AN: OK, I did say I'd wait for my beta, but owing to gratuitous technical blunders, this chapter remains un-beta-ed. Any mistakes: blame Hotmail. Sorry phantom-jedi1, but I didn't want to wait longer for posting. Hope it's OK.

Thanks to sapphireangelcutie, Passed Over (welcome back), CarolROI, chrys.cadis.chasa., Nyasia A. Maire, KyrieofAccender, phantom-jedi1, terbear, jtbwriter, UinenDolothen, Lady Winifred, Tiggy of the Wind, Timeflies, mildetruth, Lili Sinclair, montaquecat, smartblondee, OperaLover, laal ratty and slowlygently for their latest reviews. Oh, and for those wanting the old Christine to surface past the O'Neill facade, hopefully this will tide you over.

Congratulations to KyrieofAccender, Lady Winifred, mildetryth and OperaLover for guessing what happens next correctly. Thanks again, everyone and enjoy! Nedjmet.

Disclaimer: The characters and storyline of The Phantom of the Opera on which this story is based are – to the best of my knowledge – the property of Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. Neither do I own any of the songs or music I make use of or refer to in this story. No infringement of copyright is intended. I have the greatest respect for the creators of all of the above and mean no offence by using their material. This story is a sequel, and this and the original it is based on are my own work with the exceptions mentioned above. Please do not use without permission.

Chapter 7

Carefully she made her way to the left wing just off stage, still somewhat dazed after being held by her Angel again, touching him again. She knew she was behaving like a love-struck teenager, but that in essence was the position she found herself in. Granted she was no longer a teenager, but that was a fairly recent development. As for love-struck: with the sense that phrase had coined, to call it an understatement would be like saying that Mozart could play the violin.

Though she remained doubtful that even her Angel could produce a miracle that would make her worthy of that stage in the eyes of an audience – having lost none of his power – she fervently hoped that he would prove her wrong. From where she stood, she remained invisible to anyone in the auditorium; and that would also be the case for about half the stage, were it not for the fact that a curtain was down near the back – in a similar fashion to the one that had separated her from the choir at the Ravelle Christmas Concert.

The sudden memories of that night meant that she almost jumped out of her skin as a very familiar presence came to stand behind her, so close that she could feel the heat from his body. Certain that he could hear her heartbeat she stopped breathing in an effort to calm as she felt his breath next to her ear.

"Are you ready?"

She returned his whisper with one of her own, though not even the O'Neill shield was strong enough to hide the tremor.

"Ready for what?"

She felt, rather than heard, the low rumble in his throat that could only have been a soft growl. Whether he was trying to be intimidating, angry or something else all together that she didn't dare contemplate at that point in time, she didn't know. All she knew was that whatever it was, it worked. As he wrapped one arm around her waist, his left hand on her shoulder, she was quivering like a violin string under the bow of a master. He guided her forward to the middle of the stage behind the curtain, turning her so that she was facing it. Raising his hand from her shoulder to her throat in order that his meaning be made clear, he placed his head next to hers and asked once again:

"Are you ready?"

Understanding came. Closing her eyes, she swallowed her nerves, her doubts and her worry as she took up her mother's mantle.

"Aye." Though a whisper again, this time it came clear and strong.

She felt his nod. And then his absence. Having felt his every move from such an intoxicating closeness, she almost shivered at the sudden cold, yet resisted the urge to look around, knowing that to do so would belie the answer she had just given.

"Lá na mara"

The sound of the choir punctuated by a drum, each coming from the other side of the curtain made her start.

"Lá na mar nó rabharta"

At the next drum beat, she put hand on hip and looked back at the darker figure now standing in the right wing, her smile growing.

"Guth na dtonnta a leanadh Guth na dtonnta a leanfad, ó" As the gentle accompaniment began at the end of the two phrases, she allowed herself – although mostly her hips – to sway in time with it.

The choir continued and the curtain rose, revealing her to them as she continued seemingly unaware, though she knew full well they were scattered in a rough semi-circle around the stage.

"Lá na mara nó lom trá Lá na mara nó rabharta

"Lá an ghainimh Lom trá Lá an ghainimh"

As their voices faded and the music settled down, without needing any prompt or cue outside of the music itself, she began; her voice ringing out clear and pure across the auditorium with a hint of that Irish accent that the O'Neills were so well-loved for, her hand gracefully and perfectly giving echo to the words that she sang.

