Disclaimer: Eh, you know the deal, nothing's mine.
A/N: (Does happy dance) School's over, so heres the next chapter. And please 'scuse the French… I did try, and I think I did okay…
Chapter 2
Leah sat silently in the black gondola, the skull on the front mesmerising her with its gentle swaying.
The only sounds were her heart, and the slight splash of The Phantom's oar as it hit the murky waters of the underground lake.
All around her, images of bearded men where carved into the stone, leering down at her, empty eyes glaring.
She shivered even though it was not cold, and she was covered in a black cloak.
Erik, behind her, had a cape drawn tightly about his shoulders, the hood draped low over his face.
In the darkness, she couldn't see his mask, or his eyes, so his expression, for the moment, was concealed.
Again, she questioned how the gondola had been docked, quietly bumping the shore, in the Lair.
Raoul and Christine had taken the boat, and surely the phantom could not have cared less about it after they left, but then again maybe he had wadded out to retrieve it.
Under her cloak, she shrugged, and looked up. The concrete edge of the walkway to the spiral staircase lay just before the boat, and The Phantom was already jumping to it, tying up the boat.
He held out his hand with a nod, and she took it, wobbling in the unbalanced craft.
She jumped, and fell into Erik's arms, straightening up quickly.
The silence of her Angel was odd, yet she did not want to force him into conversation he did not want.
But being an inquisitive soul, she had so many burning questions.
As they walked towards his black steed, one burst from her. "Erik, how did I come from my world to yours? I mean…"
He did not turn to look at her, as he tightened the girth on the saddle, as though this question came as nothing of a surprise.
"Do you remember what you were doing, just before you found yourself in my arms?" He asked quietly.
She thought hard, but there seemed to be a wall of blackness in her mind. "Was I…" She burrowed through the wall, but still, not all would come back to her. "Was I in bed, reading, as I am every night before I sleep?"
"Yes, Leah, you were. Do you remember what you were reading, what you were thinking?" He probed lightly, as he pulled down a stirrup that was intricately etched with roses and swirls of pattern.
As she looked closer, she realised the whole leather of the saddle was patterned. "I was… reading… The Phantom of the Opera… and wishing I could be with you…?"
She said cautiously, as though the memories would sting her.
"And have you not heard of the power of dreams?" He at last turned to her, and under the low hood, she saw a knowing smile curling his lips. "Combined with the powers of the Angel of Music, anything can eventuate."
"So I just… am? I'm just her because you wanted it, and I wanted it enough?" She said in resolution.
"Yes, Leah" he whispered in the silence, a chilling sound.
He held out his had to her, inviting her to mount the horse.
She smirked mischievously at him, grabbed the pommel of the saddle, and hoisted herself onto the stallion's back.
Sitting astride it, she grinned down at Erik.
Side saddle was definitely not for her.
"It would appear you have ridden before." He said as he began to walk, not leading the horse as he had done with Christine.
Leah kicked the horse on, and trotted to walk beside him.
Again the silence fell, but this time rhythmically punctuated by the clop of hooves.
The ride was relatively short, and dismounting, she could already hear the soft hum of the street above.
She couldn't hide her excitement; she couldn't wait to see and early-twentieth century France.
As they emerged from the top of the stairs (which now ended in a trapdoor, not the candelabra filled corridor), She could not hold back a gasp for the sight that met her eyes.
Through the darkness of the night she had come up into, she could see this was no longer Christine or Carlotta's dressing room.
In fact, it was no longer a dressing room at all. It was a pile of rubble, as were most of the walls.
The second floor of the Opera House no longer existed, there were only a few pillars of glorious white marble left, the only outside wall of the Opera left standing was the one to their backs.
The other three sides of the Theatre were open to the elements.
The Main staircase was still half standing, a lasting monument to the splendid opulence of the once-great Opera house.
"Yes, Leah, this is my domain, my Theatre. This is what it has become, it is exceptionally sad that such a magnificent structure should come to this. It almost mirrors me…"
He looked down, and then threw his head up to the darkness, to the pinpricks of light that were stars and cried, "My Opera was a success, but it brought down my Opera House. Now it is pillaged by any street filth, slept in by the homeless, battered by the weather. It is a mere shadow of what it was," He finished, and began trudging through the ruins.
Silently, she followed, looking around her feet at the piles of debris. Here and there, there lay a poster for a long-since finished Opera, or a tarnished golden candle stick.
She sighed slowly, the Opera House had been beautiful… it was such a pity.
"What ever happed to Andre' and Firmin?" she wondered aloud. Erik caught her words, and replied with a chuckle. "The 'Scrap Metal' business looked profitable to them after their financial catastrophe with the Opera. I daresay they won't delve into the arts again…" he finished with a smile.
They stepped onto a dark cobbled street, Leah taking in the sights of the beautiful architecture around them.
If Mrs. Hensby could see me now, she'd turn green with envy… she thought as she remembered her over-enthusiastic History teacher.
