A/N: Whoops, I honestly didn't realize it had been so incredibly long since I last updated. Between my change in job keeping me 10x busier than the last one and a severe case of writer's block, I had an extra hard time getting this chapter finished up and ready to be published. I have a pretty hashed out game plan for the next several chapters though, so things should be running a bit more smoothly now (fingers crossed!)

Thanks for reading, and thank you SO much for your patience!

Chapter 6

Erik swept silently back into his room, fairly biting his tongue to keep himself from screeching ungracefully. Of course she couldn't just take him back with her, of course there had to be some big wrinkle in the whole thing- what was it they said about the best laid plans, after all? Not that this plan had been particularly well made, but he hadn't expected it to crumble so quickly.

Almost worse, he had been awkward. It was no secret, especially to Erik himself, that he was not particularly comfortable around other people, particularly women- but he had always been able to command a certain air of mystery. No doubt it was a function of the long years he had now spent isolated beneath the Palais Garnier, though knowing that did little to cool the heat that flushed through his pale cheeks. He had simply yearned to know more- more of the future, of his strange houseguest, of how she knew his fanciful pseudonym- but had found himself quite unable to voice his curiosities.

"Stupid!" he thought viciously, sweeping a stack of papers angrily from a small desk in the corner before setting the laptop down for later inspection. "Have I grown so distant from the world that I can only talk to another from behind a mirror? From behind the facade of an angel?!"

There was only one thing to do- with a flourish, he sat himself grumpily in front of his organ and began to pour his emotions into the instrument, not caring for the moment that the dark music might distress his houseguest. Her emotional wellbeing was no concern of his, after all. He cared only for what she could offer him, nothing more…

As the music pounded out around him, Erik felt his self directed anger ebb away, to be replaced by whirling thoughts of wonder. The things, the concepts the girl had spoken of! The Space Needle? Eiffel Tower? Portable electronics to be connected to a wall in every room?

It was a bit much. And yet, he wanted- no, needed more. Like a parched fox in the desert, he had long since drank the oasis of knowledge dry and now found himself surrounded only by dead sands. This girl offered more than a trip to a brighter future- she, and the strange devices she had brought along promised untold secrets of a world more advanced than his own. Perhaps the quenching of his thirst for new wonders would be enough of a trade for housing her, even without visiting her world.

Perhaps.

But for now it was of no matter. He let his whirling thoughts slip away as his hands danced gracefully and irascibly across the keys. Only this mattered- the music, the invention, the pouring of soul into works. This he could do, and this was in his control.

As Erik slipped away from their conversation, Claire felt a pit yawn open in the base of her stomach. Something was wrong. She couldn't know what, but she felt it on a visceral level- and very late it occurred to her that she didn't understand the situation she had found herself in at all.

For a moment, a wild thought sprang to mind- with her phone, she could just download the ebook version of Phantom and re-read it! But no- of course, there was no internet, no 4G signal, nothing. However, it might still be in her Kindle library.

Erik had taken the laptop, but left the bag. In a brief moment of hope, Claire retrieved her phone from it and turned it on. No sooner had she done so, however, than it shut itself off- it must've drained out its battery on her first night here by searching constantly for a signal. Unless Erik could find a way to connect up her electronics, she was out of luck.

Maybe it was for the best, though- if she did still have an ebook of his life, what was preventing Erik from going through her phone and finding it? Even letting him figure out how to get her computer up and running was a risk, since she still had a copy of the Original Broadway Cast Phantom recording in her iTunes library, a memory of fandom days gone by. It seemed important to keep him away from any details of his own life- Claire had seen enough time travel TV shows and movies to know that.

Trying to quiet her mind, Claire dug through her bag to take stock of what else she had brought into the past with her. Aside from her laptop and phone, she had thankfully had the presence of mind to bring along chargers for both of them, as well as her earbuds- if Erik could get things working again, at least she wouldn't have to give up her 21st century music and video games- though she wasn't sure how she was going to handle the sudden lack of an internet connection. Also buried in her bag was her makeup clutch, a first aid kit, and her wallet- as though having a fistful of euros and a driver's license would be much help in this setting.

