Here is the next (and final) chapter, readers!

Thank you for reading!

The rest of the day went by in a blur. Antoinette and Francis told us that they had snuck out of Paris in disguises and headed immediately to Italy, thinking that even if we had been captured by mad cannibal pirates, we would manage to join them in a week – or even sooner! Francis had nearly healed from his bullet wound. He was still weak, but much less so, and he had regained his good temper. Antoinette's hand was scarred, but, thankfully, she still had the use of all her fingers. And to Erik's happiness, the two of them had brought Wednesday with them. She curled up on his lap and promptly fell asleep.

For our part, Erik and Nadir and I found it difficult to express the entirety of our stay with the Inspector. Erik told his part in a monotone; he did not enliven the narrative with a discussion of his emotions at the time, or attempt to tell mine. Nadir had spent most of his time at the Inspector's locked in a dirty, tiny room, so his story was not very informative. I managed to squeeze everything that had happened to me into the space of a few short minutes; I did not want to ever have to say it again.

Antoinette, for her part, did not try to persuade us to delve deeper into the blood and gore of those days. Francis settled for horrified expressions and angry mutterings at the "evilness, pure evilness," of Linnet, Nicolas, and the Inspector.

When we told them Nicolas had had a change of heart (or so it had seemed) and helped us to escape, Antoinette blatantly called him a "filthy coward" for not having done so earlier. She was rubbing absentmindedly at the scar on her hand.

"Let me see that," Erik said, leaning forward. "Does it hurt?"

"No," Antoinette said, flushing unexpectedly. "No, it's fine. It just… it reminds me of her."

I thought of the scars on Erik's back. Erik seemed to be thinking the same thing; he whitened a little around the lips and nodded.

"I understand," he said. He settled carefully back into his chair, his face pensive. "Well. Well, it seems we can't go back to the Opera House."

"It's horrible," the Count said pitifully. "I loved that place. And Jeannette – what am I going to do about her? I can't go see her; I'm a fugitive – from the law. The law! I have never been a fugitive before in my whole life. I've never even stolen anything!"

Automatically, I thought of the journal I had stolen from Luke's office months ago, and felt heat creep into my cheeks. I had.

Erik grinned at me; apparently he had been thinking the same thing. I raised my eyebrows in defiance at him, and said,

"Oh, but other people have, haven't they, Erik? I seem to remember a certain letter or something that went missing from my room a few months ago."

"I wouldn't be talking if I were you," Erik said, grinning even wider.

"Stealing is against the law," Antoinette said primly. "I am ashamed of both of you, Irene, Erik. I have never stolen anything, and I never will. Now, back to the problem of the Opera. Is there any way we can remedy it? I, for one, would like my job back. I do not have the luxury of free money."

We sat there, each of us thinking, but there was nothing but silence.

"I could turn myself in," I suggested, readying myself for a wave of disapproval, "and explain everything… Well, except for Hansen's death. I don't know if that would hold up in court."

"Hansen tried to kill you," Erik said, steel in his voice. "He would have killed you, and then he would have killed us too. It was self-defense. We were justified."

"True," Antoinette agreed. "The law would uphold self-defense."

"And you can't turn yourself in, Irene," Francis said, interrupting this new conversation. "We already tried that, and it ended very badly."

Erik scowled at me. I tried to think of a counter-argument, but with his baleful glare on me, it was impossible to come up with anything to say. I gave up.

"Very well, fine," I said. "Does anyone else have an idea?"

Francis looked at Antoinette, Antoinette looked at Erik, Erik looked at me, and I looked at Nadir. He hadn't said anything yet.

"What about you?" I demanded. "You're being awfully quiet."

Erik, realizing that I was right, turned his glare on Nadir. "You haven't said anything for the last five minutes."

Nadir shifted uncomfortable under our gazes and began to fidget.

I stared incredulously at him. I had never seen him fidget before; he was always so calm and relaxed. This was odd.

"Actually," he said, his voice very small, "I have an idea on how to get all of you back to the Opera. But you won't be happy about it."

We all waited.

Nadir took a deep breath. "I can clear all of your names. I – I am an undercover inspector for the Paris police."

I am sure the reader can imagine the respective reactions from each of my friends.

Erik promptly turned completely white and had to be restrained from leaping at Nadir (Wednesday, frightened, hurtled off his lap and into a corner); Antoinette affected an expression of angered disbelief; the Count collapsed limply into his chair, and I sat calmly and waited for the emotional storm to pass.

