Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or Wicked.

Remember: Keep your hand at the level of your eyes, and nothing matters but knowing nothing matters.

Chapter V – In the Lion's Den

Elphaba had pulled her hood up to cover her face, and deep violet gloves that matched her cloak enveloped her hands. Erik could actually feel pity rising in him – she was worse off than he himself.

She caught him watching her. "What?"

"Nothing. Let's go." He held out his elbow invitingly, and she grasped it at first. After three paces she let go.

"Sorry, that just doesn't feel right."

"My thoughts exactly."

They continued side by side up the walkway to the door, and Erik raised the brass knocker, which was shaped like a rearing lion.

It was answered almost immediately. "How may I assist—"

The servant broke off, staring at Erik in astonishment. From farther inside, a voice called, "Well, show them in."

The man's eyes brightened with malicious glee. "My pleasure, sir. Please, come in," he said to Erik and Elphaba.

They stepped over the threshold and he reached out a hand. "May I take your cloak, mademoiselle?"

Elphie pulled the fabric closer, her head lowered. "No thank you."

"But surely—"

Erik gripped his shoulder in a death hold. "She said no."

The servant backed off, his eyes watering. "Of… course. Just down this hall, monsieur." He indicated a long hallway to their right and returned to his post at the door.

Erik set off down the corridor at once, Elphie hurrying to keep up. "It's good to know he keeps his servants informed of his attempts," he said lightly, referring to their as yet unseen host.

Elphie glanced around at the walls; they were pocketed by tiny alcoves, which concealed many biblical statuettes. "I don't like the feel of this place. It's too…"

"Catholic," he supplied.

He reached for the door handle that led to the Vicomte's library, but stepped back to let Elphie consider them. "He really likes the lion motif, doesn't he?" she observed.

"It lets him intimidate you before he sees you, so you're already at a disadvantage."

Elphie scoffed. "Nice try."

Erik wrenched the doors open and stepped into the room with Elphaba at his side.

Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny, looked up from his desk and couldn't believe his eyes. Standing not five feet away was the Phantom of the Opera himself.

"Well, well, well… I never expected you to come here, of all places. And of your own free will. Impressive," he sneered as Erik glowered at him. Elphie laid a hand on his elbow, and he exhaled slowly. Raoul turned his gaze to her.

"Did he force you to accompany him, mademoiselle?" he shot Erik a look of purest loathing. "He has that unfortunate habit."

"Actually sir, it was my decision to come," Elphie lowered her hood and simply waited for his reaction. It was quite predictable, in her opinion.

"Merde!" he cried, flinching as if she'd burned him. Elphie continued to stare daggers at him. He regained his composure and turned back to Erik. "A wonderful hoax, old friend, really inspired—"

"Hoax?" Erik interrupted. "There is no hoax."

"But… but how can she be-" Raoul sputtered.

"And last time I checked," Erik added in an icy tone, "we aren't friends, old or new."

"But besides that…" Raoul was still grappling with the fact that the girl before him was an impossible shade of green.

"Can you not get past this one aspect of my life?" Elphie burst out. "Erik has!"

Raoul looked stunned. "Yes, only because he's like you."

He didn't register what happened next until five seconds after the fact. A sharp sting set into his face and he realized Elphaba had slapped him.

"How dare you," she hissed, pure venom in her voice.

Erik touched her shoulder in a reminder of self-restraint, smirking at the Vicomte.

"I learned not to test her," he said mildly. "But shall we get to business?"

"Indeed." Raoul was massaging his cheek, but his eyes gleamed. "Tristan! We've finally got him!"

Erik glanced over his shoulder and saw the servant racing down the passage. In one quick movement, he stepped back and slammed the door shut.

"Not this time, mon ami," he hissed, sneering at Raoul.

Elphie threw him backward onto the desk in a lightning-fast move.

"Where is Fiyero?" she demanded.

Raoul could barely breathe under her surprisingly powerful grip.

"Fiyero…" he echoed vaguely. "Ah yes, Fiyero. Bit of a gypsy, no?" He managed a grin. "I'll tell you. But… how much do you value your companion's life?"

"What?" she reeled for a moment, giving him time to turn the tables. In a moment, Elphie was held in his own strangling grasp.

"What are you on about, de Chagny?" Erik snarled.

"Oh, it's simple really," said the Vicomte, taking a dagger from his belt. "I can see she wants to know where this Fiyero is, and I'll tell her. If you give yourself up."