Chapter Forty Seven: Unexpected Developments

The Phantom

"Erik, do you love me?"

Her question startled me. I did not anticipate it. What could I have done? I answered her honestly. I told Christine that she was my sun and my moon. I told her that I could not live without her. I told her I fell in love with her the moment I heard her voice from beyond the mirror in her dressing room.

She winced and paled at my words. It seemed as though I had struck her. "I see. Erik, if you love me, why haven't you showed me your face?"

"Christine, you do not know what you are asking," I warned. She did not realize the severity of her request.

"But Erik, I have seen your soul. You have shared your music with me. Why do you not share your face?"

Oh Christine! If only you did not ask that question! "No one sees my face and lives Mademoiselle." I was being truthful; I tried to dissuade her from wanting to see beyond my mask. She refused to heed my warning.

Before I knew what was happening, her small ivory hand was at my face. I was so startled by her boldness that I did not realize she was deftly untying the strings that held my mask in place. When she drew her hand away, it took me a moment before I realized my mask was gone! That moment destroyed all that I have strove to create!

I keep seeing her face in my mind! Her light blue orbs full of curiosity and then they filled with extreme horror before my eyes! Her face paled, her hands shook and then, with a little cry of despair, she closed her eyes and buried her head in her arms.

I could not stop the anger that clawed at me! The rage that was boiling in my soul since the day of my conception burst forth and I rounded fiercely on Christine, grabbing her hair and pulling it, forcing her to look at my cadaverous face.

"You wanted to see my face, so now look upon it! Look at it Christine!" Then, I grabbed her hand and forced her to touch the uneven and scarred skin. "What do you think of it Christine? Is it as smooth as the skin of your precious vicomte?"

Her gasps of terror still echo in my ears! I pressed her nails into the disfigured skin, deep enough to draw blood. "How does it feel Christine?"

My hand strays on its own accord as the memories replay themselves before my mind's eye, and unties the strings that keep my mask against my face. My hand brings the mask down so I can stare into its empty eyeholes. They represent my life without Christine. My life, like those eyeholes, is an empty abyss of grief and unspeakable sorrow. Gently I caress the three long jagged marks on the side of my face, made by Christine.

"Christine," my lips barely form the word. Her name is holy and should be revered. "Christine, you've ruined everything. Why did you need to see my face? Why couldn't you just leave well enough alone?"

I throw my mask across the room, hearing the black porcelain shatter as it hits the wall. I burry my face in my hands and sob quietly. The hot tears sear the overly sensitive skin, reminding me of all the pain in my life. The heat of the tears reminds me of the terrible secret that was confirmed today, my dear Christine is engaged to that wretched de Chagny!

After I caused the chandelier to fall, I followed Christine and de Chagny to the roof. I hid behind Apollo, and listened to them conversing. I heard him confess his love for her and I listened as my Christine mirrored his feelings. I watched their forms mold together in a kiss, sealing their vows, against the ever darkening sky. Then, I heard a faint ping as the gold ring I had given Christine fell against the rooftop. It was then that a cry of anguish escaped my lips and broke the stillness of the night, causing the two young 'lovers' to release each other and glance around attempting to find the source of the sound.

Anger fills me and I have the worst desire to feel the fop's neck break in my hands. The numbing sensation as the third vertebrata of the spine snaps and hits the hand where the fingers meet the palm, is one of the greatest feelings in the world. I can see de Chagny's neck bent at a forty degree angle, his lifeless eyes staring at me while I hold Christine in my arms. His blond hair will fall onto slowly cooling skin, and his mouth will droop open, his tongue hanging from it with saliva running down his chin.

I force myself back from my fantasy of the dead vicomte and raise my head to stare at the shattered pieces of my mask. I can no longer see the black lacquer but in its place I see the pale skin of de Chagny. Although I have always followed Death and have always been a good disciple of Her, I cannot stop my heart from quaking because She has completely taken over my thoughts. Everywhere I look, I the corpse of Raoul de Chagny and cannot help but feel gratification from those visions.

"Death, my goddess, are you giving me a sign? Are you telling me I must kill that boy in order to save Christine from his clutches?"

A tremor goes through my body as I realize that I need Christine as much as I need my music. My love for music is intertwined with my love for Christine. It is impossible to separate the two. I cannot live without them both.

"Tomorrow night, at the masquerade, I will take my Christine back!"

Mac

Watson's words made no sense to me. I couldn't believe that Holmes would consciously love me. After pondering the Doc's words of wisdom for awhile, I remembered that I was still soaking wet. I decided to get into a hot tub of water and allow the soothing soap to wish away all my anxieties.

I exited the bathroom a half hour later, in my jeans and my soccer jersey, feeling much more relaxed. The long soak helped me put everything in perspective: I love Holmes, Holmes cannot love me because he fears he'll destroy me, Watson thinks Holmes does love me, there is a crazy guy named Erik who has tried to kill me several times, Erik wants Christine and Christine wants Raoul.

Something was telling me there was going to be an explosion of emotion soon, but I had no idea when the explosion was going to occur and what made me feel that way. If only I'd known how soon the explosion was going to take place, I would have worked that last day out slightly differently.

But, as it were, I reentered the sitting room to find Watson speaking with one of the maids.

"Oh, sorry Doc," I said turning to leave.

"You weren't interrupting a thing Mackenzie," Watson said smiling at me. "Attempting to get comfortable?"

I looked down at my attire and smiled. "Yeah, I don't feel like putting on one of those damned dresses."

The good doctor laughed. "Well, I cannot say I blame you."

"Where's Holmes anyway?"

"Oh yes, he gave me instructions to give you. He is at the opera house library. You and your friend are to find suitable costumes to wear to the masked ball tomorrow night."

"Masked ball? Whoa! When did this occur?"

Watson smiled. "Raoul de Chagny invited us to accompany him to the opera's annual masked ball."

"I take it Christine is performing?"

Watson raised his eyebrows. "How did you know that?"

"Simple Doc," I replied, throwing my head back with a laugh. "Why else would the fop want to go to a masquerade?"

"Mackenzie, Mackenzie what am I going to do with you?" Watson asked good-humoredly.

"Put up with me Doc," I said with a smile. "What did the fop want anyway?"

Watson shook his head. "He has informed us that Christine Daaé has disappeared--"

"Duh! Holmes already knew that!"

"So I heard. He also informed us that Christine wants to meet him tomorrow night on the Grand Tier at the Opera House."

"Fun, fun! Hey, Doc, what do you consider suitable attire for a masquerade?"

Doctor Watson shrugged his broad shoulders. "What would you wear at home?"

I thought for a few moments, trying to figure out how to answer him. "Well one Halloween, Becky went trick-or-treating dressed as a hooker. I went as a stoned hippie that year! Man was that ever fun!"

