Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading, and thank you to those of you who have left kind reviews. I'm really pleased you're enjoying this story!

Chapter Five: The Joys of Love

It was after midnight, and Christine was sitting at her dressing table, unpinning her hair. But the task was proving difficult; her hands were shaking too much.

What sort of discovery had she made in Erik? She had never before encountered such a talent. His range was like nothing she had ever heard before, and although she had been curious the first time she had heard his voice, all sorts of questions were now whirling around in her mind.

She wondered about the reason for the mask, of course. When they had met, she had assumed that it was part of his act, an accessory to add to his mystique as a magician. But she had soon learned that he wore it all the time. Was he trying to conceal his identity? Or could he be injured?

With the mask, it was impossible to tell how old he was. But there was something about his mannerisms and skill upon the stage that made her think he must be slightly older than she. He could be at least thirty. Where had he been hiding?

Training such an amazing voice was exciting, very exciting. But also unnerving, because what music would she choose? Should she train him as a countertenor, or develop his lower register? Should she do both? Was it practical to do both?

The most bizarre thing was that he seemed to have absolutely no idea of his own potential. For a moment, he had seemed almost ashamed of his voice.

She shook her head and laughed. Of course he couldn't be ashamed. The very idea was ridiculous. Why would he feel self-conscious about such a gift?

Even so, some instinct told her that she would have to be gentle.

She pulled the last pin out of her hair and settled herself on the couch.

When sleep came, Erik's voice haunted her dreams.

2.

Erik spent a sleepless night in his attic room, thinking about his singing lesson with Miss Daae, turning the event over in his mind.

The singer had been kind, it was true, and very complimentary about his voice. But the whole experience had been disarming. He was so used to singing alone that sharing his voice with another person had made him feel…exposed. And vulnerable.

He wasn't sure that he liked these feelings. But he did like the music, and he even – he admitted grudgingly to himself – quite liked Miss Daae. There was something so…bright about her. She had a sort of glow. Perhaps it was her enthusiasm, her love of music.

Perhaps the lessons were worth persevering with on this basis.

After a night of insomnia, Erik did not relish the knock on his door the following morning. It was Simon, Gerard's lackey. And he had come bearing a summons to a meeting in the showman's office.

Erik slammed the door in Simon's face. Then he washed and dressed, taking as much time over the task as he possibly could. He had always suspected he would have trouble with Gerard, and he was determined to enjoy what little power he had over the man by making him wait.

He arrived at Gerard's office twenty minutes later.

"Ah, Erik!" The impresario gestured at the chair opposite. "Do sit down."

Erik remained standing and folded his arms. "What can I do for you, Gerard?"

The impresario smiled. "It's nothing serious. I simply want to discuss your act."

"What's wrong with my act?" Despite his outward show of bravado, Erik was starting to feel nervous. He knew he was only ever one contract away from being on the streets. And despite his popularity as a performer, he was also aware of his reputation for being…difficult. If Gerard fired him, he had nothing else lined up.

"I have some concerns," he said, his expression serious, "about the fireballs."

Erik blinked. This wasn't at all what he had expected. "What's wrong with the fireballs?"

"I'm worried they pose a fire hazard."

Erik gave a short laugh. "Well, they are made of fire. So I suppose it's a possibility."

"I had the fire chief in last night and he was voicing his concerns. Do you think you could possibly replace them with something else?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Streamers? Ribbons, perhaps?"

"Isn't that more Robert's department? Maybe I should just pull coloured handkerchiefs out of my sleeves and be done with it."

The sarcasm seemed to be lost on Gerard. His eyes lit up. "Perhaps you could have a chat with Robert. Collaborate on a few tricks?"

Erik took a deep breath. His hands were clenched into fists. Fortunately, they were concealed by his voluminous coat.

"Gerard, I am an illusionist. I don't do tricks."

Erik practically growled the last word, and Gerard looked alarmed. "No, no. Of course not. Your illusions are wonderful. But your act is…how can I put this? Quite dark."

"I'm billed as The Master of Dark Magic."

"Which is wonderful, don't get me wrong. But perhaps you could tone it down just a little. It did feel quite…dramatic…compared to the other acts last night. I think one or two of the ladies were quite alarmed when you plunged the place into darkness."

Erik didn't agree. He knew the sound of a happy audience when he heard it. This audience had been thrilled, but they hadn't been scared. He knew from bitter experience that there was a distinction. He had a feeling Gerard wouldn't understand this, however.

