A/N: Hey guys! I brought you more Erik and Claire coolness…I hope you enjoy. I'm gonna be really busy the next few weeks, but hopefully I'll update sooner than later. Really do hate keeping you waiting. Thanks for al the reviews!

Emily Singing Reflection: You know, I never thought of that, but I guess he could have it. Good thinking. I won't say when/if Claire's father bites it, but I will say that Aubrey thinks he loves her. Maybe he does? Who knows…but he seems to think so. What do you think? Thanks for the reviews.

GerrysISUChick04: I don't blame myself for liking him either! Lol. Careful with that boyfriend thing- he might get jealous. Lol. Yeah, Gerry is really talented. I hate it when ppl tell me Raoul is better and that the actor should have been the Phantom, but Erik's voice is supposed to be dark and mysterious, and Gerry does that well, while Raoul is supposed to be more 'princely' and charming. Thanks for the review!

Camlann: You may like Aubrey now…but wait until later on…lol. I guess he's sort a likeable character…he isn't like, EVIL or anything. Hmmm…it's interesting that you ask about him turning to one of Claire's friends…very interesting…I guess you'll have to see what I have planned. Thanks for reviewing!

Mrs. Opera Ghost: Ummm, no, the Christine thing never happened. Lol, I don't know French, so I have no idea. I was randomly looking at French expressions online and saw this one and read the definition. It reminded me of Erik, so I decided to use it. Lol.

Marianne Brandon: Yeah, I have a lot of respect for Patrick even though I despise Raoul. He's a great actor and talented singer. Except 'The Alamo' was a horrible movie. Lol.

Chapter Twelve: A Strange Encounter

"I am sorry you feel that way, Monsieur," Claire said, smoothly. "And I am sorry for whatever happened to you that would make you so spiteful."

Anger bubbled and brewed in Erik's heart with every word she thrust at him. He clenched his fists and his nails dug deep into his gloved palms. He could feel the tight soft flesh of the gloves on his fingertips and released, dropping his hands to his sides.

"You have no idea," he breathed, maliciously.

"Give me one, Monsieur," Claire offered, her voice sweet and kind. Erik couldn't tell if she wanted to help him, or jest at him.

Claire was not one for jests- she was serious. "Why do you lurk in the dark corners of this world?" she asked, remembering all she knew about him. She didn't know much, but she could tell that he was a bitter creature, and she wanted to find out why.

"That is business that solely concerns me," Erik snapped.

"And Madame Giry," Claire retorted. "She is a friend of yours…I know."

"What a bright young child," Erik said in a mocking tone. "Would you like a prize, little inspector?"

"Monsieur," Claire began, quietly. "I-I never appropriately thanked you…for- for rescuing me. Remember Monsieur? It was me…whom you rescued, from drowning…in the trap…that pit thing…filled with water…" Claire wasn't exactly sure what to call it. She had never seen anything like the trap, or pit, or whatever it was that she had fallen into.

"Monsieur do not think I've forgotten,

The man who'd replenished my soul

I know it was you who did save me

From an end so cold."

"Child it was I who saved you,

What choice would have rested on me

If I had left you to die there

Murderer I'd be."

"Are you an Angel from Heaven?

You've given me more than my soul

Angel, you've given my voice back

How do I pay this toll?"

Claire stopped suddenly. What was she doing? She was singing with him…again. It was an amazing feeling, she could not deny- the freedom she felt when harmonizing with this strange phantom. "Thank you," she whispered.

Her voice was beautiful, Erik thought. But it was tender, raw, unperfected. It could be more, he knew. "I hope I have not been cruel," his tone completely changed. No longer did this voice from the darkness seem to jest and be cruel, it sounded kind, and pitiful.

"I- I should not sing," Claire said, lowering her eyes.

"Why not?" Erik asked, unable to stop himself. "You've a beautiful voice."

Claire blushed. "I require training, I know…but my father forbids it. I have tried to stop, but I cannot, Monsieur…I've tried…" she felt her eyes growing moist with warm tears. Every time she sang, she remembered that she was not a singer, and that hurt her badly, so she had been trying to stop altogether; trying to forget her dream.

