A/N: Ahoy mates! How are ye, on this fine day? Arrrr…Boy that was a tangent. Anyway, I want to take this opportunity to thank all my loyal reviewers who have reviewed every chapter and continue to enjoy (or at least read) my story. My humble thanks to you all; you guys keep the chapters coming. Well, it's Spring Break next week, and I'll be on vacation, so I won't have time to type or update any of my stories, so please forgive me for that, and please be patient. Just as a warning for the future, as this chapter came kinda late, some others may come a week or so late as well, and that's not because I'm abandoning you guys (I refuse to abandon a story!) It's because I either don't have time, or I'm getting Writer's Block. (Dun, dun, dun) By the way, if anyone has any ideas for my story or has small role characters from their stories they want me to use in here as a cameo or something (of course I'd recommend your story as well) then please say so on you reviews or drop me an email. Ok, time for responses to reviews, and then the wonderful chappie! Oh, and have a wonderful Spring Break!

Marie Erikson: I'm glad you're seeing things the way they're meant to be seen. All these little interactions between the characters will eventually build up, and lead to a relationship that is realistic and 'pure'; if you will. Thanks for being such a loyal reviewer. I always look forward to what you have to say!

Phoebe: What do you mean by odd? Thanks for the review! Oh, and yes, it was Josh Groban. I feel so bad for forgetting a disclaimer…

Camlann: Lol, yeah, I can see Erik torturing Claire with stuff like that. I can just imagine her face of horror as he tells her with deep emotion that he's skinned little girls alive and eats sewer rats for breakfast. Lol, maybe I'll do something like that, it all depends. Yes, Claire is quiet nosy. I model her (and Adima actually) quiet like myself. Adima's pretty nosy too. I know if I were in both girls' positions that I'd do exactly what they do in my stories. By the way, I know you've updated recently, and I'll read/review tomorrow b/c I have NO time tonight. Don't worry.

Imokk: Yeah, I'm really intrigued by Madame Giry's character and I'm going to explore her personality further more, and her life, later on in the story…ooohhh…That'll be fun. I'm glad you think I've got her character down.

Han Futsu Anti Normal: OMG, I laugh so hard every time I read your review! I loved the Superman theme and Erik taking his shirt off! I'm also glad you have such a wonderful imagination and are able to imagine things you want, even if I don't write it. Wow, I totally sounded like Mickey Mouse just then. "Use your imagination everybody!" Lol. Oh yes, I'm cool…

Chapter Eight: The New Opera

"What happened down there?" Madame Giry snorted, stepping to Erik's side. He was a little taller than her, and she stared intently up into his deep green eyes.

Erik, too, had exchanged his sopping outfit for newer, dryer clothes. He wore black slacks and a white blouse with a low hanging neck. He bared his teeth at Mme. Giry's threatening words, his chest rising and falling with the deep breaths he took. It had been a long time since he'd found her this upset. "The girl followed me," he said, honestly. "She must have fallen into the pit. I heard her scream and…"

"You must have known she was following you!"

Erik shook his head, taking a step backward. "No," he muttered. "I did not know. Perhaps," he began, his tone suspicious, and then it turned vile, dripping with poison and hatred. "She is a spy!"

"She is no spy," Mme. Giry stood at Claire's defense. "I doubt you even know who she is!"

Erik thought a moment. Yes, he had recognized her voice; how could he not. "She is Mademoiselle Bonamy," he whispered, glancing downward.

"And she is not a spy, Erik," Mme. Giry explained. "You can be so paranoid sometimes. But all the same…you must be more careful, Erik. I cannot believe this has happened! She followed you all the way to the stairs! I warned her to say nothing of this to anyone, but, who knows if she can be trusted?"

"She can be trusted," Erik said, sternly. Madame Giry cocked her head.

"How do you know?"

Erik glared at Mme. Giry, as if he did not want to tell her, but he finally had no choice. "She hasn't spoken of me before, has she?" Mme. Giry shook her head. "Then, no, she will not tell anyone. She's kept a promise already."

Mme. Giry's eyes widened. "Are you telling me you've met before?" she asked, astonished.

Erik's gaze turned to the floor. "Yes," he muttered.

"When?"

"Days ago; it does not matter," said Erik. She has kept her promise; she will not disobey the two of us." Mme. Giry sighed, not knowing whether to believe him. But before she could say anything more, Erik handed her a letter in an envelope and a leather bound notebook. "You know what to do with these," he told Mme. Giry as he placed the items safely in her hands. She nodded. "Then go."

Mme. Giry turned to go, then glanced back. "Erik," she began. "Do not bother with this girl. She is the manager's daughter. Leave her alone, and she will do the same." Erik wasn't sure he believed her; he didn't know if he wanted to believe her.

He remembered the first day he had heard the girl's voice. She was singing on stage. She sang of masks and hiding. She sang of many things that touched Erik deeply. Perhaps they had more in common than met the eye.

Erik's heart beat just a little faster than normal, he did not know why, but he could feel it. "She was not afraid," he whispered, glancing at the golden mask and the mirror. "She will have no need to fear me."

"Monsieur Bonamy," Mme. Giry glided speedily towards him, an unopened letter and a leather booklet in hand.

Andre turned in her direction. "Good evening," he greeted.