Perhaps it would be easier to play along on this occasion. Perhaps he could even get something out of it.

He straightened his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full height.

"Very well, I'll alter my act. But I shall require some more reading material."

Gerard blinked. "You've read all those books already?"

"I'd like a book about how to read music. And some musical scores."

"I'm sure that won't be a problem. What scores would you like?"

Now Erik found himself feeling unexpectedly embarrassed. He looked down at his feet. "Operas."

"Operas? Which operas?"

Which operas, indeed?

Erik shrugged. "Good ones? Famous ones? I don't care." An idea occurred to him. "Perhaps you could allocate a sum of money to Miss Daae. She could choose them for me."

Gerard smiled. "That's a good idea. She might find something new for herself at the same time."

"Yes, I suppose she might."

"I'll see to it straight away." Gerard made a note in a ledger. "Thank you, Erik. You may go."

Erik left the office feeling unexpectedly satisfied. Perhaps Christine would be pleased with him. He had the impression that her score of Faust was very dear to her, and he supposed she wouldn't have been able to bring much music with her from France.

He would reintroduce the fireballs later, when Gerard least expected it.

Smiling, he made his way back to the attic.

3.

Christine spent the morning exploring her small corner of the city and buying supplies. She went to the bakery and bought another of their excellent pastries and a loaf of bread, and some apples from a nearby greengrocer. Finally, she acquired some cheese. She wondered when and how she would be able to prepare proper food. She longed for a bowl of hot, thick soup. Or an omelette.

On her return to the theatre, she bumped into Gerard in the foyer. "Ah, Miss Daae. I have good news!"

Christine transferred her shopping to her other hand. "Oh?"

"Your lodgings are ready. Nothing fancy, but I hope you'll be comfortable. Would you care to come with me?"

It turned out that the boarding house was only a couple of streets away, no more than five minutes' walk from the theatre. She was pleasantly surprised by the appearance of the building itself, which was a smartly-kept terraced house.

Gerard paused on the front step. "The proprietor used to be a dancer. She's even performed at the Grand a couple of times. She's somewhat formidable, but kind. I think you'll like her."

He rapped on the door. A moment later, it was opened by a severe-looking woman in her fifties, dressed from head to toe in black. "Yes?"

Gerard tipped his hat. "Hello, Mrs Giry. May I introduce Miss Christine Daae?"

The woman's serious face broke into a broad smile. She held out her hand. "Ah, Miss Daae! It's so lovely to meet you!"

Christine recognised the accent, and was delighted. "You're from France!"

Mrs Giry nodded. "Yes. I was a dancer in Paris. My dear husband was English. Swept me off my feet and across the Channel. I've been here nearly thirty years but I've never lost my accent."

"I'll leave you two to get acquainted," said Gerard. "I'm sure you'll have plenty to talk about." He bowed to Giry and sauntered off down the street.

"Come in, my dear," said Mrs Giry, opening the door wider. Christine found herself in a dimly-lit but attractive hallway with intricate floral wallpaper, and an aspidistra on a plant stand. Several doors led off the hall, and Giry opened the nearest one to reveal a smart dining room with dark wooden furniture. Everything was spotless and polished to a shine.

"I serve breakfast at 8am. Lunch is up to you. I can also provide dinner if you need it, although I'm aware you'll be at the theatre most evenings. There are currently three other residents, all of whom are theatrical types. And Meg, my daughter, lives here too." Mrs Giry closed the door. "Come, I'll show you to your room."

Christine followed her up two flights of stairs. They stopped outside a door at the end of the second floor landing. Mrs Giry unlocked it and let Christine go in first.

The room was charming, with pretty rose-patterned wallpaper and an iron bedstead with matching linen. There was also a small writing desk in one corner, and a colourful rag rug on the bare floorboards. It was a bright room, with sun streaming in through the window.

Christine could hardly believe her luck. How on Earth was Gerard able to afford all this?

"I hope the room pleases you," said Mrs Giry.

"It's lovely! Thank you so much."

Giry nodded, and handed Christine a set of keys. "There are just a couple of house rules. I ask that you're back by 1am so as not to disturb the other residents. No smoking in the bedrooms, please. And absolutely no overnight guests. I hope you understand."

"Of course. Thank you."

Giry smiled. "I'll leave you to get settled."

