I shot out from my room, down the stairs two at a time and across the parlour to where Erik was rising slowly to his feet.

"Jeremy!"

"Hands at the level of your eyes, Monsieur," he was saying. "Come now, Monsieur, hands raised, further! Where I can see them!"

Erik growled, but he faced his uninvited guest and raised his hands in submission. Jeremy breathed a sigh that wasn't quite subtle.

I leapt for the gun, trying to push it from its aim. Jeremy pushed me down and caught my wrist. The bullet rattled in the barrel and I froze.

"How fitting that you should kill me with the pistol your father brought with him," Erik snarled, nodding at the weapon. In my panic, I caught his eyes for just a moment, begging him to stop. "I thought to give that back to you would have been a token of apology."

"Erik-" I started, but Jeremy shook his head.

"Why did you kill him? He was nothing but good to you! He treated you like his own son!"

"And then intruded on my private property with a group of savage men without invitation!" His hands lowered slightly.

"Hands at your eyes!" Jeremy cried, the pistol shaking.

"This is madness!" I shouted. My heart slammed against my ribs, sending shocks of pain through me. "Madness! Jeremy, please! Put the gun down! How did you find this place?"

"The same way his father did, probably," Erik said, his eyes never leaving Jeremy. "The portcullis passageway."

"How I got here is not important!"

Erik opened his mouth to snap, only the glare I shot him shutting him up.

"What do you mean, 'his own son'?" I hissed to Jeremy, whose mouth twitched in aggravation.

"Not now, dearest," he muttered back. Erik rolled his eyes.

"If you think I am oblivious to your words, think again. I have not become an all-knowing master from not perfecting my hearing, you know." Erik lowered his hands once again to fetch some music from the organ lid as Jeremy saw to it that I didn't snatch his duelling pistol from him. Jeremy pushed me aside and behind him and the pistol returned to its aim.

"The Good Book tells me to turn the other cheek, but God help me, I only have two! Hands up!"

Erik glared even harder, but his hands went up once again.

"Jeremy, what are you doing?" I cried, giving up my battle for the pistol. I clutched his arm instead and tried to pull him away. But he paid me no heed.

"Yes, indeed, Jeremy," Erik said, his half-bare face contorting into a ripe and taunting scowl. "Do tell!"

"Come off it, Pierre! Did you think I would not recognise you? I know my mother's glowing eyes when I see them!"

My mouth hung open. My grip on his arm slackened until my hand fell completely. "Jeremy..."

His eyes had ignited with a fire I'd always assumed was the reflection of various candles, and indeed it could still be, if it weren't for the fact that I'd seen the exact same blaze in Erik's eyes countless times before to be mistaken. I squinted at those eyes, the uncut, shimmering emeralds that I'd studied so often, only now realising how much I'd never seen within them. Yes, they glowed just like Erik's. Flecks of amber, which cut through the emerald, burned like wildfire.

So this was why that portrait had been so familiar.

"Why did you kill Papa? He was always good to you!"

I tugged on Jeremy's sleeve and raised myself up to his ear.

"You can't kill your own brother," I whispered, watching as his eyes softened slightly at my words. "No matter what he's done, you can't kill your own flesh and blood."

But he clenched his teeth and raised the duelling pistol again, his fingers whitening around the hilt and trigger. I swallowed my heart back into my chest.

"Jeremy."

"How imprudent you are," Erik snarled. Jeremy raised the gun back to him, his hand shaking. "Why did you enter my house? I never invited you! I don't want you here, or anybody!"

"Erik!" I said, turning to him with sharp indignance. He glared back at me.

"You heard me, Nikita. However great the service you did for Erik, he may forget it. He never wanted you in this house in the first place."

"Take that back!"

"Nikki..." Jeremy said, his voice wavering and hand shaking. The bullet rattled in the barrel and my throat went dry.

"Do you have what you want now, mon frère?" Erik let his hands fall and he slumped onto the piano stool. "A nice little family reunion before you marry my friend behind you? Ah, but you are the son of Luc Desrosiers, aren't you, Jerry?"

"My name," Jeremy snapped, "is Jeremy Marie-Joseph Luc des Rosiers-sur-Garonne! Use it!"

