V. Angel in Hell

Side by side with Xavier, Meg arrived at the entrance to the place the Phantom called his home. Depositing her flickering torch in an iron halter on the wall obviously meant for that purpose, she watched as the portcullis barring their way slowly, majestically rose out of the knee-deep water. Surely the Phantom had just activated it, but how? She had completely missed that, and it annoyed her that she had; she would have liked to know how to raise it.

"Amazing," Marie murmured at Xavier's other side, clearly awestruck. "Did he construct that himself?"

Xavier shrugged. "I guess so," Meg replied in his place.

Was this really going to be the final confrontation? Meg hoped so, and that it would be over quickly. And that they would win, of course.

The Phantom's hand brushed against her cheek briefly. "Excited, piglet?" he asked her softly, smiling beneath his black mask.

"Piglet?" Meg repeated, indignant. "Why do you call me a piglet?"

His smile turned into one of his little smirks she knew so well. "That's what I called you when you were small, because you were all nice and rosy." His grin broadened for a moment. "And because you spread gooey stuff over my clothes whenever I tried to feed you, to be exact."

"All your own fault," Meg retorted. "Why did you try to feed me gooey stuff in the first place?" And her mother had never told her that he seemed to have occasionally shown interest in her when she had still been a baby.

Marie giggled cheerfully, joined by Xavier. "Piglet?"

"Yes," Meg sighed, rolling her eyes, "he's being such a charmer again." Hopefully she would not remain stuck with that silly nickname now!

"He actually fed you?" Marie asked.

Meg shrugged. How should she know, for Heaven's sake? "Ask him, not me," she replied, and because it came out in an overly grumbling tone, she added, "I'd have liked to watch him feed me, though."

But the Phantom had already turned to Gaston and Serge, seemingly dissuading Gaston from charging straight down into their enemies' encampment, by the sound of it. By now, he probably regretted having ever mentioned feeding Meg as a baby. It just did not fit with his dignity as the Opera Ghost.

Strange that she should kiss the man who had looked after her when she was an infant! Any other man would be too old for her by far now, she guessed, yet it was different with him. He did not seem so much older.

As if Xavier had heard her thoughts, he asked in a whisper, leaning towards her, "Do you have any idea how old he is?"

"Not exactly," Meg answered truthfully, yet left out that the Phantom did not know it himself. "But he's quite a bit older than he looks."

After a glance over her shoulder to see if the Phantom was still busy with the two stagehands, Marie confided, winking at her, "He's rather sweet, don't you think?"

Xavier cleared his throat audibly, but Marie ignored him.

Meg feared that a traitorous blush crept onto her cheeks as she recalled the past night she had spent snuggling with him. But what he had come for first… "He can be, if he wants to," she said carefully.

"Oh, really?" the Phantom put in lazily over his shoulder before he continued to point out to Gaston why exactly the idea of just walking into the middle of the gypsy bodyguards and starting to slaughter them was a bad idea.

Meg sighed. "And he hears everything, it seems."

By the flickering light of their torches, she could not be sure, but it seemed that it was Marie who was blushing now.

"But can we at least have a battle cry?" Gaston was just asking. "Something rousing, and something to do with you, my Lord."

And immediately an idea popped up in Meg's head, and she could not help but grin broadly. Take that for the piglet! "Give me freedom, or give me broccoli," she suggested innocently.

Gaston frowned at her. "Broccoli?"

"Broccoli?" Leclair repeated, irritated.

Christine started to giggle suddenly.

"Ah, I know," Raoul said, and Meg was glad that the grim expression he was wearing softened a little. "Are you referring to that Carlotta joke from recently? But you haven't explained it yet."

Meg winked at him and poked her tongue out at the Phantom. Piglet, indeed!

"A Carlotta joke?" Xavier asked immediately. "Can I hear it?" He hated Carlotta with passion, Meg knew that, ever since she had called him a stupid little boy once in front of the entire ballet because he had laughed at her acting.

"Why, sure," Meg grinned and wanted to launch into the story immediately.

