Misty slumped in her swivel chair and continually banged her forehead against her desk. In front of her, a little white laptop glowed with irritating apathy. This was the scene that greeted the Gerry as he strolled into Misty's den, munching on a handful of cherries. He nearly choked on the pits in his effort to avoid laughing.

Sidling up to the distraught Authoress, he asked, "Having problems?"

Misty paused to wail, "Yeeeeeeees!" BANG!

"Don't do that, my dear. It's not as if a deformed homicidal madman has asked you to choose between marriage to him and death to an entire opera house of people," the Gerry remarked.

"If that was my problem, I can assure you it wouldn't be a problem…did that make sense?"

"No."

"WAH!" Misty made to resume her head banging, but the Gerry intervened, pulling the swivel chair and its occupant out of reach of the desk. He bent to give her a kiss and fed her a cherry. When Misty looked dreamily placated, the Phantom turned his attention to the computer screen. There was a word document opened, but it was blank.

"Writer's block?"

"Yes," Misty moaned. Suddenly, she fixed her beloved with a burning glare, "And you're supposed to be my muse. Why aren't you working?" She poked him as if she expected to find a switch that would trigger the Gerry's inspiration mode.

He caught her hand in mid-poke and gave her a warning look. "How is dear Cecily doing, my love?" he purred, playing with her fingers as he dangled another cherry for her like fish bait on a hook.

"THAT'S IT!" Misty shrieked triumphantly, shooting to her feet, purple robe billowing and frightening the Buffalo Bill patrol socks. She danced in a happy circle and gave the Gerry a quick glomping before plopping herself back into the swivel chair and setting to work on Chapter 40 of Phantom Companions.

"You're welcome," the Gerry sighed, rubbing lipstick from his cheeks as he curled up on his beanbag and finished off the cherries.

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COMMANDER CECILY'S BASE OF OPERATION

It is a well-known fact that old, ancient families, particularly of the fictional caliber, have secrets. Deep, dark secrets, usually in connection with torrid affairs, buried treasure, and/or treason to the crown. Those that fall into the fictional category sometimes have the misfortune of also falling into the category that includes the mother of all Mary Sues: the harlequin heroine and, of course, her icky, hunky, roguish bad boy, whom, personally, I would love to see toasted in Erik's torture chamber and served with orange marmalade. Sadly, some of the non-fictional families fall into this category as well.

Luckily for all of you reading this, the Cheney family fell into another category, that of the secret society sort. The Cheney lineage was truly ancient, dating back to the days before Rome fell. As is to be expected, men had dominated it; strong-willed, hard-eyed, gruff men who cherished their secret societies and relished a good brandy shared with comrades. I shall not attempt to describe the details or give you a history of the family tree because it is all irrelevant, and if you know anything about ancient, fictional families to begin with, then you will understand what I am rambling about.

Unfortunately for the late M. Georges Pierre Cheney, the sole male heirs to the Cheney fortune and secrets were two of the stupidest, (nearly) foppiest boys in Paris. How Dominic and Jacques came to be such disappointments is still a mystery. One thing was certain though, the secret of the secret society must be passed on and that left M. Cheney only one option: his daughter.

Needless to say, there had been many cries of outrage from amongst M. Cheney's comrades. But M. Cheney was actually rather proud of Cecily. She was clever and elegant, efficient and levelheaded and was known to down a tumbler of good brandy every once in awhile. Thus, Cecily was appointed heiress of the entire family fortune and left as guardian of the family secret. Dominic and Jacques had been supplied with ample dowries and were none the wiser for it.

Having bored you with such information, dear readers, it should come as no surprise that the Cheney townhouse was equipped with some hidden chambers of its own.

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Cecily swept into her study with a rustle of muslin and lace. She tugged off her bonnet and cloak, tossing them into the chair at the enormous mahogany desk. Pip and Que were not far behind her. They stood by, squirming in their itchy livery, as the mistress of the house stepped up to the large bookcase. It was a full-wall affair, lined with many formidable-looking, leather bound first editions, but the raven-haired girl wasted no time in pushing in the complete works of Percy Shelley to trigger the opening mechanism of the secret door to the secret chamber.

