Chapter 78 Breaking it to the Soprano

Thankyou so much for all your fabulous support on the last chapter, it was very much appreciated. And a YAY to Noni for finally getting her computer back on track.

Hey while I think of it...guess what? We are 58 reviews off getting a 1500 review count. There are well over a hundred of you that have me earmarked, it shouldnt be that hard, right?

-crickets chirp-

Right?

-cue the tumbleweed-

Ah forget it then. The other important news is that it is one month and one day until I move to hot sunny Gold Coast Brisbane with the biggest Australian Medieval Fair only 40 minutes away! (cheers and dances). And as I dont know my aunt and uncles internet standards, I have to finish this phic by then (crosses self and prays "God help me"). Work calls so love you all. Cheers

Adi, the obscenely wierd Authoress

Odile sighed as she entered her room, pulling pins from her hair as she crossed the room to her dresser. She adored the stage, but sometimes the extravagance her audience seemed desperate to shower her with gave her a headache, she desperately needed a half hour after a performance to wind down before she felt able to deal with the inane compliments rich patrons glittered over her.

"You took your own sweet time tonight," a low voice commented from a dark blue chair, a blonde, black veiled head stuck its way out from behind the winged back, "All those adoring fans keeping you busy?"

Odile jumped backwards against her dresser, "Who are you?" she gasped, the black veiled head snorted, "I'm shocked Odile, you don't recognise the Theatre Wraith?"

Theatre Wraith?

"The Phantom's whore…" Odile breathed, rumours resurfacing in her mind.

"Hey!" A pair of long black legs covered by a sheer amethyst and silver skirt swung over one of the arms and the Theatre Wraith jumped up to face the Opera diva, stalking towards her threateningly. Odile was an inch or so taller than the spectre but she cowered under the shorter females stare. Adriana folded her arms, covered in sheer silver angel sleeves and a corset of purple on white that hugged her curves, "No one calls me that," she tilted her head and regarded the terrified soprano, "What is you peoples preoccupation with giving me names? Isn't Theatre Wraith enough?"

Odile continued to cower, "Oh stop grovelling!" she snapped, "If there's one thing I can't stand it's grovelling,"

Hesitantly Odile looked upwards, there was a bemused look to the raised eyebrows of the Opera spirit standing in front of her, "Sorry,"

"And don't apologize, every time I call on someone its always sorry this, and forgive me that, and I'm not worthy," she shook her head and Odile saw her face shifting into a grin, "What do you want of me?" stories of Christine Daae's kidnapping and the tormented love of the Phantom started playing in her head, "He wants me doesn't he? To teach me and take me, captive forever, he wont let me go!"

"If you start singing What I once used to dream I now dread I'll be forced to slap you," The Wraith said conversationally, admiring her nails, Odile fell silent with a frightened look and the Wraith sighed, "Ok, this probably started off all wrong, lets start again," she straightened and swept a magnificent curtsey, "Mademoiselle Odile, it's true, I am the Theatre Wraith, companion to the Opera Ghost, and here to speak to you about an issue which concerns your very life." Her voice lowered and she gazed at Odile with dark eyes, "Hm, maybe you might want to sit first," Odile nodded uncomfortably, twisting her corset to regain her breath, the Wraith saw this and frowned, "Actually scrub that, you look like your about to faint from that thing, tell your managers and fans your tired and can't go out, get changed and I'll pour you a drink, then we'll chat."

Managing a weak smile, Odile slipped to her door with a rustle of satin and creaked it open, Firmin was already waiting there with a bottle of champagne and a boisterous smile, "My dear soprano," he proclaimed, "Tonight you brought them to their feet! Let us celebrate your success!" he held up the bottle of champagne as proof, Odile smiled faintly at him, "Forgive me Monsieur Firmin, but I am quite tired," she placed a delicate hand to her throat, "I do not wish to strain my voice before tomorrow night. If you would be so kind as to inform my fans that I will not be attending them tonight I would be much appreciative,"

"Ah of course," Firmin bowed and kissed the hand she proffered, "Rest easy Mademoiselle," he smiled and sighed slightly as the soprano offered him a small smile and shut the door, then he shook himself and went off in search of Andre.

