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Guardian Angel

Michelle's hand stopped before the glass reached her lips. Her delicate eyebrows arched. "Suicide?"

The other ballerina nodded smugly.

"Really?" Michelle purred like a cat to a mouse she was about to eat.

"Yes," the smug dancer said. Others, however, disagreed.

"That's not true," a dancer with a whiny voice protested. "He was killed. Everyone knows that."

The first ballerina just smiled and said confidently, "Don't be silly. I know all about it. Madame Giry heard the managers reading Buquet's suicide note. They found it on him."

Michelle raised her eyebrows again. "And how, pray tell, did you come about this knowledge?"

"I heard it from Latrice, who heard it from Meg, who heard from her mother, of course."

"Oh, of course." Michelle rolled her eyes when the rest looked away. "The ballet has gone wonderfully, hasn't it?" she said, changing the subject.

As the dancers simultaneously began praising the ballet, and anything that was remotely related to it, Michelle slipped away unnoticed. Waking back to the nook where she left Erik, she noticed Ubaldo Piangi catering to Carlotta's every whim. Discreetly glancing down, Michelle noted that Carlotta DID seem a little rounder about the waist, but not anywhere else. She also noted that there was a small almost square bulge under Piangi's jacket. Smirking, Michelle moved on, hearing the wedding chimes already.

Michelle was not prepared for the sight that greeted her when she arrived back where she left Erik. He had said he was never charming. So how come there were five or six young women fluttering around him? Michelle, standing ten feet away and unnoticed, crossed her arms under her bosom and watched. A woman with an artistically painted face and so much bosom it almost fell out of her low cut gown put her arm through Erik's and whispered something in his ear, offering a very good glance down her bodice. Something white and hot and ugly ran through Michelle. She wanted to pour her glass of champagne down her dress and pull her hair out. This thought shocked Michelle. She hadn't a violent bone in her body. Well, not too many. And she certainly would never want to cause a scene.

Besides, she noted relieved, it wasn't as if Erik were looking. If fact, he only looked at his court to nod or say the occasional something. The rest of the time he was searching the room as if his life depended on it. Searching for her? Did he want to be rescued from his adoring public?

Finally his gaze stopped on her, and his eyes pleaded to be rescued. When she made no move toward him, he mouthed "Help", and then grimaced when the clinging vine on his arm pressed her breasts against him. Stifling a chuckle born of pure relief that Erik wasn't enthralled by these painted scorpions, she and her champagne glass started over to rescue her friend.

"Are you sure you won't take off your mask, Erik?" the clinging vine asked in a husky voice.

Looking incredibly uncomfortable, Erik replied, "Yes. Very sure."

Another woman standing very close on his other side purred, "We could find a quiet spot and you can take off more than just your mask. I'll even return the favor." This she punctuated by running a hand down Erik's thigh, which started him squirming for reasons other than what the seductive siren thought. Unable to stand the way he was being manhandled-uh...woman-handled- Michelle stepped in to his rescue. "Erik, darling," she said as she stepped forward. "You promised me a dance, dearest."

Erik looked so relieved by her sudden arrival that Michelle had a hard time keeping her smile just a bit seductive. He disengaged himself from the vine and the siren and took her arm. "Of course, Angel," he said taking her arm. He turned back to the disappointed women. "Excuse me. I have previous engagement." After an elegant half-bow, Erik swept her on to the dance floor. "Shall we?" he said stepping forward to take her in his arms.

She stepped out of them. "Actually, that was just an excuse. Why don't we just walk around instead?"

Erik looked slightly disappointed, but smiled and offered his arm. As they were walking, Michelle told him about what she had heard. Erik grinned and said dryly, "Nice to know I'm not a murderer." Michelle chuckled, and then cleared her throat and asked, "So... how did you manage to gather that... that..."

"Bordello?" Erik offered.

Michelle chuckled. "If you like."

He grimaced. "Forgive me for speaking so crudely, but I did not particularly enjoy being harassed by an entire brothel."

Michelle let out a sigh of relief, reassured by Erik's disgusted tone of voice. "Good," she whispered.

