By the end of the first day of the week she had asked for, Sarah had begun to feel an ache she dared not define. The knowledge that Jareth and his entire world were waiting for her or might suddenly intrude upon her relatively calm to the point of mundane world had been filled a need she did not even know she had. Now that she knew she needed it - needed him, the lack was a dull ache in her soul. Only her own stubborness kept her from ceding that week she had demanded. Sarah reasoned that though she desperately wanted to hear Jareth's voice, with that complex accent that could be loving and mocking in the same breath; wanted to see his mismatched eyes, feel the touch of his hand, the insufferable "I told you so" look in those eyes would ruin it.

Therefore, she endured the less radiant light, the dulled music, the emotional distance of this world, this world in which she was now an alien.

By the end of the second day, Mr. Welles suggested that perhaps they had been working her too hard. He noticed that her performances on the past two nights had been-- lacking something. Oh, to be sure, her performance was technically flawless; professionalism took over when she stepped into Christine's life and would allow her no less than excellence. Yet, the passion, the spark of magic that had been there only day ago was missing. When he offered to let her have a night off, Sarah almost agreed, but no. For a thousand reasons too complex to go into and a hundred more that she could not admit to herself just yet, she had to continue.

When she reached the theatre for the performance on the third night of her sennight, Sarah's soul felt a weariness that made her regret her choice- though whether it was the initial one, the demand she'd made so unwisely to Jareth, or the one to keep plugging away as Christine, she chose not to know.

Willful ignorance never bodes well.

"Thank Heavens you are here," Mr. Welles exclaimed, looking more flustered than she'd ever seen him look. ''Sean is out- the kid has colic or something- I don't know or want to know what babies get. Something with a fever. I don't know, " he began repeating himself. "His understudy is out with a sore throat. We can't have a Phantom of the Opera without a Phantom!"

Theresa, behind his back, rolled her eyes. Granted, it was an emergency, but histronics weren't going to fix anything.

"Look, maybe one of the other guys knows the part- or one of the local theatres would loan us someone who has been a Phantom?" Sarah began suggesting possibilites. Her mind was working on others though. Jareth? Could she call him- No- Was he setting her up to have to call him?

He wouldn't be so sneaky? Would he?

He wouldn't hurt a baby, would he?

He'd turn them into goblins...no...he doesn't do that.. goblins breed fast enough and why would he want more anyway? The old myth still had power to infringe on her thoughts though.

One of the chorus members scooted past her, wearing, as usual, Tresor, with its distinct fragrance of vanilla and peach, triggering a memory of another time and place. Of a dance and a poison peach.

Cutting through the farrago of her thoughts, a cell phone's ring brought Sarah back to reality. Irritated, Charles answered it. "Welles. What? Really?" Relief washed over his face. "Excellent. Thank you."

Clicking off, he looked up with a grin. "Well, my dear, we're saved by the bell- or at least the ring. I found us a Phantom sub. "

"The - guy from the other night- when Sean's baby arrived?" Sarah suggested tentatively.

"No- I can't even recall that fellow's name, but it wasn't this one. Emile K Simpson- I have heard that name before, but where I can't recall at the moment, and it hardly matters. We're saved."

Then why did a cold hand of dread slip tentacle like fingers around Sarah? She was sure that Emile was not Jareth, if for no other reason than the fear it sparked in her. If Jareth had cheated a bit and forced his way into the play tonight, she'd be irked, but forgive him. She would not be afraid.

She was now, but conciously chose to channel that fear into creating a realistic Christine.

Hoping to catch a glimpse of this substitute Eric, she kept her eyes open before the performance. He kept a step ahead of her, however, never anywhere she heard he'd been minutes before.

Therefore, her first glimpse of Emile was onstage when he "kidnapped" Christine to take her to his underground lair. He was not Jareth- and his voice was a beautiful tenor, that could not be questioned. As their eyes met for the first time, even through the mask, she knew one thing for certain.

Whatever else this Emile was, he was Fey.

Once again professionalism saved Sarah from muffing her role. The automatic reflexes she had trained herself to have kept her going even as a line that was not to come for sometime in the play sang in the back of her head.

It's in your soul the distortion lies.

Whether that was obvious to the naked eye or her time with Moira and Jareth or the inherent power Moira insisted Sarah had revealed this to her was not knowable. Know it she did though. This creature was evil.

He was there for her- that was a cold certainty that reached from his hard eyes to the depths of Sarah's heart. Not there for her in the way Jareth had promised to be either.

There was little doubt that he was Jareth's brother, the one who'd hurt him.

Sarah did not have to fake Christine's fear, but it had never been harder to pretend love for the Phantom. How was she going to get through that pivotal kiss? How could she let that monster touch her?

