Thank you everyone for reading!

I don't think I missed any typos, but this is a long chapter, so it's possible. Please let me know if you find any!

Now, the story really begins :)

Enjoy!

Erik

Chapter 25

The Dance

Every eye was upon me.

Oh, I am sure that there were some at this masquerade who paid me no mind, who didn't notice me at all. But when I walked into the ballroom with my small family and friends, I could feel the room stir. A shift in mood. Not for the worse.

But different. A buzz. Of energy and whispers among the soft sounds of string instruments.

I had no doubt that the Comte Philippe de Chagny had told as many people as he could about my coming in the short amount of time he had. I'm sure, too, that this information had spread like wildfire, and anyone who didn't already know who I was after my one performance was quick to discover it.

I paid them no mind. I held my head up high and stared above their heads.

This only made my presence there more titillating. Intriguing.

So did Christine's white-gloved hand in the crook of my elbow. Oh, the crowd liked that. They subtly pointed and shared secret smiles - the Phantom had a wife, or at the very least a lover. Who, then, was she? What was their story?

"Mme. and M. Phantom!" came a booming, jovial voice. A sandy-haired man with a hooked nose and a wide smile stepped out from the throng of people. His red costume lined with silver and gold was indicative of his wealth. Philippe de Changy, the Comte. "And your friends, of course. Welcome! Your presence is the one I've been waiting for." He turned to the people behind him, and waved them away like flies. "All of you are just filler - I care not if you're here!"

The crowd laughed, and I felt my own little group stir and chuckle with amusement. I merely allowed my lips to quirk. Charmer. I didn't fall for it when Franklin tried, and I wouldn't fall for it now.

I did, however, appreciate his calling me 'M. Phantom'. He knew my last name, and could have easily called me that. Truly, I didn't care much if people knew my last name - it was common enough, and it would be difficult for Christine never being able to state her surname - as long as I could keep my given name as hidden as possible. The less people knew about me, the better. And calling me 'M. Phantom' would draw an air of mystery that Franklin assures me will draw more and more crowds to my future performances.

"Come then, friends, and enjoy the party! Musicians, louder if you please!"

Indeed, the band of musicians on the far side of the room increased their volume and even their tempo. A few men and women laughed, and the party resumed.

"I think I see a bar!" whispered Ibrahim behind me. I turned to him, and he winked at me and gave me a lupine smile. "I will make myself busy over there, I think. Anyone care to join me?"

"Oh, yes, please," said, of all people, my father-in-law. "That sounds positively lovely."

Beside me, Christine gave me an amused, knowing look. Her father was not particularly a drinker, but absolutely had to make a good impression on Ibrahim. And it was an excellent excuse to stay to the sides of the room.

"Well then, come on, old man," said Ibrahim, and led the way toward a lavish long bar attended by two bartenders. I had no clue if the majority of ballrooms had this addition, or if the de Chagnys were merely generous toward their guests. Ibrahim didn't seem to care one way or another as he beelined for it.

"Old man!" said Gustave, voice accosted but grinning at the familiar tone. "I'll have you know that-"

They were then lost to the crowd.

The only one left, besides myself and Christine, was Franklin. We turned toward him, and he gave us both a polite nod and cleared his throat. "I do hope you both enjoy yourselves. If you need me, you can find me mingling somewhere-" He gave a pointed bob of the head toward the throng. "-in this crowd."

And he too was off. Really, he was doing an excellent job of pretending that everything was fine. I hadn't yet told Ibrahim or Christine what became of the payoff to Vaillancourt, that the money had been given in vain. That we were back to where we were before. I almost didn't have the heart. Ibrahim had seemed so happy to help, and Christine would only pity the man. I'd tell them when the time was right.

When I felt I wouldn't break something in anger upon relaying the news.

God, if Vaillancourt happened to also be at this party-

But, no. Franklin seemed the type of man to have a good idea of the guest list, and I had little doubt he'd mention that detail if it were true.