"Can you feel the river run Waves are dancing to the sun Take the tide and face the sea And find a way to follow me"

The accompaniment grew slightly more prominent, and so she allowed it to carry her softly forward along the path flanked by the others on stage.

"Leave the field and leave the fire And find the flame of your desire Set your heart on this far shore And sing your dream to me once more."

Veering off towards the right, she smiled as several of the choir joined in, moving along the line they created, welcoming them into the music.

"'Sé mo laoch mo ghile mear 'Sé mo Shéasar, gile mear Suan nó séan ni bhfuair mé féin Ó chauigh I gcéin mo ghile mear"

On she went, to the other side of the stage, emphasising the love she sang of with her hands before being joined in the last line and refrain by a small number of the choir on that side.

"Now the time has come to leave Keep the flame and still believe Know that love will shine through darkness One bright star to light the wave"

"'Sé mo laoch mo ghile mear 'Sé mo Shéasar, gile mear Suan nó séan ni bhfuair mé féin Ó chauigh I gcéin mo ghile mear"

Here, the rhythmic accompaniment grew more prominent, and as the choir joined it with the bridge, the O'Neill allowed herself to be carried with the music, moving hypnotically to the point of being provocative.

"Amhrán na farraige, ór ar na seolta Amhrán na farraige, ag seoladh na bhfonta Ag seinm na farraige Seinn . . ."

Empowered by the vitality of the music, her voice became stronger and as the smaller chorus accompanied her halfway through, her voice rose in an unexpected but welcome harmony.

"Lift your voice and raise the sail Know that love will never fail Know that I will sing to you Each night as I dream of you"

They began the chorus anew, the bridge acting as the undercurrent of the sea they kept singing of, the O'Neill's movements echoing the music, moving ever forward.

"'Sé mo laoch mo ghile mear 'Sé mo Shéasar, gile mear Suan nó séan ni bhfuair mé féin Ó chauigh I gcéin mo ghile mear"

The drums halted her movements. Looking around as she came out from Music's spell owing to the harsh interruption, Christine was astonished to see the kit that had been set up where she had been standing only minutes before. Hand on hip in the O'Neill fashion, she looked down to Danny who was stood before his lectern in the pit, leaning back of all things and with a smile on his face! Folding her arms and accepting that something was afoot that had quite obviously not happened for her mother, she began tapping her foot – a warning just as true as the red hair. Granted the break had melded nicely into the music, it was still a surprise that she could have done without if she was to maintain the persona.

The choir sang a line of the bridge staccato.

The energy flowing through the music was almost tangible.

Her head whipped round, trying to determine how they knew what to do.

Then she heard it.

And within the first bar of the new melody, her feet had carried her away.

He had meant to surprise her, but only the way he had of old. The rest of it was designed to relax her, to lower her defences and control enough that she could allow the power of Music to work within her. But having heard the way she held her breath, having felt the rapid pulse in her neck, he couldn't help but wonder – not without some satisfaction – if his plan hadn't worked a little too well.

The music was not quite all he would have hoped, but he had urged Arneau to impress upon them that this was for an O'Neill, knowing that if that didn't have them produce their best in a hurry then nothing would. And they had indeed improved. When she had looked at him again, he knew that it had worked. In Horton's office, he had actually doubted when she'd said that she knew all of Katie's songs, and yet now he could tell she was about to quash those doubts.

He couldn't stop his mouth falling open when she began to sway with the music. Attired in the signature O'Neill black, she seemed to favour clothes that did nothing to hide her every feminine curve – quite the reverse actually. Though he prided himself on always behaving like a gentleman, it took him until she started moving forward before he could take his eyes away from her rear, and even then it was only to watch the graceful way her legs moved.

If absence only made the heart grow fonder, then Beethoven only knew how to tinker with a piano.

When he did eventually snap out of it after the first refrain, he noticed that whilst her voice was indeed as exquisite as he remembered, something was missing. She sang with passion and fire, and yet he knew she could do better. Thinking back, he realised the same could be said of her offering of 'Ode to Joy'. Yet he did not have time to dwell on it as he saw the percussion being arranged at the back of the stage.

Reaching down behind him, he lovingly took up the instrument and made the final preparations before his plan was truly set into motion. He watched as she was startled by the change. Once again, he was thankful he was so selective about those he chose to work with. He had asked that the section blend into the music, yet be different enough that it would cause anyone to sit up and take notice, and his drummer had indeed delivered. Waiting for the moment, he was relieved when he saw her facing the auditorium, though he could well imagine the look on her face.