Watson raised his eyebrows. "I am not sure…"

I chuckled at his ignorance. "Becky dressed up as a prostitute and I dressed up as a guy that was addicted to drugs, wore bright colors and had huge hair!"

Watson turned an interesting color. "I…I do not suggest that sort of outfit--"

"Chill Doctor Watson, I'll make sure Mac doesn't get high!"

I turned around and grinned at my best friend and 'sister'. "And I'll make sure you don't go making any money with your body."

"But Mac, that's the fun of Halloween!"

"That's the fun of every single day of your life."

"You know you want me," my best friend said, making her voice low and seductive.

"Oh yes Beck, more then you can possibly imagine," I replied, barely controlling my laughter.

"Come here sexy and I'll show you some ways to investigate your stud muffin!"

"Becky," I injected a low warning note in my voice. After all I learned about Sherlock Holmes, no one was going to ridicule him around me.

"What's the matter? Don't you want to investigate his body? I mean he should want to investigate yours, that is unless he's not the man you make him out to be," the lilting tone in her voice made me want to smash my fist into her nose.

"That is quite enough! I don't mind you ridiculing me, but the minute--"

"You wanna protect your sexy detective from any harm? Aww how sweet!"

"Becky if you don't stop right now, I swear to God, I will make what I did to you in Perros look like child's play," I growled.

Her face turned ashen and her hand involuntarily rubbed her throat. "Okay, okay I'm sorry. God Mac, I don't know what the hell has happened to your sense of humor."

I sighed, knowing she was right. Before this entire time travel thing, I had been voted most funny in my high school yearbook. I use to be able to laugh at anything and in turn make others laugh. Now my mind felt much too heavy for laughter and amusement. My heart was weighed down by both love and pain, making frivolity seem as though it was a thing from another place and time. Would I ever be able to go back to the fun loving girl I once was? I highly doubted it.

I forced a smile. "I don't know Beck," I said pushing wet hair from my eyes. "Let's just say that today was a very stressful day."

"Yeah, but it's only the evening."

"Don't remind me, okay?"

"You wanna talk about anything?" I was shocked to hear genuine concern in her voice.

"Nah, not really. Thanks though," I said. I turned and looked at Watson who was observing us with raised eyebrows. "Hey Doc, what are you gonna wear tomorrow night?"

He shrugged. "I haven't the faintest idea. I'm sure Holmes will have some notion."

"Hey Beck, you up for a little shopping?" I asked over my shoulder.

"I was wondering when the hell you were gonna ask. Aint I the shopaholic here?"

"That you are Beck. Lemme just change into something more acceptable in Victorian society. All right?"

"Sure, but hurry up!"

I retreated to my bedroom and a moment later emerged wearing a cream colored dressed. "Hey Doc, you wanna come with us?"

Doctor Watson shook his head. "No, thank you anyway Mackenzie. Here," he reached into the pocket of his trousers and removed a beat-up wallet. He opened it and removed several bills. "You'll need more money then you've got."

"Doc, I can't accept this," I said seeing the wad of cash he was handing me.

"Sure you can," he pressed the bills into my gloved palm. "Now the two of you had best find suitable costumes, not too revealing. There are to be no prostitutes or drug addicts accompanying us to the masked ball."

With a laugh, Becky and I left our hotel room.

"Well, well I'm glad to finally have some time alone with you," Becky said as we stepped onto the crowded Paris street.

"Ditto," I replied. "I missed just hanging out with you."

"Not too much though," she replied. "I know you like chillin' with Holmes. Even though I mess with you, between us, he's a cool guy and he's good for ya."

I was taken aback by Becky's statement. "You serious? Well thanks, I think."

She shrugged her shoulders in a gesture of indifference. "Yeah, but what I mean is he's good for now, while we're stuck here in the nineteenth century. However, once we get home, I expect you to forget all about him."

Easier said then done. "Yeah, well--"

"Well nothing! When we get home, I'm going to introduce you to so many guys you're gonna say Sherlock who!"

I sighed and continued to walk. There was no way she was ever going to understand my feelings. "Beck, that is all well and good and I appreciate your concern, I really do, it's just that--"

"Just that what?"

I sighed. "Beck, have you ever been in love?"

My question startled her. When her surprise disappeared, she busted out laughing. "Lust, absolutely, love forget it! Takes the fun outta everything, especially outta sex. I mean who wants to go down on the same guy every day of their life? I certainly don't!"

I shook my head. "You're sick; you do realize that, right?"

"Yeah, I know. But why the hell are you asking me about love?"

I sighed angrily. My best friend was defiantly extremely dense. "Becky," I made sure I spoke in measured tones, keeping my words deliberate. "I am in love with Sherlock Holmes."

She raised her reddish eyebrows. "You're shitting me right?"

"I shit you not," I replied evenly. "I thought you knew. I mean you heard me tell him at Perros."

"Yeah but I didn't think you fuckin' meant it! I mean hell this changes everything! I mean…oh shit! Wait, are you sure? I mean one hundred percent sure?"

I shook my head good-humoredly. My dearest friend remained dense as ever. "Yes, I am totally sure. In fact, I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

"Then, wait you can forget love, can't you? I mean you can fall in love with someone else, it's been done, hasn't it?"

"So I've heard, but they say you never forget your first love. I mean, hell I don't want to forget him, I want to be with him forever!"

"You're not serious!"

"As serious as cardiac arrest," I replied.

"Holy hell!"

"Well I don't believe I've ever heard that expression before mon amie!" I said forcing a smile. I was trying to pretend that Becky and I were walking the paved streets of twenty first century New York City rather then the cobblestone streets of nineteenth century Paris.

"…love that's a strong emotion Mac…" Becky's pseudo-logic about love drifted in one of my ears and out the other, barely registering in my over-wrought brain. I was lost in thought about how, in the span of a few months, my life had changed. The twenty first century and all its conveniences seemed so far away. My desire for Shawn seemed childish compared with my love for Sherlock Holmes, and I blushed when I recalled it. Holmes's painful confession replayed itself over and over like a broken record in my mind. Blind rage and hatred clawed at my soul like never before. Hatred for Holmes's father, hatred for the world that shunned the detective, hatred for the lover in his mother's life, and most of all hatred for all my foolish actions, my botched showings of affection which caused him to remember the horror of his youth. "…he's great for now…your parents wouldn't like it…you're only seventeen…society would condemn…"

Society would condemn. Oh yes, they've condemned all right. They shunned a man, made him feel like an outcast for something that he did not do! Society molded Holmes to feel contemptuous toward others, made him feel unlovable. Society allowed a man to sexually assault his son and get away with it. Society has done its part to ruin Holmes's early life. It sure as hell isn't going to ruin my life with him.

