AUTHOR'S NOTE: You got lucky, here's your update. Well, I did get more reviews than normally. You see, that works on me. And I'll nudge my Erik to add a few notes to this.
PhantomKiss: Often it's such unremarkable thoughts like this that come to you in the most unusual situations, I noticed. And yes, they give the picture more depth, so to say. (Erik: Duh. That boy adores talking about his little narrative tricks…)
Beregond's Girl: Yes, I've got a bloody crazy Panarophile for a sister. Did your friend find the lines? Otherwise, I can tell you if you want. As for how Raoul got out of the city, I thought it was obvious, but maybe I should have specified: Aeternus arrived at the opera, where he let himself be informed of what was going on, then snatched up Raoul and followed his awareness of the Phantom, using the trick he shows to leave the city. I assumed it could be deducted easily enough, so I did not elaborate, sorry if it was not very considerate of me. (Erik: Whoever told you I like Raoul?)
Pertie: Well, sometimes it's really useful to be a Lost One, that's all I'm saying… (Erik: No, I want nothing the kid has… damn, you've got me there…)
jtbwriter: No, Raoul can't feel what goes on between the others, he still has to act using his instinct. But Erik can feel what he's feeling if he wants to, of course. (Erik: Because I'm so much better than you, kid… Hey, you there, enjoy being talked to?)
Dern: You must think me mad! I've hunted you across the years, a man like you can never change… Right, sorry. Funny, the animals in this story seem so strangely popular. And so is Raoul… Yes, there will be more tricks to amuse you. (Erik: No, Hell consume you alive, I don't like Raoul! … YOU HAVE NO RIGHTS! COME WITH ME; 24601!)
Bea: Actually, that I picked Gary Oldman for Aeternus did have some influence on the character, which did not happen with any other. Funny. (Erik: You want to take me home, eh? Aww, I feel loved!)
Morleigh: There'll be a lot more original characters later on. Everybody on that list will yet turn up eventually.

-.-.-

VI. Breathing Lies

"Meg!"

"C'mon, don't be so boring!"

"Meg, for goodness's sake!"

Planting her fists on her hips, the blond ballerina swivelled around on the spot. She gave a very good imitation of her mother, Christine thought. "Raoul is in there! Don't you want to see what he's up to?"

"But we can't go in there," Christine insisted. "It's not proper."

"And Erik and Roger and Gaston and Serge. And Maurice, probably." Meg did not heed her last comment at all. "Of course we can. Besides, the carriage only just left, in case you didn't notice."

Christine sighed. Yes, the carriage was gone. And the look the driver had given them… If Meg's mother ever found out about this, she was going to kill them! "We'll just find another carriage," she said firmly. "Meg, this is nothing for us. This is for men. Girls are not supposed to go in there."

"So what?" Meg shot back at her defiantly. "And what's Raoul doing in there, eh? Aren't you wondering?"

"Actually, yes," Christine admitted. She really did not like the idea much, but all the same… "We really can't, Meg. It's not decent."

"Fine," Meg snapped. "When you're not coming, I'm going in alone."

"Meg!"

But it was too late already. Meg had marched straight through the doorway hung with curtains of purple velvet, grinning at the two porky men standing guard at the entrance, who grinned back, and disappeared into the twilight of what lay beyond. Biting her tongue not to cry out with exasperation, Christine took a deep breath, then dived after her, trying to ignore everything around her. She was sure she was blushing crimson; her cheeks felt as if they might glow brightly. And she was sure those two men at the door were smirking after her now; she could practically feel their eyes on her.

Realizing she could not rush on like this without crashing into furniture or something equally embarrassing, she stopped sharp, hastily taking in her surroundings.

"And?" Meg whispered, turning around to her, in her voice too much delighted excitement to be proper. "What do you say now?"

"So this is where Raoul and Erik have been going all the time?" Christine let her eyes rove over the brightly clad dancers swaying to and fro, the young girls flitting around between the tables, and the many men, most of them elegant, but also most of them clearly drunk and laughing raucously. "Lord in Heaven!"

The wide, somehow rather low-ceilinged room was lit by dangling ornamental lamps, which cast an oddly reddish sheen over the tables beneath them, and by gilded candelabras. The latter's golden, but strangely flickering light strongly reminded Christine of the first time she had descended to the Phantom's lair, on that night when she had taken his hand and stepped through the mirror into a dream.

