Author's Note: Something just occurred to me regarding the title of this fic. What if Erik and Jovan did begin to bond over arson? "Wanna burn that building down?" "Yeah, man, sure. Chandelier crash or kitchen explosion?" On another note, I'd just like to point something out, also because httplou asked about it in an earlier review, that the Erik you're currently seeing here is in his mid/late twenties to be exact.
( seven )
RENDEZVOUS
An hour after dinner, everyone had either gone home, returned to their dormitories to take a nap, or gone to the baths. Everyone had retired for the day and no one else had other plans to go anywhere save for their beds at the end of the day. Well, everyone save for Christine.
Besides Jovan, Christine was the only other person in the room who wasn't dressed for bed. She was fixing her hair with a pale blue ribbon when Maeva sat up from her bed across Jovan's and called out to the younger ballerina.
"You keep leaving at this hour at the same time every week. Where in the world does a little girl like you have to go at this time?" she asked, her tone wary.
Christine glanced at her, pressing her lips into a thin line. "I go to the chapel."
"To the chapel? To do what?"
From the bed across Christine's, Tess gave a groan. "You did not just ask that. What else can you do in a chapel besides pray?"
Jovan looked up from the still blank papers on her lap. "You haven't been drinking again, have you?" she asked Maeva.
At this, Maeva gave the redhead a withering stare. "At least I still have even just a bit of my reputation intact. Yours however, it's all gone down the gutter, darling."
Jovan tried to ignore the ballerina's scathing remark for the sake of keeping her temper in check. She bit her tongue to prevent herself from spitting out a similar comment, not wanting to start a fight that could ruin her day. Ever since Hector got injured the night he decided to tell them a tale about the Phantom, which resulted in him being dismissed, she frequently found herself at the receiving end of Maeva's anger. It probably had something to do with the fact that because of the story she told about the Opera Ghost on the night of the incident, per the stagehand's request, Hector had launched into his monologue about the Phantom's grotesque appearance. Almost everyone employed in the opera house immediately assumed that the incident was the result of the Opera Ghost's wrath upon hearing Hector's description of him. Somehow, Maeva put the blame on Jovan for Hector's dismissal after the incident.
"Um, I have to go," Christine excused herself before slipping out of the dormitory. Jovan still felt Maeva's heated gaze on her as she returned her blank papers into her chest where they would remain out of sight.
The ballerina opened her mouth to let out another biting comment when the door opened and Elea slipped in, her mahogany locks dripping wet from just finishing a bath. She immediately sensed the tension in the room and narrowed her eyes at the girls inside.
"Quit it, whatever it is that you have going on here," she scolded them but was careful to keep her tone light.
Maeva rolled her eyes before drawing her curtains to obscure herself from sight.
The chapel. An hour before midnight. Make sure no one follows you.
The Phantom's words looped in her head like a broken record as Jovan waited for the hours to tick by. At one point, Elea began to bother her about changing out of her work clothes to which Jovan said that she'd wander around at a later hour to search for inspiration for writing, which was why she refused to change just yet. To her surprise, Elea believed her excuse without any questions, but that could be just because she was simply too tired to argue. Besides, Jovan had long proven that she was capable of protecting herself. On another note too, her excuse was actually something she had done on some previous nights when sleep refused to come to her.
Finally, the hands of the clock read eleven o'clock. Jovan quietly rose out of her bed, put on a new shirt, and laced on her boots before she slipped out of the room as quietly as she could. She left her vest unbuttoned and carried her matchbox in her pocket. She honestly did not know what to expect as she made her way to the chapel. She didn't even know if she was thinking rationally. She had only followed Erik's words on a whim and out of curiosity. Who knew if the man was truly to be trusted? Other than the banter they exchanged, she had no indication of what truly lied behind the mask and the sobriquet.
She was being foolish and she knew it.
She arrived at the chapel in no time. Darkness covered every inch of the place, and while her eyesight had adapted well to the dark, that didn't mean that she was unwilling to use candles. That way, there'd be no reason for her to strain her vision. Jovan made her way to the altar and lit one of the candles before she took it.
A masked face greeted her in the dark the moment she turned away from the altar with the candle in her hand. A curse left her lips before she clasped her hand over her mouth. It felt as if her heart would jump out of her chest at any second.
"I didn't think you were capable of speaking such foul words," he taunted.
"You frightened me, you lunatic!"