Christine looked at me, cocking her head, and I could read her question in the blue eyes that contrasted with such loveliness against the pink mask.

"I'd like to stay outside the throng," I said softly, and I knew only she could hear me amidst the music and chatter. "But you go - enjoy yourself."

She offered me a dubious look. "What if another man asks me to dance?"

"It's not a matter of if," I responded, smirking. "It's a matter of when - you're far too beautiful to ignore."

I didn't need to see her cheeks to know she was blushing. It almost gave me enough confidence to whisk her off her feet and dance the night away with her in my arms.

Almost.

"I trust you," I said, and shrugged. "Go. I'll be at that bench there." I pointed to an empty white plush seat against the wall. "If you get tired of socializing, join me there."

Christine smiled, squeezed my arm, and was gone. I did indeed take a seat there, and quite a few people gathered around me. Not close enough to be rude, but not far enough to be comfortable. I could tell they were whispering, wondering how to talk to me. I hoped they never figured it out. I didn't want to talk to them.

I noticed, then, a few girls, a bit younger than Christine - perhaps fifteen or sixteen - giggling and sharing glances between themselves and me. When they saw me looking, one of them blushed and another looked away quickly. Their whispers intensified, and I grew irritated. If they were going to gossip about me, then they could at least have the decency to do it away from where I could see.

Then one of them gave me a look that nearly made me jump with surprise. It was a very similar look to how Christine looked at me, late at night, when we shared sweet words. It could only be described as...desire.

Oh.

No, these girls weren't gossiping. They were flirting.

With me.

I nearly laughed out loud. If only they could see what I looked like under my cloak, under my mask, they would certainly not be giggling and blushing and whispering in the way they were.

I looked away.

And when I did, I really did jump. I didn't get up, but my back straightened and the breath was stolen from me.

A man stood there, still amongst a group of men and women. He held what looked like a red wine in his tan hands - tanner than most, a light brown. His long hair was ebony, tied back with a blue ribbon. Brown eyes stared at me behind a green mask, intense and watchful and blazing.

It looked like...even disguised, this man looked like-

But it couldn't be.

Vincenzo.

It couldn't be.

I wanted to get up and go to him, but found my legs suddenly didn't work.

I opened my mouth, though I had no idea what I'd even say. I didn't get the chance, because I heard a sudden voice to my other side, full of distaste.

"Oh. This seat wasn't occupied a few minutes ago."

I turned to look, and found a young man with a face very similar to Philippe's, though his features were softer. Raoul, the vicomte.

"Excuse me?" I said.

He scowled. "Deaf, are you?"

I raised a brow, anger spiking. "Excuse me?" I said again.

"Oh, good Lord. I said-" He spoke the words louder, leaning in. "-that this seat wasn't occupied a few minutes ago."

"And?"

"And it's normally my seat. It's where I normally sit."

Ah, he was one of those types of people. Oh, good. Just wonderful. "Is it really?"

"Everyone who ever attends these parties knows that."

"Well, I don't normally attend these parties, Your Excellency." I spat the last couple words with a relative amount of venom. I wasn't his guest, I was his brother's. And if I was kicked out because of this foolishness, then this wasn't the sort of place I wanted to be. "I'm sure you noticed that. Or are you as blind as I am deaf?"

He gave me a withering look. "The fact remains, that this is normally my seat."

"And this conversation is growing duller by the second - which is impressive, because it didn't exactly start out titillating." I gestured around. "Are the various other benches in this grand ballroom not good enough for you?" I looked around as well, and I noticed the sudden absence of the man in the green mask - the man I was so sure was not Vincenzo - and that was immediately leagues more important than this silly bench. "You get your wish, though. Here. Have it. Enjoy yourself."

And I was up, walking toward the crowd, hoping to find not-Vincenzo. I surprised myself with my ability to simply...walk right in. But I suppose that having a goal in mind eased some of the anxiety from my mind.