A dream which had become a nightmare later on. When looking back on this phase of her life, it seemed that she had gone through a dark corridor… and yet there had been light ahead. Looking back, she knew there had. She had not stepped out of it at once, but lifting veil by veil, until she was under the sun again. And then at last, the night when Créon had died, the night when she had stood by Erik to reclaim him for the light… on that night she had seen the stars again, and so had he. So had he.

And yet another shadow was claiming him again, a shadow she felt just as she had felt the taint of Créon's mind's touch on him, though this time it came from within him. This was the reason she and Meg had followed the men in the first place; it was silly really, but there was a concern on her mind apart from her fear of the Commune, that fear that had always been on her mind now for so many weeks: the lurking terror of what was being unleashed down in the dark recesses of Erik's mind. For this reason, she somehow felt she should not leave him out of her reach for too long. Not that she could truly help him, but he was calmer in her presence, so much calmer, and she could soothe the agonized reeling of his thoughts.

Hold on, Erik. You're not losing yourself yet. Not yet.

Catching up with Meg, who had stopped just ahead of her to scan her surroundings with obvious curiosity and find her friends, Christine hoped to catch a glimpse of Raoul somewhere, and she fervently hoped she would see him soon. The room was not overly crowded, but still there were enough people in it, mostly men, but also women of slightly doubtful appearance, to make it difficult to find whom she was looking for quickly. It seemed to her that everybody was staring at her, and she felt pearls of moisture forming between her shoulder blades, but did not dare to remove the wide shawl she had wrapped around her shoulders for fear that some of these men might understand her gesture as some kind of indecent invitation. Heavens, what kind of place was this? She had realized it was something where she should not be when they had climbed out of the carriage and she had seen the entrance before her.

God, how she wished Meg had never cleverly picked that card out of Roger's waistcoat pocket without him realizing it, how she wished she had never recognized her fiancé's handwriting on it, how she wished they had never in their childish folly decided to find out what kind of address this was precisely!

The music and buzz of voices all around her made her even dizzier than she already felt. They needed to leave, and as soon as possible! They could not stay here!

And Raoul… she would have a stern word with him, just like Madame Giry would if she were in her place. A very stern word. Going to a nightclub!

And with Erik, too. Not that she felt responsible for him, and not that she was jealous or anything along that line – she rather harboured that feeling about Raoul, though she still tended to believe in her fiancé's faithfulness – but this was foolish of him, incredibly foolish! Everybody would notice him. A masked man just did not go unnoticed. Everybody would know who he was. He was endangering himself, along with the others.

No, she would not flee now. She would ignore everybody around her and go and have a word with the men. She had to do this first.

And, God be her witness, this time she would tell them what a bunch of immature idiots they were! Yes, Raoul as well!

Steeling herself, she let her gaze follow her awareness of the Phantom… and met a pair of surprisingly green eyes looking down at her. "The Lord Phantom bids me escort you," Serge said with a hint of a bow.

"Great," Meg practically squealed and winked at a fat man at a table nearby who sported a ridiculously large turban. In response, the man's eyes bulged, and he waved his fat little hand at her frantically, beaming at her.

Christine groaned. What did Meg think she was doing? Did she really have to make this even more embarrassing than it already was?

As she followed the curly-haired stagehand past the tables, she kept her eyes firmly on his back to avoid facing all those men assembled here. She was sure they were staring at her, leering at her, and that girl who slipped past them in a provokingly low-cut dress was laughing at her…

There was applause around them as the music ended, but Christine did not turn her face towards the dancers again. She should not be here. They all should not be here. None of them.

Holding aside one of the heavy velvet curtains draped over practically every free space on the wall, Serge allowed them to slip past it, into a niche half hidden by the curtains, lit by a small candelabra which filled it with a strange kind of half-light. From in there, the view was open to the stage at the end of the room, but those sitting at the table half concealed there were hidden from most of the others, and those who could see them still would not see them clearly because this place was darker than most of the rest of the room.

"Surprise, kid," the Phantom stated dryly. He sat with his back to the wall, observing the dancers impassively, and his eyes gleamed strangely in the darkness.

