Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera. I just borrow it and then hide from the lawyers.

Chapter 12: O Mightiest of Ghosts, I Beseech Thee

Erik was composing. Translation: C.C. had been robbed of her only company for several hours and was bored out of her mind. She had learned quickly that when Erik was composing he was dead to the world. She could have danced naked around the lair and his obsessive gaze would have never left the staff paper. Not that she'd ever tried dancing around the lair naked, but now that she thought about it. . .

Snapping her mind out of the gutter, she focussed on the problem at hand. She was bored and couldn't think of anything to do about it. She was restless and didn't have the focus for a movie, book, or art work. And Erik would never let her out of the lair on her own. She would get within a few metres of the door and he'd. . .do absolutely nothing.

The Authoress bounded to her feet as the realization hit her. Erik was composing, he no more notice her leaving quietly then he had noticed anything else the past few hours. Slipping on her, dress, mask, and cape she slunk carefully out one of the many back entrances she had discovered during her stay.

Within five minutes she was hopelessly lost. Not just a little lost, mind you. Hopelessly and completely Send-A-Search-Party-Before-I-Die-Of-Exposure lost.

I thought you knew your way around the Paris Opera. Her mental voice chided.

'I do know my way around the Paris Opera house!' she thought back, 'This, however, is not the Paris Opera House. This is an impossible labyrinth made by the insanely twisted minds of Andrew and Joel. And they weren't exactly nice enough to leave a map for any time travelling phans who decided to drop in!'

Touche. It conceded.

Having reached a particularly dark stretch of tunnel, C.C. was forced to slide one hand firmly along the wall to find her way. In most situation applying this method of pathfinding was a simple and easy way to keep from landing on you hind end in a dark mildewy tunnel. Unfortunately for her, stalking through a secret labyrinth in an opera house riddled with ingenious trap doors was not most situations. There was a sickening click as the Authoress felt a small section of the stone beneath her fingers depress slightly. 'Uh-oh.' she thought to herself just before that portion of the wall swung inward and dumped her roughly onto a rafter beam several feet below.

Clinging to the wood beam in an attempt not to plummet to the stone ground of what was apparently a long forgotten costume storage room, C.C. hardly noticed the startled gasp that came from the young girl below her. It wasn't until the blonde spoke that C.C. realized her existence.

"Who. . .who's there?" The little ballerina stammered.

"Meg?" C.C. asked, still a little dazed by the drop and subsequent clinging for her life.

"Who are you? How do you know my name?" Meg asked, turning several shades paler then C.C. thought was humanly possible.

"I'm a friend of a friend of your mother." she answered dryly. "And you can stop looking for me, little Giry. I'm quite invisible." And she was, for the moment.

Meg gasped again, but didn't stop her incessant search of the room, peering behind racks of old costumes and up at the rafters. The Authoress found herself fighting to keep from rolling her eyes. "Haven't you ever heard that the ghost sometimes calls for a footstool for a lady friend?" It was a shot in the dark. C.C. didn't know exactly how much the universe of the book had bled into the movie universe, but she thought she'd give it a try. The shot hit home and Mag gave a little squeak as she stopped her search.

"I take it you've heard of me?" C.C. asked as she fought not to giggle.

"Yes, Madame Opera Ghost!" Meg stammered below her.

Pressing an invisible hand to her mouth in a classic 'I'm dramatically aghast!' look, C.C. snapped back at the little blonde ballerina. "Madame? How old do you think I am? For Hugh's sake, girl! Madame, indeed!"

Although C.C. had thought it was impossible for the little Giry to tremble any more then she had moments before, the Authoress was about to be proved wrong. "I. . .I. . .I'm sorry!" she spluttered helplessly. "I merely assumed that you and. . .I mean that. . .Are you and the Opera Ghost not married?"

C.C. couldn't help but burst into a fit of laughter. Beneath her Meg cringed as if wondering what kind of blunder she might have made. "Me. . .and him?" C.C. gasped between gales of laughter. "Oh, honey! I wish!" Below her Meg gave a sheepish yet guarded smile, relieved to have dodged a bullet, but still wary that the other shoe was yet to fall.

