Erik

I drag a finger over the strong, red wood, and follow its curve until my nails slide against the strings. They are taut and submissive, just waiting to be drawn of their music. It is a thing of beauty. The bow feels light in my hand as I pull it across the strings. A strain of the most sorrowful kind follows the motion and I feel a chill run through my body. "I will woo you," I whisper to it as a melody emerges from the violin's mourning. "You were Gustave's once—and just as he loved you, I will love you even more."

The music bleeds into my soul as I close my eyes, picturing little Christine, and her angelic smile. "I will love you even more." Her round chocolate eyes, in my vision, adore me, as the violin adores my touch, my coaxing. Christine will be my violin—she will be my music, and I her master. I own Gustave's instrument; now I will own his daughter, and in doing so, I will give her back her father. She will never be alone again. As long as I continue to live, she will never shed a tear of loneliness, ever, again.

My breath catches as the stem of my thoughts sheds light on my understanding. I am doing this for myself as much as for Christine. Regardless of my designs to seduce Madame Giry with evidence of my power, Christine has given me a reason to live. She is giving me a new purpose—she is my new purpose, and she will be my breath and life-giving elixir for the rest of my existence. In this moment, with the intoxicating influence of the violin's refrain and the pounding of my heart at my new discovery, I almost thank God. Almost. I catch myself, and swear that I will not thank Him until I know that I cannot fail.

Creeeaaaaakkkk.

I bolt upright and pull the bow from the instrument with a protesting shriek from the strings, my heart racing, a misplaced grin fighting for dominance at my lips. The floorboards outside of the flat continue to creak as I cradle the violin, pulling myself upright and slipping through the trapdoor, thankful that Madame Giry has yet to discover it. I listen intently and watch her through the inconspicuous hole as she enters the room.

The grave streaks between her brows and the suspicious glint in her eyes complement the tight, thin lines that are her lips. She knows I have been in here; undoubtedly she heard my playing. Madeleine lets the door fall into place behind her without moving. Her eyes are raised to the ceiling; I suppress a laugh. She has no idea that I am below her.

"I know you are watching me," she accuses, forcing propriety into her voice to mask the bite. "And I know that you have the violin."

I stroke the instrument possessively, smirking.

"Come to your senses, child!" she scolds, and I grit my teeth. It is ridiculous to call a man a child, and she knows it—but she also, effectively, knows how to grate at my nerves. "You know it belonged to Gustave, and I trust you also know that his dying request to me was that it would pass on to her."

I know that; Madeleine knows that. Christine does not know that, and she won't have to, if Madame Giry has any wisdom at all.

"At least let me know that you are still in here, and that I am not truly speaking to a ghost," she spits ironically.

For my own amusement, I throw my voice to the rafters with the intention of confusing her. "But you are, Madame."

"You are positively intolerable." She sighs. I savour her sigh. "Undoubtedly, you handle the thing as well as or better than M Daae himself, God rest his soul, and could make much better use of it than Christine. But if truly you are as selfish as that, then I never knew you at all."

I draw the bow across the strings of the violin in a mocking fashion.

Madame Giry's face contorts with disbelief. "I will never forgive you for this, Erik," she hisses, not bothering to hide her anger any longer. "Unless you have a reason beyond my understanding for this repulsive theft, I pray I will never have anything to do with you again."

It is funny, our relationship: it is cemented in affection, and upheld through obligation, but more than either of those it thrives on manipulation. The woman lied, generously, when she said she didn't know me at all. She knows me nearly as well as I know myself, and knows that with such an ominous blackmail she can hurt me and perhaps stun me into obedience. But I do have a reason beyond her understanding. I will let her know this soon enough, after I am sure that my plan is infallible, and after I have successfully courted Christine into believing me to be her Angel of Music. I smirk, my revelation, my newly discovered purpose, forgotten to think on later.

Madeleine will forgive me then. And then she will be mine.

…

Lefevre

"My Respected Manager," I began, my eyes surveying the graceful scratchings made by the red ink. "It has been two weeks since I last demanded anything of you. The chorus boys have never sounded less like girls in their young careers, and little Eva breaking her toe has spared the ballet many probable blunders. As of late you have been cooperatively following my instructions without need for reminder. Though I mean not to push your generosity and its limits, I will insist on yet another matter."

The ballet mistress did not meet my eyes, only sat quietly with her shoulders back, lips pursed, and hands folded in her lap.

"With the recent and most unfortunate exit of the exalted Willem di Renaldi, the Opera's finest dressing room lies vacant. It is to be given to the newest addition to Madame Giry's ballet persuasion, one Christine Daae, for her use and purposes alone, until a new luminary of Renaldi's competence can be appointed. Do not make the mistake of denying Miss Daae this luxury; worse things than a broken toe can befall a more worthy performer. I remain, my good manager, blah, blah and humility and flattery and you know the rest!"

Madame Giry still remained unmoving, but I had noticed a slight furrow of her brow at the mention of the Daae orphan—whom she had brought to us in the first place. "You know something of this," I accused.

"I must admit I suspected the talents of the Opera Ghost had been employed when the bumbling Eva received her injury," Giry said after a second's hesitation, "but until now I had dismissed the thought as mere superstition."

"That's not what I mean and you know it!" I fumed, my fist slamming into the table, and crumpling the note as it went. "Don't toy with me, Madame, and don't insult my intelligence."

She looked at me then, coolly. "I might have, M Lefevre, given there was intelligence present to insult."

"Blast, woman, this is all your fault somehow," I raged at her, and plopped back, resigned, into the seat behind my desk. My temples fell forward onto my fingers, and I groaned. "I would have fired you long ago if my most respectful and compliant servant hadn't instructed otherwise."

"I believe it is humble and obedient, and I believe he'd threatened," she offered, ever the proper and undaunted and I dare say maternal mistress.

"Only half the time is it humble and obedient," I said. "Occasionally he ventures from the habit and finds new self-promoting terms for his signature." My hand dropped lazily from my head to the note on the desk, and I spun it with my fingers. "Obviously, you have an inkling of what is behind his new dealings," I sighed. "Then tell me—what is his purpose for favouring the little girl you brought with you…and how am I supposed to deal with the complaints that will surely arise when it appears his favour for her is actually my own?"

Her brow creased again, and she cleared her throat, undoubtedly troubled. "I do not know, and I swear that to be true. I don't know why he's chosen—why he demands the dressing room be given to her, over the others. All I am certain of is that it would be unwise to not comply with such a demand, and if the rest of your performers do not understand, you can be honest and blame it on the Ghost."

My palm pressed against my lips, which pressed against my teeth, and my moustache tickled the skin there. I closed my eyes and stood, and Madame Giry stood in accordance. "Very well," I said, smoothing out the note and scanning it one last time. His cynical wit was threaded throughout, and his trademark irony was not missing. Yes, he called himself obedient, but it was I who would again be the one to obey. "You may move little Daae's things into Renaldi's dressing room—just until he comes back, which is unlikely, or until, like our Phantom said, we find another star."

Giry nodded brusquely and left my office. I stared after her. Her claim had enough conviction that I believed she didn't know the purpose of his plans; however, her concern had me worried. There was something she wasn't telling me, and if I weren't manager of this opera house, I wouldn't even care to know.

I glanced at my calendar and cursed. It was two days until the end of the month. His salary was almost due.