Author's Notes: You're all probably gonna hate me for this chapter, but you'll have to get over it. I'm not purely romance, right? cringes at thought So this is about the middle point of this story, where the plot shifts from internal problems to external ones (aka-other people causing trouble instead of Erik and Danni causing problems for themselves) So enjoy!
Chapter 7 – When Song Takes Flight
The Opera was a whirlwind of colors. The managers were holding their annual New Year's bal masque, and everyone was there in the most fanciful garb Paris could offer. Dominoes swirled through the wine-distilled lights in a dizzying kaleidoscope of high spirits.
All of the Opera was there. Madame Giry, Meg, and her son Maurice appeared out of corner, the old matriarch waving her fan imperially as she watched the scene. The managers stood in a corner, glancing around suspiciously at the gossip could only guess what. Raoul and Christine danced. The vicomte was covered in dark green, his mask painted with forest leaves and vines, and Christine was a summer sun in warm yellow, a small gold gem hanging around her neck. Far across the foyer, Danielle sat with her chin in her palm. She was a vision in black silk, a slashed skirt covering her black pants and ribbons belted around her waist like a tail. A long-muzzled mask sat on the seat beside her. The woman was staring out over the sea of people, searching. But he wasn't there.
Had she scared him off? So much contact after a lifetime of solitude could definitely do that. But she had only been trying to help. She couldn't leave Erik down there all alone, a prey to whatever darkness had leaked into his soul.
If she could change the way her heart felt, maybe things would be different, but that was out of the question. Fate never let you change your destiny. Your heart didn't see the same way your eyes did. Danielle shifted in her seat, wondering if that was what she really felt. If she was in love…
The Persian suddenly appeared out of the menagerie of colors and took the seat beside her, forcing her out of her daydreaming. Danielle's mouth fell open in astonishment. The daroga was dressed in the most vibrant blue, feathers stitched around his cuffs and the mask he held in his dark hand. He leaned on his knees and looked out over the crowd, copying Danielle.
"Quite the masquerade, mademoiselle," he said amiably, flashing a smile at her. Danielle forced a grin back before returning to her search. The daroga became petulant and followed her eyes as she quested. "Who are you looking for?"
"No one," she muttered distractedly. The Persian didn't stop following her gaze, and Danielle suddenly felt a shiver of suspicion down her spine. The daroga was sifting through the crowd like a hound on the scent. His garb suddenly looked more like a police uniform than a masquerade costume. She was about to open her mouth and draw his attention back when Jacques dropped into the vacant chair on her other side. He smiled and pulled his mask off, fanning himself.
"So what, pray tell dear sister, is so fascinating about these seats that they've claimed the interest of both you and the daroga, Danielle?" he asked playfully. The Persian started and glanced over at him before standing. He offered Danielle a small, almost knowing bow before disappearing into the crowd. She watched him go warily, wondering why he made her so suspicious.
Jacques shrugged it off easily and threw his arm around his younger sister. "Why are you sitting over here, Danni? You love the masked balls." She shrugged, and huffed as another domino that wasn't Erik came in the door. The managers glanced at the grand doors warily and started whispering to each other, but she didn't notice. Jacques suddenly pushed her animal mask into her hands. "Come on, Danni, time you had a dance." He gave her only enough time to tie it on before dragging her onto the floor.
The musicians picked up a new pace, and everyone on the floor called for a snowball. Jacques forced his sister to quickstep until she was laughing. The crowd whirled by as he danced faster. When the cry for a switch came, Danielle gratefully pushed him away and snatched Maurice Giry as he came down the stairs. Meg's son was younger by a few years, but he was the sweetest thing. At odds with his adorable boyish grin, he had picked up a rather saucy sense of humor from spending most of his life in the ballet dormitories. "Good to see you up," he said, "Jacques was worried about you." Danielle smiled and forced him into a series of intricate steps that he just kept pace with until they called for another switch. Maurice spun her around gracefully, a move he'd probably picked up in the dormitories, and grabbed some other girl from the floor.
As Danielle stood catching her breath, a dancer behind her took her arm and turned her around, sweeping her up into the dance. He was all in snowy white, from his gold embroidered coat to the plain domino concealing most of his face. Danielle had to check her step to his familiar movement before she met his eyes.
"Erik!"
"Angel." He grinned and nosed his mask against the long muzzle of hers.
"I was afraid you wouldn't come," she muttered, but he placed a finger on her lips.
"I'm sorry I worried you," he said sincerely, leaning close to speak secretly in her ear. He squeezed her hand, and Danielle sighed happily and leaned a little closer.
Across the room, Richard stepped away from Moncharmin to call to someone outside the doors.
