Author's notes: Sorry for the long wait, here's your dose of DD from dear little me! Oh and yes, rooftop scene coming up soon! Please tell me whether to add Le Fop later on or not… I'm still unsure. And Z., don't even bother voting, I know your answer already. ;-)

longblacksatinlace – well, that would have been hard to write. Anyway, more interaction with Luciana in this chapter, hope you enjoy it.

Enrinye – you know damned well what it meant, Z., don't play innocent with me. I know what goes on in that little dirty mind of yours. ;-) Heh, "husleeeeeee!" I know, I know. No more tears or soap opera – like stuff. Here ya go.

starnat– Heh, read on.

H. Sibelius – Fixed & corrected. Thanks and read on.

X X X

Chapter XVII

X X X

The lessons progressed without problems, as did the work on the site. When the building was finished, Christine decided to continue sketching only for her own pleasure. She wanted to 'quit', actually, but the workers practically begged her to stay, if only to arrange communications between them and Erik.

Now crawling underneath piles of lyrics and music sheets instead of sketches, she always came around lunchtime to help – it took at least ten minutes before she got a full list of what she was supposed to ask/tell Erik. Giovanni asked her to keep an eye on Luciana in the mornings, if she could, and she obliged. In turn for her companionship, Luciana showed her the most beautiful parts of Rome and the neighbors – an elderly couple – were kind enough to take her to Vatican.

Soon, it became clear that Giovanni was accepting jobs primarily (if not only) for Erik's sake, to grant him more experience. He was training his successor, that much was clear. It was just a matter of time before the boy who turned the apprentice system into mockery in such a short time would become probably the youngest master in history.

Illusions and dreams never lasted for long.

It was a seemingly ordinary day on the site. A new project, a few new workers, a new day… but one of the newcomers seemed horrified since the moment he saw who was in charge. The whole situation unsettled Christine. For the first time, she decided to stay longer and join the workers for dinner, even though they kept a respectable distance between their table and hers. But ever so often they seemed to glance at her and then quickly continue their whispered conversation. Eventually, just as she had decided that she had to ask what this was about, the group approached her timidly.

"Miss Christine, the others and I would like to ask you something."

She lowered her fork, frowned slightly, but nodded. "You seem to be acting oddly today… what's wrong?"

The leader – Gaetan - shifted nervously, "Well… you are on good terms with Erik." She nodded again, but had no idea what significance it had. "We were… well, we were wondering if you ever saw him without the mask."

Her frown deepened. "No, I haven't. And honestly, I care very little. Why?"

"He is a monster!" another man – the horrified newcomer – blurted out, "I was him at the fairs in Florence and, God knows I'm telling the truth, miss, only the Devil could have spawned such a creature, if it isn't the Devil himself!" Some of the other workers nodded frantically.

"And what is it about his face that causes you such fear?" They stared at her as if she were mad, but then remembered that she hadn't seen him and therefore could hardly imagine what he looked like. And so Maurizio, as they introduced the narrator of the terrifying tale, described in great detail what he saw.

"His entire skull was exposed beneath a thin, transparent membrane grotesquely riddled with little blue pulsing veins. Sunken, mismatched eyes and grossly malformed lips, a horrible gaping hole where a nose should have been…"

With each word, the workers paled, some cringing, some staring into space, their eyes widening as they imagined the horrible thing. As for Christine, she was already ghost-skinned, so even if she were frightened, it wouldn't show.

Like Giovanni, she had guessed what was the most probable reason as to why Erik wore his mask at all times. While it was hard to imagine, after spending so much time around him, talking to him, learning to care for him in more ways than one, she found that she hardly cared about his face. After the first week, she barely acknowledged the presence of the mask.

Once Maurizio finished his monologue, all eyes moved to Christine, awaiting her reaction to all of this. They expected her to squeal, scream, cry, or, at the very least, look shocked. The sadness on her face they didn't anticipate.

"It is regrettable that someone so gifted was cursed with such a misfortune." She said, almost calmly, "But it is far sadder that you cannot see beyond the surface."

"You haven't seen him!" It wasn't a yell – it was a terrified whisper of a man crazed with fear. "He is a demon!"

"He is an angel to me. And he is your master. You should treat him as such… from now on, without my help." Sharply, she stood up, her chair almost falling to the ground.

She stormed off, angry and upset, her intention being to find a way home. At this point, she couldn't care less if she was kidnapped right then and there… but fortunately (though she viewed it as her bad luck), Giovanni either heard the swishing of her satin dress or simply saw her and quickly rushed to her. He had to grab her arm to catch her, since she seemed deaf to the sound of her own name.

The elderly mason's eyes almost widened when he saw her silent tears and quick breathing and begged her to explain. Half successful at maintaining some calmness in her already shaking voice, Christine explained what happened, skipping the description Maurizio offered and the worst of the worker's reactions.

