Disclaimer: I do not anything to do with POTO.
Okay! Sorry, it took a while, but I hope this was worth the wait. I hate to take Gerry away from you all, but he will only be in the way if he returns to Paris with the phamily. To make up for it, I shall answer that burning question: Who gets the Gerry?
Angel Music no.24601: Sorry, darling, there are prior claims on the Gerry. Which is your favorite Les Mis song?
Gevaisa: I'm glad you enjoy it so much.
LenisVox: HAHA! Your review was hilarious. Yeah, four in the morning does something to you. But, EEK! Misty glares at Erik, "Erik, darling, I had no idea you swung for the other team." (Erik waves punjab)
OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles: You know, it's rather funny. At one point people were actually sending Gerry death threats for taking Anna away from Erik, now he's quite the Mr. Popularity. Yes, I'm afraid he must go, he just wouldn't fit the plot (whatever the plot is) when they return to Paris.
Tian Sirki: I did get your email, but my email service is stupid. It decided to boycott all outgoing messages so that I could receive mail, but not send it. (Kicks email) But tis all better and I think my response was sent to you. Maybe…? Let me know!
OneWhoWalksWithPigeons: Ah, I am sorry if I neglected you in my review replies. Please don't take it personally, it's just absent-mindedness. But, yeah! Jack Sparrow—excuse me—Captain Jack Sparrow is my hero. And thank you for the muffins.
Solecito: No, sadly, you did not misinterpret that. Gerry is leaving. I hate to do it, but tis necessary. Don't worry, he'll be going to a better place. I do have an account on phantom dot com (is that what you meant?), under Misty Breyer (creative I know). But I only signed on to tracked down the person who was copying and pasting my story without my permission (shakes fist) I never go on it though. But Phantom Companions has a ways to go.
Pleading Eyes: I have no idea why, but your review amused me so much. Hee! Yes, the Girys are most definitely on the list of conspirators. (Cecily curtsies to reviewer) She appreciates your notice. And since you paid her a compliment she'll let you know that she is hiring the hobbits to be her servants. So, yes, they will be in Paris.
Nameless Waif: I'm evil, I know. (wicked grin) Oh, good, English final did not suffer. My conscious is clear. Yes, it is necessary to the duration of this phic that Raoul and Erik remain as dense as possible for as long as possible. However, not every chapter will be consumed with angst and frustration. There's gonna be more randomness and more characters in Paris.
SimplyElymas: Isn't this little army of conspirators a wonderful group? I luv them all (squishes conspirators)
ShaShiSar221: Anna and Erik are gonna have problems. Oh, the melodrama!
Marianne Brandon: Wow, loved your review. No, they won't be returning to 2005. That would just suck. Isn't it sad that I take it as a compliment to be called a psychotic Erik and Gerry fan? Ah, but tis so true.
aragornnme: Oh, it's a blast to write this. Christine definitely has some trouble coming her way. MWHAHA!
enigmatic mystery: Erik regards cackling Authoress…turns to reviewer: "Not sure it was a good idea to give her permission to be evil."
His Mask: Thank you! Uniqueness is one of the highest compliments a writer can receive.
Chapter dedication for Phantress for contributing to the idea of the blueberries!
Okay, here we go w/ the chappie!
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IN WHICH BLUEBERRIES ARE VERY USEFUL
"Well, doctor? Is it serious?" Mme. de Pouf asked, her plump body squeezing close to the doctor as he shut the door to his patient's room.
He shook his grave head, "No, it is nothing that will not heal within a few days, but I'm afraid that Mlle. Daaé must not leave her room for at least four days together. Her stomach and head will not stand too much exertion."
The doctor and the landlady walked quietly down the hall, aware that curious eyes watched them from every door. They descended the stairs and Mme. de Pouf followed him to his horse, scurrying to keep up with his long strides.
"But what could have caused such a violent illness, monsieur? She was perfectly well last night," the lady asked.
The doctor shrugged as he climbed onto his steed, "I would attribute it to an allergic reaction to something she ate. That seems the most likely source. Good day, Madame."
The doctor tipped his hat to her and then spurred his horse down the lane, which led back to town.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Back up the stairs, Christine was beside herself with alternating stomach pains and angry outbursts. She tossed about in her bed, groaning in agony one moment and loudly cursing the next.
"If I've told them once, I've told them a THOUSAND times! I cannot eat blueberries!" she hollered.
