Chapter 17: A Restless Rehearsal

They were taken out of their cages around midday. Christine didn't even realize the time until a guard pulled back their bustle-tarp and the high sun blinded her. She had been too engrossed in her rehearsals, hugging her knees tightly in the cramped cage. It was hard to ignore the crack of her sore hips and back as they exited, but the sight before her somehow accomplished it.

Before them was the rest of the men, all seemingly more alive than the previous night. Carlotta ran to Piangi's embrace, sobbing tears of joy. The four ballerinas ran over to the two chorus males and welcomed them with open arms. Gabriel embraced Christine, his eyes wide. He clearly was grateful to see her alive despite their previous predicament. He began to mumble an apology, but was caught off guard when Meg nearly tackled him in her frantic embrace. Jammes cried into Louis's chest, who gently rubbed her hair. If Christine didn't notice the perimeter of guards around them, she would have laughed. She turned, enjoying the feeling of unity but also aware of the barrier around them. Her eyes caught with Madame Giry for a brief second before she welcomed Bastian. He approached her along with Reiner and Matilda, though Christine could see the sideways glances the three gave each other.

This was all because of her bravery. She joined her friends in a group hug, a feeling of pride boosting her motivation. Together they could get through this.

"I believe we have not been properly introduced. I am Nadir Khan, chief of police and member of the Mazadarian court." The grey haired man bowed slightly to the stunned crew. Christine studied him. His hair seemed to change colours, his once grey hair now seeming to be darker, merely speckled with tufts of grey. Her eyes widened as she stared at him from a distance, now recognizing him as the man that chased Gabriel up on the mountain. She glanced over to him, to see a venomous scowl on Gabriel's face. Yes, the same man that had shown her kindness the day before was also the same man that held them at gunpoint on top of the mountain. She internally sighed. Why were the men in Persia so confusing?

"I am here to escort you to the Shah of Persia for your trial." Nadir continued. "I assume you are all aware of your situation?" He smiled softly at the ragged crew, some of whom nodded but all remained silent. "You will have a few hours to rehearse, then we will provide you with some nourishment. I have been told to remind you that your lives depend on this performance, so use this precious time wisely."

He turned to Reiner. "You are the music instructor, monsieur?"

Reiner nodded.

"Good. Then you will take your singers over there near those rocks. Madame, you are with the ballet? There is a flat area over there that should suffice. The rest of you are to practice however you can in that shaded area. Except for you, Mademoiselle Daaé."

Christine flinched. How did he know her full name? Then it dawned on her. The Angel of Death also knew her full name. She had only been addressed as Christine, so who told them of her last name? Was it the managers?

"You are to come with me. You have a private rehearsal." Nadir extended his arm, which Christine hesitantly took. She avoided his gaze, regardless of its gentleness. He turned back to the crew.

"A warning, my friends. If you attempt to escape and miraculously succeed, know that the desert will kill you before anyone can come to your aid." He smiled again towards the silent crew. Christine fidgeted. He was right, there was no point in trying to escape now.

The guards escorted the others to their assigned location. Nadir began to walk up a small incline and Christine gripped onto his elbow. She knew exactly where he was taking her: to the Angel of Death. She forced herself to breath. He didn't hurt her yesterday, nor did he seem like he would. A part of her was ready to face him again, to thank him for listening to her. Her contradicting emotions mirrored perfectly with his personality. Christine turned and locked eyes with Meg, who hobbled forwards with the dancers on her right. She gave a small wave and Christine returned it with a smile.

Nadir led her in silence to a small abandoned hut just off the trail. It was missing its windows and part of its roof. She shuddered. Its wooden frame looked as though it could crumble at any moment. Nadir extended his hand and pulled back the small cloth that served as a door.

"Your maestro awaits."

Christine nodded, staring into the darkness before her. She stepped in, hesitantly. Nadir closed the tarp behind her.

It only took her a few moments before she could find him. He still wore all black, helping him camouflage to the back corner of the hut. Yet, the sunlight that trailed inward from the broken roof outlined his bold frame leaning against the somehow sturdy wall. Even in total darkness, she was sure she would spot those eyes.

"Good afternoon, Mademoiselle Daaé."

