Inspiration strikes! I feel so terrible that I have so many fics going and I hardly ever update, so here's some more of this lovely tale.

XXX

Chapter Eleven

It was as the sun reached its highest point in the sky that afternoon that Erik allowed his mind to once again contemplate the Vicomte and his warning, left ominously on the kitchen table just several hours ago. Something about Christine's presence allowed Erik to forget anything at all unpleasant, and while he greatly enjoyed the brief repast from worry and concern, he was pleased to be left alone in their beautiful music room for a short while.

That bastard was in my house. In our house. He thought, fists clenching tightly, knuckles turning a ghastly shade of white as he stared unseeing at the music before him at the piano.
He knew that if he played now, the thunderous rage and hatred that would pour from his soul and into the music would draw Christine away from her gardening in the back yard and bring her to his side, something he most certainly did not want with the state he was in.

No, Erik needed to make sure that Christine did not know, or ever know, of their dangerous friend.

If Erik just had himself to think about, there would be no need for this contemplation. He would merely find the Vicomte, snag him with his Punjab Lasso, give a little tug, and everything would be taken care of.

But this was not the case. He had Christine to worry about and protect, and dear, sweet, gentle Christine would most certainly not want her childhood friend to have his neck brutally broken.

Certainly not!

But what else could he do? Erik had lived his life knowing that if he was ever cornered, ever out-smarted, ever in a great deal of danger, he could simply pluck the life right from the person threatening him. Without that option in his defenses, he felt strangely weak and vulnerable.

What was he supposed to do?

Giving a growl of anger, he slammed his hands into the keys of the piano, bringing forth a series of discordinant notes as he stood and began to pace forcefully across the room.

There had to be something he was missing. Something that would explain how the Vicomte had gotten into the house, how he had even known where they had gone...

What was he missing?

Erik was suddenly startled out of his dark musings by the sound of the music room door slowly creaking open. Snapping his head up, he met the startled gaze of his wife, who looked a bit frightened by the wild, angry look in her husband's eyes.

"E-Erik? Are you well?" she murmured, moving toward him in cautious concern. "You look flushed..."

Forcing himself to calm, Erik closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again and smiled weakly.

"Of course, my dear. I am merely frustrated. I cannot seem to decide how this next passage of the piece I am composing should go." he lied with an ease that worried him, and took Christine into his arms so he would no longer have to look into her soft, trusting eyes.

"Come, my dear... perhaps a bit of fresh air will help my muses return to me."

XXX

"Yes, I am certain he got the note, monsieur."

"How certain? I cannot allow for mistakes, the stakes are far too high."

"I watched him read it with my own two eyes, monsieur. How much more sure could I be?"

"Very well. Then you are ready for the next order of business?"

"Oui, monsieur. I am but your humble servant."

"Ah yes, my humble servant as long as you continue to get the money you so desire."

"What would you have me do now, monsieur?"

"Tonight. Go to the home tonight, while they sleep. Leave them a sign even that monster cannot ignore."

"But monsieur-"

"You will do it, Jean. You know what I can do for you if you please me. And you know what I can do to you if you do not."

A defeated nod.

"Yes, monsieur.