IX. To guard you and to guide you
Stretched out on his back, the Phantom gazed up at the dark ceiling. He felt how his mind's defences were slowly building up again, and it was a painful process, especially since he now sensed that there was… something… left behind. There was something in his head, something strange, something that did not belong there. But he felt too weak still to purge his mind of it.
Snuggled against him warmly, Meg was fast asleep, her head bedded on his shoulder, one hand on the pillow beside and partially below it; the other hand rested on his chest. Her calm, regular breath tickled the side of his neck.
What made her trust him like this, he asked himself. Why would she seek his proximity? Because he was the only one in the house apart from Christine and Raoul, probably, and those two – he gritted his teeth – were busy with each other. So he was the only one left.
But all the same, nothing forced her to be that close to him. And if he was just a last resort, why had she then kissed him earlier on? It seemed that the girl truly liked him.
Funny, that. Why should she like him? Because she hardly knew him, probably, and because she found his wearing a black, sweeping cloak and a mask and living in the vaults of the Opera House romantic. Silly girl. She would surely turn away from him as soon as she got to know him any better. Just like Christine.
But still, he could not deny that he was fond of her. She was Claire Giry's daughter, after all, and she reminded him so much of her mother. And she trusted him, at least at the moment, and sought his protection.
Covering her hand resting on his chest with his own, he marvelled at how small and slender her fingers were, how slim her wrist. His own hands were crude paws, compared to hers.
He had felt the same way about Christine, he remembered; she had seemed just as fragile to him, maybe even more so. So very much calling for protection, so irresistibly making him want to keep an eye on them always, or better yet, to keep his arms around them. Especially around Christine, of course.
But if he could not have her here with him, Meg was pleasant enough company, especially when lying partly over him, so that he could feel a rather interesting part of her anatomy against his body. And she was quite gifted in that area; he had noticed it before, of course. After all, his gaze had a tendency to wander down to a pretty girl's cleavage sooner or later – rather sooner than later, to be honest.
Despite his aching mind, he grinned up into the darkness above him. All the times he had spent ogling the pretty girls on stage greedily, having nothing better to do… Sometimes he seriously regretted that the old washrooms weren't regularly used anymore. There was a new one now, one he had often enough tried to gain access to in some way, but until now, he had not managed to, which annoyed him to no end. Not that it only was about getting a look at the girls; everything somehow managing to be an obstacle to him in his own Opera House was a point of annoyance to him. And he would yet gain access to that accursed new washroom, he would! No wall in the Opera Populaire had a right to bar him out. Besides, he thought as his grin broadened, he was missing the experience.
It was nothing compared to getting a look into Christine's changing rooms, though. Or to the real thing, of course. Getting Christine out of her corset had absolutely been the experience of his entire lifetime, at least as far as his love life was concerned. And seeing her in only her thin shift afterwards, innocently sprawled on his bed, with her lovely dark locks spread out around her… It had taken all the self-control he possessed not to just climb in beside her and rip the thin fabric off her.
Hell, how he wanted her! He pulled Meg as close to him as he could get her, and she unconsciously arched her back in her sleep and pressed herself against him, which he noted with a cultivated little smirk, but she was just no true substitute for Christine, even if she happened to possess more generous curves than her friend. But generous curves just was not everything. Of course, they were always pleasant to look at, but if the rest of the girl was ugly, or if she was stupid as an empty shell, of what use was an ample bosom to him, then? It might still serve as a pillow, but the whole rest of the girl being useless would spoil it a bit.
And a too ample bosom was no good, either. He wondered why women would not understand this. They always thought more was better, and he had often enough realized that some chorus girl or ballerina had just stuffed handkerchiefs or stockings down the bodice of her dress, thereby spoiling her appearance. Hell, some of them thought getting stuffed until they looked as if they were about to keel forward and fall flat on their faces from the weight was attractive! They had no idea, no damn idea.
There was still the question of the nice legs, and of the delightful bottom. Again he grinned. Meg had a backside truly made for pinching it, though pinching was far below his level.
To Hell with it, perceiving all those marvellous little details around him while not being able to fully indulge in them was enough to drive a man insane!
Of course, if he would pinch at all, he would prefer to pinch Christine's lovely hindquarters. He pictured himself with her, one arm wrapped around her slender waist, holding her close, while a curious hand wandered down to her well-rounded backside to apply a naughty little pinch. Would she squeak, and snuggle against him closer to escape his wicked hand? Or would she rather slap it away, like Claire had usually done when he had playfully teased her with something like that? Or simply giggle and pinch him right back?
