"Are you educated?" I heard the Comte ask as I rejoined them.

They both glanced at me and Alex offered the slightest smile, which assured me he was doing just fine, perhaps even enjoying his conversation—or dissertation.

"Yes," Alex answered, sounding as though it was the worst fate imaginable. He had a way of exaggerating that made him fit for the stage. "Daily."

"Privately?"

"Yes, sir."

"What is the name of your teacher?"

"Monsieur Lowry."

"Charles Lowry?" The Comte's eyes widened, his voice filled with astonishment.

"Yes, sir. Madame Lowry is married to him. I call her Aunt Meg." The boy sounded positively bored.

"Charles Lowry is your tutor?" the Comte clarified.

"Yes, sir." Alex gave me a strange look as though he were tired of the same question. "I have said that, I think, twice now. Perhaps more."

The Comte looked as though he were beside himself. "How on earth did your father acquire Charles Lowry as your private tutor?"

Alex shrugged.

"I had no idea he was still teaching. The dean at Oxford would be livid to know he's teaching one child in Paris." He looked at me, his jaw slack. "Lowry," he mused. "The Charles Lowry."

"A very bright child, Monsieur. Erik spares nothing for Alexandre," I answered proudly. "And Monsieur Lowry is a very fine fellow."

"Yes, indeed," the Comte said, still awestruck.

Monsieur Lowry was not the type of man to brag or assert himself, which made me wonder what he would have said to the Comte's words.

Charles was pleasant, incredibly humble, dashingly handsome, and quick witted. He retained facts and entertained with his knowledge no matter the subject and kept in touch with a most impressive array of scholars, scientists, and adventurers. On more than one occasion I had mentioned an author whom I enjoyed and Meg would nod readily and say her husband knew them as well.

How or why Charles had ever agreed to take up residence with a surly, quarrelsome, eccentric man like Erik I had no idea. Why I dreamed of taking up residence with him as well I wasn't sure either.

I knew he had taught before, but I was more familiar with him as a wonderful speaker who told fascinating stories from his trips to Africa as well as throughout Europe. Charles and Meg didn't visit regularly, as the wheelchair that kept him confined was cumbersome to lug down their stairs, but I enjoyed Monsieur Lowry's stories on the occasions he and his wife paid a visit.

Of course Meg adored him, despite his physical challenges. Even after years of marriage, she turned red any time she spoke of him as though he were the most important man in the world.

Apparently by the Comte's reaction, she may have been correct.

"He challenges Alex in his studies. I doubt another tutor could keep up with him," I said, nodding at Alex.

"I see," the Comte said, still shaking his head in disbelief. "Alexandre, what interests you most?"

"Egypt, sir. And the Algerians now." He was bubbling with excitement at the change in subject.

"Did you go the Exhibition? My daughters are very interested in spending a day there."

"Yes, I did. That's how I saw the Algerians."

"Who attended the Exhibition with you?"

Alex blinked. "No one."

My mouth dropped open. At any moment, I knew Erik would burst through the doorway, scolding his son and somehow twisting the situation to make it the Comte's fault for leading Alex into the question.

The Comte gawked as well. "Aren't you a bit young to be off on your own?"

"Yes, I wasn't supposed to be there." He shrugged. "I didn't tell anyone."

"Alex," I said under my breath.

"Have you been punished?" the Comte questioned.

Alexandre groaned and threw his head back. "Nooooo. Not yet. But I will be. Father never forgets anything. Ever. He is like an elephant."

"How does he punish you?"

"He tells me not to do it again." He proceeded to stand bolt upright, hold his arms out, and stomp around. "'Alexandre! What were you told? Have you ears, child?'"

His voice boomed, a perfect imitation of his father.

"Hush, Alex, that's rude," I said, attempting to hold back my laughter.

"Well, he does," Alexandre protested. "He never yells at you, does he? You feed him, Grand-mere says. He's too busy eating to yell at you."

