Hello, dear readers. It's lovely to be back! And Venture Wood, thank you for the helpful comment about the wording in my last chapter. It was kind of you to point it out, really.

Chapter Two! Enjoy :).

After Officer Fabre left, Erik entered the office by means of the prima donna portrait (Francis still hadn't found a painting that fit over the passageway that wasn't completely atrocious), and snatched the opened letter from the Count's limp and shaking hands.

"Ludicrous," he snarled, reading through it in a flash and tossing it at the fireplace. "Cowardly, that they'll stoop to blackmail in order to make you do their dirty work for them."

There was a knock on the door – Francis leapt to his feet and nearly knocked his stool over.

"Who is it?" he demanded.

"Me," said a familiar female voice.

"And me," said another familiar voice, but this one was male.

"It's just the rest of S.C.O.W.L.," I said. "Let them in, Francis. Erik, you missed the fire."

Erik picked up the note from the floor and dropped it into the flames. It caught, crackled for a moment, and then crumpled sadly into a pile of gray ashes. "I hate policemen. And you can't take the job, Irene. I'm sure Dumont's not alive; they're just sending you on a wild goose chase."

"What job?" Madame Giry said, entering the room, Nadir behind her. "I admit I'm slightly confused. Why do you look so horrorstruck, Francis?"

Nadir closed the door. "What's going on?"

I took a deep breath. "Officer Fabre has asked me to take an undercover assignment to find the Inspector. The police seem to have suspicions that he's still alive. And because I did not appear interested enough, I suppose, Fabre is stooping to blackmail. He knows something is up between us and 'the Phantom,' and he left us a nice little note about possibly turning the Opera upside down in order to find him."

"Where is it?" Antoinette asked, looking from me to Francis to Erik. Her eyes went to the fire. "Oh. No, don't tell me."

"You always burn everything, Erik," Nadir said with a sigh. "Madame Giry, would you like a chair?"

"Take mine," I said, getting to my feet. "I need some fresh air."

The four of them watched me walk to the door. As I reached for the handle, a barrage of questions broke over me in a surprisingly loud wave of sound.

"But where are you going? We haven't even talked about anything yet!"

"Maybe you would like to finish-"

"Please don't leave, dear-"

It was difficult to determine who was talking about what, but I got the gist of it. I turned and looked at them.

"Officer Fabre insinuated that the Inspector's not dead," I said, pressing the engagement ring in my pocket so hard against my thigh that it hurt. "And he just asked me to spend who knows how long looking for him. And he's bribing me with the knowledge that he might know more about Erik than we think, and now I have no idea what to do."

Erik hadn't said anything, but now he did.

"Francis, sit down. Antoinette, would you like a cup of tea? Nadir, stop standing there and go find some tea. Irene-"

He was corralling them, giving me time to think.

"I'll be on the roof," I said in answer to his silent question. "I'm sorry, but I need to think. I'll be back an about an hour."

"We'll be here," Antoinette said. "Francis, your teapot seems to be cracked. Would you like me to locate another one?"

The roof was empty, the leaves swept clean from the cobblestones by a fragrant, whispery summer breeze. I sat down under one of the angels, leaning my head against the base of the cool stone statue. My heart was thumping painfully in my chest.

But I refused to be afraid.

If the Inspector was alive, there was no use in running around in a panic, nor in wasting time in heated, frenetic babbling. And I was sick of half-baked plans that ended in near-disaster or that backfired upon us almost as soon as they started. We were not going to fall into a trap this time.

If Officer Fabre wished to blackmail me into submission, the first thing I was going to do was consult with Nadir. I needed to find out how high up Fabre was in the Parisian police, how many people knew about my case, and if the Phantom was really a threat in their eyes. I also needed to speak to Erik, to ask him about taking a small break from the Opera House. A week would probably do.

I was not planning on spying for the police. I wasn't going to go back to that hellhole where Nicolas had killed Erik and Linnet had tortured him, and I certainly wasn't going to go there alone.

So that was settled. And if Fabre still wished to "excavate" the Opera in search of the Phantom, we would let him. Erik still had many of the passageways sealed up, some never to be opened again, and if he didn't want to leave the Opera, he could simply sit underground in his house for a few days.

If things got too close, if Fabre managed to break open one of the passageways or if he found anything suspicious, we could move Erik to Nadir's apartment in the city. Neither of them would mind, and if the police did break into Erik's house (but this was so unlikely it bordered on impossible), Erik would simply flood his home by triggering some sort of contraption under the lake, and hide any trace of him ever having been there.

