Padme's Author Note: Jazzetry and I noticed the other day that we have not posted a disclaimer in any of the previous chapters. So here it is: We don't own the POTO characters, or the majority of the plot. We try to stick to characterizations and story details from Leroux, Kay, ALW, Coctoe (Sorry If I misspelled that), and Disney's Beauty and the Beast

I also want to thank all the reviews we've received. You make our writings so much more enjoyable. And here is chapter four!

Christine and the Phantom

Chapter 4: Awakenings

The corner of Erik's mouth twitched when he recognized the figure solemnly guarding the door of the Louis Phillip suite. The Persian sat formidably on a hard-backed chair outside the guestroom, eyeing his master's progress down the corridor with a knowing glance. Nadir stood up stiffly, meeting Erik's eyes gravely saying, "Good evening, Erik."

Erik nodded in response. Nadir's presence struck him as slightly odd, but he accepted it without question. The man had a strange habit of popping up at the most unexpected of moments. "Perhaps you could fetch some clean towels and hot water, Nadir, while I examine the girl's injury. Your daughter must have told you the whole story."

"Perhaps," Nadir said quietly, "We should go together and get them."

Erik cocked his head to one side, his visible eyebrow raising in a silent question.

Nadir continued on delicately, in that same quiet but potent voice. "Tomorrow Antoinette will move into the castle."

Erik's eyes glinted when he understood the man's meaning. "Ah, this is about propriety then. I think it's a little late for that." Erik tore his dew-dampened cloak from his shoulders and tossed the garment authoritatively to the waiting Persian. "Go fetch the water, old man."

The Persian paused nobly, weighing the consequences of his actions.

Erik exploded, "Who do you think I am? Remember, I am master of this castle." Erik caught himself, calming the inexplicable rage and willing himself to be reasonable. "I know the curse's limits as well as you. She must love me of her own accord – I would do nothing to endanger my last chance." Erik paused, trying to extract some sentiment from the stone wall of his servant's expression. He sighed, "Get the hot water and towels. I will wait here in the hall for you."

Nadir seemed to find some satisfaction in that promise, and hurried towards the kitchen. Erik shook his head and promptly entered Christine's room anyway. The Persian was a fool.

A pure beam of moonlight caught on the silk of the sleeping maid's nightgown. She had kicked the bedding to the floor sometime during her fevered sleep, and she now lay shivering on the soft expanse of the mattress. Erik felt a rush of alarm as he took note of the way the slight sheen of perspiration had caused the peach nightgown to cling exquisitely to her body.

Damning himself, Erik approached Christine quietly, vowing to see her only as a patient and not as the most beautiful woman he had seen in over twenty years. He delicately pulled back the edge of her gown to her knees, examining each leg carefully. Already, her injured leg had begun to swell and Erik realized the seriousness of their position. If she died from this infection, his hope died with her.

"Sir, are you going to wake her?" Nadir stood in the doorway with a pot of boiling water and some clean towels draped over one arm. He calmly stifled any anxiety he felt upon seeing his unpredictable and isolated master leaning over the delicate form of the sleeping girl. He did not reproach his master's conduct, merely accepted it as did all disappointments.

Erik shook his head. "Not if it can be helped." It would be better for her to sleep through his treatment. Erik wanted to spare the girl as much pain as possible. Nadir approached the bed with the supplies as Erik lit enough candles in the room for him to see clearly.

Reaching into the small carrying case he had retrieved from his room before he left, he pulled out a handkerchief, small vial, a bowl, and several jars of fresh leaves. "Nadir, grind the plants while I sedate her." Erik washed his hands with the boiling water before dabbing some of the liquid onto the cloth and holding it over Christine's nose until her body fell completely limp. Whatever dreams or nightmares that tormented her had come to an end. She would sleep till morning, hopefully.

Straightening the girl out, he propped the leg up on several pillows before rotating it so he could see the cut clearly. A broken branch had cut the leg, leaving behind bits of wood and dirt. The thin film of a scab had just started to form over the wound. He could see a rather large sliver of wood in the upper portion of the wound. Except for where that one sliver had embedded itself, the wound was not too deep.