I gave him a pointed look, prepared to slap my hand over his mouth if he continued. Knowing Alex, he would have no qualms of saying we met late at night and his father was probably too exhausted to yell or argue.

"Would you like to visit Africa someday?" the Comte asked, wisely changing the subject.

"With my father, perhaps," Alex answered. "Or maybe with my wife someday. Did you know some men have many wives? I believe that would be confusing."

"Very much so," the Comte answered, chuckling to himself.

Alex's expression sobered. "Monsieur de Chagny, I know your daughter died in Africa. I would like to see where she is buried some day," Alex said. He frowned and reached for the Comte's shirt cuff.

"She was buried in Northern France, though I appreciate the sentiment." He stared for a long moment at Alex's hand resting on his wrist, his expression weighed down by sadness. I wasn't sure if he missed his daughter or longed for a son. "When you are older I will be certain to give you the name of the cemetery."

I raised a brow, finding it a bit bold to assume they would stay in contact.

"Her name was Suzette," Alex said automatically.

I gave him a questioning look, wondering how he had learned of her, but the Comte seemed unaffected. "Yes, that is my daughter's name," he agreed. "She favored you greatly. Same face and eyes, I would say."

"She would be…my part-sister?"

"Half-sister," I corrected. The Comte looked at me, seemingly surprised by my words. "Or…I'm sorry, Monsieur?"

"You may call her your sister if you wish, Alexandre," he answered. "She was my oldest child. She wanted a brother and I have no doubt she would have adored you…as a brother or half-brother."

"Lissy is a sort of sister," he said. "She spit on my hand one time and we shook. She said it made me her brother."

I wrinkled my nose. "Alex, that is not polite."

The Comte chuckled. "You may call Lola and Isabella your sisters as well. Those are my two surviving daughters."

"Are they older or younger than me?"

"Younger. My only children." He frowned when he spoke.

"What's the difference between a sister and a half-sister?" Alex asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Alex," I warned, knowing precisely how his mind worked. "Don't ask so many questions."

"No, he's perfectly fine. I appreciate a question from an intelligent young man," the Comte said bravely. "What do you think the difference is?"

"She's only half-related to….me?"

"Not exactly." The Comte smiled. "A half-sibling would mean you shared only one parent."

"Oh. How does that happen?"

I cocked a brow and waited for his skillful answer. When he stammered, I shook my head, but made no attempt to help him. He had asked for this and he would answer on his own.

"Well….it's….when a mother and a father…." The Comte turned bright red. "Perhaps that's a question your father would rather answer."

Alex was not at all satisfied. He furrowed his brow. "When a mother and father do what?" he asked, looking at me.

I pursed my lips. "Indeed, Comte?" I questioned.

He lowered his eyes and shook his head. "Well, I apologize for taking up so much of your time, Monsieur. It was a pleasure speaking to you," the Comte said as he brushed his hands down his arms and picked at lint.

"Did you apologize to my father?" Alex asked quickly.

"I…oh….no. No, I didn't."

"You should."

"Alex," I corrected. "Thank Monsieur de Chagny for speaking with you."

"Thank you for speaking with me," Alex said quickly, reluctance heavy in his voice. "Will you apologize to my father for hurting him?"

"Alexandre!" I scolded. For better or worse he had his father's persistence. I appreciated his desire to defend his father no matter what, but it wasn't his place to make demands.

"Isn't that what a gentleman would do?" Alex asked.

"Yes, most certainly, Monsieur, I will offer my apology at once. You are a very bright young man, Alexandre. I'm sure you make your father very happy."

With that, he nodded and excused himself, saying he needed a word with Erik.

Alex leaned into me and closed his eyes. "I don't think the Comte can hear very well," he said.

"Oh? Why is that?"

"He had a dreadfully hard time hearing me say Uncle Charles is my tutor."

I grunted and smoothed his hair. "Uncle Charles sounds very important now, doesn't he?"

Alex sighed and nodded, too tired to respond. I held him to me and listened as the Comte approached Erik, who stood like an imposing sentinel with his hands on his hips.

