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Chapter 49

Christine

When Erik had mentioned the idea to me of trapping Buquet, I'd felt the undeniable urge to kiss him. Then, when I'd elaborated on his plan, added my own idea of how to lure and entrap him - and seen him say yes despite the trepidation in his eyes - I nearly did put my lips on his.

It was in that moment, when my excitement translated into a desire to touch him that way, that I suspected my own feelings. I hadn't expected to voice those emotions to him. But I was so happy that I did - he reciprocated them.

And we danced.

It had been beautiful. Not nearly a long enough length of time. And though I wished I could have seen his face during that dance, it was good - it had been so good regardless. Satisfying. Natural.

Of course, that came to an end as quickly as it started, due to the man we currently escorted to the underground house. Erik's home. My home.

"Where are-" Buquet's raspy voice turned to a grunt as Erik's knife pressed closer. Jules glanced back briefly as he walked in front of me, holding up a lantern, casting yellow light for meters ahead of us. I looked back as well, partially to check that Buquet's eyes remained covered, partially to meet Erik's gaze. There was confidence there, an intensity, that was reassuring. Attractive.

"Quiet," Erik hissed, and I turned back around. Jules's shoulders had stiffened, though he kept pace and faced forward. "We are far from the theatre. That's all you need to know."

Not really a lie. We were definitely far from the building itself. But our distance was vertical, not horizontal, as Buquet may have suspected. Though he must have known we'd gone below the surface somehow, if he'd paid an ounce of attention to the stairs we'd gone down several times. If he wasn't too drunk to realize, either.

Buquet didn't speak as we made it to the lake, though he gave a shout of surprise when he found himself in a boat. The thing just barely fit the four of us, Erik struggling a fair bit to move us across the water, but he managed.

I looked at Jules, whose teeth were nearly chattering from nerves. Not only had he never been to Erik's house before (as Erik himself informed me), he was also partaking in a kidnapping - not something he was likely ecstatic about. He'd agreed to take the full journey to assist us should Buquet...act up. But it clearly hadn't been his idea.

I gave him a reassuring smile, but he merely looked away from me. My smile disappeared and I looked away too.

We made it to the other side of the lake, and Buquet's breath was harsh as he was taken from the boat, brought into the house, and seated on one of the couches in the parlor. On the coffee table was a spare mask and hat, left for Jules - I watched as the man took in his surroundings with rounded eyes, then picked up the items and donned them with shaky hands. He then assisted by removing the blindfold as Erik double-checked and tightened the rope around Buquet's wrists.

Buquet winced and blinked at the light, then his eyes darted around the room. He grimaced. "Where-"

"I will ask the questions," growled Erik. Like me, he still wore his costume. And hearing a venomous voice come from a tall and imposing Poe creation would have made me go as white as Buquet currently looked, had I not known who he was. "Do you understand?" Erik backed up to stand next to Jules and me.

The stagehand eyed the knife in Erik's hand and nodded slowly. A pig. But a pig with sense. A partially sobered swine as well, though I could see the bottle of champagne still lingering in his dull eyes.

"Where is Madame Giry?" Erik inclined his head, a predator ready to strike.

Buquet shook his own head. "I don't know."

Erik moved a step closer to him. "You do."

"I don't."

"Liar." Another step closer. The knife's blade glinted in the lamplight. Even Jules swallowed.

"I don't." Buquet blanched further. "I don't, Monsieur, I swear. Everyone suspects me, but it's not-" His eyes widened. "I have proof."

Erik and I shared a look. "Oh?" he said. "And what's that?"

"I left the day she went missing to visit my brother for two nights."

"And why should I believe you?"

"I saved the train ticket stub."

"Where is the stub."

Buquet opened and closed his mouth. I could see him fighting the drunkenness and fear that swam in his mind. "With the detective."

Erik snorted. "Of course it is." He went even closer.

"Wait!" His breath was ragged again. He struggled against his restraints. "I...I can prove it. On my workstation there is a note from the detective, thanking me for the evidence - for being cooperative. He told me his hope that my visit was pleasant." He seemed to wrack his addled mind for more. "And there is a letter from my brother's wife hidden in my papers, letting me know that she was excited for me to come. She names the date I was to visit."

"And why," asked Erik, sliding a finger over the blade, "did you not give that to the detective, too?"

"She perfumed the letter." He held Erik's gaze. "And left lipstick in the corner. What red-blooded man would hand that over?"

