Chapter 5

"Who is this girl?" Nadir demanded of the shadow plinking away at the keys of the organ and testing the tonal quality of some of the higher and lower keys.

"I know as much as you, Daroga." The musical voice responded, laced with no emotion, not even the hatred that the Persian had expected from the cold Opera Ghost. His voice was empty and his form bent. He was alive but hardly living.

"I would think you would have drilled her to know about her." The form scoffed and turned to face him, the white mask gleaming in the light of the lone candle and those golden eyes shimmering from their sunken holes.

"You are the detective, not I." Erik replied, cracking his knuckles. At one point, he might have murdered Nadir for his treachery but now, he was completely cut off from feelings, not having the energy to spill the blood of the Persian man.

"But, it's not like you to allow strangers into your home." Nadir pointed out as he watched the shadow-shrouded man.

"I can hardly call her a stranger now, can I? She is now in my service as my only servant. I really don't care to see any more of her. I might chase her away." The biting sarcasm, tinted with truth, was very like Erik's personality.

"I highly doubt it. The girl seems as mad as you." The ex-police chief just shook his head, unsure what to think of someone who was with Erik, willingly. While he had tried not to give up hope that Erik would find someone to share his life and genius with, he had, admittedly, given up with the departure of Christine. Now, to find someone was quite a shock to the senses of the elderly gentleman.

"I believe she is. She talks to herself a lot." Erik ran a gaunt hand through his thinning hair and was truly baffled at the girl's behavior. She was completely oblivious, but on occasion, he would slip out of his hideaway and spy on her, observing her. The oddities of the girl perplexed his genius mind.

"Not surprising considering she's down here as good as by herself." Nadir retorted before going to the door. "I for one am going to find out something more about her." With that, he left, hearing a final comment from his masked friend following him,

"Ever the police chief, Daroga."

E-OC

"I hope I am not being too rude, Mademoiselle, but may I be so bold as to inquire about your past? I'm very curious to know how someone could come to live down here with Erik." Candela finished setting the table and dished out food to the both of them before responding.

"I stumbled upon this place by complete accident." She began as she poured tea for them then sat down opposite him. "I have been, since the age of thirteen, an orphan. My mother died of consumption and I have never met my father, neither do I even know his name. All I knew was he was French and I came to France in hopes of finding him, not that I even knew where to look.

"For a short time, I was employed at a tavern before the place burned to the ground, leaving me homeless again. The owner had his own family to look after and didn't have time for me. I journeyed to Paris and was, after being on the streets for a while, picked up by the Comte Phillippe de Chagny as a charity project."

This was an unexpected turn in her story for Nadir. The tale of a wood's colt orphan wasn't uncommon but her relationship with the de Chagny household was a bit of a surprise.

"I was as kitchen maid until the death of the Comte and the elevation of his younger brother into his position. For a brief week, I was the personal maid of the former Mademoiselle Daae before being dismissed as an unneeded accessory to the mansion."

"You were her personal maid? Then, you know the detail of the whole debacle." Again, he questioned the girl's sanity. Surely there was a little loyalty towards the family that had taken her in when she had been hungry, therefore biasing her against Erik to begin with. Then, after being in close proximity to Christine, surely, that would cause anyone to fear ever coming near the Paris Opera House.

"Yes, and all from a woman who has the courage of a shrew." Candela stated, causing Nadir to unintentionally snort some of his meal, only to try to cover it up with a cough. "While the Comtesse de Chagny is a sweet girl, I wouldn't wish to spend any time with her. I pity the Comte for marrying her. She is a weak-willed, weak-boned wife." To that, Nadir merely shrugged.

"It is not for us to judge whether or not his decisions were wise. He may yet pay the price if they prove foolish. He chose his bride, now he must live with her." The maid nodded in agreement almost sadly.

"The Comte always seemed like a nice young man. When I first came to the mansion, the elder de Chagny agreed that I would tutor the then Vicomte in Spanish and he would tutor me in French. That lasted no more than a year when I proved unable to teach him anything." The pair of them laughed, knowing it was more due to the Comte's lack of mental talent than to anything the maid had failed to do.

"This all still doesn't explain how you came here." The ever-curious Persian detective said, directing the conversation back to the origin of his inquiries. The girl merely smiled and took a bite of her meal before saying,

"When I was dismissed from my job, the Comte gave me a small purse a gold. Three days later, I had one left and dropped it into the gutter. Well, one thing led to another, and I found my way through the secret door on the Rue Scribe side. After finding the lantern, I wandered through the tunnels until I stumbled upon the lake. I don't really know fear and I think the darkness was effecting my judgement, so I polled myself across and found Erik, dying in his coffin from lack of food.

"I nursed him back to life and he then barricaded himself into his room, our only communication being through notes. After a couple of weeks, I assumed the position I hold now and we've been content." Candela finished her tale and her meal at the same time. rising her to feet, she gathered the dishes and carried them over to the sink for washing later.

"Did you ever see beneath the mask?" Nadir asked. The Spaniard turned to face him and violently shook her head to the negative.

"Never! I would never dream of taking away his sense of security. I may a be a curious person and definitely mad but I am not heartless nor am I a Comtesse de Chagny. To rip away his mask without his allowing it would be the greatest cruelty to him." In her dark eyes and mien there was written offense and he instantly apologized profusely for his error. The maid was correct in her personal assessment. She was nothing like Christine. She was hardly the trembling violet who wilted if someone scowled at her. Erik's maid was the sort to greet intruders with a butcher knife and demand of them their reasons for being in her home. The thought brought a smile to his wrinkled face.