Still though, the cache of modern comfort items was a small boon. Claire hugged her bag close to her chest like a security blanket and allowed herself one private sigh of despair. It almost felt as though the reality of her situation was unable to sink in until now - now, when she had finally slept, eaten, and refreshed herself.

With that thought, Claire suddenly realized that she hadn't taken a proper shower or bath since leaving her hotel the other day to head to the catacombs - and she was carrying about a century's worth of dust and grime around with her. She hadn't seen one yet, but this small house certainly had to have a restroom - unless she was expected to bathe in the underground lake.

Claire started to investigate the space around her. Aside from the kitchen and dining area she currently sat in, the main space also included the drawing room, separated slightly from the rest of the space by a pair of columns set atop two matching bookcases. If it were a more modern American house, she might call this space a "great room," but she surmised that Erik had constructed it as such merely because he never anticipated having guests and designed it purely for his own needs. Attached to the drawing room were the two doors which led to what must be Erik's room, and the Louis-Whatever room Claire had slept in earlier, but these were the only two doors.

Puzzled, Claire made her way around the room. She knew it was possible that there were other doors hidden along the wall - maybe even many. Finding them, however, might be impossible. She put the thought aside and circled back around toward the bedroom.

As she passed the chaise lounge in the drawing room, however, a sudden attack on her ankle tripped her up. Gasping in shock and pain, she sat down hard on the couch and looked underneath to find what had stopped her. She was surprised to see a pair of glowing green eyes staring playfully back at her, and nearly screamed in delight.

Underneath the lounge sat a veritable loaf of a cat, speckled in red, brown, and white. Claire gently coaxed the critter from under the seat and scooped her into her lap. She was a beautiful calico, with tortoiseshell patterns across her back. Around her neck hung a blue satin bow adorned with a single large diamond.

"Aww, kit kit," Claire murmured, gently kneading her fingers around the cat's ears. "If I remember my Phantom canon correctly, I'm guessing you're Ayesha- though, I think you're supposed to be a siamese. I guess your name might be different too, but either way you're a sweet little bean."

Claire sat and snuggled with the cat for a few minutes until the small beast decided it was time to hunt some unseen adversary in another corner of the room. Freed from the risk of committing a federal offense by moving the cat, Claire resumed her investigation of the apartment and headed back to the bedroom.

The Louis-Phillipe room- of course! It crashed upon her like a wave. Of course, it didn't really help- despite her admiration for Regency and Victorian fashion, Claire couldn't pick out anything in the room that could define a certain era or style of construction. Still though, remembering the name helped, in as much as it provided her with a framework to base her new surroundings around.

As she made her way into the room, she noticed for the first time a door on the opposite end, leading to a rather opulent bathroom complete with a toilet, sink, and clawfoot bathtub. It took a few minutes to figure out exactly how to work the bath, but eventually Claire managed to draw a steady stream of hot water into the basin, breathing a sigh of relief that the mad genius whose house she now shared had had the skills to incorporate some modern comforts into his strange home at a time when many people still had to contend with a single shared water source for an entire apartment. Soap, however, was another matter- while several vials of variously colored oils and balms sat about the tub, without the addition of floral labeling espousing the virtues of smelling like a fresh summer's day in Tahiti, Claire had no idea what was supposed to be what. She smelled them all one by one, and eventually settled on bathing in something that smelled vaguely like lemons- maybe? Her only hope was that it was, in fact, to wash one's self, and not the floor.

Either way, the bath was greatly refreshing, and when she stepped out of the steamy water and into a soft towel a half an hour later, she nearly felt as though she had been reborn on a new plane of existence. Eyeing the dirty clothes rumpled on the ground in front of her, she decided against slipping them back on in the hopes that there might be something a little fresher to wear - even something so basic as a dressing gown, as awkward as that might be when it came time to talk to her impersonal host once more.

It was with great relief then, as she stepped back into the Louis-Phillipe room, that she heard the strains of despairing organ music thrumming through the walls around her. It seemed to her that a great musical genius like Erik might lose himself in his music for hours, giving her ample time to at least try to figure out the clothes situation. Eyeing a large armoire in the corner, Claire made her way to it and swung open the doors - only to be met with a collection of slightly musty gowns, corsets, and other indecipherable pieces of clothing.