His voice was smooth and alluring, like a premier whiskey poured over ice. Christine noticed how he called her mademoiselle, not vicomtesse. Her stomach felt queasy. In a way, she technically had refused Raoul, but not entirely. She was surprised that he accepted her statement so easily. He still had her ring, didn't he? Did that not confuse him? Regardless, she brushed her worries aside. She was certain that he did not care if she was a victomesse or not, as he Chagnys' were clearly already involved in this dilemma. He didn't need her connection to gain their attention.

"Good afternoon, maestro." Christine didn't feel comfortable calling him the Angel of Death, but she didn't know his name. Maestro would just have to suffice.

"Are you ready for your rehearsal?"

Christine was ready. The food and water she had received had greatly improved her stamina and motivation. On top of that, Reiner had already worked her through some arias in the morning, which boosted her confidence.

"Yes, maestro."

"Good." He remained in the corner, his arms crossed. "Begin with your warm-up."

Christine exhaled. She could do this. The responsibility rested on her and she reminded herself that she was brave enough for the challenge. She began to sing an aria, her voice bolder than before. In her head she could hear her angel of music encouraging her. She closed her eyes and pretended she was back in La Sorelli's changing room, singing by the mirror.

"Good. Keep going."

Her angel? Was that him? She pushed herself, fighting down the coughs that scratched at her throat. It was like she could feel his warmth radiating around her. She straightened her torso, a critique he always gave. Eagerly, she followed the music in her mind, like a trail of notes before her that her voice climbed. With every note that flew out of her mouth, she felt more alive.

Suddenly, she bent over and coughed, tumbling back down from her day dream to the abandoned shack in Persia. She had to turn away to hide the tears that formed in her eyes. Her father's violin deafened her in her mind and she could see his hollow eyes on the night he died. But she bit her lip, trying to harden her resolve. Why did the dead have to haunt her so much?

"Excellent. Your voice has improved greatly since our last session, though I see you are still sore."

Christine had finished coughing, finally able to turn back to him. "I am sorry, maestro."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Do you need water?"

"No, I think I will be alright."

"Then let's begin with the opening number."

She nodded and began the song. Before arriving, she was terrified of how he would teach her. Did he know anything about the opera? Would he hurt her? Her nervousness began to fade throughout the strange session. He remained in the corner, his arms crossed tightly. He stopped her and critiqued her posture and her breathing. Her angel had showered her with praise as a girl, but he remained distant. It was different from what she was used to, but she bit back her anxiety to focus on the task at hand. The more she sang, the more she could drown out her father's violin in her head.

I have been told to remind you that your lives depend on this performance, so use this precious time wisely.

Yes, she needed to heed monsieur Khan's warning. The more she sang, however, the more coarse her throat felt. When her coughing fits worsened, he forced her to drink some water.

Now was her time.

"Thank you for allowing the men to sit in the wagon today. They seem to be in better spirits and I am eternally grateful." She gave him a gentle smile, a smile that was genuine despite her uneasiness. The shadow merely nodded, not saying anything to her. She fidgeted uncomfortably, not liking the awkward silence around them.

"You mentioned that you used to be a composer. Are you a music instructor for the Shah as well?" She did not enjoy the feeling of his eyes on her while she drank.

Christine thought she heard the low timber of a chuckle, but his tone was surprisingly lax. "I have many uses for the Shah, mademoiselle, but music is merely a cherished hobby of mine."

Many uses for the Shah, she thought, like being an assassin and kidnapping travelling operas? She took another greedy spoonful. She thought back to Reiner. As she was rehearsing with him and Carlotta, Reiner had encouraged her to try and find out as much information as she could about their captor. A part of her was wary, but she agreed with Reiner. It didn't seem like he wanted to hurt her. In fact, it almost seemed like he wanted her to trust him.

In all honesty, she had many questions for him. She wanted to know more about their situation, about Raoul, about the rat, even about his past. Why was he so gentle with her, yet so fearsome to the others? Why was he an assassin, if he was once a composer? How on earth was he able to enchant her so easily?

"It is ironic, my last maestro was also an angel." She muttered. Christine internally chided herself. Of all the things to say, she said that? How was that helpful information?