"…Mac," Becky slapped me hard on the arm, breaking my thoughts into a million pieces, each too small to pick up and form another coherent idea. "Hey Mac, are you even listening to me?"

"What? Oh yeah, sure I was. Society condemns and I totally agree with that sentiment."

"You didn't hear anything I said, did you?"

"Sure I did," I lied. "You said that I am only seventeen, too young to fall in love. May I remind you that you are only sixteen and that you are already sexually active?"

"That is not the point Mackenzie and you know it."

"Then pray tell me, what is the point Becky? You can sleep with men whom you don't have feelings for and yet society will condemn me for falling in love with a man a few years my senior? Is that what you are trying to say?" I couldn't help my voice rising to a belligerent pitch.

"Yes, that is what I am trying to say. It is wrong for you to fall in love so young."

"And it's fine for you to sleep with every Tom, Dick and Harriet that comes along, right?"

"Yup."

I shook my head contemptuously. "Society is fucked up!" I said caustically. "Totally fucked up."

"I'll second you on that one Mac."

"Young men can be sent to fight in a senseless war for oil; some older men and men of the cloth can molest young children without repercussion. And yet, according to you, it is wrong for me to love Holmes because he is older then me. The world today, it's a sad state of affairs, if you ask me. A very sad state." I shrugged and looked into one of the store windows we were passing as we walked aimlessly. A flash of gold caught the corner of my eye, and I stopped mid-stride to peer into the window of a pawn shop.

Sitting amongst various rings and necklaces, on a platform of purple velvet, was the most handsome pocket watch I had ever seen. The gold cover was engraved with an ornately inlaid ivory 'S' which shone brightly when the sun hit it. As I stared at the watch, my heart pounded in my chest and I knew I had to buy that watch for Holmes, no matter the cost.

"Come on," I said, grabbing Becky's hand and pulling her into the door of the pawn shop.

When a small bell chimed, announcing our arrival, a wizened old man in a threadbare suit looked up expectantly from a pile of strange rings. "Bon soir," said he in a gruff French accent.

"Bon soir," I replied with a slight smile. "That pocket watch in the window…"

"What about it?" His harsh mannerism did not intimidate or deter me.

"Combien coute?" (How much is it) I asked.

With a grunt of effort, the shriveled man pushed himself from his chair and limped painfully over to the window. With an ancient key, he opened a lock and removed the watch.

"This one?" He asked, looking at me over a grimy pince-nez.

I nodded. "Oui."

"This has been laying here for over two months," he said placing the watch in my hands so I could examine it more closely. "A nice specimen of workmanship, if I do say so myself."

"Yes," I replied, opening the cover. I didn't know a thing about men's pocket watches, my father always chose a Rolex wrist-watch with a Swiss balancing system to a pocket watch. The inside looked nice enough, the numbers were all written in Roman Numerals and the second hand ticked. "Combien coute?" I reiterated my earlier question.

The old man considered my question for a few minutes, as he did so, one of his tobacco stained hands unconsciously tugged at his salt and pepper muttonchops. "You buying anything else?"

Watson! Yes, I defiantly gotta get him something. "Yes," I replied, wandering around the small and crammed shop. "I'm just not sure what." I stopped my wanderings when I saw a gorgeous silver fountain pen collecting dust on one of the shelves. I gingerly lifted it and examined it. "This will be perfect for Watson!"

"Can you engrave things?"

The elderly man nodded. "I can do anything for a price."

"All right, how much for the pen and watch, each engraved?"

Once again the elderly man considered my words, unconsciously pulling at his muttonchops. "Does thirty francs sound about fair? I want to get rid of some of this merchandise to make room for some new goodies."

Carefully, I counted out thirty francs and handed them to the man. "Here you go," I said with a smile.

The wizened man carefully counted out the money and with a grim grin, put the cash in a drawer. "Now, young lady, what do you want on the pen?"

I though for a moment. "Doc, my dearest friend. Mac."

"And on the watch?"

"Engrave it on the inside cover, if you don't mind."

"Aye, what do you want on it?"

I thought for several moments. "SH you've stolen my heart. Love, MS 1891."

"Aye."

A quarter of an hour later, Becky and I exited the pawn shop, I in much better spirits then before.

"That was a damned waste of time," my best friend grumbled.

"You're just jealous because you didn't get anything," I said with a laugh. I held the small bag containing the gifts close to me.

"How much money do we have left for costumes?"

I felt my face fall. I had spent almost all of the money on gifts for Holmes and Watson!

"Lemme guess, we don't have a damned dime left, do we?" Becky asked, looking into my face.

"Well--"

"This sucks Mac! What are we supposed to do now?"

"I got it!" I raised my hand to signal a passing hansom cab. "The Paris Opera House!" I said as Becky and I climbed into the small vehicle.

"You're smart Mac," Becky said as we exited the opera house, costumes in hand. "You are very smart."

I grinned at her off-handed compliment. "Thanks dude," I said looking at my court jester's outfit.

"Think I'll make a good princess?"

"Absolutely."

"You can be my fool!"

"Aint I already?"

"I forgot that for a moment."

"See? That's what happens when her royal highness has forgone dinner. Her memory goes!"

"No, that is what happens when her royal highness goes shopping with her fool. Her patience, memory and money goes!"

"That maybe so," I said, thoroughly enjoying our bantering. "But upon my soul, the money that your fool spent was not given to you."

"Indeed, but my jester was a fool to spend it all!"

"You've gotten better at punning Becky," I said with a mock low bow. "I may humbly submit that you may give me a run for my money one of these days in a witticism contest."

"You, cannot fool me with flattery fool."

"Indeed, but I can amaze you with tomfoolery!"

"Touché," Becky said with a laugh. "Well done fool."

Once again I bowed deeply. "Thank you m'lady."

Becky and I shared yet another laugh as we entered the hotel lobby, both of us in better spirits then when we left several hours earlier. Darkness had covered the city of Paris in her deep purple cloak some two hours ago, but neither Becky nor I was affected by the absence of light. Our laughter and the love that caused my heart to swell for a certain black haired gentleman was a beacon that could cut through the darkest of nights.

"Well it appears that you were fruitful in your endeavors," Holmes's voice greeted us as we crossed the threshold and entered our shared sitting room.

"That we were Holmes," I said dropping my court jester's costume on the sofa with a weary air. "And the intensity of the light in your stormy eyes indicates that you met with some success at the opera."

"An astute observation," he replied dryly. There was something in his mannerism that was not right. He seemed more anxious and more restless then usual. I shrugged it off as eagerness to solve the case of the opera ghost which he claimed was close to its solution.

"No my dear Holmes, it was an elementary one."