Finally getting control of herself, C.C. decided to stick to a more easy going approach. She needed Meg's help if she was ever going to pull this thing off with Erik and Christine and it simply wouldn't do for Meg to die of a heart attack before the operation even really got started. And if anyone looked to be on he verge of a seizure, it was Meg.

Look, darlin'." she continued, putting far more drawl into her voice then usual. There was just something about a southern accent that people found disarming, go figure. "The Phantom wouldn't notice me that way if I danced in circles around him, naked." she drew off her earlier musings, then off Meg's abashed look, "Not that I ever tried it, or anything! Point bein', his heart's somewhere else." C.C.'s voice grew soft at the end, wistful almost. Meg's expression softened, a small knowing smile ghosting her face. There was just something about young girls and timeless love.

"Who is she?" Meg asked, her eyes shining. "Is she a lost spirit, too?"

C.C. squeezed her eyes shut, gently chewing a nail. If only the little ballerina knew. But, there would be time enough for that later. "She's an angel." she answered quietly. "For now she thinks him one as well. I pray it doesn't end in tragedy when she learns otherwise." Meg let out a soft gasp, apparently finding no words to fit the situation.

Deciding that she had let the mood get entirely too fluffy, C.C. smirked pointedly to herself as she prepared to remedy the situation. "Now run along, little Giry." she commanded. "But, I want you here at the same tomorrow and I want you to tell no one of our meetings. Am I understood?" Below her Meg gulped and nodded fervently. "Good." C.C. said, her smirk widening. "Because I would absolutely loathe to have to torment you with one of the diabolical schemes I've been dying to try out on Carlotta."

Meg shot a quick grin in the direction of the rafters and then hurried out the room.

Swing down from her perch, C.C. gave herself an mental pat on the back. That was two major characters she had corrupted. Now all she had to do was teach a socially inept recluse with a mental issue or two to pull off acting like a normal human. Not to mention preventing the sickening fluffiness that was Raoul and Christine from happening. Piece of cake, right? Okay, wrong. But, she was the Authoress, after all. She's find a way to pull it off somehow. She had to.

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"Where have you been?" Erik snapped angrily as she finally reentered the lair.

"Oh, you know, here and there." she casually said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She knew full and well that Erik was not about to let the subject drop, but it had to be worth a try.

"No, I don't know." he growled. "Enlighten me."

C.C. cocked her head slightly to the side as though seriously considering his words and then smiled brightly. "No." she chirped simply before scurrying off to the kitchen, leaving Erik to seethe.

From her refuge, C.C. could hear the familiar sound of the Phantom taking out his frustration on his poor, defenceless pipe organ. Rolling her eyes, the Authoress turned to face Ayesha, who sat contemplatively in the corner. "What do you think, Cat?" she asked the glaring siamese. "Do I go back out there and deal with this or do I uphold an English stereotype be drinking countless cups of tea while I wait for him to calm down?"

Ayesha blinked slowly before getting up and meandering off to Erik's bedroom. "Lot of help you are!" C.C. shot at the retreating animal before turning to return to the front section of the lair.

Erik sat with his back towards her, pounding furiously on the keys of the organ. He knew she was there and she knew that he knew. Finally she spoke.

"I'm still not telling."

"This is my opera house!" he snapped, turning towards her. "If you think. . ."

"Yeah, yeah." she cut him off tiredly. "Why don't you sing me a new one. That tune's gotten a bit old. Hey!" she brighten, changing the subject, "Just now, I was within a metre of that hell beast you call a cat and she didn't eat me or anything!"

"Is that so?"

"Yep!"

She made a big show of twirling for his benefit, showing him that she was unharmed. Erik smirked and her, his eyebrow raised in an amused fashion. He always found it impossible to stay angry at this girl for long.

Walking the rest of the way over to him, C.C. draped herself elegantly across Erik's lap, much to his surprise, no doubt. "So," she chirped, "I should go make dinner, but wouldn't you rather me stay here while you write me pretty music?"