"I didn't think you were capable of being frightened either, not after your little show during our first encounter."
"I assure you, that was not a show. You don't scare me." Jovan didn't know how many times she had to reassure him of this. She gave a huff.
"I'm glad to be reminded, mademoiselle."
With that, Jovan saw that he had began to pace around the chapel. She noticed that he was wearing his cloak along with a wide-brimmed hat. He looked like he had dressed for a formal meeting, which was absolutely not what they were having right now. What should this encounter be called even? Jovan didn't have a clue and decided not to stress about it. Instead, she turned back to the altar and proceeded to light every single candle. The soft light cast an eerie glow over the walls where angels and saints stood as witnesses to their late-night meeting.
"You're wasting candles," he grumbled.
"Well, perhaps if they installed a few lamps in here..." Jovan retorted as she finished lighting the candles. She turned back to the Phantom to see him standing still as a statue at the center of the room.
"I didn't think you'd come." The words slipped from her mouth before she could stop herself.
"Neither did I," was his casual reply. "But you must be completely out of your mind to have agreed to rendezvous with the Opera Ghost an hour before midnight just to hear the ending to a story."
"Another achievement for me to brag about again, thank you very much. Besides, curiosity is my gravest sin."
"Mademoiselle, have you ever heard of curiosity killing the cat?"
"Yes, and satisfaction brought it back to life," Jovan remarked, recalling Mateo's words from months ago. "Do complete the quote."
"And are you satisfied now?" His face remained blank.
"No, you haven't told me the ending to your little tale yet."
A moment of silence came upon them. Jovan felt like rolling her eyes again but she'd been doing that far too frequently these days. She broke the silence before it could go on any further.
"You don't have an ending, do you?"
"May I ask how you came to that assumption?" He arched a brow despite sounding genuinely curious.
"It's not an assumption, it's a presumption."
"Tell me."
"You thought up of your story on the spot out of boredom. Of course, you were already bored long before you came to me ― you probably came to me because you were indeed bored. Your story included a painter because Gemma Thorpe, our painter, happened to be present at the very moment you came to me. Not to forget, we did just finish rigging her backdrop into place. When you found yourself unable to find a proper ending to your story, you asked that I meet you here instead to finish the story. That way, you would have some time to yourself to be able to think up of an ending. But, alas, you show up here fruitless."
"...Is that what you've been thinking of prior to this meeting of ours?"
Jovan shrugged. "Perhaps. Take a guess."
A low chuckle came from him. "Brava, brava. But to tell you the ending to my little story isn't the only reason why I asked to meet you tonight."
"Why not?" A chill traveled down her spine at his words as she refrained herself from jumping to conclusions.
"I've come to talk about your current predicament."
"Predicament? I'm doing perfectly fine right now, if you've failed to notice."
"Mademoiselle, you may jest with me, but never make the mistake of taking me for a fool."
"I didn't, I never did," Jovan answered, hoping she sounded honest enough. Never did it once cross her mind to underestimate the man's intellectual capacity nor did she plan on ever doing so. If she did lie, it was only to save her own skin without any intent of getting mere pleasure from the act.
The air grew cold.
Erik gave a hum but she was unable to detect the emotion in it. His tone grew stiff. "There's no use in lying to me, Miss Rousseau. It would simply be best for you to answer me truthfully unless you prefer I progress to desperate measures."
All the candles went out at the same second the entrance to the chapel was shut off. A new moon was shining that night and nothing but pure darkness could be seen outside. Jovan was trapped in the dark.
A stream of fear began to swallow her steadily. She felt herself stiffen, her hands growing cold and her chest tightening. She was not expecting this sudden and staggering change of attitude towards her and it frightened her, terribly so. This was an interrogation, she realized. He had lured her into a trap and she fallen straight into it.
She gave a sharp exhale, her throat constricting. "Why ― why me? I didn't do anything wrong," she said, trying to keep her voice from trembling.
"It's not a question of what you did but, rather, what you will do, mademoiselle." He took a step towards her and her blood ran cold.
