The masquerade had already begun as Cecily decended the stairs. Several hours spent between the ballet dormitories and the kitchen had passed, but the time had finally come. She scanned the crowd for Nicholai, but he hadn't yet arrived. Smiling at several acquaintances, she moved through the crowd. A dance was in progress, a simple one, and Cecily joined the line of women waiting to be spun down the center. Laughter was king for them, and they were only too happy to be under his reign. The reel ended, and a waltz began. Cecily danced with one of the young nobles who had arrived early. He was arrayed in full military regalia, indicating him as a second or third son. His smile was gentle, as was his step.

The dance called for a change in partners, and Cecily spun blithely from young man to young man, glad for the knee brace she wore. As the dance ended, she looked at her final partner. His face was completely enshrouded by shadow from his cloak, but his hand lingered too long on her back. She could almost see a glimpse of white in the shadow as he pulled away…

"Cecily!" She turned, startled by the sound of her own name, and when she looked back her mysterious partner had gone. "Cecily!"

Running up to her, Nicholai kissed her soundly. "You look amazing. Arthur and his knights would be in awe of your beauty."

Pulling him close, she smiled. "But I don't care what those stupid old English horse-riders would think."

He tilted her chin up. "Do you care if I am in awe of your beauty?"

She pushed off him lightly and laughed. "Sometimes you are just so…" She ran her hand down his cheek. "Did you cut yourself shaving?"

Slightly flustered by the question, Nicholai regarded her suspiciously. "What?"

"You have a fresh cut here, and you never finished shaving. I just thought maybe you had…"

"Yes, I had forgotten. Earlier today. When I stopped it up I couldn't be bothered finishing the shave. Of course, it had to occur on my first stroke, mind you."

"Of course! It is better than having a half-shaven face, though."

Laughing lightly, he kissed her again, stopping suddenly when a rather drunken M. Andre slapped him between the shoulder blades. "Brilliant! What a splendid party!"

"Isn't it though?" muttered Nicholai, rubbing his back soothingly while Cecily suppressed a giggle.

"I do believe it is the prologue to a bright new year! Wouldn't you say so, my dear? The books do have a bit of an sign about them, don't they?" M. Firmin was obviously nearly as drunk as his companion.

"Yes…"

"What a night! I'm impressed! It's all turned out quite nicely, hasn't it?" M. Andre may have been talking to the crowd, but his attentions were absorbed by a young woman who Cecily was quite sure was not Mme. Andre.

"One does one's best, sir," Cecily said, leaning slightly into Nicholai's arms.

"Here's to us!" Another young woman, apparently M. Firmin's arm candy for the evening, returned with several drinks, which she and the server behind her proceeded to distribute.

"To a prosperous year!" added Andre.

"To the opera house!" threw in Nicholai. The small group drank the champagne and set the glasses back on the server's tray.

"I must say, all the same, that it is a shame that Phantom fellow isn't here! He did certainly add a certain flair." Firmin already was clutching another drink in his hand. Cecily was sure it was not only his second drink; he had to be quite out of it to speak that kindly of the Opera Ghost.

Out of the corner of her eye, Cecily caught the arrival of Christine and Raoul. Surprisingly, Philippe followed, along with his friends. He caught her eye and smiled rogueishly, but she only shook her head and waved slightly, making sure to emphasize the ring on her middle-finger. Feigning heartbrokenness, Philippe gave her another smile before disappearing into the crowd. He was quite the character, that one.

"See someone you know, my dear?" The managers and their entourage had moved away, leaving Nicholai and Cecily relatively separated.

"Just a friend. You needn't worry so." She leaned her body back against his, content to just regard the party-goers and their costumes for awhile. In the background, a small chorus sang a tune composed just for the masquerade.

"Cecily! Nicholai! Come on! We've got a toast going over here, and you need glasses!" It was Meg, who was, perhaps a bit unsurprisingly, being watched protectively by Daniel, one of the men from the dinner party. Handing both Cecily and Nicholai a glass, Meg took one for herself.

"To the new season!" Andre called. His flushed face testified that he had obviously had several more glasses since he had left Cecily.

"Aye!" The rest of the group took a drink.

"What a night!" sighed Mme. Giry, slyly regarding her daughter and the young Daniel.

"What a crowd!" chirped Meg.

"All the crème de la crème…" observed Andre.

"It seems all our fears are in the past," breathed Cecily, making Nicholai look down at her strangely.

