10) Be prepared

"Erik? I´m-" Meg stopped in mid-sentence as she entered the room and saw that he was no longer there. She was a little surprised to meet her mother instead. "Where is Erik?", the girl asked. Mme.Giry shrugged. "When I came here to talk to him he had already left.", she told her. "I don´t know where he could be."

"We´ll find out.", Meg said, her voice full of determination. She had spent the last ten minutes persuading Ariane that Erik, or rather the Opera Ghost, was not Evil personified. She doubted it had left much of an impression on the girl. The others had done a good job in terrifying her. Nevertheless Meg wanted to be rewarded for the attempt. And she knew just the person to do that.

She went straight to Christine´s dressing room. Her mother followed her, a bit curious to see what she was up to, although it was quite obvious. When the door ha been closed behind the two of them Meg wasted no time. She took the stool that stood at the dressing table and placed it in front of the mirror. The she stepped onto it and let her fingers glide over the upper edge slowly. She was looking for the switch that activated the mechanism to open the secret passage, just like Erik had shown her. Of course he could reach it without something to stand on, but being almost a foot smaller than he Meg couldn´t do that.

At last she found the switch… but the mirror didn´t budge. Increasingly annoyed she tried it again and again till Mme.Giry´s voice made her stop. "Perhaps he has blocked the entrance because he´s composing and doesn´t want to be disturbed.", she said softly. "You could be right.", Meg muttered, reluctantly leaving her place on the stool. Now that her mother mentioned it she recalled that Erik had told her about phases in which he withdraw from the outside world – even more so than usual. This was a good explanation, much more comforting than the nagging feeling in her stomach telling her that for some reason he didn´t want to meet her.

"Anyway, you can make another attempt in the evening. Maybe he´ll be finished by then.", Mme.Giry suggested, putting a hand on her daughter´s shoulder. Meg gave a little sigh. "But maman! Don´t you remember that M.Devoiraux has invited me for dinner again tonight? I won´t have time to go to the opera." She examined herself critically in the mirror. "I´m running out of boring clothes.", she muttered. "Wear that black skirt you bought for great-aunt Cecile´s funeral.", her mother advised her with a smile. It was good to hear that Meg could joke about the topic.

The girl nodded pensively. "This will be the first time without you to support me.", she said. "It wasn´t possible anymore.", Mme.Giry told her. "He visited me in my office this morning, only to ask for your approval. I couldn´t reject his invitation again." "I know, I know.", Meg exclaimed, shrugging off her hand. She couldn´t bear her mother´s sympathy right now.

"At least you´ll meet in a restaurant, a public place.", the ballet teacher said, trying to comfort her. "Yes. Yes, it won´t be that bad.", Meg agreed. She just spoke like that to make her mother feel less guilty for having to let her go alone. But she was far from convinced by her words. After all, the last restaurant had been a public place as well, and that hadn´t kept Pierre from anything.

"Shall we go now? There are some frightened ballet girls I have to take care of.", the older woman said. Once more Meg nodded. There was nothing she could do now anyway. She cast the mirror a last glance and left after her mother.

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´Composing´, as Mme.Giry had called it, was a very euphemistic term for what Erik was doing at the moment. In fact he was hammering on the keys of his organ like a maniac. For some reason the result still sounded good, in a powerful and noisy way. The notes floated through the air, quickly leaving behind the house, as if walls didn´t even exist. The music lay over the lake like thick fog and echoed through the passages. It clouded the senses of the only other person to hear it. The rat catcher, who had dutifully led the rats into the sewers, shook his head and made his way back. This was a strange place, that much was certain.

After a while Erik stopped. If he had been someone else, his fingers would have been aching. But he was so used to this method of calming down that he hardly noticed the pain. Music was his medicine for every illness, and it had also worked today. His mind was perfectly clear; a plan was starting to form in it. Without thinking about it he reached for a bottle of ink, a quill and a piece of parchment and began to scribble feverishly.

The plan was good, very good. Some details had to be added every here and there, yet all in all it was ready in his head. There were some things he had to buy or get in a different way, but he still had enough time. The first night of the new opera would be in a few weeks. And that would be just the right moment.