The music faded to the background as Erik and Danielle mounted the marble steps. "I wish I could say how gratefully I am," he said quietly, and Danielle took off her mask, "but even that sounds weak. Ever since you came back…" He stopped and shook his head, moving her in a pirouette. They paused at the top of the steps, Danielle's back against his strong chest and his arms wrapped around her. Her hand on his wrist finally made him give up the search for words and lean over her. Danielle tilted her head back and kissed him.
For a moment, they both thought that the world had stopped for them. Everything went still, waiting. The world was just for them, filled with the music pulsing in perfect harmony through their veins.
Then Danielle glanced down the stairs. The party had frozen to a dead standstill. By the open doors, the managers were standing in dumb shock, staring at the O.G. from so long ago. Raoul and Christine were looking up at them, she grabbing his arm. The Persian stood stone still, watching the two knowingly before beginning to move towards them. The only other people to move were the dozen men, all wearing blue and swinging rifles off their shoulders.
"Erik," she hissed, and his arms tensed around her. His eyes flashed dangerously as he took in the guards, and he held her tighter as the floor seemed to shift. Every in the party suddenly gasped, and the world went dark.
The next thing Danielle knew, she and Erik hit the ground. He leapt to his feet and reached up to the dark ceiling, breaking off some piece of the trapdoor that had dropped them through the floor. Danielle blinked, wide-eyed in the dark, and looked around, pushing her hair out of her face.
They had fallen into a world of illusion. Everything was reflected and multiplied, shining with a cool, glassy texture. It was like a vision out of some fantasy, a world from some ancient time forgotten and left behind. It all had an otherworldly feel to it. She had to outstretch her hand to make sure what she saw was real. The cool glass under her hand was real enough. There were dozens of mirrors, lining every wall, multiplying and reflecting the dim light hundreds of times. A single candle could have been a noonday's sun in this room. Yet an uneasy sense of ancient malice hung in the air. As she drew her hand back, a hundred more did the same thing. Danielle stood and looked over as Erik dropped his hand from the ceiling.
"Erik, what do the police want with you?" she asked worriedly. He stared at her for a moment, and then looked meaningfully at the mirrors. Danielle stared around at them with sudden realization, remembering what her father had told her of the phantom's torture chamber. She raised a hand to her neck at the thought of Buquet. "You mean…" Erik ran his hand through his hair at a loss. His eyes took on the caged look that he had in the dark, a hunted look that sparked sudden determination in Danielle.
The young woman growled and started pulling at the belt of ribbons round her waist. Erik stared, perplexed, as she pulled the skirt and ribbons off, leaving only her black pants and shirt. She dropped the rest in a corner and tied her hair back. "Give me your mask, Erik." He blinked at her and met her eyes again. He shook his head incredulously.
"No." Danielle straightened her back and took a deep breath. Her eyes glistened in the gloom as she held out her hand.
"You have to get away." Erik winced at the effort she put into saying that. It took her a minute to compose herself before she could speak again. "Please. Let me help."
"Danielle, Angel, I can't let you do that. You'll be putting yourself in danger." He hated himself for it, but he forced himself to push gruffly past her, trying to get away. Danielle's hand grabbed his sleeve and dragged him back around to face her. Her eyes didn't meet his for a moment as she took a steeling breath.
"I'll stay hidden. I can draw them off. They'll think I'm you." His expression hardened, but Danielle ignored it. With a frustrated sigh she grabbed his coat and started pulling it off. "This will only draw attention." She dropped the magnificent coat on the pile of her clothes unceremoniously. "I can wear your cloak, wherever it is. No one will tell the difference." Her voice was hushed, now, and she reached her hand to touch his mask fleetingly before stepping back. Erik studied her in the dim light, how she tried to push all emotion out of her eyes lest it overwhelm her. Their reflections waited like sentinels in the glass.
"Don't hide like that," he said, pushing stray tendrils of her hair away. He finally sighed and touched his mask. Danielle watched silently as he pulled it off, weighing it in his hands. He waited for her gasp of fear, for anything to show her terror, but she only gently took the porcelain from his hands and slipped it over her own brow.
"Necessity has a cruel irony to it," he laughed thoughtfully. Danielle smiled as she studied his face in the dim light. He had kept it hidden for too long. She tried to suppress the thought, tried so hard, but it rose unbidden…When will I see his face again?
"Where's your opera cape?" she forced herself to say. Erik turned and hurried out of the palace of illusions with her close in tow. He pulled his high-collared cloak out of a hidden cupboard at the first corner they came to. He draped it around her shoulders and then cupped her chin in his fingers, making her look up at him.
