FallenSk8rAngel: Thank you! Wow, I'm glad you like this so much. Here's a bit more for you!

PhantomLover2005: Your wish is my command! Thanks for loving my little tale!

SoccerFreak2516: Thanks! Have fun at your week away, and I will have at least one more update (possibly, I make no promises) for you by the time you return.

A/N: I'm iffy about the last bit of this, but hopefully y'all will like it okay. Enjoy!

Erik

Something was wrong.

As soon as I entered the lobby, one of the manager's assistants ushered me out of sight and into a private meeting room. He seemed to know nothing save that he had been ordered to keep me hidden. I was wary at the prospect; was this aid or betrayal?

And where was my wife?

I could not do anything until I knew Christine was safe, so I bit my tongue and waited. I did not have to be patient long; soon we were joined by the manager. In a rush of words, he explained that two gentlemen had been asking for me; as per my instructions, he had gone to find me but got Christine instead. Here, he handed me her note:

My dear Vicomte

All is well in Paris, but I find myself longing for a house in the country. Meet me at our regular spot, on the 24th at 6:00 in the evening.

All my love,

Madame Christine Daae

As codes go, it wasn't much; 'my dear Vicomte' meant the letter-bearer was believed to be a friend, Paris was the native home of who had scared her away, a home in the country was a bed and breakfast inn, and the numbers were the address of that inn, switched. I could only hope it would throw off any further pursuit for at least another day. Nodding briskly to the two hotel men, I paid them for their troubles and their silence and quietly carried the results of my shopping expedition out the servants' exit.

I found the inn easily enough; a conversation with the man behind the bar led me to room eight. Leaning against the door, I quietly called, "Christine . . . " She flung open the door and wrapped her arms tightly around my neck. The relief I felt at seeing her, here, whole, flooded my mind with gratitude and I locked the door behind us, content to bury my face into her hair as she shuddered. "Shh," I soothed, stroking her back, "shh, it's all right, I'm here. Are you unharmed?" Christine nodded against my chest. I picked her up and, for the second time that evening, carried her to bed. Sitting her on top of the covers, I settled down beside her and held her as her tears finished.

Christine did not stay on the bed long; soon she had wriggled into my lap, her face pressed into the hollow of my throat. I had no complaints against such behavior; as far as I was concerned, the nearer she was, the better. "You're here," she murmured finally, lifting her head a little to kiss my undamaged cheek.

"I thought you had noticed that already," I teased a little and was relieved to see her smile. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

My answer was a shrug. "The manager came, I wrote him a note for you, and left. You pointed this place out on the way here, remember, as somewhere we could go if the hotel was full."

"True," I murmured, "true." I slowly lifted her mouth to mine, allowing myself the luxury of fully reassuring myself that she was real. As we kissed, my mind began to work against the two Parisian investigators who had forced us to flee.

Christine

"If we can just cross the border, we should be safe," Erik told her quietly as they gazed south from their new inn room. "I doubt that our friend has authority extending past Austria."

Christine frowned. There was a decidedly nasty glint in his eyes as he turned away from the window. "Erik, what are you thinking?" She whispered, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. He just raised an eyebrow at her coolly, the wicked cast to his features more pronounced. "I don't like that look in your eyes," she told him, meeting his gaze frankly. "It frightens me."

He laughed, and it was the dark chuckle she had not heard from him in over a year. "I was just thinking, my dear," Erik replied, lightly kissing her forehead, "that once we reach Italy, it might be well to remind our friends who it is they are chasing."

Christine pulled away from him, and, not letting her eyes leave his, sang lowly, "In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came, that voice which calls to me, and shares my name. And do I dream again, for now I find, the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your eyes." He turned away from the mixed hurt and fear in her features. Christine wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face into his back. "Please don't leave me," she whispered. "You are neither angel nor ghost nor demon—nor Phantom. You are my husband, Erik, a man I cannot live without."

"I love you." He turned and crushed her to his chest. "And I will protect you—any way I have to."

"Oh, no you don't," Christine spoke into his shirt. "Don't make this about me; it isn't. This is because you're angry that someone is chasing us, and you think playing the Phantom again will be an entertaining way to get even."

"Would you deny me such a simple pleasure?" He asked, lending a double meaning to his words as he kissed her.

"Erik, be careful . . ."

Erik

Tarvisio. It was a small town on just the right side of the Italian border; utterly unremarkable, save that I knew of a little inn there that would be of use. Soon we were safely in place; Christine was in the common-room, picking at a solitary dinner. I watched her from the shadows. It had taken a little convincing and more than one promise to get her to play her part, but the result would be well worth it. I watched as the two French investigators entered; this was going to be fun.