Yet the Phantom was faster than her. "But not here," he said firmly. "Come on, in you go. All of you."

A little reluctantly, they all moved towards the entrance. Meg left her torch where it was, since the lair was still brightly lit by many candles. Créon was indeed expecting them, it seemed. Meg shuddered slightly at the idea, and there was an unpleasant prickling deep inside her stomach.

Gaston passed beneath the arch very slowly, she saw, and with his head lowered. Only yesterday, Hulot had died here.

And she might die as well. Suddenly an icy hand gripped her insides.

No, she told herself, no, she would not. She was not going to die. The Phantom was here to take care of her. And she had his sabre. Nothing was going to happen to her. Nothing.

Still, it seemed to her that her heartbeat had increased considerably. And there was a prickling feeling in her chest, a knot in her stomach… Yesterday she had felt better, as if nothing could happen to her, but now, knowing that one of them had died…

She kept close to Marie and Xavier; their proximity offered a little comfort. What were they feeling? Were they not afraid? And how did the Phantom feel, she wondered. And what about Raoul? They were so brave, those two, so fearless. Nothing could scare them.

Or why were Raoul's features so gloomy? Was he afraid, too?

It was going to be Créon they would face this time. The Master of the Lost Ones. The most powerful of all.

Wading out of the shallow water and onto the shore, Meg felt utterly miserable. How she wished she could just curl up into a ball and hide in her bed, under her blanket, and with her mother and Christine and the Phantom to comfort her and hold her hands – well, only two of them could hold her hands, so the Phantom could… stroke her hair, yes. This made her smile a little, but still the sickly feeling would not go away.

"And now," the Phantom said, once they all were huddling together between the organ and the stairs up to his bedroom, "there is only one thing to do for you: You wait."

"Wait?" Raoul asked, surprised. "You haven't been changing the plan, have you?"

"Not exactly," was the rather cryptical reply. "I'm abandoning my mind's defences right now. This will call Créon to us. Except – No, never mind." He sat down on the stairs. "Meg, come here."

As she sat down beside him, he immediately wrapped an arm around her shoulders. However he did it, he clearly knew what was wrong. "Don't be afraid, little one," he whispered to her. "Nothing can harm you as long as I'm with you."

Resting her head against his shoulder, Meg felt a little bit better already, and then she felt a strange, comfortable warmth, a warmth she could only feel in her mind, and slowly her fear was forced backwards, out of her consciousness, and all that was left was a slight feeling of unease. If this was what having her mind tampered with felt like, it was immensely enjoyable.

Xavier and Christine came to sit near her, Christine close to the bottom of the stairs and with Raoul standing nearby, with his back to the wall, and after some time, Marie followed, then Leclair. Gaston and Serge remained standing, Gaston with his thumbs hooked into his belt – only to prevent his hands from shaking, Meg suspected. Serge seemed calm, yet she was not sure what he really felt like. His eyes appeared dark in the dim light.

"Very well, let's wait, then," Raoul said, already rummaging in his pocket. "Cigarette, anyone?"

Christine looked up and directed a frown at him. "I thought you didn't smoke," she reminded him.

"Yes, but somebody has to smoke all the cigarettes my father gives me in my stead, you see." Raoul produced a silver cigarette case and scowled at it. "Ghost, buddy, do you smoke, by any chance?"

If the Phantom was surprised by being addressed like that, he did not show it, and neither could Meg see if it annoyed him or not. "No, I don't."

Raoul looked almost crestfallen.

Leclair hesitantly raised a hand. "Monsieur, if you can perhaps miss one –"

"Certainly," Raoul said, handing over the case. "And it's just Raoul to you. Here, I found the matches."

"Thanks. With your permission, my Lord Phantom?"

"Very well. We can make an exception today." The Phantom watched Raoul with some amusement as he offered his cigarettes to Xavier, who declined. "They make you sick, kid, do they?"

"Yes, a little," Raoul admitted. "And I don't like the taste much. But my father is awful in that aspect, he has a cigar after dinner at least every second day. You two, how about you?"

