Author's Note: Last chapter, Erik and Jovan had no opportunities to speak with one another. Did anyone miss Erik and Jovan interacting? Because they're back in this chapter! Also, I advise all of you to hold on to your wigs. And remember folks, the Devil is in the details.

( eighteen )

HIDING PLACES

"What are you doing?"

The voice came from the shadows, and Jovan's gaze darted to the corner of the kitchen where an unmistakable dark figure stood. She brought down the mug of coffee from her lips and sucked in a deep breath to cool her lungs where the hot air of the coffee had burned them, triumphant in erasing all traces of sleep from her mind.

"Coffee," she simply answered, raising the mug she held in one hand for him to see.

"I prefer tea," Erik replied before he stepped out of the shadows and into the kitchen.

It was half past five in the morning, and almost all of the staff were still sound asleep. Jovan had rushed to the kitchen to quench an odd craving for coffee which she had conceived at five in the morning. It was a peculiar thing for her to suddenly be awake an hour before everyone else, and the moment she'd realized what time it was, she was unsuccessful in any following attempts to fall back asleep. So she just caved in to the urge of wanting coffee at an ungodly hour while she quietly wondered why she had woken up at such an early hour for a reason she couldn't fathom.

She resumed downing her coffee while she watched Erik pace around the kitchen. Her curiosity piqued, she brought her mug down again and spoke.

"What are you doing?" she parroted his question from earlier.

Erik stopped before a basket of pastries before he casually took two pieces of croissant. "Breakfast," he answered, stuffing the pastries somewhere behind his cloak.

Jovan simply gave a shake of her head before she raised the mug to her lips once more. It was too early for her to witness the Opera Ghost pilfering the damn kitchen while everyone else was asleep. Heavens, there was also the fact that she was still in her nightgown with only a dressing gown to give herself some sense of decency. This just had to be the strangest start to a day.

Two days. It had been two days since Antoinette had left the Opéra Populaire and two days since she visited him before she left for Cherbourg. Erik recalled fondly how she'd asked him to not only look after her ballet corps while she was gone but after himself as well. His pride would not let him admit it out loud but he actually missed the stern woman more than he expected.

Erik watched from the safety of Box Five as the new ballet mistress, Madame Lavigne, practiced the choreography for their newest opera along with the prima ballerina. He knew that the woman had worked in the Opéra Populaire before and was even a part of the ballet corps back when the opera house was still known as the Palais Garnier. Still, he couldn't help but regard her with a wary eye as she took over Antoinette's position in the absence of the ballet headmistress.

Behind the two women was the set master who was conversing with the lead stagehand, Amir Vacher; no doubt the two were talking about the set design and the scenery. Above them, stagehands wandered restlessly on the catwalks with nothing to do. He found himself searching for a certain red-haired stagehand, but after a moment, he saw that Jovan was not among her coworkers.

He felt his heart twinge at this realization before he pushed her out of his mind, and he shifted his focus to Monsieur Lefèvre who was busy talking with the newest patron, the Vicomte Collet. The man was the father of the newest chorus girl, Suzanne. Erik's hand flew to his pocket where his latest letter rested within. This time, it not only contained his usual comments and suggestions but also his warmest welcomes to the new performers and the new patron as well. He was simply waiting for the rest of the staff to arrive in the auditorium before he would send the letter.

At this, Erik realized that he was presented with a small problem ― Antoinette was not present to deliver his note. While he didn't mind dropping it himself from the rafters, he had hoped to have his letter delivered to Monsieur Lefèvre on that day so he could simply sit back, relax, and watch the reactions of the newcomers as he let them have their first taste of the Opera Ghost's presence. He grumbled as he told himself to simply deal with it. He'd just have to drop by the rafters later then.

The sound of the door to his box creaking open jarred him from his thoughts as he jumped to his feet. Now who was this rascal idiotic enough to steal a peek at the Phantom's box? As he slid away to the shadows to watch the intruder, Erik had a hunch that it was one of the new stagehands who had dared to invade his space. But he felt his temper cool down the moment he saw the mop of red hair on the intruder's head.

"Hello?"

