A/N: Sorry I've been gone so long! Broken computers and engagement chaos don't really mix to create a good authoress atmosphere. Beth, my dear, your cameo is coming. Never fear.

Hope y'all enjoy this chapter.

"Mmph! Mm-mmph!" groused Heather from behind her thick gag.

Erik paid her no heed whatsoever. After all, what harm could she possibly cause to his organ when bound most firmly to a chair?

Heather glared at him. Sexy forty-five-year-old deformed genius or not, this was completely inexcusable.

But he was a LeMerik.

The muses catapulted into a strange, small room with burgundy carpet and curtains. Two lofted beds were on either side, with desks underneath…and…and…

"There you are," snapped Echo, who was typing away furiously on her roommate's laptop. "Took you long enough to figure it out, didn't it?"

Leroux!Erik opened his mouth and closed it again. "But…the vortex…where in Punjab's name have you brought Erik and the rest of this motley crew?" he snarled.

"Calm," said Echo. "You must remain calm, my dear. Phantom brownies are brewing in the oven."

The muses sniffed the air. Sure enough, there was the familiar gooey delicious scent.

"Meet the new muses," said Echo, gesturing to the bunkbeds, whereupon sat Edward Scissorhands and…Riga…Rigoletto?

"Rigoletto," affirmed Echo. "Yes. Now hush and pay attention…"

Holmes glanced at Rigoletto. "You have a plastic deformity," he said. "It is most unconvincing."

Rigoletto, half of whose face was, indeed, unconvincingly plastic and white, with little pockmarks and scars—all the trappings of a low-budget deformity, and, contrary to what some 2004 POTO movie-bashers might think, MUCH cornier than Gerik's Sunburn of Doom—sniffed rather haughtily. "For your information," he said, "I'm the most hideous thing that ever walked the earth." He bowed his head in shame.

There was a dangerous cough.

Rigoletto's eyes shifted to meet Leroux!Erik's yellow-eyed blazing stare. "Oh," was all he managed to say.

"You fail to answer the question," said Inigo to Echo. "Hwhere are we?"

"Idaho," said Echo, typing a few more sentences onto the laptop. "Rexburg, Idaho."

"What?" chorused all the old muses together.

"But…ya vanished…withou' a trace…we thought…" stammered Quinn.

"I went to college, my dears, and before I realized it, I had rushed to catch my plane and I regrettably forgot to say goodbye," said Echo. "And I couldn't very well take you all on the plane with me, now, could I?"

Erik sniffed. "You could have called," he said sullenly. "Or…summoned us or something."

"How was Echo s'posed to do that?" muttered sweet Edward, clacking his scissors mournfully.

The muses shifted from foot to foot, thinking hard.

"Oh well," sighed Quinn.

"The vortex was a rather lucky accident, actually," said Echo. "I'm writing a self-insertion phic. My fictional self fell through it, and somehow it seems that it managed to manifest itself to you guys, since…well…you're all fictional."

There was a long pause.

"Truly you have a dizzying intellect," said Holmes.

"Wait 'til I get going," retorted Echo, predictably.

Erik grabbed her pink cellphone from the desk and opened it. "I didn't know you had…" Suddenly he froze. His eyes burned. His mouth hung slack. His lack-of-nose looked hollower and more skeletal than ever.

"Who…" he breathed. "…is this?"

He shoved the cellphone under Echo's nose, letting all see the picture of her cuddling with a slightly boyish-looking, light-haired, extremely adorable and glomp-inducing male personage.

"Don't worry, Erik-darling," said Echo, snatching it. "He's not an ickle Raouly-kins or anything of that sort, if that's what's bothering you. As if, anyway. He's a real, living person, and his name…is Jacob."

Edward smiled. "Jacob's nice," he said succinctly. "Don't worry."

Rigoletto huffed. "Well, he was the cause of Echo's creating me, at any rate," he said.

"I hadn't seen Rigoletto since I was about ten years old," said Echo fondly, "and we rented it from the library. Just got the urge after that to make my own Rigoletto muse…and I finally got around to it today."

"Fascinating," said Erik dangerously, "but just what is your relationship with this boy?"

"Jacob is 22," said Echo. "And very sweet."

Erik snarled.

"Fine," snapped Echo. "He and I are romantically involved. Satisfied?"

Erik looked as though he were going to explode.

The Beast, who had been silent this whole time, sheathed and unsheathed his claws. Repeatedly.

Quinn looked hugely uncomfortable. He had been planning to give Echo a ginormous kiss upon seeing her again, but it appeared as though that wouldn't be allowed anymore under her scrupulous conventions involving completely monogamous relationships.

Holmes, however, was delighted. "You at last have landed a beau? A boyfriend? A significant other?"

"Yep," said Echo vaguely, typing a few letters absently on the laptop. "Sure."

"He's not just her boyfriend anymore," said Edward, his innocent, childlike truth-telling impulse overpowering him completely. "He hasn't been for a month."

Echo froze. "Thanks, Edward," she muttered. "They're gonna kill me."

Edward's lips pinched. He brandished his scissors.

All the muses, sans Rigoletto who was sitting safely on the opposite bunk, took three steps back from the frightful blades.

"I'm engaged to him, for Heaven's sakes, all right?" said Echo. "I'm marrying him in December. In Washington, D.C."

There was dead silence.

The Beast, who had still been silent this whole time, roared, at his loudest, "WWWWWWHAATTT?"

Heather, meanwhile, had succeeded in removing the gag from her mouth by some expertly executed tongue-and-teeth gymnastics.

"You know—" she said through clenched teeth, while attempting awkwardly to free herself from her bonds.

At that moment, however, there was another clang, and—you guessed it—yet another glop-thud of wax.

Erik's eyes bugged out of his head. "Oh, no," he breathed. "Not another one—"

"Too late," said a young female voice, and a cloak swirled in the shadows, followed by the gleam of an exact copy of Merik's porcelain mask.

"Michael Crawford!Erik, I presume?" the voice queried, rather tremulously.

"The same," said Heather.

There was, quite predictably, a squee of Biblical proportions, followed by another of Erik's most undignified shrieks.