Thank you everyone for reading!

Enjoy!

Erik

Chapter 32

The Spies

The meeting with Franklin had been nothing of particular note.

I didn't mention the fact that I knew the mastermind behind the robberies at the de Chagny estate - I was still processing it all and didn't yet want to answer a thousand questions. We discussed, instead, what I planned to do with my performance. I had fantastical ideas. He loved every one of them; his enthusiasm as I spoke had been palpable.

But the shadows under his eyes betrayed what lay underneath. Hope, dashed. Worry, restored. It made me more eager to perform well. It made me want to end my meeting with him and go back to the Cat's Eye Tavern.

I walked there.

Besides the irritating detail that no coach would stop for me, I felt, for once, that I wanted the fresh air. For once, I didn't care if people stopped and stared at my appearance.

It was, admittedly, a long walk. But I liked the exercise. Missed it, actually. I used to walk daily, for hours, in Russia. I should do this more often.

Upon arriving at the Cat's Eye Tavern, I found that my instinct had been correct. In the daytime, this place was much less intimidating. A mere building among many, albeit painted strangely, but it was unassuming on the whole.

I opened the door, to find only a few there at this early afternoon hour. Olivier, behind the bar, currently serving one of Vincenzo's men, and seven other men at a few tables near the door. They looked up at me as I closed the door behind me, then gave me a polite nod.

I was, it seemed, not a threat. Confirmed to be a friendly, welcome presence.

A glance around the tavern, and I spotted Vincenzo, sitting at the back with two others. I began making my way toward them, when Olivier noticed me.

"Ah, there he is, Vincenzo," he said.

Vincenzo looked my way, causing his two companions to look my way as well.

I stopped short when I saw their faces.

One, whom I had at first glance thought was a young man, looked to actually be a girl. I don't know how I'd missed it. She was clearly in a dress. But with her blonde hair pulled back, I hadn't realized it was long, and she wore no makeup.

The other was none other than Vicomte Raoul de Chagny.

Vincenzo grinned and waved me over to the fourth chair at the table. I was taken aback, but forced my feet to move, until I was sitting amongst them. When I took my seat, I saw that Raoul was playing with a set of cards, each with an ornately painted picture. It took a few seconds to realize they were Tarot.

Vincenzo must have noticed me staring at the deck. "He got those for his sixteenth birthday."

"My interests leaned into mysticism around that time," said Raoul in that sighing, bored voice of his.

"For about two days, Raoul, like all your interests?" retorted the girl. Her voice was lilting and bold, a sunflower unafraid of the rain. I was reminded of Christine; after last night, I missed her presence dearly. I would have loved if she'd come along, but I hadn't wanted to disturb her sleep. The girl looked at me, tawny eyes escorting me from my wife's blue ones to the present. "You must be Erik." She held out a hand. "I'm Meg Giry."

I held out my own hand, and she shook it, her grip firm. I was taken aback by that too - I don't think I'd ever shaken hands with a woman. Though, really, I didn't shake hands with much of anyone; not often, at least. My hand-shaking had reached an all-time high upon becoming the Phantom, with the likes of Franklin.

"Good to meet you, Mademoiselle." I let her hand go.

"And I know you've met Raoul," said Vincenzo, giving me a wink. "He's the one who tipped me off to your existence."

Raoul didn't so much as nod.

"They are members of Le Chats de Ruelle." The Alley-Cats. "My two best spies. Meg uses her verbal and physical skills in bedrooms to gather information, and Raoul merely listens intently within the parlors of the rich and titled."

"You make it sound so pretty, Vincenzo," said Meg, grinning. "'Her verbal and physical skills in bedrooms to gather information'." She looked at me, eyes full of mischief. "He means to say I'm a very popular prostitute with a proclivity for gossip. And, trust me, once you ensure their...comfort, lustful rich men tend to spill all of their secrets like it's hot tea." Another wide, proud smile.

I couldn't help but grin back. Embracing a less-than-favorable situation, owning it. She would have made an excellent member of the Fox Den Inn.

"By the way," drawled Raoul, and my smile disappeared. While Meg's voice was sweet, Raoul's was...something else. He still wasn't looking at me. "The masquerade is over." He sniffed. "Oh...sorry. Vincenzo did mention your...er, condition." His mud-colored eyes finally found mine. He spoke again with that ingratiating disinterest. "It slipped my mind. Deaf and ugly. Tragic." He leaned back in his chair, attention on his cards once more.

Vincenzo glared, and I heard Meg give a sigh.

My anger spiked at his words. "I can certainly show you what's behind my mask, Vicomte."

"No, thank you. I've seen enough dogs today." He yawned, and the way his nose scrunched was seemingly childlike. He noticed me watching and returned his expression to cool marble. "What?"

"Is this conversation boring you?"

"Increasingly."

"Raoul," warned Vincenzo. "Enough." The vicomte merely shrugged.

I scowled. "Well, aren't you just a patronizing little shit?" I cocked my head. "Have I done something to offend your delicate senses?"

He didn't answer that question. "Nice magic show, Ghost of Talent Yet to Come."

"All right, Raoul," said Meg.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I advise you sit up a little straighter. Might make it easier to remove the enormous lamppost up your ass. Despite what you think, it's not making you any brighter."

Raoul smirked, though I couldn't tell if it was a defensive expression or if he was genuinely amused, and Meg finally placed her hands on the table. "Boys, put your pissers away. You're both remarkably average."

Vincenzo snorted, and even a bit of my own anger dissipated at that. Not enough to stop my glare at the vicomte, but still.

"Raoul," she said. "Play nicely. Erik." She gave me an apologetic look. "Forgive him. He's like this with everyone. If he was being kind, I'd be more concerned."

"Excuse me," said Raoul, "but I think I need a drink."

"It's one in the afternoon, de Chagny," said Vincenzo, brows up at Raoul's rising form.

The latter put the cards down and walked to the bar. "Never too early to lose your sense of time, space, and self."

Ibrahim and he would get along famously.

Or they'd kill each other.

I wasn't entirely sure.

"It's your liver," muttered Meg, then looked at me. "Erik. We were just discussing your friend. The one whose daughter is being held."

I sat up straight. "Yes?"

Vincenzo picked up the Tarot card that currently faced up at the top of the deck. The Tower card. His smile was crooked and full of unspoken whispers, his eyes like that of a raven ready to enact vengeful plans. "We have ideas."