Raoul and her friends, Mlles. Duff and Lohan, did their best to calm her.
"Now, now, Christine, you mustn't work yourself up like this. It will only make you feel worse," Raoul repeated tiredly as he patted her hand. It was no good, but he could think of nothing else to do or say. Lizette breathed out a bit of advice as she idly poked the offensive fruit salad, discarded on the coffee table.
"What a pity this should happen on the eve of the grand ball!" Hilaire put in from her post at the foot of the bed. Raoul groaned at the girl's stupidity. That had to have been the least helpful thing to say.
Likewise, Christine glared at her. The singer was beginning to feel that this had to be the worst few weeks of her life. First, the exploding tarantulas, then the crazy fireworks, then that humiliating defeat at singing in the lounge after supper, and now she was too sick to go to the ball. It certainly made being kidnapped by an obsessive, homicidal maniac look like a picnic.
Even if she had the strength to attend the ball, Christine knew it was better to remain abed. The reaction to the blueberries had caused her cheeks to swell so that she looked as though she had just had all four wisdom teeth pulled. Angry, itching bumps peppered her neck, chest, and arms and her bulbous eyes were nearly glued shut by clumpy, green eye boogers. (Ew.) She hated to have Raoul see her like this, but better to have him at her bedside than elsewhere. Knowing Erik, he'd probably find a way to console her as well. In the mean time, she felt like having a good cry.
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"Quite a shame about Mlle. Daaé. Is it not?" Gerry commented casually as he and Erik readied themselves for the ball.
"Yes. If I did not feel obliged to escort Anna to the ball tonight I would be with her. I cannot imagine what brought on such a terrible illness," Erik growled irritably. In his concern for the well-being of his angel, the trapdoor lover could hardly tie his cravat. Gerry paid it no mind. He trusted that Erik would forget Christine some time that night, if only for a few hours.
Though it is no surprise to anyone reading this (or it shouldn't be), the Gerry cut quite a handsome figure in his signature evening clothes. Erik eyed him reproachfully.
"If you are so concerned for Christine, then why do you not go to her and leave Anna for the night?" Gerry asked, grinning slyly to himself. He stood behind Erik, observing him in the mirror, as the original Opera Ghost continued to struggle with his cravat.
Erik stared at the imposter in the mirror with a mixture of befuddlement and horror, "I cannot disappoint Anna."
"Why not? You love Christine more than the air you breathe. Is that not so?"
"Well, yes….it is, but I care for the cousins as well. They are my friends and I promised her."
"But you were never one to keep promises, Erik."
Erik whirled around to glare daggers at the irritating interrogator. "Are you trying to get me to abandon Anna for the evening?"
"No, simply trying to probe the inner thoughts and turmoil of the great and elusive Phantom of the Opera," Gerry replied, totally unphased by Erik's anger.
"In that case, why don't you settle for probing your own thoughts and leave me in peace!" With that, the ruffled Erik stormed out of the bedroom, to wait in the sitting room.
Gerry laughed, "I love my job."
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Anna popped the last blueberries into her mouth before returning to the vanity table where Brooke was wrestling with her mangy brown hair.
"Don't let those berries stain your clothes, Anna," Brooke said. She stuck her tongue out in concentration as she navigated a curly lock into place and set it with a pin.
"That was the last of them. Do you want some help?"
Brooke sighed in exasperation, her arms dropping to her sides like dead weights. "Yes. If you don't mind."
Anna hummed "Deck the Halls" as she pinned back the rest of Brooke's hair.
"Heavens! Our hair has gotten long," the redhead commented.
"I know! I could spike it when we first arrived. Anna, do you think either Erik or Raoul will stay behind tonight in favor of keeping Christine company?"
"No. Erik promised me he would go."
"What about Raoul?"
"Cecily told me he still planned on going. There. That's the last one. It looks fantastic, Brooke."
Brooke stood and they both moved to the bed where their ball gowns lay waiting.
Brooke frowned as she pulled on her dress, "Cecily Cheney? Hasn't she been hanging around Gerry a lot these last few days?"
"Yes."
"How does she know anything about Raoul?"
Anna laughed at her cousin's vicious jealousy, "Relax, Brooke! She's a friend of his, too. She simply asked him if he intended to go or not and he said he would be there."
Brooke grumbled something incoherent as she laced up the back of Anna's dress. When they switched positions, Brooke found herself staring at their trunks, already packed for the train ride back to Paris.