Breathing a sigh of relief, Erik slipped away from the shadows to a spot where the stagehand could see him. "Yes, Jovan?"

He watched as her lips curved upward into a grin as she quietly slipped into the box and shut the door behind her. "I had a feeling I'd find you here," Jovan answered, running her fingers through her hair. Erik noted that the stagehand was without her beret at the moment.

"Marvelous guess, mademoiselle," he commented as he sat back down on one of the chairs while he felt Jovan linger behind him. She placed her hands on the edge of his chair, her fingers just barely brushing against his back. This time, he tried not to flinch away from her touch like he did last time.

"You wouldn't know where the ballet corps are, would you?" he asked.

"Still in the dormitories," Jovan answered.

"What's taking them so long?"

"Meg and Cassie are regaling the new girls with stories about you."

Erik gave a chuckle at the mention of the Little Giry's name. Meg had been left behind by Antoinette after the girl had stubbornly stood by her decision to remain at the opera house with Christine. The two were inseparable, andm upon hearing that Christine had to stay behind, Meg chose to remain with the Swedish ballerina, stating that she was now a 'big girl' and could take care of herself. It was only after Erik had promised to look after Meg and Christine in her absence was Antoinette able to leave with an eased heart. Although Erik had a feeling that because Meg was left behind, Antoinette now had a reason to cut her vacation short.

"And why didn't you stick around to listen, or perhaps even tell a story or two of your own?" he teased with a smirk.

Jovan chuckled behind him. "Their ghost stories pale in comparison to the experience of being in your company. Besides, I'm good at keeping secrets, and I doubt you'll appreciate me boasting about our meetings."

"But I did grant you bragging rights, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did."

Their conversation was cut short by the sound of chatter coming from the auditorium below them, and Erik glanced down to see the ballet rats finally entering in a file from the dormitories. They were unusually lively, given the early hour, but Erik suspected it had something to do with what Jovan reported to him. Well then, they had simply granted him the perfect opportunity to let his presence be felt, just mere minutes after they were exchanging stories about him. A smirk pulled on his lips. He was about to rise to his feet when an idea took root in his mind ― a better idea than having to go to the rafters himself.

"Jovan? Would you mind if I asked you to do me a favor?"

He felt her hands let go of his chair as she glanced down at him. Erik turned to meet her gaze.

"A favor? You don't have to ask, you know," Jovan replied.

He arched a brow at her. "And why not?"

"Because you're my friend and... well, I'm used to doing favors for my friends."

It was not the time, Erik was well aware, but he felt his heart swell at the words that escaped her lips as he stared at her with a stunned expression. If he lost his composure now, he'd be choking on air. Her friend? He wasn't aware that God cared for him now. Or was this another one of His cruel jokes? He couldn't believe it, he just couldn't. Who could be foolish and reckless enough to offer their friendship to him?

Apparently, this red-haired enigma of a girl who stood before him now. This foolish, reckless girl...

"Friend?" he almost stammered. Just what sorcery did this girl possess that she almost reduced him into a stuttering mess?

"What, the formidable Opera Ghost can't have any friends?" she snorted. "Spit it out, Erik."

His movements were mechanic as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope sealed with a red insignia, his signature skull. Jovan's eyes widened for a second before she took it from him, handling it like it was some fine china that could break with a single slip from her fingers. Erik could cackle at the stagehand's current state as she stood before him, blissfully unaware of the cacophony of voices in his head that were stirred from their slumber by a single word let loose from her lips.

First, she trusted him. Now, she called him her friend.

He was grateful. There was no other way to say it, nor to explain the way his heart stuttered in her presence. He'd only had Antoinette to call his friend up until this moment. He was grateful ― it was as simple as that, but so very intricate at the same time. It was the one thought he could fathom from the tangled mess that was his mind at the moment. He was utterly grateful that she had given the gift of her friendship to him, even if he thought that he was undeserving of it.

Erik was well aware that Jovan knew nothing of playing instruments but perhaps save one ― his heartstrings.

"To Monsieur Lefèvre, I reckon?" she inquired.

"Indeed. Do me the honor, won't you?"