"Promise me that you'll be careful." Danielle flashed a smile, but it faltered slightly at the end as she looked down. Her fingers traced his palm.
"I wish you didn't have to g—" Someone suddenly shouted down the hall, and they both jumped. Danielle's hand bit into his palm nervously, and he stared off down the corridor anxiously. He took her hand more firmly in his and pulled her after him, hurrying down the hall.
"I'll go through the frame in the cellars," he said as he glanced warily around the corners of hallways. The frame in the cellars. That was the one draped in velvet, the one Danielle didn't know where it led. Erik stopped and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Be safe, my Angel." His lips brushed her cheek briefly, and then he was gone.
She stared after him for a moment as he disappeared down the hallway, and then pulled the mask down over her eyes and pushed open a door. She ran through the deserted workshop and opened the door into the main hallway. Three of the gendarme stood with their backs to her, muttering to each other. Danielle stole like a wraith behind them and grabbed at the small wooden ledge hallway up the wall. Her fingers found the hidden spring, and a cramped alcove appeared behind the false wall. She hoisted herself into it and swung the wood back to lean out into the hall. The men were still oblivious to her as she grabbed the cloak.
"Here, monsieurs, are you looking for me?" She laughed as deeply as she could and gave the cloak a voluminous flourish before jumping back and shutting the wall. Her heart raced as she pressed her ear to it and listened to the men run past her hiding place. Catching her breath, she counted to ten, leapt to the floor, and hurried back the way Erik had gone.
They ghosted through the whole Opera, sneaking and backtracking, constantly circumventing the police until they probably thought that the house was haunted. Danielle finally stopped and turned around, standing guard against anyone following. They had reached the passage that led down to the cellars; there was no other way down unless the police stumbled upon a secret door. Erik paused behind her, both of them catching their breath and trying to ease the adrenaline rushing through their veins.
"Danielle," he said, and she turned to him. He felt like he was looking at a mirror, she wearing the mask instead of him. His hand gently pulled it above her eyes. "I can't say—"
She stopped him and waved her hand down the corridor, putting her own back on the mask. "Go!" she whispered. Even in the half-light, his face conjured nothing but love within her. He hesitated, his hand falling away from the mask. Footsteps echoed distantly through the corridors, and they both rued them. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, then slipped into the shadows near the walls. "Go," she mouthed again, gently, fearful of speaking past the lump in her throat. Finally, with a motion as if he were fighting against a tide, Erik turned and vanished into the cellars.
Danielle sighed heavily and leaned against the cold walls. Her hand quivered faintly as she reached up to remove the mask. It stilled, though, on the smooth surface as her eyes went wide. Those footsteps weren't echoing distantly anymore, they were right down the hall. Danielle hastily jumped in front of an adjoining corridor, lingering in plain sight as her blood began to pound. Her muscles knotted and her breathing snagged nervously as she stood, poised on the verge of flight.
One single gendarme appeared around the corner, a young boy, really, yet still looking regal in the blue uniform of the police. He couldn't have been five years older than her. He stopped dead when he saw her, and before he could catch a glimpse of anything but the mask and cloak, Danielle spun away and dove into the corridor, racing away from Erik. She heard the man gasp behind her and fumble for his rifle. His boots pounded louder than hers as she led him on such a wild goose-chase that she lost track of where she was.
They raced past shut doors and more corridors, stone walls and gas lights repeating maddeningly. The boy was too close behind, and Danielle put on a desperate burst of speed, her cloak billowing out behind her. The main foyer loomed before them unexpectedly, and Danielle didn't miss a step. People shouted and cried as she and the young guard plunged into them, she shoving people aside, bobbing and weaving through the crowd. The rifle hampered the guard as he tried to shout people out of the way instead of unceremoniously pushing through them. Green flashed in front of Danielle, and she suddenly reined in her mad dash as Raoul appeared before her. His mask was gone, and his eyes flashed recognition, but whether he realized it was his daughter or his rival, she couldn't be sure. With a faltering step she frantically pushed past him and leapt gratefully for a dim hall. The guard muscled through the crowd behind her, but it bought her a few extra minutes. At the second corner she paused, gasping for breath.
Erik loped down the winding path to the cellars. The darkness wrapped around him unnoticed, unfamiliar. Some part of him cursed it, cursed his fate that it forced him to come back down into this black abyss. But if the guard knew he was still down here, realized that the elusive phantom was still sheltering beneath the Opera House, they would gladly burn it down and smoke him out.
He had to leave Paris behind. He had to leave Danielle behind. What had she done, he asked himself painfully, to make him regret that so much?
