A/N: Thanks to my beta, Olethros.
Episode 3
By: Elektra
"Are you sure Loki is gone?" Giry asked Erik as the two stood in a private shadowed corner at the Populaire.
"For the moment, at least. He fell easily for my trick. He was not exactly the smartest creature. I simply used an authoritative tone to make him believe it was his King speaking in his head." Erik shrugged, "I do not even know what Odin sounds like."
Giry nodded, but seemed concerned, "You know the saying, Erik – 'fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…'" she let the sentence trail. "I doubt he will fall for such a thing again."
"Well, let us I hope I do not have a reason to use the same trick twice, then,"
Several Months Ago
"How does it feel?" Martine asked as she looked upon the tall beautiful man before her.
His hair, once golden blonde, was now streaked with black, a side effect of merging with a body once belonging to another.
"It feels so very strange," he replied as he looked upon his nude form in the mirror. He turned his eyes to Martine, the sea-green irises now flecked with gold. "But whose body is this? Would he not want it back?"
"He is gone," Martine assured him, "And I much prefer you to him."
"Thank you," he replied, then cocked his head to the left. "Where is my love?"
"She is not important. But THIS is. Listen close. You will have a new name and a new identity."
"What is wrong is my current one?"
"Oh, dear one… just trust me."
Opera Populaire – Box 5 (present)
Erik watched the opening performance of Jacopo Peri's Eurydice with a critical eye and ear. Christine was playing the title character, but at the moment, the heartbroken Orpheus was mourning her death in song, making the gods and nymphs weep with his voice.
As Erik watched the so-called 'nymphs' dancing – the corps de ballet - the straps from Sorelli's costume snapped, causing it to slip a little too low for decency.
Both straps? He thought to himself. That's very unusual. He gave credit to the girl, though. She was trying to remain professional until she was able to head offstage.
"I thought I had gotten rid of you," Erik said aloud as he felt another presence appear behind him.
"Oh, that little ventriloquism trick? Did you honestly think I'd fall for it?"
Erik stood up and turned to face the annoying creature with the fiery red-hair. "You seemed to. Now if you don't mind, I would like you OUT of my theatre!"
"Calm now, Mr. Opera Ghost. Don't blow a gasket." Loki then smiled proudly, "That was mortal slang, you know," he furrowed his brow, "but it's really very strange. I mean, what is a gasket, and how does a man blow one?"
Erik had no patience for Loki's games, "Get. Out."
"OH!" Loki gasped, turning away as something suddenly caught his interest. His silvery eyes looked over the audience. "Interesting…" He glanced back at Erik, "Can't you feel him?"
"I feel nothing except annoyance at the moment."
"Oh yes yes… that seems to be the norm for you." Loki dismissed Erik with a wave of his hand as he turned his attention back to the audience, focusing on one particular person. "His presence would explain much," he mused aloud.
Erik turned to see whom it was that had caught Loki's attention, "What is she doing here?" he muttered as his eyes fell on Martine Robichaux.
"Well, it's not the lady I'm interested in. It is her companion,"
Erik moved closer to the edge of Box 5 and saw the man sitting beside her - a man who looked as if he had stepped off the cover of a romance novel. "Why him?"
Loki glanced at Erik, then back at Martine and her companion. He rubbed his hands together gleefully. "I think I will stick around your theatre a while longer, O.G. I have a feeling that things might get very interesting soon."
"But who is-" Erik turned back to the trickster, only to find Loki gone.
66 Laramie Dr. – Later that night
"It was her!" Oren Pheryus cried out as he returned home with Martine. "It was my love," he insisted. "That sweet angel on stage!"
Martine sighed to herself. The boy would not shut up since they had returned from the Opera. Perhaps she had picked the wrong performance to bring him to. "She was quite a talent, but she is not available to you."
"It is not a matter of available. She IS mine! You saw her, did you not? It is HER, I tell you!"
"Christine Daaé is NOT her. Trust me on this. I do not think her fiancé would appreciate you laying claim."
"What is a fiancé?" Oren asked.
"Her betrothed. Her lover," Martine stressed.
"When she sees me, she will be my fiancée then," Oren replied innocently, as if it were all so simple.
Martine raised an eyebrow, "Somehow I don't think that will be as easy as you believe,"
Oren studied her a moment, then furrowed his brow, "Why did you bring me here if not for her?"
"Why indeed," Martine sighed as she made herself comfortable on the couch. "The simple answer is, I wanted to."
