Nadir pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes from the sight of the starch white papers laid out before him. His eyes had been steadily drying out for the past hour, no thanks to the air conditioner that was on full blast to ward off the summer heat. He was coming precariously close to giving up for the night. It was too bad that that wasn't an option at the moment.
Under normal circumstances Nadir found research to be invigorating. He liked the idea that useful information was entering a mental database, ready to be used at any given moment. His mind was still as sharp as ever, even if he was getting on in years.
But for this particular case, Nadir wasn't sure he wanted to know any more.
It had nothing to do with the fact that he was investigating possible terrorist organizations with ties back to his home country. He had been involved in doing just that for years, helping to divulge information that was worth even more than his life was. For Nadir, it had been a sort of privilege helping to stop atrocities from taking place. He liked to think he was instrumental in decimating several operations that would have resulted in significant loss of life.
Nor was it because it involved Erik, although that alone should have given him pause.
No, Nadir felt hesitant because this mission involved protecting children.
Well, not children, per se. The students attending Cartier were no longer categorized under that grouping. But they were someone's children. They were young, recently freed from the protection of their parents' home, and so very susceptible to bad influences. Some were luckier than others, and would have cushioning to support their transition. Some would be less fortunate, and would find the world to be quite cruel indeed.
Madame Giry's mention of keeping her daughter safe had changed things for Nadir. It had put things into perspective. He had never worked on a case before where the threat was domestic. Knowing that terrorists were planning something in their territory made him very motivated. He considered the United States to be his home now. He would do whatever it took it protect it and the people who lived there.
To that end, Nadir would start by protecting the students that attended this school, starting with Giry's daughter. After all, he knew that feeling intimately. The feeling that stays with you from the moment your child is born. Even contemplating the idea that your child could be in danger was enough to make a parent lose sleep at night.
Iran had never been a safe place, but ironically, it hadn't been violence that had lost Nadir his wife and child. No, it had been something so cliche.
Dead wife. Dead child. All in one go.
He had thrown himself into work after that. It was perhaps why he had tolerated the constant chaos that Erik's presence had brought to his world. Assigned as Erik's personal babysitter had kept Nadir occupied 24/7. Dealing with a godless, masked demon was a distraction from facing his personal ones.
Time would prove that Erik wasn't really a demon, even if everyone in the Iranian government seemed to think so. Like many geniuses throughout history, Erik had been lured to a nation's government with promises of freedom, power, and immense wealth. He had enjoyed two of those things, at length, for some time. The freedom part was an illusion, of course. Nadir had known that from the start. Looking back on it, he often wondered if Erik had; it was anyone's guess if he had been naive, or simply content to pretend.
Nadir looked down at his phone, and sighed. He had texted Erik six hours ago, and he hadn't answered. For the third time that hour, he opened up the text message and scrolled down to the very bottom.
Erik, I havent heard from u in 12 hrs. What r u up 2?
(Read 8:09 AM.)
Erik, the brute, found it humorous to leave the 'read' function on his phone. It seemed as though he took unholy enjoyment from antagonizing Nadir.
It wasn't unusual for Erik to ignore him, of course, but it irritated him all the same. The FBI wasn't the only entity uncomfortable with having Erik on the loose in the nation's capital.
He placed the cursor in the text box and started typing a new message.
Erik, b responsible for once, by Allah. FBI not taking kindly 2 this.
He almost dropped his phone in surprise when he saw the dots to indicate Erik was answering him.
I am not setting fire to this dreadful town, if that is your worry, Daroga. I have simply been a little...distracted.
Nadir's brow furrowed.
Distracted by what? What r u doing Erik?
There was a pause between texts before Erik responded.
Simply canvassing the campus, as we discussed.
Nadir felt his curiosity spike.
Have u seen or herd anything of note? From the students? Faculty?
Nothing that would interest Baker, in any case, answered Erik in his enigmatic fashion. He continued. The excitement of the start of the semester is still strong. Once that dies down, there will be more opportunity to discover something.
We might want 2 consider asking Agent B 2 bug certin cmn areas.
Nadir, your attempt at shorthand is deplorable. I refuse to answer you when you use numbers in place of words.