Whether her inner actress overrode those fears and the dread that threated to choke Sarah or it was entirely possible that Emile cast some spell, some Svengalian enchantment that forbid her from revealing her loathing, the performance went well. It did have differences to be sure. For one thing, the young man who portrayed Raoul jokingly commented that for once he didn't feel guilty about taking Christine away. He finally felt like the girl did want to flee with him.

Sarah gave him a weak smile, managing some flippant remark about of course she did- she'd just been hiding her true feelings. If she'd been asked an hour later, the young woman could not have recalled what she said though.

It did not astonish her when Mr. Simpson was waiting outside her door. That was the way these things worked. She'd always known the rules. What she didn't know was if this was about to be an abduction to some dungeon or the obligatory fallaciously cordial meeting between the evil genius and the ingenue. She wasn't sure she was an ingenue either. That Emile was evil was not in doubt.

"Miss Williams?" he smiled thinly. The smile did reach his eyes, but it was not a kind one. "Or might I call you Sarah? I understand we are to be family?"

"Since one is under no obligation to like their family- then I suppose that could be true," Sarah returned tautly.

"Ah, yes, I do recall your - less than amicable relationship with your own brother and mother- step mother, rather. Don't look so stunned, my dear. You are rather famous, you know."

"Slow news days, huh?" Sarah retorted.

"This is a rather - public venue," Emile noted, studying his elegant hands.

"I find that's the best place to meet with evil guys with dark intentions," Sarah smiled thinly. She knew most of the other performers were either in their rooms or gone by now. No one had passed by since this conversation began. There was no way she was taking him home, on the off chance that brother dearest didn't know where she lived.

"I do know where you live," he commented.

One illusion bites the dust.

"Wouldn't you prefer to pop over there?"

"I'd prefer to dump you in Jareth's bog," Sarah hissed. "If we're going with what I want- then go take a dive there."

Infuriatingly, he laughed at her. Then, snapping his fingers, Sarah felt the world turn upside down. When it righted itself, they were in her living room.

"I'd be asking too much to ask for a drink, I suppose?" the monarch speculated.

"Bingo. I don't think the words- entertaining angels unaware apply to you- unless it covers fallen ones," Sarah frowned, not sitting as he did. Note to self, she decided, get the sofa cleaned tomorrow. Or throw it out. Okay, that was terribly grammar school of her, but just in case there were evil germs... one couldn't be too safe, could one?

Emile did not seem perturbed by her rudeness. Karen would have been. She could hear her stepmother now, Now, Sarah, even though he's evil and the scum of the earth is no reason not to be nice. It never hurts you to be nice.

Ha.

"I don't suppose you want my side of my brother's little story? Or to say thank you?" Emile asked.

"Not especially. Thank you? Come on," Sarah scoffed. Reluctantly, her mind flew back in time to the battlements where she'd faced Jareth.

Sarah, be careful.. I have been generous- but I can be cruel. .. Everything- Everything you have asked, I have done.

Not the same thing at all, she told herself sternly.

Unaware, apparently, of her internal conversation, Emile K Simpson smiled thinly. "But- Sarah- I have done so much for you. Just think of it- if I had not convinced Jareth to botch his transformation- - oh- perhaps it was a bit forcefully--"

"Attempted murder is forceful, yes," Sarah agreed.

"He wouldn't have become the Phantom, and met Christine, which tied together his destiny to yours and so on. Likely, she'd have not even become a singer of the finest calibur and attracted Raoul's attention, therefore- you'd have not been born."

"So- the good accomplished as a result of evil discounts the initial - evil," Sarah suggested caustically. "The church threw out antinominiansim centuries ago. I'd suggest you read Galatians- but can demons even touch the Bible?" Maybe it wasn't too smart to bait a guy who could kill her easily, but he was going to anyhow. Why not insult him as much as possible then?

He just ignored her true sarcasm. "Sarah, I am sure that you were given the tired story that because my father turned to darkness, blah, blah, blah- I was able to kill him- it weakened him. No need to answer, I see it in your eyes. Now then- would it not stand to reason that I could not have injured my brother enough to force him to flee with his warped face unless he had a similiar vulnerability?"

"How about because you are evil?" she shot back, but was shaken a bit.

"Tsk. But shouldn't I have been unable to hurt him if he were pure? Just think about it. Continue to display the wisdom you exercised in asking for this week. "

Her face must have shown some surprise.

"Oh, don't be silly- why would I want to kill you? You are such a good kisser, even when you are scared and repulsed. Not yet anyway. I don't have to kill you, now do I?"

With that enigmatic note, he vanished, leaving Sarah confused and wishing she had not asked for that week. She'd love to talk to Moira now.

More than that, she just wanted Jareth's arms around her.