Disclaimer: Don't own POTO.
(happily pleased with self) I don't know about all of you, but I really enjoyed that last chapter. And now back to Cecily and Nadir.
A/N: Just a quick note on the latest edition to the HP series (no, I won't give away the ending), but just for those of you who have read it, I'd like to say that it didn't change my opinion on a certain Potions master and I'm still hoping for the best in him.
Charlemagne: So glad to be of assistance in reliving the course work burden. I know how that feels. And I love Anne of Green Gables, imagery in there is so fantastic I feel envious of the characters.
AmnarJoey: Ahh! No, Snape should not die! And Erik is sporting his original deformity.
Master Darth Warious: Welcome back! Hope you found shade in Arizona.
Tian Sirki: Erik will definitely be introduced to Aunt Flo. I actually had that idea already rolling around in my head, but I took your suggestion as a confirmation that it is meant to happen. Poor Erik. He won't know what hit him. And do you want to know something funny? I was eating a plum at the time I found your review! You may have something there.
des ires: Ack! Vat is this? You have never seen the practically perfect magicalness that is Mary Poppins? You have to hunt that down. It's a classic. About Anna's confession, like I said, romance is in the slow-cooker, so please give it time.
WildPixieChild: That was so gross…I LOVE IT! (sighs) That had me in stitches. Thank you for the donation.
lady summoner2: Wow, the turn on thread? I never thought of it that way, but considering that Erik is involved I can definitely see where you're coming from.
Solecito: No need to apologize! I'm in the process of moving myself, though not from country to country. Anywhoozles, yes, Dick Van Dyke does rock.
Nameless Waif: Kudos to you for getting the Robin Hood dialogue! And a Gerry kiss because you remembered the complete works of Percy Shelley, AND because you were so considerate about my excuse for the late update…my excuse this time: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.
xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: Yes! Kudos for you, too. And luff to Alan Rickman and his totally awesome voice.
OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles: I know, I wish I could let her kiss him, but I just don't want it to be premature cuz we all know how Erik reacts to kisses. Speaking of kisses, wouldn't it be wonderful if they cloned Gerry and put him up for sale? If they did, I'd buy you one for reviewing both chapters.
Mominator: Thank you for the spelling check! I don't think we should ever invent a combo of cats and zits. (shudders) Unless you count road kill.
Roaddog 469: That line was the best one in the whole movie. BTW, is it just me or was Kevin Costner a good-looking Robin Hood? I rather liked him, but my sister says I'm crazy. (ah, well). Oh, shall definitely pass the message to the Gerry.
FreeFaller: Oh, no worries over the favorites list. I must admit there are several things on my list which rank above POTO: Narnia and Star Wars.
Marianne Brandon: How did you like the Half-Blood Prince?
Simply Elymas: Oh, yesh! Erik is most def. gonna find out about the monthlies.
Mina Calypso: I have discovered that it is good to have a healthy variety of genres when reading phanphiction.
Nixieharpist: You know, I almost had Erik make a remark about eggs being good for the hair, but I wasn't sure.
Beregond'sGirl: I wouldn't be surprised if Erik, being the inventive genius that he is, constructed his own gas-powered stove.
Mademoiselle Phantom: WOW! That was harsh, but totally true. I find it so hilarious that there's this congregation of rabid phans who loathe this particular character. It's just amusing…of course, I'm among them at times, depends on my mood.
Ridel: Thank you, I appreciate the comment on the timing of the beginning of Erik's transition because I totally agree that it gets rushed far too often.
Atressa O'Riordan: (gets up off the floor and wipes tears of joy from eyes) Sorry, that had me laughing so hard. Can I please use the Buggy name? That was priceless.
Music Angel no. 24601: Heh, heh, "I'm going to cut your heart out with a spork!" It works.
Silvermasque: (Eyes ice cream tub and the Gerry with wolfish gleam in eyes) What…oh, yes, review replies. After this Half-Blood Prince deal does dear Severus get to stay in the DBCA? Please say yes!
Priestess of Anubis: Question: Anubis was an Egyptian god, right? And thanks for the compliment!
Bananas in Pajamas: The idea of Erik involved in anything connected with Jackass is so evil it's hilarious. Uh, oh, here comes the punjab.
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THE HOLY CHAPTER
Early evening: Some restaurant
Nadir was waiting at the restaurant when Cecily arrived. He rose from his chair in the foyer and approached the beautiful Mlle. Cheney with all the caution of a snake charmer. It was not that he thought her evil in any particular way, he was simply cautious by nature, especially with Parisian women.
"Mademoiselle," he said by way of a greeting, pressing and bowing over her extended hand.
"Good evening, M. Khan, I am very glad that you could join me tonight," Cecily replied with a pretty curtsey.