I had suspected something like this all along.

"Erik, dear," I said, "please sit down. You might suffer a heart attack. Antoinette, have a glass of water. Francis, breathe. Your face is purple."

Nadir looked at me. "You're not surprised."

"No," I said. "I have had my suspicions for quite some time. Nadir, I am impressed."

"You are?" Nadir said.

"You are?" Erik demanded. "Irene! The man is an imposter! A fraud! A poser!"

Nadir gave his old friend a look. "Really? I am your friend, Erik. Originally, I did come to Paris with the intention of meeting Irene and seeing you, but after I arrived – for I normally work as a private detective – the Paris police contacted me and asked if I would keep an eye on a certain Katelienne Laurent."

"Interesting," Antoinette said, who had cooled down. "And you said yes?"

"Yes," Nadir said. "I needed the money, after all, and I wanted to spend more time at the Opera. The police told me that if anything new happened, I was to report to them. I sent them weekly reports-"

"What?" I demanded. "About what?"

Nadir looked stricken. "Nothing important, of course. I wrote about how you went to your rooms at ten every evening, and how you wrote in the mornings, and how you disliked the current patron… Nothing personal. I left out Erik, of course, and I left out S.C.O.W.L. I haven't been able to send anything for nearly a week now."

Francis finally found his voice. "But what about the masquerade? And the banners? What did you tell them then?"

"I told them that it was clearly the work of amateur blackmailers," Nadir said. "I told them it was nothing to worry about. But… I did tell them who you were, Irene. I told them Katelienne Laurent was Irene Dubois. I… I sent your confession to them a few weeks ago."

"My what?"

Nadir looked warily at me. "I thought it would be best. They cleared you of all charges shortly afterwards. In fact, the only reason they've been at the Opera House for the last couple of weeks was to search for your blackmailers. They thought they were somehow connected to a ring of crooks they referred to as the Inspector's Men."

"No," I said, stunned. "They only wanted the Inspector?"

"Yes," Nadir said. He looked down at his hands. "But they can't have him now. I'll have to send them another report detailing our stay."

"Wait, wait," Antoinette said. "You wrote down everything Irene told you about Luke and the Inspector and sent it to the police? Why haven't you told us any of this? We could have stayed at the Opera!"

Erik said, "No, Antoinette, you couldn't."

He looked at his friend. "If I have this right… It seems the police were using us as bait. They wanted us to react in such a manner that we would flee from the Opera, thus bringing the Inspector and his people after us; they would follow and take down the Inspector and his group of criminals."

Nadir nodded. "It's the only explanation I could think of at the time. And I was forbidden to tell you about it, but I think it's time I did. I'm very sorry."

"We were used," I said, suddenly very angry. "And they never even came to help us! Where were they, Nadir, when Erik was being beaten? Where were they when he was dying?"

"I don't know," Nadir said. He seemed weary. "I don't know. I am truly sorry, Irene, Erik. I did not think this would happen. They stopped answering my reports after the masquerade; I assumed that they thought I was unreliable. But instead… instead they were only drawing us into a trap."

Later, though Irene and everyone else had gone to bed, Antoinette and Erik remained on the balcony. Both of them had sensed that the other wanted to talk.

"Tell me about Hansen," Antoinette said, gazing out towards the purple horizon. "I can tell it's bothering you."

"I didn't want to burden Irene with it," Erik said. He twisted his hands together in his lap; rose to his feet and paced to the railing. "She has enough to deal with."

"Maybe later," Antoinette said, calmly. "But she's stronger than you give her credit for."

"I know. It's… it's only that I don't want to hurt her more."

Antoinette waited for him to continue.

"Hansen was a monster. He deserved to die, Antoinette. But I can't get the picture of his face out of my head – the moment when he knew he was dying -"

She watched the back of his dark head, still waiting.

"And I can't help but think there had to be something else I could have done. Did I do the wrong thing? Should I have only knocked him out? But then, he would have come after us and tried again… He would have killed Irene. And then I would have killed him anyway."

Antoinette said, "Erik, think of it like this. You were protecting Irene; you were protecting Nadir. Does that not justify your actions?"

"I don't know," Erik said, somberly. "I really don't know, Antoinette. I've never… I could never… I never killed anyone before. And – I never want to again."

The next morning came much too quickly for me – I was still recovering for the long nights we'd spent out in the open air, but after the third very loud knock on my door, I fumbled my way free from the covers and scrambled for my robe.