"Michelle!"

Michelle looked in the direction of the voice and saw Meg coming toward them. "Hullo, Meg," Michelle said and stepped away from Erik long enough for Meg's customary greeting of a hug. "How are you?" she asked, and looked around. "And where's Raoul? Isn't he usually at these little gatherings?"

Meg paled a little. "I haven't seen him," she said stiffly.

Michelle raised her eyebrows. "Have you two had an argument?"

"No, of course not. Why would we argue?" Meg said hastily.

Michelle shrugged. "Well, you just seem a little upset."

"Why would I be upset? Do you think Raoul has upset me? How could he upset me? He's not worth getting upset over."

Michelle just managed to subdue a smirk. "Okay," she said.

Meg glared at her. "Well, he's not."

"Okay. I believe you." She didn't.

"He's NOT!"

"Meg!" Madame Giry hobbled over to scold her daughter. "How many times have I told you not to raise your voice in public?" She started waving her cane around as if doing so would finally get her daughter to act like a lady. "It is not only rude..." Erik and Michelle ducked as the cane swung over their heads. "It is very unladylike." They ducked again. "And I won't have my daughter acting like a harridan. How do you expect to become Prima Ballerina if you keep acting like a hellcat?" Her cane swung again. Michelle ducked; Erik got hit in the head. "Ow," he said rubbing his aching skull. Madame Giry paid no attention to him. "Come, Meg," she said. "I need to sit down and you need a chaperone." Meg gave Michelle an apologetic smile and followed her mother.

Michelle shook her head. "Something tells me that runs in the family."

"I hope you don't mean the tendency to wave canes around. I don't think I could survive."

Michelle turned to Erik, who was still cradling his head. She tsked. "Do you need a doctor?" she asked.

"No," he said, giving his skull a final rub. "Just a little bruise."

She patted his bruised brain. "Want me to kiss it and make it feel better?"

Erik looked up sharply and glanced at her lips. Michelle felt herself blush and turned away, just to run into Monsieur Firmin. "Oh, Monsieur Firmin," she said hoping. Erik had escaped the manager's notice. "How are you this evening?"

"Why, Miss Michelle. What are you doing in Paris? Does André know you're here?"

"Er... No. Not yet, that is." She tried to see if Erik was still behind her through the corner of her eye. She doubted either Firmin or André would approve of the Opera Ghost's attendance at one of their parties. However, Firmin might just help her locate someone. She turned to him with her most charming smile. "Monsieur, do you happen to know where Raoul de Chagny is at the moment?"

Firmin pondered a moment. "Last I saw he was in the office drinking himself to death."

"Oh, thank you, Monsieur," she gushed before he could continue. "I must go see him right now. Good evening." She grabbed Erik, who had stayed be hind her, yet remained thankfully unnoticed, and pulled him through the crowd and into the empty hall. "Now," she said releasing him. "Why would Raoul be drinking? And why would Meg be so reluctant to talk about Raoul?"

Erik chuckled. "She isn't reluctant to talk about anything else."

"Precisely." Michelle began pacing. "I don't particularly enjoy not knowing things, so we have to find out what those two are hiding."

"Hiding? We?"

Michelle stopped pacing to give him an exasperated look. "What they are upset about, and yes, we. You go to the managers' office and talk to Raoul. I will work on Meg." She started back for the ballroom. Erik grabbed her arm, bringing her to a halt. "Wait a minute," he said. "The Vicomte hates me. And vice-versa," he added at her disbelieving glance.

Michelle shook her head. "I'm sure you too have gotten over your petty feud by now. Now, shoo. I have work to do, same as you." She stopped, then smiled. "I made a rhyme." Then she went back into the ballroom to seek out Meg.

Erik grimaced. He neither wanted to see nor speak to Raoul de Chagny, but Michelle wanted to know what was wrong with the Vicomte. She'd be so disappointed if her refused to at least try to find out. Sighing in defeat, Erik went to get his cloak. He'd spend five minutes with that fop, no more. He just hoped Michelle didn't have a tendrè for the idiot.