Kalila looked over the documents that were spread over the table, and then glanced up to watch as Erik's sharp eyes absorbed what had been laid out before him. Gabriel's memoirs. Delicate information regarding Shalimar and the man who became its present king. No wonder Kalila had been afraid to send it to him! If any of it were to find its way into the wrong hands...

Erik gathered the documents to him and stood up. His eyes found the large window at his left, and the sky outside was quickly growing darker with gathering gray storm clouds. The winds were howling outside, the night would be frigid and snowy. He found that he liked America, but all the same he was anxious to get back home to Paris. Ah, still, he was prevented from getting on with his life as he'd like it- there was still the business of publicly abdicating to Kumar, and only once that was through could Erik return to France to truly begin his life with Elita and their child.

He looked up, across the table, to Kalila. The years had not much changed her, or so Erik thought. She was leaner than he remembered, and there was a darkness in her eyes- no doubt brought on by Gabriel's death. That his end was not sudden was of no matter- in a way, death is always sudden. That Shaliman beliefs granted a certain measure of comfort was not to say that Kalila could be readily happy again so soon.

The fact remained that her husband was dead, and she was alone. She had no family in America, save for Christine.

Erik felt for her, but she had asked him to come for his permission to release Gabriel's memoirs, not for a favor or special treatment. He had offered his condolences upon arriving, and Kalila had brushed his concern aside. As he remembered, Kalila's attitude toward him had cooled considerably in Shalimar, a result of the growing suspicion directed at him for his friendship with Christine.

He understood.

Still, she had asked him to go over Gabriel's memoirs and consider giving his approval. Gabriel had been a good friend, and his choice would not be compromised by anything Kalila might say or do.

"There is too much here to review in one sitting," Erik said, breaking the silence. He gathered the documents into one neat pile, and then tucked them into the folder she'd presented him with upon arriving. "Do you mind if I take these with me so I can go over them on my own?"

Kalila nodded. "I suppose, so long as I get them back in time. Gabriel's publishing lawyers are impatient. But then, all lawyers are." She remarked, trying for a touch of humor.

Erik nodded and allowed himself the briefest of smiles. He wanted to ask after Christine, just to know if she was all right, if she was happy, but Kalila hadn't dropped a hint of her stepdaughter since he'd arrived. She knew that Erik had taken Christine to Paris, yet she hadn't even brought the subject up between them. She had been quick, to-the-point since he'd arrived. Erik tried to return the joke. "I suppose so. Lawyers are impatient everywhere, not just in America."

It was awkward between them. Unanswered questions hung in the air, the gaping silences that stretched after they spoke. It left Erik to wonder what Christine had told her, and if Kalila knew nothing of how the events in Paris had ended then he figured her remote attitude had more to do with the loss of Gabriel than his visit. Though they had been civil in Shalimar, he and Kalila had never been close, and as she had joined the others to regard him with suspicion, Erik couldn't say he wanted to get any closer to her now.

As for what had happened between he and Christine, Erik would be damned if he would be the one who told Kalila anything. A lesson he'd quickly learned upon his coronation was to never reveal your hand.

She was staring at him now, Kalila's great dark eyes taking him all in. Erik, the man she'd known only briefly in Shalimar, the man who became king shortly before Gabriel had taken her away to live in America. That all seemed like a lifetime ago now. The man that sat before her might as well have been a ghost. It was all very surreal to her. Call it woman's intuition, but Kalila felt that Erik was hiding something. Nothing new there; he'd always been a secretive creature, but she felt a shift in him, something strange and wonderful had happened to him. What could it be?

"Kalila, is something the matter?" Erik asked her, breaking her trance.

She blinked, and blushed as she realized she'd been staring at him. "Oh, I'm sorry Erik. I didn't mean to stare. It's just been a busy few months, that's all. Arranging everything Gabriel left behind...well, I'm sure you remember how it is."

Erik did, and felt his stomach knot at the memory of the time after his mother's death. Her things had been left for him to sort through, and each item of clothing and every jeweled trinket had pierced him as he'd forged ahead, a glutton for punishment, and boxed it all away. Her things had been stored in the palace for years until Erik had had everything moved into the spare attic space of his loft in Paris. There were only a few boxes, but he had avoided them for years.

The man nodded, and raised a gloved hand to adjust his mask. It was a common gesture of his to do so when he became uncomfortable. Kalila smiled to herself, remembering. Some things never change.

"Yes, I remember. And I will finish reviewing these soon," Erik assured her. He tucked the folder into his briefcase and stood, obviously ready to escape her probing eyes. "Thank you, Kalila."

She stood and followed him to the door, her smaller frame bobbing after him. Erik paused at the doorway and then turned to her. "Tell me, Kalila, will you return to Shalimar? If you wish, I could speak to Kumar. You could have your old position back if you want it."

Kalila shrugged. "I haven't decided. All my family is there, but I feel I am also needed here. Christine puts on her brave face, but I think she still needs me as her mother."

He hesitated, wondering if it would be safe to ask after her now. "Christine. Is she still broken over Gabriel, do you think?"

Kalila crossed her arms. "In a way I believe she always will be. I hate to admit it, but the two of you are very much alike as you've both lost your parents. Christine just might have an easier time with all of this since she's not-"

"Alone, as I was. I understand your meaning, Kalila." Erik reflected for a moment. "I'm at the Hilton, under the name 'Kire'. Call me or drop in whenever you like. I'll finish reviewing Gabriel's work before the end of the week. I promise."