"Who is it?" I asked the room, catching sight of myself in the mirror and recoiling. What on earth had happened to my hair?

"It's me, Antoinette," said a familiar voice. "Don't you want to eat breakfast with us? We're all waiting for you downstairs."

"What time is it?" I demanded, now wrestling a gown over my head, ignoring the nightclothes scattered across the floor. "I think it's a bit early to be eating."

"Nine," Antoinette said. "Finish dressing and come down. We're leaving in an hour."

I scowled, thought of something rude to say back, did not say it, and finished pulling the gown into place. Of course. One hour. One hour! How come no one had woken me up before now?

"How come?" I cried. "I wanted to take a bath!"

After I fixed my hair into something that resembled a bun, I came down the staircase and spotted S.C.O.W.L. sitting at a table in the far right section of the dining hall. Everyone looked rather chipper, and I forgot to nurture my bad temper and smiled at them. We were a fine group of people.

Erik got up and pulled a chair out for me as I came up to the table. Wednesday, who seemed to have made the hotel her home, poked her head out from under the table.

"Thank you," I said, sitting down. "Well, everyone seems happy to be leaving."

"Italy is nice," Nadir said, "but it will be wonderful to be home, don't you think?"

Everyone heartily agreed. Francis banged his spoon on the table and declared, "Let's have a toast!"

"To true love," Antoinette said, raising her glass of milk into the air. Nadir lifted his own glass. Francis did the same. So did Erik.

I began to feel suspicious, but I raised my own glass of orange juice and repeated the phrase, eying my friends with trepidation. What were they up to? Happiness at going back to the Opera was one thing, but toasts to true love were another thing entirely.

"Today is going to be lovely," Antoinette said, digging into her plate of crepes. "Mmm, these are delicious. Irene, do have some. Chocolate, you know."

Nadir handed me a plate of crepes with a large, gleaming smile. I smiled back. We had all forgiven him for his deception; we all agreed that we probably would have done the same. And due to him we were going to be able to return, so no one was angry with him anymore.

"Strawberries?" Erik asked, offering me a plate.

"Thank you," I said, and took two.

Francis, to my confusion, coughed loudly and said, "Nadir, I think you're finished, aren't you?"

Nadir looked up in surprise. "What?"

"I think you are done too," Antoinette said. "We should go to the carriage."

She got to her feet, and picked up Wednesday; Francis did the same. Nadir dropped his fork and got to his own feet.

"We'll be in the carriage," Antoinette told me. "Don't get up, Erik; you still have your entire meal to finish."

"Oh, alright," Erik said, so agreeably that I stared at him. He never agreed with anyone. "Irene and I might be a little late."

Nadir nodded; Francis nodded; Antoinette smiled, and they all walked away. Wednesday's tail hung over Antoinette's arm, swaying gently back and forth.

I looked at Erik, who was eating so quickly that his fork was a silver blur. Then I looked down at my own plate, bemused. That had been the strangest breakfast I had ever had. And they had all left their plates half-full.

"After you're done eating," Erik said, his voice unnaturally hesitant, "I think it would be nice to go to the gardens."

"But the carriage," I said. "And our friends-"

"They'll be fine," Erik said, and ate faster.

I eyed my full plate, piled high with crepes and strawberries. "I'm not hungry, actually," I heard myself say. "We can go to the gardens now."

We ended up in the rose garden. The beautiful flowers bloomed all around us in riotous shades of pink and red and scarlet and gold, their thick, luscious scents filling the warm air with beauty. I breathed deep, savoring them.

"We don't have roses like these at the Opera," Erik said.

I glanced across at him. We were walking through the grass pathway, our shoes sinking into the lush green grass.

"No, we don't," I said. "We only have white ones."

"I don't – I don't suppose you want to live at the Opera your entire life," Erik said.

"Well, no," I said. "I mean, I like being near to your home, but you aren't… I mean, you aren't going to stay there forever either, are you?"

Erik stopped walking, and turned to face me.

"No," he said. He was smiling. "So you wouldn't object to a home in the country?"

"What do you mean?" I said. My heart was jumping in my chest like a flying fish; I suddenly found it difficult to breathe. "I mean, that would be lovely. I've always wanted to live in the French countryside; you know that."

"I do know," Erik said. "If… I mean, we wouldn't have to live in the Opera, if you wanted. We could move to the countryside, but still visit the Opera whenever we wanted. I could compose, and you could write… and we could be happy…"

His voice trailed off a little at the end; I felt my heart stop beating, then start again.