Nadir laughed out loud. Its quicker!
How charming. And as to your suggestion, perhaps. I shall determine where best to place them. It will not do to place sensitive technology throughout a college campus where any idiot might break it.
Nadir smiled thinly.
Including yourself.
His smile died.
He could only imagine how pleased Erik was with himself on the other end, and held back a groan. The man was a walking, talking test in Nadir's patience.
Whatever you say, Erik. Erik didn't respond after that, which was in line with what Nadir expected. He was lucky if he was able to hold Erik's attention for any period of time. The masked man was constantly in flux, his attention diverted and his mind running a million miles per hour. He liked to joke that Nadir had no hopes of keeping up, and Nadir couldn't help but agree with him.
His concern from earlier brushed against his mind. He scrolled through the rest of his text messages, which were sadly few in number. The second one from the top was none other than Agent Baker himself. It was a message he had received hours ago, one that made Nadir's stomach turn over every time he saw it.
You'd better give me something soon, Khan. Or else.
At the rate to which things were going, Nadir didn't think either of them would last too long.
"Wait, what?" Meg asked her mother, unable to believe her ears.
Madame Giry stared at her daughter, unimpressed. "The auditions have been moved, Margaret." Meg made a face, as she always did, when her mother used her full name. "The deans, we all agreed." She straightened her glasses and looked back down at the paperwork on her desk.
"But why?" Meg almost whined.
Her mother huffed an impatient sigh. "Contrary to popular belief, ma fille, I cannot tell you everything that goes on in this school. As much," she added, holding up a finger when Meg started to protest, "As you wish I would."
Meg squirmed. "But...what about Christine? She has her heart set on it! This isn't fair!"
Madame Giry looked at her daughter sternly. "Meg," she said. "Let me make myself clear. You will, under no circumstances whatsoever, tell Christine that the audition has been changed." She looked at her daughter, opening her eyes widely to almost comedic proportions. "Nor will you tell her that they're to take place a week from today, at ten AM, in Alder Hall. Do you understand, Meg?" She gave her daughter a long, significant glance, as if conveying something of utmost importance.
Meg's frown slowly transformed from one of confusion and anger to a slow smile of understanding. She walked around her mother's desk, bent down, and kissed her on the cheek sweetly.
A light briefly flared in the dean's eyes before simmering back to her usual cool gaze. "Yes, well, off you go, Meg. I've got paperwork to do."
"Yes, ma'am," Meg said obediently. She walked calmly out of her mother's office, shut the door primly behind her, and took a breath.
Then, she broke into a sprint.
She dodged around the masses of students walking around campus, flying past them without a care for how she looked. Distantly, she knew that running across campus was a little ridiculous, but she wanted to tell Christine, and she wanted to tell her face-to-face.
In record time, Meg burst into their dorm room, her eyes wild and her hair flying.
"You will not believe what I just got out of my mom."
Christine was tidying the kitchen up when Meg ran in. A couple of soapy suds dripped from her hands as she turned to gaze at Meg. Her mouth pulled in a half-smirk. "Hi Meg, my day was great, thanks for asking. How was yours?"
Meg scoffed, dropping her backpack onto the floor unceremoniously. "Don't distract me with small talk, Christine Daae, I've got juicy news."
Christine dried off her hands and turned to face Meg fully, giving the excitable girl her full attention. "My apologies. Please continue," she said, sweeping her hand grandly.
Meg fell into a nearby chair. "Auditions were moved up to next Friday for the spring opera. They're keeping it on the DL, thinking that if fewer undergrads know about it, they'll miss their chance to audition. It's their covert attempt to indulge the seniors. Apparently they've done nothing but hee and haw about it since the open audition was announced." Meg rolled her eyes.
Christine paled. "Friday?" she said weakly. "But...I thought it was weeks away?"
Meg tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Well, that changed. I think they were planning on holding the auditions, casting the show, then advertising that they had chosen the cast from the "early auditions", something which was apparently posted on all the bulletin boards." Meg gave Christine a shrewd look. "Those announcements aren't even printed yet. The flyer was emailed to my mom an hour ago, telling her not to post it until the Thursday before."
