The rest of her time in the house on the lake passed too quickly. She and Erik talked by the fire long into the afternoon: about his life in America, her favourite ballets, music, food, anything at all. Erik was quite easy to talk to once he'd relaxed in her company. There were also long silences while they stared at the flames, Erik sometimes completely lost in thought but still absently rubbing his thumb across the top of her hand, over and over. Eventually, she fell asleep again. Erik carried her to the bedroom and tucked her in.
Sometime later, he shook her awake. "Good evening, Cricket. It is time to go."
Meg grumbled and rolled away from him, not at all interested in crawling out of the warm bed. Dressed in neatly pressed evening clothes of solid black and his mask back in place, Erik loomed over her like a wraith. An anxious energy hummed around him and she decided it was unlikely she could persuade him into letting her stay again. Groggily she swung her legs over the side of the bed with a dramatic sigh and he vanished to let her dress.
The evening was well advanced when they emerged from the gate on the Rue Scribe. Meg shivered inside her heavy cloak, heartily wishing she had not lost her gloves. Though it was not a long walk to her flat, Erik hailed a cab. He bundled her in and took his place on the seat next to her. He rapped on the roof of the carriage before pulling her into the additional warmth of his own cloak.
"You're not cold are you?" There was a smirk in his voice. "I thought you might enjoy a spot of sea bathing -"
"You are mean." She elbowed him in the side.
"Just trying to keep your mind off of the cold, Cricket. Is it working?" He held her tighter, offering her whatever warmth he could. She was in no danger of freezing but Erik's heart gave a funny lurch whenever he thought of her discomfort.
The journey passed without incident and in the silence, Meg watched the gas lights pass through half lidded eyes. The cab came to a stop in front of her building and Erik gallantly handed her down to the sidewalk. He followed her inside and up the stairs, close behind her like a hound at its master's heels. Meg reached for the handle and then hesitated, unsure if she were ready to face the full fury of her mother.
"Erik?" She turned from the door and walked into his waiting arms.
"Cricket?" He folded her into his cloak and she closed her eyes, drinking in the scent of him; spices and clean.
"I can't do this."
"Yes, you can, ma cherie, you are braver than anyone I know."
"You don't know a lot of people." She laughed half heartedly. "Erik, maman scares me."
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Yes, she scares me too, sometimes."
"You? But you are the Phantom of the Opera!" she teased, craning her neck to meet his eyes.
He smiled ruefully "She is formidable."
"Don't leave me here. I don't know if I can handle the reproach."
Erik held her tightly but had no words of wisdom to offer.
"Will you stay close by? You know what she can be like."
"So that I can soothe the sting of her reproach? I rather think you're exaggerating the harm she could cause you."
"Come in with me, then." She challenged.
"Oh no, this is a dragon you must face on your own."
"Coward."
Erik shrugged elegantly. "I know what she can be like, as you say."
Meg stamped her foot and tried very hard to look annoyed with him but her shoulders shook with silent laughter. Erik grinned, surprised that his effort to make her laugh had worked.
"I will check on you in the morning, and if the dragon has slain you I shall bury your bones." He said cheerfully, lightly tapping her nose.
"Oh so noble." She snorted. "Very well." Meg attempted a brave smile and then fished the key out of the flower pot. Erik gave her a tender kiss and then vanished.
The flat was dark and Meg let out the breath she had been holding. She slipped off her boots and crept across the sitting room towards her bedroom door. Her maman was sleeping. Meg could hardly believe her good luck.
"Meg. Giry." Her mother's voice rasped from the sofa.
"Mon dieu!" She squeaked. "Maman, what are you doing out of bed?" She waited for her mother to catch her breath.
"Waiting for my errant child to come home before I reported her missing." Her mother replied archly. Her stony expression pinned Meg to her spot. She shifted her weight from foot to foot; silence was her mother's preferred method to break her, and it worked every time; she knew Meg couldn't resist filling the silence for very long. But Meg willed herself to hold her peace, though she knew she deserved everything her mother was about to storm down upon her. What felt like minutes passed and Meg struggled not to wilt beneath her mother's hard gaze.
"Sit." Madame Giry commanded and her daughter swiftly obeyed. "Are you going to tell me where you have been these past two days?"
"I was at the-"
"Don't say at the theatre, I know that is a lie."
"Well technically it isn't."
"Monsieur Desjardins came by this morning. You missed classes, fittings and a rehearsal? Marguerite Giry, I have raised you better than this."
Meg clasped her hands in her lap and inwardly braced for the hurricane that was her mother's wrath. Instead, she heard a sad, rattling sigh and the storm dissipated.
"Later then. Help me to bed, my darling." She held out a bony hand to Meg, who rose cautiously and slipped her hand into her mother's cold grasp. Madame Giry said no more as she allowed herself to be led to her bed and tucked in. A weak smile and a kiss on the cheek was all the goodnight her mother bestowed before drifting to sleep. Meg was left standing at her bedside, worry roiling beneath a cloud of confusion.
