A/N: Tada! I told you I'd be quick with the updates! I wrote the majority of this chapter after midnight, so please forgive any clumsy errors. The next chapter should be up sometime tomorrow or the next day... I debated whether or not I should make it one long chapter, but you can all thank Noelle (my life saver!), because she suggested that you probably would rather have two short updates than have to wait for a longer one. So here ye be; enjoy!

Disclaimer: -Noelle walks up-

Noelle: I have a note for you monsieurs and mademoiselles

Fondest greetings to all of you,

I find it is needed to reiterate, that Nade and Noelle have found their loop hole in the legal system, and have joint custody over myself and the f-scratched out too much to be legible Vicomte. We enjoy our days with Scrabble and Clue and are taken very well care of by the girls, which brings me to this point. I have seen these threats made to Nade, you would DARE to say you would punjab her? Have you honestly taken the time to practice using the Punjab? It is not a mere plaything that you can control the moment you hold it. Should I hear of any more of these letters to her, I shall take it upon myself to give you a personal demonstration. My demands are simple, leave MY girls alone, or a disaster beyond your imagination will occur.

I remain, your obedient servant,

O.G.

For the first time in months, I slept peacefully. Perhaps I was too exhausted to dream; perhaps my mind had worked itself into such a fit over the past twenty-four hours that it could not afford to work while the rest of my body rested. At any rate, I did not wake until the train came to a screeching, spitting, grinding halt at the tiny station on the outskirts of Perros-Guirec. The entire steam engine gave a terrific lurch, startling me from my comfortably deep slumber with a jolt. I bolted upright in bed, my hand flying frantically to my unmasked face. My eyes were unaccustomed to the harsh light that permeated the curtains; I merely sat in bed for a moment, trying to get a grasp on my surroundings. When I finally gathered my wits and recalled where I was, I collapsed back onto my soft pillows with a groan, my hand falling limply to the side. Sleep had provided me with a rare, sweet release from the previous week's painful events, and I was in no hurry to return to the world of the living and feeling.

I simply lay there for a moment, debating whether or not to allow myself to drift back into a peaceful sleep and forget the whole ordeal.

And let the Vicomte win? Are you MAD? A voice hissed in the back of my mind. I scowled, groaned loudly, and pulled myself to a sitting position again. Ah, yes. Christine.

I kicked my feet out over the edge of the bed and stretched my tense muscles. At the thought of my beloved, suddenly I was a gushing spring of energy. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I ed my wig and mask, smoothed and arranged them on my head, and grabbed my cloak and burlap sack from the closet. Taking a deep breath, I exited the car and stepped out into the blinding sunlight and the brisk morning air. When my eyes adjusted, I soaked in the breathtaking sight.

A sparkling white field sprawled out before me, tumbling gently for half a mile before reaching a tiny clump of gray houses. Behind the rooftops and furling smoke from the chimneys, the ocean, a miraculous shade of sapphire blue under the pale sky, stretched out as far as the eye could see. Gulls cried overhead, and in the distance the waves thundered softly against the rocky shore. The air smelled of salt and snow and… breakfast?

My stomach grumbled insistently at the aromas wafting over from the station's small café. I frowned slightly; when had I eaten last? Two days? Three? I honestly couldn't recall… I had been so absorbed in Christine and the performances and composition that I truly had lost track of time. Either way, my churning belly now demanded compensation; I followed my nose to the end of the platform and into the small, cozy coffee house.

A portly woman in a flour-dusted apron welcomed me with a warm smile as I scooted silently onto a stool at the counter.

"Good morning to you, Monsieur. What can I get for you?"

I offered a polite smile. "Whatever that tantalizing smell is, Madame. And a cup of your darkest roast, please."

She nodded with a toothy grin, turning to bustle about the kitchen. To my surprise, she began to strike up small talk with me; no one, not even Christine or Madame Giry, was ever able to get past my mysterious appearance long enough to do so.

"So you've just come in on the train from Paris, Monsieur? Do you live there?"

I stared at her blankly for a moment. "Yes, I do."

She smiled, continuing about collecting the dishes for my breakfast. "I have a sister who lives there. Claire Beaumont. She's the baker's wife. Do you know her husband, Monsieur Beaumont? Well, silly me, of course they would have the same last name… but I must say, Jacques is simply the kindest fellow you'll ever meet, Monsieur. Have you met before?"

I couldn't suppress a smile at her simple-minded, cheerful babble. "No, Madame… I'm afraid I don't visit the bakery often."