Gaston and Serge accepted and took one each, which Raoul seemed to find delighting. Of course, getting rid of three of those things at once probably was a success for him. Meg had never tried smoking herself, but she did not appreciate the smell of smoke too much, so she had never felt inclined to try.

"Say, can I have one, too?" Marie suddenly asked, and as everybody except the Phantom looked at her in surprise, she said, almost defiantly, "Who says a woman can't smoke?"

"Not me, for that matter," Raoul laughed. Now he was getting rid of his cigarettes, he seemed a little more cheerful than earlier on, when his features had been unusually dark and brooding.

"I never realized you did," said Xavier, sounding slightly irritated.

Marie waved it away. "Rarely, but from time to time I do. And don't go telling me women don't smoke."

Xavier shrugged. "However you like." And he threw Meg one of his usual puzzled looks, which Meg answered with one of her own. Neither had she realized nor expected this. But it was Marie's business, not hers – though her mother might make a snide remark about it if she ever found out.

Sitting with his arms wrapped around his knees, the Phantom looked not much different from the others, actually, Meg thought, apart from his black mask, of course. He was dressed in the same way, too, in simple black trousers and a matching shirt he had tucked into the trousers loosely. Maybe he could be like all of them if he just got used to it? But no, he would not want to try to be like one of them. He probably was too proud.

Oh, he and his silly pride! Yet Meg thought so with fondness; she would not forget that quickly how he had just chased away her fear.

"Now," Raoul spoke up again, pocketing his cigarette case, his brow creased in grim determination, "can we go through the plan once again? We wait here for Créon to show up, and he is bound to since Erik – right, sorry, the Phantom – stopped shielding his head from him, and then…?"

"We kill all the dirty-blooded gypsies he brings," Leclair suggested. There was a sharp edge to his voice now which Meg had not noticed before. And that he would speak of killing so easily… They all had changed, every single one of them. Yesterday's combat had been a baptism of blood for all of them.

Not that she had yet killed anyone herself. She had wounded that one yesterday, yes, but she had not killed him. Raoul had done that, with his face serious like concentrating on his work. Of course, Raoul was a soldier, he was a lieutenant in the navy. But he had never seen action yet, as far as she knew. Still, did killing come easier to him? She could not say.

And Gaston and Serge had killed one gypsy each, Serge with his usual calm expression and wielding his axe as if chopping wood, Gaston with his face contorted into a grimace and with a cry of mad rage, immediately after he had been forced to witness his friend Hulot receiving a mortal wound. What had been going on in their heads while they had done so? What had they felt like? And how did they feel about it now? Did the world look different for them after they had spilled blood, however justified they might have been?

And the Phantom… He felled men as easily and lazily as her mother passed out criticism at rehearsals. It just seemed to come natural to him. And yet Meg knew that he, too, had a heart, that he could be frightened and vulnerable at times… Down here he was cold and hard, but when he was alone with her, he was very gentle and tender. How could a man have two so very different sides?

The same way he had two different faces, probably, it occurred to her suddenly, one handsome, the other covered in scars. Did his face reflect his nature, then?

A fallen angel, and far from Heaven…

This all passed through her head in a few moments, and yet it seemed to her that she had spent at least several minutes thinking about it all. "No," the Phantom said slowly, waking her from her ruminations, "there might be a change of plans."

"A change –" Raoul was clearly startled. "What do you mean? I thought you weren't going to, or at least not exactly."

"That we do not have to do this. That I do not have to risk your lives and use you as baits." As he spoke, the Phantom rose to his feet, and Meg had to keep herself from tugging at his trousers to make him sit back down next to her. "It's not you Créon wants. It's me. He will kill you to hurt me, if he can, but he does not want you. This is not your battle any longer."

"This is my battle as long as it's yours," Raoul retorted hotly, then probably realized what it was he had just said, because his jaw dropped slightly as an expression of confusion passed over his face briefly, to be replaced by determination once more.

"This is not your battle, kid," the Phantom replied quietly, seriously, and his tone seemed almost solemn to Meg. "It's mine alone." He passed his left hand over the dagger he had additionally buckled to his belt, apart from the one he wore there regularly, caressing its serpent-decorated hilt – it was the one he had taken from Adhemar. "It never should have been anything else but mine."