"Apology accepted." Candela replied, refilling both their tea cups before sitting back down. "Now, you know my story and how I got here. May I ask you yours?" She inquired, plotting two lumps of sugar into her tea and looked up at Nadir through long dark eyelashes. The old man mirthlessly chuckled.

"My story isn't one for the ears of ladies." He replied before being contradicted by the lady across from him.

"Nonsense. If necessary, give me the shortened version but I want to know how you met the allusive Opera Ghost and then came to live here. I assume you haven't lived here your whole life?"

"Even the shortened tale is quite long and you are quite correct." The man warned. Candela rose to her feet and fetched a tea tray, arranging their tea cups, tea pot, and sugar bowl thereon.

"We'll move into the parlor where we'll be more comfortable. Nothing like a cup of tea and a warm fire to assist in storytelling." She lifted the heavy tray, ignoring his offers of assistance and led them into the parlor. In a matter of a few minutes they were both quite comfortable in their chosen chairs. Candela, cuddled up in a blanket with her cup of tea in both hands and Nadir, sitting rather stiffly on the couch before the tea tray.

"I suppose I should begin at the beginning. In 1850, I was the Daroga of Mazanderan Court, well known and well-respected. As the sole parent to my young, son, I was a busy man. Much to my dismay, I was sent to Russia, far away from my ailing boy, to find a…" Nadir trailed off for a moment, "for lack of a better term, a freak. The Shah had heard of his talents and longed to bring him to court as a novelty, an amusement. I was the messenger he sent.

"It was in Russia, I made the acquaintance of Erik. He had been running his solo freak show act. I shan't go into details. That is for him to tell whenever he sees fit. Despite his original dislike of the notion, money quickly changed his mind and he came with me, drawn by power, wealth and his own curiosity." The old man fell silent as he stared at the rich carpets, still attesting to his friend's appreciation of the Persian style. An oriental air still clung to him, even after all these years.

"He stayed there for three years. Again, I won't go into details. He will tell you himself of the 'Rosy Hours of Mazanderan' as he sarcastically termed them. Suffice it to say, the Shah and his mother grew tired of him, deciding he knew too much. At first, the Shah only wished to put his eyes out but, then he determined to kill him. I slipped him out and paid for it with several years in prison. I was very fortunate not to pay with my head." He sighed and leaned forward, picking up his cup and taking a small sip.

Glancing upward, he saw the Spaniard's gaze was riveted onto him. a small smile creased his face as he set the cup down and continued,

"When I was released, I had nothing left. Having been convicted of possible treason to the Shah, I fled the country, coming to France in hopes of finding Erik. I did stumble upon him one day and we've kept in modest contact while I've lived here. I made a living as a detective and a spice trader on the side. Sufficient for me and my servant's few wants and needs." As he finished speaking, the clock chimed eleven and he rose to his feet.

"I must be getting home. It's getting quite late. Thank you very much for the meal and the pleasure of your company, Mademoiselle Candela." The maid rose and dropped a polite curtsy before going to fetch his coat.

"You'll have to drop by again sometime. It's nice having company." She said as the Persian shrugged on the coat and moved to the front door. Stopping, he turned to face her and again smiled kindly.

"I shall visit again soon. Here is my card. My address is on it if you ever need anything." With a parting bow, the old man disappeared into the darkness outside the front door of the small house. Smiling to herself and tucking the card away for future reference, Candela gathered up the tea things and walked back into the kitchen, only to be startled when a voice spoke from the table,

"Did you have an enjoyable evening with the prying Persian?" Candela squeaked and nearly dropped the tea tray. The presence of the elusive phantom was in her, formerly his, kitchen surprised her. in the several month span since their last meeting, she had forgotten how tall and imposing his build was and she felt quite small beneath his piercing golden gaze.

"Yes, I enjoyed it very much. Monsieur Khan's conversation was quite enlightening and pleasant. You would do well to partake of a little more of it than you do." Erik grimaced beneath the mask as the brazen Spaniard blatantly insulted him.

"I have heard enough lectures for him to serve me for two lifetimes." Candela didn't hesitate a moment before she quipped,

"Perhaps you should store up for your third." It was a good thing she had already set the tea set down because the empty bark of laughter from behind the full-faced quite mask shocked her. It was the truly the last thing she had expected from the solemn ghost. What was worse, perhaps, was the lack of heart and soul behind the sound.

"You are more skittish than I first believed." The Ghost replied to with the colorful girl snapped,

"You are more annoying that I first believed." The reply hushed the cold phantom, leaving him leaving him to think of the full correctness of the Daroga's statements. Candela, seeing she had silenced the cold man, went about pouring him a cup of tea, Russian without sugar as was his preferred kind.

As she set the cup before him, he glanced at her before looking at the tea then back at her. Several moments passed before he broke her gaze and, gracefully picked up the tea and took a sip. Determining it was suitable for drinking, he took another sip and Candela smiled before pouring herself a fifth cup for the evening and sitting down opposite him, a smirk painted over her face she thought of the tales she would have to tell when she was old and gray.

Especially about the time she had tea with the Phantom of the Opera.