"Oh, of course, of course!" She smacked her pudgy hand against her broad forehead. "Listen to me going on and on… of course, you Parisian folk have servants to attend to your shopping for you." I opened my mouth to reply, but she continued to chatter away as she loaded a plate with cream-filled pastries and warm biscuits and sugar-dusted muffins. "Tell me, Monsieur, where in Paris do you live? I've been there once… I might know the place if you tell it to me."

I hesitated. "I… live near the Opera Populaire."

Her eyes widened, and she clapped her hands like a young child. "Ooh! Do you enjoy the opera, Monsieur? I absolutely adore it… of course, I don't get to go very often, but I saw the production of Faust last year, and it was to die for!" I nodded merely to appease her as she set the plate of food and a steaming mug of coffee in front of me. I remembered the performance well; it had been a nightmare… the ballet rats were completely out of sync, Carlotta had screeched her way through each act with an increasingly intolerable lack of pitch, Piangi had been suffering the effects of a terrible hangover, Madame Giry had fallen ill with a fever, and Monsieur Lefevre, needless to say, had decided after that night's performance to retire to Australia with all due speed.

I listened with half an ear as the jolly old woman delved into her own painfully naïve critique of the performance, proceeding to stuff my cheeks with the delicious baked goods and slurp down the much-needed coffee between mouthfuls. But suddenly, one snippet of her mindless rant caught my attention:

"You know, Monsieur, rumor has it that the patrone of the Opera is here in Perros at this very moment. My daughter, Ginny, saw him come in last night with a beautiful young woman..."

I nearly choked on the food in my mouth, but managed to swallow it with a minimal amount of sputtering. "The Vicomte de Chagny is here?" I echoed, feigning surprise.

"Yes, that's his name!" The woman beamed. "Handsome fellow… or so he appeared in the paper…"

I allowed this comment to slip in one ear and out the other. "Excellent! I need to… er… speak with him about contracting business… as a matter of fact, it most likely involves the young woman he was seen with yesterday." I leaned forward to stare the woman directly in the eyes. "Do you or your daughter know where they might be staying, Madame?"

"Of course, Monsieur! There's only one inn in town: The Setting Sun. Just down this main road, down near the old churchyard. Big sign out front; you can't miss it."

I shoved the remaining hunk of biscuit into my mouth, downed the rest of my coffee, dropped two francs on the counter, and jumped down from the stool.

"Many thanks, Madame!" I said thickly with a curt bow, darting out the front door. The stark contrast of air temperature was surprisingly refreshing and energizing; I jogged down the packed dirt road, forming a plan in the back of my mind. Soon I came upon the Setting Sun Inn, and it was just as the woman had described. A large wooden sign swung over the front entrance, and on it was painted the name of the inn and a faded, wind-worn picture of a sunset. I stood motionless outside the entrance, panting heavily, as merry dancing music met my ears. A fiddler played a little jig inside, and there was much laughter and the clanking of glasses and… singing. Beautiful singing, in a very familiar voice…

"Christine," I mouthed, my eyes slipping shut. My fists balled at my sides as I attempted to get a hold of myself; it would simply not do to burst through the door, sword raised, strike down the vicomte and whisk my student back to the Opera. No, this was a delicate operation, and would require a deft and steady hand. I sucked in a deep, calming breath, and slowly managed to tear myself away from the sound of her enchanting voice, my feet carrying me away from the front entrance. I made my way around the inn, studying the building's structure with an architect's eye. Wooden frame, adobe walls, approximately half a foot thick… vaulted ceiling, a small crawlspace that served as an attic, a cellar that supported the length of the building. All too easy.

I found the cellar door quickly, covered in a thin layer of silt and dry leaves; it was secured simply with a padlock— no chains to break, no need to disengage hinges. I shook my head with a small smile; had fate, at last, decided to humor me?

I dug into my cloak pocket and produced a single hairpin— Christine's, as it were. I had taken it from her vanity drawer some years ago for just such an occasion, and had found many uses for it since. After years of living within the Opera, I had become a master at picking locks; had I ever a need to rob a bank, tapping into the vaults would be the least of my concerns. Of course, I would have no need to rob a bank, would my managers take a hint and begin to leave my salary…

Within moments, the padlock clicked open. I smirked, tucking it into my pocket and tugging gently on the frozen handles. The door would not budge, but after prodding at the seams and hinges for a few minutes, I gradually eased it open enough to slip through. Trap-Door Lover, indeed.

My eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, my pupils widening like a cat's. The cellar was humongous, but extremely cluttered with wooden crates and broken furniture and barrels of ale. I wove nimbly through the discarded items, careful to avoid the mouse traps which glinted faintly in the light from the open cellar door. The entire floor reeked of mold, mildew and stale whiskey, but I paid the stench no heed; my focus was on Christine's voice, which once again drifted down to me like an angel descending from heaven. My heart ached in longing; my patience and temper wore thin, but somehow I managed to restrain myself from bursting upstairs and ruining everything. I needed to wait until I could catch Christine alone… the vicomte could not be at her side every moment of every day.

Could he?

Suddenly, the fiddle music came to an abrupt halt, and chair legs scraped loudly on the floorboards overhead. Somewhere above, a grandfather clock began to chime… I counted eleven strokes, and nodded. It was Sunday, I remembered, and Christine never missed Mass. Off in the distance, church bells began to ring, and several sets of footsteps shuffled out the front door. I held perfectly still, picking out Christine's distinct stride and immediately noting the confident, heavy footsteps that fell directly beside her. The Vicomte. I would need to recognize his pace later, as well as the rest of the visitors and staff.

I waited until everyone had vacated the premises before climbing back out of the cellar door, shutting it quietly behind me. I crept around to the edge of the inn and peered out at the line of people advancing towards the chapel; a steady stream of people dressed in coats, scarves and bonnets poured out from every corner of the small city, bibles in hand. I rolled my eyes and sighed heavily; I hadn't stepped into a Catholic church since my early childhood, and I had promised myself as a young man never to enter one again. It had been a Catholic, a "man of God" who had beaten me every night of my childhood, dubbed me "the Devil's Child," a Catholic woman who had abandoned her own son to die on a freezing December night.

I shuddered, trying to force the painful memories out of my mind. No, I had absolutely no interest whatsoever in entering a Catholic church again.

But for Christine, I was willing to make an exception.

Closing my eyes, I drew in a deep breath, ducked as far back into my hood as humanly possible, and followed the crowd toward the chapel. No one threw me a second glance; like the woman at the café, they appeared to be accustomed to the sight of strange foreigners. I was grateful for their nonchalance; if the villagers did not notice my presence, news of it would not be likely to reach Christine. I paused outside the door, the last to enter. My heart drummed mercilessly in my chest, and slowly I backed away, shaking my head. My eyes scanned the church frantically; certainly there would be a side door, another less-visible entrance. Perhaps if I was lucky, there would even be a dark, secluded basement or crawlspace to hide in and watch Christine.

As fate would have it, luck was on my side that morning.

A/N: Responses to you lovely, lovely people (Oh God, I sound like Keira!)

Hriviel: LOL, I heart you more! Horses are so unde , and it would have been just cruel to introduce Cesar for "Phantom" and then just rip him out of the story, never to be mentioned again. Thank you SO much for the Poe idea; everyone, I must admit that the brilliant idea of using "The Masque of the Red Death" was ENTIRELY her idea. –bows at your feet-

Venus 725: -points to Hriviel- Thank you, but it was her idea! Glad you liked it, though. –cringes- I thought I messed up this chapter and ruined her excellent idea, but apparently it's not as bad as I thought, which is encouraging. :)

Joanieponytail: And it's equally nice to start out the day with such a kind review. :) Yes, I didn't want Madame Giry to be too horrible; she's my favorite character. You're very welcome for adding "Masque," but again, I must reiterate that the credit goes to Hriviel. LOL I spend more time doing this story than my actual homework, so I'm glad it appears to be all planned out (it is, actually, so that's a good sign!).

Opal Phantom: LOL Yeah it took me until the third time to notice it; no worries. I don't know how I'm going to survive that long either… Wow! Everyone loved the Poe reference; I'm glad!

Shadow Fox Forever: You're back! YAY! I know, I know, I was late… real life SUCKS! LOL. Sorry 'bout that. Happy Easter to you too!

Sakume: I'm nice? Awww! Thank you! You're extremely nice, too! –hugs and more cookies- WOW, I have a serious, devoted fan! –is honored- Haha, I love you!

Alexis Kent: Well, the music is what has us all mesmerized; no worries... as long as you see the movie when it comes out in May, we'll forgive you. LOL! Just kidding. Aww, I'm blushing, but I feel bad; I don't like making people cry, but I suppose that's meant to be a compliment, so thank you! Cookie?

Hilary, I know you're reading this, you little cheat! LOL! Get a screen name, ma petite Christine, and drop me a review! Please? Because you love me? –pouty look-