Disclaimer: If I didn't own it last time, why would I own it now?

I've noticed the fact that I talk about my personal life in my author's notes probably makes me sound like a ditz, but I can't stop! I always find myself reading books and thinking "I wonder how author's name here's life is going? I wish I had their phone number. Then I could call and ask. And then they would probably get the police involved to insure I'm not a stalker. Ooo! I've always wanted to meet the SWAT team!" which proves the theory that all writers are somewhat . . . different from normal people. Actually that may be just me. On second thought, that is just me.

Sorry if I don't update for the next three weeks, but I'm going out of town again. I know that's a long time, but trust me, I would never even think of abandoning this story!

Chapter 13: Settling In

"So let me get this straight . . . While you were walking home from the hospital you heard the Phantom proclaiming his self-hate to the world and proceeded to take him in. After a few days he left and you discovered his true identity. While you were trying to get your life back to normal Madeline was pulled into the wall of a mysterious shop and once the police gave up hope you decided to go to the former murderer for help. You both suspected me so you organized an innocent enough seeming get-together so I would be distracted while the psychopath searches my house for any clues as to the whereabouts of my ex-fiancée."

"Yes. That's about it, in a nutshell." The room went very quite. Henri sat, praying silently that Armand would not do anything drastic. Erik stood in the corner, wondering why this rich nancy cared so much about the wellbeing of a certain middle-class girl.

"I'll go get my sword." Armand stood up and made his way to the door. The others stared after him.

"Why?" Henri asked.

"Well, you don't expect me to go off on a hunt for the men who kidnapped Madeline unarmed, do you?" the man exited, then returned a few minutes later wearing his sword belt.

"So you'll help us?" Henri said hopefully.

"Of course."

"I've a plan." Erik said suddenly. "Every day I will go out and search the old abandoned buildings or other suspicious places around town." no one asked why he knew where any were. "It will be best if I go alone. I have ways of insuring I escape unnoticed. If I find anything, I will contact you two immediately and we will go deal with them together. It would be too risky if I try to sneak her out without any help"

'"I can't think of anything better." Henri said "It's worth a try."

"Oh! I have an idea!" Armand piped up "You two could stay at my house! Genevieve can come too, Henri. That way, it will be easier for you to get information to us, Erik. I have lots of unoccupied rooms."

"I would prefer to say in my own home, thank you. I find it more . . . comfortable." Erik explained coolly.

"How about you, Henri?"

"I'd be delighted. That way, I wouldn't have to keep leaving Genevieve at her friends' houses while we go out. The servants will keep her out of trouble. It will also be nice to stop having to cook for myself for a few days." Henri laughed.

"Well then, now that that's settled," Armand sat down in his chair. "how about we finally eat dinner? I wonder if the maids will make another meal."

---

Later that night, Henri and Genevieve arrived at Armand's house. They stood out in the rain, waiting for someone to come to the door.

"Perhaps you didn't knock loud enough." Genevieve suggested, her voice muffled by the wool scarf that was covering her face. The temperature had dropped considerably over the past couple of hours. Her father tried again. There was no answer.

"Strange." He said "There are so many Servants. You'd think someone would have – Genevieve!" when he was in mid-sentence, the little girl had grown tired of waiting and had kicked the door rather violently.

"Open the door!" she yelled "It's freezing out here! What the h-"

"Genevieve!" Henri said sharply, covering her mouth with his hand "What on earth has gotten into you? You can't just scream and kick and people's doors and expect them to . . . hello, Virginia."

"Good evening, monsieur Boufard." Said the maid at the door. Henri had come to knew her fairly well when Armand and his own family's friendship had begun almost a year ago. She was young, but had been with the household for some time. "It's grand to see you again. Oh my, you must be freezing! Come in." they both grabbed their bags and gratefully stepped into the warm entrance hall. "Here, I'll show you to your rooms."

They were led down a hall, up a flight of stairs, and stopped in front of a rich oak door. Henri was glad that it did not take as much walking to get there as it had last time. Virginia opened the door to reveal a well-furnished bedroom, with canopy bed and expensive Persian rugs. This one room probably costs more than my whole top floor . . .

"Make yourself comfortable, Henri. If you need anything, just call. I'm sorry Monsieur Brunet could not greet you, but he is at an appointment. He will be back in a minute or two. Here, Genevieve dear, your room is just next door."

