I really don't know what's going on with fanficdotnet. I hope this uploads correctly this time. Sorry about that. Consider the snafu a sneaky ploy to get you all to read A Heart that Waits, A Heart that Bleeds!

Rose24

"We have all been blind, and yet the answer is staring us in the face," Buquet said to a small group of stagehands crowded around.

With all the commotion focused on the upcoming Bal Masque, few had concerned themselves over the Phantom of the Opera. Stealing liquor from the managers and finding new places to sleep were much more rewarding than looking for an apparition, but Joseph Buquet had gathered his closest companions to share his plan.

"For if we wish greater funds, we must ensnare our clever friend."

"We're listening," one dirty face mumbled. "Go on."

Buquet smiled to himself, knowing it was only a matter of choosing the correct words if he wanted their help.

"Twenty thousand francs a month. What could the six of us do with extra money? Have a kingdom of catacombs and trap doors to ourselves?"

"Buquet, you fool, he'll hear you! This is his theater—or so he claims. Dare you risk your neck?" an older man named Marksby said through the cigar dangling between his lips.

"For twenty thousand francs a month, Marksby? I'd risk my children for that."

"Who says it goes to us?" another man questioned.

Buquet nodded, expecting such concerns. "Who says it doesn't?"

"The managers, for one," Marksby said as he crossed his arms.

"Ah, they are twits better served in an office, not the arts. Once we track down and catch this extortionist, there will be plenty of room for another ghost," he replied with a wink. "One who demands more money…or blood."

The group began to murmur, nodding to one another. Considering Buquet had come up with this plan, it didn't sound half-bad. In fact, it sounded quite lucrative.

"We find him and kill him, then we don't worry about no more threats. The notes continue, and if someone disappears…a ballerina, perhaps…or a soprano? They will take us seriously and the money will pour in. Six months later we raise the price, higher the stakes, see where fate leads us."

"When shall we begin our search?" Marksby questioned.

Clasping his hands, Buquet searched the catwalks. From the corner of his eye he saw the new patron walk past. The Vicomte de Chagny didn't seem like much of a man, Buquet thought to himself, and so he made no attempt to lower his voice.

"Soon we will be wealthy men indeed, and our resident ghost will find himself unemployed and rotting in the basement."

-o-

"Who is escorting you to the ball?" Meg asked Christine as they stretched before rehearsals. "Is it the Vicomte de Chagny?"

Christine shook her head. Raoul was the last person she wanted to discuss following their meeting the previous day.

"How unfortunate," Meg frowned. "I suppose that leaves a chance for the rest of us."

"Excuse me?"

Meg shrugged innocently. "Well, he is very handsome. Anyone here would be attracted to him."

With a sigh, Christine put both of her hands behind her back and stretched her shoulders and arms. "He's not the same person I knew years ago."

Meg nodded. "He's better," she grinned before skittering away.

Christine continued to stretch alone. She glanced up at the catwalk in search of Erik but assumed dancing girls didn't entertain him. She couldn't help but wonder what he was doing while she was gone. Her assumption was that he was working on the finishing touches of his opera and his costume. Before Christine could further daydream, Madame Giry tapped her cane on the floor and signaled all the girls to her. With a reluctant sigh, Christine prepared to join her troupe once more.

A shiver traveled down her spine and stopped her in her tracks. It was most likely a breeze caused from an open door (someone was always leaving a door open) but still it alarmed her. Since discovering that the famed opera ghost was a man of flesh and blood, her fears of shadows had diminished.

But now her fears returned. Turning in a full circle, she had the creeping suspicion that someone was watching her and that someone was not Erik.

-o-

From a distance he watched, obscured by the scenery and looming shadows. He didn't care if anyone spotted him, as he knew no one would confront him. He watched Christine and half-listened to the stagehands crowded around, feeling somewhat bored with the theater.

Demands…money…blood…resident ghost...rotting…

Turning, he peered at Buquet, his eyes narrowed as he wondered what the stagehands were planning. Judging by the sound of it, they were devising a coup.

"Drunken fool," he said under his breath before he walked away, intending to speak to Christine following rehearsals. Something told him she might be in danger.