The servants crowded around the preparation table in the kitchen, making shaky eye contact with each other in the dim light from the fireplace. Their master was a floor above them, destroying his study, by the sounds of it. Miss Daae had been gone for so long, but le vicomte would not let her go. He was sleeping less and less, drinking more and more, and becoming very short-tempered with anyone who crossed his path in the hallways. He had taken to sleeping in the room which Christine had occupied before, falling on the bed fully clothed, bottles of brandy scattered around the room which he would not allow to be cleaned.

Madame Giry kept her eyes and ears open for apartments to rent.

"""""

"Christine, love, where would you like to go?"

"Go?"

"To live. We can't stay in France- it is too dangerous."

I threw the towel I'd been using to dry our dishes over my shoulder and turned to face him where he sat at the small, wooden table. "I don't know. I've never thought past the stage," I said with a laugh.

His face remained serious. "I will get you back on the stage, I promise. But where?" He sat back in his chair while his long fingers drummed on the table. "I can get us to London, but I can barely stomach the English. I know Prussia, but they can barely stomach the French."

"How do you know Prussia? Did you live there?"

He lifted the corner of his mouth. "I'll tell you someday. I will not take you to Africa, nor Asia. Too many French officers with nobody to hold their leashes."

I giggled at that. "If only you had friends in government. You could shape up the entire army."

"If I had friends in government, Christine, I would settle for not having to hide in a dirty old house in the country. There's only one place I can think of that will be bearable for me, and that will allow you to sing."

I leaned close to him over the table and put my lips close to his. "Do tell."

His lips raised in a smirk, and he bent to kiss me.

""""

Meg Giry was not an intelligent girl. She could dance, her voice was sweet, though unremarkable, and she was attractive, but not striking. Her greatest gift was a gift of perception. She saw her mother's nervousness, she saw Raoul's decline, and she knew that, with Christine gone, she should be careful to avoid le vicomte after dinner. She and her mother took to retiring to their quarters the second the servants took the meals, begging the excuse of getting rest after rehearsals. Meg was fine with this, even though she had, up until now, enjoyed Raoul's company. That company, though, had soured after Christine's "disappearance." Meg was perceptive, but all the perception in the world could not stop an intelligent man obsessed.

One night, coincidentally the night Erik had offered Christine a horse on which to escape, an urgent message came for Madame Giry from the theater. Forks clanked and Raoul's face, already ruddy with drink, stared with eyes too wide at the servant who thrust the note at Madame Giry. Her eyes scanned the note quickly before she raised worried eyes, first to Raoul, then to Meg. "It seems there's some emergency at the theater. Some talk of strike among the girls."

Raoul chuckled without warmth. "Everyone's a diva, no?"

Madame Giry nodded. "The manager has had no success, and with a show tomorrow, he's asking me to return. I beg you'll excuse me, Monsieur."

"Of course, of course!"

Madame Giry rose and turned, but just as quickly, she turned back to her daughter. "Meg, I think you should accompany me."

Raoul said, "Madame, come, it's late! Meg should rest before her show tomorrow. Don't you think?"

The older woman's jaw clenched for a moment. "I really would like-"

Le vicomte's hand slammed down on the table, rattling the candlesticks in the center. "She needs rest. Isn't that what you say every evening after dinner, Madame?"

Mother and daughter's eyes met across the table, but both were stone-faced. Meg said, "I'll go straight to bed, Maman. Don't worry."

"Go, go!" Raoul said, his hand waving in the air. "We wouldn't want the city's third best theater to miss a performance."

Madame Giry swallowed her pride and suspicion, and left. Meg felt a chill run through her as she felt le vicomte's eyes on her. "I had better do what Maman said, Monsieur. Good night."

As Meg rounded the table, Raoul rose to place himself in her path. "Meg, we've always been good friends. We should have a drink together!"

"But I should…"

Raoul's eyes turned cold and his voice lost all pretense at friendliness. "I insist."

A few seconds later, Meg found herself sitting in a chair next to the fireplace in Raoul's study, wine in hand. The study was deceptively cozy: plush armchairs covered in red velvet reflected the glow of the fireplace, a huge desk in mahogany and gold in the corner, books that never gathered dust in the servants' care lined the walls, and Raoul, the handsome nobleman, stood in the center. He should have looked regal and welcoming, but he was like a black mark in a beautiful oil painting. All this went through Meg's mind as Raoul approached her.

"My dear Meg. You must be quite the heavy sleeper."

Meg's hand shook as she raised the wine glass to her lips. "I don't know what you mean, Monsieur."

"Going to sleep every night just after supper, sleeping straight through to the morning. Why, I sometimes forget what you look like, you sleep so long! Then, of course, you slept through Christine's kidnapping." At that last word, his cold eyes bore into Meg's. She shrunk into the armchair, clutching the wine in front of her like a shield as Raoul loomed over her.

"Monsieur…"

"Meg, I wish I could sleep as soundly as you do, but I can't. I close my eyes and all I see is that monster stealing into Christine's room, covering her mouth so we couldn't hear her scream, and tear my beloved away from me. And you, sleeping there all the time. Tell me," his hands were on the armrests now, and Meg turned her face away from the stench of his breath, "do you feel any guilt? I've let you and your mother into my home, fed you, ignored the insults and jokes from my peers, and you repay me by allowing my wife to be stolen. I don't think you do feel guilty. I think that all I see in you is fear now, and as much as it pains me, know that I will do anything to see Christine safe, back with me. You are going to tell me everything, Meg.