"Christine!" From a seat opposite him, Raoul sprang up and ran towards her, caught her in his embrace and held her tight. How sweet he looked with his untidy, already too long hair falling to his collar in wild strands, and in his white shirt and unbuttoned crème-coloured waistcoat! All of their own accord, Christine felt her arms slip around him, all thoughts of scolding forgotten. When she was with Raoul, she was happy, wherever she was. And she was safe.

"We found you, you spoilsports!" Meg proclaimed. "You thought you could go out on your own, eh?"

"Boys' night, piglet," the Phantom replied lazily, in that tone which was always accompanied by one of his cultivated little smirks, and Christine could feel a sense of amusement entering the tense knot at the back of her head that was her awareness of him. They were not simply there to look at young women, it occurred to her. Not when he was feeling like that. She should have realized that before. They were not simply after some entertainment; they were… up to something.

"Jerk," Meg said tartly, then saw Roger waving at her merrily from beside the seat Raoul had vacated and waved right back, beaming at him. She really seemed to like Raoul's best friend from childhood days a lot.

Leaning against the wall behind the Phantom, both Gaston and Maurice greeted the girls with a polite nod and a smile. Then Maurice's eyes returned to the dancing girls, while Gaston's came to rest on the Phantom once more. Christine almost rolled her eyes at Gaston's devotion. Of course, it was moving, but still… it was just too much. He should stop this, for his own good.

Serge was less crazy there. It seemed to Christine that he was equally devoted, but in another way. While Gaston was openly idolizing an icon, Serge was quietly, modestly proving his loyalty.

"What have you been doing?" Christine asked Raoul quietly, gently holding him away from her a little, while Meg was already settling in on Raoul's chair, flicking something at Roger, which landed in his blond curls. From the corner of her eye, Christine saw how he began to wipe at his hair, giggling girlishly as he did so. That silly boy! That sweet, funny, silly boy!

Their eyes met, and Raoul's features became serious as he looked into his fiancée's face. "Listen," he said, softly and earnestly, "this is not just a night out partying. Maurice is doing business here, you understand? He has his contacts here, his spies… And LaCroix comes here, did you know that?" His eyebrows descended suddenly as he spoke that name, and suddenly a shadow fell over his youthful face. "Maurice has his contacts keep a close watch on him. Besides, Erik is doing something utterly creepy he calls mind-filtering. He came up with that only something like ten days ago, about when we came back from outside. It was that Aeternus who gave him the idea, if you ask me. He was teaching him something, something I did not quite understand." Raoul shrugged. "Do me the favour and ask him, he won't explain." There was no trace of resentment or anything like that Christine could find in his features. Once again she wondered if he had really simply accepted her and the Phantom's strange connection. "Anyway, we'll be off home soon enough. You heard Meg's mother; they're checking the rooms."

Christine nodded glumly. And not only that. Part of the cellars had been searched, and most of the last week she had spent constantly on edge and snarling at everybody because she had not been able once again to keep the Phantom's anger from seeping into her. And it had done nothing for his temper when Madame Giry had placed her in a chorus girls' dormitory under a new identity, claiming that she was no longer safe in the cellars. Oh, how he had raged! But Madame Giry had stood her ground, and in the end he had agreed for the sake of Christine and her safety, but he had been in a terrible fury.

Raoul, too, had been placed upstairs under a new name. If they found him in the cellars, Madame Giry had reasoned, they knew he had something to hide. But if they found him in a normal room and with an inconspicuous name… nothing wrong with that. And after overcoming his foul temper more or less, the Phantom had made sure personally that Raoul was placed with the second violinists. He could play the violin, after all, even if not as well as a real musician, but he would not draw anyone's attention, like he would have if he had been hidden in the chorus or ballet, as the managers had suggested some time ago already.

And, of course, they had to pretend they did not know each other, which was quite a blow. But Madame Giry was right; they were only endangering themselves otherwise.

Oh, how she wished this were over, all of this!

And Erik… he was all on his own now once again, all alone in the darkness… He still had his connection to her, but all the same, after such a long time he had spent in company, didn't his lair feel empty now? Not even Senta was there any longer; she had moved to Raoul's parents, to Chateaupers's house. And César stood in Chateaupers's stables now, because the Communards were using the Opéra Populaire's horses. Erik was on his own.