"See, I refuse to believe that Monsieur Lefèvre and Madame Giry would simply allow you to trot around as a stagehand when it is hardly a job fit for a woman. You must've struck some kind of bargain with them to allow you to work as such. For what reason though, I wonder? However, there is also the possibility that you're doing your best to pass as a man, what with your terrible haircut and the way you dress as one. I hardly believe such a plan would work though ― an ignoramus does not run this opera house, I made sure of that. And Madame Giry is the most perceptive person I've come across. Besides, you're not exactly pretending as well, are you? You wear a man's clothes, but you certainly don't act like one. Those trousers you wear are only doing your hips a favor and the stagehands don't seem short of supply of the taunts they throw at you. But the most obvious clue must be the fact that you sleep in a room with five other girls. So pretending to be a man is definitely out of the question."
Jovan's mouth fell open. Was this his way of getting back at her after her earlier deduction about the ending of his story? Because that was what it sounded to her right at the moment. At least, the irrational part of her. Her rational side was screaming at her to find out where she had gone wrong in her facade and how Erik had even thought up of the deductions that he had just told her.
"You read me like I was some open book―" she scoffed with disbelief, unable to find the next words. Her tone was acid. At that point, she just couldn't help but feel resentment towards the Phantom. "Go on. Just go ahead and tell me what your theory is as to why I'm here the way I am," she seethed.
He gave a tired sigh. A beat passed. She heard the sound of a match striking against sandpaper before a lone candle was lit in the dark. Erik held it below his chin, casting a sinister, golden haze over him. Jovan found herself feeling grateful for what little light was granted to the dark room.
"I don't mean to scare you, mademoiselle, but, if you were in my place, you'd be vexed with unease too. Whether the manager and the staff like it or not, the Opéra Populaire is under my protection and I would see it flourish under my watch. Which means that at the first sight of anything suspicious, I am compelled to attend to it."
Understanding began to dawn on Jovan despite her dread. She could see where he was coming from and she even felt a stab of guilt after hearing his explanation ― she didn't mean to cause him distress. She also couldn't help but feel that her dauntless approach towards him during their previous encounters only fueled his suspicions about her. Come to think of it, he'd never thought to interrogate her until she began speaking to him.
"Truly, Miss Rousseau. What is the purpose of your presence here?"
"I'm hiding," she answered truthfully, seeing no use in lying to him.
"From?"
"Someone terrible out there who is after me for all the wrong reasons."
"Be more specific," he snapped.
At this, Jovan simply had to draw the line. She gave a shake of her head as she held his intense gaze. He narrowed his eyes in return and gave a low snarl. Jovan gave a glare with the same fire that burned in his eyes.
"Monsieur, I understand where you are coming from, I truly do. But I assure you that I did not come here to spy on you or to cause any trouble. I am simply here for my own safety. Yes, it's not a secret that I am a woman with a job for which many look down at me for, but that is the price I have to pay in exchange for refuge at the Opéra Populaire. When I came to Monsieur Lefèvre and Madame Giry for help, I did not need to bribe them. The name of my father and the name of the person after me were enough to persuade them to grant me sanctuary in this opera house. I asked for the job of a stagehand because I lacked any skills in the other departments, and I needed a job that kept me out of sight."
Jovan began to feel tears gathering in her eyes. It felt as if she had just taken off a heavy weight from her chest, but at the same time, an overwhelming sense of helplessness washed over her. She quickly switched her gaze to the ceiling to prevent her tears from spilling. She longed for this meeting of their to be over. Did he believe everything she just said? Her chest tightened; Jovan hoped so.
His tone grew mild when he spoke. "I understand."
No, you don't, Jovan thought bitterly.
It was as simple as that. The candle in his hand went out and for brief moment, Jovan was surrounded by darkness again, until the entrance to the chapel was reopened. Whatever dim light awaited in the corridor infiltrated the chapel. Erik was nowhere to be seen as he hid himself in the shadows.
"I apologize, Miss Rousseau. But desperate times warrant desperate measures. And I am a cautious man."
But Jovan was barely listening ― she was too disheartened to pay any more attention to him. She didn't even bother to look for Erik in the room before she stormed out of the chapel without another word.
Author's Note: What? You didn't all think that it was just gonna be fluff throughout, did you? Also, about Maeva's comment about Jovan's reputation having "gone down the gutter," Jovan doesn't exactly have the best of reputations at the moment, not when she dresses inappropriately for the time period and the fact that she works as a stagehand which results in a lot of people looking down on her. If Erik's suspicion about Jovan doesn't make sense, I ought to point it out right now that in this fic, I'm utilizing Erik's history as an assassin, making him sort of paranoid about spies and such. Don't forget to leave a review!