A pudgy, greasy-haired waiter scuttled up to the odd couple and offered to seat them. Cecily had chosen an obscure, but fashionable little establishment not too many blocks away from the opera itself. Once settled into a comfortable corner booth, with menus in their hands, Cecily began the conversation.
"I'll get right to the point, M. Khan. I asked you to meet me here because I wish to speak to you about Erik," she said flatly.
Nadir started so badly it appeared as though a bee had stung him. Hiding behind his menu, he tried desperately to regain his composure. He silently cursed himself for reacting in such an exposing manner, but the socialite's confession had caught him completely off guard.
"Mademoiselle, you do not know what you are about," he said sternly.
"Perhaps I should elaborate. I have been appointed official matchmaker to Erik and his two companions, Anna and Brooke," Cecily explained. The mention of the cousins only increased Nadir's worry. Cecily knew, by his description on page 394 of The Guide, that the chief of police was a cautious, wary fellow, fully in tune with his policing instincts, crafted by a life in the treacherous Persian court.
In short, this was going to be one tough egg to crack.
But Cecily was not about to let up.
"I met M. Erik and his companions in Perros. They posed as a family of siblings on vacation. No one knew anything about them except two stable hands who had been taken into Erik's confidence. Those two are the very same servants who arranged this meeting."
She stopped when the waiter approached to take their orders and then their menus, thus depriving Nadir of his shield. He was now forced to stare the young woman straight in the face.
"Please, proceed, Mlle. Cheney," he said coldly, attempting to remain aloof.
"The phamily was joined by another friend who apparently had been sent by the greater being known only as the Authoress to detached both Erik and the Vicomte de Chagny from Christine Daaé. And then this visitor was to match Erik with Anna and the Vicomte with Brooke, but he was not able to complete the task in time. He asked me to resume his work here in Paris."
Nadir's jade eyes betrayed some interest in the subject when she named the designated couples. He thought back to the bemusing afternoon he had spent with the phamily on the day of their return to Paris. He had heard the name "Gerry" repeated several times. Perhaps this Gerry and the former matchmaker were one in the same?
Cecily's voice snapped the dark-skinned man from his reverie, "Unfortunately, it is rather difficult to work with a deranged reclusive ghost so I am hoping that you might help me."
Nadir bestirred himself. He glared at her for a moment as though trying to gage her sincerity. If she did know anything about the shah-in-shah's magician, then she ought to know that she was playing with fire.
Though his curiosity was piqued, Nadir remembered he was already skating on thin ice after that whole Meg-dinner-date-in-the-lair thing. So, he answered, "Erik's secrets concern no one but himself, Mlle. Cheney. And for your own sake, I suggest you drop the entire matter."
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Around the same time: The Batcave
"Erik? Erik?...ERIK!"
"Hm?...Yes, Christine?"
The soprano narrowed her bulging eyes at her willowy teacher and said, "Do you have anything to say about my performance?"
"Performance? Oh, yes, the lesson…well, I, um…perhaps you should repeat the song," Erik offered lamely. He was happy to have the mask providing a barrier between his embarrassed face and Christine's shrewd gaze. She huffed in impatience, but made no other show of protest before singing again.
Maestro and student stood near the massive organ set into one wall of the master bedroom. To the left, hidden behind a curtain of purple velvet, the cousins resumed their hushed whisperings. Erik's sensitive ears heard the delicate mumblings and he strained to listen, inching closer to the tent, under the pretense of examining Christine's posture. However, even Erik's cat-like senses could not decipher any exact words over Christine's rising pitch. It didn't help that Christine was singing in Italian and the cousins were speaking in English.
Within the stuffy tent, the girls were pouring over Brooke's latest designs for their room makeover, using the swatches of fabric they had gathered from the costume department for color ideas.
"I don't think I like this purple," Brooke said, holding a square of taffeta next to a battery-powered book lamp, revealing a hue reminiscent of wisteria.
"Um, yeah…I don't think the big P would appreciate us redoing the room like the Disneyland princess parade," Anna muttered. She studied her cousin's sketches. The plans featured another tent design; only it had been expanded and made use of collapsible dividers. Bureaus and trunks had been rearranged as well to make the space seem less tight and suffocating.
"Hey, how about this material?" Brooke said. She held up a piece of thin, white cotton.
"I like that! OMG! I just had an apostrophe!" the redhead cried.
The singing stopped and all was silent on the other side of the heavy curtains. The cousins bit their tongues, patiently waiting until the music resumed. They smirked at each other as they heard one of Erik's exasperated sighs disappear under the music.
"I think you mean an epiphany," Brooke whispered.
"Yes, yes. Anywhoozles, we should do a Lothlorien theme. You know, with the white fabrics and blue lights, everything soft and hazy and airy."
