Readers,

I received an interesting piece of mail this week, in addition to the wonderful reviews sent to me by all of you wonderful people! I'm sure you know by now what type of mail warrants mention in my notes, and I will, as is my tradition, include portions of it.

Mademoiselle,

There have been many stories that endow me with characteristics and skills that I do not possess. I do consider myself one of the great geniuses of this world or any other, but, alas, I have not yet had the opportunity to acquire certain skills. My situation as described in all its gory detail by M. Leroux prevents my participating in those practices which require some social interaction. I may know nearly everything that can be learned by books, but I must admit in my overwhelming humility that I do not know all. Therefore, do not paint me as such a man! I am after all, a man. Not a demon, nor an angel of music…

…Enclosed is the requested source. These writings were not made available to M. Leroux, and I assure you that there have been few people to see them since their creation. An additional reference to this work has been provided by me, as I am sure you are not acquainted with the writings. Do not abuse the privilege I grant you in lending them to you. If you should misrepresent any portion of what happened by distorting the words, I shall assuredly make a visit to you, one that would not be as desirable as you seem to have found my last visits.

Mademoiselle, I implore you to comply. I have grown rather fond of observing your life, and would hate to see it come to an abrupt end, if you take my meaning properly, which I'm sure you do, as I have made myself fatally clear.

Sincerely,

O.G.

These are the portions of the letter which I believe will neither give away too much information nor cause Monsieur O.G. any undue discomfort. He indeed made himself fatally clear. My neck would like to remain rope-free, so I will faithfully interpret what was so graciously provided for me. You hear that, Erik? Don't go all "Down Once More" on me! I am not a fop!

Ahem, sorry about that. I get a bit defensive when someone issues a not-so-thinly veiled threat against my life. For those of you who read the following portion and do not believe it happened thus, I assure you that Cecily acted this way according to my sources. Her recorded thoughts on this are few, however, so her justifications for her actions are vague.

Without further ado, Chapter 24!

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Cecily bit her lip, barely stopping before she drew blood. So Christine's teacher was Erik. How dare he not tell her this! Of course, why should he? What business was it of hers? And why did she feel so betrayed? It wasn't as if he had sworn that she would be the sole occupation of his time. It had just been that way for so long; it was strange for her to think that he and Christine were… What were they?

Surely they were only a student and her teacher. She was too young to truly develop a friendship with him, and she highly doubted that she could have kept such a secret as knowing the Phantom of the Opera to herself.

Suddenly, she turned and knocked on the door. Loudly. "Who is it?" came Christine's soft reply. She was nervous.

"Cecily. It's nearly time for bed, Christine. And I'd like to talk to your teacher about keeping you out so late."

She heard the clicking of the lock and the knob slowly turned, opening the door to reveal a very tired Christine. "I'm alone here, Cecily. You'll have to talk to my teacher some other time."

Cecily looked around the room, her eyes resting on the paneled wall. If he could see her, he would now know that she knew he was there. "Very well. I suppose my ears were playing tricks on me. You were singing very well Christine, but from now on, you need to be in bed on time, all right? Tell your teacher that if he has you late for curfew again, he will be facing a very irate chorus girl. That should be sufficient fear to have you in bed on time, don't you think?"

Christine laughed. "Yes, I think it would be. I'll be going to bed then, Cecily. I'm awfully tired."

"Yes, dear, why don't you run along? Make sure all the other girls are in bed on time. I have some errands to run and probably won't be back until much later. You and Meg are in charge. If you need anything, Linnea will help you, I'm sure." Christine nodded and scurried off down the hallway toward the dormitories.

Cecily stepped into the room and bolted the door behind her. Staring at the paneled wall, she hoped against high heaven that he was still behind it. "Erik?"

Nothing. "Erik, are you still there? I know you were."

"Why did you interrupt us?" His voice was harsh and accusing, and Cecily flinched mentally. He had never spoken to her like that in all the time they had been friends.

"She is tired Erik, surely you can see that! Her eyes had such dark circles that she looked like a raccoon! She has a beautiful voice, but she will die from exhaustion if she has to dance all day and then sing with you all night! And you know very well that Mme. Giry will never let that girl out of the dance troupe."

He scoffed. She approached the wall and put her hand on the switch, the panel shifted under her hand and she pushed hard against it. It wouldn't move. "Erik, let me in. There is no point in keeping me out here." No reply. "Erik! Stop being a child! Not even the youngest girls throw such tantrums!" She pounded her palm against the panel, which gave way sharply to the pressure, nearly causing her to lose her balance.

"As you wish, mademoiselle." He turned away from her, retreating down the long tunnel to his lair. She grabbed his arm and spun him around. He faced her, his eyes aflame with indignation and surprise. "What do you think you are doing? You tread on dangerous ground, little cat."

"What did I do that was so wrong, Erik? When did looking out for my charge become a crime against you? Don't do this to me! Please!"

The word pulled sharply at his heart, and he sighed. "I'm sorry, Cecily. I lost my temper. You know how hot it is sometimes. I suppose having a student simply is trying my patience."

She nodded, not mentioning the fact that she had been his student for years without pushing him this close to that dangerous edge she had only seen him fall over once. She squeezed his arm reassuringly.

They walked together silently the rest of the way to his lair. When they arrived, he pulled out two goblets. He poured wine into one, but paused before filling the other. "Wine, little cat?"