He puffed his pipe. "I daresay Mackenzie, although you smile, your eyes betray your attempt at appearing at ease. What is troubling you?"

"Nothing that concerns you my dear detective," I said with some flippancy. "A rather trivial matter that shall be cleared up as soon as Watson joins us."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. Now Holmes, why don't you tell me what you learned at the library?"

"Let us not discuss the case at hand Mackenzie, but let us clear up your little problem," Watson said striding into the sitting room. An infernal smile was written on his face as he cast a glance at his oldest friend.

"All right," I said stamping my foot. "What the hell are the two of you hiding? Holmes looks like he is going crazy with nerves and you Doc are grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Would you like to tell me what is up?"

"It is not for me to tell," the doctor said with a charming grin.

"Watson, not now," Holmes said sharply. He certainly had a chip on his shoulder! "Mackenzie, pray state your problem so that it may be solved. We have much to do between tonight and tomorrow."

With a confused glance at Watson, I reached down and picked up the bag that held my treasures from the day's shopping excursion. "Becky and I were in the city this evening, as you both know."

Holmes rapped his fingers impatiently on his thin yet muscular leg. "Pray refrain from stating the obvious."

"And," I replied ignoring Holmes's interruption, "I saw a small shop that I had to go into. There, I found the perfect gifts for two of the most perfect men I know." With a smile I reached into the bag and handed both Holmes and Watson their designated boxes.

Holmes raised his eyebrows at my speech and grunted. "I daresay I am far from perfect as is Watson. When I open this, what is going to happen?" He asked, eyeing the box warily.

"Nothing bad, if that is what you mean." I replied, impatient to see their reactions to the gifts I had bought them.

Watson was the first to open the box and when he saw the pen inside he grinned broadly. His eyes ran over the inscription and he embraced me tightly. "I feel the same way about you," he whispered onto the top of my head.

"I'm glad you like it," I said giving him a tight hug.

He released me and we both stood staring at Holmes. I was fairly shaking with anticipation. A million thoughts ran through my mind. Was he going to like it? What if he hated it? What if the inscription unnerved him? God is he hot!

With deft fingers, Holmes cautiously removed the lid of the box. I swore he thought something was going to leap out at him. When he realized that nothing was going to happen, he peered over the lid.

"Open the cover," I said as he gently lifted the watch from its box.

He obeyed and when he read the inscription, he gave a sharp intake of breath.

"Do you like it?" I asked, nervous to see his hands shaking.

Wordlessly he nodded and shrugged his slender shoulders. "I do not know what to say," he admitted with a frown.

"A thank you would be nice," Becky interjected. "She spent a shit-load of cash on it."

"Becky!" I couldn't believe her audacity.

"Sorry, but I'm just being honest," my friend replied.

"Just shut up, okay?"

Becky nodded. "Gotcha," she said.

I looked at Sherlock Holmes who was turning the watch over in his thin, nervous hands. His grey eyes took in every detail of the watch, including I am sure, the pawn shop number scratched on the back. His lips formed words that were never uttered and a look of extreme fascination and surprise stole over his features.

Okay Mac, relax. I'm sure he likes it, you probably just shocked him.

I bit back the urge to question him and just watched with mixed fear and amusement as he studied the timepiece.

"The previous owner," he said more to himself then to any of us present, "was a man of meticulous habits, who although had a great deal of wealth, lost his fortune and fell upon hard times. The watch was custom made for the gentleman, who's name, like my own, began with the letter 'S'. The workmanship is extraordinary, and the jeweler had an eye for detail. This watch, had it have been sold on Bond Street, would have cost the buyer several hundred pounds."

While the detective prated about his observations, I stole a glance at Watson who had the most insufferable grin on his features. What secret does Watson know and why the hell is he hiding it?

My thoughts were interrupted, when Holmes put the watch carefully in his pocket and smiled briefly. "Thank you very much Mackenzie," he murmured. "It was indeed thoughtful of you."

I very nearly sighed with relief. "I'm glad you like it Holmes. Wear it in good health."

His nervousness at something was still evident in his mannerism but he tried his best to hide it. "Well, now that your problem is cleared up, I suggest we discuss the case at hand."

I seated myself on the sofa. "I'm all attention."

Watson smiled. "Good, but I am rather hungry. Becky, would you care to join me for a bit of sustenance?"

"But what about--"

"Come along Becky," Watson said, his voice although light had an under riding tone that was not to be disobeyed. He turned down the gas as he headed out the door with Becky in tow.

"Okay Doctor Watson. I'll catch you later Mac, Holmes."

The two of them left the room, leaving Holmes and I staring at each other, a look of surprise on both our faces.

Becky

"Why the hell did you make me leave?" I asked as we walked down the hallway.

Watson smiled. "I think they need some time alone."

A wicked idea entered my mind. "You mean Holmes wants a go with her?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You know something Doctor; your nineteenth century ignorance really grates on my nerves. I simply asked if your friend wants to...have intercourse with my friend."

Watson gasped at my boldness and shook his head hard enough to cause reddish hair to fall into his face. "No! No he was thinking of…" He swallowed his words.

"He was thinking of what Doctor?" I was intrigued. What could Mac's stud muffin have in mind?

"I really shouldn't say."

"Oh come on Doctor Watson! You can't intrigue me like this and then leave me hangin'. It's just not fair!"

Watson ran one of his hands through his hair. "You see Becky, Holmes is a very reticent man."

"No shit Watson," I said irritably.

"He is emotionally stolid, or so I thought."

"I'm assuming this halting confession is leading somewhere?" I was extremely curious as to Sherlock Holmes's intentions. After all, we've been in the fucking Victorian Era for over four months already! I was a little sick of all the hemming and hawing.

"Yes, I just do not know how to continue--"

"All right, would it be easier if I…" what's the word Mac always uses? Deduce! That's it! "Would it be easier if I deduced it? My intelligence might not be as great as Mac's but I have a bit more insight to the human heart then she does. After all, I've known her for over ten years and she's only had about two boyfriends! Between us, she's sorta naïve."

Watson was a little shocked by my comments and told me so. "If you feel you can deduce it--"

"Mac is totally head over heels for Holmes. He knows it, I know it you know it, the whole world fucking knows it! Well since you wanna give them some time alone, Holmes can do a couple of things: a. either wants to tell her he hates her and doesn't have any feelings for her, b. tell her he likes her but doesn't like-like her, c. he can tell her he's madly in love with her or d. he can propose marriage.

'Now, given his nature, I'd say d and c are totally unlikely as is a. So my guess is b, he tells her he likes her but doesn't like-like her. Am I right?"

Watson was silent for several minutes; we walked in silence until we reached the hotel restaurant. Once we were seated and ordered, Watson decided to speak.

"What did you say option d was?"

I laughed like hell. "He proposes to her and asks her to marry him!"