"Alexandre is a wonderful young man. His education impresses me greatly," the Comte said.

"He will go on to school in a few years and be the head of his class," Erik asserted, his arrogance shining through. "His education is unparalleled."

"Yes, I believe he will." The Comte paused and took a long, deep breath. "My wife—Christine—if she was herself, would agree that Alexandre deserves the very best."

"Which I have provided," Erik snapped, wagging his finger in the Comte's face as though he would stab him.

The Comte took a step back and raised his hands in supplication. "Yes, I realize this, Monsieur. I'm not disagreeing with you. But I have two things to offer."

"No," Erik said, shaking his head. He grunted and waved him off. "No, I don't want anything from you."

I sighed from the doorway and glared at him.

The Comte didn't look back at me. He straightened his spine but kept his voice respectfully low, like an omega in the presence of an alpha wolf. "You can guess how much I would like to take Alexandre with me and raise him myself. His attributes display virtually nothing either of us can claim physically."

A murderous look entered Erik's eyes and he pushed up his sleeves as though prepared to fight over the Comte's words.

"I would like to say he has my nose, but at the same time he has your…smile," the Comte finished lamely.

Erik gave a cold chuckle. "My smile? Is that so? And when did you become an expert on my mirth?"

The Comte paused but managed to ignore his words. "When I saw you with him…the look on his face… We would be mad to pin either of our features to him. Physically he's his mother's son, however, intellectually-"

Erik raised his chin, his eyes wide with rage. His expression immediately made the Comte pause and draw back. I placed my hands on Alex's shoulders, preparing to leave his side and step between Erik and Raoul. I released a heavy sigh and glared at the two of them.

They noticed my change in posture immediately and curbed their aggravation with one another. Naturally the Comte was the first to back down. Erik turned away and I hoped he knew I tired of his combative ways.

"He shows much of your boundless intelligence, which I have no doubt is the result of his tutor as well as his rearing within your home," the Comte finished. "I, of course, don't know your level of education but regardless, he seems very much like you."

The Comte's words in no way calmed Erik, but he nodded at last. "What do you want from me?"

For a long moment the Comte studied Erik. I held my breath, hoping he would tell Erik what he had told me, that Alex was undeniably Erik's son.

"I want you to consider something." His words hung in the air. Erik started to shake his head, but the Comte spoke quickly. "You don't have to agree or disagree now, but please listen to me. I've thought about this all night." He waited a moment but Erik said nothing, which surprised me.

"I would like to make him an heir of sorts."

Erik opened his mouth, but the Comte's hand shot up. I gawked as well, surprised by his offer.

"Not as my son," he added quickly. "But as a….more of a nephew. My brother never had children but I believe I could pass Alexandre off as a de Chagny in time. My brother has been dead nearly ten years. By the time Alexandre is of age, he could be claimed as my brother's son without consequence. If, of course, you would have Alexandre inherit estates and responsibility, Monsieur."

"Your brother's son?" Erik questioned.

"My nephew," the Comte replied, avoiding the true answer.

Erik crossed his arms, his eyes hardened, filled with malice. "Your family name, your family estates and your family's responsibility to my son, lacking my name" Erik snapped. "What purpose would it serve?"

"For you?" the Comte shot back, clearly knowing Erik's nature.

Erik paused, evidentially taken aback by the Comte's reply. His jaw tensed, but he knew Raoul de Chagny was correct. This was for Alex's benefit, not a matter of gain between these two men.

"He has an inheritance," Erik shot back. "His last name will be respected, if that's your concern. Already it is known. You've heard of the composure E.M. Kire, haven't you?"

He nodded.

Erik gave an exaggerated bow.

The Comte ran his thumb along his chin. "Ah, yes, I knew that was you from the moment I heard one of your pieces."

"Wonderful," Erik sneered.