"We couldn't have let you fight alone," Raoul protested.

"But you should have. This way, if not for me, Jean Hulot would still be alive." He pressed his lips together briefly, like in bitterness, then repeated, "You should have."

Raoul drew a deep breath. "Hulot died because he chose to. He made the decision to help you, like we others did, of his own free will. He knew the risk, and he still came. Like all of us."

"Then I should not have let him!" the Phantom practically exclaimed. "I should not have let any of you! I was responsible for that man, and I failed to protect him. It's all my fault!"

"No, it's not. It's the fault of the man who killed him, no one else's."

"Of course it is!" the Phantom snarled, making Gaston recoil slightly as he leapt off the stairs and landed between him and Serge. "I could have killed the man. Damn him for all of eternity, I almost did! But then I went to fight Adhemar, and I let Hulot die."

"No, it's not," Raoul insisted. "And if it were anyone's, it would be mine, because I came to join him and Christine and Gaston as you confronted Adhemar, remember? I did my best, and still I could not prevent it."

"It's really not your fault, Erik," Christine added quietly.

"We don't blame you, my Lord," said Gaston.

"But I do," the Phantom muttered bitterly. "And that's enough for me."

Meg wanted to say something, too, to comfort him in any way, but there was nothing coming to her mind, and she could not just go and hug him tightly with everybody watching. Well, a short time ago she had been kissing him in company, but that had only been Christine and Raoul, then, and they would understand, whereas all the others here… No, she really was not to supposed to snuggle in public. And she could not just tell him that she was proud of him for his noble sentiments, as she felt, because he would probably consider that ridiculous, if not highly annoying.

Luckily Raoul still found something to say. "You should not. This is a death you're really not responsible for." Was there a mild reproach hidden behind this, or was his wording not intentional? Obviously the Phantom wondered about the same, because his frown became a glare. "This has become a war in its own right. And in a war, people die. And nobody can keep them from dying."

"Hulot was no soldier."

"No," Serge said, gently and quietly, "but he decided to make it his own war. As we all did."

"Not even the best officer can prevent his men from dying," Raoul continued. "Even if he takes all precautions possible, some will still fall victim to the enemy. I'm a lieutenant of the navy myself, but there was nothing I could do."

"Lord Raoul is our lieutenant as well," Gaston put in, taking the cigarette from his mouth, but still blowing out thin wisps of smoke as he spoke. Meg watched them as they rose, curling in strange patterns, until they dissolved and faded away into the shadows. "And neither of you two, my Lord Phantom, neither him nor you, our captain, is to blame for my friend's death." His voice trembled as he said it, with the grief so fresh and raw on his mind, but his resolution was firm. "I would never blame either of you."

"I'm no lord, Gaston," Raoul said, smiling, "but you are certainly right about the rest. And if you lose one of the men, you rather blame the lieutenant than the captain, if there is no sergeant who can take the blame."

"Marie can be our sergeant," Xavier said suddenly. "She bosses me around quite enough."

This broke the tension, and everybody laughed, including Marie, glad to have something to laugh about in such a serious situation. Even the Phantom smiled weakly. But soon the shadow returned to his face. "I honour your loyalty, all of you, but I'm unwilling to sacrifice you when there is no need to. You have a life, all of you. Go back to it, and may you continue living it in peace. Whereas I have none, and I have nothing to lose. And it's me Créon wants."

Heavens, did he really have to talk like that? "Of course you have one, silly," Meg cried before she could stop yourself, "if you only realized you had! There are several people around who like you a great deal. Christine likes you enough for Raoul to be jealous, for Heaven's sake! And I like you, too, in case you have not noticed it yet." She was talking nonsense, she realized, and he was not going to be pleased with her. Feeling the blush wandering over her cheeks, she continued, "You can't just send us back to our lives, because you have already become part of them, and I for one don't want you to just walk out of it." No, it was just not convincing enough. What else could she tell him? "I love you like I would love my own brother, Erik," she ploughed on, trying to ignore all the others who were listening. "And if anything were to happen to you, I would miss you so much." Finding nothing more to say, she fell silent, embarrassed at herself, at how she could not hold her tongue. This must have sounded completely idiotic, and certainly he had not liked it at all!