There were a hundred or more guests in this ballroom. But I ignored every color except green. I focused solely on that color. Unfortunately, there were at least a dozen who decided to wear that exact shade. At least a dozen more were vying for my attention, inquiring after my evening or congratulating me on my performance. To them, I nodded my greetings or thanks, and quickly moved on.

Strange, I had to admit, all this warm attention. So different from Persia or the travelling show. Even in Russia, people didn't ever dare come close.

"Ah, here he is now!" The sound of a throat clearing. "M. Phantom?"

I turned to the familiar voice of Franklin, who had a hand on another man's shoulder. "M. Knight," I said. "How are you enjoying the party?"

"Oh, we've discussed this, my good man - do call me Franklin." He grinned infectiously, emanating all that masking charm. "Allow me to introduce you to a cellist who often graces my stage-"

I thought I saw a flash of green in the corner of my eye. I nodded my head quickly. "Do forgive me, Messieurs." And I left their company before I could see their expression. I knew that I was being rude - but I had to know-

"Here he is! The renowned Phantom - come to join the party."

Ibrahim. I turned around to find him and Christine side by side, both holding a sparkling white wine.

"I thought you didn't want to be among the people," said Christine, eyeing me a with happy glimmer in her eye that had me smiling despite my hunt.

"I changed my mind," I responded. "Where is Gustave?"

"Oh, Gustave," mused Ibrahim, grinning. "My favorite Frenchman."

"Is it because I don't marvel at the ground you walk on?" I retorted, and Christine giggled. "Is that why he wins out over me?"

"Precisely."

"He's still at the bar," answered Christine. "He's not one for crowds."

"I knew he was the perfect father-in-law."

She smiled widely at that. "Last I checked, he was talking to some railroad baron. Very enthusiastically asking about the railway and how it works."

Ibrahim made a face. "Sounds dreadfully dull. Especially when there's music to listen to, dancing to be had."

"I don't see anyone dancing," I said.

"Not yet," Christine said, "but I heard talk they're starting in a few minutes.

Ibrahim eyed my empty hand. "You should get a drink as well, my friend."

"No, thank you." I looked around myself. "Actually, I was looking for-"

"Oh, come now! It's a party!" Ibrahim interrupted, but Christine was watching me, clearly wondering after what I was going to say. "Get a drink. And dance!"

"I don't dance." Memories of my childhood - at dancing for another man's financial gain - flooded my mind. No. I didn't dance anymore.

"Nervous to do so alone?" asked Ibrahim, and laughed. "No worries, my friend! We can be dance partners - you and me."

I scowled behind the mask. "You likely have two left feet, Ibrahim."

He put a hand to his chest and scoffed. "Take that statement back. My dancing skills are phenomenal."

"No thank you."

He tsked, shaking his head; then grinned again and said, "Wise, I suppose. I am like a bird of paradise. You will surely be seduced, lured into mating with me. You will be begging for my sweet, ripe buttocks."

Christine, who had been sipping from her wine, made a choking sound; but her eyes gave her utter amusement away.

I crossed my arms, though I also couldn't keep the small smile from tugging at my lips. "Keep your tropical-fruit-buttocks far, far away from me."

"They're firm. Some might even say...juicy."

"Though tempting, I must decline."

He shrugged, taking a nonchalant sip; beside him, Christine was biting her lip hard, her eyes closed. What I could see of her face was bright red. I couldn't quite tell if she was glad Ibrahim had come back into her life, or if she was regretting his arrival entirely.

Just then, a sudden change in music filled the air. Even louder, the tempo even higher. Around us, people clapped and made exclamations of pleasure. I didn't have to be told what was next: the dancing would begin.

Christine and Ibrahim looked at me expectantly, and I took a step back, wanting to be out of the throng. "You two - dance. Have fun." I trusted Ibrahim, and I trusted Christine even more. "I will be against the wall if you need me."