He was silent. She took another sip of water, lifting her head up so it could cool the back of her throat. As she swallowed, he finally spoke. "An Angel, you say?"

Christine blushed. Of course, she remembered, everyone else thought she was mad at the mention of her angel. Why wouldn't he? Yet, it was too late to turn back now.

"Well, sort of. I knew him as my Angel of Music. He taught me as a young girl at the Opera."

"You knew him? So you knew he was a man?"

Christine fidgeted. "No, he was an angel." She stumbled meekly. "I just… everyone thinks I am mad but he really was an angel. He was sent by my father to teach me."

"How did you know he was an angel?"

His tone was skeptical. Christine hesitated. "He was just a voice, not a physical form like a man. A voice that came from heaven. He was kind and pure and was always there to help me."

The shadow made a noise, something like a scoff but mixed with something else. She furrowed her brow. Was he laughing at her? Her cheeks burned and she looked away to the ground, anywhere else than his taunting eyes. "I know you probably think I'm insane. Everyone else does, so I don't blame you. But he was real." She defended. Why she felt the need to defend her childhood angel to a stranger she did not know.

"I don't think you're mad." He whispered softly. She met his eyes, shocked at his gentle statement.

"Truly?" She wondered aloud.

"Truly."

There was a strange warmth in her soul, something that allowed her shoulders to relax. She didn't know how to respond, though she wanted to thank him. She searched his eyes for deceit but saw nothing, though their intense glare grew to be too much for her to bear. What was this foreign buzz in her stomach?

You cannot believe me, no one does. She thought. She looked away, attempting to control her rapidly beating heart. Yes, he must have been lying. No one else believed her, why should he?

"Where is he now?" He finally asked.

She lowered her head. "He's gone."

"Gone? I didn't think angels died."

"No, not dead, but gone. He left many years ago because he thought I was ready to be on my own."

That was a lie, but not a complete lie. Yet, this man had no reason to know the truth. In fact, Christine was eager to end the conversation or steer it another direction, but the Angel of Death was oblivious to her discomfort.

"Were you?"

Christine hesitated. "No. I wasn't." She finally admitted. "I was able to get by, but when my father died I…" her voice trailed. She shook her head as if to prevent herself from succumbing to the darkness of her mind. "I really needed him."

She waited for him to reply, but he said nothing. Not enjoying the now awkward silence, she spoke again.

"Maestro, may I ask you a question?"

He hesitated. "Of course."

"Why are you teaching me?"

"I thought I explained myself already. You have great talent and I believe you can save your friends."

"But why do you want us to live? You don't know us."

"Do you need to know the innocent people caught in the battles of war to pity them?"

Christine blinked, setting down the ladle into the bucket. "I guess not. I don't mean to pry. So much has happened in the past two days, I just feel like I am spinning in circles."

"All you need to worry about is your voice. You must nurse it until we reach the capital so you can perform your best. Everything else is irrelevant."

"I'm.. I'm scared." She whispered. She felt the familiar sting of tears forming in her eyes, but she blinked them away and straightened her back. She chose to be brave, didn't she?

"With a voice like yours, I can promise you, you have nothing to fear."

Her eyes locked with his. Christine knew she possessed immense talent, but it was something she never took for granted. It was a gift, a gift she knew she shouldn't boast. In fact, she mostly believed that her gift was only as good as the amount of work she put into it, and focused on her training diligently. Usually when someone complimented her on her voice, she blushed uncomfortably. For one, she did not believe them, but also she did not know what to do with them. She didn't enjoy the feeling of others praising her when she did not seem to think she deserved it. The only time she ever enjoyed someone else's praise was when it came from her father or her angel.

But this man was neither, yet she still felt appreciative.

"Thank you." She whispered genuinely. A small smile crept onto her cheeks again. "I cannot express how grateful I am for your help."

The shadow shuffled, moving for the first time in their performance. He readjusted his position, though now it was his turn to look away from her. In a way, it made her feel nervous. Was he fidgeting because he didn't enjoy compliments or because he knew they were not earned? Had she been too naive to realize some underlying deceit, or was she imagining things?

"Are you ready to continue?" He asked, his even tone returning.

"Yes, maestro."