"Okay," Claire thought to herself, "We put on 'Little Women' in high school. I had to wear this nonsense then, I can figure it out now." She pulled down a dress that was both fairly simple and actually colorful, as most of the dresses were varying shades of grey and black - an odd thing to have a collection of, to be sure. But it seemed the flowered blue dress wasn't the only piece of the ensemble needed to make the outfit work - there ended up being multiple pieces to the dress itself, and the wardrobe had several sets of corsets, chemises, and other underpinnings. Completely at a loss, Claire simply threw on a pair of stockings, loosely tied a corset around her (was it supposed to be this stabby? Was she meant to put something underneath it?) and fitted the dress onto herself as well as possible. Examining herself in a compact mirror from her makeup kit, she supposed she might pass for a Victorian lady in her own time, but was certain she was doing multiple things wrong - and she wasn't about to ask Erik for help on this.

Claire sighed. Well, if she did end up stuck here for an extended period of time, maybe she could sneak upstairs and spy in the performers getting ready backstage to get a better idea of what she was supposed to do with these piles of linen. At least for now she was dressed and clean- if a bit uncomfortable.

Content for the time being, Claire returned to the drawing room and cast about for something to do. While the large shelves separating the two sections of the room we covered with books- and more books sat on shelves inlaid about the drawing room itself, interspersed with musical scores, notebooks, and various art supplies- Claire found that most of them were in French. Now, she had in fact taken just a bit of French in high school, but only enough to recognize every third word or so, and certainly not enough to read a book or carry on a conversation. Perhaps it would help though to try and read through some French- she might actually learn simply from immersion.

With this thought, Claire picked up a book at random, settled herself onto the lounge and started to mentally sound out the words. After two minutes, she set it back down. Impossible.

"Ah well," she lamented quietly to herself. "I never was any good with languages. I suppose I'll just have to get Erik to help me if I need to talk to anyone else."

As if in response, the music floating about her suddenly grew raucous and angry, pounding through the walls with fury. "Well fine then, never mind," Claire muttered, giggling lightly to herself. Letting the music wash over her, she yawned and stretched, settling further into the soft cushions of the lounge. Though the angry music might keep some on edge, to Claire it just reminded her of her edgy early teen days- and falling asleep each night to the sound of death metal, much to her parents' chagrin. Within minutes she was snoozing gently, ensconced by pillows, and soon blanketed by the cat.

She awoke an unknown amount of time later to a dimmed and silent house. Stretching and looking around in confusion, she noted that most of the lights had been turned off save for a single oil lamp which had been placed on a small end table next to the chaise lounge. Claire lifted the lamp from the table and held it aloft, casting a warm orange glow across the room. The cat was now napping on a plush cushion on the far side of the room, but there was no sign of Erik.

Claire pushed herself to her feet and made her way slowly and sleepily across the room. A clock mounted atop a bookshelf indicated it was only about 3:00, though she supposed she may have slept continuously through the night and into the early hours of the morning- it was impossible to tell without a window. She certainly didn't feel as though she had gotten more than a few hours of sleep, however.

She would have to ask Erik to be certain, but when she tested the door to his room it was firmly locked. Probably for the best, anyway- if she had walked in on him sleeping, she was sure it would've incited his wrath. It was still frustrating, however. Peering back around the drawing room, Claire looked for any other clue as to how long she had slept and where Erik might be.

It was then that she spotted a scrap of paper on the table next to where the oil lamp had been sitting. Claire picked it up and found a hastily scribbled note from Erik: "Gone out. Will return by evening." The handwriting was simply awful, and Claire couldn't keep a slight smirk off her face - the artistic and mathematical genius had even worse handwriting than she had. Well, at least now she had some sort of expectation as to when to see Erik again.

With nothing more to do, Claire carefully made her way around the dim room and turned the lamps back on, bringing a semblance of cheeriness back to the decorated dungeon around her. So doing, she settled back into the chaise lounge with a new book - in her native English this time - and started reading to stave off the boredom. As she started to lose herself in the text, however, one anxious realization began to nudge at the back of her mind - though she was sure she had entered Erik's house from the wall directly opposite her, even with the lights on full - the door was completely invisible.

If Erik weren't to return - for whatever reason - Claire would almost certainly be trapped.