AUTHOR'S NOTE: It's all over! I passed Commercial Law with top marks. Well, reason enough to put up another chapter, along with a new instalment for the Holiday Special, which contains a few little spoilers for this story here, so be warned. ;)

Pertie: I'm not forcing you; you'll understand that one easily enough. Just wait a little, and you'll find out. still snickering happily at the idea of having a surprise effect on someone Oh, don't mind me. ;-)

The Musician of the Night: Well, Book Three of The King of the Catacombs had two chapters only, remember:) A little patience, please, Lászlo and Sándor will be back by Book Four.

Ashley: Pretty weird, those animals. lol I was bitten by a mouse once, but that hardly counts. Oh yes, and once by a crane. ;) Hope you'll be earning a bit more soon.

Nugrey: Well, those were the most fitting quotes I could find. ;) Glad they seem to work.

I. Friend or Phantom

"Please Madame, be reasonable. We need to place young Monsieur de Chagny somewhere."

Sitting straight in her seat, Madame Giry tapped the office floor with her cane irritably. Oh, how she wanted to poke this Gilles André with it! Telling her to be reasonable! Her! Who did he think he was? "Nonsense," she snapped. "Do you truly think nobody would notice him with the ballet? When he's spending half of the time falling over his own feet because he has no idea how to dance?"

"Why not put him with the stagehands?" came Richard Firmin's voice from behind her, where he was busy pouring them all a glass of wine. If asked who of the Opéra Populaire's two managers was more bothersome, she would have really had a hard time deciding. "True enough, we must hide him somewhere."

Madame Giry snorted. "Do you really think he would blend in with the stagehands?"

André's bushy grey eyebrows shifted together as he frowned. He was a small, nervous man with his hair standing up in all directions constantly. "How about the chorus, then? Why not place him among those lads?"

"Yes, the chorus," Firmin agreed immediately. "Nobody cares whether he can sing or not, as long as he doesn't draw attention to himself."

Lord in Heaven, how could they both be so blind? "But he will. A new member always draws everyone's attention, and if he only pretends to sing, they'll start wondering for sure. Trust me, he is safe where he is."

"They will find him eventually." Firmin placed a glass on the table before her, and she accepted it with a nod, but did not pick it up to drink. Then he sat down beside André, towering above him, and not only because of that ridiculous slicked-up forelock of his.

"They never will, just like they will never find the Opera Ghost."

As she had expected, mentioning the Phantom made those two uncomfortable. André was practically squirming in his seat, while Firmin's knuckles whitened on his armrests. "So…", Firmin ventured at last, "this matter is in the Opera Ghost's hands, I take it?"

Madame Giry nodded firmly. "And out of yours."

"Ah. Right. Well. Fine." Firmin brushed his enormous forelock out of his face, despite the fact that it would not have been necessary, while André briefly passed a handkerchief over his brow, like he always did sooner or later once the topic turned in any Phantom-related direction. The Phantom did not even have to be present to have such effects on them. Not anymore.

"Yes, but what if they go looking for the Lord Phantom himself?" the man at Madame Giry's side spoke up. He was thin, even fragile-seeming, and he had a small, neat moustache and equally neat grey curls. As it appeared, Monsieur Reyer was the only one who dared to doubt the Phantom's word. "They will have heard the stories, and once they find that part of the ways into the cellars are barred, or once they don't find the way at all, they will demand the blueprints for sure. And once they have them, they know their way."

"Not if the Phantom has done a few changes to the structure." Not many, but there certainly were quite a few. Well, some, at least.

"Yes, but has he moved walls around?"

"No," Madame Giry had to admit. "In most cases not." She knew Reyer was right, and she found it highly annoying, though she would rather have it Reyer was right than one of the managers.

"Madame, is he aware of the danger he might well find himself in, once they come here and start asking questions?" The creases in the conductor's brow were those of worry, and worry tinged his voice. "The Comte de Chateaupers will be quite willing to cover his back again, I'm sure, but of what use is that to him if he is threatened from his very own territory?"

He was speaking out loud what Madame Giry had pondered herself when she had not been able to sleep at night, ever since they had received the message three days ago. Chateaupers had covered up for the Phantom when the emperor had taken interest in the case, she knew, back in those days when there had still been an emperor, but would he be able to without endangering his post and life under the Communards' reign? It was miracle enough he had not yet been removed; probably because the chief of police could not be that easily substituted, and because Chateaupers, despite his noble birth, had never been interested in nobility much, but had employed those of skill rather than those of noble birth. Would there be anything he still could do for the Phantom if the Commune Council truly established their new headquarters here? Not that anyone had truly mentioned headquarters yet, but from private meeting place to headquarters… it was not exactly far.

She hoped they would not come. Oh, how she hoped they would find some other prestigious place to occupy!

