

He should not have taken a horse, even if it meant walking over a considerable distance.

At least he could pass on the message, he thought, by telling Christine through their mental connection, but this was not much consolation to him.

Suddenly he became aware of someone approaching from behind, coming towards him. No, not only someone. Three. Three clear points of light in his mind, bright as beacons in the otherwise empty land just outside the city.

No, two. The third light with them was César. They had found his horse, saddled and only lacking the rider. Now they knew he was there.

Dropping flat on his stomach in the scarce, thin grass, he peered into the night. Until now, he could see nobody; he had left the horse rather far off. A spot of greater darkness maybe, the horse's shadowy outline, but he could not be quite sure; there was what could be considered a small forest right at César's back. A feeble attempt at a forest, perhaps, but its dark trees made silhouettes looming before it as good as invisible.

There was something else he could do, though. At this distance he could clearly tell both minds were human, and one even seemed familiar, while the other was a smoky outline somehow, but they were too far off for a clear take at them. Before he tried to enter those minds and maybe risked a mistake – not very likely, but ever since he had felt he had been a little clumsy in manipulating Delannay, he was uneasy about such things –, he could use César. Communicating with someone he had often communicated this way before was a lot easier; he knew the stallion's mind and found his way into it quite easily, even at this distance. Mentally patting the side of César's neck, he prompted for who was with the horse.

The reply came immediately, a mixture of images, sounds and smells, as always when César communicated with him in this way. Earlier on, the Phantom had sometimes been practically overwhelmed by the flood of information that came all at once, especially by the smells, which were mostly irritating to him, since he usually could not quite interpret their significance. But by now he had learned to delve through what César provided quickly enough, and he sorted out the images without truly paying attention to the rest. What he saw in his mind, through the stallion's eyes, were two faces, though one was dimmed, practically one with the shadowy background, while the other, sharp and clear, claimed all of César's attention –

Raoul! What in the name of Satan was he doing out here? How had he managed to get out of the city? And why, why had he risked it, the foolish boy?

And who was with him? Already at the point of leaping up and running towards Raoul to keep him from walking straight before a rifleman's muzzle or similar, the Phantom forced himself to remain where he was. Come on, he urged César, showing him the image the horse had just let him see, the other, who's the other? He concentrated on those features in the shadows, nudging César's attention towards them, to let them come into focus…

Him. Somehow, he was not even surprised. Only a tongue of flame, like the tongue of a whip, leaped up inside him, searing his insides with a brief flare of anger, a thin, sharp outburst, like a sabre blade. He had expected him to come. He had known he would. And now was just the perfect time for that particular acquaintance, it could hardly be a chance meeting. That bastard had come looking for him. And no doubt he had come because he somehow knew about those accursed nightmares…

But why was he not yet reaching out for him? The Phantom expected his mental touch any moment, and he steeled himself for the contact, to fight it off as violently as possible. But it did not come. He was waiting, it seemed. Just waiting.

And the boy was with him.

This thought was what made the Phantom leap to his feet at last and hurry into the night, away from the city walls and the dim hint of lights beyond them, towards where Raoul and César were waiting. And Aeternus.

He should have recognized the boy's presence earlier on, he reprimanded himself, though it would have made no difference really. Or would it? Hell, he could not let Raoul run around out there in the middle of the night! Raoul was a boy, curse him, little more than a child! And Christine would be so upset if anything happened to the little vicomte.

Soon he could see them clearly, all of them, and they grew clearer with every hurried pace he took. Stay where you are, kid, I'm coming for you! I'll save you from that accursed old manipulator's clutches, I will!

Oh, that idiot boy!

Noticing his master approaching, César whinnied softly, and the one shape the Phantom knew to be Raoul turned around suddenly, but Aeternus stayed where he was, calmly watching him. Aeternus had felt him coming, just as the Phantom could feel him in turn. They shared the same gift, after all.

The same gift, and the same curse.

"Erik!" It was evident that Raoul was trying hard to keep his voice down while at the same moment wanting to cry out with relief. "Thank God, I was so worried! We all were!"

