Disclaimer: Don't own Phantom.


Chapter Nineteen

XXX

Erik wasn't sure what was taking Christine so long.

She'd said that rehearsals would run a bit late that evening, but this was getting crazy! She was almost four hours later than usual, and Erik had half a mind to go up above and find her.

Of course, he'd never do so. The fear of being seen was enough that he cowered at the thought. He knew that the circus was still in town, and there were posters, Christine said, all around the heart of Paris with his information. He'd be spotted and taken in a second. Apparently, Javert's death did not detract the other employees and the co-owner from their dreams of success with Erik's face on display. They were not leaving without him, and Erik knew that it would only be a matter of time before something happened, someone slipped up, and he was in danger again.

And, according to Christine, Raoul had not withdrawn his patronage of the Opera Populaire, which meant that Christine was still in danger of the aristocratic fool trying to take her against her will once again.

Erik stretched a bit, standing from the wing-backed plush armchair that he'd pushed close to the fire a few hours earlier, and set his book aside. The fire had dwindled down, and he grabbed another log from the metal bin nearby, and tossed it into the dying flames, poking with the long metal rod until a few embers began to leap, and soon the flames were dancing high up the vent once again. Just as he was preparing to sit back down and return to Wuthering Heights, a book Christine adored and convinced Erik to read, he heard footsteps running across stone, and he smiled.

A moment or so later, Christine burst into the caverns, and rushed to Erik, cheeks pink from the cold of the cellars.

"Oh! I'm so sorry that I'm late, things ran even longer than I thought they would!" Erik quickly guided Christine to seat herself in the chair that was still warm from his body, and he grabbed a throw blanket from the divan a few feet away and tucked it around Christine snugly.

"You look frozen stiff. Where is your cloak?" his reprimand was gentle, as he brushed a few wayward locks of hair from her face and set his book back on the shelf.

"I forgot it in my dressing room, I was in such a hurry to come home and tell you the news!"

"What news?" Erik sat on the divan, folding his hands in his lap and watching her patiently.

"Carlotta, she's quit again! And this time, they don't think she'll be coming back. Opening night for Hannibal is in two weeks, and the managers are furious! The tickets are already sold out!" Christine's eyes were shining with worry and unshed tears. "We've all been working so long, and now we won't open for so much longer, several of the dancers aren't going to be able to keep up with the payments on their homes if we don't open on time! Half of them are living from paycheck to paycheck!"

Erik could read the desperation in her voice and expression, and quickly moved to soothe her.

"Shh, my dear… is there not an understudy?"

"No! Carlotta would not allow it, and no one knows the part…"

Erik was silent for several minutes, just standing and gathering Christine into his arms, before finally speaking. "Come, let us get you warm. I may have an idea…"

XXX

"No, my dear. You must sing from your diaphragm, not your chest. Try again."

"Erik, I cannot do this. I'm a dancer, I haven't sung since I was a little girl… they will never let me take the part, and even if they do there is no way I can be ready by opening night!"

Christine stomped her foot, glaring at Erik who was standing a few feet away with his violin to his chin.

"You must have confidence. A prima donna does not doubt herself!" Erik exclaimed, before giving her a severe look. "Now, again from the beginning."

He was teaching her to sing. Teaching her to replace Carlotta.

What on Earth was she getting herself into?