Hey everyone! This story is currently on 31 favorites lists! Amazing milestone for me, you guys rock! (though I haven't heard from many of you before, it's still pretty cool).

I'm updating much quicker this time than I did last time, lucky chapter 13. And my muse paid me a lovely visit last night so I actually have something worth posting, too; how about that:)

Reviewer responses!

Killer Veggies: Didn't take too terribly long, now did it:) No worries, Erik will go back (and I actually have some ideas on how it's going to go through) Thank you!

DragonheartRAB: nope, not dead. he's going to have to think over things before he goes back, of course but I'm already working on Erik's return. Thank you!

lazy.kender: gah, another complaint against FFN -:shakes fist:- I feel your pain. Thank you!

Kitty Felone: Hee hee, glad you like it. Thank you!

phantomgoddess34: -:hugs Erik plushie:- and Thank you!

Victorian Dream: nope, not gone yet. Ooo, good luck with piano, congrats on the puppy (awww!), and Thank you!

Neori: well, I told you so :). Thank you!

I am the Angel of Music: Dear me, did I forget you! I'm so sorry! And yeah, Christine thinks she's seeing a ghost for the moment and I suppose she is half right. And no worries, I'm working on the next chunky and, should my muse (whohas beenmaking a few shy appearances) direct it so, I think we'll clear up that little...hmmm...misunderstanding. We'll see. :) Thank You!

Alrighty, here we're going to get into my version of Philippe's "death" and Erik's thoughts after leaving Christine. Plus some good ol' fashioned Philippe/Erik banter. I had a couple awkward phrasings in this chappie that I just couldn't seem to fix and Erik's thoughts are supposed to jump around a bit...hope that doesn't throw anyone...

Raoul paced in his room, too restless to sleep though it was well past midnight. Guilt was eating at his stomach, regardless of how hard he tried to slake it with brandy. First off, there was obviously the matter of Philippe, his only brother.

No matter what anyone else told him, he still could not shake the feeling that he could have done something. Was he not his brother's closest companion? What had he missed? Had he been too distracted with making certain Christine felt comfortable that he'd neglected any warning signs? Raoul knew that Philippe had changed since Adele died. Once Philippe had told him everything, acting as his father after their own had passed away. But then he retracted into a shell; it was painful to see. Yet even still, Raoul worked to bring him back into society, and he seemed to improve for a while. He never thought for a minute that Philippe would take his own life.

With a shaking hand, Raoul unlocked the top left-hand drawer of the oak desk and pulled out a wrinkled sheet of paper. The words hadn't changed, no matter how many times he'd read over them:

—Raoul,

By the time you've received this letter, I'm already gone. You're the new Comte de Chagny; bring glory to the name where I have failed. I cannot bear this world any longer. Farewell my favorite younger brother.

--Philippe de Chagny

It was unmistakably his writing and the quip at the end had been a long standing joke between them; of course Raoul was his favorite younger brother, he was his only brother. Raoul thought back to when he'd received the note (he'd been out of town with Christine) and the haste he'd taken to reach the manor immediately after comprehending Philippe's message. Bursting through the doors and startling his butler, he'd made his way to this very room after several servants had informed him that Philippe had decreed none should disturb him.

The sight of his brother's limp body, one of his wrists caked with dried blood, plagued his dreams for nights since. Christine came through the door and saw him next to Philippe, turning a nasty shade of pale green. He'd tended to her then and some time later he sent a few messages to the mortician, the authorities, remaining family, etc. When he returned to the room and met a disturbing sight: Philippe's body was gone. The remnants of his blood clung to the expensive carpet but there was no sign of him.

Shaken, Raoul had demanded from every servant to know exactly who had been allowed in but he found no answers. Then he heard a strange sound echo in the silence: a cry of pain from above. Raoul raced to the attic; he knew his brother's voice anywhere though it didn't seem possible to hear it again. Yet all he found once he reached the musty room were a few old boxes and a bat.

The next few weeks, various whispers in the night took the form of his brother's voice, haunting his thoughts until, thankfully, the familiar murmurs left.

And here he was now, just as pathetic as his brother had been, secluded in the study in his grief.

A second gnawing in the back of his mind fluttered to the front of his conscious: Christine. He knew he'd further neglected her in the midst of his own mourning. It had been such a rocky journey to make it this far and his heart couldn't take it to burden their relationship any further. After he had watched her coach leave for Paris, he resolved that things would be different once she returned. She'd been through so much; he owed her so much more. In the Phantom's catacombs, she was ready to sacrifice herself so that he could be free, despite his protests. He would not lose her again.

Raoul sighed heavily. Dwelling on his depressed thoughts was doing nothing to soothe them. It was past time he get some rest, and then possibly he could surprise Christine by joining her in Paris.

He smiled weakly to himself. He would conquer this yet.

