It turns out that angels that spoke through walls and teachers that appeared out of shadows were not the only strange beings that inhabited the opera.

It also had ghosts.

The shrieks of Carlotta resounded through the backstage area. Whispers and calls flooded around the dormitories until it seemed like the entire company was crammed in the hall that lead to the diva's dressing room. M. Gabriel as well as the acting manager M. Mercier stood in front of the door, trying their best to clear everyone out. But everyone filed through to get a glimpse inside, including myself.

I heard Madame LeRoy's voice call from in the room as she spotted my face in the crowd. "Christine, please come in." I pushed my way through the wall of bodies and survived the damage.

Every vase in the room was smashed on the ground, the beautiful flowers they contained stamped into the light cream carpet. The water from the vases and the dye from the flowers had already made stains beyond repair. The furniture was over turned and a mirror similar in style to the one Genny had in her room was smashed.

The diva sat on a footstool that was still intact. Her head was buried in her hands and she sobbed. Her maid stood over in a corner, her hands held together not sure what to do. A few stagehands started to place the furniture right side up. Madame LeRoy was standing by the closet.

"Christine, do you have your keys?" she asked. "I forgot mine on the way down here." I went to her side withdrawing my set of keys from my apron pocket. The door of the closet was splinted and broken as if someone had taken an axe to it. I noticed a nervous expression on Madame's face and soon realized she was worried if the contents inside the wardrobe were as damaged as the items outside of it.

I heard her take a deep breath as I opened the door. Velvet gowns and skirts starred back at us, shredded. I pushed them aside to see a large fur wrap of light grey with a black stain splattered over it. I touched it. It was dry. Now I took an unsteady breath as I searched through the ruined wardrobe for Carlotta's costume. I saw it and with a swift move grabbed the hanger and pulled it out.

There was no damage. The costume was as pressed and clean as it had been when I had returned it the night before. I hadn't even placed it in the wardrobe, but hung it on a post against the door so it wouldn't wrinkle.

Carlotta looked at us both, seeing past us to the disheveled remained of her clothes. Another loud incoherent cry escaped her lips. "Oh mio Dio! Why?"

I heard a shuffle behind me and turn to see the two general managers; M. Moncharmin and M. Richard walk into the ruined room. They glanced around in shock and then went to their diva's side. A flurry of questions flew back and forth between them. The maid reported that the room was intact when she left last night and in shambles when she came in this morning.

Carlotta managed to stop her crying for a moment. As she pulled her hands away from her face, I noticed a crumpled piece of paper in her grip.

"What's this?" ask M. Moncharmin

At that question, the look in Carlotta's eyes turned from sadness to rage. She flung the note at the two managers.

"This!" she hissed. "This! Take a good look at it." Moncharmin took it from her and read it out loud to his partner.

"La Carlotta, your singing tarnishes the stage and your presence brings no joy. Perhaps you should take a cue from your character and remain in the underworld were no one can hear you. Your obedient servant, O.G." He said softly reading the cryptic note out loud. The stagehands stopped their work and Carlotta's maid gasped and crossed herself. Behind me I heard Madame whisper to herself.

"It is the ghost…."

Only I and the managers found this behavior odd and looked at each other confused.

"A ghost?" echoed Richard.

Carlotta shot up, pointing a finger at them. "This is no ghost! This is a saboteur!"

They tried to calm her down, but she was fuming. Her eyes darted back and forth throughout the room. "Someone doesn't want me to sing! They hate me so much that they would invade my private room and destroy all my things! They hate me! They hate me!" she shouted. Her temper grew into one resembling an unwieldy child. Then her angry glance found its way to me and Madame.

She stared directly at me, fury in her eyes.

"The costume is undamaged…" I said thinking of nothing better to say at the moment.

She smiled and it was not a smile brought on by joy. "Yes of course…" she cooed. She strode up to me and before I knew it, her hand was raised above my head aiming for me. Madame was quicker than I, pushing her hands against the diva's chest and forcing her away from me. I dropped the dress and cried out. The managers came and put two firm arms around Carlotta as she spat at me. She missed an the glob of spittle landed on the floor near my skirt.

"It's her! I know it! She has the keys to my room and my closet. There is your proof!" she shouted.

Madame LeRoy shook her head. "Not possible! Why would Christine have any reason to do this?" she said in my defense.