I made a face of disgust behind my black mask.

"Go and look for it." He looked at the three of us. "Go to my workstation and find it, whoever you all are. It's there. I'll even tell you exactly where."

I'd insisted.

Erik had been reluctant, not wanting for me to go to the surface alone. But when I continued to plead my case, that I could do it, he'd thought about it - just stared at me, thinking. Then, he'd asked Jules to escort me. I'd bitten my tongue, wanting to protest. I was perfectly capable of going alone, thank you very much. I was strong enough to steer the boat. Fearless enough to visit the theatre alone, now that the killer was caught.

Because regardless of whether Buquet really did have proof that he hadn't taken Madame - proof that Erik wanted to see for himself - it didn't mean he hadn't killed Isabelle or Emma. It didn't mean he wouldn't strike again, if given the chance.

Neither of us any longer masked or costumed, Jules pushed the boat to the other side with some effort, but we made it there. He led me to the surface, and walked into the theatre.

It was an hour, now, past the end of the party, meaning that the theatre was empty. I kept close to him - not because I was scared, but because Jules was the only source of light.

"Does Mme. Bernard know you're out late?" I said.

He gave me a turned-up look that said it was none of my business, but he answered anyway, "Yes. I told her that Erik is ill and needs assistance."

I nodded, and the rest of the walk was silent.

Once at the stage, I beelined for the workstation, but realized Jules had stopped. He was holding the lantern up, looking in the direction of a downstage wing opposite Buquet's station.

"What?" I said. "What's wrong?"

Jules shook his head slowly as I approached him. He lowered the lantern. "I thought I saw something."

"I understand. I was spooked at first, too. It's just the darkness playing with your mind."

He nodded. "Right. Of course." He handed me the lantern, but then followed me to the workstation, and instead picked up the smaller, dimmer lantern that Buquet had left on his desk. "You look for this proof, if it exists. I am going to switch on the lights. I feel...vulnerable."

"Yes. All right." I placed the lantern I held down and started on finding the perfumed letter. "Don't be long."

"I don't plan on it."

And he was off into the darkness behind me.

I sifted through the papers. Buquet said it was in the rightmost stack, but that pile of papers was high. Jules would likely be back, the lights on, by the time I wasn't even halfway through it.

But the lights never came on. And Jules didn't return.

I did find the letter, though.

"Jules!" I called, looking down at it. There it was - lipstick in the corner. "Jules, I found it."

Footsteps behind me. I relaxed. Good, there he was.

"Jules," I said again, softer this time, and was about to grab the lantern and turn to face him-

When two large hands went to cover my mouth and eyes.

I cried out, dropping the letter, and brought my own hands to the ones on me.

"Jules," said a familiar voice, and I went icy at the recognition, "is no longer here."

The hand at my mouth left my lips and moved down my chin, to my neck, over my breasts - alarm bells rang in my mind. I attempted to whirl, but his arm grasped me too tightly.

"Careful." He tsked. "I might just accidentally break your neck." To prove he could, he made my head snap to the side, cramping my neck and causing a gasp to loosen from my throat. "A quicker death, I admit, than I gave Isabelle or Emma."

My heart hammered. Wrong. I'd been wrong. Erik and I hadn't caught-

"Does..." I rasped. "Buquet. Did he send us up here? Working with you. A trap. Was this...?"

"Buquet," he purred, "knows nothing. Sorry, Ballet Wraith, but you seem to have caught a red herring in your attempt to trap a shark. Poor man. I do feel a bit bad for him, but it was just too easy. And St. Juste. Too bad the detective didn't take the bait on Buquet like you and the Phantom did."

My breaths were jagged knives in my chest. He knew. He knew Erik's identity. Oh Lord, he knew. How did he know? How?

He brought his face to my head and inhaled, savoring each molecule of air that passed into his nose. I squirmed, and he laughed. "I know how feisty you can be. But you will come with me willingly, blindfolded and tied, just as you made Buquet do. Because if you don't I will kill Madame Giry. Then I will find Meg and kill her too - and I already have a very good idea of where she likely is."

I had no choice, then, I realized with a pang of nausea.

I could fight, but I could very well lose. And if I lost, not only would I be hurt, but my family as well. Clearly he knew where Madame Giry was - he was likely holding her captive. And Meg - God, not little Meg.

And Erik. If he had any information on Erik...

No, I had no choice at all.

I allowed Richard Firmin to tie my hands behind my back.