I received some very kind reviews on the last few chapters—very encouraging! Thanks to everyone who is still reading!

There had been a look in Nora's eyes, in the brief time between the moment she had kissed Erik's mask and before she pulled away to make tea. Erik wasn't quite sure what it was, but it led him to firmly believe that, had he turned and kissed her fully, she would not have refused.

It was more than a foolish thought. It was a dangerous one. He blamed it on having so recently seen Christine. Her kiss still burned on his brow, as if she had just placed it there. Was it so terrible to desire that someone would take away that searing reminder of his past failure?

He watched Nora bustle away. Nora, Nora, Nora. How was it that he had even ended up here? When, in his entire life, had he run to someone in an hour of need? But she had not turned him away, had she? Last night, with her long hair undone and her scarlet robe, she had looked more like an avenging valkyrie than a saving angel—but she had also given aid that angels might well have refused. She asked questions, but they all seemed to come back to the utterly foreign one of are you all right, Erik? As if she cared how he was! Beyond that, she offered no judgments and caressed him with a kiss in her eyes.

Ah, but how her eyes would change the moment he lifted the mask— and, alas, he would need to remove the mask to kiss her! Perhaps he would merely find a way to steal her sight. How she would cling to him then, on their Sunday walk! Perhaps she would not mind sharing his old-fashioned little house then, even—

Oh, this was a special type of insanity, indeed! Erik stood up from the little couch in her bland parlor and paced in front of the fireplace. A woman paid him the smallest attention and he could not help but twist and pervert it into something heinous. How could he even justify being in the same building as she when such horrid thoughts were attacking him?

He thought of running, returning to his home and locking himself in. Perhaps he would wall over the Rue Scribe gate, so that no one would ever be able to come in and he would have great difficultly in getting out.

As he resolved himself to do just so, Nora reappeared. She was mostly paying attention to the large lacquered tray she was carrying. When she looked up, that odd, tender look in her eyes had vanished. Perhaps Erik had imagined it in the first place. She set the tray down and went about readying the cups. It was only when she asked Erik how he liked he liked his tea that in dawned on him that he couldn't possibly drink it. Nonetheless, he asked for lemon in the strongly brewed tea and accepted the cup. Nora's own beverage was plain and she had consumed half of it before Erik had even bothered to resume his seat.

After the silence threatened to drag on indefinitely, Erik spoke. "I fear that I've kept you from your… worship."

One eyebrow lifted. "It won't be the first mass I've missed."

There was something unusual in her tone, a cold sort of irony that surprised Erik. "I was under the impression that your religion is quite important to you."

"It is. But… religion is spiritual, and life is physical." She shrugged and topped off her teacup. "Life tends to demand precedence, and the condition of my immortal soul is fairly irreparable at this point."

What strange words she was using. Erik was unsure of how to reply, and thankfully did not have to. Nora changed the subject, though Erik was not sure if it was really to his benefit.

"How was Don Giovanni?" she asked.

"It was a decent production," Erik replied, "though not the best that the Garnier has ever done. Just a year or two after the stage opened, we did an excellent showing. The orchestra was flawless at the time, the staging perfect. A young Lassalle played Giovanni surprisingly well."

She smiled slightly. "You sound proud."

Erik considered this. Proud? He supposed that he was. Even at that early stage, he had been subtly directing the Garnier. The early triumphs that been as much Erik's as anyone else's. "It was the best showing I have yet to see of any Mozart opera." He chose not to include the various arias and duets he had practiced with Christine. Some of them had been heavenly, but none qualified as 'productions.'

"It sounds lovely," Nora replied. Her smile had taken on that bland quality he had noticed so often during her visit to his own home. "Erik, what happened?"

He shrugged and hoped she would accept that as an answer.

She did not. "You said that you saw someone."

"Yes." He managed to take the smallest sip of the tea without getting his mask wet.

Nora did not fidget, but she appeared nervous. "I'm going to be impertinent."

"Impertinent?" Erik asked. "Are ladies allowed to be impertinent?"

"I don't know," she replied, deadpan, "no one gave me a book of instructions, though I know such things exist. Who is she?"

Ah, she really was too perceptive. It was a trait that would surely one day be her undoing. "She is… a former student."

"You teach? Whatever do you teach?" The blandness disappeared for an instant, replace with bright curiosity and a touch of—respect?