But instead of snarling at her, he smiled. "You're a little darling, piglet," he said, teasingly, yet tenderly.

"And don't call me piglet, you great hairy baboon!" she blurted out, then bit her tongue with annoyance at herself. Could she not even control her temper in this situation? "Sorry," she muttered, ashamed.

He waved it away, his smile broadening. "Nothing to be sorry about. Your temper is just like your mother's, so very amusing." For a moment, Meg thought to catch a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, which, incidentally, seemed to have a greenish sheen in this light. Now did they have it really, or was she just imagining things? God, she did not want to lose him, and if just to find out what colour his eyes really were! "And you have her kind heart as well, to offer love to someone who does not deserve it." Then his face turned serious once more. "But I really ought to be going now. I can feel Créon, and I know he can feel me, too. It can't be long before he sends his henchmen."

"You should not go alone, Erik." This time it was Christine.

"Take me with you," Raoul said.

"If you don't want to take me," Gaston added, nodding towards the young vicomte, "then you should at least take your friend."

The Phantom shook his head, scowling at the word friend. "This last bit of the way I will have to go alone. You have accompanied me so far, but this is the end. You don't have to come anymore."

Raoul sighed audibly and rolled his eyes. "Where do you intend to go, anyway, and why? Will Créon not come here, sooner or later?"

"Maybe, but not that soon. Believe me, he would let us wait for a long time, if he came at all. He wants me to come to him. He believes I will come to him. So I will do this, and then I will find the best opportunity to strike." The Phantom's eyes seemed to shine in the darkness. "If I come to him, Créon is due to believe in his victory, and he is bound to become overconfident. I can make use of that."

Meg saw how Raoul and Christine exchanged a brief glance. "That last one was certainly a proper reason," Raoul commented, "but as far as the rest is concerned, you'll have to do better than this to get rid of me, buddy. I'm going with you whatever you say, except you tie me up and leave me here, and even then I'll find a way to crawl after you."

At first the Phantom's expression remained blank, but then a smile appeared upon his features. "Well spoken, kid. But I need you to take care of Christine in case I don't come back."

"Don't say that," Christine protested, at the same time as Raoul said, "You will come back. And you'll be in for endless trouble if you don't." Suddenly he grinned lopsidedly, nudging the Phantom in the shoulder. "Hey, I'm afraid you'll come back."

And surely enough, the Phantom's usual little smirk twisted his lips, and he nudged Raoul right back. "I will return, and if only to annoy you."

Christine beamed at the pair of them, and Meg also felt the corners of her mouth shift into a smile. So they managed to get along together after all.

"At least allow me to follow and remain in the background," Raoul continued. "I do not like the idea of us splitting up too much, in case those gypsy thugs attack again."

Meg's fingers clenched around the sabre hilt.

For a moment the Phantom considered this, then he nodded. "Very well. But follow with some delay. If you come too early, Créon will send them immediately to deal with you. If not, I might manage to distract him enough to leave that scum where they are, hiding in their maggot-holes." He briefly scanned the small crowd of his followers. "I guess I can leave my lieutenant in charge here?"

There was a general murmur of assent.

"Good. And take good care of them, kid, or you'll hear from me."

Raoul gave him a mock salute. "Of course, my Captain."

The Phantom smirked. "I will get changed for the occasion, then." And he sauntered up the steps into his bedroom.

Meg wondered what he was up to. Getting changed? Surely he was not going to confront Créon in his evening dress? If she turned her head, she might see him, because she sat far enough along the slightly curved stair to see into the room, yet this would not be considered proper behaviour, so she did not do so. Raoul, Gaston and Serge could not see him from where they stood, so they all would be in for a surprise.

God, she only hoped he wasn't going to do anything stupid!