Not completely, though, since he still had their connection. Just as she had expected, it had not taken long until he had given her a tentative little mental nudge, close to a physical sensation but not quite. Christine… I can't sleep… It had been rather sweet, really. And all the silly things he had said later on… If I trained all the rats I can feel around me, they'd make a formidable army. Plus, it'd mean I'd beat Delannay with his own kind. Strange how he could switch from dark and brooding to completely cheerful so quickly. Though his cheerfulness had been tinged a little with sarcasm last night. And deep down, the flame of his hatred was flickering, always ready to burst forth again…

"What is it?" Raoul asked, reaching up to stroke her cheek. "You were smiling at something just now."

"I was thinking of something funny Erik said last night," she answered truthfully. She never lied to Raoul. And this was no secret, so there really was no reason to worry. Well, he might be a tiny bit jealous, but still, why keep it from him?

"Oh, Erik." Raoul snickered softly. "Crazy as my old sergeant, the man, and with about equal morals. You know what he just did, the moment before you two came in here?" His face shone with boyish delight suddenly. "You see, we're sitting in here, doing nothing much and waiting for Millet – you know, Chateaupers's man – and then we see those two women walk by, painted like Piangi used to be on stage and waving their hips quite ridiculously, and Roger says, Look at them, they've stuffed something down their dresses to get some more curves!" Here Raoul grinned apologetically, but Christine did not mind. This was just what some of her ballet colleagues did, so she had heard of this countless times. "And then Maurice says, Well, go and check, why don't you? And Roger replies, You crazy? They're bound to notice! Besides, it would have spoiled all of Erik's efforts to make us melt into the background, figuratively speaking… Anyway, suddenly Erik gets up, walks straight out and up to them with that funny look on his face, and suddenly they slow down and stop, looking like they've just had their mind wiped blank, and he saunters up to them, peeks down their cleavages, then goes back while they resume their walk as if nothing had happened, and he sits back down and says, It's spotted handkerchiefs." Raoul grinned broadly. "Now what d'you say to that?"

Christine shook her head in disbelief. "And that is what he does when you're here for business, as you call it?" What a foolish, indecent, juvenile behaviour! But then again… in a way, it really was comical.

Raoul shrugged. "Maurice has had a word with all his agents, I think, including the courtesans, but Millet hasn't been here yet, and we might as well have fun while we wait. Not that I did anything of the like," he quickly added as Christine subjected him to a stern scrutiny. "Come, sit with us." And he pointed to the one empty chair left, since Meg had taken his in his absence. "Maurice, you don't mind, do you?"

"What? No." Maurice was still watching the dancers, but Christine was certain he was paying attention to everything else around him just as well, including the ferret, which was climbing around in the hat he held in his hand.

As Christine sat down, thanking Maurice, Raoul stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders. "We're going home soon," he muttered to her.

Home? Yes, that was good. Home was a good place to be going. They lived in separate rooms now, yes, and they had to pretend they did not know each other, but still it was better than this… or was it? Now she and Meg were sitting here with the men, she did not feel as uncomfortable anymore as she had felt when she had first come here. They sat in a private corner now, made even more private by whatever trick it was the Phantom was using on the other occupants of this room. They were on their own practically, even if this was a place where she wasn't supposed to be, and she could have Raoul with her. What more did she need?

Roger was drumming his fingers on the table, pulling them back just in time whenever Meg tried to slap them. The other men's attention was on the stage, it seemed, where the dancers had been replaced by a dark-haired young singer, a girl maybe a few years older than she was herself, and with a pleasant voice. No wonder the Phantom was observing her closely, Christine thought, he had a habit of looking at pretty young sopranos, after all… Some day she really ought to ask him if it was true what the Poussepain sisters had told her and several others about that business in their bedroom… They had been exaggerating certainly, but since Meg had confirmed that he sometimes slipped into her bed hoping for a snuggle, he might well have done the same with the Poussepain sisters a few times, and he might even have been a little… wilder, who knew?

"He's there." The Phantom spoke very softly, but rather sharply, so that Meg, who had been very occupied with paying attention to Roger's drumming fingertips, winced a little.

This time, it was Gaston who slipped out, and he did not wait for any orders. He went noiselessly, and in his dark clothes he blended well into the shadows. He and Serge always wore dark garments to show their loyalty. They had first worn black the day they had confronted Adhemar and Niobe and their henchmen at the Phantom's side, and then again when facing Créon.

