Three weeks passed before the first official rehearsal for Il Trovatore, and Cecily was nervous like she had never been before. The shock of Buquet's attack had begun to wear off. When they had found him knocked unconscious in a back hall of the prop department, no one had thought anything of it. Cecily had only been thankful that she had been intending to return Tolstoy's War and Peace, a good 1500 pages bound by a solid cover, to Erik on her visit. If anyone would have bothered to look closer at Joseph Buquet, which his smell alone prevented, they would have noticed a scar in the shape of a perfect right angle.

Cecily hadn't seen much of Erik since the encounter either. They always seemed to just miss each other on her visits to his lair, and he hadn't visited her. Of course, she couldn't blame him. She had been so busy with preparations for her role that she hadn't been in any one place for more than five minutes at a time. Physical exhaustion had begun to set in, but the pure adrenaline that was constantly pumping through her veins kept her going. It wasn't until the night before the first rehearsal that she realized she hadn't told Erik about her role as Azucena. She doubted he was unaware, but still felt the need to tell him herself. She was bordering on giddiness after her glass (or two) of wine at dinner when she went out to round up the last of her girls before going to wait for him.

At eleven and twelve years old, her girls were beginning to take on the temperament of youth, which was not at all becoming. The stubbornness that often accompanied those years was becoming apparent in several of them, and it was a new struggle every day to get them to accept her authority. Mme. Giry had only had to intervene once, and those particular girls had never strayed again.

What Mme. Giry had warned her about when she first had accepted the job was true, however. Meg and Christine were a mischievous little pair. There was always something those two were up to. They never meant any harm, but even when things got out of control, their innate innocence and naivety saved them from the chopping block. Meg's genuine friendliness and eagerness to please made her all the more difficult to punish. Christine alone might have been disciplined, her silence and sometimes misplaced convictions made her seem much less personable than her accomplice, but her association with Meg had saved her more than once. There was something about Christine Daae that Cecily just couldn't put a finger on, something that made Christine seem a little bit dangerous.

Cecily laughed at herself. Christine, a twelve year old girl, dangerous? She really must have had too much wine. She was seeing conspiracies in honesty, and shadows in the sun. She shook her head and continued along her path. There was still nearly an hour before the girls had to retire, but Cecily wanted to ensure that they were all well aware of the time.

Meg Giry rushed past her, face aflame. "Meg Giry! Where are you going in such a hurry?"

Meg paused. "I was on my way to the dorms, Cecily."

Cecily put her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Whatever has happened? Either you've run a mile or you're a bit embarrassed. Which is it?"

Meg shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I didn't just run a mile."

"Ah, so embarrassment it is. What happened? Did someone say something to you?"

"Not to me…"

"You were eavesdropping." She smiled down at the girl, who was now staring at her right shoe as if was the most interesting thing in the world. Cecily bent down conspiratorially. "Who of?"

Meg looked up, a little surprised. "Christine." Cecily said nothing, only raised an eyebrow in question. "Well, she's been off at lessons nearly every night, and doesn't get back until late, and she's singing beautifully, and I just wanted to see who was teaching her like that. I thought she might have a beau."

Cecily laughed. What was it about the Opera cast that stirred the idea of a beau anytime someone didn't feel like explaining an absence? She shook her head. "I doubt it, Meg. I don't think Christine has a beau. If she did, she wouldn't keep it from you; she can't keep secrets. Besides you two are practically sisters. Set your mind at ease, child. I'm sure she's just at lessons. But I am going to give that teacher of hers a piece of my mind. Keeping her out so late after she's danced hard all day! She needs to be getting into bed on time! Do you know where she is?"

Meg nodded and pointed down the hall. "Three doors down on the left-hand corridor. The door's locked."

Cecily smiled at her once again, knowing that Meg had been trying to do more than eavesdrop if she knew the door was locked. "Thank you, Meg. Now, on your way." She watched as the girl hurried down the hall, feeling only slightly better. Oh dear. Now she had to go confront this voice teacher of Christine's. Oh joy unbounded. Forgive her if she wasn't ecstatic.

She entered the left-hand corridor and began down. As she did, she heard traces of music on the air, not an unusual occurrence in l'Opéra. As she drew nearer, she realized the music was familiar. The song was from Faust, one of the operas Erik had played for her. The voice was that of a girl, but with a maturing edge, a good fit for the fickle role of Marguerite. She paused for a moment outside the third door and listened.

"Ah! je ris de me voir si belle en ce miroir,
Ah! je ris de me voir si belle en ce miroir,
Est-ce toi, Marguerite, est-ce toi?"

Cecily nodded in silent appreciation. The singer had potential, to be sure.

"Much better, my dear. You seem to have it correct. Let us move on then."

Cecily felt the wind rush out of her as surely as if someone had put their fist into her gut. She clutched at the wall and leaned heavily against it, trying to make sense of what she had just heard. The words were nothing extraordinary. They were the words of a music teacher to his student. But the voice had belonged to someone she knew. The singing girl was Christine, she realized, and the other voice….

The other voice belonged to Erik.