The rhythm of her heartbeat was an erratic one as she made her way to the auditorium with Erik's letter in her hand. Life was turning out to be full of surprises for her at every turn she made these days, and most of them even had something to do with the Opera Ghost. At this rate, life couldn't be anymore baffling for a stagehand like her. She never knew how exhilarating it could be to work in the Opéra Populaire. And now, she was even friends with a ghost story, a pariah who isolated himself from society, practically a myth, a legend even! She didn't exactly know when, where, or how, but it was just so out of the blue when her mind decided that the word 'friend' fit in with the rest of the words that she associated with Erik.

Jovan was shaken out of her thoughts as she finally entered the auditorium, the voices of the performers and the crew members interweaving with each other as their chatter filled up the place. But as she neared the manager who stood in one of the aisles between the velvet seats, the noise gradually grew down as she felt the envelope in her hand draw in their attention, practically demanding it with the unmistakable wax skull that sealed it.

"Monsieur Lefèvre," she greeted the manager with a bow of her head once she was a foot away from him. He stopped conversing with the man beside him as he turned to Jovan.

"Oh, yes. What can I help you with?" Monsieur Lefèvre replied.

She held out the letter to him as she spoke. "I've a note, monsieur. I found it just outside Box Five as I passed by."

Jovan watched for the manager's reaction as he heaved a quiet sigh before he took the letter from her. Only then did she switch her gaze to the man beside him who she saw had his eyes glued on her, not on the Monsieur Lefèvre nor the letter he now held in his hands.

Her pulse escalated painfully as he narrowed his eyes at her. She stiffened as she realized that she was not wearing her beret, leaving her red hair in plain sight.

"Mademoiselle, I can't help but feel as if I know you from somewhere, but your name escapes me at this moment," the man said to her before he lost himself to his thoughts. Beside him, Monsieur Lefèvre's attention snapped back to him before his eyes widened in realization as to what was happening.

Jovan found herself silently praying to God that this man wouldn't recognize her as much as she didn't recognize him. Her eyes darted to Monsieur Lefèvre for a split second to plead for his help. She had made a grave mistake coming out here to deliver the letter without fixing her appearance first.

The manager cleared his throat, successful in claiming back the attention of the man. "Monsieur le Vicomte―" Good God, this man was a vicomte? A part of the aristocracy? "―This is Mademoiselle Rousseau, one of my employees."

Jovan watched as confusion played across the Vicomte's features, practically saw the gears move in his head as he searched the name within the recesses of his mind. But she already knew that he wouldn't be able to recognize it as belonging to anyone important or worthy of his attention, seeing as the name was not associated with any title. Jovan had made sure of that when she chose her alias.

"Ah, forgive me then, mademoiselle," he finally answered after a brief moment. Relief washed over Jovan as he gave her an apologetic nod of his head. "I mistook you for the daughter of one of my former business partners, Raphael Sauveterre."

Ice shot through her veins as Jovan's mind went blank at the mention of her father's name.

"Former business partner?" Monsieur Lefèvre piped up, genuine curiosity lacing his tone. God, this was not the time. Jovan's jaw tightened.

"Oh, yes. I mean ― we're still in business with his company, yes, but―"

"I see," the manager cut him, his curiosity now quenched, but the Vicomte's mouth was still running. The man was a blasted chatterbox.

"―His brother, Rémi, has taken over since his death―"

God have mercy. Please stop talking.

"Yes! That news has been around for a long time now." Monsieur Lefèvre raised his voice in an attempt to silence the Vicomte at sensing Jovan's unease, but he was too late as she had already turned her back to them, her feet taking her away from the two men. All that prevented her now from breaking into a run was the feeling of the Vicomte's stare on her after her abrupt leave; she couldn't risk him raising any suspicions about her.

It was not until she reached the backstage that she let out a breath that she was holding in. She noticed Mateo rushing to her as she backed herself into a corner, willing herself not to come apart. Everything was just so sudden―

"Jo. Jove!" Mateo grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her. "Are you alright? What happened back there?"

The lie rolled off her tongue flawlessly. "Nothing. I'm fine."