Watson took a sip of the red wine that was in front of him. "What if I told you that was the answer?"

"I'd laugh hysterically, then tell you that she is only seventeen, he is in his late twenties, they are from two different eras and I'd beg you to tell me the real reason you wanted to leave them alone."

Watson looked at me over his wine glass. "That's what I said."

I felt my face fall. "Oh shit!"

Mac

"Well that was certainly strange," I said with a slight smile. "I've never seen Watson so anxious to leave us alone."

"Neither have I," Holmes replied, the slight tremor in his hands betrayed his outward appearance of being calm cool and collected.

"Hey Holmes, what's bothering you? You haven't been yourself since Becky and I came back from our shopping venture."

The detective was silent for several moments, his thin nervous hands clasping and unclasping in nervous agitation. "It's nothing," he said impatiently, at length. "Just something I have been mulling over."

"You need to talk?"

"No, no thank you. But since you are here," a brief look of insecurity passed through his eyes but disappeared so quickly that I couldn't be sure of it was real or if I simply imagined it. "I think we should discuss my findings." His tone of voice was once again commanding.

"Good idea," I replied, allowing my head to drop against the cushions of the sofa. "I could tell by the fire in your eyes that your research has been successful."

Holmes nodded and lit a cigarette, a small alternative to his pipe and sucked in the nicotine gratefully. "After spending a useless hour reading charts and diagrams of the opera house, I came across an old ledger."

"Strange."

"Indeed. It seems the ledger was kept by Monsieur Charles Garnier himself. He listed all the employees who worked on the construction of the Opera House as well as the money allotted for project."

"I think I see where this is going," I said with a slight, mirthless smile. "But continue, please."

"There was one worker, named Erik, no last name was provided with a question mark next to the name."

"What does the question mark mean?"

Holmes inhaled more smoke. "It seems there was an accident during construction, one of the worker's children died, and it seems like Erik simply disappeared a short time after."

The detective's words intrigued me. "Was he suspected of having any connection to the accident?"

"No one knows for sure," Holmes said grimly. "The details surrounding the death are extremely sketchy."

"I wonder why Erik vanished," I mused aloud.

"It was rumored," Holmes continued, "that he was the one who devised a way to drain the underground lake and replace it, making it possible to build the foundation of the opera house."

"Very cool."

"Indeed. The ledger also stated that Erik was a chief architect of the building project and he was one of the best stone masons Garnier had in his employ. He was the one responsible for the masks and the stone carvings around the building."

"Wow! Talented man."

"Oui. That is not all I found. There was also a diary of sorts kept by the old management."

"Really?"

"Must you continually interrupt?" He asked hotly.

"Sorry Holmes, I shan't say another word."

"Good, just listen. The diary listed all events that took place in the opera house since they took over. Other then the usual casting and financial troubles, there was a lot of talk of the ghost. It seems, shortly after the opera house opened, the opera ghost appeared and began making demands on the management.

'Since the suggestions of the ghost were good and seemed to improve the operas that were performed, the management decided to listen to his suggestions, even going as far as paying him twenty thousand francs a month. However, as soon as they hired Mademoiselle Daaé, the ghost's comments ceased to criticize the operas and focused on furthering Mademoiselle Daaé's singing career.

'One of the managers, Monsieur Poligny hypothesized that the ghost was in love with Mademoiselle Daaé. It seems that his hypothesis was confirmed when he heard the ghost's voice emanating from Mademoiselle Daaé's dressing room."

It took all of my self control to hold my tongue. I wanted to desperately get up and shout 'I told you that already Holmes! Remember our train ride back from Perros?' However, I decided against opening my mouth, for fear of angering the detective.

"I am quite aware that you suggested a relationship between the opera ghost and Mademoiselle Daaé some time ago Mackenzie," Holmes said staring at me over his cigarette.

Well he did pay attention to me after all!

"However, your suggested theory was rather fanciful and I do not believe a whit of what you said. However, I have formed my own conclusions about the relationship between Mademoiselle Daaé and our elusive Erik."

"Are you willing to share that theory with me Holmes?"

Holmes weighed my question for several minutes. "Perhaps."

He was being cryptic and annoying. "You can either tell me or not. I really don't care which you choose Holmes. I've had a trying day."

"You've had a trying day?" He asked raising his eyebrows incredulously.

"Yes, I mean I was nearly drowned, heard what happened to y…" I blushed and swallowed my words. Wow! That was heartless Mac. Cold and heartless. "Hey Holmes," I tentatively rubbed the top of his hand with my thumb. "I'm sorry that was wrong of me. Can you forgive me?" I asked when I saw pain in his eyes.

"As I was saying," he said blowing some smoke into my face, causing me to cough and wheeze. "From what I gathered from the notes from Garnier's ledger and the management's diary, Erik our Phantom is quite the musician. He is a composer—"

"And he can probably sing," I muttered softly, remembering Christine telling me he gives her lessons in her dressing room.

"Indeed," the detective replied. "It appears that Erik, who is in love with Christine, has some vendetta against Raoul simply because he too loves Mademoiselle Daaé. I have a feeling Mackenzie, that tomorrow night, there will be trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"I have explored the cellars once again," Holmes said ignoring my question "and I have come face to face with Erik in my wanderings."

"And you're all right?"

"Yes, he warned me not to go to the opera house tomorrow evening. He told me that if I valued my life and the life of my…" Holmes swallowed. "And your life I should stay clear."

"You're not going to let that threat stop you from seeing this thing through to the end, are you?"

Holmes smashed the cigarette he was smoking on the floor with the toe of his shoe and stared into the cheery fire. The crackling embers and bright flames reflected in his grey eyes and accentuated the shallows of his face, giving him an ominous appearance. "Ordinarily, I would not allow his threat to deter me; however I have the most foreboding feeling that by the end of the night tomorrow, there will be unnecessary bloodshed."

His words and the menacing tone the detective spoke them in chilled me to the very marrow of my bones. I sat down on the floor in front of his seat, to feel more of the warmth of the fire.

I felt his hand rest uncomfortably on my shoulder. "I cannot dissuade you from accompanying me tomorrow night, can I?"

"No Holmes, you cannot. If there is going to be danger, I want to share it with you. I want to be beside you always."

I heard him sigh softly. "I did not think I could. Mackenzie, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," I said leaning my back against his chair.

His voice was soft and I felt the hand on my shoulder tremble slightly. "Mackenzie, do you regret coming to this time, regret meeting me?"

His question startled me. "What?"

"Please, just answer it," there was a slight note of desperation in his voice.

I stared into the fire and place one of my hands atop his that rested on my shoulder. "Do I regret coming to this time and leaving behind my family? I miss them certainly, and I will admit that I miss some of the conveniences of the twenty first century but on a whole I cannot say that I regret coming here.