The mere idea of a woman pinching him was outrageous, of course, yet he was sure he would suffer Christine to do so. Just as he would gladly allow her to smack his bottom, as Claire had done a few times when they were playfully wrestling, many years ago. She would not dare to do it now, of course.
Which was a pity somehow, he thought with a soft chuckle to himself; their games had been quite funny.
But no, he could not have anyone smack him. It would get into serious conflict with his dignity, and he could not afford that.
Oh well… He would be quite ready to allow Christine to interfere with his dignity as much as she wished, as long as they were alone when she did so. Actually, he would enjoy her messing up his hair, tickling and pinching him, climbing and bouncing around on top of him, feeding him sweets, hitting him over the head with a pillow or throwing it at him – as long as this was done in bed or not far from it, anyway – or whatever else might come to her sweet little mind.
Or splashing through the water after each other, laughing and shouting and trying to empty a bucket over each other's head. He had played that game with Claire, a long time ago, but it had been an innocent game, then. With Christine, it would be immensely erotic… especially if she would not be wearing much.
The mere thought of Christine getting out of her clothes… His hand clenched around Meg's before he caught himself, but luckily the girl only gave a sigh and slept on peacefully. He would very much enjoy helping her out of her things, just as he had enjoyed undoing her corset. Only that she would be awake, then, and positively purr with pleasure while he hungrily ravished her…
His trousers began to feel quite confining suddenly.
There came a soft, almost timid knock at the door, and he muttered a curse. This was not Christine; he would have felt it if she were there. Which left only one person.
Slowly, very slowly, the door opened a fraction, and Raoul poked his head in, blinking into the darkness, scanning the room. What was the idiot doing here? "Get lost", the Phantom growled, though without much enthusiasm. Why did that moron have to disturb him while he was peacefully contemplating women's anatomy?
"Could I have a word, perhaps?" Raoul whispered, though raising his eyebrows at seeing the Phantom in the same bed as Meg.
That annoying little snotrag! But he might as well go and find out what he wanted – or else that slimy monkey would go and complain about him to Christine. "Wait outside", he muttered. Now this had better be important, or else the fop was going to suffer for the interruption!
Raoul eyed him doubtfully, but then nodded, retreated and closed the door behind him softly once more. At least he understood what he was told. Scowling, the Phantom now set himself to the task of entangling his limbs from Meg's without waking her up. It was not easy, especially since he was reluctant to use any mind-tricks on her as yet. He just felt too filthy from Créon and Niobe's attentions to touch anyone mentally. Well, maybe Raoul could be used to find some way to wipe his mind clean… but no, the boy would only make it worse with his sliminess.
Climbing over Meg's sleeping form, the Phantom was careful not to touch her. Still the girl was breathing evenly, and a little smile lingered on her lips as she rolled over and hugged the pillow. For a moment he remained standing beside the bed, watching her, but he could be sure she was asleep. So he tugged the blanket over her, and then, with a last glance at the girl, made his way to the door.
Raoul was expecting him outside in the corridor, leaning against the wall and trying to appear at his ease. His sandy-coloured hair was tousled, and he was wearing a loose white shirt and matching trousers, probably his usual attire for bed. And his neck looked just as inviting for a rope as always. "There you are at last", he stated.
"Well spotted", the Phantom sneered.
The silly boy glared at him. "What are you doing in Meg's room?"
"None of your business", the Phantom replied coldly. Impertinent little slug, that young vicomte. "And what is Christine doing in yours?"
"She is my fiancée", Raoul answered defiantly. "And you stay away from her! She has every right to sleep in my bed. And I can do with her whatever I want. Feel free to guess."
What an utterly foul thing to imagine! "Oh, she was probably explaining to you about the bees and the birds, eh?" Using an axe on the idiot's head would be so perfectly marvellous! "But it was hopeless, because your belief in the stork won't be shattered too soon."
"You watch your tongue with me in my house!" Raoul hissed.
"Make me", the Phantom answered calmly. Seeing the boy in a helpless fury was at least a slight comfort. "What have you come for?"
"To ask you something."
"Really? Like what you do with a girl once you have her in your bed? Come back when you're older, kid."
"You – watch – your – filthy – tongue!" Raoul snarled, clenching his fists.
"We already discussed that, thank you", the Phantom replied coolly. "Can we get to business?"
