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Chapter 41

Meg

"Is it...a dog?"

Raoul let out a breathy laugh and shook his head. He scribbled out the floppy ears and drew much larger ones. The drawing was only half done. So far, he'd guessed all of mine in under twenty seconds. I'd guessed his first one in just under a minute. I hadn't been able to discern the second. My goal was to determine what this third one was in under ten.

It wasn't working.

Nine seconds had gone by and I was failing miserably.

He then added a long nose, like-

"A trunk! - An elephant!" I exclaimed, clapping my hands in front of me. I gave him the hint of a scowl. "Well, you could have led with that!"

He chuckled, and flipped the paper over for me to take a turn. "Either you're a terrible guesser," he said, "or I'm a terrible artist."

I grinned. "Or both."

He sucked his teeth, but it was lighthearted. I continued smiling as I set to work on my own drawing. Something obscure. Something he wouldn't guess right away.

I decided on a corset. Unless he was a particular type of boy, I doubted he'd know easily what that was.

I doubted, too, that he normally kept himself as occupied as he currently was with me. I knew why he was doing this - filling our days with nonstop games and conversations. My breakdown two nights ago had pushed us somehow closer together. I'd laid my head on his shoulder without even thinking. And he hadn't hesitated in wrapping his arms around me.

If nothing else, he was absolutely my friend at this point. And such a good friend he was. He had to be exhausted, trying to keep me entertained at all waking hours. I wanted to tell him that he didn't have to. But I also knew that stopping, letting my mind go idle, would only result in more panic, more tears.

I started on my drawing.

"A dress."

I shook my head.

"A...waistcoat?"

I shook my head again, wanting to laugh.

He tilted his head, twisting his face in confusion. "What-" He inhaled and exhaled. "I give up. What is that?"

Definitely not a particular type of boy. It only made me like him a bit more.

I was about to tell him, when a knock sounded at the door. I lifted my gaze to his. "Is that Albert and Julien?"

"Could be." He stood and stretched. We'd been sitting for two hours now. "I'll go and see."

I nodded. Janelle was preparing dinner in the kitchen. I listened to her move around the pots and pans, heard a sizzle, as he went to the door. I myself went to the bedroom door, opened it, and went inside, as he'd told me to do if there were unexpected guests. I kept the door cracked, though, and listened.

"Oh-" Raoul's voice sounded surprised. "Hello. Can I help you?"

Not the twins, then.

"Good evening," said the guest, in a vague, unfamiliar accent. "Is this the residence of one Raoul de Chagny?"

I started. So did Raoul. He said, "Who...is asking?"

The man cleared his throat. "My name is Nadir Khan. I am a detective with the Parisian police. I ask again: is this the residence of Raoul de Chagny."

Raoul paused, then his voice was small. "Yes. That's me."

De Chagny.

Raoul de Chagny. The vicomte. Brother of...brother of Philippe de Changy. The infamous French comte. How...

That couldn't be.

There had to be an explanation beyond...well, beyond the obvious. That Raoul had lied to me about who he was - his name. He wouldn't have done that. Surely.

"Very good. Might I come in? I only have a few questions."

"Do you have...a badge?"

"Oh, yes. Of course." A pause. "Satisfied?"

Silence.

"I suppose. Yes. Come in, then."

In my surprise - and eagerness at talking to a detective - I opened the bedroom door.

Raoul made way for the detective, who I saw had sparkling jade eyes and a black goatee around his lips. His skin was extremely tan. He walked in, hands behind his back, nodding to Raoul. Raoul closed the door behind him, not meeting my gaze.

But the detective did. And when he saw me, his brows raised. He gave another small bow. "Madame de Chagny, I take it?"

"No," I said softly.

"Then, your name?"

I glanced at Raoul, who was staring down, face entirely pale. And that - oh, it made me angry. Because he wouldn't be avoiding my gaze if there wasn't a misunderstanding. His look of shame was an admission of guilt. But why lie about his name? His title?