Erik's turquoise eyes took on a mischievous glint. Mimicking the Authoress' earlier movements he cocked his head contemplatively before uttering a simple "No." and shoving the girl playfully onto the floor with a wolfish grin.

Letting out indignant squeak, C.C. jumped to her feet. "How rude!" she huffed, trying to sound offended, but unable to keep a matching grin from her face. "I think this calls for some serious retaliation." With that she reached out and soundly ruffled his hair, leaving it hanging stringily across his face.

Erik let out another low growl. C.C. squealed and tried to dart out of reach, but a strong arm caught her around the waist, cutting off her escape. With one fluid motion Erik stood up an swung the Authoress over his shoulder. Squealing for the second time in as many seconds, she landed a series of open handed blows on his back and shoulders. "Put me down? Erik, what are you doing?" she demanded.

"No. And as so nicely put it 'serious retaliation'. I think the lake will do nicely." C.C. could practically hear his smirk. She quickly changed tactics to avoid bing dumped into the frigid water.

"No, no, NO! Not the lake!" she protested, "I'll be good! I swear! O mightiest of ghosts, I pledge my word! O King of Operatic Spectres! O Great Lord Phantom!"

Erik stopped suddenly, swinging her around so that he was cradling her, one hand beneath her knees and the other around her shoulders/ Instinctively her arms went around his neck to keep from falling. "I think I rather like being called 'Lord Phantom'." he purred silkenly.

"Yeah, well don't get used to it." she muttered under her breath.

"What was that?" he asked with mock severity, hefting her and taking another step towards the lake.

"Nothing, Lord Phantom!" she corrected quickly, feigning wide-eyed innocense.

"That's what I thought." His smirk seemed to be verging on an actual smile as he set her down.

"Alright, the kitchen awaits!" she smiled warmly at him. "See you in half an hour, Erik."

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A/N: In the chapter after next, (give or take a chapter,) Christine will finally be making an appearance. I know I've been promising this would be an E/C phic, but it just now struck me that I can only make that happen if I remember to introduce the little soprano. Whoops. But, just hang in there for a chapter of two and you'll get the first few hints of the wacky and fun festival of fluff that I always intended this story to be.

Please Review. As I've said before, reviews inflate my Erik's ego, which makes him feel like a very inspirational muse, which means you get faster updates; I can only assume that if you've made it past the first twelve chapters that you're hoping for an update. As always, I hope y'all enjoy.

Your humble and obedient servant,

SP

PhantomMiddleEarthLover: Glad to help a fellow humour junky in need!

Muse!Erik: She called me stunning and you pesky. I think I like this girl.

Cassiopeia Lily: Pft! Homework! Why be productive when you can read phiction? Oh, and good luck on the something you had to do with your Erik.

Muse!Erik: -fingers Punjab lasso fondly- Yes, I'm sure there are a lot of somethings we Eriks would like to do as well.

C.C.: -wrestles away lasso- Give me that! That's the third time I've had to confiscate one of these this week! Where do you keep getting them?

MTL: I was going to let you pet somewhere else, but my muse threatened to tie me down and force me to watch the infamous Steve Harley music video on repeat if I did. -shudders-

Muse!Erik: They don't call me a master of torture for nothing, my dear.

affirmedhope: Yay! Phantom shaped brownies! And, you're right. All Eriks need a few hundred rubber duckies. Look, Erik, she even sent you brownies, too!

Muse!Erik: But they're in the shape of those fiendish yellow ducks!

C.C.: But they're still brownies. -waves one in front of his face- Look, chocolate. You know how much you love chocolate.

Muse!Erik: -looks torn-

Blonde Charger: Glad you liked your line. I wanted to put you in more, but your secret project is going to have some importance later on so I had to keep it, well, secret. (Pause) Hey, Erik, she mentions something about parting you from your pants again. What do you think? Can that satellite handle another malfunction?

Muse!Erik: No!. . .I mean, I don't think so. A pity. If you need me I'll be as far away as possible.

C.C.: Oh look, he ran away. Fancy that.