"About time," Maurice muttered.

"Let's hope there's nothing wrong, he's never late normally." Christine could clearly hear the worry in her fiancé's voice, and she reached up to take his hand in hers. Why would Millet be late? Because something had happened to Chateaupers?

And if something had happened to Chateaupers, something might have happened to Raoul's parents as well…

The knot at the pit of her stomach tightened. It was always there, it had been there since a long time now, that constant fear, that dread of what might await her and those dear to her, but sometimes it suddenly clenched painfully, paralyzing and nauseating her. Drawing a deep breath, she tried to steady and calm herself again, and slowly the bands of cold iron around her insides melted away, leaving an uncomfortable sensation behind, like an icicle slipped from a hand raw from the winter's cold. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply once again. All she now saw was darkness, the gentle darkness before sleep comes, and a clear speck of light that was Erik.

Erik. Why had he not reached out to calm her? Normally he soothed her whenever she did not feel well, for whatever reason. Why was he so preoccupied? Opening her eyes again, she saw that he was gazing at the pretty young singer intently, but that could hardly be the reason. Or could it?

But just then Gaston returned with Robert Millet, and the shock at Millet's state drove all thoughts of the Phantom's peculiar behaviour out of Christine's mind. God, he seemed so gaunt and pale! He looked ill, ill and spent.

"Good evening," Millet muttered, not looking at anyone.

Maurice frowned. "Millet, what –"

"I can't stay," Chateaupers's servant interrupted, barely moving his lips. "They're watching me. I must go."

"They can't see you," the Phantom said gently. So he was paying attention to what was going on, after all. Yet still Christine thought to see his eyes flicker to the stage occasionally. "Here you're safe. The moment you passed this doorway, your enemies grew blind."

Millet let out a tortured breath, too weak to be a moan. "Master Phantom, your magic won't save me now…"

"Everything within these walls lies within my power." His eyes gleamed strangely as they reflected the dim light of the candelabras, and there was an eerie orange sheen cast over his mask, repeated in a glint down on his chest: His shirt was partially unbuttoned, and the silver pendant Raoul had given him was clearly visible now, a leering skull, its dark, empty eye sockets staring sightlessly into the void.

"Speak freely," Maurice assured Millet. "They can't hear you now."

"And Erik will bash out their brains if they try," Roger grinned, then returned to the activity of slapping Meg with his unslung scarlet silk cravat. Christine heard Raoul sighing softly behind her.

"Chateaupers is to be replaced," Millet said tonelessly.

"Which is not unexpected, what with the recent trouble he's been giving Delannay," Maurice stated dryly. "Only yesterday we were discussing this issue, him and me. I'm surprised he actually lasted that long."

"It's my fault partially," the Phantom put in darkly. "I should simply have thrown those bodies in the river, after decorating them with a couple of knife wounds in case they'd have been found."

"It's his own responsibility, and his own fault," Maurice corrected him. "He was free to choose. You told him yourself to share the more public files on you. He could have done so."

"He did it out of loyalty," the Phantom answered bitterly. "He considers himself bound to me. Another man I bring down because I failed at protecting him." Christine could feel the twinge of grief that shot through his overshadowed awareness like a whiplash, the memory of that unhappy young man named Jean Hulot who had given his life for him.

"He's not yours to protect," Maurice insisted.

"He is, as much as you are."

Shaking his head, Maurice laughed softly. "No. I can stand on my own, and so can he. I know what I'm playing at, and so does he. We are showing two faces, and one of them's a lie. It's an old game, a game every copper learns to play. Blimey, man, I'm an agent, just as Millet here, and that he's a common copper and I'm high up in the criminal police does not make a damn of a difference. I'm a spy as much as an officer. It's second nature to me. And it's the same for Chateaupers. Did you know that he was an active spy behind the barricades in 1848? He was but a lad then, and already he was wearing that varnish of lies. Every second word a lie, in the knowledge that one slip could be the end of him, with every breath he took… A man like Chateaupers has learned to breathe lies, my friend. He is ready to choose, and he knows what is at stake."