A blast of ice-cold air hit the room like a spirit rising from the grave and the servants shivered fearfully as Cecily lit an oil lamp.

"Come along!" she called as she started down the dark, cobwebby hall.

The hobbits edged toward the sinister opening with great trepidation. They halted when they reached the end of the thick carpet of the study floor and the beginning of the cold flagstone of the secret hall.

Pip gulped, "Wood ye like ta go ferst?" He stepped aside, making a sweeping gesture as he graciously offered for Que to take the lead.

"Oh, no, ye'd best do the leadin', Pip," the sleepy-eyed boy, replied.

"Cartainly not! Aftar you, if ye please." Pip shoved Que forward and Que returned the favor.

"No, aftar you!"

"Aftar you."

"Reelly, I think yer the best leader."

"No, tis yerself fer sure."

"Would you two quit wasting time and get down here!" a thundering female voice interrupted the struggle. The boys looked up to see their mistress towering over them as though she were an angry goddess. Shaking like leaves in an autumn breeze, the hobbits nervously skittered into the dimly lit darkness, nearly fainting with fright when the great stone door slid shut behind them.

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The secret chamber was an impressive room. It was a cavernous room, built with multiple purposes in mind. The first being the need for sanctuary in the case of an emergency, and the second being the need for a base of operations. Should it survive into the twenty-first century, it would, no doubt, be outfitted with the latest and best in networking technology.

As it was, the room actually looked pretty spiffy. It was filled with levers and pulleys, weird gizmos and maps and books, like a chamber from Myst. Most of this had been in place for some decades, updated frequently by its owners. The overall decoration of the place certainly bore the hallmarks of a woman's touch. It had been repainted and redecorated as suited the present occupant's fanciful feminine tastes. Cecily favored the color blue and had installed a vault for her diary, a vanity table whose mirror reflected the thin stream of sunlight from the chinks in the walls onto the rest of the room, and a hutch for her embroidery projects.

Pip and Que gasped in awe as they stumbled into the intriguing room. Their eyes grew wide and they immediately forgot their fear.

"Explore, if you like, but do not touch," was all Cecily said as she set her lamp upon a handsome desk in one corner. The hobbits eagerly trotted about the room, peering at the instruments and cables. It all seemed impossibly complex, but Mlle. Cheney was obviously more at home here than in that sterile, stuffy house several floors over their heads.

There were several smaller chambers shooting off from the main hub. One door led to a lady's bedchamber, another to a storage room stuffed with provisions, but the third door led to the best room of all. It was no more than a cubbyhole, but the tiny space brought tears to the boys' eyes. A set of bunk beds took up most of the room and a sack of apples and a jug of ale sat atop a low bench.

Pip sighed with relief as he uncorked the jug and raised it to his lips. The brown liquid was high quality liquor, not like the sour moonshine they drank in the stables of the Seaside Inn. The blond imp passed the jug to his friend as he snatched up a shiny red apple and pulled out his trusty deck of dog-eared cards.

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Cecily smiled as she heard her servants settling into their little apartment. She swished about the room, making sure all was in order before getting down to work. Activating a series of pulley systems, she sat in a high backed chair at the desk and waited until the pulleys had lowered the desired case onto the desk. Using a seemingly inconsequential bauble, she unlocked the chest and drew out its contents:

One first-edition The Matchmaker's Guide the POTO Galaxy

Cecily lifted the book with a great sense of reverence. The Guide was as thick as an Oxford English Dictionary, chalk full of rules, regulations, and guidelines that were usually observed by the Phantom's phaithful phollowers. It even contained copies of Leroux's original novel and the lyrics to the ALW musical. The Gerry had also included a thick insert: profiles on Anna and Brooke, complete with the story of their arrival. On the hard leather cover there glittered a golden mask, flanked by a scorpion and a grasshopper.

Cecily cracked open the enormous volume to the table of contents. Steel grey eyes scanned the stiff parchment; near the bottom of the page she spied the page number for "Valuable Contacts and Allies." The book wad promptly turned to page 394 where the anonymous editor had jotted down a list of contacts that would be particularly useful in assisting Cecily's mission. Nadir Khan was number one.

