"You!" I spluttered. Vlad grinned, his teeth as crooked as his soul.
"Me, sister."
"Am I missing something?" Jeremy said, taking my arm and wrapping his own around my waist, clutching me to his side. Vlad turned his devilish attention to him, canting his head as he'd always done when he was plotting.
"Are you my sister's fiancé, Monsieur?"
"Fiancé?" Jeremy choked, turning a vibrant crimson. "Well... I... I don't know? Not really...? I mean, Nikki and I... It's-"
"Leave him out of it!" I snapped at Vlad, who took delight in my anger. "He's not my fiancé, no more than you are my brother!"
"Ah, but my dear little Anya-"
"Anya?" Jeremy frowned, drawing away to stare at me. "Nikki, what is he talking about?"
"I'll explain later," I hissed back. "Go and... fetch me some wine, Jeremy! Take your time about it too."
"Perfect!" Vlad said. "We can't waste a good New Year's!" He gestured to the clock as it ticked on for twenty to midnight.
Jeremy froze, glancing at me for reassurance. I shooed him away, my heart pounding in my throat. If only Erik were here! Saying that, if Erik did happen to pass this way, and if he did happen to see Vlad, everyone's New Year's celebrations would be ruined by a vicious murder. No, perhaps it was best if Erik wasn't here...
"What are you doing here?" I growled, folding my arms tight. Vlad smiled again, a look horrible enough to shatter glass.
"How old are you, Anya?"
"Did Mother teach you any manners? Or did you just follow Papa to the tavern every Saturday and learn them there?"
"You must be about thirty by now," he mused, reaching out and ruffling my hair. I caught his wrist. I could break it easily, shatter it into fragments. But it was too good a punishment for him, and I'd never be satisfied with it. I let him go, my blood boiling in my veins. "After all, I was but four years old when you were born."
"I hope you grew up and not just old! But given everything you ever did, I find it unlikely." One wrong move and I'd snap entirely. He knew that. He wanted that. "For your information, Vladimir,I am twenty-nine."
He paused, his eyes raking up and down my body, and nodded slowly. "And is it all true? You stabbed that minister in Berlin?"
I shushed him, scowling. "Say one word to Jeremy, and I'll see that you're hung by this time tomorrow. No one will miss you!"
"Ah, but they would!" he replied, tapping my nose and grinning. "To answer your first question, I'm here at our dear papa's orders to bring you home."
I opened my mouth to call him a filthy name.
"Drinks?"
Jeremy offered me a smooth red wine and I took it from him. Vladimir raised his own glass to me, and when I simply glared, he turned instead to Jeremy.
"To the New Year!" he said, clinking their glasses. "And-" He glanced at me. "-to the anonymity of Paris."
That was it.
I threw my wine all down his suit, sparing only a glance at his look of momentary horror before I grabbed Jeremy's hand and pulled him away, out of sight in the crowd. He opened his mouth to protest, but I shook my head.
"We must find Erik."
Jeremy hesitated for a moment, but I gripped his arms and looked right into his eyes.
"Please, Jeremy. If you find him, send him to me. I'll explain later."
He didn't look convinced; if anything, there was a deep sadness in his eyes, as if his trust in me, in what he knew about me, was shattered. I wasn't the person he thought I was. All the same, he took my hand from his shoulder and kissed it, slipping away into the crowd.
"Excuse me, Mademoiselle," I heard him say as I went my own way. "I'm looking for the Red Death, Mademoiselle."
I climbed the Grand Escalier, hoping for a viewpoint above all the towering Parisian hats and feathers. From the top step, I searched the foyer for the hat and red robes as a ballroom dance began. People found their partners, and amongst the throng I spotted Beatrice on Count Phillippe's arm, laughing at something he was whispering in her ear. Christine stood nearby, talking to another man with a frown stretched beneath her mask.
I froze. Amid my distraction, Erik had cornered her. My throat dry, I bolted back down the stairs.
"Excuse me," I said, trying to push my way between a group. One gentleman looked down at me and frowned. He shooed me away, turning his back to me to continue his conversation with his lady.
"Excuse me!" I shouted, barging my way through. He stumbled forwards, landing in her arms quite intimately. She shrieked, slapping his barely masked face with a loud crack. I ignored the commotion I'd managed to cause and hurried on. The music played on and a storm of dancing couples swept past me in time to the sounds of violins, cellos, flutes and harps.
"Erik!" I called, pushing through the last few people until I saw a trace of red robes. "Erik, I-"
I stopped, unable to help staring. Erik had Christine in his arms and was turning her in gentle circles. His red cloak and her black dress swished against each other with feathery touches. Amid the boisterous ballroom dancing, they were a picture of serenity and silence.
He leaned down to speak to her, but she turned her head away, doe eyes screwed shut. A dancing couple smacked into me and I staggered forwards. Christine's eyes opened to find me stumbling towards her.
"Christine!" I said, shocked at the sight. Did my eyes deceive me? Had Erik actually earned a dance in that costume? With Christine no less!
All thoughts of my brother tumbled out of my mind as Christine let her forehead rest against Erik's arm. His steps faltered but he kept dancing. Where was Raoul during all of this? Didn't he know his fiancée was dancing with the man he'd love to have arrested, with the Opera Ghost?
Someone caught my hand and I jumped.
