"Angelica!"

The cry beckoned to me as I arrived backstage at the Paris Opera House, more dressed up than I had ever been in my life. I was wearing a low-cut black velvet gown with a gold floral pattern on the skirt which was attractive yet regal. My hair was pinned up in an elaborate style that Erik and I had worked slavishly upon to accomplish. Again, I wore my necklace of rubies and emeralds.

In her pink dressing gown, Christine had been applying her stage makeup when she spotted me backstage and gestured for me to join her.

"What happened to you last night?" she asked, wide-eyed. "I have been beside myself with concern! Raoul and I had sought you out to say good night at the party but no one knew where you were! It was as if you had vanished into thin air..."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to have worried you," I answered.

With all of the excitement last night, I hadn't even thought of what the other guests there must have made of my sudden absence.

"But what happened to you? We were searching everywhere!"

"Well..."

Here goes another lie, I told myself.

"I am so ashamed to have to tell you this, but if you promise for it not to leave this room..."

Christine went to the dressing room door and discreetly shut it.

"...I am afraid that I had a little too much champagne last night. You see, I am actually quite a shy person and not used to being the center of so much attention. And with my foolish decision to wear such an outrageous dress and with all of the attention paid to me and everything, well, I was quite in over my head. I drank a little too much due to my nerves and became horribly ill. I did not want anyone to see me in such a shameful state. So I just tried to get home as quickly as possible..."

"Oh, poor dear," Christine came up to me and hugged me. "You must be careful not to drink too much when you are not used to it. But you have recovered sufficiently for tonight?"

"Oh, yes, I am right as rain!" I smiled.

"Well, I must say your powers of recovery are amazing, Angelica, as you look absolutely radiant."

I thanked her for her compliment.

"But enough about me. How are you, Christine? Excited about tonight?"

"Oh, yes!" she beamed. "It has been so long since I have felt so alive! Not since..." Her voice quieted abruptly. "...Not since the last time I sang...here at the opera..."

"In Don Juan Triumphant," I remarked. "I saw the performance that night, Christine. You were splendid, despite how things turned out."

Although she was sitting before her mirror with powder brush in hand, she had ceased applying her makeup. In fact, she rather unnerved me as she sat eerily still, staring at her own reflection, her eyes haunted.

"Do you think he will come for me?" she asked quietly.

My stomach tightened with anxiety.

"Whoever do you mean?" I asked, although I did not need her answer.

"The Phantom...the Phantom of the Opera..." she replied in a singsong voice as if she were in some sort of hypnotic trance.

"Well, as I understand it, your husband and Monsieur Deveraux are doing everything in their power to prevent such a thing from happening," I reassured her. "There will be double the policemen present; and they will be at all of his hideout places."

"But he is so clever, a genius...they will never find him...they cannot stop him..."

"Christine, you must not become so distraught with fear that you allow it to affect your performance," I lectured sternly. "Remember what you said to me when you met? That playing Beauty was worth the risk? You persuaded me to have faith in you that day. Pray do not disappoint me."

She nodded sadly.

"Besides, if the Phantom of the Opera dares to upset this opera in any way, he shall have me to contend with," I said and almost laughed with the irony of my statement. If Christine only knew...

"I shall not let you down, Angelica," she swore with resolve. "Perhaps I am just on edge as I have not seen Raoul or Christian since this morning. This is the first time I've been here alone in this dressing room since those days. My mind keeps playing tricks on me. But I shall be brave...I promise."

I leaned over and kissed her powdered cheek.

"You shall be brilliant," I assured her.

She smiled prettily in response.

I felt a small twinge of guilt for all of the spiteful things I had thought and said about her in the past. Christine de Chagny and I could have been friends under different circumstances.

"Mademoiselle DuBois!"

Little Meg Giry was at the door.

"Mademoiselle, a frightful disaster has occurred! You must come right away!"


I did not have to ask the little imp what the matter was as she volunteered the information most emphatically.

"The prop master, Jacques Gaston, disappeared! I think the Phantom of the Opera has taken his revenge upon us all and has killed him!" Meg cried with glee.

"Oh, hush, child!" I scolded. "I still have a score to settle with you about that nasty little habit you have of spreading false rumors..."

She kept her eyes wide and innocent, saying nothing for once in her young life.

"And I know for a fact that the Phantom of the Opera has you written down as his next victim!" I threatened.

Meg shrieked as she ran down the hallway, no doubt to report my actions to her mother.

Well, the little whelp deserved it, I thought crossly.

There was a large crowd of crew members assembled in a rehearsal room just outside of the stage. Monsieurs Andre and Firmin were there as well.

"Whatever is the matter?" I demanded of the musical director.

"The prop master, Jacques Gaston, is not here! His wife is having a baby!"

That seemed more like it, I thought.

"But he must be here!" Monsieur Andre bellowed. "What shall we do without him? And tonight of all nights! The man must be fired at once..."

"Monsieur Andre, calm yourself," I replied. "See reason! The life of a baby is more important than an opera after all."

"In my day, there was such a thing as professionalism and..."

Trying to spare everyone a lecture about professional ethics and so forth, I interrupted him.

"This man was prop master, was he not?"

"Yes."

"Can we not simply get another one?"

"The opera begins in an hour, Mademoiselle DuBois! And everyone here already has their hands full with their own duties!"

"And are there many props?"

"Act One has more props than the other two acts combined! It is a very complex process, making sure everyone has the necessary props they need at the right time and that they return them in the right place. Oh, this is a disaster."

"No, not a disaster, just a setback." For a moment, I reflected on the situation. "If you will show me what to do...make me a list for me of some kind...I could serve as a replacement prop master for tonight."

"But, Mademoiselle DuBois, you are no stagehand! You are the author! You are expected to be in the audience!"

"I care more about a successful opening night than I do about what the gossip papers will say about me tomorrow morning," I insisted.

"But a woman being a prop master...it is unheard of..."

"No more unheard of than a woman writing an opera, Monsieur."

His moustache practically wriggled with indignation.

"Perhaps if it will please you, I could be seated at the beginning of the opera," I suggested. "And then once Beauty and the Beast really gets going, I could excuse myself and make my way backstage through the outside corridor. Do you think that would work?"

"I suppose...but it is disgraceful for a woman to..."

"Yes...yes..." I waved him off. "I understood that part. Meanwhile, do you think that you could get someone else to do the other acts since they are simpler?"

"I suppose I could get someone. Perhaps Madame Giry or one of the dancers...since women are involved," he said gruffly.

"Perfect! Then my absence will not be so conspicuous."


With my prop list in hand, I looked for my escort, Christian Deveraux, to explain the situation to him. But I could not find him anywhere. Nor could I find the Vicomte de Chagny.

Oh, well...then I would have that much less bother to contend with.

Who would have guessed that putting on an opera would be so nerve-racking?

I was somewhat upset as I did so want to actually watch the opera as opposed to working behind the scenes. Still, there was nothing to be done. And as Monsieur Andre had predicted, there was not an empty seat in the house. It was crucial for the future of the opera that tonight be an absolute success. Nothing could go wrong.

With the swells of the orchestra beginning the overture to Beauty and the Beast, I took my seat.