"Anna, you're a genius!"
"Thank you."
"But how are we suppose to get all of the supplies? And who will do the measurements for us? We both suck at math," Brooke pondered.
Ehem. It was the Poppins Bag.
"Oh, well, I guess you take care of the first problem," Anna said to the Bag.
Actually, I can take care of both.
"The measurements? What are you part calculator now?"
In my previous life, I was an interior designer.
"Like on Trading Spaces?"
…Yes. There was a definite undertone of resentment in the Bag's answer.
Brooke spoke in a comforting whisper, "Did you, like, not make the cut for the show?"
…Y-yes. THEY TOOK THAT HILDE WEIRDO OVER ME! HER! WITH THE HAY AND THE FLOWERS ON THE WALLS!
"Don't forget the feathers…and the wrapping paper," Anna put in.
Brooke stared at the indignant Bag with a look of mingled fear and amusement. "Well, let's hope you haven't lost your touch. You can do the measurements, too."
Thanks.
Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the curtain, Erik couldn't stand the suspense any longer. He might not be able to hear what mischief the girls were planning, but at least he could put a stop to it.
"That's all, Christine," he said shortly.
"But…you didn't finish critiquing me!" she whined.
Erik ignored her as he stomped towards the purple tent. He poked one arm into the darkness within. Quickly locating the desired cousin, he hauled Anna out of the tent, gripping the collar of her gown. The frazzled young woman's limbs failed about like an over-turned turtle's; she hollered and swore at Erik as she struggled to pull away from him.
"What the heck are you doing?" she shrieked.
"Time for your piano lessons."
Brooke and Christine watched in stunned silence as Erik yanked Anna out the bedroom door and shoved her toward the piano in the sitting room.
"I do not understand him. He has been in such a strange mood all evening. Quite unmanageable," Christine said, directing her musings at Brooke.
The American simply belched in her face and disappeared back into the tent.
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Late evening: The Cheney townhouse
Cecily Cheney was in a foul mood when her coachman handed her out of her carriage. After warning her to steer clear of the Phantom of the Opera, Nadir Khan had clammed up on the subject, refusing to talk about anything remotely connected to it. On top of everything else, she had worked up a mighty headache in the process. The maid met Cecily at the door of the townhouse, handing her mistress a calling card before taking her cloak and hat. Cecily's pink lips curled into a knowing smile as she read the name on the card:
Algernon Moncrieff, Private Detective.
"He's waiting in the office, ma'am," the maid said as she scurried to the coat closet. Cecily marched into the office where she found the English detective downing his third tumbler of her finest brandy.
Algernon Moncrieff was a tall, slender man, though he could not be accused of being skinny. His face was roguishly handsome, set with wicked light blue eyes and spattered with a five o'clock shadow. A heavy lock of sandy hair hung over his high forehead and the rest of his hair was as unkempt as a scarecrow's straw thatch. He wore a rumpled brown suit and his right pinky bore a ring set with the symbol of the secret society to which both he and Mlle. Cheney belonged.
He spotted the indignant Cecily over the top of his glass and waved an airy hand by way of acknowledgement. The young woman stood glowering at him until he finished the brandy.
"Good evening, Cecily, my love," he said, his French heavily tainted by his London accent. Though his cheeks were turning rosy, his speech and movement remained unaffected by the drink.
"M. Moncrieff, what are you doing in my house at this late hour, drinking my best brandy?" Cecily snarled, doing her best to seem perturbed. She stormed around the cocky Brit and threw herself into the plush chair behind the desk. Her grey eyes fixed him with a frustrated glare. The detective didn't seem to notice it as he sauntered toward her and perched himself on the desk.
"Cecily, how many times must I ask you to call me Algy?" he purred, toying with the various objects on the desk.
"Not tonight, M. Moncrieff!" Cecily moaned, her black head falling into her hands.
"The Persian a poor date?"
The raven-haired head came shooting up in surprise. "How did you—"
Algy waved his ringed hand dismissively, "Cecily, Cecily, you asked me to find out all I could about him. Don't you remember that little note your valets delivered to my office?"
"Yes, but—Ooh!" Cecily groaned as the throbbing headache caught up with her sudden movement. She massaged the bridge of her nose, then her temples, praying desperately that the pain would subside. She hardly noticed her guest leave the room. He returned a moment later with a glass of wine in his hand.
"Here." He thrust the glass into her hand and waited until she had swallowed enough of the ruby red liquid to calm the beating in her skull. The wine left a terrifically seductive red stain on her mouth. The detective gripped the edge of the desk.
"Now, why were you out with the very person you asked me to investigate?" he asked.
"Why were you tailing me?"
"I was tailing him, because you asked me to."