When she finished, Giovanni sighed. Of course he realized Erik was hiding some very serious deformity and had hoped that, after earning his full trust, the boy would confide in him, if only to ease the burden within him. But he was not ready to read the signs and with the arrival of Luciana, who had unknowingly stabbed a dagger into his heart and who he didn't want to love anymore and Christine, who became his muse and who he was terrified of at the same time, because it was within her power to twist that dagger sharply (neither Erik nor Christine knew that Giovanni was observant enough to see this), they became even more distant.

"I… I am frightened, uncle." Christine said, holding back a sob.

Raising an eyebrow, Giovanni couldn't help asking: "Of Erik?"

Christine shook her head. "It's this situation… all of it… that scares me. Erik has been nothing but kind to me. He is not a monster. Not to me."

"But, Christine… if it would be true…" He wanted to make sure she meant that. God knows he wanted Erik to be happy and he hadn't seen him like this in… well, he had never seen him quite like when they talked. He watched them occasionally and despite the fact they talked about anything but themselves; he saw they were happy in each other's presence.

Giovanni knew Christine well enough to tell she felt an attraction to the boy, but unlike Luciana, who fell in love with the mystery of him, with the magic of his voice and grace of his moves, Christine admired him as a person and was one of the few people who understood at least part of him through the music they both loved.

Erik was tougher to read.

The boy was without a doubt an enigma – it was no wonder the aura of mystery surrounded him. The mask only added to that fact. He could spend hours silent, simply watching, like a patient predator, at other times, he would be the ultimate storyteller or critic. He worshipped beauty in every form… but worshipping a girl who was the image of an angel in his eyes was new to him.

Giovanni was certain he wouldn't speak to anyone of his feelings, least of all to Christine. In his mind, there was a dogma that no one in the world could ever love him, under any circumstances. The fact that this girl was showing him affection and friendship was confusing him – it conflicted with what he viewed as natural.

Now that Giovanni knew that nothing would change Christine's mind, he felt a sense of relief. With her aid, he could perhaps be able to convince Erik that they truly meant him no harm and wanted to accept him, treat him as family. And if luck would hold and both of them would remain true to their hearts, the master mason was completely sure that if there would come a day he would see those two together, old enough to see what he saw now and legalize their union, he would be the happiest man in the world.

But for now, he was happy to see that this wasn't just a shallow attraction that would fade with time. He escorted Christine home, dreading what would happen at the site the next day. His fears were great… and they soon became true. When the whispered word "monster" reached his ears, all was confirmed. It was only then that he began to fully understand what it meant to be Erik. Only then did he understand a fraction of the pain within him.

A cage seemed to close in around Erik again. Once more he was a feral animal, a lone tiger – and the hyenas were closing in around him, circling him. At any unguarded moment, they could strike, thus constant vigilance became his routine. The strike never came, for the workers knew well of his skill with the knife and his natural authority was enough to help him hold his ground. But he seemed to be but a shadow now and without Christine's comforting presence at the site, which he assumed was because she believed in what the workers were saying, he was easily angered and menacing.

The singing lessons were put on hiatus, the note Christine found on her table informed her one day. That was the moment something in her snapped and she ignored the daily shrieks of Luciana, the feeble attempt to calm her, made by Giovanni. She ran downstairs and straight into the cellar, finding Erik working on the accounts, a bit startled to see her barge in like that.

"We need to talk." Christine quickly said, almost surprised at the calmness of her voice.

Erik nodded and put away his quill. "I suppose you are correct, mademoiselle."

She could hardly believe her ears. "Erik, I thought we were past that! My name Christine and you have every right to address me as such! You have no reason to defer to me or treat me as a superior!"

A small ironic smile played on his lips. "But I must, mademoiselle. What right does a demon have to call an angel by her name?"

Christine stood there, dumbstruck. He called her an angel, which was the highest possible praise, he called himself a demon, which he clearly assumed she thought him to be… from angry to happy to despairing was her quickest transformation ever.

"Monsieur, when will you understand that I care nothing about what others may say about you? When will you understand what if I was frightened or repulsed, I wouldn't be here, with you, Erik? Is your vision really so narrow that you can see only hate and are blind to love!"

She didn't and didn't have to say any more. Erik was staring at her, motionless, latching onto each word, savoring the sweet music that he was hearing. He dared to believe – yes, he actually dared to believe – that she was telling the truth. And even if she was probably hardly thinking about what she was saying, too desperate to even realize she was almost openly admitting love, he couldn't care less. Speechless, he watched her turn on her heel, in tears, and dash from the cellar.

Some time later, Giovanni came and found him with the accounts, already packed to leave. He still thought it would be better to leave… but the elderly mason immediately snapped at him that he had never seen such absurd drama and later on, they were both drinking wine and Giovanni was talking to him about various things, from masonry to the psychology of young women, eventually giving him a silver compass that was from the happy days before Luciana's birth, something to hold on to, a symbol of some hope.

The offer of a crucifix would be too soon, but Erik accepted this token with humble, flattering gratitude that made even Giovanni feel a bit uneasy, in a good way. Erik was actually surprised he managed to pocket the compass on the second time, since he felt very dizzy – he was used to many things from his time with the gypsies, but alcohol wasn't one of them and drinking so much on the first try was a bad idea. Even in this state, he managed to maintain some awareness of what was happening, but he felt that if he would close his eyes now, he might not open them till morning.