After a moment's reflection, Cecily carefully laid the book aside and pulled out a blank sheet of paper, a pen and an inkwell. She penned a quick note, blowing on the ink before folding the sheet and sealing it with a gob of blue wax. The seal was not her traditional family crest; it was the code symbol for her father's secret society. Time to put my contacts to use, she thought.

A loud buzzing noise startled Pip and Que into a flurry of confusion. The raggedy cards took to the air like molting birds and the hobbits frantically searched for the source of the noise. Que was certain it was a hornet.

"Nonsense, Que. 'Ornets don liff undarneaf ta ground!" Pip cried.

"Are ye cartain, Pip? Whoa! There it goes again!" Que ducked to avoid the imagined insect.

Cecily poked her black head into the disarrayed cubbyhole.

"Oh, Miss Cecily, there's a 'ornet in ta room!" Pip hollered.

"No, Master Pip, that would be the bell that summons you to me," Cecily replied.

"Oh."

The young heiress continued, "Change into your street clothes. I have an errand for you to run. It is of a highly private nature, do you understand?" She gave them a significant look.

Pip gave her a rakish wink and nodded his comprehension. Que wagged his drowsy head. When the hobbits emerged from their room, they were dressed in their old, Dickensian garb, complete with ratty caps.

Cecily handed the blond boy the note. "You are to take this note to the address on the front."

Pip examined the inscription. He wrinkled his nose. "Ah, Miss Cecily, we ain't much fer readin'."

"Wot we do read ain't nuffin' but ta King's English," Que added.

"I see," Cecily growled. "Well, I want you to take it to the detective agency on Rue Crumpet. Make sure you personally hand this to M. Moncrieff. Do NOT give to anyone else!"

The hobbits nodded, their eyes fearfully wide. They knew how to handle shady transactions, but there was a hard gleam in Cecily's grey eyes that frightened them. She showed them the way out to the street and gave the strictest instructions as to secrecy and haste. Satisfied, Cecily returned to her underground chamber to lock up the The Guide and went to her official bedroom to ready herself for her appointment with Nadir Khan later that evening.

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A/N: Sorry for the delayed update. I got sick and have to deal with getting to move out, but I hope you all enjoyed it. No Erik or cousins, but we can't have everything.

Pleading Eyes: I hope you got my review on My Father, the Fop, which responded to your most delightful offer. Just in case you didn't…I'll reply again.

Name: Misty Breyer works…Misty for short.

Age: 20

Hair: Very long, hopelessly straight, and just plain brown.

Eyes: Never sure…some times they're brown, sometimes they're light green.

Hobbies: Writing, of course, reading and sewing.

Personality: Very intelligent, wicked sense of humor, easily amused by the strangest things, optimistic, very begrudging towards Raoul and Christine, starting to fancy EM pairings…love, love, love, Erik, but I am actually a good deal more conservative than I sound (bark is worse than bite sort of thing)

Thanks for the honor. Please have fun with it! Can't wait!

LiTTLoTTe1991, Solecito (Thanks for the suggestions, but I can't access the site!)Childofthewilderness, Shibbydm, lady summoner2, SimplyElymas, Nameless Waif (I am an crazy American, too…and I just love celebrating Independence Day by blowing things up! MWAHA!)Bananas in Pajamas, Songwind, Danica, Lirieleris, smgirl, Music Angel no.24601, TheOneTruePhantom (Gerry kiss for you for reviewing every chapter!)easternelvenlady, Cap'n Meg, Erik for President, gerbear, Voldemort's Hikari, Tian Sirki, Marianne Brandon (absolutely adored your review! The cousins were pleased)Silvermasque (Send some more info on the DBCA)OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles, xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx, Beregond'sGirl, Lenis Vox (offers antiseptic for mental image), Sirius Is My King, CoolGirlEmily, Melissa Aminta thanks everybody for the reviews and support! I know I usually give out more detailed responses, but I can't do it all the time.