Soon enough – they had not waited in taut silence for long – he reappeared, and Meg was sure her jaw dropped as she saw him sauntering down the steps. He was wearing the Red Death costume in which he had appeared at the masked ball on New Year's Eve, complete with the matching mask.

Gaston and Serge, who had not seen him like this before, just stared, and Raoul raised his eyebrows. "Going to gatecrash another party, are you?"

The Phantom just grinned at this. "I hope Créon's little party will be over when I appear. No, seriously, kid, much depends on the way you do something. So while I go about to finish off Créon, I might at least do it with style."

"You might have told us earlier on," said Leclair, who, like the stagehands, was admiring the costume for the first time. "And we might have put on something matching that."

"Just plain black will do, don't worry. Oh, Meg, for reasons of style I must demand my sabre back. How about Adhemar's dagger in exchange? And the rest of you… you can take the bow from the bedroom if you have any idea how to handle it."

Reluctant to part with the weapon though she was, Meg unfastened the belt and handed it over straight away and without complaining. Of course she felt safer when she had it, but he would need it more than her now. "Can I have yours?" she asked.

"Sure," he said, unbuckling his dagger belt. "Why?"

Meg grinned at him. "For reasons of style?"

He unfastened Adhemar's dagger from where it was currently and hooked it to the sabre belt, then threw her the one with his own dagger. "There you are, then. And hold your chin high while you wear it, mind you."

Meg beamed. "No problem." Now he had freed her of her fear, she almost felt cheerful.

"Have an eye on her, kid."

"I will," Raoul promised. "On all of them."

"Well, woe betide you if not, to quote our favourite ballet instructor." Meg, Christine, Marie and Xavier giggled at that, since they knew this quote only too well, and the Phantom winked at Meg, straightening his belt. "I'm afraid that stupid belt buckle keeps moving around," he confessed.

"Yes," said Raoul, grinning, "it was all lopsided when you came to the masked ball."

"Was it? Damn. Now listen here, kid: Christine will be able to tell you when to follow. Go carefully, and don't draw attention to yourselves. And whatever happens, don't try to interfere. Rather run to save your necks.

"Oh, and Christine…" Still tugging at the sabre belt, he knelt down before her, so he could look her in the eyes. "Listen, in case I don't come back – no, don't comment on it this time, kid – there's something I want you to know. You don't have anyone to get a dowry from, so I think it's up to me to provide it. Just look under the organ bench. There is a rather large secret compartment hidden there. You'll have to press the point where the ledge is a little broader, and it'll spring open. It's easy enough to find when you know what to look for. And as for the rest, it's all yours, if you find any use for it. And in case you go looking for the ring, it's in my pocket. I should leave it here for you, I know, but carrying it around in my pocket has become a habit by now. Everything understood?"

As he wanted to get up again, Christine suddenly threw her arms around his neck. "Take care, Erik," she pleaded. "And come back safely. That's the only thing I want from you."

"I'll do my best." Rising to his feet, he hesitated, then knelt down once again. "What was that? What you were just thinking?"

So he was mind-reading again, was he? Meg was not surprised to see Raoul direct a frown at him.

"I love you, Erik," Christine said simply.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Raoul, yet the Phantom did not heed him. "But in a different way, isn't it?" Was it sadness in his voice? Great tenderness, but sadness? Meg could not quite tell.

"Yes. In a different way. But I still love you."

He gently brushed a strand of hair out of her face, threading his fingers into her dark curls. "Well then… with your permission…" Their lips met very briefly, then he rose to his feet at last. "Right… I guess I'll be going then." Suddenly he sounded rather awkward. "I suppose I'll… I'll just see you all later."

"Take care," Meg told him, too, but he did not respond to that. With a little bow, complete with a flourish of the cloak he wore loosely over one shoulder, he turned and made his way to the side entrance of his dwelling. There he turned one last time and looked at them all, and despite the distance Meg thought to see a gleam in his eyes that had not been there before. Christine had given him courage, courage to battle all enemies, courage to pass through Hell. Then he turned once more and vanished out of view, into the darkness.