Charles was eager to begin his lessons with James as soon as possible but his parents had become even more paranoid—if that was really possible—since his last slip away to the roof and kept such a close eye on him that it made escaping again almost impossible.
Finally fortune smiled on him when the mangers insisted that the de Chagny family stay behind for the small party they were throwing to celebrate the success of the opera season.
And so, with his parents well absorbed in their conversations with the various cast members and other opera goers who had been invited, Charles slipped away to the roof with little notice.
Once there he looked around but found as little sign of James as he had the first time he had come to the roof.
"James?" He called. "Are you there?"
"Yes."
Charles gave a start and whipped around to find himself nearly face to face with James.
He stumbled backwards, shaking his head.
"How do you do that?" He asked.
James's eyes sparkled with mirth. "A magician never gives away his secrets," He said. He laughed when Charles rolled his eyes at him. "So I see you were finally able to escape your parents."
"They are fair too overprotective," Charles frowned. "It's like they expect the Phantom to swoop down and steal me away at any second." He paused, eyeing James cautiously. "He's not going to do that is he?"
"Of course not," James chuckled. "Your parents worry far too much. Father would only come after you if you were to do anything to me. He's rather overprotective himself you see."
Charles nodded well secretly vowing that he would never do anything to invoke the opera ghost's wrath.
"So where is this place you were speaking of last time?" He asked.
"Ah, of course," James said. "We only have limited time to work with after all. Let me show you where it is."
He held out his hand to Charles without any hesitation at all.
James lead Charles quickly back down into the opera house, keeping to the shadows so that they wouldn't be seen, and eventually stopped by a wall not too far away from the backstage where the distant sounds of the party could be heard.
Turning to the wall, James knocked soundly on it in a pattern that seemed completely random to Charles, leaving him stunned when a small part of the wood swung inward like a door.
James strode into the room with Charles following curiously after him. He jumped as James clapped his hands causing the gaslights in the room to flare to life and the door to close quietly behind them.
Charles spun around, taking in every detail of the room he was standing in.
The place was fairly small and styled in a circular pattern but it was still able to hold a fair amount of things.
Thick volume books and sheets of music were shoved onto the shelves that lined the room, and there was a grand four poster bed shoved against the far wall that had rich black velvet curtains and sheets so red that they almost resembled the color of blood.
But the most dominating feature of the room was the grand piano that stood only a little ways away from Charles.
"This is my own private room," James explained. "Father made it for me when I was six so that I would have a place all to myself." "It was probably to get me out of his hair as well," He added with a chuckle.
"How did you get the piano down here?" Charles asked.
James averted his eyes from Charles's in an almost sheepish manner. "Did you ever hear about the piano that went missing from the orchestra pit?" He asked.
"That was you?" Charles gaped.
"No, not me," James said. "It was my father. He brought it down here to practice on. He said that it was much cheaper then going out and buying one and that it was going to waste with the orchestra's talentless pianist." He rolled his eyes. "But that's just the way Father has always been."
Charles smiled and walked over to the piano, running his fingers over the ivory keys. "When did you learn to play the piano?" He asked.
"Well I'd say I fully mastered it by age five," James said.
"Five?" Charles exclaimed. It taken him two years more then that to even get close to playing the piano as well as that!
"Yes," James said. He slid onto the bench and played out a very short but sweet tune on the piano. "Father always encouraged my musical talents," He said. "He's taught me to play nearly every instrument you can think of."
"Wow," Charles breathed. "What else has he taught you?"
"Just about everything you can imagine," James said. "I can name off any form of architecture you like or draw something nearly as beautiful as the mural you see on the ceiling of the opera house. I know how to speak in a variety of different languages and can whip up an herbal remedy that will cure you faster and better then something the doctor gave you. I also as mentioned know as much as one can about the musical world. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. My lessons with him have never truly stopped. There's always something new for him to teach me."
"Good Lord," Charles said. "They hardly even cover half of that at my school."
"That's because my father is a genius," James said.
Charles smiled slightly at the pride he detected in James's voice. "You seem very proud of him," He said.
"I am," James said. "But that's enough conversation. The time we have together is short and must not be wasted." He brought his fingers to the keys again and glanced up at Charles. "Let's begin with a few warm-ups," He said. "I trust you know Dies Ire?"
The party was winding down with the last of the guests either heading off for home or in a few gentlemen's cases hanging on the arm of one of the pretty little ballet girls.
But Christine Daae was not as relaxed as the others. She was wringing her hands anxiously well she scanned the thinning crowds for the dark head of curls that she knew so well.
Her husband, the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry so much," He said. "I'm sure that Charles will be here soon."
And if on cue, Charles appeared from behind a gaggle of chattering young couples in front of him.
"Charles!" Christine cried, embracing him as soon as he reached her. "Where did you go?"
"Sorry, Mother," Charles said, patting Christine on the back. "I caught sight of one of those ballet girls and she led me a little astray."
Raoul laughed and clapped his son on the back. "It was bound to happen sometime," He said. "Just remember not to go running after every girl with a pretty face, Charles."
"I won't," Charles grinned.
Erik found James back in his room at the lair. He had spread out a whole slew of music sheets across his bed and was scanning them rapidly.
"How was the first lesson?" Erik asked, knowing the James had already sensed his presence.
"It was perfect," James said, not looking up from the sheet in his hands. "Charles is quite dedicated to becoming better. He actually encouraged me to critique him as often as possible."
A laugh escaped from between Erik's lips. "It's a good thing he doesn't take after his father," He said. "The Vicomte would have hated to hear any criticism about himself."
"Indeed," James grinned, looking over at Erik now. "I'm glad that egotism is not something that Charles has inherited from his father."
"Is anything like the man at all?" Erik asked.
"Perhaps a little," James said. "But I don't really think he's too much like either of his parents. He's something else all together."
Erik nodded, unable to decide if he should be thankful for this fact or not.