"Bloody jerk", Raoul muttered angrily, and the Phantom smirked at that. The boy would have to work on his insults, too. And he would have to learn how to keep his face straight when somebody was smirking at him.
"Well?" the Phantom asked lazily. "Is this all you wanted me to hear? I will go back to bed, then, if you'll excuse me."
"Wait", Raoul said immediately. So the fop did want something, after all. "I wanted to have a word with you, about the girls."
The Phantom chose just to raise his eyebrows at him, in a way of which he knew for certain that Claire found it irritating.
"It's…" Raoul hesitated and frowned; so the eyebrow-raising seemed to work on him just as well – if the boy was able to see clearly enough in the darkness, that was. "I want you to promise me something: Whatever happens, the girls won't be involved."
"And what, precisely, do you mean by this, if I may ask?" the Phantom inquired. Some childish foolishness certainly, what else?
"This whole business with those Lost Ones, or whatever you call them. I don't want the girls to have anything to do with all that." There was a note of urgency in Raoul's voice; the boy was clearly worried.
"I don't want them to come to any harm, either." Really, what was the young fool thinking? That he would sacrifice Christine to them? It was such a pity that people could not be flogged publicly for pure stupidity.
"Good." The silly boy actually smiled. "It seems we can reach some kind of agreement, then."
I'd hate to, the Phantom thought, yet aloud he said, "Very well. On which terms?"
"That we'll keep them out of this whole Créon business", Raoul replied promptly. "We'll make sure they won't even have the chance to get involved. This is men's business."
"Precisely the reason why I mean to deal with Créon alone", the Phantom remarked scathingly. That insolent little vicomte poking his nose into his business was the very last thing he needed!
"I'm there to help", Raoul said, and only the angry little twitch of his lips showed that he had recognized the Phantom's insult as one. "Whatever troubles Christine troubles me. Her problems are my problems. I'll do what I can, even if I don't know anything about all that mind-reading magic and stuff."
"No magic, kid", the Phantom said wearily. That boy would expect him to wear a pointy hat next, like the wizards in fairy tales and legends!
"Whatever", Raoul insisted. "Anyhow, I don't think it's quite natural. I don't think it should be allowed. And that Créon certainly shouldn't be allowed. Trust me, I want him gone just as much as you do."
And how exactly did the boy want to know how much the Phantom wanted Créon gone? But the Phantom did not comment on it. There was something else which had caught his full attention. "You think it shouldn't be allowed?" he repeated. "This includes me, I presume?"
"Yes", Raoul replied simply.
Not unexpected, of course. "And what are you going to do about me?"
Raoul answered his gaze without blinking. "I want you handed over to the police, to make you answer for your crimes."
"Keep on dreaming, kid."
"You will yet face your judge", Raoul said quietly.
"We shall see", the Phantom answered calmly.
The boy inhaled deeply. "But until then, I suggest a truce."
"A truce?" Again the Phantom raised his eyebrows at him. Was the fool trying to play at soldiers now? Or what else was he up to?
"Like we're allies", Raoul explained, "until we've managed to get rid of Créon and Adhemar and Niobe and all the others." There was a very slight note of reluctance in his voice towards the end; clearly he did not like the idea of fighting a woman. "Until now, we have the same cause to strive for."
How nicely put. "Very well", the Phantom said. He would have preferred to decline and laugh at the foolish boy, but this was exactly what Christine wanted, wasn't it? And besides, he really did not want to endanger either Christine or Meg. "It will be a truce, then."
"Right." Raoul held out a hand, and he took it, though wishing to at least twist the idiot's fingers off. The boy's handshake was surprisingly firm. "Until Créon gets what he deserves. But after that… you had better be careful."
The Phantom nodded grimly. "And you."
Raoul gave him a little smile, almost indiscernible in the darkness of the corridor. "I'll remember to keep my hand at the level of my eyes."
"For your own sake, I hope you will."
Raoul gave him a mock little salute. "I'll see you in the morning, then. Good night."
The Phantom watched his retreating back grimly as he walked down the corridor, imagining to rip his head off and kick it down the stairs.
Just before he reached the landing, Raoul turned around again. "One more thing, mate", he called back to the Phantom softly. "I hear any complaints from Meg, and you're in trouble."
"There will be none", the Phantom replied icily. "Good night to you, kid."
Shrugging, Raoul disappeared up the stairs to his own bedroom. Even after he had gone, the Phantom still glared into the darkness.
