Only a short one tonight, I have to get to sleep for workies tomorrow. :( Still, it's better than nothing, right?

Disclaimer: Sleep... oh, no, I own neither Phantom nor Artemis Fowl in any of their glorious forms.

Chapter Seventeen: The Phantom's Opera

Rehearsals were an absolute madhouse.

For a start, Artemis' opera was like no other music on earth. It seared the ears, raped the senses, and left the listener howling in the void even as it soothed the ache and warmed the soul. The dichotomy of a brilliant genius tortured by a monstrous deformity made into song - Holly could understand this, given her intimate knowledge of Artemis as the Phantom. But the rest of the company were left breathless and bemused, wondering whether this would be the performance that ruined the Opera once and for all.

And her absence had bought her no friends among the company, either. The general consensus was that she was a freak, and Holly didn't mind so much, that. They were just ignorant Mud People, what did they know? What bothered Holly was the ever present eyes she felt on her at every turn - not just those of her colleagues, but of the invisible, mad Artemis, watching at every moment, waiting for her to make a mistake. She was damned if she was going to give him the satisfaction.

So she stumbled through, past those initial days of sarcasm and snubs, until the company settled into an odd sort of routine and as much calmness as possible presided over events. And it was well they did, for the Opera Ghost was a demanding taskmaster and was in the habit of making the stage shake if someone hit a note that butchered his music beyond his endurance. Perhaps he was pleased, or merely irked to discover that the trick stopped working after the first twenty times, and that the company would take the opportunity to sit down for a break or sneak out for a smoke.

Affairs within the house below the Opera were more complicated. Holly was required by Artemis to remain with him below the Opera when she was not needed above. She applauded his reasoning with the professional side of her even as her emotions screamed to be free, to escape the confines of the house and leap to freedom. So she understood but did not like his reasons for keeping her by his side, tethered to him, or otherwise intimidated into silence by the threat of his presence. Were she to tell someone the truth, he would simply kill them. And were she to run, he would slaughter anyone who aided her. She could only wait in silence.

She sat at dinner with him every night. She would eat and he would watch, eyes steely, the air fraught with tension. Of course he could not eat with his mask on, she understood that, but his presence was strictly supervisory, as though he suspected she would attempt to starve herself to death if he gave her but half an opportunity. Her attempts at engaging him in some form of communication beyond the bare essentials were foiled at every turn.

A sample conversation:

"How do you think rehearsals are progressing, Artemis?"

"Not quickly enough. Eat your carrots."

"What do you think of the sets, Artemis?"

"Garish and unsightly. Eat your broccoli."

"I thought the chorus was very well today. Do you agree, Artemis?"

"Not particularly. Eat your cauliflower."

And once, finally:

"I think my dress for Act II is cut too low, Artemis, what do you think?"

"You'd have to have something to fill it out with first. Eat your salad."

Oh, he was cutting and cold, and every word seemed to lance right down to the core of her. That brief flash of his previous wit, even directed as it was square at her bosom, was enough to give her heart for a day or two. But there was no more displays of anything beyond his cool indifference, and once more she sunk into the gloom that pervaded the house below the Opera.

Rehearsals were a blessing, in that sense. At least they were interaction, even if was human interaction, and even if all she could say of her long absence with Artemis was, "I was busy." Even though she could feel Artemis watching her at every moment, his presence a brand and a throb that everyone throughout the Opera could feel. The managers shook and stammered and managed brave smiles when they attended rehearsals, and the chorus girls and ballet rats were positively trembling with terror each time someone mentioned the Phantom. Holly understood their fears. They were just young girls and women, for the most part, and they did not understand the Opera Ghost. They were frightened. Yes, Holly could understand their fears, but she did not share them. Her horror of Artemis was of a far darker timbre.

By the time the performance was three days away, the entire company was stretched taut, the atmosphere tense and quiet with a loaded stress. Holly was not as much needed as some others, the benefit of Artemis' intense hours of private rehearsal time. She knew her role as much as she was ever going to, and even though it would probably not measure up to the exquisite sound that Artemis had imagined for Aminta, she was going to do her damnedest trying. So she sat on the sidelines with Piangi, who was playing Don Juan, as Carlotta glared at her from the chorus and only occasionally managed to dance without tripping over her own feet. Holly had never thought, when she had dreamed of being an opera star as a girl, nor when Artemis had driven her hard for hours to ensure her voice was flawless, that she would ever find opera to be so boring.

Holly perked up a little at the sight of the group of shorter-statured performers required for Act III as they approached her. Artemis demanded many unique people for his opera, the servants of Don Juan and the eventual catalyst for Aminta's betrayal of him. Holly liked them. They were friendly and kind and she didn't have to look up to them, for one. More intimidating were the two circus 'strong men', muscle bound and fierce, Don Juan's bodyguards, and the sisters joined at the waist, his maids. Their presence infuriated many of the regular company beyond all reason. She had heard many reasons for their being in the opera, from infuriating the managers to ruining the Opera to a symbolic statement, but Holly knew the real reason, and her heart burned with it.

Still, they smiled when they passed her, and she smiled back. They were good people. Only one did not smile, his hat drawn down over his eyes, and as he passed her she frowned. Something was wrong...

"Short!" Holly's head whipped around, to the sound of her name on such a familiar voice.

"Trouble!" she hissed in terror and delight. "What in Frond's name are you doing here?"

"Undercover!" he whispered out the corner of his mouth. "Short, the whole Lower Elements has gone mad. You've got to come home."

"I can't," she whispered back in horror. "Listen, you've got to get out of here. You've no idea what Artemis is like -"

"Artemis?" Holly cursed. How could she betray Artemis yet another time? Reveal his hiding place, his haven, the only place left to him in this world where he could walk about unmasked and not suffer the jeers and scorn of mankind. Yet he had unquestionably gone mad, twisted right round the bend, and there was nothing she could do now except save herself.

"Artemis Fowl. He's holding me captive beneath the Opera."