"I'm going to miss everybody. Are you?" Brooke said.
Anna gazed past her friend's shoulders, at the trunks and the lonely Poppins Bag. "Yeah, but it'll be nice to get back home."
Brooke began giggling uncontrollably.
Anna quirked an eyebrow at her. "What's so funny?"
"Can you believe we actually think of the Phantom's lair…Erik's secret batcave, as home?" Brooke snorted.
Anna blinked for a moment. "That is so weird."
"Are you two finished yet?" an angry voice hollered from beyond the door.
"Oh, speak of the Phantom." The girls scurried to complete their ensembles.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Erik felt like punjabbing someone. That someone was the imposter, who had followed him into the sitting room for the purpose of continuing to torment Erik with disturbing questions. The Opera Ghost curled up in his favorite chair, twitching occasionally.
"Are you sure you don't want to stay behind?"
"SHUT UP!" Erik screamed, launching his willowy body from its fetal position, lanky arms outstretched to strangle the Gerry. The ice-cold skeletal fingers were a mere whisper away from their target when the rush of silk skirts stayed them. Erik halted in his tracks and slowly turned to face the girls.
Anna and Brooke swept into the room with all the elegance of real Victorian aristocrats. They did not shuffle awkwardly or skip with girly glee, but rather, they carried their bodies with smooth, effortless grace. The cousins were having what all females know to be an "I-look-like-a-million-bucks-and-everybody-knows-it" night. It showed in their easy confidence as they sauntered up to their escorts.
Erik noted with his usual level of excessive pride that his designs for their ball gowns had worked their magic and transformed the frumpy college women into living Cinderellas. Only he knew all the delicate intricacies that made the dresses truly unique. Although, both followed the typical fashion of the season, he had dictated such particulars, like the exact slope of the neckline or the precise measurements of the waists that would have made the gowns appear absolutely wretched on any other women. Additionally, Erik had seen to it that the heaps of fabric, lace, and ribbon drawn over the bustles and trailing to the floor were not decorated in the usual vulgar extravagance, but instead, with exquisite finesse.
The most notable difference between the gowns was the colors. Brooke's dress was a deep forest green, accented by lighter shades on the trim of the sleeves and hem and the intricate bundle piled atop the bustle. Anna's dress was rose pink and the decorations varied from coral to salmon; the bodice and apron front shone with the glimmer of a thousand seed pearls. They both wore their diamond chokers about their throats.
"Well, what do you think?" Anna asked as she approached Erik. Unfortunately, the Opera Ghost knew nothing about women (although this could be attributed to his being male and have nothing to do with his lifestyle), so he did not recognize the hidden demand for praise and adoration.
"I think I have flawless tastes," Erik said frankly, referring to the gowns. Although she knew he didn't mean any harm, Anna decided to look reproachful and hurt in an effort to squeeze out a compliment to her. Erik only looked genuinely puzzled in return.
The Gerry groaned. That idiot! Why millions of girls find him so alluring is beyond me. The handsome Phantom took the opportunity of passing a few hints to his hapless counterpart. He offered an arm to Brooke and purred a few flattering compliments about her appearance and swept her out the door.
Erik took the hint. Hesitatingly, he held out his elbow to Anna. He suddenly felt very nervous, like a teenage boy picking up his date, only to find her lovelier than he imagined possible and feeling intimidated by that loveliness. An unlucky pang of panic made him compare his own hideousness with her beauty. All at once, he feared she would betray a hidden disgust when she touched him.
With a quiet smile, Anna slipped one arm around his and gripped his elbow with her other hand. She pressed close to him and heard his slight gasp of shock.
When at last he found his voice again, he gently whispered, "You are exquisite, my dear. A perfect rose." Anna's smile widened with satisfaction.
"Thank you. Shall we then?"
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The annual summer ball was held in the town assembly rooms and it was hosted by the de Poufs. Each year the proprietors of the Le Snob hotel petitioned to host the ball, but nobody who wanted to enjoy himself or herself would ever permit it to happen. The event was to be without any awkwardness or unnecessary ceremony. Dinner and refreshments were centered in a side room while the main hall served as the ballroom. A small orchestra sat upon a dais in one corner.
The phamily met with the girls' acquaintances in the ballroom. The girls squealed and exclaimed over each other's gowns. Annette wore a gown of smoky lavender and Cecily was dressed in powder blue. They were both beautiful, but Brooke and Anna were easily the belles of the ball.