"And what, Hell devour you, were you thinking, endangering yourself like that?" He spoke sharper than intended, but it served the foolish boy quite right. Sneaking out into the night just with that lunatic to keep him company! Of course, he did not doubt Aeternus was able to keep an eye on Raoul, but all the same, he did not trust Aeternus.

"All Christine said was that you were alright, but you were gone so long." Raoul continued as if he had not noticed that the Phantom had addressed him at all. "God, if anything had happened to you –"

"Stop fretting about me," the Phantom interrupted him sharply. "Right now." That silly little fop! Did he not realize what danger he was in?

And then Raoul did the most unexpected thing he could have done: He burst out laughing. Throwing back his head so that his hair, already long enough again to touch the turned-up collar of his dark jacket, flew as if the wind had caught it to play with it for a brief moment, he laughed, merrily, delighted as a child. "Man, Erik! A year ago, I would have never thought this possible. Funny, isn't it? And now you're upset over me worrying while you'll soon start fussing over me like a hen to get me back home safely! You crazy old villain, you!" And he slapped his shoulder playfully, beaming at him with all his boyish innocence.

Like a hen? Wait 'til I get you alone, kid, and I'll strangle you, I swear I –

Now what was that accursed Aeternus grinning at? Well, to be precise, he was smiling, but no matter what his expression was, he was not wanted here. "Come to stick your nose into other people's business again, have you?" he asked sharply.

Still Aeternus smiled; there was hardly anything that could wipe that stupid smile from his face, it seemed. "The cruel storm that tears at your tortured soul is strong enough to call me, and on it we were borne to find you."

The Phantom felt his lips compress all of their own accord. "I don't need help." As long as he could stand on his own, he was strong. As long as he could stand on his own, he would not fall.

"Some scars run deeper than you think."

"Not deep enough to break me." For if he did not believe it, he would not go insane. And as long as he held on to his sanity, he was not lost.

"Not if you don't allow them to, no. But it might become hard."

Facing Aeternus calmly, though inwardly he felt he was boiling, the Phantom made sure his mind remained inaccessible. Aeternus knew about these things, yes. They shared the same fate, after all – the Phantom's scar-distorted face and Aeternus's shrivelled-looking, blackened hand, the Phantom's mask and Aeternus's glove. They both had a disfigurement to hide. But he would not share anything else with Aeternus, not if he could help it. Aeternus had been with the Lost Ones, after all, with those who had come with Créon. True, he had betrayed Créon in the end, but this was not enough to make the Phantom trust him. Not enough by far. "How this tortured soul survives is my concern, and mine alone."

Aeternus's features were serious now, but otherwise unreadable, and when the Phantom met his eyes, he saw nothing but a veil of fog, gently swirling. Nobody could shield his mind like Aeternus. Unreadable, unexplainable, a figure of mystery made flesh. And there was nothing these features would reveal, these calm, utterly unnoticeable features, these cool, pale blue eyes under scarce eyebrows… And the smile had vanished, leaving no trace on those pale, thin lips surrounded by a neatly trimmed moustache and goatee. His face was nothing special, but still it managed to convey a strange sense of dignity, while at the same time betraying nothing, absolutely nothing of the man who hid behind.

As their eyes met, time seemed to stand still for a moment, everything revolving around the strange shapes that mist drew in the night, shapes that formed and dissolved again only to be forgotten forever, as if they had never existed… like everything, everything in this world…

"There is something I'd like you to learn," Aeternus said, and the spell was broken. The shapes of mist were gone, and only the night remained. "A little trick long forgotten."

"What is that?" the Phantom asked suspiciously. Oh, how he hated that man's constant attempts at a better air of mystery!

"Listen," Raoul interrupted, and the Phantom could clearly feel the uneasiness he radiated. Had he realized how he felt about Aeternus? Had he seen it in his face perhaps? In his eyes? Curse it all, he needed to learn to mask his feelings better! "We've got a pair of horses hidden a bit into the city, not far from here. Now we've found you, we'll get back home as fast as possible." The lad's breath misted before his lips. Autumn was growing colder; soon winter would come.

And what would become of the city then, besieged and left to starvation?

"Come," Raoul urged him. "We must be going."