I said, "Erik, are you asking me what I think you're asking?"

"I don't have a ring," Erik said.

"I don't care," I said.

Erik knelt on the grass, looked up at me, and said, "Irene Dubois, will you marry me?"

To my great horror, I found that I was crying. I looked down at the man I loved, the dear man I loved, and whispered, my voice caught somewhere in my throat,

"Yes."

Epilogue

It was a Saturday night at the Palais Garnier, and the first premier of a new opera: Aurora.

Backstage, the renowned ballet instructor Madame Giry shooed her ballet girls forward, telling them in a whisper that it was nearly time for their scene.

"You'll do wonderfully," she promised them.

This was true, for she had taught them well.

She gazed through a crack in the curtains, watching for the signal from the conductor, and instead caught sight of the Count. He was sitting in the third box, next to his new wife, Jeannette, and neither of them was paying attention to the opera. Madame Giry sighed as she realized they were kissing. And during the new opera!

It was completely scandalous.

Two boxes away sat another couple, but this one was actually paying attention to the opera. Of course, they had a bit more reason to than Francis. Madame Giry wanted to watch the two of them, but the conductor signaled and she had to turn away to wave her girls onstage. Oh well, she would see them soon enough. It wasn't as if they would be leaving early.

In Box Five, Irene clenched her hands together in her sequined lap, crushing the delicate paper fan she'd brought. She was worried about this scene; it had been the most difficult for her to write.

"It'll be fine," her husband said, but without the normal edge of calmness in his voice. He was worried too. "I hope the music is good enough."

"Erik, quit worrying about your music," Irene said, still staring at the stage. "If anyone doesn't like it, I'll eat my fan. It's the words I'm worried about."

The ballerinas danced out onto the stage, their light tutus fluttering with their graceful movements, ending the scene Irene had been worried about. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh, no," Erik said, as the conductor missed a beat and the orchestra struggled to catch up. "Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no."

"Take deep breaths, dear," Irene said. "It would be sad if you suffered a heart attack at the premier of your first opera. What would Antoinette say?"

Erik muttered something rude under his breath. "It's your opera too."

Irene gave him a look. "Goodness, Erik. We're in company."

"The only person sitting close enough to hear anything is Nadir," Erik said, "and he doesn't care. He's too interested in the opera to notice. An elephant could fall on him and he wouldn't even glance at it."

"Of course he wouldn't. He'd be dead," Irene pointed out. "Erik, look – it's nearly over; the ballerinas are almost done!"

"Thank God," Erik groaned. "We may survive this after all."

He breathed a sigh of thankfulness, sank back into his chair, and Irene took his hand. They both watched as the audience rose for a standing ovation; watched as the Count march onstage to thank the audience for coming (he had been given back his old job as manager); watched as Antoinette curtsied behind her ballet girls. In the box next to them, Nadir had risen to his own feet, clapping enthusiastically; he glanced across at Irene and winked.

She winked back. The diamond ring on her finger glimmered in the stage lights. Erik's ring pressed into her palm; he leaned against her shoulder. All around them were their friends, safe and happy and triumphant, and they were together.

It was a fine ending to their opera.

Acta est fabula.

La Fin.

So, dear readers, this is the end of the sequel. I may write a series of one-shots starring the members of S.C.O.W.L., but for the time being I am finished. I hope you all enjoyed this story as much as Ink, Invisible, and I want to thank all of you for reading and reviewing.

I want to especially thank all my reviewers: Venture Wood, 13sapphire13, Nonimouse, Kassandra203, Savor-Each-Sensation, Why Fireflies Flash, Velvet Rose94, CrossBreed777, LaLion, Feisty Fae Phantom Gurl, Kat, Readerlauren, RWolfe94, cynthiatophklepinger, AncientAssassin, phantomess300, xJill Lovett, Circe Visigoth, Madam Oakheart a Shisou Kamen, and FutureActressKS.

You guys are the best reviewers ever! Truly. You are the best. Thank you!

Thank you so much for reading my sequel, and I wish you all the best.

- Coquillage Atlas

Update: To my newest readers – this is not really the end of Irene's and Erik's adventures. In fact, I am currently writing a third installment, Rumors, Reemerging, and you should go read it if you are interested! I hope you have enjoyed reading my stories. Thank you for stopping by!

- Coquillage :)