After the others had scurried out and the door had swung shut behind them, Henri shed his winter gear and hung them in the oak wardrobe. He sat down on the bed and let his mind wander.

His first thought was about Armand. He had barely asked any questions about Erik It had almost been as if he was avoiding contact will the Phantom. Henri could blame him; the last encounter between the two, Armand's face had been ruined. That was not the kind of thing you got over in a week or so. It burn was healing at a dreadfully slow pace, and even after he was fully recovered, the scars would remain. He would carry them for the rest of his life, forever condemning him to be the subject in many a cruel rumor among the rich. Henri was grateful to see that Armand had not been bothered about it yet. But he knew that sadly something would arise eventually, and it would take most of Armand's will power to ignore the whisperings. He was very sensitive about his faults. It was also possible that he would wind up in an argument with someone somehow and only put himself into more scandal. It was also possible that he would say something stupid any end up in a duel.

Suddenly something dawned on Henri. If Erik, Armand, and himself were going to free Madeline from her captures, they were most likely going to have to fight their way through a vicious gang first. The closest thing to a weapon Henri had ever held in his life was probably one of the tiny knives used to cut leather so it could be made into shoes. He had absolutely no experience with a sword, dagger, or pistol. The last time he had tried to fight another person with his bare hands he had been a six year old against an eleven year old. Henri had been short for his age until he was ten. He could not remember the days following the fight very well, he just knew it had been a long time before he could play many of his favorite games again.

"Henri?" there was a knock at the door. "It's Armand. May I come in?" the shoemaker got up and opened the door.

"I'm so sorry I could not see you as soon as I got here. I had a doctor's appointment." Henri noticed that Armand's burn seemed to be coated in some kind of sweet-smelling transparent goop. The two men sat down in the armchairs by the window.

"Something about that burn, I assume?"

"Yes."

"It looks terribly painful." Armand shrugged.

"It's mainly just irritating now. I've been given so many creams for it. It's not healing the way it should, you see, and my physician is getting very obsessive. As long as I have some kind of medication on it, it doesn't bother me, but he keeps asking "Are you in pain? Are you keeping it clean? Are you uncomfortable? Perhaps I shall hire a nurse to stay at your home . . ." lord, it's like having a nanny!"

The two men laughed. Henri thought it felt wonderful after so much time spent cooped up in his house, angry and worried and working his fingers off. At the sound of their laughter, Genevieve entered the room.

"What's so funny?" she demanded. As soon as he heard her voice, Armand's gaze shot in her direction.

"Genny!" he cried. He stood up and she raced into his arms. She twirled her around as she giggled profusely. Henri smiled. He had not seen her this happy in almost a week. She was not hindered Armand's face. The two had been very good friends. Genevieve treated him like an uncle. Henri had only one sister, because his brother had died of pneumonia when they had been children, and she lived in Belgium. His parents were getting on in years and had moved to the countryside in the east. Opale's parents (he had never really had a chance to meet her siblings) lived in a small village and planned to live out the rest of their years there, like his own mother and father. He kept contact with them all by writing to them every couple of moths and on important occasions, but they still didn't know about the kidnap. Since their family was very spread out, they only ever saw them every second or third Christmas. Friends were more like family to them.

Armand put Genevieve down. She stood and stared up at the man for a moment.

"What are you staring at?" the rich man asked.

"Your face. It looks kind of like Erik's."

"Does it really?" Armand walked over to a mirror hanging on the wall. He clearly had been avoiding looking at the burn. He squinted his eyes and gazed at his reflection. "I do, don't I, in some places." Henri noticed it too. The area which had healed quicker than the rest (especially the part near his left ear) looked like the phantom's disfigurement, only lighter. The skin on half his forehead and down the side of his face on the right looked raw and irritated, like Erik's.

"Oh, Armand, I need to ask you a favor." Said, Henri, seeing his discomfort. "You know how we will most likely have to fight in order to get Madeline back?"

"Yes. I polished my sword this afternoon."

"Well, you see, I was brought up in a peaceful middle-class neighborhood and didn't have much access to lessons or anything of that nature and never had the time or money to teach myself when I grew older . . . so how exactly am I going to fight if I haven't the faintest idea how?"

"That," Armand laughed "Would be the reason I own more than one weapon and a very large yard to practice on."

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