"May I speak with you, in privacy, please?" Andre nodded, leaving the crowded room to stand in the hallway.

Madame Giry lowered her voice. "This is for you," she said, handing him the letter.

"Not another one," Andre grumbled, opening the envelope, reading its contents.

Dearest Opera Manager,

We certainly had quite a success with the opera tonight. I am quite pleased. I do however believe that Mademoiselle Arielle's career should progress no further in that of music. I also send my gratitude for leaving box five open for my use…

Andre glanced up at Mme. Giry with a scowl, then his eyes fell back to the letter; the woman ignored his gaze. He said nothing, but his eyes burned with rage at the woman's defiant schemes.

I am also displeased that you have chosen to delay the payment of my salary of twenty thousand franks. If I must remind you again, I regret to say, you may suffer some horrible misfortunes. And seeing how well tonight's performance turned out, I think the amount I ask for my salary is quite gracious.

I also have written another opera that will be handed to you with this letter. It will be the next opera the theatre will produce, and I believe it will be quite popular. I thank you for your acceptance; but I warn, do not forget to do as I have asked.

-OG

"I am to give this to you also," Mme. Giry placed the script of Erik's newest opera in Andre's hand. "What is it Monsieur?" she asked, noting the man's angered face. Andre didn't speak; he simply read the title on the cover of the opera: Le Enfant Terrible. It was a tragedy. Mme. Giry already knew what the letter said.

"I advise you do as he requests, Monsieur," she began. "The last time the Phantom's orders where not obeyed, we all suffered. Please Monsieur, do as he says."

"He wants twenty thousand franks," breathed Andre. "I will not give him that!"

"You must," Mme. Giry said, calmly. "I beg of you, Monsieur. It would be for the benefit of us all."

Andre sighed, his cheeks flushing with heated anger. "Very well," he spat. "But I cannot get the money now- he will have to wait a few days."

"I will be sure he gets it," Madame Giry promised.

"Madame Giry," Andre stopped her as she sated to turn away. "Can I trust you?"

"You can, Monsieur; I have been doing this for years." With that, she turned her back on her manager, her eyes meeting for a split second with Claire's, who had been watching them talk the entire time.

Andre let out a deep sigh, not knowing what to do. He figured he should consult with his daughter before making any final decisions. He knew not what she might say to him, but he was sure she would have some reflections for his thoughts; she always had.

There she was now, with Aubrey. They made a good pair, he thought, watching them. He pinched at the envelope in his hand, glancing down at the leather-bound script in the other. Another sigh was released, and his shoulders shrunk with the weight of all that loomed on his mind; that which Claire did know, and that which he had chosen to hide from her.

Claire bit her lips, glancing down at the floor. She tapped her foot on the marble floor, and brought her head back up. With a grimace, she pinched her ear with two fingers and groaned when she felt no earring there. It must have fallen off in the water, she thought, rolling her eyes. She had wondered why that ear had felt so bare.

Aubrey's brow furrowed. "What happened to your earring?" he asked.

Claire looked at him. "I'm not sure," she mumbled. "There is no need to attract attention," she said with a forced smile. "It's just an earring," she dropped her hand to her side, her gaze following.

Aubrey lifted her head by placing his hand on Claire's chin and drawing it upwards. At first Claire's eyes widened in surprise, then her insides squirmed, and she felt her cheeks go red. She couldn't help but shift her gaze to meet his. She drew them away as quickly as their eyes met.

Aubrey drew back his hand, feeling a little surprised himself. Clearing his throat and taking a step backward and then forward again, he said, "Claire, you look frightened. You've made excuses as to say to me that you wetted your hair because of its appearance, and now you notice that an earring is missing. Perhaps it is none of my business at all," he sighed. "But is there something wrong- something strange going on?"

"It is none of your business," Claire scoffed, her words trembling. "And how dare you call me a liar! I am a lady, Monsieur, not a poison-tongued snake. I assure you that what has happened tonight has nothing to do with strange occurrences, and that if there was something askew, it would be my business and my business alone."

Aubrey swallowed. "I meant not to offend you…" he said, sheepishly.

Claire lowered her eyes. "Oh, don't fret Aubrey," she said slowly. "I know you meant no harm by it," she sighed. "Here," she glided her hand outward, glancing around the room at all the smiling faces and ignorant peoples who were enjoying the night's peaceful splendor. "It is a night to be celebrated," she began. "Let us not weigh down our minds to such…such personal talk," she said, for lack of a better word.

She probably could have thought of something better if offered more time, but Claire had no time to think. She just wanted to change the topic as quickly as possible, no matter to what or why. Claire felt that her cheeks were still hot; hot with anger and coyness.

She blinked, trying to keep her mind from wandering. She couldn't help but wonder about the man who'd just saved her life. So many questioned formed in her mind, but she doubted they would be easily answered. Madame Giry hadn't wanted to speak much of it, and one question was why? And it seemed extremely odd that Mme. Giry just so happened to follow Claire and was there to aid in her rescue. And why did the Phantom mention they were friends? Claire shook the thoughts from her head, closing her eyes.

Aubrey watched her in silence. What was she thinking of? He had some questions of his very own.

Sorry, that's all the Erik for now…he gets tired after an appearance and needs his 'rest'…He'll be back in the morning. (Smiles) Please review and he'll come back sooner, and be extra grateful!