Throughout the night, Erik kept watch over Raoul, placing a cool cloth on his brow for the mild fever that had developed, as the boy slept restlessly. He ran a hand through the boy's dirty blond hair, still unsure of what to do about this mess he'd found himself embroiled in. Perhaps he should seek out Poe and consult him on this, at any rate his current situation warranted further research on werewolves and their ilk. He rose from his place by the boy's side and went to his library, seeking a book he'd obtained shortly after arriving in Paris that covered mythical creatures and the like. Once he found it, he returned to his place beside the couch, opening the book and finding what he needed, sat and spent the night reading. He read about various cases of lycanthropy, many that had taken place right there in France, but most importantly came across something lethal to them: silver. So they were vulnerable to silver, he'd have to make arrangements and procure some items fashioned from silver just in case. He rubbed his eyes, finding himself growing weary and thinking perhaps he was getting too old for all-nighters.
A low moan came from Raoul, Erik glancing at him before glancing at the clock on his mantle, seeing that it was now almost seven in the morning. Rising and stretching, Erik glanced back at the boy seeing that his eyes were opening and a hand came up to rub at them. He made his way to his kitchen to prepare some tea and breakfast, unaccustomed to having someone else to tend to. He prepared a simple porridge for the boy if only for the sake of getting some sustenance into him and, stifling a yawn, brought out tea and the boy's breakfast on a tray. Raoul was sitting up, clearly still trying to stir himself from his sleep, hands rubbing his face. At the clink of the tray and teacups, he looked up to see Erik setting his tray on the coffee table, and gave a sad smile and a shake of his head.
"I suppose it was too much to hope it was all some horrible dream," he remarked.
"Eat," was all Erik said.
Raoul did as he bade as Erik sat down in the armchair and prepared tea for himself, sitting back and sipping the warm beverage.
"I wasn't aware you could cook," Raoul said to fill the silence that had fallen.
"It does not take much skill to make a porridge," Erik replied, "At any rate, the ability to cook is a necessity else I could hardly feed myself. There are a good many things you do not know about me."
"I suppose that is true," the boy nodded, "Perhaps you'd care to tell me a bit about yourself then?"
"You know all you need to about me," he answered.
"I hardly think that's true, Phantom," came the response.
"Erik. I am simply Erik."
"You've no family name?"
"Family names are reserved for those who would not bring shame to their kin as I have."
"What now?"
"In regards to what exactly?"
"This… situation we've found ourselves in."
Erik sighed; he did not have a good answer to that question, "You need to recover your strength, first and foremost. Certain precautions must be taken for those nights when the moon is full for my protection and yours."
"I don't suppose you've any ideas about that."
Erik rose and motioned for the boy to follow, leading him to a door and taking out a key to unlock it, revealing a room of mirrors with a noose hanging in the middle of it.
"I will renovate this room," he said as Raoul peered in, "Construct it to withstand the rage of a werewolf. You will be kept locked within during the full moon."
Raoul sighed, "It would be for the best I suppose."
"Come," Erik closed and locked the door once more and moving back to his living area, "I must tend to the wounds on your back. I was unable to do so while you slept."
With Raoul lying face down on the couch, Erik fetched some warm water and cloths as well as more disinfectant before taking a seat and carefully cleaning the welts, some of which were deep enough to have bled. Raoul wondered about Erik's clear expertise in treating wounds, wondered how many times the man had had to tend to his own. What did he truly know about this man aside from his ability to kill? Madame Giry had told him this man was a prodigy, that he'd built a palace for the Shah of Persia, that she'd first seen him in a traveling carnival where he'd been kept in a cage. He himself had said his mother had hated him, that his first scrap of clothing was a mask. He now knew the Phantom's name, his only name, was Erik and that he knew how to cook and how to apply medical aid.
"Sit up," that angelic voice broke through his thoughts, "I need to bandage your wounds now that they've been tended to."
Raoul did as he was told and Erik set to work bandaging his various wounds, paying special attention to the wound at the boy's neck. He worked in silence, both to concentrate on his task and because he was accustomed to silence, he wasn't experienced enough in small talk to chatter away as he worked.
