A/N: Hey all! First off, apologies for the long wait! I promise I haven't let this story die, and I have more actually written already- it just needs to be edited and made ready to post.

As we left off last time I updated, I had just started a new job. Since then, I've started another, and between the commute and work itself I haven't had much time to devote to writing. With a better paycheck, however, I'm planning to save up a bit for a chromebook so I can actually write on the bus instead of playing dumb phone games. Either way- more to come soon! And now, without further ado...

Chapter 3

Claire awoke once more, this time to crushing darkness and a seemingly bottomless pit in her stomach that gnawed at her insides. Her throat felt as though it had been coated in sawdust, and she realized with a regretful pang that she hadn't taken the time to find water during her exploration of the depths of the Palais Garnier.

Lifting herself gingerly up to the peephole which looked out into one of the basements below the stage, Claire surmised that it must still be nighttime based on the complete lack of any of the theatre company. It was as good a time as any to go hunting for sustenance, so she folded up her makeshift blankets and felt along the wall toward the hidden door that would lead her back into the main corridors of the opera house. Just as she felt the hidden switch that activated the door under her fingers, a voice floated through the darkness.

"Mademoiselle…"

Claire froze in place. There was no way the voice had been directed at her, and yet it sounded as though it had come from directly behind her. She turned slowly on the spot, peering through the darkness. Though it was nearly pitch black, she could faintly make out the shape of the walls around her and the edge of the tunnel that led down to God-knows-where. There was no one else in the room with her.

She turned again to the hidden door and reached for the switch. Then, like before, it happened again.

"Mademoiselle…"

Claire sprang back from the door and leapt for her corner, patting the floor frantically to find the oil lamp she had pilfered earlier. Finding it, she fumbled with her lighter as she struggled to turn it on. When she at last had illuminated the small chamber with the soft glow of the tiny flame, she looked around once more, peering through the darkness.

She almost fell over as she saw it- a tall figure standing in the shadows of the narrow corridor opposite her. She knew her discovery of this chamber had been too good to be true, and now she was paying for not listening to her intuition. While the figure was more or less silhouetted in the dim light, it seemed to look down on her disapprovingly. Claire licked her lips, attempting to wet them to speak.

"Ah-" she faltered, her voice cracking from dehydration.

In response, the figure began whispering at length in French. Though she was unable to understand much of it, she surmised that she was being asked what she was doing here and how she got here.

"Pardon, monsieur," she rasped, interrupting the flow of questions coming from the shadowed man who stood before her. "Um, parlez-vous Anglais?"

The shadow stopped, then started again in lightly accented English.

"Well," it hissed, "that certainly makes this even more interesting. How did a young woman such as yourself- an Englishwoman for that matter- end up in these dark recesses of the Palais Garnier? Should you not be with your family, on vacation perhaps? For what reason would you seek shelter here?"

Claire swallowed hard. She had expected this line of questioning if she were to be caught- she just hadn't expected it to happen so soon. "I was on vacation, yes," she explained. "But not with my family- I came to Paris alone, from America, not England. By no fault of my own, I have found myself without money and without means to travel back home. Fearing the streets of Paris, I came here because- Because-"

Claire paused. What was the reason she had chosen to hide out in the Palais Garnier, of all places. To be sure, it was expansive and full of excellent hiding places- but it was also heavily trafficked by stagehands, singers, ballerinas, and of course the wealthy opera goers when a performance was to take place. As she now found herself in the presence of a man who she could only assume was a guard or caretaker, the entire idea seemed to be somewhat foolish- no doubt all who worked here knew of the various secret chambers and passages built into the foundations.

"I didn't actually think it through," she finally said. "It was late at night when I found myself in these circumstances- I simply headed for what seemed like the most accessible building. I didn't have an actual plan- just that I needed to survive."

The shadow nodded slowly, as though prompting her to continue.

"But," she said firmly, "I realize this was a foolish idea. Please, sir, don't leave me to the streets. If you can give me work here- any job, really- I'll be more than happy to work for room and board alone until I can figure out how to get home."

The shadow chuckled almost sinisterly at this outburst. "Any job, you say?" it responded. "But what sort of job would the managers give a thief- not that anyone has realized that it was you responsible for the sudden disappearance of Monsieur Boucher's breakfast. The prevailing theory thus far is that the opera ghost was responsible. Those silly little ballet rats will blame anything on the ghost- but we can't have that, now can we? What kind of respectable ghost steals food? No, I simply cannot allow that to continue."