M. Haron was reassuring his companion; apparently, Nadir and I had guessed correctly; they had no authority here. "Just a quick look," Haron wheedled as they paid for their meals. "Then we'll go back and pick up the trail somewhere else. I've spent a year studying this man, Lorea; he's here."

I was flattered. How sweet of him.

It was then that Haron saw Christine. I tensed; this was the difficult part. He had been tailing a man in a mask. If he knew she was with me . . . but no. The expression of his face was that of someone who comes face-to-face with a legend; apparently, he had been studying me quite thoroughly, and in the course of that study Christine would have become rather synonymous with Aphrodite. He rushed over to her. "I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle," he babbled in French, "but I couldn't help but recognize you. You are Christine Daae, are you not? The Glorious Angel?"

Christine pushed away her plate. "Oui, monsieur, I am thrilled that you recognized me. Would you care to join me?"

"Indeed." He and his partner settled down on either side of her. Indecent brute, he immediately began questioning her about me. "Quite a rough time of it you had last year in Paris, wasn't it, dearie? That scandal with your teacher . . ."

I restrained a laugh. Barely. She was under no such constraint and led them freely into a conversation—wonderfully misinformed—about my whereabouts. "Do you know," Haron burst out suddenly, "We believe him to be very near here? You're escorted, of course, aren't you?"

"Of course—my husband is with me." Again I had to choke down a chuckle. Minx. I was beginning to rub off on her.

"I did not know you were married, Madame."

"We keep out of the public eye . . . monsieurs, perhaps you would care to carry on our conversation in a more private setting? If my old master is near, the very walls may have ears."

I couldn't believe they fell for it. I had known they would, and I still couldn't believe it.

Christine led them to a private dining room; like a good shadow, I followed.

If they were surprised when, suddenly, all but one candle extinguished, they were shocked when Christine disappeared. I had chosen this inn for a reason; its architect had been almost as fond of trap doors and hidden passages as I was. The current owner was blissfully unaware of this, and I saw no reason to enlighten him.

My voice, cool and silky, caressed the air. It was here, there, to the front and side, surrounding them with coldness. "You have trespassed, Gentlemen, on a domain you do not understand. It suited me to allow you to play the game for a time, but my patience has run out. You stand now on the threshold of a realm where ghosts walk and angels sing; beware. You may turn back, or step forward into the mist and be devoured," here, I added the distant roar of a lion. Showmanship, after all. "The choice is yours."

Mirrors are such wonderful things. So useful in creating illusions. They saw a single candle, then a thousand that all died in an instant with the cry of a banshee; they saw the shimmering image of a woman in white, eerie as though she belonged to another world. They ducked and reflexively jerked their hands to their faces when they heard the unique snapping hiss of the Punjab lasso . . .

I only played with them for a quarter of an hour or so; I am sure they felt it much longer. Those two gentlemen were very fortunate that I loved my wife; it was for her sake that I demonstrated a certain amount of restraint.

Quite suddenly, the candles relit, and the two men were left gaping at Christine—dressed in blue as before—who picked up the conversation from precisely where it had left off. They tried to cover their fear, but they ended the discussion quickly and excused themselves.

Christine sat at the table and rested her forehead in her hand. When I appeared beside her, she shook her head—but she was smiling, just a little. "Erik . . ."

"They won't be chasing us again. Wasn't that worth a little peace?" I grinned and knelt down next to her, resting my head in her lap. "I love you."

"You're still haunting me . . ."

"Never."

"Its that look in your eyes—when I realize how much you still enjoy that—"

"Christine. It was a means to an end. We don't have to run anymore. Believe me," I whispered, "when I say I would never intentionally do anything that frightened you."

"Without good reason," she qualified gently.

I hesitated, but I could not deny that. "Without good reason."

She smiled twistedly. "At least you don't lie to me. Often." I opened my mouth to argue the point, but she stopped me with a kiss. "I love you. And I knew who and what you were when I married you. I was just . . . startled by the Phantom side of you, I guess. I have not seen him for more than a year, you know. I had forgotten."

"He doesn't come out that often, outside of the Paris Opera House. He was born there, and a good bit of him died there," I assured her.

"Phantom, Erik, man, angel, devil," Christine replied. "I love you just the same." I pulled us both to our feet and wrapped my cloak around us.

"Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind . . ."