Erik danced with as much power and grace as he did everything else, Christine was pleased to note. He was a strong leader, whirling her around effortlessly in his arms until she felt quite breathless and dizzy. When the dance ended, he thanked her for the dance and led her to the edge of the floor and got her a drink.

"Your hopeful suitor should be here any minute," he said. "Christine, there is something I have to tell you."

She took a sip of the punch, watching him over the rim of the cup with worried eyes. "Does it have something to do with what's to happen tonight?"

He nodded. "Did Gerard tell you?"

"No, he only said not to worry, 'whatever happens tonight.' What's going to happen, Erik?"

"Gerard and I have set some things in motion this evening, which, if all goes well, will bring an end to my persecution from the current managers. I can't give you the details, not yet, but I will ask you to please try and keep the Count de Chagny occupied in your dressing room for at least an hour."

"I'll try," Christine replied.

Erik smiled then; she could see his grin showing mischievously through the teeth of his skull mask. "I've left a very nice carafe of wine in your dressing room for you to give him. That should help immensely. And," he added, gently stroking her lower cheek where the mask didn't cover, "It would help me a great deal if you were to refrain from drinking much of it yourself, and try to make him consume the majority of it before you both return here."

He ran his thumb lightly across her lips, and she parted them to take a sudden breath. "Just what are you and your father planning?" she asked coyly, leaning into the caress and giving him a flirtatious, sidelong look.

Erik's eyes darkened at the look, and his hand slid around to the back of her neck as he leaned down close. "Damn this mask," he muttered. "I should dearly love to kiss you right now."

Christine blushed and took his other hand in hers, pressing it to her cheek. She turned her head and brushed a kiss across his knuckles, and then dropped his hand self-consciously and cleared her throat. "So, let me make sure I understand you: I am to keep the count occupied for an hour, pour wine into him, and then return to the ball to meet you?"

"Yes, if you please," Erik said airily. "Shall you be able to, do you think?"

"I'll do my best," she promised. A flash of white caught her eyes. "Oh, look; I think he's here now. Is that him?"

"I believe it is." Erik offered his arm and escorted her over to his rival.

"Christine, is it you?" Philippe asked in a low voice. He was wearing a white cloak and a white mask with lace dripping from its edges. He sounded embarrassed.

She nodded. "Hello, Philippe. Are you ready?"

"Yes," he said, looking askance at her deathly companion. "Who is this?"

"Le Mort Rouge," Erik introduced himself with a curt nod. "I presume you're the young man that Her Majesty here was planning to meet for dinner?"

"Yes."

"Then I shall take my leave of you both; Christine, I shall see you back here later." He bowed over Christine's hand, touching his lips gently to the back of it.

"Yes, maestro," she replied without thinking. Erik stiffened, but said nothing as he nodded and turned to go.

"Maestro?" Philippe asked, catching her arm. "Who is he, Christine?"

She sighed. She hadn't meant to say that! "Come with me, Philippe; I'll tell you in my dressing room." She took his arm and they ducked out the side door. Philippe snagged a passing servant and ordered some dinner brought to Mlle. Daée's dressing room, and they headed back up the stairs.

"Now then, Christine, what is all this? Why wouldn't you come to my chateau? Who is that man you were dancing with? Why did you call him 'Maestro'? Why have you been avoiding me?" Philippe demanded once Christine had closed the door behind him. He took off his lacy mask and glowered at it. "I look ridiculous in that," he griped under his breath as he tossed it aside.

Christine said nothing, but went straight to her dresser and picked up the carafe of wine. Two glasses stood on either side of it, and she hid her smile as she turned back to her friend. Erik had thought of everything. "Philippe, would you pour this out please? I promise, I'll tell you as much as I can, but I'd like this to be a nice dinner between two old friends. Please don't turn it into an interrogation!"

"I'm sorry. You're right," Philippe said, taking the carafe. "It's just that I've missed you so much, and I've been worried about you." He poured out the wine and handed her a glass. He raised his with a smile. "To us!"

Christine returned his smile, but clarified, "To our friendship!"

They drank. Philippe sipped, then sipped again, and finally took a couple of large gulps that almost emptied the glass.

"Mmm, this wine is wonderful! Thank you, Christine," Philippe said. He put his glass down and went to her, leaning in for a kiss.

She turned her head so that it landed on her cheek instead of her lips. "I'm glad you like it, Philippe, but we need to talk."

"Apparently we do," he replied with a slight frown. He absently poured himself some more wine. He offered to refill Christine's glass, but hers was still nearly full. "What happened with us, Christine?" he asked mournfully. "I thought you were as much in love with me as I was with you."