Everyone paired off for the first dance. Gerry led Brooke onto the dance floor, encircling her slimed waist with one strong arm. The brunette returned his smile with a distracted grin as her green eyes darted about the crowded room. He was not put off by her lack of inattention, but instead, hoped that her search for the Vicomte de Changy would soon be rewarded.
To Anna's extreme disappointment, Erik got cold feet as soon as she began to move to the dance floor. He hung back, his blue eyes wide with fear, his tall, lean body rigid. His heart told him his fears were irrational, but his mind, so warped by years of twisted living, screamed at him to hide from the bright lights and smiling faces.
"What is wrong?" the girl hissed as she tugged at his arm.
Erik shook her off and replied icily, "I am not exactly accustomed to dancing in public, Mademoiselle."
"But, Erik, you promised me!"
"I promised I would escort you, not dance with you." He did not know what to make of the look on her face. If he didn't know any better, he'd say it was a look of absolute heartbreak.
"You had no qualms at the masquerade!" she cried.
"That was because everybody was wearing a mask then," he snarled. Trying to soothe her hurt feelings, he quickly added, "You have no shortage of admirers here, my dear. You will not want for dance partners. If you need me, I shall be in the shadows. As always."
With that he was gone from her side, like a wisp of candle smoke caught by a breeze. Anna felt horridly empty and cold. Anger boiled inside of her and she had to bite her tongue to keep from cursing and screaming out her frustration. All she had wanted that evening was not to be drooled over by every ordinary buffoon in the room, but to be admired by and held in the arms of the Phantom of the Opera. Tears threatened to overwhelm her and she gripped her arms in an effort to keep her composure. She saw a few of her friends glance anxiously in her direction. Her face flushed and she fixed her eyes on some spot on the floor. Now, on top of everything else, she was humiliated.
It was Raoul who came to her rescue. The Vicomte came in too late to claim Brooke for the first dance, but on seeing her 'sister' standing alone, he applied to her instead.
"You did not come unattended, I trust," Raoul inquired as they waltzed together.
"No, my brother escorted me, but he is not one for dancing much," she spit out bitterly. She hoped Erik was watching. It seemed terribly appropriate that the man who saved her from the dreaded embarrassment of becoming a wallflower should happen to be Erik's arch nemesis.
Raoul and his redheaded companion carried on a very halting conversation as they danced. Both were consumed with thoughts of others. Anna, of course, thought of Erik, angry and sad by turns. Raoul was watching Brooke dance with Gerry.
My God, she looks gorgeous tonight, he thought. He fancied that deep green suited her so well because of her love of nature and animals, which he shared. He imagined that the hues of her gown brought out the color in her eyes so that they shone like emeralds. Her frequent glances in his direction did not escape his notice. It encouraged him.
As soon as the dance ended, Raoul made Anna a quick bow and hastened to claim Brooke for the next two dances. For a moment it seemed as though he would be unsuccessful, for as he moved toward her, he saw Dominic Cheney just an arm's length away from the green-clad beauty. Dominic was detracted from his aim, which was to ask Brooke for the next dance, when Cecily called him over to her, in a panicked voice. She smiled slyly as she watched the Vicomte claim his lady.
Gerry took Raoul's place with Anna. Even the Gerry could do nothing to allay her disappointment. Sure he was…well, Gerry, but he was not Erik. She was almost unreasonable enough to be cross with him for it.
"Where did Erik go?" asked the half-masked Phantom, his voice low and grave.
"Holing himself up in the shadows like a spider," she snapped. Her lip quivered. "Gerry, you're a Phantom. What can I do to make him…"
She choked on her next words.
"Make him what?" Gerry said, gently encouraging.
"Make him love me." As she whispered her answer, the reality of what she said hit Anna so hard that she might have collapsed if Gerry did not support her. She wanted Erik to love her. Why? Because she loved him in spite of everything, his face, his past, his present…she didn't care.
Gerry cut through her thoughts, "I cannot give you a formulaic answer, Anna. Erik is a complicated person, but I imagine this might be one of the reasons you love him."
Anna nodded and he continued.
"You know what Leroux said of him, He had a heart that could have held the empire of the earth. Erik has an enormous capacity to love, but the harshness of his life, thus far, has hardened him and blinded him. His has many flaws to overcome: his pride and his cowardice being the principle ones. I suggest you love him fiercely."