"You were always against the wall in Persia," protested Ibrahim - a true statement. I'd been an event at the Shah's parties, not a guest. "Now you can mingle."

"Are you sure, Erik?" said Christine softly, as people got into formation around us. A passing servant carried a tray of empty glasses. She and Ibrahim noticed him and placed their drinks upon it.

I nodded and looked away, feeling ashamed of my own emotions. At the knowledge that dancing would surely bring back some unwanted memories. Unleash some ghosts trapped in the house of my mind. I had to keep them in. It was a miracle some hadn't escaped tonight already. "I'm sure. Enjoy yourselves."

I turned and walked away; behind me, I heard Christine admit that she was no expert on ballroom dance. I heard Ibrahim admit that he, in fact, was - but only that of the Persian variety. Then I heard them both laugh at the absurdity that they'd surely display before the who's who of Paris, and I quickened my step.

It should have been me she was laughing with; nothing existed between Christine and Ibrahim, I knew that.

But still.

It should have been me.

Every soul was dancing - except for my father-in-law, still at the bar, talking to the bartender. I made my way for him, knowing that not-Vincenzo in the green mask would have coupled up by now. I'd find him later.

Gustave saw me, raising his glass to me as I approached-

And that was when the murmur began. The ripple in the crowd.

The ripple turned to a flurry. A flurry turned to a panic, and all I could do was watch in confusion as people stopped dancing and patted themselves with their hands, as though missing something.

Then one young woman exclaimed, "My grandmother's broach! It's gone!"

And all hell broke loose.

I noticed four things at once.

One, Christine was making her way toward me, Ibrahim in tow. Both frowning. She clutched her collarbone where a necklace - the necklace I'd given her - was missing from.

Two, a rather large portion of the crowd - ten or twelve men and women - were now making their way to the exits at lightning speed.

Three, Raoul de Chagny had left the crowd and was watching, unimpressed. No...uninterested. Like he wasn't surprised by this at all. He caught my eye, and quickly looked away, suddenly patting his pockets, like to blend in to the surrounding chaos.

Four, a dark-haired man in a green mask was walking slowly to a room at the back. He too caught my eye, but smiled.

Cat-like.

I walked briskly after him. He tipped his head back as though in laughter and sprinted to the room. I followed him in.

I found that it wasn't a room at all, but a long hallway, an opened window at the end. Paintings lined the walls, with doors on either side. Yet he was nowhere to be found. I walked the length of the hall and was inches from peeking out the window into the darkened estate lawn.

Until I heard a door close and a hand from behind pull the mask straight from my face.

I spun, panic rising in me, as the man took in my features without a single flinch. No, instead of recoiling, a light seemed to enter his eyes - eyes that were remarkably familiar - and he removed his own mask.

It was.

Vincenzo Santi. My brother.

It was him. Somehow, it was him.

I was breathless as he took me in wondrously, walking open-mouthed around me, so that he was against the window and not me.

I felt I might faint. A thousand questions flooded my mind, but I couldn't voice a single one.

I heard shouts from somewhere behind me, someone yell "Thieves!" But it seemed a world away.

Vincenzo spoke, low and breathy and full of awe, full of that wonderful Venetian accent, dark eyes wide. "I knew it."

He gave me my mask back. Hands shaking, I put it on.

Another shout from the hallway - Christine. "Erik?"

I spun to look, and she and Ibrahim were in the entrance to the hall, wide-eyed. We stared back at one another for several long seconds, while I blinked several times, feeling dizzy - like I needed to find my footing. A motion at my back.

Ibrahim pointed behind me, brows stitched. "Who was that?"

I turned, to find Vincenzo gone.

A breeze blew in from the opened window.

And a sudden weight in my pocket. I brought my hand to it, and pulled out two items that hadn't been there before.

Christine's necklace, perfectly intact.

And a note with an unfamiliar address; underneath the address was a phrase written in Italian: I found you. Now you find me.