A/N: Happy Monday to you all! I'm glad all of you are enjoying the story so far. Just wanted to take a few moments to thank each and every one of you readers for taking the time every single Monday to read my story! It really means a lot to me that people are reading and enjoying it, because nothing makes me happier myself than sitting down to a good read. Thank you all!

Many thanks to EvaAuhor & christinedaae229 for the favs/follows!

Bibliophile13: Oh I did try to portray Christine as a girl who was determined to reach her own goals, no matter how deeply mired in sorrow she was. I may have skimped on her PoV, since Amelie is ultimately my main character, but I will try to deepen Christine's character more! Thank you for the feedback. No torture chamber unfortunately, since I am trying to make Erik as human as possible. As for the daroga... well that's a secret (; I do already have plenty of arguments between Erik and Madame Giry, but no, I will not be going down the whole chandelier falling and killing tons of people storyline. I do not like the idea of too many deaths, so I won't be following the original story too closely there.

EvaAuhor: Erik has a half mask (:

Savannah White: He was conscious when she kissed him the first time (; I'm just waiting for that moment when he kisses her instead...

Lydia the tygeropean: Yes, he is! You can anticipate his arrival eagerly! Haha.

Masked Man 2: I'm pretty sure that kiss scared away all the monsters in Erik's dreams!

icanhearthedrums: Nope, he will not! I thought about it briefly, but then I realized that there was no romantic spark between them at all. In my story Erik sees Christine only as a means toward his success, while at the same time furthering her talent. Christine may feel a little something for Erik, but I don't think Erik will be straying from Amelie.

Wild Concerto: Oh trust me... Erik will find out about Buquet sooner than Amelie thinks. That drunkard is asking for trouble. Well, Amelie wants to do what's best for Erik, so if that involves helping Christine... Pwahahaha I'm imagining Erik, Mme Giry and Amelie standing back to back in black leather and holding guns, facing off against enemies that are surrounding them in a circle. And YES for dead rats on Carlotta!

Chapter 27: Foreshadowing

Paris, 1896, mid-June

A well dressed young man, clad in the newest fashions, sat at his breakfast table, downing the last dregs of his morning tea and the bacon rashers on his plate. The man was blond and had an almost angelic appearance, and was clearly part of the aristocracy. The room he sat in was lavishly decorated in opulence, and a footman waited patiently near a side table piled with the breakfast's dishes, ready to serve the young man should he require more tea, or more eggs, perhaps.

The young man himself was immersed in something besides his breakfast. A folded newspaper sat neatly to the right of his elbow, though that was ignored. His attention was caught by a thin, leather bound book spread open on the table before him, its thin vellum pages covered in printed staves, a manuscript. It was a music book.

"They say this is the newest composer who has been taking the music world by storm?" He looked up at his footman, and the footman, Felix, nodded his head.

"Yes, sir, his compositions have only been published recently, but they sell out so quickly that almost every reputable book shop in Paris has been clamouring to boast that they have copies of his music in stock. The book you hold in your hands was one of the few copies left in a very small bookshop in a quieter part of Paris."

The young man turned another page of the book, running his fingers over the notes, and imagining the music playing itself out in his mind. "A fine book indeed, Felix. And are there no other books by this same composer?"

"Not at the moment, sir, for he is a relatively new composer. This is his debut book, and it was only published a few months ago. I may have heard word that he is currently working on a second book, though that may only be baseless rumours, sir."

"Well, I should like to meet him, Felix. Papa and Maman agreed to my suggestion of spending my money however I should like it, now that I have come of age and have access to the trust fund Grand-pére set up for me. I want to commission him to write an opera, to be performed as a sort of celebration and tribute after my grand decision is announced in the Palais Garnier. Arrange for a meeting."

The footman bowed regretfully. "I'm sorry sir, but the composer does not meet anybody. He writes under an alias, and nobody but the publishers know of his true identity. They value the privacy of their client, and will not reveal anything."

The young man frowned. "Such a pity, then. I had hoped that I would be able to meet the man who put such beautiful music into notes."

He stood, and closed the book, reaching for his newspaper. "Well, it cannot be helped. I hope the preparations for our trip are going well, Felix, for we leave for Paris in a few weeks. I am quite bored of the countryside, and am eager to reacquaint myself with the arts in Paris."

He left the room.

The book of music lay on the table, its leather cover gleaming brown. In plain black lettering, its title was spelled quite simply across the top of the book: Musique.

In much smaller letters, at the bottom right hand corner of the book, were the words 'Composed by The Musician'.

XXXXX

Paris, 1896

In the heart of Paris, in one of the most fashionable areas, a townhouse was bustling with activity. The maids were hurrying around the house, carrying clean linens, dusting all the visible surfaces, polishing the brass, sweeping the floors, hanging up new curtains, and airing the unused rooms. The harried housekeeper stood in the foyer, directing the maids around and wincing in horror as she found out that certain tasks had not been carried out to perfection.