A few hours later found Erik at his piano, busy composing while Raoul took a look around the lair and his enviable library. Raoul doubted his estate had as many books and all of these spanned various subjects from fiction to non, Shakespeare to Poe to things such as ventriloquism.
"Erik!" a voice called from the entrance.
Erik stopped playing and turned to see Madame Giry striding towards him, cane in hand and looking perturbed.
"What has happened?" she asked, stopping behind him.
Erik gracefully rose from his piano bench, turning to face the stern ballet mistress who stood with both hands on her cane, one finger tapping impatiently.
"Yes, madam?" Erik asked, "What seems to be the trouble?"
"Christine has been to see me," she replied, "It seems her fiance is missing and she wondered if you had anything to do with it."
"I assure you, the vicomte's absence is not my doing," he said.
At that moment, Raoul emerged from the library to see what the commotion was, Madame Giry's brow raising when she set eyes on him.
"And yet," she said, looking back to Erik and motioning a hand in Raoul's direction, "Here he is."
"I said his absence is not my doing," Erik reiterated, "I never said he was not present. However, the circumstances which brought him here were not my doing."
"What has happened?" she asked.
"Madam, you would not believe me if I told you," he remarked.
"And just what do you expect me to tell Miss Daae?"
"I've no idea!" Erik exclaimed, "Tell her whatever you must, I'm sure you'll think of something."
"Madame Giry," Raoul said, "Please, it is simply too dangerous for her to be near me any longer. I have no wish to harm her."
"If you expect me to mislead Miss Daae," Madame Giry said, "One of you had best tell me what has happened."
"As Erik stated, you would not believe me," the vicomte sighed, "I hardly believe it myself."
"And Erik," she raised an eyebrow at the Phantom, "Believes you?"
"If not for my own past," Erik put in, "and the things I have witnessed, I would hardly have believed him."
"Gentleman," she breathed, "Perhaps you would allow me to judge for myself."
"It is not my tale to tell," he said, "That is for Monsieur Vicomte to decide."
Raoul sighed, hardly knowing what to do now that Erik had put it all on him to decide whether or not to entrust the whole truth to Madame Giry. She had kept Erik's secrets for who knew how many years, so certainly she could be trusted and could be discreet, but would she think him mad? He sat in the armchair, rubbing his face with his hands, not knowing what to do or what to say, how much to reveal.
"Perhaps the vicomte is simply too taxed at the moment," Erik sighed, "He has been through much over the past several hours."
"No," Raoul got out, "Thank you, Erik, but it is quite alright. I believe Madame Giry can be trusted with this secret if she can trusted with yours."
"As I recall, she betrayed me," he returned.
"Out of necessity!" the vicomte exclaimed, "To save Christine and it was only to me that she revealed your hideaway. Surely you can forgive that."
"And if she does not believe you?" Erik questioned.
"Then she does not believe me, I cannot force her to. Surely she would, however, keep the secret of my whereabouts."
"Christine will not give up her search for you," Madame Giry said.
"We will find a way to deal with her," Erik replied.
With a deep breath, Raoul once again shared the horrific tale of what had happened to him over the course of the last several hours.
"You are a werewolf?" Madame Giry slowly asked.
"Yes," Raoul sighed, hearing the disbelief in her voice.
"And you came here seeking Erik to end your life?" she went on, then turned to look at Erik, "And you believe this insanity?"
"I once witnessed the Gypsies kill such a creature," he commented.
"I cannot believe what I'm hearing," she muttered, "You are both mad."
"Perhaps," Raoul responded, "I am not asking you to believe me, only to say nothing to Christine of this."
"Should I tell anyone of this, I would surely be sent to the madhouse," Madame Giry sighed, "I will not speak a word of this to anyone."
"What of Christine?" Raoul pressed.
"I will think of something to tell her," she replied.
"Thank you, Madame Giry," he breathed a sigh of relief.
"Do not thank me, Monsieur vicomte," she said, "I've no doubt she will eventually venture down here if one of you do not go to her and explain."