∞†∞

Staring up at the elegant beauty of a thousand bright stars, Erik's discursive thoughts preoccupied him from anything else: Why had he disclosed so much of his past to Christine? It seemed unnecessary to divulge so many details…The look of her eyes as she challenged his gaze. That frisson shared in singing together once more. And her reactions still confused him. Perhaps he did not mind pity when it sprung from her lips…

Wearily shaking such thoughts from his head, he tired again to order the facts. She felt guilt, nothing more; to believe any differently would be a painful delusion. She had missed him, though not in the matter he would have wished. She was distressed when he left, a situation that could be rectified (if only briefly) should he risk seeing her again. Christine would be in town for another week or so yet. She still didn't seem to suspect anything other than he was a ghost.

"There you are. Have a long night did we?" Philippe taunted next to him.

Refusing to rise to the bait, Erik rolled his head over to look at his strange comrade, floating in midair next to him. Returning his gaze to the sky and readjusting himself on the cold stone statue on top of the opera house, Erik gave a small nod.

Philippe sighed, disappointed that he had failed to start trouble. "An interesting trip, yes?"

Without removing his gaze from the twinkling stars, Erik stated, "Yes."

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me about it, are you?"

The visible corner of Erik's mouth quirked slightly, "Nope."

"Oh come off it. Let's hear it. How's dear Christine?"

After tensing slightly, Erik sighed and responded, "She's doing well."

"No worse for the wear?"

"No."

"Well aren't you just a spout of information," Philippe murmured in a slightly frustrated tone.

The corner of Erik's mouth merely quirked again, threatening to turn into a smile.

"Well I was going to tell you something important but I suppose since you're acting so belligerent I might not."

"Very mature, Philippe. All that's left is to stick out your tongue."

"Well then, let's be thorough," he smirked as he stuck at his tongue.

Erik shook his head.

"Are you patronizing me?"

"Perhaps."

"Well, at least you're honest, I suppose." Philippe rolled his eyes. "Anyway, there are a couple things I thought you ought to know. The first involves Christine."

Erik turned to look at Philippe before sitting up. "What's wrong with Christine?"

"Nothing, nothing is wrong with Christine," he assured him. "It's more of an indirect involvement, calm down." Philippe sat up to face Erik. "Do you remember what I told you the first night? That there were two ways to join the Circle?"

"Yes, direct invitation and a blood union," Erik replied carefully.

"Well I never really told you what a blood union was. I didn't think it would be important. I mean it hasn't been successfully completed for a few centuries. I suppose when you break it down, it doesn't sound that complicated but there's much more to it." Philippe stopped for a moment and Erik silently encouraged him to continue. "Well put simply, it's once, bitten—"

"And twice shy? Yes, I'm familiar with the expression and unfortunately I'm familiar with the truth of it as well."

Philippe looked at him curiously. "Yes I suppose that's true but this is not exactly a common saying." Sighing again, he continued in a serious demeanor, "Anyway, broken down a blood union is simply this: once, bitten; twice, offered; and thrice shared."

Erik mulled over the comment briefly. "That doesn't sound so complicated. I mean the first bite is simply taken then the subject has to offer themselves then…how can they share?"

"Again, it's more complicated than it seems. First off, the subject has to survive the first two and you know how hard it is to stop. Furthermore, you have to be sure of who you're biting. You're bond together for eternity. And there are other circumstances but again, this hasn't been successfully completed for centuries."

"What happens to those that fail?"

Philippe gave grim smile, "There are some things you'd really feel better not knowing; trust me on this one."

Erik reclined against the statue once more, absorbing the conversation. He'd bitten Christine once; there was a possibility…but to condemn her for eternity… Sighing heavily, he had to let the hope slip from his mind. Another part of the discussion sparked Erik's interest before he completely submitted to his thoughts: "What was the other thing?"

"Hmmm?" Philippe, who had started to walk off, turned around.

"You said there were two things you wanted to discuss?"

"Ah, yes. Did you have any other friends at the opera house?" he asked casually.

Erik was immediately suspicious, "What have you done?"

"Oh so quick to judge. Who said I did anything?"

"Philippe, what did you do?"

Philippe sighed and smiled again, "I suppose I have a bit of a reputation, eh? Ah well… This older gentleman found his way into the house yesterday afternoon."

"Oh?"

"He claimed to know you but I wasn't taking any chances. He looked to be of Middle Eastern decent, had jade green eyes, and one of those astrakhan hats. I swear I've seen him before, lurking around the opera house…" Philippe stopped as Erik closed his eyes and shook his head. "What? He wasn't a friend of yours, was he?"

"Well, he was a friend of sorts. Old fool ventured down a time too many. Somehow I might miss him anyway." Erik resumed his gaze to the sky.

Philippe grinned sheepishly before walking back toward the door. "Don't forget to come in before the sun comes up," he called before closing the door behind him.

The words barely filtered into Erik's brain before he returned to his own thoughts. Sighing, he knew there was only one cure for what bothered him now and he left the peaceful moonlit roof (all the late season snow had long since melted away) to the waiting keys of his organ.

∞†∞

Authoress comments: Yes, I killed the Daroga (or Nadir if you go by Kay). -:sheepish look as waves goodbye to the Persian:-

I'm already working on the next part but I don't know when I'll post next (depends if my muse is out of shape or not). Reviewers get set of Erik and Christine plushies (the kind with the little magnets in them so they kiss)!

Love it or hate it, please let me know what you think! (just that little square down there in the corner...)