I wouldn't lie about my own name, I decided. I would tell the truth - especially to the detective. "Meg. Meg Giry."

Nadir Khan's eyes went wide. His lips parted. "Meg Giry."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know," he said, "that half of Paris is wondering where you are?"

I stared at him.

"You were reported missing, along with your mother and another girl - Christine Daae. Did you know that?"

I didn't say a word.

"Yes." He nodded. "It's in the papers. After what happened to the Isabelle girl, after Emma Rougeaux - the famed alto - disappeared as well, the sudden absence of you three has everyone suspecting extremely foul play. And I don't doubt that. But to find you here - alive." He glanced at Raoul, then looked back at me. "Do you know, then, the location of your mother?"

"I don't," I whispered. "I wish I did."

He took a long, slow breath. "Right." He studied me a moment longer. "And why are you here?"

"My mother brought me here." My voice was shaking. "She said she knew the identity of the killer, so she brought me here to be safe. Then she left."

"What of Christine Daae, then? Do you know where she is?"

"Yes - yes, actually." My spine straightened, rod-stiff. "My mother said she was with Jules Bernard."

"And he is?"

"A production assistant at the Opera."

At that, the detective pulled from his coat pocket a small notebook and pen. He began to write. "Is he normally at rehearsals?"

"Usually, yes."

"Thank you." He looked up at me, and regarded me kindly. "Is there anything else you could tell me that might be of use?"

I thought about it, and the only thing I could come up with was: "Joseph Buquet."

He narrowed his eyes. "What about him?"

"He's always been inappropriate to the girls."

He waited, then said. "Is that all?"

"Yes." I bit my lip. "But I think it's worth...noting."

"Of course." But he didn't note it. When my expression turned to one of concern, he added, "This is information I already have, Mlle. Giry. He is..." He smiled, and I could tell he wanted to say more but the nature of his job disallowed it. "Anything else?"

"Only that my mother seemed to be...I don't know. It seemed as though she was being chased. Or like she had limited time. She was trying to get some sort of evidence to you the day she disappeared."

He stared at me for a long time. "I pray that the evidence is not back with the potential perpetrator. I don't like the implication if that were to be the case."

I agreed. I looked down at my feet.

"Is there anything else?"

I shook my head, but met his eyes again. "Will you tell anyone that I'm here?"

"No, Mlle. Giry." His voice was gentle. "No, I think that anyone could be a potentially guilty party, so I will not reveal your status until a kidnapper is caught. The same goes for Christine Daae."

"And St. Juste? If there are more disappearances, then perhaps St. Juste isn't-"

"No, the stagehand is not necessarily innocent due to recent events. The evidence against him regarding Isabelle remains strong, but that doesn't mean there isn't a second possible killer. Abductor, at least. Still, unless there is proof as to his lack of involvement, St. Juste will continue to serve his sentence." He paused as I nodded. "Any other questions?"

"No," I breathed. "Thank you."

He turned to Raoul. "I do, of course, have questions for you, M. de Chagny. Is there another room in which we could chat?"

"Yes, sir." He still didn't meet my gaze. He took the detective into the dining room.

"And," said the detective as they made their way, "is there anyone else in this household? I will need to speak with them, as well."

"There is my maid, Janelle. She is in the kitchen."

"I'm surprised she didn't come out to spy. Most service staff, in my experience, are much more nosy. A very polite maid you have, M. de Chagny..."

Feeling ill, I shut the door.

I didn't come out when the detective left an hour later. Or when Janelle said dinner was ready an hour after that.

And...

And I locked the door. My tears had started again. I didn't want Raoul - rather, Vicomte de Chagny - to see. Even when he apologized. Over and over. I only closed my eyes and pulled the covers over me.

Eventually, he stopped. Eventually the house was still, and I fell asleep.

Restlessly.