"I taught," Erik corrected. "I taught her to sing."

Nora set down her teacup and regarded Erik. "I don't know why I'm surprised. You have the most sensational speaking voice."

Erik felt inordinately pleased by that observation. "She was an excellent student."

"What happened?"

What happened, indeed! I fell in love, I thoroughly misjudged the situation, I nearly killed half of Paris… "She chose marriage over her career. And what a career she would have had! She could have sung for kings— for emperors— for angels. And instead, she sings for a man who cannot tell the difference between a coloratura and a lyric soprano." Erik realized that he was gripping the teacup too tightly. He set it onto the low table and glanced up at Nora.

She was unreadable. "That's a shame."

"A shame? It is criminal," Erik scoffed. "But there is nothing I can do about it. I had not seen her since her 'retirement.' Such potential, utterly wasted." Erik absently wondered just what potential he referred to. Christine's voice was undoubtedly wasted in the role of Countess. But what of the potential for their love? There had been potential, hadn't there? Music had brought them closer together than Erik had thought it possible.

Such potential, utterly wasted.

Erik had buried it under lie after lie, deception upon deception. Was that how the average man communicated? Surely not. He looked at Nora. Did she know just how much he was dissembling even now? If she didn't, what would she think if she ever found out? It was not a lie on the same scale as the tales Erik had spun for Christine, but would she perhaps not view it as a sort of betrayal?

And if she did, would that not have been another failure in Erik's life? How many more of those could he endure?

"I loved her," Erik added then, waiting for the horror to register on Nora's face.

It did not come. She merely poured more tea and made a vague, encouraging noise.

"During our acquaintance, I treated her… abominably." Erik pressed on, willing Nora to react in some fashion. "I deceived her." Still nothing. "I even kidnapped her."

Nora quirked a tiny smile. "Ah."

"Is that really all you have to say?"

"Well. What would you have me say?" she asked. When Erik did not—could not— reply, she asked: "What happened last night? Did she know that she would see you?"

"She didn't see me at all."

"So you chased her out of her box seat?" Nora asked, a light touch of humor coloring her voice. Erik was not amused, and she obviously realized that. "Sorry."

"She thinks I'm dead," Erik said. "She's come to bury me—it was an old promise I made her swear."

"Made her swear?" Nora asked. "One can hardly make someone swear something."

"I can be," Erik paused for a moment, considering his next words, "quite persuasive."

"I believe you. So what shall you do?"

"Do?" Erik leaned back and shut his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"It would be rather ridiculous if you simply let her bury you," Nora pointed out. "And I take it that you'd rather not confront her with the fact that you are quite alive?"

"That would be profoundly… awkward." Not to mention possibly dangerous for Erik and distressing for Christine.

"And you can't simply keep up the ghost routine and hide out underground for a bit?"

What a flippant way to summarize Erik's life! He opened one eye and glowered in response. "She expects to find... my body in my home and will have no trouble getting to it." He tried to take another sip of tea, but ended up sticking the nose of the mask into the cup. He dried it off viciously and added, "I gave her a key."

Nora finally set her teacup down and turned to face Erik more directly. Her countenance was a bit different than her usual: still serene and inscrutable, as any lady ought to be, but with a stronger spark of humor than Erik was accustomed to seeing in her eyes. He could not comprehend what about the situation she could possibly find amusing. "I think we must come up with some sort of plan."

"A plan?" Erik asked. "We shall come up with a plan?"

"It's the only really logical course of action," Nora noted. "You do not wish the girl to know you are alive, she is intent on burying you, I'd really rather not see you in a tomb… The best thing might be to convince her that you died elsewhere. Clutter up the house a bit; make it look like you haven't been there in… however long you've supposedly been dead. Perhaps even leave a note in deference to this promise you made her take. And then the simplest thing to do might be to go on holiday."

Erik listened to her hastily outlined 'plan.' "I assure you, that would not be the simplest thing to do." As for the rest of it… was that really what Erik wanted to do? Wouldn't he rather stay in his home, sit at his piano, and then serenade Christine the instant she set foot in the door? If he could only persuade her to…

…to what? To stay? To resume her lessons? To sing something other than the Jewel Song?

"I wouldn't know where to go," Erik added.

Nora considered this for a moment, and Erik hoped that he might have stumped her. He had not. "You're a man of… business, aren't you?" she asked.