"Do you think I am a fool? She did it for de Chagny! I see those two stupid girls together all the time. It's obviously they are in cahoots together. Genevieve wants my role and her friend had all the tools and time to make this happen!" She explained. They managed to get her seated and then all attention turned to me.

I could feel the color drain from my face as the managers looked at me. I tried not to for I knew it would make me look guilty. I could anticipate their questions and I could not defend myself. I was here late doing my work. Others had keys. I was with….

I could not let a man I barely knew be my alibi.

Madame LeRoy took a step in front of me and then the eyes in the room turned away from me. M. Richard shook his head and I overheard him whisper to his partner. "That little girl couldn't have done this. Look at her! She's frightened at the sight of it."

Madame turned to me. "Christine, take the costume to our department. Lock it in the wardrobe in the sewing room." She instructed eager to hurry me out.

"Yes." I replied, shifting the dress in my hands. "Madame…I didn't do what she said…"

She smiled at me and put a hand on my shoulder. "Of course you didn't." I left the room, again having to muscle my way through the crowed hall. While I walked I noticed the ballet girls, shuffling down the corridors. There slim legs and small faces were as pale as the white dresses they wore. A few of them caught my eye as I passed and they stared at me, unashamed. Then is if I had frightened them, they retreated away, whispering to each other.

"It's the ghost!"

My ears were still ringing with the shouts and laughter of the company. I could still taste chocolate and champagne on my lips as Genny had indulged me in sharing her treats. The curtain had fallen on opening night of Orpheus in the Underworld. The echoes of the Gallop ringing though the stage seemed like a faint memory.

My hands trembled as I stood onstage, awaiting the appearance of my Maestro.

The clock struck eleven. By now the rest of the company were most likely up to their elbows in drink and food, celebrating their performance at the many venues about the opera. My thoughts turn only to the Maestro. I had reasoned that if he claimed to be musician and already knew so much about me, then he must be a member of the company. He must have seen me wandering the halls of the opera before, even if I had not seen him. Maybe he wouldn't even come? He would be too busy celebrating with the others.

Of course the mystery that captured most of my attention was the mask. Perhaps I had seen him before and knew him, and that he only wore the mask for these encounters. But why? Maybe he was a patron, an aristocrat who protected his identity and dignity by donning a mask at night.

All these fanciful thoughts were only deceiving me from coming to the true conclusion. The siege of Paris was almost ten years ago, and while I was not living in the city at the time, I had seen the soldiers returning from battle. I saw the faces and bodies of young men, scarred and burned. More than likely, he was just one of the many who had suffered this cruelty of war.

"Good evening mademoiselle." His voice pulled me away from my thoughts. I looked out into the auditorium, stepping out to the edge of the stage trying to pick up his shape.

"I am glad to see you here." he spoke again and now I could tell that the 'voice' had come from behind me. As I turned, I discovered he was only a few feet from me. I leaned back in surprise and could fell my feet stumbling.

He quickly reached out and caught my hand. "Careful." he warned steadying me. My face grew hot with embarrassment and I was so wrapped up in the thought of it, that I didn't mind him pulling me along.

"It seems the stage might be a hazardous place for a singing lesson, despite its impressive acoustics." He remarked. "Fortunate for you, I have planned ahead and found a much more agreeable spot." He released my hand and turned to offer his arm. "May I?"

My nerves returned as I starred at his arm. The eyes behind the mask were wide open and entirely focused on me. As if I was offending him. It was foolish of me to be so paranoid, yet my dealing with Frederich had made me so.

And I was after all, in the company of a masked man in the opera at night.

Alone.

I took his arm anyway as he led me off into one of the wings. I kept my distance as much as I could with our arms intertwined. Now, so close to him, I could see the full extend of his height. My eyes were level with the crook of his arm, and I had to raise my hand up to hold on. He still wore the long black overcoat and what I could gather from the shape underneath; he was not a man of muscles or girth. In fact he was very thin and his coat seemed to hang on him as if it draped over a skeletal frame instead of a man of flesh. The rest of his attire matched the shade of his coat and mask. Only his white gloved hands stood out in stark contrast with the rest of him. When we reached the end of the path, he turned and led me down another wing which finally dead ended into a spiral staircase. It was a place I hadn't noticed before, even after weeks of working backstage.

We mounted the first step, his arm slipping away and then turning to take my hand. The fabric of his gloves felt soft and warm against my palm. We climbed and I felt like we had gone up many flights before the steps finally ended. I was surprised they didn't lead up to the roof.