They began to walk slower as they emerged from a narrow alley into the bustling crowds of a French Night-Market.
All around Leah and The Phantom there seethed masses of people, with stalls selling cheeses, wines, a whole assortment of pastries, small wooden boxes, and all manner of nick knacks.
She gasped as a small boy and his friend ran under her legs, and she sent an angry glare after them.
Leah began to wonder why Erik had brought her here. He clearly hated the crowds, and did not really come across as a people-person.
"Would you like something to eat, Leah?" he called back to her, his voice almost drowned out by the noise of chatter, "The pastries of Paris are like none you have tasted before."
She sniffed all the different smells of the market, and declined his offer.
There was just too much to see.
They weer approaching the edge of the marketplace when she lost sight of her guide completely.
She spent a few terrifying moments, completely alone in the bustle, standing still, psyching herself to cry out.
She was about to move, when a black gloved hand grabbed her from behind, and pulled her from the crowd.
She heaved a sigh of relief as she found herself in Erik's grasp, and gave him a brief hug and a grateful look, then continued to follow him.
"Where are we going?" she asked bluntly, with sincere excitement in her voice.
"You will see when we get there." The Phantom said quietly, which only added to her anticipation.
They were coming to the outskirts of the city, when they passed a Blacksmith, swords and ancient armour hanging on the wall.
The silence of the street was disturbing, and clearly, something was amiss.
Erik stopped dead on the cobbles; the only sound in the dark was the creaking of the sign hanging from the Blacksmith's wall.
Leah walked a little further, to stand beside him.
"Erik, Do you…" She was quickly hushed as Erik's eyes darted around the alley.
At the sound of the unsheathing of a sword, an armed, dark-cloaked man leapt from the low roof of a house.
He was taller than Erik, and a sight that chilled the blood.
He was a true pirate, numerous earrings, blackened teeth, a huge rapier at his hand, daggers hanging from his belt, and a leering smile.
"Donnez-moi votre argent," he sneered in a rough, gravely voice.
Taking a hulking step forward, Leah stepped back, but Erik held his ground.
With her back against the wall, she whispered, "What did he say?"
With out looking away from the Pirates' face, Erik replied slowly, "He wants our money…" Standing straight and still.
Leah whimpered, but slowly inched her arm up the wall to grasp a sword. Medieval Guild, don't fail me now, She said to herself.
The Guild she was in at home had taught her many things, archery, swordsmanship, ancient dress, even the old way of speaking.
Even though in this age, the early 20th century, the speech was not 'Thou' and 'Art', it was still proper, with added formalities.
At least she could escape 'like' for a time, she thought grimly, as she readied her stance, and advanced on the pirate.
"You shall not be stealing from this girl."
"Leah! No!" The Phantom cried, as the robber lunged at her with his own sword.
She side-stepped lightly, slashing her sword across her opponents back, drawing only a little blood, but severing the sash that held his daggers.
The weapons clattered to the ground with astonishing noise, and he rounded on her furiously.
The weapons clashed, sending sparks into the night, The Pirates' face only inches from her own.
He uttered some incoherent French through gritted teeth, and pushed her to the ground.
He spat at her feet, and stood towering over her, with his rapier Raised above his head.
Then, whistling from the shadows there came a Punjab lasso, but its mark was missed as The Pirate thrust his sword directly towards Leah's chest.
She rolled aside just in time to miss the full brunt of its force, but the cold steel was plunged deep into her upper arm.
She screamed in pain and outrage, an agony unlike any she had ever felt before sliced searing hot through her body.
The Robber drew his weapon away bloodied; a satisfied look on his dirty features.
He repeated his demand. "Donnez-moi votre argent."
Leah pushed herself through the burning sensation that gripped her mind, screwing up her face, concentrating her energy into her actions.
"No!" She yelled, thrusting upwards with her sword into the Pirates stomach, and being splattered with blood.
He howled, and ran, ran with his hands holding the profusely bleeding wound, screaming profanities to the sky.
He disappeared from view, but his yells did not.
She struggled to get up, but was held down by strong hands, and she found herself once more in Erik's grip, his face close to hers.
"Erik. He got me!" She said, with hurt and surprised dignity in her voice, her vision clouding gradually.
"Hush, my Angel, I am here…" He calmed her with only his voice, ripping a strip of black material from the hem of his cloak.
He wiped blood spatters from her face and eyes, looking compassionately over her arm.
"Don't…" she slurred, looking at his magnificent garment, but stopping, now noticing the spreading pool of crimson around her shoulder.
He bound her arm tightly, and then suddenly, all pain stopped.
Even though her vision was dark she mustered the strength to slur, from her own world it seemed, "Erik, It… doesn't hurt… anymooor… We should go no…"
But she never finished her sentence, a gloved finger was put to her lips, and she felt herself lifted up.
The last thing she saw before unconsciousness completely engulfed her in its cool depths was the dark outline of her angel against the Parisian sky.