"Get yourself off to bed, boy, you're well and truly shipped," Giovanni said ruefully, obviously aware of what was happening. Struggling to walk straight and get to the stairs without tripping over his own feet or hitting the wall, Erik was soon called back. Leaning a bit against the doorframe for support, his eyes a bit unfocused. Giovanni's voice was a muffed echo now, but he tried his best to listen to it.

"Erik ... I hope you'll never become so good at building walls that you can't see when they need to be pulled down."

The echo seemed to be coming from various directions now and he wasn't exactly sure where the master mason was standing, so he simply stared into space uncertainly. "I'll ... see to that first thing, sir," he muttered, as though he hoped that was the appropriate reply. Afterwards, Giovanni let him go, clearly seeing that anything he would say now would have no effect and soon, the drowsiness would overcome him.

The summer dragged on and Luciana soon became like a curious newborn that wanted to understand the world in a day. Angry confusion often took over and she snapped at things she didn't see or understand. Erik hardly ever came home anymore, spending long hours at the site, using lanterns to light the scaffolding after dark. Some nights he did not come home at all.

Christine kept spending hours at a time locked in her room, refusing to come out, singing quietly to herself about various things that made no sense when Giovanni sometimes listened behind the door. But when he repeatedly heard her calling to some Angel of Music and crying afterwards, he began to understand that there was some form of connection between the times he went to check on her during the night and saw an empty bed and the sounds of opera music constantly being repeated coming from the cellar.

One morning, he woke to hear their voices from the cellar. Seconds after he came to the stairs, Christine followed, distinctively frightened of something. Giovanni then realized it was Erik's voice she was frightened of, because she learned to distinguish his various moods through it. And the voice they heard was defensive and chilling, a sound he didn't use to punish even the sloppiest of workers. But Luciana's voice was petulant, with a hint of angry tears, ignorant to the danger around her.

"What are all these things anyway? What do they do?" Apparently she wanted to know what all of his inventions – the wonderful little gadgets that began to gather dust because their creator was spending as much time away from the house as possible.

"Please leave them alone, mademoiselle." The plea was more of a command, but Luciana was oblivious to that.

"I want to know ... explain them to me!"

"You could not possibly understand."

"Oh, really? Am I so very stupid then?"

"That is not what I said."

"No, but it's what you meant! Or did you perhaps mean something else? Yes, that's it! I know now why you're afraid to show me these things ... it's because they don't work, isn't it? They don't work!"

"Everything in this cellar works!" Christine took a step back in pure terror, her face easily blending with the snow-white walls now. The rage that exploded in the voice was immense… and Luciana chose to fight fire with fire. It was as if two volcanoes were erupting at once, each trying to devour the other.

"Well, this doesn't work!" Luciana's cry was accompanied by a loud sound of glass hitting the floor, "... not any more! Or this! Or this!"

Giovanni was deathly pale now as well and quickly began descending to the cellar to intervene before Luciana would end up with a serious injury or worse… but Erik was already storming out of the cellar, taking two steps at a time, pushing past Giovanni with such fury that Christine backed up against the wall and shrunk to the floor, hugging her legs and bringing her knees to her chin, rocking back and forth, terrified.

Not even Giovanni dared to stop Erik from fleeing from the whole incident, because the blind rage he saw in the eyes behind the mask and the air of a killer barely resisting the urge to grant a stupid child her death wish. The scent of death fleeing lingered in the air and Giovanni turned to Luciana, who sat in the middle of broken glass and metal, staring at them, ignorant of her narrow survival and what she had almost caused.

"Luciana!" Giovanni's voice was unnaturally cool, "Go to your room at once!"

But she simply reached to touch one of the pieces of glass. "How can he love these things, these bits of wire and metal?" she whispered, anguished. "How can he love these things and not love me? Am I not pretty enough?" Her voice was choked. "Oh, Papa ... why does he hate me so much?"

"He doesn't hate you, child. He only hates himself."

Confusion took over. "I don't understand," Luciana said, in all truth. "Why should he hate himself?"

Giovanni looked to where Christine was and saw that she had fled to the safety of her room or somewhere else, so he went to sit down near his daughter and uneasily spoke. "Luciana ... the mask..."

But Luciana didn't want to listen to that. "I don't want to hear about the mask," Like a child who heard only what she wanted to hear, she put her hands to her ears. "I don't want to hear those hateful rumors that the laborers are spreading. They're only jealous of him because he's so quick and clever and everyone knows he could take over from you tomorrow."

"Luciana..."

"I don't believe them!' She got up abruptly and backed away. "I won't believe them, Papa, I know it's not true!"

"But if it were..."

"It's not true!" the scream echoed, the hysteric yell of a madwoman who refused to believe anything but what she wanted to believe. "He's not ugly, he's not some kind of monster! I won't let him be ugly, Papa ... won't let him be!"

Silenced by the determination and blind dedication to her belief, Giovanni was forced to let her go, fearing for the sanity of all three of them.