Chapter 6

Erik stumbled upon Ann Giry by accident while attempting to steal a bottle of wine from the wine cellar.

Over the years he had enjoyed the best wines from France, but most of it—per his threats to management—was delivered to the back of the opera house in barrels.

"Barrels, barrels, any barrels to sell?" he sang to himself as he made his way to the wine cellar. The meeting in chapel would require a bottle of wine. Fermin, the little rat, would have something worthy of the pending evening.

The moment he walked into the small confines Madame Giry yelped in surprise. She cleared her throat and attempted to replace the bottle in her hands, but it slipped and crashed to the floor.

With a hiccup she crossed her arms and pretended to merely browse.

"Your ballet choreography must be simply ravishing," Erik said as he closed the door.

Ann stood stiffly for a moment before she gave up on her demure appearance and rolled her eyes. "It would be easier to teach cows to float across the stage! You have no earthly idea!"

"I've seen," he replied as he browsed through the opposite end of the cellar.

"By now I imagine you've heard," Ann said quite casually.

Erik paused. They were discussing Christine, he knew, and though she hadn't said it yet he knew she was waiting for him to divulge as to where the young soprano was hidden.

"Heard what?" he asked casually.

"I will clobber you over the head with a wine bottle if you refuse to answer me."

"Threats, Madame, only work when you're holding your cane above the head of one of your little dancing cows."

With that, she struck him in the knee with her cane.

"Damn it," he groaned, doubling over. "My God, woman. What in the hell is wrong with you?"

Madame tapped her cane on the stone floor. "I could have aimed higher. Then what would you do with that poor, innocent flower?"

"Pardon me?"

"Christine!" she howled.

"She returned to her room," he said as he managed to stand upright again. "As unsullied as when she first disappeared."

Ann looked at him skeptically. "You locked her in her room and you mean to tell me that nothing…unholy…took place?"

"She's no worse for wear," Erik replied, selecting a bottle of 1865. "You may ask her if you wish."

His words seemed to surprise Madame Giry. "I will do so, Monsieur, and I expect her to tell me all."

"Fine."

"Good."

Erik turned to leave but heard Madame tap her cane on the floor again. He turned and waited for her to speak again.

"The Vicomte de Chagny was in your box. He was not informed that the box is normally occupied."

"I know," Erik said before he turned again.

That was a matter for later. Erik's only concern was the chapel meeting.

-o-

"Oh my God! She's here!" Meg shrieked the moment she saw Christine walk from her room with the Vicomte de Chagny at her heels. Meg gave Raoul a curious look to which he shook his head.

"Are you injured? Were you abducted?" her voice lowered. "Were you…molested?"

"No, no and no," Christine said, marching past her longtime friend. "I must find Madame."

"Oh, that is not wise," Meg said as she skittered after Christine.

Raoul continued to follow them, Christine noticed, but she paid no mind to him.

"Why not?"

"She's in the cellar," Meg whispered loudly.

Christine's pace slowed. "Ah, I see."

"What's in the cellar?" Raoul asked.

Christine ignored his question, but Meg, who had thought the Vicomte was rather handsome from the moment she met him batted her eyes. "Why, the wine, of course!"

Raoul nodded. "Is that where she goes to concentrate before the performance?"

"Naturally," Christine said, rolling her eyes when she turned away.

It was also where couples went to spend time alone, where some of the dancers went to cry when they were pushed to the limit by Madame, where Carlotta went when she was having a tragic moment and where Madame Giry went when she just couldn't bear to see her pink-legged dancers stomp rather than gracefully pitter patter across the stage. The wine cellar had become a sort of second lounge.

"Then Meg, please tell her I have returned," Christine begged. "I must rest."

"You were molested, weren't you?" Meg said, wide-eyed with horror. She squeezed Christine's hands tightly. "Was it…magical?"

Their conversation ended with a hearty thump of Madame's cane on the floor. "Meg! To rehearsal, Vicomte to…somewhere else. Christine, come with me."

Christine carefully stepped forward, making certain that Madame Giry wasn't inebriated before she stepped toward the cane.

Once they were in Madame's apartment Christine heard her ballet teacher sigh as she studied the pictures on her dresser. "Well?"

Christine cocked her head to the side. "Pardon me?"

"Your music teacher has paid you a visit, no?"

"Oh. Yes."

Madame grunted. "Yes."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Christine raised her hand.

"What, my dear?"

"How did you know?"

Madame glanced at Christine. "Your hair is a mess."

Christine felt herself shrink, though truthfully she had no idea how the condition of her luxurious curls had anything to do with her whereabouts.

"You knew that my Angel of Music visited me because…my hair is a mess?"

Madame shrugged. "Well, didn't he?"

"Yes." Christine hesitated, wondering if Madame Giry were attempting to trick her. "He came to me, my Angel of Music."

Madame grunted again. "Of course I knew. Not only because of your hair, but because I have seen him for myself."

"Really?" Christine whispered in utter astonishment. "When? How? Where?"

"Years ago. At a fair. In Paris."

"Excuse me?"

"It's not important. What is important…have you given yourself to him?"

Christine blinked innocently. "I'm not sure what you mean, Madame?"

Madame's eyes narrowed, searching Christine's face. "Hmm. Yes, you were very young when your father died. I suppose you don't know much about the world, given that you were such an innocent orphan. After all, with all that time spent on your own I highly doubt you ever wondered about the workings of a man's body, the difference in his loins compared to yours. You're so naïve and innocent, much like I was at your age when I was just a ballerina training for the stage. Long before Meg was born, mind you, long before I knew what it felt like to have fire raging through my veins when a man…"

Christine wrinkled her nose.

Madame sadly shook her head. "Well, my dear, there is an hour before the curtain rises. Let me tell you everything…"