Meg watched frustration and helplessness war on Christine's face. She felt a pang of sympathy for her friend. They both understood that this was the kind of underhanded thing that sometimes happened at Cartier. It was why Meg felt the need to help out her friend. Christine had had enough obstacles in her life. Meg wanted to see her succeed, damn it!
Christine rubbed her temples. "I'm going to have to cancel on Raoul for tomorrow," she muttered.
Meg pointed a finger at her. "Don't you dare," she ordered. "You will not let this interfere with your life, Christine! You can prepare in one week. It's not great, but you can do it. I know you can."
Christine shook her head. "You don't understand," she said. "Not only am I competing against the upper class, but I'm also competing against myself. Reyer has already called me out on my lack of confidence. How am I supposed to mentally and physically prepare in one week?"
Meg crossed her arms, unmoved. "Christine, you know how amazing you are. You don't need anyone else to tell you that! It's all in your head. You just have to psyche yourself up." Meg eyes lit up. "You should do what I do, you know."
Christine looked at her curiously. "Oh, and what's that?"
Meg shrugged. "Take a shot of vodka before the audition."
Christine lifted an eyebrow. "Does your mom know about that little pre-audition ritual?"
Meg's eyes went wide. "Are you kidding me?" she play-whispered. "She'd have my head!" She made a slashing gesture with her finger across her throat, dramatically acting as though the blood were gushing out. Christine rolled her eyes.
"Lovely," Christine said helpfully.
Meg smiled, straightening. "I know. I really should have been an actress instead of a ballerina." She shoved at Christine's arm. "Who knows? Maybe I'll be your competition."
"Sure," Christine allowed, "Except you can't tell the difference between a cello and a french horn."
"I can too! The cello is the big guitar." She stuck her tongue out.
Christine laughed. Meg sighed in relief. She felt like she succeeded in helping Christine after all.
"Fine," Christine consented. "I'll still see Raoul tomorrow. But I'm headed straight to the music building after dinner tonight."
"See?" Meg said, looking superior. "I knew you could have a bit of fun, too."
Not four hours later, Christine had trapped herself inside one of the practice rooms in the music building. Wednesday's assignment for Reyer's class sat on music stand, taunting her. She wrung her hands, staring at the sheet music like it might bite her.
This is ridiculous, she berated herself. Why are you so scared? It's an audition, not the end of the world.
But it did feel like it was the end of the world. She couldn't explain it, but it felt as though so much were riding on this audition. She needed to ace it. Not only for her future career, but for herself.
She wasn't in the habit of doing things for herself. After her mother died, she had taken care of her father, and after he had died, she had moved in with Mrs. Valerius, who she had inevitably ending up taking care of, too. This felt like the first thing in a long time she was doing for herself. College, in a way, had also been for her dad, and for Mrs. Valerius, because they had wanted it for her. But this, auditioning when she really wasn't supposed to, felt like a change. It felt like she was branching out for once.
Christine knew she had obstacles to overcome. She wasn't like her peers, the girls she would be competing against. She was more than aware of that.
Connecting was difficult. She was far more spiritual than them, for one thing. She believed wholeheartedly that her mother and father were watching from above. She attended church (almost) every Sunday, and she would quietly pray to herself throughout the day.
It had helped that religion had always accompanied music.
There were other ways she differed, however. She was quieter than the others, more introspective. She had fewer friends, and didn't party. She had done her share, of course, with Meg in their previous year, but it was rare that she threw caution to the wind. She was so careful, and sometimes she hated that she was.
Sometimes, she just wished she could live recklessly.
Her father's passing had sucked something vital from Christine. Logically, she knew people were not supposed to react to death the way she had. Her reaction had been...unhealthy. All the therapists had thought so, even if they hadn't been willing to say it. It was yet another reason she didn't have many friends. No one had had patience for her bouts of melancholy. Meg, bless her, was able to handle it, perhaps due to the never ending well of cheerfulness that the girl had inside of herself. Christine couldn't imagine life without her, but she also envied Meg's cheer with a bitterness that was nearly dark in nature.