And isn't this what we are doing, Christine thought, breathing lies? Another name, another person… Everything has become a lie now back at the Opera House, everything we do. This is the only place where we are still honest, this of all places…

My God, we are losing ourselves more and more…

"Here, the last reports." During this discussion, Millet had rummaged in his coat pockets and now produced several slightly crumpled papers. "The last to be written."

"Ah, yes." Maurice accepted them calmly. "The last of that kind to be written, Millet. Not that I don't trust my men, but reports on what's going on in the Commune Council and similar places are only to be given orally from now on. I'm afraid the other way is no longer safe."

"Evil times," Raoul murmured.

"There is no time so dark that it would extinguish the sun," Maurice said lightly. "Cheer up, lads. We're in a nasty fix, but that's no reason to abandon all hope."

"And yet there are times when all that's left for you is smoke and ruins, and above you the sky is on fire." The Phantom's voice was a rough whisper, coming from everywhere and seemingly echoing in this niche created by the heavy purple curtain. The image flared up unbidden before Christine's fluttering eyelids, the memory of a night not long ago when she had involuntarily shared the nightmare haunting him.

Silence fell between them, and the voices of all the jolly drinkers outside became a rough, crude noise, as ugly as a sound could be.

"And of course it's Erik who beats everybody else in drama!" Meg cried, her laughter merry and innocent. How should she know what it was like, that image that would never fade? "Congratulations, you morbid bullfrog, you!"

What had seemed impossible to Christine now really happened: Everybody laughed, including Millet, and even the Phantom smiled a little, though his smile appeared equally weary as Millet's laughter. Roger hit the table with his flat hand with glee.

"Now this is settled," Maurice remarked, depositing his ferret on the table, where it immediately poked its little head into the basket with baguette slices, "we might as well return to our topic. What I would be really interested in, Millet, is the current degree of infiltration, if you want to call it thus, as far as the common street reports are concerned. Apart from that, I've got a few pieces of information on LaCroix I just received from my agents here; I wonder what you'll make of it. And – Erik? Where are you going?"

Indeed the Phantom had risen to his feet and pushed back his chair. "I'll be back in a moment," he said curtly.

"Erik, I said where are you going, not when will you be back," Maurice insisted calmly. As the ferret tried to dip its nose into a glass of wine, he quickly snatched it up around the middle and placed it on his shoulder, its usual vantage point.

"Wouldn't really interest you," the Phantom grumbled. "I'll be back in a moment."

Maurice frowned. "Now listen here –"

"Look, I'm going to the bathroom, if it interests you so much," the Phantom snapped. "And no, it can't wait; I've been drinking too much for waiting. Don't mind me, I'll be back soon enough." And with this he slipped out past the curtain.

Heavens, did he really have to be that blunt? The remark about having drunken a bit too much would have been quite sufficient! But no, the Phantom did not care about etiquette, and whether things like this should be mentioned in company or not did not bother him at the slightest. Christine sighed inwardly. And he had a bad influence on Raoul as far as such talk was concerned, too.

"Yes, that's what he calls going to the bathroom," Roger commented, nodding towards the stage, which was once again filled with brightly yet scantily clad dancers. "There, look. He disappeared this way. I don't think he'll find one single privy over there."

"He's after the girl," Maurice stated.

"The little singer?" Raoul snickered. "Of course he is."

"Or he's going to the backyard," Roger suggested. "That's that way, I think." He grinned. "Wouldn't put it past him."

"No, he wouldn't," Gaston interjected hotly, puffing himself up with indignation.

"Anyway," Maurice said dryly, "the way to the backyard is past the girls' changing rooms. Which leads us to the same result."

"Don't believe anything bad of the Lord Phantom!" Gaston protested.

"Oh, that's not bad, necessarily." Maurice shrugged. "Just a bad time for it. However. Millet, if you would please continue. Sit down in his place, why don't you?"

As Millet took the Phantom's seat, hesitant yet glad to be able to lean on his elbows and rest his temples on his fists, Christine wondered where the Phantom had really slipped off to. Was he truly chasing after a girl when others were discussing the Commune's doings and secrets? He hated politics, yes, but would he really act like this? There was nothing she could learn through the bond they shared, nothing that would betray what he intended to do. Was he hunting a man again, perhaps, another helper of Delannay and the Commune? She could not tell.

But if this really was about the young singer… then he must be very interested in her. Very interested indeed.

Christine was not quite sure how she felt about this idea.