"Nadir, turn up the lantern, please." Dipping a towel in the warm water, he gently sponged the area around the wound before moving to the wound itself. When he was satisfied that he had cleaned as much as possible with just the towel, he withdrew a pair of tweezers. Sliver by sliver, he picked out the fragments. Gently pulling on the largest one, he discovered it would not budge unless he ripped some of Christine's flesh. The girl whimpered in her drug-induced sleep.

Nadir looked up from grinding at his master; "I'm almost done with the poultice."

"Good. You need to hold her leg steady for a moment." Erik took a small knife from his satchel and held it over the lantern's flame, sterilizing it.

Nadir wiped his hands on a spare towel before doing as he was told. At first cut, Christine cried out in her sleep; her body jerked instinctively, but Nadir's hold kept the leg still. Erik wiped away the fresh blood that flowed and tested the splinter. He had a feeling the piece had split laterally when it entered her leg, creating a sort of barb that would be difficult to remove. He repeated the process until the wood came free. He sponged the area with a clean towel, removing the last of the dirt and whatever small slivers that had evaded the tweezers. It was not as deep as he had initially thought, but the girl would have to stay off of leg for at least two days.

"I need that poultice now"

"Yes, sir." Nadir handed him the paste emotionlessly.

Erik applied the poultice to the wound and wrapped it with strips of cloth. As he finished, the first rays of the sun started to peak through the drawn curtains. He wiped sweat from the unmasked side of his face and his jaw on the other. He knew he had done all he could for Christine; now it was up to her young body.

He felt Christine's forehead, noting the slight fever she had and the dried sweat. Unconsciously, he allowed his eyes to trace the outline of her lashes on her cheeks, her pert nose and full lips. He noted the pallor of skin, and hoped that by the end of the day it would regain the natural blush he had first seen only a few hours ago. Erik placed his fingers against the side of Christine's neck, feeling for a pulse. His professionalism slipped after he certified that her heartbeat was still strong and healthy; the touch that was meant to be cool and impersonal had turned into the slightest whisper of a caress.

"Sir…" Nadir's warning gently reminded Erik that his hand had overstayed its purpose. Erik drew back quickly, then stretched thoroughly.

"Put my case away, Nadir. Madame Giry may stay in the room overlooking the rose garden." Without another word, Erik rushed out of the confining space, away from the helpless virgin lying pliant in his guest bed.

Nadir's deep chortle followed him down the hall.

)–/–

Stephan held his arm and grunted in pain as the enchanted carriage jostled to a sharp stop outside his cottage. The numbing pain, his daughter's fate, what lay behind that man's mask…Stephan was consumed.

The musician still could not determine if his captor had been a phantom, devil, or man. Whatever he was, he now had Christine within his grasp. Stephan rattled the locked door of the horseless carriage in frustration. Why had he insisted on entering the castle blindly, like a fool that night?

Stephan shuddered at the memory. He had pounded on the castle's door for ten minutes before he thought to try the handle. It had swung open easily and he had entered the grand marble foyer, looking for any sign of the inhabitants. A seductive melody wafted down the grand, circular staircase, calling to the seasoned musician. No one would have heard his pounding with that music.

That sound! Even as Stephan cursed that phantom for imprisoning his daughter, he shivered in delight at the memory of the music. It was a style entirely new, incredibly complex and emotionally raw.

Stephan had followed the sound, up the stairs and down a wide hall mysteriously shrouded in black velvet curtains. But when he had opened the door of the room at the end of the hall, the player sensed his presence and spun around to face the intruder. He was vulnerable, his face unmasked, displaying the horror that Stephan would remember all his life.

The player had grabbed a heavy candlestick from a mantle and rushed at the old man, beating him unconscious in a fury of limbs, fear, and hate. He must have dragged him to the dungeon and imprisoned him while Stephan was insentient, for the poor villager had awoken to the dankness of the cell and the weight of his shackles.

The carriage door swung open suddenly, jolting Stephan into reality. He leapt out eagerly, and the carriage, by its own volition, started to roll away, back toward the haunted Castle Nuit.

Pink wisps of clouds lay their finger-like tendrils across a lightening topaz sky, announcing the coming of the most terrifying day of Stephan's life. His daughter was enslaved by a mad phantom with, Stephan assumed, some skills of magic on his side. Stephan quickly found his resolve and limped off quickly towards the village, towards light, good people, and hope.

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