Anna nodded again. Her self-revelation left her numb and speechless. The music slowed and the dance came to an end. As the rest of the crowd shifted around them, Gerry titled her face toward his.
Gazing into her eyes with a great tenderness, he whispered, "Do not despair. You deserve his love. He will come to see that he has bestowed it on very unworthy ground, but you must not give up on him. Everyone else has, but you must not."
Anna did not even nod this time, yet Gerry knew she understood and took his command to heart. A shadow of a smile flickered across his face and then he left her. Much to her annoyance, she was immediately besieged by a throng of young men eager to dance with her. She wished the jabbering idiots would evaporate on the spot. She wanted to be alone with her new thoughts, but the ballroom was hardly the place for quiet contemplation, so she pasted on a phony smile and accepted the offer of the nearest gentleman.
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Erik watched all from a secluded alcove near the orchestra. Raoul managed to keep Brooke to himself for most of the night, though he was forced to part with her once or twice. The Opera Ghost would have found this behavior most intriguing had he not been more interested in what befell his sulky raven.
Anna whirled about the room with man after man. It was obvious to Erik that she took no pleasure in any of them, not even Gerry. He recognized the irritability in the set of her jaw and the jerky movements of her arms. It pleased him that no partner could satisfy her, but at the same time he felt profoundly ashamed for jilting her so inconsiderately. She should have been smiling coyly, soaking up flattery with a charming giggle, and glorying in the attention her own beauty gained her. It was his fault that she was reduced to a glum, slump-shouldered sourpuss. Yet Erik could not comprehend why his company meant so much to her.
Towards the end of the night, he began to notice that Jacques Cheney, who obviously had had one too many sips from the punch bowl, pursued her aggressively. The clumsy idiot stumbled after Anna each time a new dance began, but she managed to secure a new partner before he could reach her. Alas, she could not escape him forever. Jacques finally succeeded in leading her about the dance floor at the same time his twin brother Dominic was dancing with Brooke.
Both Erik and Raoul were considerably nettled. Gerry and Cecily exchanged knowing glances.
Of the two oafish brothers, Jacques was the least intoxicated. Though steady enough on his feet, he leered at Anna, his pale, watery eyes focusing on regions of her body other than her face. The girl flushed in indignation. She felt positively violated. Erik, likewise, saw where Jacques' eyes fell. He also saw the man's hand slide lecherously low on Anna's hip, gripping her tightly and pulling her in so that her body was pressed against his. She whipped her head to the side to avoid his foul breath. A low growl issued from the Phantom's malformed mouth. He was about to throw fear and caution to the wind and storm to her rescue when a loud commotion from the opposite end of the room drew everyone's attention.
Anna took the opportunity to shove Jacques away and darted forward to see what had caused such a stir. She was aware that he followed her, but she forgot about her pursuer when the crowd parted to reveal a pain-ridden Brooke crumpled on the floor.
"Brooke!" Anna cried, rushing to her cousin's side. "What happened?"
"Jusssst a lil tumble," Dominic slurred and hiccupped. He stood over them, swaying uncertainly. Raoul shouldered him to the side and bent to examine Brooke's swollen left ankle.
The brunette leaned her upper body against her cousin, gripping Anna's hand as the Vicomte and few ladies felt the tender appendage.
"We were dancing—if you could call it that—when M. Cheney caused me to stumble and I twisted my ankle," Brooke groaned through gritted teeth. Anna glared at the offending drunk as though she could fry him like a bug beneath a magnifying glass.
Raoul leaned towards the girls, saying, "It is not broken, but you'll not be able to put pressure on it for a while."
"Lemme sssee!" Dominic gurgled, slumping forward to grasp the ankle. Brooke shrieked in pain and mulishly kicked him with her right foot. The surrounding crowd gasped and hissed in shock at his stupidity. Raoul grabbed two fistfuls of Dominic's lapels and hauled him to his feet.
Shoving him away from Brooke, the Vicomte snarled, "Get him out of here and back to the inn." A few broad-shouldered men obliged. No one dared to oppose the vicious young nobleman as he stood over the injured girl and her cousin as protectively as a guard dog.
Anna whispered in her cousin's ear, "I'll get Erik to call our carriage."
"No, no, I don't want to ruin your night. Gerry can take me home," Brooke replied.
Anna was about to remark that she had no desire to stay whatsoever and to thank her cousin for having the decency to cut her miserable night short, when Raoul jumped forward with an eager offer.