'To answer the second part of your question, there is no way in hell that I could ever regret meeting you. You might piss me off royally sometimes, infuriate me beyond belief, but never once have I stopped loving you and never once did I ever regret meeting you."

He seemed surprised and squeezed my shoulder. "You never regretted meeting me, even after I told you of my horrible past?"

"Not even then Monsieur Sherlock Holmes," I said honestly. The warmness of the fire and the comfortable and even cozy atmosphere combined with the day's emotional strain was enough to make me feel somewhat sleepy. I moved so I was more comfortable and rested my head on the great detective's thigh, so I could look up into his face. "Not even then."

His hand haltingly caressed my hair. "Nothing I could do, would ever make you regret our meeting?"

"Nothing in the world Holmes."

He leaned forward, his face mere inches from mine. "I could never regret meeting you either Mackenzie," his voice was soft and gentle.

The closeness of his face and the gentleness of his voice made my heart pound in my chest. He was so close that if I raised myself on my arms I could kiss him.

"Would anything make you change your mind Holmes?"

He leaned slightly closer to me, his voice a soft whisper. "Nothing at all."

"You know I love you," I murmured, trying to ignore my pounding heart.

"Yes," he whispered. He leaned closer to me our noses were almost touching. "But I do not believe I have made my position clear."

I could not help the breathy tone my voice took on. I will admit I was aroused at his closeness and it took every bit of self control not to grab him tightly and kiss those rose lips. "I…I am not sure what you mean."

"You cannot deduce it?" He whispered his breath was warming my skin, driving me very close to the edge of abandon.

"No."

"I swore to myself I would never love," he whispered. "Indeed, even when you told me of your feelings for me, they did not register in my mind. I swore they were impossible. Today, when I told you about my past and you did not shun me, I realized that I too have feelings for you."

His words were making my heart pound louder in my chest. My breathing was becoming more shallow. "Why did you not—"

"Because I was afraid Mackenzie, afraid to give my heart to someone completely. Tonight, when you and Becky left, and I returned from the opera house, I had a long talk with Watson. We discussed many things Mackenzie, and he, more then anything, made my brain tell me what my heart knew all along."

"What is that?" Our lips were nearly touching, our breaths mingled together, forming heat between us. I saw a look of unguarded emotion and, I couldn't believe it, desire in his grey eyes. I closed my eyes and brought my mouth closer to his, our lips touched slightly. "What did he make you realize?"

"He made me realize," I felt his lips move against mine as he spoke, his voice extremely soft. "He made me realize that I l—"

"Hey Mac, where are you?"

The magic moment was broken. My eyelids flew open and with a muttered curse, Holmes and I pulled away from one another. His face was flushed slightly and I was breathless.

"Hey Mac, where the hell?" She walked into the sitting room and turned up the gas. "Ah there you are! I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

I knew my face showed the anger I was feeling. "As a matter of fact--"

"We were simply discussing the case at hand," Holmes interjected smoothly. His eyes never broke contact with mine.

"Yeah we were," I replied, my voice was still breathless.

"Oh," there was a hint of disappointment in her voice.

"Becky, what the devil are you doing? Didn't I instruct you not too…?" Watson's voice was loud with anger as he entered the sitting room.

"Hey Doc," I said, not breaking eye contact with Holmes. With my peripheral vision I could see him standing in the doorway.

"Good evening Mackenzie, Holmes."

"Watson, your timing is impeccable as ever," Holmes said sarcastically. Holmes smiled slightly at me and then looked at his oldest and dearest friend, who colored at the barb.

"I'm sorry old man, it's just that Becky came barging in…"

Sherlock Holmes forced a laugh. "It is quite all right old fellow. Come in and sit down."

I stood and made a show of stroking the fire, trying to quash my feeling of anger at the interruption. I mean for God's sake Sherlock Holmes almost kissed me!

"Mac, you seem a little tense," Becky said sitting down next to Holmes.

"A very astute observation Beck," I said between clenched teeth. You just interrupted the most romantic moment of my entire life, thank you very much. I forced a smile and turned to face my companions. "Well, now that we're all here, I suggest we discuss our game plan for tomorrow."

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Becky said propping her feet up on the sofa and gently leaning against Holmes, who instantly vacated his seat and began to pace in front of the hearth.

"This entire affair, I feel, is going to come to a head tomorrow night," the detective said switching into lecture mode. Gone was the romantic albeit shy Sherlock Holmes of a few moments ago, replaced by, to quote Watson, 'Holmes the sleuth-hound.' "Tomorrow night we are going to attend the masked ball at the Paris Opera House in the company of Raoul de Chagny."

"Oh rapture," Becky said sarcastically. "I love spending time in that boy's company."

Sherlock Holmes ignored Becky's comment and continued to speak. "Tomorrow morning, I am going to the Opera House, unaccompanied by anyone, to tie up a few loose ends with the management and the respective people involved. I shall most probably be gone all day but will return here by six o'clock tomorrow evening to ready myself for the ball.

'I do not care what the rest of you do all day, I only order you to be ready to leave this hotel by eight o'clock tomorrow evening. In the short hansom ride to the opera, I will give you further instructions. I must warn you that we will be playing a very dangerous game tomorrow night; we will be walking on a double edged sword and could be destroyed in the process of saving a life. If anyone feels they do not want to join me, pray speak up now."

"I'm in Holmes," I said with a smile of determination.

"As am I," Watson replied.

Becky stole a glance at me and then timidly said, "What the hell, so am I."

Holmes nodded. "Now," he consulted his 'new' pocket watch, "It is nine o'clock, I suggest we all get some rest. It will be a very trying day and night tomorrow."

"Good night Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson," Becky said, grabbing me by the wrist. "Mac, I gotta talk to you!"

I looked at the two men in the sitting room. "G'night boys," I said. My eyes lingered on Holmes's face a little longer then was necessary before I allowed my best friend to drag me from the sitting room.

Watson

Once Mackenzie and Becky exited the room, I turned to my dearest friend, fairly bursting with anticipation. "Did you ask her?"

My friend shook his head. "I didn't have the nerve old fellow," he admitted. "I was close to telling her how I feel, when you and Becky entered."

"Old man I am so sorry, I tried to stop her but…"

Holmes raised his hand to silence me. "It's all right Watson. Perhaps it is better," he looked down and twisted the small ring he worn on his pinky. "I almost kissed her you know Watson."

I was taken aback by his words! The self-contained misogynist Sherlock Holmes came close to kissing a woman. "Honestly? How close did you come Holmes?" I blushed slightly when I realized I was acting like when I was a boy in boarding school learning the lewd secrets of one of my schoolmates.