She shook her head, feeling the remains of the alcohol euphoria that had filled her minutes before. "Water, please, Erik."

A moment later, he joined her in sitting on the steps as they sipped their drinks. Despite the fact that he now had enough chairs cleaned off to accommodate the both of them, she still chose to sit on the steps. He had never asked why, and she never offered an explanation. It was simply comfortable for both of them.

"So you are teaching Christine to sing," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Yes, she had true potential."

Cecily nodded, sipping from her water. "Her voice fit the piece well, even if it would never be performed that way in front of an audience. She will grow into it, I think."

"She will."

They sat in an uncomfortable silence for several minutes. Finally Cecily was unable to stand anymore of the pressing quiet. "Have you seen the cast list for Il Trovatore yet?"

He nodded slowly. "I saw the chorus list. Christine got a part. It is her first operatic performance, even if it is only in ballet." He met her gaze. "But I am sorry, Cecily."

Cecily shook her head and smiled. "Erik, why would you apologize?"

He looked at her questioningly. "You didn't get a part in the chorus for the show."

"No, I didn't, but you've no reason to apologize for that." She loved this taunting, this game of cat and mouse.

He looked at her carefully. She was hiding something. He had been busy the last few weeks, but now felt that he should have at least spoken to her. She obviously didn't want him to know she was upset. That would be just like her. He tentatively placed a gloved hand on hers. She didn't pull away. "Cecily, I know what disappointment is. You can't protect me from it by hiding yours."

He pulled his hand away, and for a moment, Cecily understood disappointment in a new way. Her hand felt cold and useless, sitting there at her side. She stared at it for a moment, then raised her eyes up to his face. "Erik, I…"

He didn't say anything, silently urging her to continue. "I didn't get a part in the chorus," she stated, and she inwardly flinched. How much of a dolt could she be? She tried again. "You didn't see my name on the cast list because you only looked at the chorus."

"What do you mean, little cat?" His eyes had taken on a new light as he guessed her meaning.

"I'm going to play Azucena, she whispered excitedly.

Erik's face seemed filled with happiness. "Truly? That's wonderful. We may have to work on your voice, though."

She took on mock displeasure. "M. Reyer thought it good enough!"

"Ah! But M. Reyer also thought Carlotta's good enough."

"Ah!" she made a noise of protest and punched him lightly in the arm. "You're cruel!"

He chuckled. "Я говорю только быть сказанным."

"You? Say only what needs to be said? Hmph." She stood up quickly and walked away from him. By the organ bench she stopped and turned around. She tapped her foot impatiently. "Well, come on then."

"What?"

"Are you going to help me sing?"

He chuckled and stood up. "Of course, mon petit chat." He arranged himself at the organ. "Let's begin with warm-ups."

---

Several hours later, neither of them had realized that they had entered the wee hours of the morning. Erik had pointed out several things to work on, and she had agreed with only a little protest here and there. He had switched from practicing high operatic repertoire pieces to lighter, more easy going songs. She had stopped singing and was sitting against the wall, listening peacefully.

He eased from one song to the next, this one a country tune similar to the one Cecily had played. Her eyes popped open when she heard it, and she stood up. He paused, wondering what she was doing. "Don't quit, Erik," she chided. "This is a fine dancing tune, and I simply refuse to sit this one out!" She smiled and spun around, laughing. "Play!"

He did, but kept only half his attention on the organ. She was dancing giddily. The late hour was playing its tricks on her. She spun and swayed to the music, humming it herself. He noticed that she was wearing the dress he had bought her. The music became more difficult, and he returned his attention to the piece. He froze when her hand brushed his shoulder.

"Dance with me," she said. It wasn't a command, but a simple request. Erik still had trouble getting used to that.

He stared at her, only reminding himself to close his jaw. "There, there would be no music…" he stammered.

"I can hum." She bit her lip, suddenly realizing a potential implication. "You do know how to dance, don't you?"

"Of course I do!" he said indignantly. "It is simply that I've never danced with a, a…" he trailed off, unable to finish what he had been about to say.

"A woman?" She said it softly, as if she was prompting a child.

He let out a rush of breath. How did she always seem to know what he was thinking? "Yes."

"Please dance with me, Erik."

Erik found himself rising as Cecily lifted his hand in hers and placed the other on his shoulder. "Now place your hand on my waist." He fumbled for the right place. She smiled and readjusted his hand, moving it down a few inches to the correct position.

She began to hum and move her feet. Erik followed hesitantly at first, but the beat was a steady three-quarter beat, and the pattern was fairly simple.

She noted his growing confidence. She had expected it of him. His natural grace and affinity with music made her think he was a born dancer. It was a pity he had never gotten to practice it before now. As he began to predict her steps, she let him take the lead. She smiled and moved a half-step closer to him as they waltzed, continuing to hum the tune.

The song trailed to an end as Cecily grew tired. She relied more and more heavily on Erik, and finally he stopped the dance. "You need sleep, little cat." He was loath to let her go, to allow the soft cure of her gown to escape his touch, but she was almost too exhausted to stand. "Come now, you need sleep." He led her to the bed and helped her lie down.

"Erik, I can't," she protested weakly. "The girls…And I have to practice early…"

"You will be there; do not worry. Goodnight." He walked toward the door as she burrowed under the covers. He paused and turned back to her. "And thank you."

She wrestled exhaustedly with the covers. "For what?"

"For teaching me to dance."