Danielle panted, leaning against the wall, listening warily for the rapport of boots behind her. It never once passed her mind to take off the mask and ruin the charade, risk them finding Erik when he still hadn't left the Opera. Her breathing suddenly froze as she heard not a mad dash of footsteps, but instead the ominous, harsh click of metal that seemed to reverberate in her ears like a death knell. From behind her mask she turned and stared at the guard loading his rifle, spun and sprinted for dear life. A minute later she hit the ground hard, clutching at her arm in agony.
In the cellars, Erik froze as a gunshot suddenly barked from high above. Who could they be shooting at, he thought, if I'm all the way down here? His mind didn't catch up for a long, strained moment. Then with a horrified curse he spun and raced. The climb seemed miles longer than it should have been. He burst free of the cellars, and cried out when he saw Danielle lying on the floor, sprawled beneath the thick opera cloak, the white mask fallen away. His breath choked in his throat and he fell to his knees beside her, scooping his angel into his arms. She cried out, and Erik quickly drew his hand back stained ruby red with blood.
"Oh, Danielle," he whispered and laid her in his lap. He ripped a piece of his shirt off without hesitation and delicately pried her hand away from her upper arm. The blood barely showed on her black clothes, but it painted Erik's white suit with a cruel vividness. She moaned as he tied the knot snug, her hand suddenly grasping his shoulder urgently and pulling him close.
It was only then that Erik looked up. The young guard was staring at Danielle in horror, his hand quaking on the gun. He opened his mouth a few times to no avail, and was about to apologize to Erik when he finally looked at him. The horror in his eyes turned to near terror, and he raised his rifle back to his cheek. Erik stared at the barrel of the gun, frozen, kneeling over his wounded angel.
She suddenly had her feet beneath her, and leaned all her weight on Erik's shoulders as she staggered to stand. He protested, grabbing her waist as she swayed, but she firmly grabbed him. It was his fear of her falling that kept her in front of him, before him and the barrel.
"Go, Erik," she whispered, determined not to fall. It took effort to unclench her hands from around him, but she stood her own ground. She heard the metal of the trigger creak.
The gunshot took them all by surprise. It wasn't the sound of a police's rifle, but a pistol. Erik stared past Danielle's shoulder as she unsteadily turned round to stare at Raoul. The bullet hole in the woodworking of the rifle was still smoking as he landed a heavy right hook on the guard's chin. He crumpled to the floor limply just as Christine appeared, holding her skirts as if she had been running. The pistol was raised automatically at Erik and Danielle before he realized who he was aiming at.
Raoul's arm wavered as he saw them, Danielle's grip on the sleeve of Erik's supporting arm so hard that it shook. Christine sighed and put a hand to her breast as the vicomte dropped the pistol to his side in shock.
Erik finally let go of the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "It's alright, Danielle," he whispered gently in her ear, his arm enveloping her shaking frame. She turned her hazel eyes to him, nearly fever-bright with exhaustion and fear. "It's all right." Her panting slowly gave way to an exhausted sigh as her hand loosened its clawed grip on him. He caught her as she fainted away, kneeling down with her limp body cradled in his arms. When he looked up, he found Christine beside him, gently touching her daughter's cool brow.
Raoul stood unnaturally still, watching them with a far-off gaze. Erik recognized the look in his eyes, the vicomte battling with himself. Voices called down through the hallways to the cellars, but they dissolved in that thick silence.
"Raoul," he finally said. His voice cracked as he said it, but he knew what must be done. The vicomte shook himself. Erik rose from the floor with Danielle rocking in his arms, breathing faintly against his chest. He looked down at her with a determined, resigned strength. "She needs to go home." Raoul contemplated him for a moment before lifting his daughter out of his arms, leaving the thick opera cloaked draped in them lifelessly. Erik forcefully tore his gaze away from her to meet the vicomte's eyes. Christine touched Raoul's arm.
"Go," she said, such a simple farewell. Raoul and Erik stared each other down until Danielle moaned quietly, as though she could perceive what was happening even unconscious. Raoul shifted her closer and nodded.
"Go, Erik." With backwards steps, he looked back as long as he could. Just as he disappeared again into the cellars, the clatter of guards sounded behind the vicomte and his wife. Christine spun around first, Raoul supporting the weight of his daughter. Three police rushed around the corner and halted at the sight of the corridor: the unconscious guard, Christine flushed in her bright yellow dress, and Raoul holding the girl with a blood-soaked bandage around her arm. Christine jumped into action first.
"Guards, look what he has done!" she cried. Her hand waved insistently down the opposite hallway. "He's gone that way. Hurry!" Without a word the three men about-faced and rushed down the corridor, heading far away from the cellars.