"You could be trained," Erik offered.

"How?" Claire wondered. "When my father forbids it?"

"Why would he do such a thing?"

"Because, Monsieur…it hurts him…ever since my mother died…"

"And does his pain and grief inflict upon you?" Erik asked.

Claire found it a rather personal question, but she answered anyway. "No. But I only wish to please him. I do wish I could sing though."

"Perhaps you should think more of your own desires."

"And what do you propose I do?" Claire retorted, rather annoyed. Who was this person who showed up out of nowhere and now was telling her what to do? "And why- why should I listen to anything you have to say? I haven't even seen your face, and yet I'm confiding in you!"

"Close your eyes," Erik replied simply.

Claire glanced around the room, seeing no one. She sat on the stone floor in silence, her heart beating. She closed her eyes. "Now sing."

"I cannot, Monsieur," said Claire, picking up the bottom of her gown and standing. "And I cannot stay here. The hour grows late." She made for the door. Turning back, she said, "goodnight, Monsieur Phantom. You will see me in the morning…I am sure."

Erik's lips did not move, and he listened intently as the door to the chapel opened and closed behind the girl. She is lost, he thought, like me. It was a peculiar feeling that he felt at that moment, but for some odd reason that he could not explain, he suddenly felt an awkward connection to this little spy. He was as much intrigued with her now, as she was of him, but he wasn't about to admit that, not even to himself.

When he finally reached the little island that he called home, at the end of the black river below the Opera Populaire, he sighed deeply, his mind filling with thoughts. I could teach her, he thought. To sing…she can be my voice…my face. He wondered…He could, couldn't he? With a simple threat, he could force her father to let Claire sing, and then he could train her. But why? Why did he want to be part of this? He never wanted to be part of anything- not for many years, at least. Why would he want to help this young woman now?

That night Erik found not answers, but in his dreams, he found her. She was singing. Singing to him…as if anyone would ever do that. But her songs calmed him, and frightened him all the same. He didn't even know this girl. It didn't matter though, he thought. She's not afraid of me- she never was. I can make her, Erik told himself in his deep slumber. I can make her sing, and then she will sing for me…the little spy.

The lights in her home were dimmed as Claire dropped from the carriage door to the gravel road in front of her house. "Thank you," she said, offering some coins to the driver who took them and urged his black horse forward. Claire could hear the horse's heavy hooves drop to the ground with every step he took.

She glided to her front porch and opened the door. Feeling immensely tired, she glanced upwards at the moon. It was beaming down at her. She smiled back and walked inside, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Her father was asleep, and Margaret was asleep on the couch. She had been waiting for Claire's return. She awoke suddenly when Claire walked passed. "Claire?"

She startled Claire as she got up. "Margaret," Claire sighed. "I thought you were asleep."

"I was," said the maid. "And I've been waiting for you. Your father and I were getting very concerned, Mademoiselle," she admonished. "But Monsieur Andre assured me you would be home in time."

"Margaret," Claire began. "I know my father and he knows me. Neither of you should worry if I am to go out. I will always return. I promise you that."

"It is unnatural," the maid complained. "You are a woman, and a young one. You shouldn't be out unaccompanied. It is not right."

"I am fine," Claire assured her. "I'm sorry if I worried you." And with that, she headed up the stairway to her room.

"Do you need help undressing?" Margaret called after her.

"No thank you, Margaret," Claire assured her, walking into her room and closing the door behind her.

Margaret sighed. Never before had she tended to such a queer family. Claire worried her sometimes, as did Andre, but she remembered they were from England. Perhaps things are different in England, she told herself.

Claire's eyes closed the moment her head hit the soft pillow on her bed, but she found little sleep that night. She could not forget what had just happened to her. She had spoken, sung to the Phantom of the Opera, and he had sung back. It was strange, she thought, that his tone had changed so much from once being cruel and almost frightening, to gentle and pitiful. At that moment, Claire could not comprehend what was to come next for her and the Opera Ghost.

A/N: Please review! Thanks.