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Later, I sat in my desk chair, staring out the open balcony door at the night.

The Phantom had left to transport Luke to his room ("permanently", he had said). Madame Giry was downstairs, rinsing my bloody clothes out in the laundry room. I was supposed to be resting, but I couldn't bring myself to lie down.

I kept seeing Luke's pale face rising out of the darkness; his blue eyes grinning with pleasure at my pain; his fingers around the hilt of my knife.

The knife was now sitting on a pile of papers on my desk, clean and dried, its blade no longer stained with my blood.

The clock ticked on in the corner, the hands slowly revolving; my eyelids began to droop, and finally the door to my room opened.

"Katelienne," Madame Giry said, carrying a laundry basket, and eyeing me disapprovingly, "I thought I told you to lie down."

I glanced at her. "I can't fall asleep."

She closed the door and put the basket down before replying, a wisp of hair from her bun falling over her forehead.

"You aren't lying down, though, dear. You should try lying down and closing your eyes."

Unbidden, Luke's face leapt into my mind: I would only see him if I slept. He would be in my nightmares now, not Claire, and somehow, somehow this was even worse than the grief.

"I don't want to sleep."

I rose to my feet and walked to the balcony door, pushed it completely open, went to the railing.

The city was clear and still in the moonlight; the houses and shops gleaming in the stillness of the night. I rested my elbows on the metal rail, stared up unseeingly at the stars. Something wet slipped down my cheek.

"Oh, Katelienne," Madame Giry said, from behind me. "I am so sorry."

She put a tentative hand on my shoulder; I turned, and she hugged me.

It was a hug only a mother could give, soft and warm and reassuring, real. When I let go, she took my hands in hers.

"I would never have left you alone with that monster," she said. "Never."

I knew what she was implying, but I did not want to go there. I shook my head. "I know you wouldn't have."

Her eyes were fierce, but she smiled tremulously at me and let my hands slip away. "Where is he?"

"In his room," I said, wondering who she was talking about. "The Phantom brought him there."

"I meant... Oh," she said. "I meant the Phantom."

I nodded. "He's gone to put Luke back in his room."

Madame Giry frowned. "Go lie down, Katelienne. I'll go see what's keeping him."

When she had left, I curled up in the center of my bed, careful not to lie on my injured shoulder. Truthfully, everything ached, but with some help from Madame Giry, I had bandaged the cuts on my shoulder and face, and gotten into clean clothes.

Luke's face swam into my vision again; I squeezed my eyes shut and thought: Be sensible. He's locked in his room. He can't hurt you.

"Katelienne?"

I started and sat up, staring at the door. It was open. "Hello."

"Do you mind if I come in?"

"You never asked before," I pointed out, inwardly hoping that my eyes weren't red. "You may as well come in."

The Phantom shut the door behind him and sat down in my desk chair. "Luke's not going to stir for quite a while."

"What did you do to him?"

"Gave him a double dose of sedatives. And I decided not to leave him in his room because of the secret passageway – I put him in one of the rooms in the older section of the Opera, where no one goes anymore."

I pleated my blanket hem between my fingers, thinking.

"Phantom, we can't keep hiding him. I know people are becoming suspicious."

"We don't have a choice, Katelienne."

The candle on my desk flickered in the wind from his sigh. He picked up one of my papers.

I pulled my legs up to my chest and rested my chin on my knees, watching him skim through my writing. He looked very tired.

"I don't blame you for going down to the performance," I said. "I asked you to."

He looked up, letting the paper slide through his fingers. "I shouldn't have left."

"I was careless," I said. "I forgot the candles when I went into the passageway."

Something changed in his face then; his eyes went dark and somber, and he rose to his feet.

"It wasn't your fault."

"And I fell for Luke's ruse – he threw the knife and I tried to pick it up."

"Katelienne, it wasn't your fault."

"I should have been more careful," I said, ignoring him. I could see all my errors plainly now – if I hadn't made so many mistakes, perhaps I wouldn't have had to…

"Katelienne. Stop."

I looked up at him: he had crossed the room, and now he stood before me, his whole body tense.

"You're wrong. I should have stayed with you; I should have given Luke more sedatives, I should have checked the bookcase door. I assumed – stupidly, irrevocably, idiotically – that everything was going to be fine. I never should have left."

"Why are you blaming yourself?" I asked, my temper rising inexplicably. "You should blame Luke! He's the one who hurt me! The one who started all of this!"

"Yes, yes, but I was also to blame! I was, Katelienne! And I am so, so sorry."

We stared at each other; I was aware of the heavy silence that had fallen, but I could not think of how to break it.

"It's not your fault," I said, finally. "Please, don't blame yourself. If there's any blame to be given – it falls on Luke."

The Phantom turned away. "I wish that was the case."

I climbed out of bed and went to stand in front of him, my bare feet cold on the wooden boards.

"Look, if you turn into a moody, sullen fool over this, I will never forgive you. I don't blame you, so don't blame yourself. And stop staring at me like you're about to weep."

The corner of his lip quirked up. "I was not intending to weep."