Little did she know how unprepared she was to continue. As she rehearsed, her voice grew more and more hoarse with each note that gracefully escaped her mouth. Her coughing breaks grew in frequency and intensity. Though she immediately continued, she could sense her maestro's frustration growing with each ragged cough.

"Enough!" He finally spat. She trembled as he stormed past her to the door. "Your voice needs rest if you ever hope to excel. Our time here is pointless!"

He threw open the tarp and disappeared into the outdoors. Christine felt her heart pound against her rib cage. She was a failure. She hugged herself to fight off the growing feelings of guilt. No. She had to be strong now. Crumbling against defeat wouldn't help her friends. She focused on her breathing to calm herself down and paced the room. In a few minutes he returned, swinging the tarp open with such ferocity it made her jump. But this time he wasn't alone: Piangi and Reiner shuffled in behind him.

"It's time to work on stage direction and blocking. We will begin with act one and endeavour through the performance quickly. Reiner, I assume I can trust you to direct these two?" The shadow barely even looked at the baffled music instructor, instead striding back to his corner and crossing his arms. It was only when he returned to his previous position and glared at the stunned music instructor that Reiner finally spoke.

"Of-of course, monsieur!" He jumped.

Both Christine and Piangi stood bewildered as Reiner frantically tried to lay out the borders of an imaginary stage. In the midst of his explanation, Christine quickly glanced over at her maestro. He barely moved, though when his eyes met with hers she quickly looked away.

Reiner coughed to grab her attention. "Do we understand? Good. So, Christine, you enter first with the head of the King. You hold it with two hands, like this…"

Christine hadn't acted in a while, but it was easy to slip back into. In fact, it was enjoyable to pretend to be someone else at the moment; someone who was not in a shack in Persia, rehearsing for a performance that determined her fate. Her voice still cracked and she coughed, but her physicality morphed into the scandalous queen. She was much more lithe than Carlotta, allowing her to over exaggerate her hip movements and prowess while on stage. For the sake of her friends, she would become Elissa entirely.

Yet, when Piangi entered, he acted more like a drained general who had walked up a mountain the day before. His voice was worse than Christine's and his sluggish movements were interlaced with heavy panting and short breaks.

Her maestro was unusually calm at first. He made frequent, curt suggestions that caused them to flinch at the sound of his deep timbre. Yet, the more he corrected them, the more she could sense his frustration. Soon they were onto the final act, where Piangi's king confesses his undying love for the shunned queen, despite her traitorous actions.

Christine knelt before Piangi. She had seen this performance many times, so picking up the blocking wasn't as difficult as she had thought. But she had completely forgotten about their characters' kiss. She always turned away when Carlotta and Piangi locked tongues on stage. Normally she was too busy trying to ignore La Sorelli and Meg's crude mockery backstage as well as the live performance. Now, she felt a shiver trickle down her spine as she stared up at him, feigning a loving gaze while internally dreading her next step. His sweat dripped down onto her face and she did everything she could to ignore it.

"My love, come to me, save me from this madness!"

Christine stood and Piangi paused. He looked around sheepishly.

"Do I...or...does she?"

"Yes dammit! Elissa kisses her husband!" Reiner sighed, slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand.

Christine blushed. She didn't realize she had to initiate it. Quickly she stood on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around Piangi's head. It was a trick Meg had taught her a long time ago. A way to look like you were deeply kissing someone, when in reality only their noses touched, their mouths hidden by her arms. Never had she thought it would be so useful.

"Perfect. Now this is when the ballet comes back in-"

"That wasn't correct."

Christine, who had stepped as far away as she could from Piangi, flinched. She stared wide eyed at her new maestro in the corner. "What?" She squeaked.

"You both looked disgusted."

Christine hoped her sunburn would hide her blush. "I didn't know if I, or um, well we can't just, uh, I know he and Carlotta-"

"If you want to convince the audience you are star-crossed lovers, you will need to put in some effort."

Piangi rubbed his neck sheepishly. "What if I spun her and leaned? Like this?"

He gently grabbed Christine and spun her backwards, her foot now gracefully in the air and their faces low and down. "If I put my arm up here to hold her, no one could see our faces."