"Were you lonely, Lady Martine?" Oren asked gently as he sat beside her. "Is your love gone too?"
Martine seemed wistful, "I did have a love at one time, and yes, he is gone now. Mortals get sick and die, after all." She looked at the lovely young man before her. "Ahh, but he did love your story." She shrugged her shoulders, "A selfish reason for bringing you back, but there it is."
"Is this his body I now inhabit?" Oren asked.
"Oh goodness no. His body is long since dust. Your body is special, but I did not have any love for its previous owner."
Oren nodded, then looked around the room they now sat in, "And this house? Is it yours?"
Martine caught the man's eyes, "It is now."
Daaé-Garner Residence
Erik stared up at the ceiling while he gently played with the silky blonde ringlets splayed across his torso, their lovely owner sleeping contentedly atop him. He could not help but wonder what Loki had been referring too earlier. The man in the audience with Martine had caught his attention, but why?
After the obligatory appearance at the after-party – of which he could only handle two hours, not being comfortable in such a crowded room – he had returned home with Christine, intent on sharing his earlier confrontation with her. His beloved, however, riding an adrenaline high, had wanted to share something else altogether.
Tonight, she had not only looked like a goddess on stage, but in their bed as well, moving above him, as his hands caressed that lovely little form, her hair surrounding his face as she leaned down to meet his lips. And then her beautiful eyes had focused on his horrid visage and she had said one word:
"Mine."
Afterwards, they had both lain quiet and content until sleep came. He had woken up a short time ago, having never needed as much sleep as others, but Christine's breathing was still soft and deep with the smallest hint of a light snore.
Erik briefly wondered if he snored.
And then he wondered what Loki had been up to.
The self-proclaimed god had claimed the man in the audience was of some importance. Perhaps it was all related to the strange creatures that had been popping up as of late.
A voice woke me up.
Erik recalled what Loki had said some weeks ago. Whose voice was he talking about, though? And what other creatures could the Guild expect to 'wake up'?
It was times like this when Erik wished there were more vampires on the loose. At least they were easier to deal with.
Outside the Populaire – the next week
Oren stood by the box office. It had yet to open, but he was eager to be first in line to get tickets for the rest of the season. A subscription, it was called. Martine had given him money to do with as he wished, but had insisted that he find his own means sooner rather than later.
He had since taken to plying his musical talents on the street.
In this day and age, he was called a busker. In his time, he had been called a minstrel. He was learning very quickly that this was not his time any longer.
"Pardon me," a voice spoke up behind Oren. He turned to see a man standing behind him, a smile upon his face as he looked down his pointed nose at him. "Did I see you performing on the street yesterday? Around twelve p.m.?"
Oren's eyes lit up proudly. "Yes! Yes, that was I."
"Singing, weren't you? You have a voice like the angels."
"Thank you, sir," Oren smiled.
"Why, I'd say your voice could move even Hades himself."
Oren shifted from left to right uncomfortably. Surely this man does not know… he thought, then spoke aloud. "Yes, well, thank you again…" he tried to walk around the red-head, but the smaller man seemed rather quick on his feet, blocking Oren's escape.
"I want to make you an offer,"
"Pardon?" Oren asked.
"I'm very good at influencing people."
Oren remained confused.
The man's smile did not waver, but he was growing somewhat impatient. "I wish to be your agent."
"What is an agent?"
The man frowned a little now, "By Odin, you are a slow one…" he muttered, then plastered the smile on again, "I mean I can get you a job. Get you money. REPRESENT you. Allow you to show off your talent somewhere OTHER than on the street or in the subway."
Oren seemed pleased by this, "You can?"
"Yes! Even - dare I say it – a position at the Populaire," he put a hand on Oren's shoulder and glanced up at the large imposing building. "You seem so very fond of this place, after all,"
Oren's eyes seemed to glaze over as he thought of something rather wonderful, At the Populaire… where I can be close to her.
"So are you agreeable?"
Oren's attention went back to the strange man, "Yes! Most definitely!" He replied happily.
"Excellent. And as a special deal for you and you alone," his grey eyes glinted with mischief, "I'll only take sixty percent of what you make instead of the usual ten or fifteen percent that other agents take." He leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering his voice to a whisper, "Thieves, the lot of them."
"Oh sir, your offer sounds very fair!" Oren seemed ecstatic. "Thank you!" He eagerly held a hand out, "My name is Oren Pheryus. And you?"
