Hmm. No reviews. I sense a disturbance in the force. Oh well. Here's another chapter. I promise a fight!

Ch. 5 Erika no likie

Chris's eyes popped open, sliding back into focus. He sat up slowly, rubbing his head confusedly. He seemed to be in an ornately decorated dungeon. The walls were hung with tapestries riddled with mildew, and a large organ consumed one entire wall. A fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, illuminating the room with an eerie orange glow. To his surprise, a slender young woman sat at the organ, her hands cradling her forehead. She was garbed entirely in black, a white mask hiding half of her face. She was playing a beautiful, mournful melody, like a cross between a requiem hymn and a lively reel. Chris closed his eyes, allowing the music to take him elsewhere.

He was not afraid. Others had warned him of the dangerous phantom of the opera, but the mysterious girl looked quite mellow, almost docile at the instrument. Chris stole up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. The girl whirled around, her eyes blazing. He actually stepped back a pace. The fire immediately turned to solace, her gaze now gentle. " Chris," she said softly. Her voice was beautiful, even when she was whispering. He melted. Erika sauntered over to a large cabinet, her eyes never leaving the young man. She busied herself with a bottle of red wine. Discreetly, she pulled a small vial out of her robes and poured it into Chris's glass. He would wake up safely in his cot.

While she poured the drink, Chris snuck up behind her. He wondered what was under that mask. And if she was hiding something, it couldn't be that bad, could it? Besides, he felt something for this mystery girl that he had never felt before. He ran his hands down her neck, kissing her cheek lightly. Then he quickly pulled off her mask.

Erika stood frozen for a moment, and then drew herself to her full height. She pushed Chris to the floor, snatching her mask from his petrified hand. "Damn you!" she snarled in his face, brandishing the mask. "Is this what you wanted to see?" Erika pointed at her deformed cheek. Chris felt tears well up in his eyes. Not only was he so very sorry that he had done this, but she had hurt him. Surprisingly, the thin girl was very strong.

Calming down, she placed her mask back on her face, helping Chris to his feet. "I apologize," She murmured, clearly embarrassed, " I can be very touchy about my mask. She handed him his glass. " Thank you." Chris tried to keep his eyes down. What he had seen was very disturbing. He now thought it impossible to think of this girl as an angel, for she possessed the face of Satan. Quickly, he drank the wine, smacking his lips when through. Erika counted to herself: three, two, one…thud. Chris was unconscious on her Persian rug, snoring softly. Once again, Erika picked him up and placed him in the boat. She looked upon him as he slept, cursing him for doing his dastardly deed. The poor fool never saw that coming, she mused as her boat disappeared into the blackness.

After putting Chris back onto his bed, she knelt down and kissed him gently on the lips. His eye twitched in response. Chuckling softly, she receded back into the shadows, the silk of her cape whispering against the floor. When she had stalked sown the stairs, a thud startled her. A large man had snuck up behind her, setting his brandy bottle down. Her eyes narrowed. She recognized him as Joseph Buquet, prop manager and disagreeable lout. " Hello there, love," He drawled, his intoxicated breath putrid. She drew her sword, ready to defend herself. " What's this then, a little bird with a dagger?" He snatched the sword, tossing it over the side. He grabbed her, holding her hands behind her back. His pig-like stare landed on her mask. " Ah, you must be that phantom wench!" She fought free of his grip, her hands out, ready for combat. " Well," He snickered, " You haven't gotten our initiation yet. Let me do you a service." The scoundrel advanced, his intentions clearly dishonorable. A length of rope caught Erika's eye. With blinding speed, she snatched it and wound it around Buquet's neck. Her strength visibly shook him. Without a thought, she tightened the rope, sending that man to his rightful place in hell. She pushed the corpse, down onto the stage, grinning at her handiwork.

She had done the girls of the Opera Populaire a service, by her accounts. The man was amorous for anything that had long hair and breasts. Kicking the fiend in the side, she returned to her lair below.