A/N: WARNING: This chapter has drug use in it! Gaston Leroux's novel 'The Phantom of the Opera' is in the public domain. Susan Kay's 'Phantom' was published originally by Delacourt Press. Thank you for all the lovely comments (I didn't think anyone would even know I was here)! Please read and review!

Erik 1853: Part II

The next time I saw Esmée it was to celebrate the horrific death — completely overseen and executed by my hellbound imagination — of Suleiman Khan and his Babi brethren. The shah gave a banquet, which lasted a week, and demanded that his favourite subjects attend in style. I waited until the third night to make my presence felt.

Cushions of rich velvet and extravagant carpets covered every inch of the inner rooms. Thick ropes of smoke issued from the bronze censers, and the room was filled with the heavy, almost dizzying, fragrance of myrrh. Tables overflowing with fruit, meat, and brazen pitchers of wine were set back against the walls. The shah made sure that no one went away believing he wasn't the richest, most powerful man in the world.

The khanum and her ladies wore scant arrays of white gossamer bound with gold cord that left little to the male imagination. Formality, and their all-concealing headdresses, had been left by the wayside as the women's hair fell mellifluously down their backs adorned with chrysanthemums of every hue. Cultural mores demanded that they show off their bodies, but their faces were still shielded by thin-laced veils. Customs here made little sense to me when compared to the propriety of my own stiff upbringing. However, I did find a bitter irony that my face also remained hidden from the eyes of men.

Most of the women had the same straight obsidian hair and starless oval eyes. The variation of aurulent-coloured skin was indiscernible from one gracefully limbed courtesan to that of the girl standing next to her. The only differing saturation was Esmée's translucent skin. Never before had I seen so much of her; it caused a pleasant tingle that began near my chin and ran down my chest and arms. The most surprising of her newly revealed attributes were the long curls of vibrant vermeil that fell in waves down her back. They too were embellished with beautiful flowers in pinks and pale yellows which complimented the subtle tincture from one strand of hair to the next.

Groups of women were interspersed around the room dancing. Touching. Laughing. It caused a burning sensation behind my eyes, or was that the smoke?

Hastily I made my appearance at the high court's table. Not so much out of respect, but I knew that once done I was free to consort with whomever I pleased. Nadir left my side immediately; he feared it would seem suspicious to continue our usual banter in a public place. The moment I had escaped his — and more importantly the shah's — shadow I let my voice quietly dance on one of the flowers nearest to Esmée's ear.

'You have shown your petals in full for this blithe masquerade of death.'

Her hand brushed absently at the flower in her hair while her eyes scanned the crowd for the true source of those words. She squinted in vain, and self-consciously wrapping her arms around her torso she stared intensely at a neglected blossom on the floor.

'I meant no offence to you,' I whispered from another flower nearer to her shoulder, 'merely to point out the farce of this celebration. … And the fact that you have intrinsically radiant petals.'

She closed her eyes. From my vantage point I could not ascertain if she smiled or grimaced. I felt suddenly hollow … insignificant … desolate. Could I explain what her raiment did to my pulse without the fear of mockery?

Speaking again nearer to her ear, 'Are you able to slip away to the gardens? If you can do it without being caught, pick up the chrysanthemum at your feet. If you fear the consequences, walk away.'

A sudden excitement animated her hand as she easily bent down to gather up the lost floret.

'I will leave now,' the retrieved bloom spoke in sotto voce. 'Circulate the room once and then make your own discreet exit.'

Holding the flower near her face she whimsically sauntered past the khanum. It was a dangerous move, but the lady — if she could be referred to as such — neither looked in Esmée's direction, nor did she seem to care what the girl did on this joyous night. The last image I had before slipping off the balcony into the lush greenery was a group of barefooted girls, bound by satiny fetters, writhing together in time to the music of a setar.

The garden held the strong fragrance of jasmine, lilacs, and lemon. The fruit trees hung heavily burdened, and I felt no remorse in plucking two small apples from a nearby branch. It was easier to trust the unblemished food of nature than anything handed to me by one of the shah's slaves. With the first bite, always the sweetest, I allowed a moment of indulgence as the juices drizzled down my parched throat. Lost in another world of flavour and music I forgot how solitary I had become in life. Not even the gentle touch of a woman's hand against my shoulder could move me into reality.

'Captain Ahab,' Esmée pulled at my cloak, 'have you found your great white whale at last?'

The present swam clearly into focus as I looked down at her. Her eyebrows were knitted in concern, but her gaze was soft.

'You can read English?' I asked waking from my stupor.