"And I am simply Pierre, with no other name for me to claim. I am neither Desrosiers, nor Destler, nor de La Chance." He scoffed a humourless laugh and drew a menacing collection of notes from the ivory keys. "To hell with taking your father's name, after he dared come after me with the same pistol you're holding! Ah, but more the fool he! It was his hesitation that brought him to meet his fate so early. Yes, brother, he took one look at my eyes and went as white as a sheet!"

"And then you murdered the man who worked so hard to keep you alive," Jeremy choked, blinking back tears so fast it was a wonder he could see anything at all.

"I returned his body to you, didn't I? I might be hideous, but I was not hideous enough to deny him a funeral."

"This doesn't make sense," I moaned, dropping my head into my hands. "You-" I looked at my fiancé, "are his-" and to Erik, "brother. And you killed his father, who was not your father, but you both share Madame Destler's eyes and other habits, and I didn't know this how?"

I glared at Jeremy. "I was a maid in that house since I was six years old! I never saw you there! Not once!"

"Ah, but he was at his prestigious boarding school, was he not?" Erik scorned, turning in his seat to glower us in turn. I shot daggers at him, and if I'd had my knives with me, perhaps I would seriously have done so. "Yes, rich old Grandpapy couldn't very well leave his little friend without an education, despite Daddy Desrosiers being so naughty as to marry my poor, unhappy Mama. It was a shame to waste such money, don't you think, brother? After what your schoolwork proved?"

Jeremy flushed. "Shut your trap! We are only half-brothers and you have no right to call me out on such things!"

I turned back to Jeremy. "You said you were expelled!"

"And I was! I wasn't good enough!" he protested. "He's trying to wind me up!"

"You never liked to admit your inadequacies, did you?" Erik said, so nonchalant all of a sudden that Jeremy went a darker shade of crimson until I thought blood would seep from his ears and eyes.

"Leave him alone!" I growled at him. Then, to Jeremy, "Why are you here? How did you know where to go?"

"A stagehand always knows what pieces are out of place," he replied. "If a set is even slightly misplaced, it can throw the entire scene. Actors stand in the wrong places, people appear out of doors that aren't there, the trapdoors don't work, anything could happen! The Angel in your room had been moved slightly, left ajar. I simply followed the path until I caught up with you!"

I groaned and let my head fall back into my hands. Why did all my plans constantly backfire?

"Are you going to kill me yet?" Erik said, his voice dry. "It's getting rather boring, sitting here and waiting for you to put that bullet through my chest, you know."

But I grappled onto Jeremy's right hand and wrenched the gun from his grip. "If you take one shot at him, I'll never marry you! You cannot shoot your brother!"

"Why not? He killed yours."

Vladimir?

I stared at Erik, at the lasso that rested upon the organ, and back at Jeremy.

"I came for his blessing," he whispered. His hand curled around my cheek, but one glance at Erik set the scowl back in place. "I know next to nothing about your parents, and with Vladimir dead, that leaves only your friend 'Erik' who you always spoke about with such fondness! I'm dismayed to see that said fondness is so misplaced."

I folded my arms, careful not to touch the trigger in any way, and frowned at him. "I never told you he was the Opera Ghost!"

"You didn't have to," Erik butted in. "He knew from the moment he saw me at the Masquerade."

"You can keep your mouth shut, unless you want to give me your blessing!" Jeremy growled. Erik rolled his eyes, but I saw the thudding of his heart in his throat from where I was standing.

"Alright," he muttered, raising his hands in submission. "Alright. You win, my dear little brother. Go on then. Marry each other and live in perpetual happiness and love! Let there be rainbows and songbirds to fill the rest of your days in Toulouse or Rouen or whichever damned place you choose to make your Home Sweet Home."

I inclined my head at him, shooting him a harsh look. Was he mad? I shouldn't answer that.

Erik stood from the organ and paced to the hallway door, passing before us as he did so. Jeremy's arm snaked around my middle and pulled me close, his eyes never leaving the Opera Ghost.

"I trust Nikita will be able to show you back up to the dismal and dreary world of Paris," he said over his shoulder, opening the door and pausing on the threshold. "If not, my dear lady, feel free to push him into the same trap his first amour was sliced to pieces in. I won't hold a brother's grudge for it."

The door slammed after him.

Jeremy had frozen against me. I tugged his hand. "We should run."

He gave a long, breathy exhale and nodded. "Let's!"

And we did.