"Mlle. Anna, I have my horse with me. I could escort Mlle. Brooke home, if that would help you."
Brooke's face lit up like a firefly. Anna nodded her consent. She and Gerry helped Brooke to her feet as Raoul went away to order his horse brought to the door. The crowd dispersed, taking up their former positions on the dance floor as the music began again. Raoul returned in good time and he and Gerry led Brooke away, leaving Anna alone once more.
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Brooke did not realize how flushed she was until she felt the cool of the night seeping into her skin, like water into desert sand. She thought it would be lovely to freeze into an ice sculpture or melt into a forest stream. The throbbing in her ankle died down, although an occasional jostle from Raoul's horse sent waves of pain radiating up her leg.
The grey, leggy stallion was a gentle, well-trained creature, plodding along behind its master through the deserted town streets. Raoul glanced over his shoulder to make sure Brooke hadn't fallen off. To his surprise and disappointment, she was not an accomplished rider. He frowned; thinking perhaps all her talk of horses had just been an unusually creative method of husband-hunting. This analysis was unfair to Brooke because, having grown up in late twentieth-century Montana, she had learned to ride astride a Western saddle, not side-saddle on an English one, thus she was having some difficulty in keeping a good seat. Raoul did not consider this option.
Of course, it could be attributed to her pain and discomfort, Raoul reasoned. That seemed a rational enough explanation so he shrugged the whole business aside. Brooke squirmed and gripped the saddle as her swollen foot bumped into the horse's flank when they turned down the path to the inn. She released a soft groan and trained her eyes on the Vicomte, in an effort to forget her pain.
His shoulders were of a pleasing expanse and shape and she enjoyed the way they moved beneath the fabric of his coat. His long legs swung forward with youthful ease. To be sure, he did not move as gracefully as Erik or Gerry, but there was a manly elegance to his gait. Raoul looked back again, Brooke blushed as he caught her staring at him and averted her eyes to the seashore.
"Oh! Look at the beach!" she cried, pointing eagerly. Raoul stopped the horse and turned in the direction she indicated. Indeed, the white sand glowed beneath the light an almost-full moon, fat and glorious as she approached the height of her beauty. Her radiance drowned out the light of the stars nearest her, but the rest of the sky looked to be on fire with starlight. The white caps of the waves glittered an eerie green as florescent microorganisms lit up in the moonlight.
All was silent save for the crashing of the waves, but in the distance Raoul and Brooke heard an inhuman wail.
"Did you hear that?" Raoul asked. Brooke nodded and tilted her head to listen. It came again and another call answered it.
Brooke broke into a gleeful giggle, "It's a pod of whales!"
Raoul relax into a nervous chuckle. They listened to the whales' songs for a moment more, before Raoul ventured a question: "Do you think humans will ever walk on the moon?"
"Oh, yes!" Brooke cried. He shot her a surprised glance. She bit her lip. Oops.
"When, do you think?"
"Oh, not for another hundred years, I suppose."
"I wonder what it would be like to walk on the moon. It would probably be similar to earth."
"I don't know. Other planets and moons have different properties than ours."
Raoul now turned to gaze up into Brooke's face with a mixture of confusion, admiration, and bemusement. "May I tell you something?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"You are the most puzzling woman I have ever met."
"Um…thank you?"
Raoul laughed, "I mean that in the best sense possible."
Brooke smiled coyly, "Do you like puzzles, Raoul?"
"Very much so," he replied, smiling knowingly in return. He clucked at his horse and they began to move once again. As Brooke watched the Vicomte walk, she was suddenly struck by an overwhelming sensation of happiness that can only be described as the warm fuzzies. She smiled softly to herself. She would miss Raoul terribly when they returned to Paris.
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"I do not wish to dance with you again!" Anna snarled as she jerked away from Jacques Cheney.
"But it'sss the lassssst danth, Anna," he mumbled, still leering.
Heartily wishing Erik had not ordered dress measurements that left even the slightest mound of her chest visible, Anna growled and tried to worm farther from the horrid man. He reeked like rotten fruit, his hands were fat and clumsy, and his face looked as though it had been sat on. Jacques did not relent. He chased Anna across the room until he had her cornered. He discovered that he could leer and be just as vulgar by trapping her against a wall as he could while she dance with him.