We were instead on a landing that for the most part was covered in dust and bits of canvas. A door with a frosted glass window stood off to the side, and I could see light coming from the other side. He opened it and we step out into another hall of the opera. Each side surrounded by many doors. He chose one and we both stepped inside.

The gaslights in the room had already been lit .He turned to lock the door, I observed my new surrounding. It was simple room with its only outstanding feature being a full length mirror that completely covered one wall. There was a simple upright piano, a bench and a few chairs.

"How did you manage to find your way up here without a light, sir?" I asked

"I know my way around this opera house." was his simple reply.

Perhaps this is where the Maestro worked. His job at the opera must have been an important position that kept him away from the daily affairs and ordeal of backstage. He slipped off his coat while making his way to the piano. Underneath his over coat, we wore another long jacket ending right above his knee. Beneath his jacket, he had the simplest of accessories. A dark gray vest against a simple white dress shirt, tied neatly at the neck with a dark cravat.

As an afterthought, he turned in mid stride and extended a hand in my direction. "Shall I take your jacket?" he offered.

"No thank you. I'd rather keep it on."

He sat down, opened the cover on the keyboard. He removed his gloves and spread out his fingers. His digits expanded over the black and white keys, covering at least six sets with each hand. "Very well then." he said striking a note. "Scales if you please."

With each scale, my breath grew deeper. With each scale, the notes grew higher. I thought he would soon stop and correct me. But he only moved to the next key. "Good." I reached notes that my mind reasoned I could not sing, yet I did anyway.

It finally stopped and I was breathless. I couldn't help myself and leaned against the piano for support My hands rested over my chest feeling my heart pounding against them. It had been ages since I had sung like that.

"Tell me Christine, do you know Handel's Rinaldo?" he asked.

"Yes." I said in a breathy voice. "Not as well I should...not as well as you." I added

At this he laughed. It seemed a peculiar action for a man of such a serious nature. Smiles issuing from his thin lips covered by the shadow of his mask. Laughter in that same beautiful voice. "Are you trying to flatter me, mademoiselle?"

I had to smile as well. "Perhaps."

"I'm grateful the compliment. For now I suppose we should practice that comic drivel that passes for art around here." he said bitterly.

"You mean the opera? I take it you did not enjoy it?" I prodded, some how assuming that he had seen that night performance. He shook his head no.

"People come to the Paris opera to witness art. Works by the greats. Mozart, Gounod, Rossini. If they wanted to watch a travesty like the one played on stage this evening, they could have gone to a cheap and common playhouse."

"I did not know...that some people could dislike such things with a passion." I whispered.

His mood was again serious. "It is my passion for music that makes me speak so frankly." he explained. "Tell me Christine, did you enjoy the opera?"

His tone was sarcastic. I was surprised that he bothered to ask my opinion at all, since his manner implied that the only judgment he valued on this matter was his own.

"It is pleasant enough to listen to..." I admitted. There was no smile from him anymore. "But I suppose I'm not the best judge of such things." I quickly added, feeling in that moment very inferior.

"These are gods, we are taking about! Heavenly beings that have inspired tales and myths that have lasted thorough the ages." he ranted. "They are not something to be taken lightly. I suppose most people might enjoy such simple satire but I…am not like most people." He spoke the last words as if he were flinging an insult.

He had his point, but I spoke again.

"But the gods of legend often behaved foolishly. Even with their mighty airs, graces and powers, they are subject to many faults. And since they are gods, theses faults are larger than life. I think the opera only exposures the truth and use these events to mirror the short coming in our own lives." I explained, feeling proud of myself.

However it was obvious that my argument had not swayed him. His eyes were dark as they met mine.

"And what of Orpheus? A mortal man that defies death itself all for music...and the love of a woman. A man who willing ascends into hell…is he to be turned into a figure of comedy." he challenged

There was a long pause. I finally shook my head, my eyes lowered away from his gaze. "No."

He must have known that I was now upset and not wanting to continue in my lesson. He rose from the piano bench and met me halfway, his hands clasped behind his back.

"I'm sorry." he said sincerely. "I promised you a lesson, not a debate. My rude talk has offended you." I managed to look up at him. "Shall we start again?"

I nodded and he returned to his seat at the piano and began playing a familiar phrase. I recognized it as one of Diana's lines from the Olympus scene in act one. I knew it well for I had heard Genny singing it many times.

Now it was my turn, and with that my lessons began.