"I looked everywhere," Jeremy said. "I see you found him first anyhow. Now will you explain all of this? We only have ten minutes before midnight."
But I shook my head and put a hand on his chest to stop him from marching right over to Erik and demanding his answers from him. "Just promise me you won't mention Vladimir to my friend. If you value your safety, and everyone else's, please, Jeremy."
Jeremy sighed, looking away, his mouth set into a tight frown. "I promise," he said, like a child being made to do his chores. I wanted to scream at his attitude, shake him back and forth until he understood why he should fear my brother, why Erik must not even know he was alive. But I couldn't. Not in polite society. Someone nearly spun into us and Jeremy tugged me out of the dancing line.
His mouth hung open all of a sudden. "Nikki..."
"What?" He pointed over my shoulder and I turned to find Erik leaning down to whisper in Christine's ear. I bit back a cry of horror; Christine had shut her eyes again, her bottom lip trembling.
I saw the burning fire even as the sparks were forming. Once Christine froze, all of my worst fears came true.
A tear rolled down her cheek from beneath her mask. She tried to hold strong, compose herself, but a sob racked her throat and she pulled away, standing back on her heels. Erik gripped her waist that bit tighter. Jeremy pulled me behind him gently, one step at a time.
Erik murmured something further, but Christine sobbed again and tore off her mask, burying her face in her hands. It fell to the floor with a clatter, stopping people in their conversations and their dancing as they turned to stare. The music came to a halt, one instrument at a time and the musicians in the balconies looked up from their instruments. Silence descended until only Christine's sobs filled the foyer.
"Nikki," Jeremy whispered, looking over his shoulder to whisper in my ear. "Nikki, what's happening? It's like an Italian opera! I don't speak Italian!"
Erik shrank away from Christine, cowering like a scolded dog before her. He stretched his arms towards her face as he sank but she cringed away. It was a sight you'd see only once: Red Death, in his grand outfit that had snatched everyone's astonishment, crouched before the black domino as she wept, his arms stretched towards her like a sinner reached for the Virgin Mother.
He tried to take a step forward, nearly on his knees now, and Christine howled with tears. Erik let out a painful groan and collapsed to the floor, burying his masked head in his hands and whimpering.
"What is going on here?" Monsieur Firmin cried, striding out from the crowd with André at his heels. Raoul shot forwards from behind them, catching Christine and wrapping her in a tight embrace. He tried to take her from Erik's presence, but she simply cried out and reached to touch his cloaked shoulder. I saw the conflict in her eyes as her beautiful hair fell away from its shape. She couldn't bear to look at Erik, couldn't bear to hear his voice, but to leave him on the floor in such a pitiful mess...
If it hadn't been for the hundreds of onlookers, if it hadn't been for Jeremy - although that ground was only thin ice now- I would have hurried over to help him up. But amongst all these witnesses, I could be nothing more than another spectator in the crowd.
Raoul managed to walk his fiancée away and cradled her in the front lines of the gathered circle, an arena where they were the unwilling actors. Erik pushed himself up from the floor, the magnificent costume suddenly no longer intimidating. I caught sight of his glowing eyes in the shadows of that mask and clutched Jeremy's arm.
Erik stood like a lifeless tin soldier, who needed to be wound up before he could move again. He drew a deep breath, swallowed, and reached inside his cloak.
"Monsieur!" Firmin cried, striding forward to meet his guest. "What is the meaning of this disturbance?" Erik stayed quiet, staring at the folder, and the manager, tearing off his mask, flushed.
"You will answer to me or to the policemen outside!"
Erik turned, a fire in his step. Firmin stepped back in surprise, retreating further when the Masque of Red Death stormed towards him.
"This is the next opera you will perform, gentlemen" snapped the voice beneath the skull. "And this time, Christine Daae will be your lead. Disobey me and your lives will become living hells!"
Firmin glared, standing tall and puffing out his chest. "How dare you walk into this celebration to terrorise my staff and patrons and order us about? As the manager here, I insist you take your leave!"
"On the contrary, it is I who manage this opera house! Now, let's make this simple." Like a magician's hat, Erik drew a familiar, thing and twisting shape from his sleeve. Jeremy pulled me closer at the sight of the Punjab lasso. "You will perform my opera, with credit to my name as the composer—" He handed it to André, but the quivering man didn't take it. "—and Christine Daae will play the leading lady. Defy me and I garrot you here and now! Let's not bring it to that, gentlemen; it will take too long to clean up."
"He's your friend?" Jeremy hissed, scowling at Erik and clutching me to his side.
"It's... complicated," I whispered back.
Firmin glared at Erik but spoke to André in a low voice. The other manager reached out with a quaking hand and snatched the folder, holding it at arm's length as if it were a venomous snake.
"Well done," Erik growled, sheathing his sword.
"The Phantom," someone hissed a little too loudly. Erik's head snapped to face them in the crowd, picking out the whistle-blower immediately.
"If I am a phantom," he snapped, grabbing the edge of his cloak, "it is because Man's hatred has made me so!"
A sharp bang plunged the foyer into instant darkness. Panicked screams arose and the thundering of feet for an exit became the final music of the evening. Jeremy caught me tighter, holding me to him as the crowd around us dashed blindly for a way out of the haunted building.
The clock struck midnight. 1882 had begun.