"I am a man of many talents," Erik replied automatically. There were so few things that he could boast about, why bother to conceal them?

"Do you now anything about French property law?" she asked. Erik did not like her tone.

"Only in principle," he said.

"Good enough," she stood and walked over to the one, tiny window in the room. The sun was obscured by fog and frost, but light was now spilling into the room in earnest. "The one thing I have yet to do with my uncle's estate is actually deal with the estate. I had rather hoped to put that burden off until January and then toss it onto my cousin. But nothing besides that is preventing me from going."

She seemed to be waiting for him to speak, but Erik could not understand what she expected. "So you will be leaving Paris sooner than you said."

She rolled her eyes at him, rather brazenly. "His estate is in Burgundy. Côte de Beaune. Do you think your former pupil is likely to turn up there?"

Erik simply stared at her. What was she saying? She couldn't possibly be offering what it sounded like she was offering.

As the silence dragged on, a faint blush colored Nora's cheeks. "You must forgive me, if that sounded unseemly. I tend not to view life through the lens of irreproachable propriety. I merely suggest that, if you are in need of a place to go, you could accompany me as my guest and advisor."

Erik found his vision becoming unfocused and he looked away from Nora. What a strange, strange woman he had fallen in with! How was he to know, on that fateful morning by Notre Dame, that this was how events would turn out!

"You needn't make any decision now," Nora added. "This hardly seems like something you can schedule. But the offer will stand indefinitely."

"I will think on it," Erik heard himself say. He might have added thank you, but perhaps that was simply an echo in his mind.

"Are you still intent on returning to the Garnier right away?" she asked.

Erik glanced at the clock on the mantle. Nearly eight! "Yes, I think perhaps I will."

Nora nodded. "Let me walk with you, as far as there. I should be able to attend one of the later masses on my return."

Erik agreed with a stiff nod and waited for Nora to get her coat. She emerged in a royal blue velvet thing, very elegant and unlike her usual Sunday attire. Erik would have been embarrassed by his hopelessly rumpled evening wear, if he had not intended to walk quickly and in shadows.

They departed and walked in utter silence—so different from last Sunday! The lack of conversation was almost more terrifying than their earlier discussions had been. But Nora seemed content merely to hold onto his arm and walk quietly.

They arrived at the Rue Scribe quickly.

"Now we're even," she said at last. "Last week, you saw me to my home—now I've seen you to yours."

"Indeed." Erik stood, uncomfortable. "Come to the theater on Tuesday evening and I will tell you how I intend to proceed." Perhaps his tone was a bit more highhanded than what was appropriate to use with a lady, but it was a role he was comfortable in and Nora did not seem to notice.

"Very well," she said. "Shall I—"

"Just come here," Erik said. He smiled. "We'll attend Box Five."

She smiled back. "Of course. Good day, Erik." She leaned up to kiss his cheek again. "I'll see you soon."

She was only a step away when Erik could not help himself. "Faust," he said.

"Is that what they're playing?" she asked, mildly.

"No. I just what to know… what you think of it." Why? Why did he want to know? But the question occurred to him and now burned in his mind.

She paused. "It's all worth it for the ending."

"When Faust gets him comeuppance?" Erik asked bitterly.

She waved her hand dismissively. "No, no. The lovers' duet and then Marguerite's Pure and Radiant Angels bit. It's astounding."

"It can be," Erik replied, numb. "But what do you think about the Jewel Song?"

She made a curious face. "Ah. Well."

"Do you like it?"

"No," she admitted. "I don't."

"Why not?" he pressed. Why was it so important for him to know her answer? Did it even matter what the answer was?

"It's a silly girl's play at vanity," Nora replied. "Just like Caro Nome is a silly girl's play at love. Having been an exceptionally silly girl myself, I have no desire to see others stumble through the role."

Was that the answer he had been searching for? Erik didn't know, but he bid Nora adieu feeling ever-so-slightly more contented. He watched her turn in the direction of the cathedral, at home and at ease though she was in a foreign city.

Erik's brief acquaintance with her begged the question: What was he to Nora Farley— busy Miss Farley who was doing this, that, or the other thing? Nothing, of course. At most, perhaps he was an oddity that she had stumbled upon; a pebble encountered on the road, destined to be kicked away.

But then, really, what was she to him?

An unremarkable woman who had walked and talked with him for hours. Meaningless. Insignificant. Wholly unique in Erik's life.