The man shook Oren's hand hesitantly, a little concerned that Oren's bad case of stupid would rub off on him. "I am Lok–erm-Lowell Key. Yes, Lowell Key, agent to the opera stars! It will be a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Pheryus. A great pleasure!"
The Populaire – a month later
Christine leaned against a column in Box 5 as she took a break from the day's hectic schedule. The first opera of the season had finished. Now it was time for the next one: Gounod's Romeo and Juliet.
What good was it, however, when their lead tenor was currently suffering from laryngitis? Or rather, the understudy, as the originator of the role had been fired for unprofessional behaviour a few days earlier and had yet to be replaced.
Of course, the lead had denied all that he had been accused of, such as peeping into the Ladies' dressing rooms and stealing their undergarments. He had even been seen lumbering around drunkenly with a pair of Jammes' lace panties upon his head, then claimed he did not remember how they had gotten there nor why he felt so out-of-sorts. He had, instead, blamed it all on the Opera Ghost
Christine knew it wasn't the Opera Ghost.
The actor was, without question, a full-on pervert. He had even tried to grope Meg in the wings while she had waited for her cue.
At least he had admitted that.
But now, Firmin and André were at a loss, and there was only one person Christine knew who could fill in on such short notice. One particular man with a voice like an angel. He not only knew Romeo and Juliet by heart, but every single opera in the Populaire's season.
Of course, she had been given the dubious task to 'talk him into it'.
Before Christine could call for the opera ghost, long bony fingers grabbed her shoulders, pulling her into darkness as the column shifted behind her. She could not even cry out his name before she felt a demanding mouth upon her own.
Strong hands grasped her backside, lifting her up and pressing her against a stone wall. On instinct, her legs slid around a narrow waist, fingers slipping beneath the cotton material that covered a very distinctive face.
"No," a silky voice breathed as the mouth parted from hers. "I will not do it."
Christine blinked a moment, trying to focus on what the man currently pressed full against her was saying. "Wha…?"
"I will not perform. I do not care if André and Firmin are cornered. They should have planned for this."
Of course, Christine thought. He already knows…
She plastered on her sweetest smile, knowing he could still see it in the darkness, "Erik, my dear sweet honey-bunny-"
"What did you call me?" Erik interrupted before Christine could say more.
"My dear sweet honey-bunny?" she repeated innocently.
"I love you, Christine… but… do NOT call me that again. Ever."
Christine laughed, "Only if you promise to be my Romeo."
"A masked Romeo. That would be an interesting twist," he scoffed.
"I think it would be sexy," she winked, "At the end, Romeo could even take off his mask and really look dead."
Erik studied her, surprised at her words. "You rarely comment on my appearance that way …"
"I figure I'd say it before you did," Christine pointed out. Erik met her eyes for a moment, then suddenly pressed his mouth hotly against hers, startling the girl in his arms.
"Whoa!" Christine gasped when he finally broke the kiss, "If I knew it meant that much to you, I'd talk about your corpsey looks more often,"
He nuzzled his masked face against her neck, "Be my guest. I find it rather exciting, actually."
"Stop," she smacked his shoulder playfully. "Will you do it or not?"
He raised his head once more, "I don't know." He placed her back on the ground. "If there is no other choice, I suppose I could – provided Firmin and André see fit to PAY me. They are rather contemptible when it comes to such things."
"So is that a yes?"
Erik sighed. "It's not as if the managers will find anyone else on such short notice."
The Populaire – later that day
Firmin clapped his hands, demanding attention from the company before him. "Attention everyone. I want to introduce our newest member. Brought to our attention by his manager, Mr. Lowell Key, he has shown his musical skills both instrumental and vocal far exceeding our expectations. He will be our temporary Romeo until our current Romeo is healthy again."
He turned to the young man behind him, "Oren Pheryus, this is our company. I would like to introduce them all in turn." Firmin did so, seeing the excitement and thrill upon Oren's boyish face. Last but not least, he came to the lead soprano. "And this lovely lady will be your Juliet – Ms. Christine Daaé."
Oren could not look away from her as he kissed the top of her hand, "Finally we meet..."
Christine studied the man for a moment, wondering at that comment, but thought perhaps he had been an admirer. Christine was aware she had been getting a lot of buzz lately in the latest Arts papers. Maybe that was why this man seemed so glad to meet her.
As she pondered this, she remained blissfully unaware of the flash of red hair high above the stage… or the glowing golden eyes glaring from the wings.
End of Episode 3