Kalila nodded and watched as Erik strode out into the cold, keeping his head down to both avoid being gawked at for his mask and to keep the bitter wind's bite at bay.

She closed the door and turned to face the interior of her apartment.

It was dim and gray inside, and had been since Kalila had begun to go through Gabriel's things. She had not been destroyed by his death, but the constant, tormenting memory of him was in every inch of the space they had shared for the past several years. It would destroy her if she did not begin the next chapter of her life soon, Kalila could feel it.

She had saved Gabriel's home office area for the last; a crushing dreadful loneliness coming over her as she'd gone through his papers, letters and notes. It was a task with a powerful finality to it- in going through Gabriel's private writings, there was an admission that it was over. Her prayers for his recovery had gone unanswered. Gabriel was dead, gone, and would not come home to her again.

Kalila sighed. The only thing left was to go through his things and tie up the loose ends of his unfinished business.

It was there that she had found letters, notes and the nearly finished manuscript.

Kalila had waited until she felt the time was right to contact Erik for his permission to release, and he'd surprised her with his willingness to come to America at such short notice. Well, that was Erik for you. He'd always been a strange one, but loyal to a fault. Gabriel had been a friend and so Erik had come. Simple.

Erik was there now, and would be for several more days. Kalila nodded to herself and picked up her phone.


What am I doing?!

This was becoming a constant questioning in the back of Christine's mind. She had asked it of herself in regard to Erik, Nicolas and Belinda over the past several weeks, ever since she'd returned from Paris, a constant confusion of self-doubt and weariness. Upon speaking with Kalila when she'd gone over to see her stepmother for dinner, and learning that Erik was in New York, staying barely five blocks from her apartment, Christine had paced for a time.

Stupid as it was, she wondered why Erik had not tried to see her yet.

Are you insane? You know why he hasn't been in to see you- after running from him and ignoring all attempts to contact you, why on earth would he waste his time?

Still, Christine had made up her mind- she had run from things for too long, and she would be a coward to continue running now when Erik was so close. Determined to speak to him at last, to learn the truth no matter how painful it might be, Christine dressed for the day and began walking straight toward the Hilton hotel.

Doubt assaulted her with every step, one distressing possibility after another. What if Erik didn't want to see her? What if he had married? What if he was angry?

Christine ignored her own sense of dread. Whatever I find when I finally see him, I'll have earned it by running from him all this time. If he married that woman, then I'll have to accept it and give up the dream. Belinda was right- if Erik has married, the world will not end. God, stop worrying, and just see for yourself...

She imagined that Erik would be caught off his guard to find her at his hotel room door, just as she had been when he'd come for her after receiving Gabriel's letter. It might be a funny thing to see him so shocked, wide-eyed and with a dropped jaw.

It was a simple thing to get his room number and ride the elevator to the 8th floor. She strode down the hallway like it was a designer catwalk, again determined to appear strong should anyone see her. Bright eyes found his room number, 827. Swallowing her pride, and mindful that she'd wasted months and could not afford to waste even more time, Christine knocked.

After a moment...

The door swung open to reveal Elita at the threshold. Christine's breath caught in her throat, surprised to see her again. The other woman was beautiful, with the air of mystery held by all Parisian women. Her creamy golden-olive skin, deeper than Christine's own pale, was on display in her fashionable outfit of a blouse and a pair of slacks. The typical French bob had grown out in the months since Christine had first seen her, a bit past the woman's shoulders, and her dark eyes blinked curiously.

No wonder, considering that they had only glimpsed each other in Paris, but never officially met.

"E...are you, Elita?" Christine asked, feeling suddenly detached and dreamy. Her rival looked like any other woman, not the hated witch Christine had conjured whenever the woman's name entered her mind.

The woman stood still for a moment, absorbing her words. "Oui. Come, come." She said, ushering Christine into the suite.

Erik was nowhere in sight, though she recognized a jacket of his that had been hung on the back of a chair. She stepped inside, a crushing dread filling her completely. She turned around once she heard Elita close the door. If Elita was here, sharing a room with Erik...

Oh God, this is humiliating!

Christine swallowed again, forcing herself not to reveal the emotional storm that was beginning to stir within her chest. "So...so it is you."

Elita raised a brow, obviously trying hard to understand what Christine was saying, though English had never been her strongest language. "Yes, it is me, I am Elita. Do I know you?"

"No. No, not really. I, um, is Erik...?"

A realization hit Elita, Christine watched as her dark eyes widened and her lips parted. "Mon Dieu, you are Christine?"

"Yes, Christine Daae." She nodded, feeling awkward. It was so strange, to be face to face with the woman she'd thought of as an enemy for so long.

Elita raised her chin. "Ah, so now you know? Has Erik told you?"

"He...there were letters..." Christine followed her as she moved further into the suite.

"Oui, oui, he and his writing, always writing!" Her manicured hands fluttered for a moment like odd butterflies. When she spoke again, Elita's tone was nearly accusing. "He heard nothing from you for months. He was worried."

Guilt swept down, and Christine's cheeks flamed at the reminder. Still, is was not Elita that she had come to see. "Well, I was...I'm sorry, is Erik here?"

Elita nodded. "Yes, in bed with Nicole."

"What?"

"He's just inside, asleep I think. Or he might be awake, just watching her. He does that often." Elita gestured to the closed door across the room, then took a seat and motioned for Christine to do the same across from her. "Christine, I believe that you and I have things to discuss."