Darkness ruled. Boston blinked, but could hardly tell when her eyes were opened or closed. Strangely, 'Music of the Night' was playing on a loop in her head.
She clung to Percy, who was breathing a little deeper and faster than normal.
Rio's voice broke the dead silence in the elaborate, rich-people-filled hall.
"I see dead people." She whispered her voice in the general vicinity of Boston's right.
This caused bits of nervous laughter, breaking the dark apprehension. Boston felt a hand on her arm. She jumped, and then assumed it was Dori or Jess or Rio. It tightened on her forearm, holding it for several seconds, then let go.
The lights flickered on, like some horror film created on a budget of $2, resulting in cries of relief, surprise, and some of terror.
Boston looked around for the owner of the hand, but saw none of three suspects near her. Then, she realized the hand had been much bigger than any of her friends', even Jess'. For a moment she thought it must have been Percy, then remembered that at the time his hands had both been accounted for: one on her other arm and the other holding her other hand.
For one thing, she thought, his hands aren't gloved. This hand was. And, even under the glove, she could feel how incredibly cold it had been.
Putting it off to the decision that she was crazy, though unable to really push it away, she looked for her friends to make sure they hadn't hurt themselves in the dark.
Dori was standing, her mouth wide open, with her boyfriend on the other side of the room from Boston, Rio was whirling around frantically, still on Bryant's arm, and Jess stood, blinking, next to Gustav.
It was Mercedes who stopped the buzz of conversation in the room. Boston turned and watched her, still thoroughly chilled to the bone.
"Hey! Hey, everyone! Attention! Up here!" She called, waving her arms in a very un-Mercedes-like fashion. The crowd, one by one, looked up at her in the balcony. "I don't know what happened, but I'm sure we'll find out soon. More than likely it was just a quick power failure, or an accident."
"Or maybe it wasn't." Percy muttered darkly, looking around a bit comically at the darker. Boston slapped him lightly in the stomach, mostly to calm her own nerves.
"I can understand," the owner continued, "if all of you want to go home now, because that was a bit of a scare. But I'd like to ask all of you to stay, as the night only just began."
Rio came up to Boston, looking disheveled but nonetheless happy enough. "Stay with me? I don't want to leave: I figure a blackout isn't going to ruin my night."
The brunette shrugged. "Yeah, well, it already ruined mine as much as it could, so, what the heck?"
So Boston stayed the night, and nothing else happened to trespass upon the rich and artistic of the Opera Populaire. (Excluding one sprained ankle, two drunken lords, and a doozy of a first step.)
The next morning, however, heralded more disturbing events.
About an hour after rehearsal began Angie, the 'costume mistress', came running on stage, panting. "Madame! Madame!"
Brianne looked up from her score. "Angie." She sighed, more than a little used to the girl's paranoid ways.
"Come and see." She leaned over, hands on her knees, wheezing. On closer examination, Boston noted that her eyes were not wide with exhaustion, but with fear. "It's in… backstage…"
"That made no grammatical sense whatsoever." Rio commented idly from her vantage point on the stage.
Angie, now Rio's sworn rival, gave her a wild glare. "It was you, wasn't it? You just did it to scare us."
Rio looked genuinely confused. Boston knew 'genuinely confused' when she saw it on Rio: it was not uncommon on her face.
"Excuse me?" She gave a world-weary sigh. "Angie, dear, I don't prank to frighten. I prank to amuse."
Angie laughed a slightly hysterical laugh, but could find nothing to say.
Brianne, as usual, calmly took the girl's arm and led her to where she'd come from. "I'm sure it's just your imagination, whatever it is."
The costume maker would have burst into fierce denial, but still too shell-shocked by the something to speak.
Once they and a small band of nosy cast and/or crew members left Rio sat down with a grunt. "This thing'll never get on stage if this place doesn't stop being so damned haunted."
"Tsk, tsk." Jess shook her head from her position in the audience. "Such language, young Prima Donna."
"Oh, I don't need preaching from a hypocrite." She gave a long-suffering groan, putting a hand to her forehead.
Boston snorted, and then launched into song. "Where in the world have you been hiding? Really, you were perfect! I only wish I knew your secret! Who is this new tutor?"
"I wish I had a real tutor." Her companion said dreamily.
"Shut up and sing." Boston snapped. They had nothing else to do: Brianne had asked for them, Eric, and Aaron to be the only ones to come today. She planned on rehearsing the dressing room scenes alone with 'Angel of Music". Jess was just there for kicks.
Grudgingly, Rio obeyed. "Father once spoke of an angel… I used to dream he'd appear… Now as I sing I can sense him, and I know he's here..."
Boston found herself dwelling on the actual identity of the Angel of Music as her friend sang. I've never had an Angel of Music. Just a phantom.
"Here in this room he calls me softly, somewhere inside, hiding… Somehow I know he's always with me, he – the unseen genius." She continued, a slightly vapid if absorbed expression on her face.
"I watched your face from the shadows: distant through all the applause…"Boston took a deep breath in the silence of the room, "I hear your voice in the darkness, but the words aren't yours…"
"Angel of music! Guide and guardian, grant me to your glory!" Rio belted out the soprano notes with uncanny ease.
"Who is this angel? This…" Who is this 'angel'? Boston's thoughts echoed the song, though, subconsciously, she heard 'phantom' in the place of 'angel'.
"Angel of music! Hide no longer! Secret and strange angel…"
Rio's voice drifted off at the sight of Brianne returning, "He's with me even now…"
Boston, not seeing, continued. "Your hands are cold…"
Brianne, still beyond Boston's sight, gestured for the two to continue. She was pasty white and trembling.
After a look of concern, the director's pet took a breath, "All around me…"
Her costar turned to her, oblivious. "Your face, Christine, it's white…"
"It frightens me…"
Boston frowned. Rio's acting was even more convincing than she was used to. "Don't be frightened." She sang, sincerely, while wishing she had someone to say that to her, especially after the cold death's hand she'd felt.
Brianne stepped forward with a sigh. "Meg Giry. Are you a dancer? Then come and practice. My dear, I was asked to give you this…" Instead of handing Rio a red scarf, she held in her hand a red rose, with a black ribbon tied around its stem.
Rio's hand flew to her mouth. Boston closed her eyes, having the sudden urge to burst into tears.
"Sing." Brianne hissed. "This is a practice."
The play would always be the woman's priority, strange goings-on or not.
"A red rose…" The girl sang defiantly. "The attic… Little Lotte…"
"It's not for her." Angie said suddenly.
All present turned to look at her. She was shaking, violently, and she held a note in her hand. Brianne took it from her, with little sympathy in her eyes for the girl's plight.
If possible, the woman turned even whiter, then gave the note to Rio. Wordlessly, Rio handed it on to Boston.
Boston grabbed her friend, feeling distinctly faint. Written on the paper were two words in a flowing if slightly childish-looking hand was: Mademoiselle Boston.