"Now, ladies, hurry up about your tasks, and be quick about it!" The housekeeper clapped her hands, spurring the actions of the busy maids. "The young master will be arriving in a few days, and we are to have everything prepared for him when he reaches. The Marquis gave strict instructions that the young master should have as comfortable a stay as possible."

The housekeeper bustled off, to arrange some curtains more neatly, or straighten the dropping stalks of flowers in vases placed carefully on side tables. The whole household was excited to see their charming, handsome, young master again.

XXXXX

Erik clambered up a rope nimbly, hauling himself onto one of the numerous catwalks stretching across the top of the stage of the theatre. He spotted Carlotta strutting around on stage, singing shrilly in her high-pitched voice, sounding more like a strangled cat than an opera diva. Erik grinned. He reached his hand into a small bag inside his cloak, and withdrew a fistful of cobwebs and dead spiders, which he promptly released over the rope railings.

The cobwebs and dead spiders fell, gracefully, almost in a sort of slow motion, before landing dead center on Carlotta's perfectly coiffed ginger hair. She felt it, brushed a hand across her up-do gingerly, and looked carefully at her hand. Upon seeing the strands of broken cobweb and dead insects in her palm, she gave a loud shriek, and stared accusingly at the ceiling, batting at her hair. The ballet de corps, hearing Carlotta, immediately began to look toward the ceiling, pointing, whispering, and some shrieking along with Carlotta.

Erik leaned over the catwalk railing, allowing his white mask to loom out of the darkness at the gawking audience, eliciting more screams and gasps, before he quickly stepped back to give the illusion of a disappearing spectre. He smirked a little as he watched Carlotta hop about on the spot as best as her plump figure allowed her to do, shrieking for a ballet rat to help her remove the sticky cobwebs from her hair.

He turned to leave, and found himself face to face with Joseph Buquet. The man was so close that Erik could see the stubble on his fleshy chin, and his quivering jowls. He could smell the alcohol on the larger man's breath, and see the bloodshot beady eyes set in his mean face. Buquet was so close that it was as though he had been standing behind Erik, waiting for him to turn and notice him.

Erik stood, a little stunned, and at a complete loss. He was face to face with the man, which meant that he could not pretend to be a ghost, because the man would surely notice somebody running off, rather than a puff of smoke or something supernatural.

It turned out that he did not have to think long about what he wanted to do, for Buquet stepped menacingly toward him.

"Good day, monsieur," he said mockingly, his words slurred. "Why, if it ain't the mighty Opera Ghost! You look much like a man to me, monsieur."

Erik's face was as impassive as his unmoving mask.

Buquet stepped closer yet again, and it was all Erik could do not to instinctively take a step back.

"I've been watchin' you for a long time… ever since I noticed that girl go to Box Five with a basket on her arm… no ghost needs groceries, monsieur, and you are not a ghost." Buquet rasped into Erik's ear. "An' when all this is revealed, I will be the opera house's hero and you will be a dead man."

Buquet laughed softly. "You poked your bloody nose into my business too many times, Opera Ghost, but this will come to an end soon. Thought you could stop me from doing what I wanted with that ballet rat, eh? When you're over, maybe I'll get a chance at that whore of yours, with that pretty bronze hair… Or maybe I'll try her even before you're gone. That sounds fun. Maybe I'll try it today."

Buquet sauntered off, leaving Erik standing alone in the darkness, his fists clenched so tightly they hurt, his face white with anger. If he dares to hurt Amélie…

He burned with the urge to run after Buquet, to close his fingers around that fat neck, to let Buquet's smarmy grin feel the force of his punch. He wanted to hit Buquet, hard, and for once in his life, he did not want it to be a clean death. He had favoured the Punjab because he did not want the gore of death to be spilled on his hands, but for Buquet, even the Punjab was too good. Buquet had to suffer. And yet Erik could not do any of the things he wanted, for he was still masquerading as an intangible ghost, not a flesh and bone man.

Helplessness was a terrible feeling.

What if Buquet decides to go after Amélie now?

The thought itself was enough to make him hasten his steps to search for her, just to catch a glimpse of her, just to make sure she was alright, that Buquet had not had time to sink his claws into her just yet.

When Erik could not find her in any of the practice rooms that he searched, he panicked. He knew that she did not have any rehearsals on at the moment, so she could not be in the theatre. He ran through the opera house, narrowly escaping being found out by the employees milling around the opera house. It was far too crowded right now for him to be dashing around the corridors, but he could care less.