Finally he turned and slipped back into the guest bedroom where Meg slept. It would make a better impression if he stayed up all night, fully alert, yet Raoul had already seen him in the same bed as Meg, so he might as well return there. He might as well get some rest; a few hours of sleep would do him some good. And maybe he would feel better when he woke again; maybe the pain in his mind would be gone. Massaging his temples fruitlessly, he hoped it would.
Climbing over Meg carefully, he tried not to wake her as he crawled under the blanket beside her. Using a mental embrace to calm her down while he was comfortably settling into the bed would surely have worked, yet because of his reluctance to touch her with his soiled-feeling mind, he did no such thing. Instead, he tried singing to her softly.
"Mit Gewitter und Sturm, aus
fernem Meer –
Mein Mädel, bin dir nah!
Über turmhohe Flut, von Süden her –
Mein Mädel, ich bin da!
Mein Mädel, wenn nicht Südwind wär',
Ich nimmer wohl käm' zu dir:
Ach, lieber Südwind, blas noch mehr!
Mein Mädel
verlangt nach mir..."
But despite his efforts, Meg woke when he lay down beside her, yawned and tried to sit up.
Placing a hand on her shoulder, he used gentle pressure to keep her down. "Sleep, little one", he muttered to her as he stretched out on his back once more. He was crumpling his shirt, it occurred to him, yet he was reluctant to take it off with Meg sleeping beside him. He did not know her that well, after all, and she would probably be more comfortable with him if he was fully dressed.
Meg settled down with her head on his shoulder, one of her arms snaking around his waist. "Where have you been?" she whispered to him.
"Never mind", he murmured, stroking her hair. "I'm back now." She did not possess Christine's admirable curls, yet at least her hair felt silky to the touch, and it was pleasant to thread his fingers through it.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
"Fine." There was no need for her to know about what he still felt. Besides, being close to her and covered by a warm blanket eased the remaining pain considerably. He would just fall asleep now, and when he woke again a few hours later, he would feel truly well once more.
Meg snuggled against him closely as she had done before, so he could again feel her breasts against his ribs. Hell, how he liked that! Wrapping both arms around her slender form, he held her close, so she would not shift her position too soon. She would surely feel safe with him now.
"Can I ask you something?" Meg whispered, and he felt her breath against the side of his neck. "Why did both Créon and my mother call you Erik?"
He tried to stifle a yawn, yet without much success. When he could speak again, he replied, "It was my name once, but this was a long time ago."
She seemed to be content with that, for she did not press the matter any further. For some time she was silent, then she whispered, "Will you sing to me again?"
"If you want me to." He considered it for a moment, sought for anything suitable, but her mentioning this old name had planted something in his mind, something that, when he thought about it, and about Christine, broke his heart anew.
"Willst jenes Tags du nicht
mehr dich entsinnen,
Als du zu dir mich riefest in das Tal?
Als, dir des Hochlands Blume zu gewinnen,
Mutvoll ich trug Beschwerden ohne Zahl?
Gedenkst du, wie auf steilem Felsenriffe
Vom Ufer wir den Vater scheiden sah'n?
Er zog dahin auf weiß beschwingtem Schiffe
Und meinem Schutz vertraute er dich an.
Als sich dein Arm um meinen Nacken schlang,
Gestandest du mir Liebe nicht aufs Neu'?
Was bei der Hände Druck mich hehr durchdrang,
Sag, war's nicht die Versich'rung deiner Treu'?"
Her breathing grew deeper and steadier, and after some time he was sure that she was asleep now. She had not noticed that there were tears rolling down his cheeks.
Christine, Christine, why did you have to do this to me?
But no, he would not think of it anymore. Not tonight. He would enjoy what he had for now, and he would not think of anything else. Gently stroking Meg's hair, he felt how his tears slowly subsided. He did not have the woman he loved, but there was someone else who cared about him. A friend. He was not alone.
That anyone would fall asleep snuggled against him still came close to a miracle, in his opinion, but he would not ponder Meg's obscure reasons to trust him any longer now. He had no intention of betraying her trust as yet. Maybe he would fully seduce her another time. But now he was just too tired for it.
But whatever he was going to do with her later on, whether he made her his or not, she could be certain to have his protection. Not in the way Christine had it, of course, but still, he would be there for her, just like for her mother. He would watch over his little one and make sure she was well.
Resting his unmasked cheek against the top of her head, he, too, finally closed his eyes.