Odile felt a plunge of guilt as she locked the door, she glanced nervously at the Theatre Wraith who was unashamedly reading cards and notes from admirers, "Um, Mademoiselle Theatre Wraith, I will need my maid to help me undress," she ventured gesturing helplessly to her costume. The Wraith looked over and glanced her up and down, "Now there's a piece of work," she said admiringly, "Never mind about the maid, I'll help you," she motioned for the soprano to turn and started unbuttoning the long ream of buttons down her back, the stiff pink brocade slipped away and her fingers found the corset strings, with a practised twist, she untied the knot and loosened the ties, "Great Scot Odile! (Gerard Butler randomly pokes his head in, "Ye called?") How do you breathe with this thing so tight?"

Odile breathed a sigh of relief as the strings loosened, "You get used to it I suppose," she replied, massaging her aching middle, layer upon layer of petticoats dropped from the voluminous skirts as the veiled Wraith slyly remarked, "So…d'you think Firmin likes you?" Odile gasped involuntarily, "What makes you say that!" she whispered, "You watched me speak to him?"

"Darling," the Wraith looked amused as she stood with an armful of petticoats, "It's my job to know what goes on here, just as much as it is yours to knock the socks off the crowd that comes here every night with that voice of yours,"

"So you know everything?" the soprano whispered, the Wraith laughed, "Not quite, but I'm getting there, still working on my Reyer/Giry theory and whether or not Little Jammes is actually serious about that Steven guy," she frowned then brightened, "But I do know where the stagehands keep their booze!"

"The secret compartment up in the second platform of the flies," Odile answered automatically, the Wraith snorted in laughter, "Busy little soprano aren't we?"

"I-" Odile paused nervously, "You're not what I expected of the Theatre Wraith,"

"Ten feet tall and three heads that spit fire?" Adriana shrugged, dumping the costume in a chair, "No only on Wednesdays"

Odile laughed nervously and reached out to wrap a much-loved blue velvet dressing gown around herself, "What's your name?"

"My name?" the veiled Wraith looked surprised to have been asked.

"Well, s-surely you must have a name?" Odile stammered, suddenly afraid she might have offered some kind of insult. The Wraith looked at her seriously, "You can never breathe a single word of this to any other person Odile, for reasons beyond the gossip of the ballet rats, both our lives will hang in the balance if word gets out you know of me do you understand?"

Odile nodded and crossed herself, the Theatre Wraith dropped her head and rubbed her brow with her fingers, "And you have to promise not to scream," she added, the soprano nodded a second time fervently.

"Adriana," Odile's black eyes opened wide and her jaw dropped as she gasped.

In an instant the veiled girl was behind her, a firm hand wrapped over the soprano's prized mouth, "Do not scream." She growled, she guided the stumbling diva to a chair and plopped her down unceremoniously, "Sit."

Adriana scowled to herself as she dunked the diva into her chair, probably not the smartest idea she'd had to admit who she was before denying the rumours but she needed the soprano's trust.

"Are you going to be quiet?" she asked harshly, fingers digging into the front of Odile's throat, she nodded quickly and was released.

"Now in all honesty Odile, our names are why we are in trouble," Adriana's fingers passed the bottles of champagne and went straight for the brandy sitting in a crystal decanter on a sideboard, she poured a generous dash into a squat glass and handed it to Odile, "Drink."

Odile swallowed the liquor down in one gulp, Adriana smiled, "Good girl," she approved, "Believe me, it helps," she poured another glass and refilled the one clutched in Odile's hands. Then she sat and looked at the soprano curiously, truth be told, Adriana rather liked what she had seen of the singer, and she felt an odd twinge of remorse for what she would have to tell.

"Odile, you've heard of the murders in the streets, right?"

A nod answered her.

"And you know that there is seemingly no way of knowing where the killer will strike next?"

"I have heard it,"

"Then you should look at this," reaching into her pocket, the Theatre Wraith pulled out a scroll of parchment and handed it to Odile. Hesitantly the opera singer unrolled the heavy paper and looked down it. The list ran like this…

Tania - whore

Helen - peasant

Elaine - merchant's daughter

Phoenicia - whore

Hanna - barmaid

Antoinette - servant

Niamh

play actress

Torella – lady's maid

Odette – merchant's sister

Monique - minor nobleman's daughter

Olga - servant

Felicity - head cook in a restaurant

Tarianelle

E ?

Odile?