She shrugged. 'We travelled far and wide to spread the Good News. Though I found Melville's book in the shah's private chambers. He told me it was rare to find a newly published English book so close to the Orient. But he demands his library be eclectic, updated, and vast. There are books in every language imaginable — though it is hard to believe he understands more than a handful of them. The last few months he demanded I translate various passages. My knowledge of the English language is halting, and I do not quite understand all of the words, but I have enjoyed what I do grasp of the story.'

'The man spent his entire life in search of an elusive whale,' I barked. 'He wasted his life raging against the sea and that great beast.'

'He raged against the Almighty,' she breathed quietly, 'and in the end he lost.'

'I will try to remember that, should I ever turn against the heavens,' I replied.

A noise in the bushes alarmed us. She concealed herself behind a great malachite marble base displaying an ancient statue of Anahita. I found safety behind the lesser statue of Dev. Briefly, I wondered if the shah would ever be held accountable for such religious blasphemy in his gardens. The ancient Persian gods were no longer upheld by the people. The presence of such statues, recherché and grand, were grounds for lesser men's lives to be sacrificed to justify the new beliefs.

Esmée cooed and re-emerged holding the sleek body of a cat. Not the shah's chosen pet, but one of the more favoured animals in the house. A flicker of movement, a startled cry, and she dropped the animal from her embrace. Her fingertips gingerly brushed her cheek and then she squinted at them. The simple lace veil lay torn at her feet, and I looked at her face for the first time. Her features were small in comparison to her wide eyes. A spattering of faint freckles covered her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

I walked towards her quickly, as she brushed a few tears from her eyes only to smile widely in my direction. 'That was not very bright of me. I forgot he doesn't like to be held.'

Without actually touching her I traced the outline of her face with the heat of my palm. The scratches were bleeding, but not enough to require more than a thorough washing.

'Does it look that bad?' she asked nervously. Her own hand poised half-way to her face.

I managed to stutter, 'What?'

'My cheek? Does it look bad?' she repeated. 'You have a very concerned look in your eyes.'

'It looks like that cat needs to have his claws trimmed, but I assure you you will live.'

Her fingers encircled my wrist. The touch surprised me in its unwavering strength. Stepping closer to my body she put her other hand on my shoulder. I did not move. I feared I would awaken alone in the dark reaching out for air. Beads of sweat had already started to form at my brow, and then I blinked as a droplet slid down my forehead, past my eye, and down my cheek. I hoped it was only sweat and not tears.

'Have you never danced before?'

My hand slipped down into hers and I nearly choked on my answer, 'No.'

'But you move so gracefully. It's as if you have a melody playing just behind your irises. If you teach me that internal rhythm, I will show you how to dance.'

I could only nod. Words were faltering, and the rhythm she spoke of was lost in the blood that pounded through my temples. She stood before me — moonlight bathed her luminous skin and blended back into the deep cerulean shadows of the night — unafraid.

We rocked together. Tentatively at first. Finding the rhythm through my panic was difficult, but once I had grasped it she pulled me closer to her.

'Now,' she looked only at my eyes, 'step forward with your left foot first and I'll step back. … Good. Pivot slightly as you step back with your right foot and mine will follow. … Excellent. We can dance using this simple two-step tonight. Perhaps, if you are a fast learner, I will teach you a waltz.'

She laid her head against my chest. I rested my chin against her temple. How I willed my feet to continue moving correctly I shall never know. Nervous tremors wracked my limbs, but Esmée said nothing. Convinced I was going to die or fall out of bed, I decided to simply enjoy the warmth of her body against mine.

'Erik?' I felt her squeeze my hand lightly.

'Yes?'

'Sing for me,' she said in French. Her fingers ran along the collar of my shirt. 'Sing something in our language. I tire of listening to nothing but Persian in this God-forsaken place.'

My mind went blank. There were so many songs appropriate to this moment, but I remembered none of them. Instead, I hummed an original melody soft and sweet. If there was room between us before it disappeared as soon as I began the chorus. She melted against me, and I held her upright with my arm around her waist.

Sounds of night creatures accompanied me, and we continued to dance in the garden of the shah without fear of discovery.

o . O . o

Later we hurried back to my apartments without being seen by even the smallest of creatures. The hour neared that of dawn being heralded again, but the bawdy noise of the feast carried on throughout the passageways. Free food and entertainment have a way of keeping spirits high over an extended period of time.

The rosy hue of aurora spilled in through the many windows that decorated my western facing wall. Orange coloured light brightly fell on everything in her attempt to waken a weary world. It had the same soothing effect on my conscience. Alone I stood in the doorway watching as Esmée walked to the chaise and touched the heavy brocade.