Although Piangi was doing his best to remedy the situation, Christine was incredibly uncomfortable. She fidgeted in his arms and then shuffled away when he released her. How she wished she could be suffering in the back of their cage right now.

This time, she was certain the shadowed man chuckled. "If it is convincing, you may. But it would be a shame to work so hard and lose the Shah's interest in the final act."

They both nodded solemnly and continued the scene. Christine stood and Piangi swept her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around him, lifting her foot up high for some dramatic flair.

Then he dropped her.

Christine smacked onto the floor, her head stinging instantly. But when Piangi fell on top of her, crushing her under his weight, she released a pained yelp.

"Oh I am so sorry! I'm just so sweaty and tired and-"

"You call yourself a man!" The shadow bellowed. He stomped forward. "Do you need instruction on how to kiss a woman?"

Christine couldn't hold back the squeak that escaped her lips while Piangi stuttered out a string of excuses.

"We do it again!" Piangi exclaimed, lifting Christine to her feet.

My love, come to me, save me from this madness!

His words were rushed, terrified, and the most unromantic line she had ever heard, but she leapt into his arms anyways. He span her, forgetting to raise his arm to cover her head. They both glared at each other, realizing there was no way to fake a kiss with no arm to block it. He hesitated, before throwing his face on top of hers with overly pursed lips. Christine fought back as the man nearly swallowed her face, her entire body turning crimson. He dropped her again, his arms too weak to hold her wriggling form.

"This is ridiculous!"

Christine barely finished wiping Piangi's slob of her mouth before a gloved hand grabbed her elbow. She squealed as her maestro lifted her to her feet effortlessly.

"When she stands, you put this arm in between her shoulder blades, like so. The other arm goes around her waist. You caress her, not grab her like a piece of meat!"

Christine was frozen. She had just been kissed by the lover of her enemy in the most unromantic and disgusting situation of her life. While trying to process this shock, the man who nearly killed her a few days ago now had his arms around her. And he felt warm. Undeniably warm. She wanted to push him away, but hands naturally came up to the lapels of his collar and her hips curved forwards slightly. She trembled, but not from fear. It was from a feeling she couldn't identify.

Though he glared at the fool he was berating, she could feel the pressure from his fingers against her upper spine and the small of her back. Her skin there tingled and Christine was anxious for him to stop touching her. Though his clothes were loose, now she could feel his lean, muscular form in almost too much detail. Her face flushed as she realized she was touching him. Worse yet, she was definitely staring at his mask. It was not as smooth as she had thought. Now she was close enough, she could see some swirling designs hidden in the porcelain mask. She also noted many scratches that chipped it slightly, though it still remained intact. It clearly had seen some action in its time. She looked at his jawline, prominent and defined, barely jutting out from the bottom of his mask. It was almost as prominent as the muscles that tensed from his pale neck.

Wait. His pale neck?

"Then you spin her like so."

Christine wasn't ready. She tensed as he span her. Despite her complete lack of participation, their turn was elegant and smooth. Their eyes locked as she lay in his arms. Their intensity nearly swallowed her whole as he bore his eyes into her soul. As she lay dangled in his embrace, she felt it. That strange yet familiar tingling in her stomach. Except this time, it was stronger than ever before.

Time froze and she waited for it. She waited for his face to draw closer to her own. His thin lips seemed much pinker up close and she quickly looked away from them. A voice in the back of her head tried to remind her that this man was their enemy, but her body refused to fight him. His strong fingers pulled her closer and she squinted her eyes shut.

She felt his hot breath against her cheek as he imitated her fake kissing trick. Her heart calmed in relief. Thank God. He was much stronger than Piangi, and she was not sure if she would be able to fight him off if he did try to kiss her. Her stomach felt queezy at the thought. Even though Piangi was Carlotta' lover, she would much prefer to endure that slobbery mess again than have to kiss this man.

Then it dawned on her. In her panic she did not raise her leg. Before she could move, she felt his lean fingers leave the small of her back and caress her outer thigh down to her knee. His trailing touch electrified every nerve it came in contact with, sending her stomach in a frenzy. She wanted to escape, but her body couldn't move. He cupped the back of her knee and lifted her leg up into the air. Her knee folded around his arm like jelly, her body unable to straighten it. A gasp escaped her lips as he pulled her in closer for just a moment.