"Six months!" cried Piangi, never one to stay quiet long. "Six months of relief!"

"No! Of delight!" Carlotta laughed and tipped back the rest of her glass.

"Of Elysian peace!" Andre's words were slurred, but understandable.

"Perhaps we can breathe at last, my dear," murmured Mme. Giry so only Cecily could hear.

"To the masquerade!" The group clinked glasses. It was truly a night to celebrate.

The song changed to a quickstep, and Nicholai bowed slightly to Cecily. "May I have this dance, my lady?"

Curtsying, Cecily gave him her hand to be led out to the dance floor. The dance again called for several partner changes, and Cecily found herself dancing with several eligible young men. She amused herself with guessing at who their original partners were. Raoul with Christine, Daniel with Meg, Philippe with whichever girl had caught his eye that night. She guessed too, who the strangers were. A nobleman who had already engaged in too much wine, a wealthy businessman, a soldier-boy who was anxious to prove himself, and…

The man in a dark hooded cloak whose hands lingered just a moment too long, whose steps were too familiar, whose eyes burned in the darkness… "Erik?"

She had no sooner spoken the name than he spun her off to another partner. She followed the dance, but her mind was filled with other things. What was he doing here? Surely he had not come to see her? No, Christine was here. The dance ended, and she spun madly, trying to relocate him, but he had again disappeared.

Shaking her head, she moved toward the door to get some fresh air. She must be going mad, thinking that Erik would come to such a public event. And there was an unmasking at the end for those who remained masked! What foolishness she had been thinking!

"Why so silent, good messieurs?" The voice struck at Cecily almost physically, and she sucked in a breath. Her foolishness was true! "Did you think that I had left you for good?" He laughed the cold laugh that she had first heard him use. "Have you missed me?" He marched down the stairs, a brilliant crimson costume with a death's mask his choice of attire.

"Dear God, Erik, what are you doing?" Cecily muttered to herself, rushing through the crowd.

"I have written you an opera! Here I bring the finished score - "Don Juan Triumphant" !" Pulling a giant dossier from under his cloak, he threw it to the floor in front of the now extremely drunk Andre and a stunned Firmin. "I advise you to comply -my instructions should be clear." His gaze focused on Nicholai, and his eyes narrowed.

Pushing her way through the last of the crowd, she moved in front of Nicholai, holding his hand tightly with her own, the ring flashing brightly in the chandelier-light. The reflected light seemed to burn him and he turned away. Relieved, Cecily let Nicholai wrap her in his arms, but her spirit was not at all eased.

In horror, she watched as Christine advanced slowly toward him. He reached out a hand as if to touch her face, but recoiled, grabbing at her neck instead. Cecily started forward, but Nicholai held her back. She pulled again, freeing herself this time. Christine stood shocked at the bottom of the stairs, her hand at her bare neck where her ring had lain only moments before, gaping at a hole in the main landing where the Phantom had just disappeared. Before she could stop him, Raoul jumped in as it closed, disappearing into darkness.

"Raoul!" shrieked Christined, rushing up the stairs and staring blankly at the tiles.

Cecily grabbed the near-hysterical girl by her shoulders. "Christine, get ahold of yourself!" Mme. Giry's form moving toward a passage reassured her slightly about Raoul's fate, and she concentrated on Christine. "Miss Daae! Honestly! Christine!" She calmed slightly, her breaths still coming in short gasps.

Philippe moved forward, pulling Christine into his arms. "Come on then, my girl, it will be all right." He whispered soothingly, moving her off toward the door. He nodded thankfully at Cecily, who returned the gesture, a look of worry etched on her face.

Nicholai ran up the stairs, grabbing her arm. "We should go," he said.

She shook her head fervently. "No! I have to stay here! But you must leave! It's not safe for you here, not now!"

"I won't leave you! There is more here than you're telling me. I won't lose my wife before I marry her!"

Smiling sadly at him, she kissed him quickly. "If you stay, I'm more worried about you. Please, just go. Trust me."

He nodded, moving toward the door. She followed him to the cool night air. Nicholai moved off into the night, looking back at her several times before disappearing into a carriage.

"No! I will stay here!" Turning, she saw Meg and Philippe pleading with Christine.

"It's simply not safe, my dear! You must come back with me!" Philippe had wrapped his jacket around the shivering girl, but Christine's mind was set.

"I will not leave the opera house without knowing he is safe!"

