A/N: Well, here is the next chapter. There is more interaction between Calliope and Erik in this chapter, and something of a friendship begins to emerge. As always, I own nothing of The Pahntom of the Opera.
"Roux! Roux wake up please!" Calliope slowly opened her eyes to see Christine's terrified face.
"Christine? What time is it?" Calliope asked, sitting up slowly, her head spinning. She looked around her rooms and spotted her dagger sitting neatly on the table near her bed, along with a long stemmed red rose.
"Oh, Roux, my Angel was so upset! He said that you had done a terrible thing, sending me off with Raoul. He said you needed to learn your lesson. I was so frightened. I thought he had hurt you!" she sobbed. Calliope looked at Christine for a moment before making the connection. Christine's Angel and the opera ghost were the same man, the one who had drugged her tea. She thought back to the night before. She remembered his voice, and those green eyes, like perfect emeralds in his face, but try as she might, she could not recall any detail about his face. Calliope listened with one ear as Christine babbled about returning from dinner with Raoul and following her Angel's voice through a tunnel and to a strange dream. She told of his anger, not at Christine, but at Calliope herself for interfering with his plans. The way Christine hesitated at one point told Calliope that there was more to the story, but the costume mistress didn't press her.
"Christine, I am fine. Your teacher did not harm me. However, for the next little while, I want you to stay here with me, for your safety." Calliope said, standing up and moving to her dressing screen.
"Alright. Do you think he'll try to hurt you again? I don't think I could bear it if something happened to you." the soprano said. Calliope stepped out, wearing a hunter green gown.
"He didn't hurt me. He said I amused him. Besides, harming me would be detrimental to the opera house. Who else can make the costumes?" she asked, smiling gently at her friend. There was a knock on the door and Calliope went to answer it.
"Mademoiselle StClair, Mama and the managers need to speak to you." Meg said. Calliope nodded and went to her bedside table, retrieving her dagger and slipping it into the hidden sheath on her leg before heading for the main foyer. Madame Giry stood off to the side watching as the managers, Raoul, and Carlotta all argued at the top of their lungs.
"Petit, are you alright? Christine was going on about you being hurt." Madame whispered.
"I'm fine. I'll explain later. What's going on?" Calliope asked. Just then, M. Andre looked over and spotted her.
"Good, you are here! We need you to prepare the new costumes for Il Muto. Carlotta will be playing the countess, and has brought her own fabric. We have less than four weeks to prepare. I will not be intimidated!" he snapped, storming off. Calliope blinked for a moment, then headed off to her workroom to start working. Madame Giry followed her, and sat down in a chair.
"Tell me what happened last night." Madame said, her tone allowing no argument. Calliope sighed.
"Well, I have finally encountered the opera ghost. For a while now, Christine has been receiving music lessons from someone she called her Angel of Music. I encouraged her lessons, even praised her teacher. Last night, I learned that Christine's Angel and the ghost are the same man. He didn't like the fact that I sent Christine to supper with the Vicompt. He drugged my tea." Calliope explained, hefting the hideous pink fabric onto her table. Madame stood and took her hands, making her look the older woman in the eyes.
"Petit, is that all he did?" she asked softly. Calliope nodded quickly.
"Yes. He said I amused him. That I was defiant. He left me in my bed and vanished." she replied. Madame Giry sighed, setting down heavily in her chair.
"I am sorry you have been dragged into this petit. I never imagined that this would happen. The opera ghost has always helped and protected me and Meg, and in return, I have run his errands, delivered his notes. When he left you alone, I thought he had deemed you part of my family. Now I am unsure." she said. Calliope faced the ballet mistress, smiling reassuringly.
"Do not worry, Madame. I think he only meant to scare me. Although I have to say, I think this fabric scares me more." she joked.
"You are a strong woman, petit. The man who marries you will have his hands full." Madame said. Calliope glanced back at her, smiling sadly.
"You know I will never marry." she whispered, getting to work on the gown. Madame watched her for a few moments. In the two years since she had arrived, Calliope had blossomed into a strong woman. She never allowed the men of the opera house get near her, and she protected Christine with a vengeance. At the same time, the young girl refused to speak of her past. Madame Giry knew that something terrible had happened before she had fled her homeland for Paris, but the girl had never spoken of it. Madame Giry remembered the bright smiling girl Calliope had been, dancing around as her mother sang in her native tongue. Sighing, Madame Giry made a decision.
"Petit, why did you stop dancing? I remember you loved to dance as a child." she asked. Calliope's hands froze over the fabric.