Taking César's reins, the Phantom nodded. No point in standing around here. He would not escape Aeternus either way.

"Your young friend is a brave man," Aeternus said after they had quietly trudged towards the lights of the city for some time, their steps and the occasional snorts from the horse hardly loud enough to drown out the wind rustling in the grass. "On our way out here, I was delighted to learn a few things about him."

Immediately the Phantom stopped dead in his tracks, hardly feeling how César accidentally bumped into him. There was fire inside him. Fire and ice. "You stay out of his mind." Hell, he had rarely heard his voice go that cold!

"Oh, he did not need any… urging." Aeternus seemed completely undisturbed equally by the Phantom's tone and the wind; the Phantom could not have said which of them seemed colder – oh, to Hell with it, what was he wondering about such pointless things for? Hands held loosely by his side, Aeternus sauntered along as if taking a walk, and when the Phantom started towards the city's light again at an accelerated pace, he followed easily.

"We weren't talking about anything interesting, anyway," Raoul put in. Walking between the others, his eyes flickered between them as if he expected them to jump at each other' throat any moment. His hands deep in the pockets of his jacket, he held his head lowered against the biting wind, which played with his hair. "It was of no importance."

Aeternus made a lazy gesture as if to wave it away. "To me, it was. You think I inquire about things that do not interest me?"

Raoul shrugged. "Out of politeness, perhaps? It's what smalltalk is about, really. Most people don't give a damn about what you say, they just hope the time 'til supper goes by more quickly this way. The next day, they don't remember a bit."

Inwardly, the Phantom smiled to himself. The boy was picking up things from him.

"Expect me to remember everything, Raoul de Chagny, second lieutenant aboard the Rights of Man as well as of the fifteenth cavalry regiment, fiancé of Christine Daaé and friend of Roger de Castelot-Barbezac, Maurice de Bracy and little Meg Giry, as well as of our companion here."

Raoul laughed softly, a sound that could almost have been a sob in the darkness. "Yes, that about sums it up."

In the Phantom's opinion, Raoul had better kept silent, but at the moment there was something else on his mind. "We're coming into eyeshot," he remarked.

"Into your eyeshot, perhaps," Aeternus stated, squinting ahead into the night. "Don't worry, I've got everything under control. They can't see us yet."

"You mean you're –" Curse him, over that distance? Of course, those points of light were easy to locate, but to take over their minds from here…

"Just peeking." The Phantom was not looking at him, but he knew from Aeternus's tone that the unwelcome visitor was smiling. "You'll learn, eventually."

The Phantom shrugged. Eventually, yes. But right now…

"It's the doubts, isn't it? You've started to doubt yourself, and suddenly you can't do any longer what you think you could earlier on."

Again the Phantom was at the point of stopping short, but he clenched his teeth and strode on, ignoring César's gentle snort of protest as he tugged at the reins harder than necessary. Damn Aeternus! How did he know that? How could he, possibly?

"Just a guess." There was a brief pause. "Oh, and that last question was written plainly on your face. Sometimes there's no need to enter a mind."

"Yes, you better had not try it," the Phantom grumbled, viciously kicking a stone out of his way. He felt foolish, like a silly little boy.

"At the moment, I have other things in mind." Aeternus laughed softly, and the Phantom thought of strangling him with some longing. "Like showing you a trick you need to know to get back in."

Once again the Phantom could have strangled him. Curse him, why did he always have to know? Through gritted teeth, he replied, "Show me, then."

"Agreed." Aeternus had stopped, facing the Phantom, and Raoul took a step back so the two of them could stand face to face. "But first… try to forget all your recent doubts. Remember your old confidence. You used to know you could do anything. You always knew. Try to remember that. Remember who you really are, who you always knew you are."

The Phantom nodded impatiently, holding his cloak around himself as another gust of cold wind tore at it, trying to convince himself that he did it in case anyone on those defences might see it flap, not because of the biting cold. How much he wanted to be back in his warm bed, with Christine near him… and Claire Giry could make him a cup of hot tea, while he was at it. Or hot coffee, perhaps. Claire could brew the most wonderful coffee.