Phillicia – Second ballet mistress?

Elaine – head costumer?

Rosette – book keeper?

Adriana

Odile looked up, "What are these?"

"The first lot are the names of the dead killed by the man the police are calling the phantom and we are calling the imposter. The one's with question marks are the ones who are yet to happen or uncertain in their targets, I'm telling you because you are first on the list and the rest of the names after you, baring mine, are less certain,"

"Why are you so certain?"

The Wraith snorted, "Why do you think?"

Odile thought and suddenly remembered the news she had heard in the paper, her face went white, "Oh God,"

"That about sums it up, yes," the Wraith smirked sardonically.

"What did you do to deserve this?" Odile asked in a whisper, the Wraith looked startled, as if she had never considered this question, "I…" she trailed off, "I guess I dared to love the one this was aimed at,"

Odile blinked and looked down the page, the acronym jumped out at her, "The Phantom of the Opera?" she asked in disbelief.

"Clever girl," Adriana approved, sipping her brandy as her leg swung over the arm of her chair. Odile gaped,

"But isn't he horribly ugly?" Odile covered her mouth with her hand in fright, Adriana's gaze turned cold.

"Your point?" she asked icily, Odile's fingers fluttered,

"Oh, forgive me, I meant no offence,"

"I'll bet," Adriana sighed, "I can assure you two things," she said, "One is that neither the Phantom nor myself have anything to do with these murders, despite any facts to the contrary. And the second fact is that you and I are both in very real and very mortal danger."

"From who?" the soprano asked in a shaky voice, Adriana frowned, lifting a shoulder in a small shrug, "If I knew, life might be a little easier, all I know is he's imitating the Phantom and we are both on his hit list, and I am determined to stop him."

"How?"

"Still working on that part too," she admitted, "It may be we have to bait a trap or some such thing," she looked speculatively at Odile then shook her head, "We'll get to that later, but the long and short of it is, I needed to warn you, and tell you that while you have nothing to fear from the Phantom or I, don't trust anyone with a mask, don't go out alone and that we're both unfortunately in a fair amount of trouble,"

"Aren't you terrified?" Odile whispered, Adriana grinned.

"Sweetheart," she laughed, "I have an insane homicidal musical genius that I share a bed with looking out for me, and I'm more scared of one of these," she indicated the box of cashews opened on the dresser, then paused to think. "Well alright maybe Erik is slightly scarier when he hasn't slept for three days because he's been composing, or when he catches me stealing his parchment to write with, but the fact of the matter is that you and I work in very different ways,"

"Erik?" Odile questioned curiously, Adriana went white, then red,

"You didn't hear that," she hissed, "And if I ever hear you mention it there wont be just one person after you with murder on their mind," she gestured to the piece of paper, "Now put that away somewhere safe and speak of this to no one. And next time you see me, let's hope its under better circumstances, if it's not, then make sure you do everything I tell you."

Odile nodded and rose hastily to her vanity, she lifted out a locked jewellery box and turned the key, hastily placing the scroll inside.

"And Odile?"

"Yes?" the soprano concentrated on sealing the false floor of the box closed so no hint of parchment could be seen,

"When you receive a mask to wear to the New Years Eve ball…wear it,"

And when Odile looked up from her drawer, the Theatre Wraith was gone.

xXx

Erik fell noiselessly into step beside her as she made her way back down to the lair, the dull rasp of his cloak on the wooden doorframe the only deliberate mark of his presence.

"Do you have to do that?" Adriana complained in a hushed whisper, "One of these days I'm going to scream and then where will we be?" Erik chuckled soundlessly, "You move like a pregnant ox anyway," he told her, gliding darkly beside her, a soft snort answered him, "I happen to hold a great deal of respect for pregnant oxen good sir, I would appreciate if you would refrain from insulting them,"

"She took it well then?" Erik changed the subject smoothly, Adriana shrugged, "Not too badly, but she'll keep her mouth shut,"

"How do you know that?" Erik asked, pausing to allow the shorter Wraith to duck past him and into a false door.

"Cos if she doesn't," Adriana chuckled darkly, "Then the whole Opera House discovers her little thing for Firmin,"

Startled, Erik let out a short laugh, "The little diva is more precocious than I thought," he murmured, following her through the tight frame.

"Oh Hell yes,"