"I stopped dancing because it brought me only pain." she replied, her tone indicating she would not speak any more on the subject.
"I think you and the ghost have much in common." Madame said.
"What do you mean, Madame?" Calliope asked, curiously.
"I brought the ghost here when he was just a boy. I found him at a gypsy caravan. He was treated horribly, beaten and put on display for the public, like a beast. When he escaped, I brought him here to the opera house, and he flourished." Madame said, and proceeded to tell the costume mistress the whole story about the first encounter between the future ballet mistress and the future opera ghost, about his escape from the cage he had known for so long, and his ability to find any hidden passage in the opera house, as well as his extraordinary talents in music and art. Calliope listened, her heart breaking for the man who had been treated so horribly simply because of something he had no control over.
Erik cursed, standing swiftly from his organ. All day, he had been thinking about the look on Christine's face as he told her of his ire at Mademoiselle StClair. He feared he might have lost his angel, all because he had drugged her friend. Of course, it didn't help that Christine had seen his face before he was ready for her to see him. He had returned Christine to the opera house so she could go to her friend and assure herself that the costume mistress was unharmed. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. In the two years since Mademoiselle StClair had arrived at the Opera Populaire, he had never heard anyone call her by her given name. Madame Giry called her petit, Christine called her Roux for her hair, the managers called her Mademoiselle, and Carlotta called her girl. Erik smirked as he thought of how Carlotta had shoved the young woman aside the day the new managers had arrived. StClair indeed. The woman must have the patience of a saint to deal with the shrieking diva. Donning his cloak, Erik headed through the maze of tunnels that led up to the opera house. He slipped through a hidden door in the costume mistress' rooms, and noticed a sleeping figure in the bed. The fir had been banked for the night, and cast a soft reddish glow about the room. Slowly, Erik crept forward on silent feet toward the bed. His hand reached for the blanket when the press of warm steel against his throat made him freeze.
"Somehow, I had a feeling you would be here eventually." the familiar voice of Mademoiselle StClair reached his ears. Erik turned his head to look fully at her, and for the first time in many years, he was stunned. The costume mistress normally kept her hair tightly pinned against her head, and wore plain gowns that covered a fair amount of skin. Now, she wore a nightgown of pale lavender that made her eyes glow in the firelight. Her hair was also loose, falling around her arms like a river of wine. After a few moments of staring at her, Erik remembered himself, and glared at her with the full force of the Phantom.
"You are either very brave, or very foolish, Mademoiselle. Have you not heard? I am a ghost, a monster. Steel cannot harm one such as me." he said, his voice like ice. For a few minutes, she did not respond, her eyes locked on his. Erik was surprised to see amusement, awe, and curiosity in her eyes. Finally, she chuckled, and drew her dagger from his neck.
"You are no monster. And a ghost could not have carried me to my bed when I passed out from that drug. No, from what I have seen, you are simply a man, doing what he feels is necessary to survive. I am curious about one thing." she said, sitting down in her chair. Erik took note of the Greek book on the table next to her.
"And what is it you are curious about?" he asked, picking up the book and examining the title. It was a copy of the Odyssey.
"I am curious why a man as handsome as you must resort to trickery and threatening a woman's friend to find companionship." she said, sweeping her hair from her face. Erik looked at her, his eyes dark with pain and irritation, but also a hint of surprise. He had never been called handsome.
"You are mad. I am a monster." he hissed. She shook her head, meeting his eyes with hers, her face serene in the firelight.
"If you think that, you are blind. I wonder how often you were called a monster, that you believe it so fully now." she said, and again, Erik was struck by the puzzle that was Mademoiselle StClair.
"You are unlike anyone I have ever met, Mademoiselle. I find you to be a puzzle I have yet to unfurl." he said. She blinked in surprise.
"Most here ignore me. A few call me annoyance, and fewer still call me friend. You call me a puzzle. I'm not quite sure how to take that." she said, and Erik smiled to himself.
"From me, that is a compliment. However, I am curious about one thing." he said, his tone teasing as he used her own words.
"And what is it you are curious about?" she asked, a sly smile on her face.
"I know almost everything that occurs in my opera house. I know that you have the patience your name, StClair, infers, if only to deal with that banshee of a Prima Donna. But in the two years you have lived and worked here, I have never heard anyone call you by your first name." he said. Again, surprise lit up her eyes, and a gentle blush flared along her cheeks.
"It's Calliope."
A/N: Well? I hope this is okay. Let me know, and I'll put up another chapter in a day or two.