Just as quickly as he had spun her to this position, he spun her back. Christine's eyes flew open as she realized she had been holding her breath.

"Do you need more instruction on this simple task?"

He still wasn't looking at her, though she could not keep her eyes off him. She chided herself. What was she thinking? He was her captor. He had nearly strangled her to death. On top of all this, she didn't even know his name. Why was she acting like a whimsical child? Why did her skin still burn where he touched her?

She looked away, ashamed. Her hands quickly left his lapel and she hugged herself. She barely even noticed when he sulked back into the shadows and Piangi took his place. They rehearsed again, Piangi finally completing the task while nuzzling her cheek like her maestro had instructed. Christine was relieved, both because Piangi didn't have to kiss her and her maestro didn't have to get so close to her again.

A swift knock against the door frame halted their final scene. Nadir entered.

"I am sorry to interrupt. We must prepare to leave. The other prisoners have been put back in their cages."

Christine winced. Prisoners, cages, she thought. Such a blatant reminder that regardless of how she felt, they were still enemies. How could she be so naive?

"Luckily, Daroga, your interruption was for once well timed. We have finished. You may take them."

Christine dared to look back at him. His intense gaze was glued to the door, unwavering and fierce. Reiner gently took her hand and she followed him out, her heart still skipping. Yes, her skinned burned where he had touched her, but she would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy it. Who was this man?

Piangi was escorted by another guard to join the rest of the men, while Nadir helped Reiner and Christine enter the cage. They sat in silence until the wagons began to roll onward.

"How was the ballet?" Reiner finally asked.

"Decent." Was Madame Giry's only comment.

Meg sniffled, her eyes a light pink. "My ankle is still swollen. I can barely stand on it."

Christine gave her friend's hand a firm squeeze. "It will be okay. Let's elevate it to lower the swelling, okay?"

"How was the singing lesson?" Madame Giry asked.

"Good. Reiner, Piangi and I went through nearly the entire opera. We should have all of the blocking and stage work down by now."

Madame Giry rose an eyebrow. "You spoke with him, Reiner?"

"I did. A mysterious man indeed."

"What does that mean?" Sorelli spat, clearly already in a sour mood.

"Sorelli, don't." Jammes pleaded, but the prima ballerina pushed her hand away.

"I am sick and tired of being left in the dark. You two know who he is, don't you? Who the hell is he?!" She hissed.

Everyone gasped.

"Antionette? Can it be? What do you know?"

"Sorelli! Watch your tongue! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth of yours?"

"You knew and you never told us?"

"Who is this man? Antionette!"

"Silence!" Madame Giry ordered. "Those who speak of what they know, find too late that prudent silence is wise."

Those were his words, though they seemed more natural rolling of Madame Giry's tongue.

"Mama." Meg pleaded softly. "Please tell us. We deserve the truth."

Madame Giry stared at her daughter, her lips formed into a thin line. She shook her head, opening her mouth to deny her before Reiner interrupted her.

"Antionette. She is right. They will learn eventually. You cannot protect them forever." He solemnly agreed.

"Tell us what you know." La Sorelli demanded.

Madame Giry froze. Christine noticed how Madame Giry glanced to her, her eyes widening before she looked away. Christine flinched. Why was Madame Giry scared to face her? The ballet instructor shook her head, burying her head in between her open palms. Her trembling lips sealed themselves shut.

Reiner sighed. "Forgive me, Madame Giry, but I must. The Opera Populaire was only chosen to be a part of the Shah's plot, because a member of his court used to live there. He already controlled the opera house and its managers, so convincing them to join this drug trade was a simple task."

"Wait. You mean-"

"Yes. The Angel of Death is our very own Phantom of the Opera."

Finally some action! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

YinuoTong: She is under a lot of pressure, but she is realizing the amount of support behind her. I keep trying to incorporate parts from the musical/books into this and I am glad you notice them! Thank you!

Lucyole: Thank you for your review! It is always good to see the underdog take down the giant haha.

Phantomgirl24: It is slowly getting there, but we are getting much closer! Hope chapter began to plant some seeds. Thank you!