Claire's head reeled at the strange turn in the conversation. A rush of shame for her actions earlier in the day washed over her, only to be replaced by a sudden suspicion.

"Sir," she accused, "you speak as if you are the ghost you speak of. Are you employed by the opera or not? And if so, can you advise me on how I might seek employment myself?"

The shadow only sighed in response. "Mademoiselle," it finally said, "I find that your explanation of how you came to be here is lacking. It seems unlikely that a woman of your age would be travelling alone, with no husband or other family to guide her. And then there is the matter of your strange appearance. Please, do enlighten me as to how you found yourself in such unfortunate, penniless circumstances."

Claire glared into the darkness, as though challenging the shadow to question her further. "Sir, if you cannot advise me on how to seek employment here or elsewhere in the city, I have to conclude that you are not employed yourself by the opera, and would appreciate if you left me be. I've found myself in, as you said, some very unfortunate circumstances, and would like them to not become any worse. If I leave the Palais Garnier, I-" her voice wavered a bit here, "I'll have to rough it on the streets, and honestly? I'm not a fan of that idea."

The shadow cocked his head to the side in apparent confusion at her odd choice of words, then shrugged. "Well," it finally began again, "you are correct in that I cannot offer you employment, and neither can I recommend you for a position to the managers. But I also cannot allow you to traipse unfettered throughout my opera house."

"Your opera house?" Claire demanded. The shadow gave no response, but instead shifted back and forth, as though deliberating upon a great decision. Claire sat back against the wall, waiting for his response.

After a few minutes, the shadow spoke again. "While I have very little conscience, it goes against my morals to allow a young unwed woman to be cast into the streets of Paris. Though France is not the place it was even ten years ago, these are desperate times for the poor- too many have been forced into… the most unsavory of occupations."

As he trailed off, Claire quirked an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

"Therefore," he said at last, "if you do not mind an- unorthodox living arrangement, I can offer you a place to sleep, at least for a time. You will, however, have to trust me."

Claire squinted at the shadow, unsure of exactly what she was being asked. As though understanding her reticence, it continued.

"I promise, no harm will come to you in my presence. You must simply understand and accept that my living arrangements are not those of a normal man."

At this Claire shrugged. "I was ready to camp out in this hidden chamber, wasn't I? I suppose right now, I'm not exactly fussed by odd living situations. I'm not entirely sure why you would offer me room, however."

"Right," the shadow responded, clearly confused once more by her odd choice of words. "As I said, I simply do not feel right in allowing you to live on the streets- nor can I allow the opera company to believe that the ghost has begun stealing their hard-earned scraps. Besides- I find your presence here intriguing- a mystery."

Claire shrugged again, feeling a wave of hunger wash over her as her stomach growled angrily. "Whatever dude," she muttered. "Right now I honestly just need some food and water. I'll take whatever you've got." She meant it too- in that moment he could have promised her a prison cell, and she would have taken it if it meant getting a solid meal and a proper sleep.

The shadow nodded at her. "Follow me then."

It moved into the tunnel ahead of her, and Claire followed, picking herself up from the floor with her oil lamp in hand. The shadowy corridor led to a set of stairs that spiraled down into the depths, bringing her and the stranger to another rock door controlled by a switch. As this one slid open, Claire could see an underground lake or cistern ahead of her, and a sudden realization began to creep into her sleep deprived and hunger addled brain.

The shadow helped her down into a boat, and as the faint light from her lamp illuminated the space around her, bouncing off the wet rocks and the surface of the lake around her, she could now see that the man who steered the boat was dressed from head to toe in black, with a thick cloak draped around his shoulders. He steered the boat with a graceful strength, bringing it to a stop at a wall at the far end of the cistern. To anyone not looking for it, it looked as though they had stopped at a shear wall- but Claire could see the faint outline of a door in the rock face. The man stepped gingerly onto a slight ledge, then dexterously maneuvered some unseen switches, allowing the door to shift and slide open.

As he turned to help Claire out of the boat, the glow from the lamp illuminated him at last- in addition to the full black suit he wore, the man also sported a silk black mask that covered his entire face.

"Holy shit," Claire breathed, hardly believing it even now. "You're the phantom of the opera."