The Comte appeared undeterred by Erik's childish display. "Your first name spelled backwards? Clever. I don't, however, know the true origin of this name, Monsieur. Perhaps a little history? French? Scandinavian, perhaps? Or is it just the name of a ghost?"

I feared—for the hundredth time in an evening—they had stoked an old rivalry once more. Hands on my hips, I cleared my throat. "Gentleman," I announced. "Alex can barely keep his eyes open."

Erik looked at me briefly before he turned his attention to the Comte. "I have made a name for myself. Alexandre needs nothing from you or Christine," he growled. "He never has and he damned well never will."

Hearing his father say his name, Alex pulled away from me and wandered toward both men, but I caught him by the wrist.

"Wait," I said.

"Father?" Alex called.

The Comte studied Alex from the corner of his eye. "My apologies. A moment more, little Monsieur," he said before he turned back to Erik. "If you want to argue, by all means, argue. But if you can put aside the past for one damned moment….I want to do what is right for Alexandre. I know he cannot live with his mother. I know this and I hate it. But I will not attempt to take him. His place isn't with us."

Erik grunted. "And you question my child-rearing?"

"Did you think I would not?" he said under his breath, his irritation escalating with every word. "After everything that happened, did you think I would assume this child was cared for?"

Erik looked away and swallowed, having no reply.

"You have my word. I will make no attempt to bring him into my household," the Comte vowed. "I will offer my respect by recognizing Alexandre as your son. Your son with Christine." His voice trembled, his words forced. "And as Christine's son, as my wife's son, he should have access to funds that will be given to her children."

"I will be damned if he takes your name," Erik started to protest. I looked away from the two of them, wishing my own financial situation would have been in such a state where I could avoid asking for assistance when it came to my daughter. Erik would never accept anyone's help, financial or otherwise.

"Please, let me finish," the Comte insisted. "I want to do this. For Christine. If she knew him the way she should know him, she would want this. I know she would want to see her son provided for in every way. Please consider this."

He could have honestly done more harm than good to his family name by accepting Alexandre as a nephew. Selflessly he wanted what was right for Alex, which I doubted few men of his status would have done. After a decade spent hating Erik, he was offering him a part of his estate and finances.

I doubted Christine had the capacity to recognize such a gesture. The Comte's desire to include Alex was noble, not forced by his wife's prompting or a sense of duty as Alex was not the son of a penniless pauper. He did this out of kindness, accepting Alex despite the circumstances.

At last Erik relented. "I will take it into consideration."

"Madame Seuratti," Alex groaned. "Can we return home?"

"In a moment," I promised.

The Comte squared his shoulders. "Your son wants me to apologize to you. I gave him my word that I would do so," he said.

Erik grunted. "So I heard."

I sighed in disgust, wishing for once he would simply accept rather than argue. Alex pulled away from me and stepped toward them, his head tilted to the side as he watched them interact. I hoped for Alex's sake Erik would curb his temper. The last thing Alex needed was to his father explode in anger, especially after Alex himself had enjoyed a pleasant conversation with the Comte.

The Comte nodded and offered his hand. "I have known of you for a very long time, and much of what I thought of you was incorrect, Monsieur Kire. I would like to put those days behind us and recognize we are different people today, better people. Would you accept my apology?"

Erik studied him a moment, his hardened glare easing slightly as he considered the Comte's words. He glanced down at long-time enemy's hand, then met his eye and nodded, finally accepting. "For Alexandre's sake, yes, I would."

With a curt nod, the Comte released Erik's hand and took a step back. He gazed around the cluttered, candle-lit space and frowned, which made me wonder if demons haunted him in the same manner they still plagued Erik. Their lives had intertwined here, intersected briefly over a woman.

Erik immediately looked away from him and turned his attention to me. He blinked as though he noticed me for the first time since we'd arrived in the cellar.

I turned from him, overwhelmed by all I had witnessed and heard of the man I had faithfully followed into the depths of the earth.

I wondered who he would be once we reached the surface—Erik Kire the Composer, or the nameless Phantom of the Opera.