"He may be a sly fellow," André put in, "but how can he deal with legion of Commune followers hunting him?"

"And just killing them won't do this time," Firmin added. "It worked with that Lost Ones business, apparently, but only since they had a very limited number of men, not an entire city at their disposal. Does he want to kill the entire city, then?"

"Trust me to that." The soft, gentle voice made everybody in the room jump, including Madame Giry. Lord above, Erik! Did he always have to do that?

Suddenly standing beside the managers, who both paled considerably, the Phantom smiled one of his most predatory smiles. Immaculately dressed as always at such occasions, from his cloak to his black leather gloves, and with his long hair brushed back neatly – Madame Giry's fingers itched to cut it every time she saw it hanging down over his collar – he was, as usually, an impressive sight. This time, he was not wearing his bronze-coloured waistcoat, but a dark green one embroidered with silver, doubtlessly made of silk, just as the other. "Messieurs, I can't believe you are truly concerned about my personal safety. So let's be open. If they should take me, what's in it for you?"

André, who was sitting closer to him, practically cowered from him, and it seemed to Madame Giry that he was at the point of slipping under the table. Firmin, however, cleared his throat. "This is an accusation you cannot prove… my Lord Phantom."

The Phantom smiled. "Ah, so you do remember your manners, more or less. Yet you forget that I can see right through your eyes, no matter if you avert or close them, right down to the bottom of your petty, shrivelled little soul, Monsieur Firmin." He pronounced every word with delicacy, and yet those last few were like whip-cracks. "Yet I should not blame you for your fear, your weakness." At once his voice was gentle again, and Madame Giry vainly searched for a note of disdain in it. "It has occurred to you that if it should ever come as far as you dread, giving me to them might spare your life. I wouldn't count on that. The Communards are honourless men, Monsieur Firmin. Besides," and here the smile reappeared, "I seriously wonder how you would get hold of me to turn me over to them."

Firmin stubbornly stared at the table before him. It was his own desk, and it was littered with papers. Yet only one truly seemed to draw his eyes.

"Give it here," the Phantom commanded quietly, following his gaze.

Without looking at him, Firmin obeyed his request.

This time, it was André's turn to clear his throat and speak up. "But surely you have received this message yourself, my Lord Phantom?"

Lazily smoothing out the paper with a black-gloved hand, the Phantom shot him a measuring glance which made him duck once more. "But it can't hurt to find out how much exactly someone else knows, now can it?" he stated slyly. André was right; the Phantom knew everything from Chateaupers himself. Yet still, the Phantom was a skilled manipulator, and he knew how to win respect with the smallest of hints. And maybe he was not even pretending that he knew more. Maybe he truly did.

In the silence that ensued, the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece seemed unnaturally loud.

At last the Phantom threw Chateaupers's message back onto the table. "So he tells you to hide the boy, mainly," he stated. "Is that all he trusts you to know?"

Honestly, this was no time for showing off! Did he want his ears boxed for pure arrogance, or what? "Why don't you inform them of what they need to know in your opinion, then?" Madame Giry asked wearily.

Only the tiniest twitch of the left corner of his mouth showed that the Phantom was not exactly pleased with what she had put in. "Fine. When we were alone, Chateaupers spoke of Delannay himself."

There was a collective intake of breath, from Madame Giry as well. "My God," Reyer murmured, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.

"Delannay," Firmin repeated, while André merely sat thunderstruck. "Michel Delannay?"

The Phantom waved the question away impatiently. "Do you know any other Delannay?"

"I thought they were only looking for some kind of storerooms, apart from a meeting place for their Council, and they were going to use our cellars," André muttered.

"Like they did with the new Grande Opéra? No. Messieurs, you have to be aware that this house is the most prestigious place they can move into currently, apart from our old emperor's residences, which they are not going to use for ideological reasons. Moreover, it is a place where mainly so-called nobility meets." Despite his hatred for the Communards, his disdain for the Parisian upper class was obvious as well. "They tried to open it for workers by forcing down the ticket prices, but since that did not work, they are moving in themselves."

Firmin groaned. "This time we're ruined for sure!"

"Make sure not to mention that to them," the Phantom stated coolly.

André shot him a look of confusion. "Why not? For tactical reasons?"

"Because they claim property is theft, anyway."

André's jaw moved silently as he worked the meaning of this out, while Firmin cried, outraged, "How dare they? It's them who do the thieving!"

"Of course it is. And the statement is illogical in itself. But that does not change anything for us."

Firmin took a calming breath. "So what do you suggest, my Lord?" Madame Giry knew that he hated to ask questions of that kind, since as a manager of the Opera House he preferred to be in charge himself. But this time, he must be glad to have someone who took decisions from him, because he certainly had no clue what to do.

Slowly, the Phantom's lips shifted into a leer. "Let them come."