"Well, then act like it," I said, sitting down in my desk chair and picking up my pen, wincing as my shoulder ached. "I'm not going to let Luke stop me from being happy, and neither should you."

The Phantom came to lean on the back of my chair. "What are you doing?"

"I am making a list."

"A list," he repeated. "What for?"

"Wait and see," I said, beginning to write.

1. Visit Cooper at the hospital; see if he's recovered, or if he's dead.

2. Go to the masquerade.

3. Speak with Count Le Nansen and reassure him that everything is okay. Lie.

4. Somehow, turn Luke in to the police.

"Why do you want to visit Cooper?" the Phantom asked.

"I'd like to check on him," I said. "Perhaps we can blackmail him into talking to the police."

The Phantom raised an eyebrow. "Do you have money?"

"No," I said, underlining number 4 several times. "I was hoping you did."

"No, I don't. And why do you want to go to the masquerade? You know Jeanette and the Count will wonder where Luke is – they'll think you're supposed to be with him."

"We're all going to be wearing masks," I pointed out. "I won't wear my Autumn costume; I'll wear a different gown. And I'll dye my hair. They won't even recognize me."

"Katelienne," the Phantom said, in a gentle tone, "you are falling asleep over your list. I highly doubt you would agree to dye your hair brown, especially after yesterday's episode. We can discuss the masquerade tomorrow. You should go to bed."

It was true; the words were blurring before my eyes, but I shook my head. "I'd rather stay up. I can sleep in the morning."

He reached down and took the pen from my hand, his warm fingers brushing mine. "I think you should go to bed now."

As if in agreement, the door swung open and Madame Giry came back in, now bearing a box. She looked from the Phantom to me and scowled.

"I told that girl to go to bed ages ago. What is she doing up?"

"Talking," I said, pulling the pen out of the Phantom's fingers and dropping it on the desk. "I'll sleep in a little while. What is that?"

Madame Giry put the box on my side table and placed one hand on her hip.

"Katelienne. In bed. Now."

I rose sullenly to my feet, stumbled slightly, and the Phantom caught my arm.

I looked up at him. "I'm fine."

He let go.

Madame Giry tapped her foot impatiently. "Phantom. Go away."

"I'm leaving," he said hurriedly, and headed for the door. "Goodnight, Katelienne."

"Goodnight," I said, sinking down on my bed, and the Phantom slipped out into the corridor. "Madame Giry, what is in that box?"

"I brought you some stage makeup to hide that cut on your face. I also thought we could pull your hair over it tomorrow, if the makeup doesn't work, for when you go to visit Cooper."

I glanced up at her. "How did you know about that?"

"I have ears," she snapped. "And I'm coming with you tomorrow, seeing as the Phantom can't."

"You're coming with me? But Cooper doesn't know who you are."

"So? You can introduce me. Now, I'm staying in your room tonight, and the Phantom has designated himself Luke's guard, so nothing is going to happen."

I got to my feet. "Well. I see nothing is going to change your mind, so I'll simply agree and save you the trouble of arguing with me. Let me go change into my nightgown."

"And don't you even think of giving me the bed – I'll sleep on your couch," Madame Giry said, as if she had not heard a word I said. "And drink some water while you're in the bathroom – you look like you're about to pass out."

I obeyed Madame Giry's commands, moving like an automaton through my tasks. It was nearly two in the morning; I heard the bells ring the time outside. My limbs were slow, and stiff, and aching by the time I opened the bathroom door.

Madame Giry had made up a bed for herself on the couch; she smiled at me and said goodnight, as I blew out the candles.

I climbed into bed, turning to face the balcony door, and nearly had a heart attack.

Something long and dark was blowing in the wind outside, swaying back and forth behind the door.

I realized, gradually, that it was my dress. Madame Giry must have hung it out there to dry.

For some reason this struck me as funny: a low giggle started in my throat, and I quickly buried my head in my pillows before Madame Giry could hear. She would probably think I was having hysterics, and she would not be far off from the truth.

When I woke the next morning, there were birds singing outside, and the sunlight was bright on the wooden floor.

Something smelled good: I sat up, nearly cried out at the horrible pain in the back of my head and my cheek, bit my lip instead, and turned to see a breakfast tray on the edge of my bed.

"Good morning," Madame Giry said briskly. "There's your breakfast; I have to go wake the ballet girls and start the morning rehearsals. Do not – I repeat, do not leave for the hospital without me. I will be back around lunch."

She finished pinning her hair up in front of the mirror, stared critically at it, nodded, and turned to look at me.

I realized I was supposed to have answered her. "Oh. I won't leave. You have my word."

"Good. Er – I mean, the Phantom – will be up here in a moment," she said, picking up her cane from next to the couch. "You should probably go get dressed. Have a nice breakfast."

And with that, she was out the door, and I was alone in my room.

I got up, passed the mirror, and stopped in astonishment, staring in horror at my forehead. My bandage on my head had slipped during the night, revealing the large, purple, bruise-encircled cut at the base of my hairline.

"This is lovely," I said. "I adore gashes; they add so much character."

I picked up the makeup box from the bedside table and hurried into the bathroom. It would not do if the Phantom arrived to find me still in my nightclothes.