He checked the theatre just in case she had ventured there, and then the dining hall, but saw no trace of her. Erik's hands were clammy and his heart was pounding, and he could not find either Amélie or Buquet. In a moment of desperation, he made a mad run straight for her dormitory room, his hand reaching out for the handle, not even thinking about the consequences should someone be inside the room.

"Erik?" A shocked female voice sounded, and Erik realized that he had opened the door at the same moment as the person inside had. Amélie stood in her dormitory room, blinking up at him curiously, and mentally he berated himself for not having checked the most obvious location first.

Amélie waved a hand before his face, and hissed softly at him. "Erik! What are you doing here? The opera house is still so crowded, and…"

Before she could finish her words, he had grabbed her and pushed her into the room, shutting the door behind them. She was clasped to his chest, not tightly —for he dared not overstep his boundaries— but just enough for him to know that she was there, that she was safe. His hands were on her back, and he could feel her warmth, her steady pulse. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of her soap.

"Erik, what's going on? What are you doing?" Amélie tried to push away, but he held her arms firmly, holding her in place.

"I was worried." He said after a few moments, quietly.

"Worried? Why?"

"Has Buquet spoken to you recently?"

She did not reply, but her body stiffened, and Erik had all the answer that he needed.

"He knows my secret." Erik said. He could feel Amélie's nod, her hair brushing against his neck.

Sighing, he released her and stepped back.

"Buquet threatened you." He told Amélie softly. "I could not find you, and I was… afraid."

He felt awkward and ungainly. He felt like he was making a fool of himself. She had obviously been in her room the whole time, safe and sound, and he had been running around the opera house like a fool, desperate in his need to find her, to know that she was safe. Erik winced inwardly, and turned to leave.

"Erik, wait. Where are you going?" Amélie grabbed hold of his arm. He turned to face her slowly.

"I feel stupid." He told her honestly, bluntly. There was no point in trying to hide the truth from Amélie; she would weasel it out from him somehow.

Her eyes sparkled, strangely. "Stupid? Why?"

"You're quite obviously safe. I worried for nothing." He mumbled, trying to keep a dignified look on his face. A smile spread slowly across Amélie's face.

"Oh Erik, you're a sweetheart."

Erik jerked back, both in surprise and horror. "What did you just say, Amélie? I must have heard wrongly, for I could have sworn I heard you call the fearsome Opera Ghost a sweetheart."

His voice sounded a little choked, and Amélie could not help but giggle. "I said exactly that. You're a complete sweetheart. I do not know why the entire opera house is scared of you, honestly."

Erik bared his teeth at her in a mock snarl. "Watch your words, mademoiselle, or you may find yourself on the receiving end of the Opera Ghost's antics."

Amélie laughed, and a small smile tugged at the corners of Erik's mouth. He loved her laugh.

Then the happy glow they had been basking in faded, and Erik remembered the purpose of his finding her in the first place.

"Amélie, I want you to promise me that you will not go anywhere in the opera house alone from now on." He said solemnly, suddenly serious.

Amélie looked at him for a long moment. "What did you do to Buquet to make him hate you so much?"

Erik shrugged. "He is a petty man. He must not have liked me interrupting him whenever he wanted to ravish a ballet rat. I do not think he appreciated all the tricks I played on him, either. Whatever it is, he seems to be out for blood."

"And what do you intend to do about that? For as long as Buquet is around, your secret is at risk, Erik. Can you not think of some way to make Debienne dismiss Buquet?"

Erik made an impatient sound. "For as long as Buquet lives, Amélie, my secret is at risk. Do you think that his dismissal would be taken lightly? No, I think not; he is more likely to divulge my secret to Debienne that way, if only to protect his job."

"What are you suggesting?" Amélie whispered, disliking the hard, cold glare in Erik's eyes.

Erik looked at her squarely in the face before answering. "If Buquet wants blood, it is blood he will get. He thinks he can challenge the Opera Ghost, does he? I, the man who was Persia's most feared assassin, the man who every being feared? If Buquet wants to challenge me, then let it be on his head."

Amélie looked at him sadly, and Erik found that he was faced with a dilemma. He could not, did not want to let her see him in the light of a cold-blooded murderer, and yet, he himself was being threatened by another. Erik made a frustrated sound, and turned to leave.

"Erik." Her voice was quiet. "Erik, please stay safe."

He nodded silently, but did not turn back to look at her, for he knew that his resolve would crack, and he would most likely pull her into his arms, to hold her there, where he could feel that she was safe. He could not promise her anything, for his existence itself was a dangerous thing, one that could threaten his life at any point. But he would try his best to stay safe for her.

"Because, Erik," she continued. "For as much as you worry about me, I worry about you too."

A/N: As usual, let me know what you think! Read/Review/Fav/Follow. xx hazel