Neither Meg nor Philippe had anything to say to that. Philippe gave her a desperate look. "She can stay in my room." Philippe's eyes went large, and he opened his mouth to say something, but she held up her hand to silence him. "If she insists on staying, it is the only place I can guarantee her safety."

He eyed her carefully. "How can you be so sure of the safety of your room?"

Gathering an exhausted Christine and Meg into each arm, she met his gaze. "I swear to you, no harm will come to any of us." Something in her tone made him believe her, and he nodded, walking away to another part of the opera. "Quickly now, girls. The faster we're there, the faster it's over with." The three scurried through the corridors, arriving in Cecily's room. She helped them strip off their costumes and slip into two old nightgowns Cecily had kept from long ago. Tucking them into bed, she whispered, "Get some sleep now, for I fear we'll have need of it."

She changed herself into a work dress and sat herself down at her desk to write. It was the only way she could think of to keep herself awake.

---

Several hours later, a soft knock at the door woke her. Cursing herself for having fallen asleep, she checked to make sure the girls were all right. The two lay in the bed, the very picture of innocence. Sighing with relief, she cracked open the door. It was Mme. Giry.

Admitting her quietly, Cecily locked the door again. "The boy is alive. But foolish." She let out a trapped breath. "He asks too many questions for his own good." She shook her head. "This frightens me, Cecily."

"I know what you mean. I never expected him to actually…I suppose we must await tomorrow." Looking at the sleeping girls, she bit her lip in indecision. "Will you stay with them for awhile? I have to see to some things."

"Of course. You were always too curious for your own good, too."

Andre and Firmin had just left the office when she arrived. On the desk lay the unopened folder containing the apparently finished "Don Juan Triumphant." Turning back the cover, she scanned the cast list that took up the entire first page. He certainly was thorough; every part was specified, nothing was left to chance. The next page yielded the copy for the primaries: Piangi as first tenor, Farithe as second tenor, Carlotta as seconda donna. That would certainly ruffle the diva's feathers. And the prima donna was to be Christine specified explicitly in writing and in person at the Phantom's little 'presentation'.

After the primaries, detailed choregraphy, chorus pieces, and orchestrations followed. The expected performance notes addressed to Andre and Firmin, and then…

A copy in blood red ink, the same ink she had seen him write in for so long. It was eerie when he had lines of it on his pale skin; it had always bothered her, and she had several dresses that had been defined indefinitely as work dresses after she had used them to wipe away the ink from his hand or face. The possession tag had originally been only 'Cecily', but 'Mlle' had been added before, and 'Pencombe' after. Notes covered the first page, and Cecily knew then that she held the original copy. Her fingers traced the edge of the papers, but she could not bring herself to open it.

"Oh, Erik," she whispered, turning away to prevent her tears falling on the manuscript. "I don't care anymore! I have to talk to you! I have to!"

Rising from her desk, she grabbed her cane and prodded at the wall with it. A slab of stone moved on its touch, and Cecily pushed harder. "I have to talk to him," she muttered to herself as she began the descent.

---

Sliding as silently as she could from the passage, Cecily peeked out the bedchamber. He was hunched over his desk, apparently sketching. "Erik," her voice cracked, so she tried again. "Erik?"

He whipped around, his eyes burning dangerously. She sniffed back more tears, and he seemed to relax a bit. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to…" her voice trailed off. What had she come to do? "What are you drawing?"

Moving quickly, he closed the desk, hiding the papers. "It's of no concern. I see things are going well enough with that Russian prat." His voice was spiked with bitterness, but Cecily chose to ignore it. "The ring looks expensive."

"I suppose it could have been, I don't know." She looked at her own hand for a moment, then up at the organ, where Christine's ring, complete with chain, still lay. "What are you planning on doing with that?"

Following her gaze, he slouched physically when he saw it. "I'm not the fiend you think I am."

She laid a hand on his shoulder. "I never thought that Erik was a fiend. It is only the Phantom that scares me."

He stiffened slightly. "Go," he hissed.

"What? Erik, I didn't mean…"

"Go!" he cried loudly, forcing her to flee from his lair. Assured that she was gone, he sat heavily on the stairs. "Oh, Christine, Christine!" he moaned. "Why can you not love me?" Picking up the ring from the organ, his face darkened. "You will love me. Fear will turn to love. It must be so." Stomping over to his model of Christine, he kicked aside some charred paper at its entrance and placed the ring on its finger. "She will be mine."