'There is no doubt you are paid well for your services.' She looked out the opened window into the gardens below, 'and you have an interesting view.'

Stepping into the room to follow her gaze I noticed for the first time that from where she stood a person could see, if they crouched down a bit and to the left, directly into the bathing house of the harem. 'I assure you I did not even know of this before.'

'Your lodgings have been well-chosen by the woman of this house … no doubts there,' she looked back at me. 'And to think you have been here over a year and never sought out the beauty that surrounded you.'

I checked at that. 'I always indulge in the remarkable, mademoiselle, but perhaps this time it was not a beauty I wished to acknowledge.'

'Even you cannot deny the looks and figure of our mistress,' she shot back coyly with her hands on her hips.

I sighed, and then realised my response had confirmed her own belief. 'It's not that she is not pleasing to the eye. Sometimes, when alone, I devise ways to take rapture in her body before destroying her mind. It's a little game I play that keeps me sane when she beckons me to stand before her bed.'

Esmée pushed back from the windowsill and slid on to one of the many piles of cushions in the room. With her chin on her arms she rested against an ottoman. Dark smudges sat under her eyes, and I knew not if they were the result of the heavy charcoal she used to accentuate her gaze or nights without sleep. The poor girl did look exhausted when she followed my steps with her eyes.

I felt a pull at the bottom of my waking thoughts. Addiction has a way of making its presence felt at the most inopportune moments. 'Esmée?' She answered with little more than the rustle of her sleeves. 'I'm in need of … a beauty of sorts … do you mind?' I said over my shoulder as I took out the pipe and leather pouch from its hiding place beneath a cracked piece of tile.

Her back became straight and she stared at the accoutrements in my hands.

'Opium?' there was a longing in her eyes I had never witnessed before in anyone. Then again, I had never studied my face in a mirror during my own time of need. It may have put me off drugs for good, but I felt a kind of connection with her then.

I packed the bowl with a sprinkling of poppy, replaced the wire grate, and holding the stem to my mouth I sparked a match. The coals burned red. Seeds began to bubble. Sweet smoke and blessed release burned their way into my craving lungs. The drug rushed through my bloodstream and straight to my mind. Barely two drags had passed my lips when she stretched out an eager hand, covered in the fading brown paint of henna, for the smoking reed. The symbols which encircled each delicate finger, wrapped around her palm, and flowed up her elbow were ancient. They danced for a moment in the light and then lay still.

She inhaled deeply like one accustomed to the almost instantaneous effects of the burning flower. 'Thank Allah for this,' she winked at me and inhaled again. … Once more her lips pulled against the wood. Her eyes began to cloud over in a recognisable way. Sinking down into the silk and lace she passed the pipe back to me.

I had just begun to tumble down beside her when the door of my rooms was flung back on its hinges, smashing into the interior wall. Within the open frame stood a large man with burnt skin and black eyes, which took in his surroundings without blinking.

'Slave!' he shouted once finding Esmée's blazing curls among the darker greens and blues of the pillows. 'You shall be punished severely for this!'

I rose immediately. The wooden pipe fell from my hand and broke against the marble floor.

'Our lady will find it especially rewarding to punish you as well,' his smile was hateful … yet delighted by this turn of events. Maybe he would be rewarded in a way only a castrated man could enjoy. 'A despoiled virgin carries a heavy weight.'

Esmée flew from the room like a young gazelle from a lion in the grass. She did not even pause in the entrance to look back at me. I believed I could protect her against anything. The shah. The Arab world. Even her nightmares. But she was gone.

The Punjab lasso lay coiled under my cloak, but my arms lay against my sides heavy with poppy induced weight. 'I could kill you for intruding on my rooms,' I slurred unconvincingly, for the man did not even flinch at the sound of my voice.

'Your consort is a known liar,' he warned, 'who's more dangerous than you when left to her own devious designs.'

My eyelids were heavy, but I managed to speak again. 'What do you mean by that moniker?'

'Shall I start with her most common lie of all … .' And he proceeded to tell me a strange and disturbing tale. The pieces fit so tightly together as to make me laugh in Esmée's faultless face; and I would have done just that if it all did not ring so heart-breakingly true. '… she was a wilful girl when first brought to our midst, and she's wilful now. Don't tell me you've trusted anything she says? Ask your personal Daroga what he's heard of her, if you don't believe me.'

The effect of his words and the drug had taken my will to stand upright. I slumped down into the cushions and lost consciousness. Or rather, I could not trust anything I saw or heard after that moment. The opium had taken me body and mind into its loving embrace.