He chuckled and self-consciously ran one of his hands through his thick raven colored hair. "Our lips touched," he said softly.

I felt a broad smile play along my lips. These were hidden fires! "Well old man," I said clasping him on the shoulder. "You can always ask her at the ball tomorrow night."

"Yes, I suppose you are right. Watson," when he looked into my face, I realized how innocent he really was.

"Yes Holmes?"

"Do you think it is a good idea to ask her?"

"Do you love her Holmes?"

Hesitatingly he nodded. "Yes, I truly believe I do."

"Then you've got nothing to loose old man. I highly doubt she will say no," I said with a smile.

"Yes but she misses her family Watson, she told me so," my friend said sadly. "What am I to do Watson? Can I honestly ask her to be my wife, consciously knowing that I am keeping her from her family and friends?"

"Love my dear Holmes, can conquer all obstacles, no matter how great they may seem. Just have faith my dear fellow, all will be well, you'll see."

Holmes chuckled mirthlessly. "My dear Watson, you and your bloody optimism! What the deuce am I going to do with you?"

"I believe I asked Mackenzie that same question before."

"What was her answer?"

"She said I would have to put up with her, so I am assuming the same answer goes to you old man."

He shook his head and I unsuccessfully attempted to stifle a yawn.

"For God's sake Watson, get some sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow."

I smiled at my friend. "Good night Holmes," I said as I retired to my own bedroom.

Mac

"Hey Mac?"

"Hmmm?" I asked, attempting to get a comfortable position on my bed.

"Why, when I walked in, did you look at me with anger in your eyes?"

I reached up above my head and turned down the gas, making our room completely dark. "No reason Beck," I said with a yawn.

"Yeah don't give me that bullshit," Becky said with a laugh. "In all honesty, why did you glare at me like that?"

"I'm not going to tell you because you will start laughing hysterically."

"No, I swear to God I won't."

"You interrupted an intimate moment," I said feeling my face catch fire.

"How intimate?"

"I honestly think he was going to tell me he reciprocated my feelings. Our lips were touching and I'm not sure which one of us was going to make the move, but then you friggin walked in!"

"Oh man Mac, I am so sorry!" Becky said with actual remorse in her voice.

"Yeah well, what can you do? Never in my entire life did I ever feel that way before."

"What way?"

"I honestly think that if he asked me to stay with forever, I would have without a second thought."

Becky did not speak for a long time after my comment and I thought that she had fallen asleep. As I closed my eyes, the image of Holmes's face fresh in my mind, she spoke.

"And now?"

I groaned. I was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. "Now what?"

"Now, if he asked you to marry him, if he asked you to become his wife and stay with him forever, what would you do?"

"Becky, must we talk about this now?"

"Yes!" she said her voice louder then she intended it to be.

I sighed and rolled onto my back, putting my arms underneath my head. "I don't know Beck, I honestly don't know."

"Yes you do," she said forcefully. "Just tell me!"

"Fine, I'll be honest with you. If Holmes asked me to marry him I would say yes. If he asked me to stay with him forever I would say yes. Are you happy now?"

Once again Becky was silent. "What about your family?"

"They love me deeply and I them, that much I know. I also know that they would support me in whatever I chose to do. Beck, my heart is here with Holmes, he has taken both it and my soul. Do you honestly think I could leave him if he asked me to stay?"

"What if I forced you to go back home?"

"I'd probably hate you forever," I answered honestly. "I would never speak to you again. This conversation is officially over and we are not going to speak about this again. Goodnight Becky."

"Goodnight Mac."

I closed my eyes, and succumbed to sleep, with Holmes's words and facial expressions playing over and over in my mind.

I was awakened by bright sunlight streaming in through the windows of our hotel bedroom, shining directly in my face. I blinked at the brightness and lazily stretched. I hadn't slept that well since I arrived in the Victorian Era.

I rolled over, shielding my eyes from the sun and looked at the small tableside clock beside the bed. Much to my surprise the hour was twelve o'clock noon! I glanced at the other bed and saw Becky was still asleep.

Athletically, I leapt from my bed and trotted into the sitting room to find Watson buried behind a newspaper.

"Good morning Doc," I said with a yawn.

"Good afternoon," he said with a smile. He dropped the newspaper at his feet on the floor and looked up at me. "I take it you slept well?"

"Like a baby Doc."

"I'm glad," he said with a laugh. "You look much healthier then you have in weeks."

"After what happened last night, I'm not surprised."

"So I heard," Watson said, motioning for me to sit next to him on the sofa.

I sat next to him and leaned against the cushions, with a contented smile playing at my lips. "Watson, you have no idea! I was in heaven!"

He rumpled my hair affectionately. "Yes, I know. Holmes too, was in a state of shock at his own daring."

I laughed and tossed my head back. "What the hell did you say to him?"

"What are you talking about?"

"He said when he got back from the opera house, you and he had a long talk and he realized his feelings. What the hell did you tell him?"

Watson once again messed my hair. "I simply explained certain things to him Mackenzie. I made your job much easier; I made him realize how much he loves you."

I threw my arms around Watson's neck. "Doc, I don't know how to thank you. I owe you so much."

"Your friendship is thanks enough Mackenzie. That pen you bought me was certainly too much."

I smiled at the good doctor and sat next to him for several minutes, just enjoying his company. "I take it Holmes is already at the opera house?"

Watson nodded. "Yes, he left around five o'clock this morning."

"You honestly think he has it solved already?"

"If he says he does, I cannot doubt him."

An involuntary shudder of fear ran down my spine. Watson noticed it and raised his eyebrows.

"What is the matter Mackenzie?"

"Nothing, nothing, it's just…never mind."

"No, tell me what is troubling you."

I sighed and looked at the hideous fabric that covered the sofa. "I was simply wondering what is going to happen to Becky and me after Holmes finishes the case. I mean you guys are going back to London all happy, you to your wife and Holmes, to whatever he is going back to. But Becky and I are left here, alone. I don't mean to sound selfish or ungrateful, indeed, you two have done so much for me and Becky. But I'm nervous just the same."

Watson once again hugged me in a fatherly embrace. "You've nothing to worry about," he whispered. "Baker Street has a spare bedroom and my home certainly has enough room for two young ladies. So do not concern yourself with trifles."

"Thanks Doctor Watson," I said with a genuine smile. "You're the greatest."

"You twenty first century Americans certainly have an interesting way of speaking!"

I laughed and pushed away from Watson. "Hey Doc, after I get dressed, can you recommend some place where I can get something good, yet cheap to eat? I didn't have dinner last night and I'm starving."

Watson chortled. "The hotel restaurant is extremely good and their prices are reasonable."

"Thanks Doc," I said reentering my bedroom. Quietly I slipped into a dress and then made my way to the hotel bistro.