Striding onto the stage, he quickly placed the familiar instrument under his chin and drew the bow across the strings.

He sought to surprise her. She surprised him.

Actually, were it not for the hindrance of his shoes, she would have knocked his socks off.

He'd seen her dance in the chorus at the Ravelle, but he hadn't known she could do that! Barely a few notes in and she was dancing in an echo of his music that he could not have choreographed better himself. And she was dancing as Katie had always longed to: like an Irishwoman. She danced all across the stage and around him in the first few phrases, spinning under his spell whilst casting her own when she moved as close as was possible without disrupting his playing – though he would have been both glad and grateful if she had.

He played expertly, and she danced in kind. The choir added in the bridge subtly as they had been bidden, yet nothing could distract from the duet that was being played out in their midst.

Far too soon, he played the notes that had her moving back to the front of the stage and him hoping she had breath enough to continue. They sang the Gaelic refrain once more as he moved back to the wings. Before the first line had been completed though, he felt two very familiar hands take hold of his. Turning, he saw the beaming smile on her face that made her glow even as she sang and he could do nothing but follow as she drew him forward to share in the closing lines. Finding himself on her left, he watched in awe as the Christine of old returned and sang out with the voice he had trained and nurtured, surprising and delighting all with the life contained therein. And he could do naught else but give her the prominence she deserved.

"Gile mear, the wind and sun The sleep is over, dream is done To the west where fire sets To the gile mear, the day begun"

As they approached the last chorus, she turned back to him and held her hand out and beckoned to him. Delighted, he approached, though he did not sing, knowing what was coming. Taking one of her hands instead of allowing both of hers to claim one of his, he raised it to his lips and kissed it just as the chorus reached its penultimate line.

Seeing the delight on her face was worth releasing her as he placed his beloved but easily usurped instrument beneath his chin and drew the bow across the strings in a subtle but brilliant and perfect accompaniment as the refrain was repeated one last time.

"'Sé mo laoch mo ghile mear 'Sé mo Shéasar, gile mear Suan nó séan ni bhfuair mé féin Ó chauigh I gcéin mo ghile mear"

The choir drew nearer at Christine's behest until all were assembled at the front, her eyes moving over them all, resting on his the longest and with the most abandoned joy; finally turning her head back to the front, even though her eyes closed in delight when the last line was repeated and her hands raised with the final note as the chorus echoed the bridge in a stunning finale.

The silence was full, but those gathered were ecstatic.

Her hands lowered, her head falling. The applause was overwhelming though it only came from a small choir and orchestra.

Ignoring them all, she turned to her Angel, her eyebrow raised in query.

And her Angel smiled.

It worked.

AN: The song is Mo Ghile Mear and taken from the Celtic Woman album A New Journey. When I was trying to find the translations not provided in the album sleeve, I discovered that the chorus is actually from a different song, but it still sounds funky so never mind. Anyway, to save you asking me in any reviews that you might send my way (not hinting . . . much . . . honest!), here's what the Gaelic means.

"Lá na mara Lá na mar nó rabharta" "The day of the sea The day of the sea or of the high tides"

"Guth na dtonnta a leanadh Guth na dtonnta a leanfad, ó" "To follow the voice of the waves I would follow the voice of the waves, oh"

"Lá na mara nó lom trá Lá na mara nó rabharta Lá an ghainimh Lom trá Lá an ghainimh" "The day of the sea or the ebb tide The day of the sea or of the high tides The day of the sands The ebb tide The day of the sands"

"'Sé mo laoch mo ghile mear 'Sé mo Shéasar, gile mear Suan nó séan ni bhfuair mé féin Ó chauigh I gcéin mo ghile mear" "He is my hero, my dashing darling He is my Caesar, dashing darling I've had no rest from forebodings Since he went far away my darling"

"Amhrán na farraige, ór ar na seolta Amhrán na farraige, ag seoladh na bhfonta Ag seinm na farraige Seinn . . ." "Song of the sea, gold on the sails Song of the sea, sending the melodies Playing the sea Play . . ."

Hope that helps. In case you're wondering, yes I knew (or at least had a vague idea) about the meaning when I put it in. Trust me, it will all tie in. Thanks again. N.