Cecily took another swig of wine. "I didn't ask you to tail anyone. I merely requested a background investigation of one M. Nadir Khan."
"Cecily, I'm the detective. I always start my investigations with a little tailing. Imagine my surprise at finding you at M. Khan's table tonight. Why, Cecily?"
Despite the accumulated frustration and the late hour and the wine, the girl still heard the note hurt feelings in Algernon's voice.
"I didn't do it to torment you, if that's what you're thinking," Cecily said, smiling coyly over the rim of her glass.
The handsome Brit leaned across the desk, reaching out to brush a stray curl out of her eyes, as he whispered, "Why would I suspect you of torment?"
Cecily hastily gulped down the rest of the wine, though the warm liquor pooling in her stomach wasn't the only thing bringing a flush to her cheeks. "No reason. But it's none of your business anyway," she rasped.
Algy pulled away. He snatched up a pen and began doodling on a black sheet of parchment. "Remember, darling, you asked me to investigate M. Khan. I find it odd that my first night on the case should produce such a baffling scene as the one I witnessed in that restaurant."
A sudden panic seized Cecily. "What did you hear?"
Algy smirked at her, his apricot lips twisting rakishly at the corners, "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Yes, Algy, I would!" The name was out of her mouth before she could stop it.
The detective's eyebrows shot up. "Well, since you called me by my preferred name, I shall be candid with you, sweetheart…I didn't hear a single word. I was sitting across the room. However, I could plainly see that the conversation, whatever it entailed, did nothing to please either party. In fact, you both seemed quite angry at each other. What is going on, Cecily?"
"It's nothing you need to know about at present. I wanted to get some information out of M. Khan about someone else. Unfortunately, he refused to tell me anything."
"Refused your charms? What a cad," Algy tsked.
The heiress glared at him. He winked one sparkling blue eye at her. He added, "Then what's the point of me investigating Khan, when you want to find out about someone else?"
"Because I am hoping that digging up M. Khan's history may expose something about this other man."
"Why don't I just investigate this other mystery gentleman?"
Cecily laughed heartily as she imagined lanky Algy trying to navigate Erik's spider web of passages in the Opera House. "That would be an impossible task. Even for that rival of yours. What was his name again? Hemlock?...No, Sherlock!"
Algernon grimaced at the name of his arch London rival, saying bitterly, "Well, if dear old Sherlock couldn't manage it, then heaven forbid that I should try."
"Oh, come now, M. Moncrieff, no need for wounded pride," she admonished him as though correcting a child.
Algy leaned back across the desk, lounging with his head brushing the socialite's shoulder, "No need to return to the formalities either, my love." He grinned at her, but Cecily only stiffened and sank further into her chair. With a heavy sigh, the detective withdrew and stood.
"Just confirm one thing before I go: What you really want to know is who Khan knows or has known?"
"Precisely, M. Moncrieff. Now, I shall escort you to the foyer because it is late and I wish to retire."
Cecily stood and led the way from the office, ringing for the butler on the way to the front door. Algy ambled after her.
As he gathered his hat and coat from the butler, Algernon gave Cecily a sidelong look of regret and said, "You can be a real heartbreaker, Mademoiselle Cheney."
"Good night, M. Moncrieff," Cecily replied. She offered her old friend her hand to soothe his ruffled feathers. The Englishman took it and bent to kiss it. At the last moment he twisted her hand over and pressed his lips to the center of her palm.
Cecily barely had time to register the tingling sensation on her skin before the door closed behind the detective.
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Several hours later: The Batcave
"Erik…please, this is ridiculous," Anna moaned. She slumped at the piano, her shoulders sagging as she flexed her sore fingers. Her brown eyes were so weary she couldn't even see the hands of the mantle clock to tell the time. It must have been well-past midnight and Erik still had her at the piano.
Erik felt little guilt for forcing her to practice, if it meant preventing any further developments in the cousins' conspiracy. He had forgotten, however, that Brooke and Anna were so alike in essentials that they could operate separately and still come up with the same results; therefore, poor Anna's torment was really pointless.
"I want to sleep," the redhead mumbled. She leaned back, reclining against Erik's stomach. The Phantom was reminded of that crazy fourth of July in Perros, when he and Anna had spent the night in the forest, her tiny form happily ensconced in his embrace.
Sighing with defeat, Erik gathered Anna into his arms and carried her back to her bed.
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A/N: I don't really own Algernon Moncrieff. He belongs to Oscar Wilde. Also, the bit about Sherlock (as in Holmes) was more a reference to Angel of the Opera: Sherlock Holmes meets The Phantom of the Opera, By Sam Something-or-other. Personally, I liked that book better than Susan Kay's Phantom.
And about the title of this chapter: It's chapter 42! The best number ever!