There, I ordered a cup of hot tea and a croissant with butter. After eating my fill, I contemplated whether or not to surprise Holmes and show up at the opera house. After several minutes of contemplation I decided it would be a bad idea. I returned upstairs where I relaxed until about five thirty.

"I'd better get ready before Holmes comes in," I said glancing at the clock next to the bed. Becky and I had been playing a video game on my cell phone for several hours.

"Yeah, that's a good idea Mac," Becky replied, snatching the phone from my hands. "It's my turn anyway."

I laughed. "I've died three times, once from a bullet wound to the chest."

"After the amount of near death experiences you've had, a gunshot wound is nothing."

"You're a sick S.O.B. you do realize that right?"

"Yeah, die you fuckers, die!" Becky said, already absorbed in the game.

I shook my head, picked up my court jester's outfit and grease paint and headed into the bathroom.

"Yo Mac, you almost done in there? It's seven o'clock and I've gotta get ready!"

"Yeah, yeah Beck, just hang on. I have to put the finishing touches, there!" I said with a grin of satisfaction as I peered at my face in the mirror. I had successfully drawn a checkered mask on my face, with such detail that it almost looked like a real mask, not one drawn on skin. I picked up my jester's hand, put it atop my head, flung open the bathroom door and did a cartwheel as I made my exit.

"Your fool is done fooling around in there m'lady," I said to Becky with a deep bow.

"No, I'm not going to start punning again. You're flipped, you know that right?"

"Flipped?" I bowed once again and did a back flip. "Like that?"

"Idiot," she said heading into the bathroom.

"You call me m'lady?"

"Get out of here fool and give me some peace!"

"Certainly m'lady!" I did a cartwheel into the sitting room and was greeted by Holmes dressed as all in black with a preposterous white collar and a square hat upon his head.

"Who in the Lord's name are you suppose to be?"

Holmes nodded gravely. "Je m'appelle Judge Claude Frollo."

"Judge," I said. I swept my hat from my head and bowed deeply. "I am a humble fool at your service."

"You are coming to the festival of fools at Garnier's Opera House this evening?"

"Yes m'lord."

"Who is accompanying you fool?"

"No one m'lord. I am going alone."

"May I have the honor of escorting you?"

"Certainly Judge Frollo." As I bowed, the cameo Holmes had given me so many nights ago popped out from underneath my multi-colored tunic.

"Young fool, you are wearing that chain?"

"Yes m'lord. I am never going to remove it as long as I live."

"It suits you I think."

"I agree most humbly m'lord." It was then that I walked up to Holmes and place one hand on either of his slender shoulders. "Shall we finish what we started last night m'lord?"

It took him a moment to realize what I was talking about but when he did, he blushed something terrible. "This is not the time or the place," he murmured.

"Is there any proper time or place m'lord?"

"The masked ball is as good a place as any I would think."

I removed my hands from his shoulders and bowed deeply. "As you wish."

He seemed to relax somewhat and sat in one of the worn yet overstuff chairs in the room. "We have a great deal to do tonight Mackenzie," he said steepling his fingers and staring at me over the tips. "This morning I spoke with young Meg Giry, a member of the corps de ballet and Mademoiselle Daaé's closest friend."

"Did she tell you anything interesting?"

"She told me that after the chandelier fell, Christine hurried off with young de Chagny. Where they went and what they did she has no idea. Giry did tell me that Christine and Raoul are engaged to be married shortly after the masked ball, where Christine will publicly announce her engagement and sing a farewell aria from the opera 'Faust.' Meg believes the engagement took place the night of the chandelier's fall.

'It is my belief, that if Erik is going to do anything, it will be after Christine Daaé sings. From what I can gather, he is extremely fond of her voice."

"So we should be on our guard then, after the announcement of the engagement?"

"Yes," Holmes replied. "Oh Mackenzie, speaking of engagements--"

"What about them?"

"How would you feel about being engaged?"

Holmes's question startled me. "If it was to the right man, I would be the happiest woman in the world."

Holmes nodded absent-mindedly. "Yes, well would you ever consider the 'right man'…?" Holmes could not finish his thought because he was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Damn!" He muttered, rising from the chair to answer it.

"Good evening Monsieur Holmes," it was Raoul de Chagny.

"Monsieur le Vicomte," the detective said stiffly. "You have come at a most inopportune time, however I will forgive you."

"I did to mean to interrupt you Monsieur," the fop said. "But I was anxious to arrive here. My darling Christine and I are to be married!"

"Do come in," Holmes said motioning for the viscount to enter. Raoul kissed my hand in a sickening fashion and flopped down on the sofa.

"Can you believe it, my Christine and I are going to be married!"

"So I have heard Monsieur le Vicomte," Holmes said cordially.

"You brother approves of the match?" I couldn't help but break Raoul's bubble of elation. I will admit that I was extremely jealous of the fop at that moment. He was engaged to the girl he loved, and yet I could not even get the man of my affections to kiss me. It did not seem fair!

The fop's face fell at the mention of the Comte de Chagny. "I do not care a damn about what he says! I love Christine, and that is all that matters."

"You have my congratulations," Holmes interjected.

"As well as mine Monsieur," I said, swallowing my rising gorge. The sight of Raoul happy was nauseating.

"If you are so happy why did you come here? And why are you still in need of my services?" Holmes asked.

"Christine is a bit of a harlot Monsieur Holmes."

"Sir, that is no way to speak of the woman you love!" I said instantly coming to Christine's defense.

The viscount shrugged indifferently. "Alas, but it is true. She swears she loves me, and yet for the longest time, she wore the ring of her 'Angel of Music.' Tonight, Monsieur Holmes, I want you to ensure that nothing happens to either Christine or myself. I have taken my own precautions," as he spoke he pulled up his perriot costume shirt and revealed a small revolver in a holster. "However, I would feel much more comfortable if you were present."

"I will do my best sir," Holmes said softly.

"Merci," Raoul said, checking his pocket watch. "It is seven thirty Monsieur Holmes. I would like to leave as soon as possible."

"Of course," Holmes said. He motioned for me to check on Beck.

"Hey Becky," I said as I entered our bedroom, "you ready yet? The king of fops wants to leave!"

"You're calling Holmes a fop?" Becky asked smoothing the princess dress that she wore.

"No, Raoul is here and he wants to leave pronto."

"Ah, gotcha. But you shouldn't call him a fop, Mac, he's cute!"

I groaned and led Becky out of the sitting room where we found Watson, dressed in a white domino costume leaning against the mantle.

"Good, she is ready. Come along then," Holmes said taking my arm in his as we exited the hotel for what could have been the last time of our lives. If I, even for one second, imagined the danger that we would be in, I would have done my best to convince Holmes not to attend the ball.