When her new landlady had gone, Christine placed her shopping on the desk and explored the room, opening the wardrobe and testing the bed. It was as good as most of the accommodation she had had in Paris (aside from her last apartment, of course). Again, she found herself feeling grateful to Gerard.

She would be much more comfortable here than in the theatre dressing room. Still, she felt a pang of regret that there would be no more nights overhearing Erik singing on the stage. She hoped he was serious when he had said he wished to continue with his lessons. She would find out tonight, after the show.

4.

It had been a successful performance, despite the notable lack of fireballs. Erik had reintroduced an old illusion from his days on the Continent, which involved water apparently freezing in mid-air to create snow and icicles. The audience seemed delighted, and he was tempted to return to his room and find a way of developing the effect even further.

Instead, for reasons he did not entirely understand, he was still on the stage, standing beside the piano, waiting for Miss Daae.

She arrived on time tonight, much to his relief.

"Good evening, Erik. I'm so pleased you've come back."

Her smile seemed genuine. Once again, she seemed happy to be working with him, which was something of a novelty in his experience.

"Thank you for seeing me again," he said.

"My pleasure." She placed a book on the music stand. "I enjoyed your act tonight. I particularly loved the snow. It was quite magical."

The corner of his mouth twitched. But he refused to look pleased.

"I only used it because that crashing bore Gerard no longer wants me to use fireballs. Apparently, they're a fire hazard. Who knew?"

Christine laughed. "Well, I suppose you can't be too careful in a theatre."

"There is some good news…I've persuaded Gerard to buy us some more music. We can choose it ourselves. I've asked for some opera scores."

Her eyes lit up. "Oh, Erik! That's wonderful. I've brought hardly any music from Paris."

And before he knew what was happening, she had leaned forward and grasped his hand. He jerked away as if he had just touched a hot plate.

Christine frowned. "Are you all right?"

"Of course." He swallowed hard, embarrassed by his reaction. "What would you like me to sing tonight?"

"We'll start with some exercises, and then we can try another song. Is that all right?"

He nodded, and Christine took her seat at the piano. She guided him through some scales, and then they tried some exercises to help with elocution. Erik thought these were ridiculous, but decided to sing them in good grace. The sooner he mastered them, the sooner they could get to the real music.

Christine seemed pleased with his progress, and opened the music book.

"I think I've found a good song for you," she said, handing him a sheet of music. "It's a classical French love song, called Plaisir d'amour. 'The Joys of Love'. I've given you the English lyrics. As you'll hear, it has a simple yet beautiful melody."

She played it through once, to demonstrate. "You think you could try that?"

It sounded easy. "Yes."

They began. After his first try, Christine turned to look at him. "Erik, read the lyrics again. Think about what you're singing."

His mind whirled in sudden panic. He had only been able to read for a couple of years, and even now he would occasionally come across a word he didn't know. But he looked at the song again, and the words seemed simple enough.

He shook his head. "I don't understand…"

"It's a song about love. Unrequited, impossible love. You've been in love, haven't you?"

He was quiet for a long time, looking down at his clasped hands. "Uh…yes."

"Then think about that feeling." She turned back towards the piano.

Erik searched frantically for some memory of love, but when it came down to it, he couldn't remember truly loving anyone. And he certainly couldn't remember anyone loving him. At this thought, a dull ache settled around his heart.

He sang.

"The joys of love are but a moment long

The pain of love endures the whole life long…"

His voice was soft, sweet, plaintive.

When the song was over, there was a long silence. Christine lifted her hand and brushed a tear from her cheek.

Erik was horrified. He had made her cry. Suddenly, the ache in his chest was even worse.

"Miss Daae? Christine? Forgive me…"

She shook her head, mopping her eyes with a handkerchief and smiling through her tears.

"No, no. Please don't apologise, Erik. That was perfect. It was beautiful…"

He was stumped. "Then why are you crying?"

"It made me think of…" She shook her head, and laughed. It sounded somewhat forced. "Nothing. Please don't worry. Let's try something else. Something happier."

To Erik's considerable relief, they spent the rest of the lesson focusing on an amusing patter song, another gem from Gilbert and Sullivan. But all the time they worked, there was something sad and distant in Christine's eyes.

Erik wondered what memories the song had brought back. He was still shaken by the fact that he had made her weep.

Perhaps music could be more powerful and more dangerous than any of his illusions.

A/N: To the best of my knowledge, the lyrics for 'The Joys of Love' are out of copyright. Please correct me if I'm wrong. Thank you.