Anna felt like bursting into tears. This was beyond a doubt the worst night of her life, thus far. The thought of Erik's cold absence weighed most heavily on her. Then, as if responding to her inner musings, an unmistakable voice sounded from behind the slimy drunkard.
"The last dance is mine, boy."
Jacques lumbered around to glare down at the obnoxious intruder, but found himself staring up into a blank, black mask. Erik's eyes spoke all of their disgust and anger. Anna nearly screamed for joy as he brushed past the speechless Jacques and held out his long, elegant hand to her. She accepted it with the eagerness of a child on Christmas morning.
Even as the girl stepped into his arms and began to waltz with him, Erik felt it was necessary to glare at Jacques for a moment or two longer, just in case the foolish buffoon did not already comprehend Erik's deep dislike for him. Anna relished the Phantom's possessive grip on her hand and waist. She felt her spirits rising to playfulness.
"I should have jilted you, you know. And I would have, but the alternative was just too repulsive," she remarked.
Erik turned his glare on her. "You might thank me for saving you from such an unpleasant encounter."
"Oh, really? Maybe you should apologize for leaving me to that pack of wolves to begin with!" Anna retorted hotly.
A guilty flicker in Erik's eyes told her he felt his misdeed, but he would not apologize. She decided to let the matter go…for now.
"Will you be happy to be home?" she asked, changing the subject.
Erik nodded, "Yes, but I am sorry that you and Brooke shall be forced to leave your new friends. Of course…" he paused uncertainly, "You do not have to return to the house on the lake."
Anna shushed him, "Erik, don't be silly. Our home is with you." Erik nodded.
"Is Brooke all right?"
"Yes, the Vicomte took her back to the inn."
She sensed an eyebrow arching beneath the mask as he replied, "Did he now? That is most interesting."
The dance was long, slow, and gentle. The music lulled the dancers into a sweet trance. Subconsciously, Erik pulled Anna a little closer. With the fingers that gripped one of her gloved hands, he felt her pulse quicken.
They did not talk for the rest of the dance. Anna glowed happily on the outside. On the inside, she contemplated her earlier discussion with Gerry. She admitted she longed for Erik to return the regard she held for him. She couldn't say why, but she felt this dance was the threshold, the moment when she not only became capable of loving Erik, but also worthy of his love. The thought prompted her to hold herself up with extra regality and to gaze into Erik's deep blue eyes with greater tenderness.
Gerry grinned as he waltzed with Cecily. His mission hadn't been a total flop. Although Cecily didn't know it, he had had a second purpose in being here. Not only was he to stir up romance, he was also to purge Brooke and Anna of their phangirliness. He had been the outlet that drained them of all the silly squeeness that made them like…us, dear readers.
"It's promising," Cecily commented, nodding in Anna and Erik's direction.
"Indeed it is. The night has not been a total waste then. In fact, I'd say those brothers of yours proved to be rather useful."
Cecily snorted derisively, "Good, then their existence is not completely pointless, as I once suspected."
"Cheer up, darling, you have a wonderful adventure ahead of you. You must look forward to it," Gerry admonished. Ever so slowly, he spun her round and danced towards the back door, which over looked a quiet rose garden. When they reached the door, the Gerry pulled away from his partner, and raising her hand to his lips, planted a kiss upon her knuckles.
"This is where I leave you," he whispered.
Cecily's grey eyes widened, "What, now! But how shall your absence be explained?"
"The phamily is used to this sort of thing. As for everyone else, I'm sure you'll think of something, dear Cecily. You are quite clever, you know." He winked one turquoise eye at her and slipped into the darkness beyond the threshold. Cecily sighed, she hated to see such a dazzling man go, but she remembered his words, and settled her thoughts upon her new position as overseer of matchmaking. Paris would not be so boring after all. With one last sigh, the black-haired girl turned away from the door.
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
The Gerry slunk through the silent garden. Fireflies flickered here and there and beyond the last hedge of thorny bushes he could see his lady waiting. She stood near the rotten, moss-covered stonewall, dressed in silver. Her long brown hair spilled over one shoulder. Beneath the hood of her cloak, her amber eyes glowed mischievously.
"Hello, Misty, darling," Gerry purred, bending to kiss her out-stretched hand.
"Hello, Gerry, so good to see you," Misty replied.
"Is it finally time to go home?" Gerry asked.
"Yes, let's go home." Misty clicked her silver heels and the two vanished in a puff of glittering smoke.