"Sit down, and let me tell you about when I first came here," Christine suggested. "After you and I talked at the country fair and you told me to come here, I used all the rest of my money to travel to Paris. I arrived in the middle of the night and had nowhere to sleep; I ended up sleeping in the train station and walking here the next morning. I asked for M. Carrière, but was told that he'd only just been dismissed! I had nowhere to go, no food, no money, and now no one who would help me."

Philippe looked pained. "Christine, I am so sorry! If I had known—"

She held up her hand to stop him speaking. "It worked out for the best, Philippe, really it did."

"Oh? How?" He sipped at his wine.

"Jean-Claude helped get me the job as La Carlotta's costume girl, and he let me stay here, in the opera house, in one of the upper cellars. My first night here, someone heard me singing, someone who worked here. He's a musician, and he began giving me voice lessons. After a month or two, I didn't know myself when I sang because my voice had improved so much."

"Your maestro," Philippe guessed, looking sharply at her over the rim of his glass.

She nodded. "He made me swear not to tell anyone. He's a very private man, and he didn't want all the others clamouring for lessons as well; also, he didn't want to get in trouble with the new managers. M. Carrière wouldn't have minded, since I found out they're friends, but my maestro didn't want to have to answer to the Cholettis."

"I don't blame him for that," Philippe agreed, refilling his glass. He glanced at Christine's—no, she still had plenty—and took another sip.

There was a knock on the door, and Christine called for the servant to enter. He brought in a tray piled high with roast chicken, bread, sauce, vegetables, and some fruit and cheese for dessert. Christine laid the table and fussed a little bit, serving them both and taking a single sip of her own wine before sitting down at her little table opposite Philippe.

He drained his cup before taking a bite of chicken. "So why did you start avoiding me? I thought, after you sang at the Bistro, that everything was good between us."

Christine shrugged helplessly. "You returned so suddenly, Philippe, and I had already established myself here. I had my job, I had some friends, and I was actually getting the singing lessons I had wanted. Then you came back and threw the party at the Bistro, and my teacher was so happy for me, so eager for me to make my debut! I was nervous, but he talked to me, convinced me I could do it. He even gave me my dress for that evening, and helped me get ready. I was supposed to come right back here to tell him about it afterwards, because he doesn't go out much, but then you wanted to go for a carriage ride and all. And Philippe, I was just so overcome with the memories that I just went along with you. I was swept away, remembering my dear playmate—you're the only other person I know now, who remembers my father—and perhaps I allowed things I should not have allowed." Eyes downcast in maidenly modesty, she flushed a little and ate in silence.

"I see," said Philippe, sounding hollow. "So what you're telling me is that… my feelings toward you are not reciprocated?"

Christine looked back up at him with a compassionate expression. "I am sorry, Philippe. You'll always have a special place in my heart—as my childhood friend, and as someone else who loved my father, and I would like to be able to count on your friendship, but you must not assume any more than that. Please. I am sorry."

Philippe refilled his glass again. "I think I need more wine." He ate quietly for a few minutes, eyes glued to his plate, until he finally pushed it away with a gusty sigh.

"So there's someone else, then," he surmised.

Eyes still downcast, Christine nodded. He took a gulp of wine.

"Your maestro, I'm assuming?"

She nodded again.

"Damn him." Philippe stared at his plate morosely. Another gulp.

Christine giggled a little, in spite of herself. "You speak as if you don't have at least a dozen 'someone elses' of your own, dear. You can't exactly have been pining for me. Not with the entire corps de ballet wearing your face in their lockets!"

Philippe laughed a little, embarrassed. "None of them are like you, though!" he protested with a rueful grin.

"I should hope not!" Christine teased, enjoying his discomfiture.

He cleared his throat. "So, tell me about this maestro of yours," he asked. "Is he in love with you?"

Christine nodded shyly. "He is. I don't deserve him, and I know my night out with you must have hurt him dreadfully even though he hadn't told me of his feelings yet by that point. But that's why I tried to avoid you afterwards—I couldn't bear to cause him any more pain."

"Why didn't you just tell me? I was getting desperate to hear from you."

Christine's gentle blue eyes took on an angry glitter. "Yes, so I heard. So desperate you arranged to have me kidnapped?"

Philippe hung his head. "I'm so sorry, Christine! I had no idea they were going to… do that to you! I just wanted them to bring you to my chateau, so that we could talk! I'm so sorry."

Christine saw his remorse and relented. "Well, luckily my maestro was there and took care of them for me before I got badly hurt. So let's not talk any more about it."

"He 'took care of them'?" Philippe asked suspiciously. "How? What happened?"

"He had been riding by in a carriage and heard me scream. He went after both men who attacked me, beat them senseless, and left them there in the street. Then he brought me back to his house because no one else was home at my flat, and took care of me until I was better."

"His house, hmm?" Philippe smirked and raised an eyebrow.

Christine's chin went up. "Yes, his house, and don't you be thinking such things about him, Philippe de Chagny! He was extremely respectful! He treats me like a queen."

"So who is this paragon of gentility?" he asked. "Where is his house?"

"That is his business."

"What is his name?"

"Also his business."

"What does he do here, in the opera house? You said he worked here; what does he do?"

"Philippe, you did hear me say that he was an extremely private man, did you not? Why do you want to know all these things?" Christine started to get worried. Philippe was beginning to show signs of tipsiness (the wine was 2/3 gone, she was glad to note) and she decided it was time to distract him.

"If you want to know more about him, you can ask M. Carrière, who has been his friend for years. My maestro hasn't given me permission to divulge any personal information about him, especially to you, whom he doesn't like because of the kidnapping."

"Then why did he bring you over to me and let us go off together? For all he knows, I could be taking advantage of you right now!"

She shook her head. "I told him you would never do that. I explained that the kidnapping was an aberration in your character. I also told him that my loyalties lie with him, and that he could trust me. He does."

Philippe nodded heavily, several times. The wine was definitely beginning to hit him. "Good. Good." He blinked and leaned over closer, to gaze earnestly into her eyes. "Are you happy with him, Christine? Does this mysterious tutor of yours make you happy?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes. Yes, very."

Philippe heaved a big sigh. "Then I can see the only action open to me as a gentleman is to get out of the way."

She put her hand on top of his on the table. "I'm sorry, Philippe."

He shrugged. "No matter. If he makes you happy, then…" he shrugged. "And you did say you wanted to keep my friendship, didn't you?" He stared owlishly at her.

"Yes, please, if it's not too painful for you."

He rose to his feet and saluted her, a little wobbly. "Then, mademoiselle, I am yours to command. Tell me, what may I do for you?"

Christine got an idea. "Well… my maestro has found the new managers very difficult to work for—and in fact, they have not been good for the opera house in general. Philippe, as our biggest patron, you have a lot of power. Couldn't you pull some strings at the Academie Nationale, and get M. Carrière put back in charge?"

"Perhaps," Philippe was looking thoughtful now. He took another drink. "The Cholettis had no business getting him sacked in the first place—he's the best thing that ever happened to this place."

"The second-best, perhaps," Christine qualified with a smile.

Philippe grinned at her suddenly. "Right, right. I forgot about your precious maestro. Well, sweetheart, I'll see what I can do." He paused to empty his wine glass, and then turned back to Christine, looking suspicious.

"Is your precious maestro going to marry you, then?"

Christine lowered her gaze and flushed. "I—I don't know. He hasn't mentioned it."

Philippe scowled. "And yet, he's already compromised you by having you spend the night at his house."

Christine lifted her chin. "He's an honourable man, Philippe. He would never take advantage of me—and since no one knows about this except him and me—and now you—my reputation shan't be compromised unless you tell someone." There was a definite challenge in her tone.

"Christine, I just want to make sure he's good enough for you! That's all. If you're in love with this mysterious musician who has no intention of marrying you, you'll only end up hurt. I just don't want you to be hurt."

Christine subsided. "Well, I haven't known for very long that I am in love with him." She continued thoughtfully, "Perhaps he is just giving me time to get used to the idea. There have been one or things I've had to get used to." She smiled a little to herself, enjoying her private joke, and then looked back up at Philippe. "But he is a man of honour. Of that I am sure."

"Even so, though… promise me that if you ever need me for anything, you'll come to me." He grinned, a sad, tipsy, lopsided grin. "Especially if you end up needing me for a husband!"

Christine laughed. "It won't be necessary, but I promise." She patted Philippe's hand affectionately and shook out her napkin. "Think we ought to be heading back, then?"

Philippe extended a hand to her, and pulled her up close to him. "Here," he said thickly, putting his arms around here. "Just for old times' sake."

Christine gave him a brief hug and then stepped back. "We should head back down." She fixed her mask back in place and handed Philippe his white lacy one.

He shoved the mask back on so it sat slightly askew on his face, and offered her his arm with a goofy grin. "Your wish is my command."


A/N: So what have Erik and Gerard been doing while Christine and Philippe were having dinner? What evil plans have they concocted? Is Philippe ever going to realize his mask is crooked?

The answers to these questions and more await you in the next chapter! So tune in next time: same ghost time, same ghost channel!

(Oh, dear, I know I just dated myself something 'orrible!)

Anyway... Eariwen, Erik's Red Death costume uses his full-head skull mask from the Charles Dance movie, the long, embroidered train from the Leroux novel, and for the rest of it I'm picturing the red-and-gold "Red Death" outfit that Robert Englund sported in the 1989 horror version. Englund had the very best and coolest-lookingRed Death costume that I've ever seen on film, so that's what I'm using as a baseline.