"Then let us proceed." Reaching up, Aeternus smoothed his hair, yet the Phantom noticed that it did not need any smoothing. It seemed that this was just a gesture Aeternus had taken on because he had noticed it was done, not because he found it necessary. Like some unearthly creature pretending to be human. For it was just pretending, nothing more. "Tell me, my shadowy friend… when you close your eyes, what can you see?"

"The same as you, most likely," the Phantom replied impatiently. No drama now, thank you very much. He was not in the mood. Moreover, he did not wish to discuss anything he might share with this man. Aeternus had helped him, yes, but Aeternus had been with Créon, and there was nothing he wanted to have in common with Créon. Nothing.

His eyes found Raoul's, and the boy offered him a tentative smile. He radiated confidence, confidence in him. And a sense of camaraderie that made the flames in his chest diminish and burn low for a moment, gently, so gently. This was something he owed to Créon, perhaps. If not for Créon, he and Raoul might never have come to know each other as they did.

Not that this would upset him very much, really. Certainly not. Of course not.

"Close your eyes, then." Aeternus's voice was soothing, as if he spoke to an uneasy child. "See the lights. Feel them."

The Phantom nodded impatiently, a violent jerk of his head. Even with his eyes closed, the lights of the city were still there, only that it was lives he saw now. Souls. He inhaled deeply, sucking in the cold night air, and as he blew it out again, he reached out along with the breath escaping him, with many thin, tender tongues of invisible flame, clear before his inner eye, crisscrossing like a spiderweb…

"No, not that." Aeternus's voice seemed to come from far away, but at the same time the Phantom knew that he was standing closely beside him. "The Web is good for spying, and for letting it just lie as a trap, but not for the manipulation of many minds. It's too complicated for that purpose, it takes up too much concentration. You'll need something else."

As the threads winked out, leaving glowing residues in the Phantom's mind for a moment, he briefly wondered how Aeternus could possibly know what he had been doing. But then he remembered that he could feel another's laid-out net of mental tendrils just as well. The threads of darkness he had called them as Créon had spread them out through the Opera House. The threads of darkness. He had felt them without knowing what they were, but then, later on, he had understood, and he had burned them with his own threads of fire.

The Web. He had not known that name. But it felt right, just the name that fitted them… and somehow, just as if he had always known this was the name for them…

"Good. Now." Aeternus's voice became a whisper. "Picture a cloud. A large, dark cloud. Like a blanket. Become the cloud. Be one with it. Spread out over the sky."

Spread out over the sky? Now this was the craziest thing he had heard in some time! And this with counting all that Communard rubbish from Delannay and the other intruders. For an instant he considered snarling at the unwelcome visitor, but then he pulled himself together. He might as well give this a try. After all, somehow Aeternus must have gotten into the city earlier on. Somehow. Maybe this was the correct way.

Telling me your little secrets, Aeternus, are you?

Fine. He was a cloud, floating like a silly searose leaf on a silly pond, but the pond was the sky, the sky strewn with gleaming shards of icicles that were stars… Strange, but he did feel very light suddenly. Or maybe he was just imagining things. But the lights were clear still, before him as well as, in some strange way, below him… Below him? He did not see them from above, but all the same, he had the strange feeling that he might be floating above them… and it felt so natural…

"Ready? Then lower the cloud onto them. Gently. Like putting a veil over them, so they grow dimmer. Slowly, carefully…"

So this was how it worked. Suddenly the Phantom realized what he had to do. And suddenly it seemed very obvious. Why hadn't he thought of this before? So simple, so logical… and as if he had known it all along… Imagining to spread a blanket over the lights, a blanket thin as cobwebs, he thought to see their glow grow dimmer, though just by a tiny bit…

"And remember: you are the cloud."

Yes, it was him. The shadows lurking inside his own mind. The blanket became part of himself, and gently, very gently, he touched the nearest lights, and slowly they dimmed, their radiance shorn, as those guardsmen's awareness was gently dimmed…

"Now," Aeternus said, and it seemed from his tone that he was pleased. "Open your eyes again, but keep that feeling. Keep your concentration. It's time for us to go."