Author's Note: To Aislin of the Shadows, Alicia Corbinwood, Baffled Seraph, convoitez, ElfLover, enigmatic mystery, flamingices, galabalesh, Han Futsu Anti Normal, Hikishianara, Jaina Kenobi, Lady Lorax, Lady Viridis, LejindaryBunny, lor, Masked Phantom. MindGame, Moon Avenger, Nade-Naberrie, Phantom of Les Miserables, Pickledishkiller, Ravensmyst, rio, sharaku, StitchGrl, and Vix17... your reviews are what's keepin' me going. Thank you! (And for all those who asked: yes, Erik will make an appearance. Very soon.)


How to Be an Opera Ghost

Part Eleven: "Hear"


There was no rehearsal the next day for the corps de ballet, for it was Sunday and people were generally expected to spend the day resting and praying and such. Unfortunately, this meant that nobody else had rehearsals either, and so it would have been rather pointless for Isabelle to haunt the Opéra.

She debated going there anyway, with the intention of perhaps scoping out a secret passage or two… but in the end, she decided that it wasn't worth it. Managers, company members, and even the police had searched the place a hundred times over, hoping to discover the ghost's secrets, but to no avail. And Isabelle had no illusions about faring any better in a search of her own.

Besides, she was tired. Every day, when everyone else was at home resting (or drinking), she would use her free time to attempt to master the nuances of the ghost's behavior. The way she imagined he ought to walk. The way she imagined he would sit down and stand up. The way he would look at another person. And of course, most importantly, the way he sounded.

So she decided that she'd spend Sunday relaxing and not thinking about the ghost business. She walked all the way to the Ile de la Cité for a late mass, and tried not to think about the strange echo that she'd heard. She bought a crèpe from a vendor on the Pont-au-Change, and tried not to think about the threatening note that the ghost had written her. She walked along the Quai and through the Quartier Latin, and tried not to think about how dashing she looked in the mask and cloak. She gave a couple of coins to a street violinist, and tried not to think about being kissed by Meg Giry.

She meandered back to her flat as the sun set in the west, still trying not to think about anything remotely connected to the ghost; and by the time she sat down in her favourite chair and took her shoes off, she found that she'd acquired a headache from all the effort she'd put into not thinking about it. So she went to bed early, in hopes that she might finally find the respite she'd been seeking all day.

That night, Isabelle dreamed about the opera ghost.

o o o

The following week passed by in a nonstop flurry of rehearsals, which were becoming more and more intense by the day. The premier of Carmen was fast approaching, and the company was becoming quite restless with anticipation.

Madame, joining the restlessness with fervor, began to insist on longer hours with shorter breaks; and as a result, the corps de ballet did little else but eat, sleep, and dance. The dressing-room resounded with complaints of every kind, but Isabelle was certain that nobody was more frustrated than she. Longer hours meant not only that she had no time to haunt, but also that she had very little time even to practice at home!

Talk of the ghost dwindled steadily in the face of the pressures of the forthcoming opening night, and by the following Monday, Isabelle was able to spent an entire day at the Opéra without once hearing even a passing mention of the ghost.

It was simply unacceptable.

But just as it had before, an opportunity presented itself to Isabelle on a silver platter.

On Tuesday afternoon, in the midst of a hurried lunch, Meg mentioned that she'd been given a small solo. "It isn't much," she said modestly, in the face of a dozen jealous glares. "Just a silly thing near the end. And of course, it means I'll have to stay late for extra rehearsals."

She pulled a face as she announced the last part, and she received quite a few groans of sympathy.

"Stay late?" echoed Yvette. "Why can't you just learn it during the day?"

"Because," said Meg, lowering her voice lest she be overheard, "Madame doesn't want to waste any time. Extra rehearsal is a condition of taking the solo. She wouldn't have given it to me otherwise. And what was I supposed to do? Say no?"

Sympathy and jealousy cancelled each other out at this point, and most of the dancers just shrugged. But Isabelle, adopting a concerned voice, asked, "When is your extra rehearsal?"

"The first one is tonight," said Meg wearily. "I'm allowed half an hour for dinner, and then she's keeping me here until ten o'clock."

In less than an instant, Isabelle's plans were made.

The half-hour gave Isabelle plenty of time to go to her flat, retrieve her ghost costume, and return to the Opéra. The only problem, of course, was that she couldn't very well use the dancers' dressing-room this time, as it would be occupied by the very person she intended to haunt.

After only a few moments of hesitation, Isabelle had what she humbly thought of as an utterly brilliant idea.

Christine Daaé's old dressing-room.

Nobody used it anymore because it was so far from the others… and besides, what could be a more appropriate place for the ghost to be, than in the dressing-room of the woman he'd supposedly loved?

So it was with a wily grin that Isabelle made her way through the corridors toward her destination. It didn't even occur to her until she arrived there that the door might be locked – but it appeared that luck was with her. The door opened without so much as a creak.

Isabelle lit the lamps within, locked the door behind her, and set about unpacking her satchel. Draping the suit and the cloak over the chair of the dressing-table, she eagerly began to unbutton her dress.

But she stopped at the third button down, her fingers freezing mid-motion as her ears alerted her to something very, very odd.

The odd part was not that she could hear a voice singing; singing happened quite often at the Opéra. No, the odd part was that while the voice sounded quite faint, as though it were far away, it seemed to be originating from a point right beside her left ear. And when Isabelle, out of habit, turned to the left and looked, there was nobody there.

She strained her ears, trying to see if she could recognize the voice – or at least figure out where it was coming from. But the harder she tried, the more the voice eluded her… and a small knot of dread began to manifest itself in her stomach.

"Isabelle," sang the voice, so softly that she could barely discern the syllables of her name from the wordless melody that surrounded them.

"Who is it?" she whispered, even though she already knew.

The melody stopped, but the words that followed were like a song in themselves. "I am that which you are not," said the ghost, the sweetness of his voice contrasting sharply with the threat of his words. "You tread on dangerous ground. Young girls should not play games about which they know nothing."

Isabelle furrowed her brow, half intimidated and half offended. "But I—"

"The ghost," said the voice, effectively cutting her off, "will not haunt tonight." And in those last words, there was an edge to the sweetness – an edge that made Isabelle's skin prickle.

She opened her mouth to speak, but realized immediately that arguing would have been useless. For she knew – without knowing how she knew – that the ghost had gone.

Which therefore made it safe for her to mutter, "I'm just trying to do my job," before repacking her costume and getting out of Christine's dressing-room as fast as she possibly could.


Author's Note: If you're waiting for the next chapter and want something to read in the meantime, please click on my authorname and check out my other four Phanfics: "The Odalisque" (AU Kay-verse; Erik/OC), "The Mirror" (Kay-verse; Erik), "The Voice" (very AU Leroux-verse; Christine, Erik, Mamma Valérius), and "The Siren" (Kay-verse; Erik/Christine). Thanks again for your reviews!