She had considered giving up her music altogether after her father had died. Music was her connection to her father, after all, and with its great beauty came great pain. For a time, it didn't seem worth it. Nothing had.
But some small voice inside of her had urged her not to. It had promised that there was so much to look forward to, that surely, after all the pain, there could only be good things to come...
She tried to concentrate. A headache was already starting to form. One week to prepare, she thought morosely. It's not going to happen.
Shaking her head back and forth to pop out the kinks in her neck and shoulders, she warmed herself up, readying her voice for a long night of practice.
She had been running through the song for the second time when she was suddenly interrupted.
"You're doing that all wrong."
She spun sharply, casting a frantic glance behind her. There was no one there.
"Who said that?" she asked, pressing a shaking hand to the pounding pulse in her neck. No response was forthcoming, and despite Christine's initial fright, she tried to shake it off.
Must be a student playing a stupid prank, she thought morosely. Rolling out her shoulders, she took a few deep breaths before she began again.
"No, no, no," the mysterious voice grounded out. The tone was male, harsh, and biting. She gave a small yelp at the return of the voice, jumping a little in shock. "Are you purposely trying to demolish that phrase?"
Christine felt indignation well up inside her. She strode towards the door, ready to end to the commentary once and for all. "Excuse me? Who are you?"
She flung open the door to the room and looked out. Her stomach dropped at the sight of the empty hallway. There wasn't a single soul out there.
Strange...
"Where are you?" she whispered to herself, wondering.
"It doesn't matter," the voice replied, sounding as if he was standing right behind her. She jumped again, placing a hand over her wildly-beating chest and glaring in the general direction the voice had come from. "Answer my question."
"What question?" Christine asked, distracted. She was too busy glancing around the room, trying to picture his hideaway. She shut the door behind her absently.
He sighed. "The phrase? Do you despise it that much, or is it the piece as a whole that you find so offensive?"
Whoever this person was, Christine thought to herself, he was terribly impatient. She crossed her arms, huffing at his rudeness. "No," she answered, her eyes flinty. "It's a difficult piece of music, okay? It was my first assignment for the semester, and it's way harder than it's supposed to be. And while Cara Bergamasco gets to sing Voi che sapete, I have to sing this." She gestured to the piece on the piano with disgust.
There was a moment of silence in which Christine could feel the tension heavy upon the air. She waited for the man to reply, to say something before she combusted from the heat in the room, when he softly spoke.
"You would compare yourself to that shrieking she-demon?" he said in dangerous tones. "Cara Bergamasco is a stain on this conservatory, and it is a profound shame that she has not been thrown out on her backside."
Christine spluttered in shock at his blunt description of the conservatory's most promising student. "B-but-"
"I have listened to you for all of twenty seconds, and I already know you have more talent in your little finger than Miss Bergamasco has in her entire body."
Christine felt her face flame, and without realizing what she was doing, she raised a cold hand to her cheek to lessen the burn. Her anger with him had disappeared in a flash.
"I'm nothing special," she said quietly.
A pause. "I may not know you, girl, but I do know that feeling sorry for oneself never gets you anywhere. People will take and take and take for themselves, and if you do not put out your hand, you will never have anything for yourself. Cara Bergamasco may seem like she has the world on her plate, but that's only because she's gone to the effort to take it, even if the means are unsavory. Do you think she succeeds on talent alone?" He chuckled darkly in wry amusement, thinking of some joke that was surely lost on Christine.
Christine swallowed, understanding slow but still forthcoming. "So," she said, a bit angrily, "what you're saying is that I should do what the rest of the girls at this school do? Sleep my way to the top?"
He seemed to hesitate, and the tension from earlier seemed to build up once more. "No," he said. Then, more emphatically, "no."
"Well, then. Glad we're on the same page." Christine let out a deep sigh, looking back at her music forlornly. "So what would you suggest I do? I don't have enough time to learn a new song. And I can't afford a private tutor…"
"I wish I could help you, Miss Daae. I'm afraid, talented as you are, there will be a long road ahead of you yet. Farewell."
She looked up sharply at his sudden departure. "You - wait! I didn't get your name!"
But it was too late. He was gone.
And she didn't get the chance to ask how he knew hers.