If that happened, we'd just have to move to the country a little early. Besides, we'd already relocated several of the biggest items from his home to our new place in the countryside.

We'd bought it by selling Linnet's diamond necklace and a few of the Inspector's more ostentatious items, such as the jewelry and old paintings Hansen had left in the back of his carriage.

Every few nights, Erik and I had lugged things from his house up to the back of the Opera, piled them into Hansen's carriage (which was now ours, and which we had dubbed The Gilded Lily), and driven off into the countryside.

Our new home was located on the outskirts of a forest, near a small lake (which was more of a large pond, but Erik refused to call it that), and it was everything we had ever wanted. There was a comfy living room filled with bookcases and sofas and cushioned chairs; a small, heavily-windowed kitchen with white cabinets and a dinner table that fit seven; two guest rooms; a large master bedroom decorated in pale green fabric and dark brown wood; and a luxuriant rose garden that snarled and flowered across half the property.

The elderly couple that had sold it to us had complained of ghosts – but seeing as neither Erik nor I believed in such things, we hadn't cared and bought it anyways. A few hours after they'd left, Erik and I had discovered that their idea of a ghost was actually a loose panel in the top of the fireplace that flapped when a breeze came through the chimney. Thump… thump… thump… it went, and Erik and I broke into hysterical, happy laughter when we found out what it was.

We had a home, and we were engaged, and we were to be married in a month.

For a few days I'd thought that nothing could possibly go wrong.

Well, it was clear that things could.

I heard Erik coming before I saw him. I had used to think that his every movement was silent, but now I had been around him so long that I knew he wasn't. There were always tell-tale signs of his approach: the softest of whispers from his clothing, or a small thump when he brought his foot down slightly wrong on the cobblestones.

He sat down next to me and put his arm around my shoulders, and I leaned my head against his chest.

"Antoinette suggests that we leave as soon as possible. She thinks it would be best if we took a vacation from Paris while Fabre tears apart the Opera in search of me."

"How long?" I asked. "We have to be back in time for the wedding. Unless you want to move it from Saint Julien Le Pauvre to the countryside. We could always get married in the rose garden. That would be lovely."

Le Pauvre was a small church on the left bank of the Seine; Erik and I had passed by it on our way home and promptly fallen in love with it.

"I think that would do nicely," Erik agreed. "You've always liked roses. And the fresh air would be nice, not to mention the extra room for our guests. Le Pauvre is a little small. Afternoon or morning?"

I considered. "Afternoon. When the shadows fall long across the grass and the trees are gold with the fading sunlight, you know. You don't mind?"

"No," Erik said. "Afternoon it is." He glanced around at the quiet rooftop. "It's oddly peaceful up here right now."

I frowned as I thought about this. "Usually there are some policemen lurking around, but perhaps they've decided to take the night off?"

Erik lifted his arm from my shoulders and stood, turning in a slow circle to survey the roof. I recognized the wary look in his eyes: he was the Phantom once more. "Perhaps."

I stood too, wishing I could shake the disquieting feeling, but I was as uneasy as he.

"Let's go," I said. "There's no use in being found out now. And the others are waiting for us."

"They will have to wait a little longer," said a voice from the shadowy base of a rearing centaur. "Come quietly now, Phantom. We have you and your fiancée surrounded."

Officer Fabre inched carefully into the light of the torches, his face quite calm. The gun in his hand was shiny and black. From the shadows followed a little army of policemen, their faces as remote as their leader's. Each of them held drawn weapons.

"You're not faster than a bullet," Fabre said, speaking to Erik.

Erik looked back at him. For a moment I thought he would leap forward – attack him –

"I suppose you are right," the Phantom said. He held up his hands agreeably.

This surprised me, but only for a moment. I had forgotten how much Erik despised guns.

"Officer," I said. I wasn't close enough for Erik to stop me; I stepped in front of him and towards the officer, my heart leaping in my throat like a dying fish. "This is not the way to go about making me your ally."

"This man is a wanted criminal," Fabre said. "Step aside, Mademoiselle Dubois."

His hands were steady on the gun. I swallowed.

"Martin. Please. I'll fulfill your assignment – let him go. I know your threats are real now."

"I'm sorry, Mademoiselle Dubois," the Officer replied. His eyes were fixed on Erik. "I need to make sure you do as you say. Your fiancé is the perfect bargaining chip. Back away, slowly."

"Irene, do as he says," Erik said from behind me. "Officer, I'm clearly not arguing with you. Handcuff me and let's be off."

The tension was clear in his voice. He was afraid for me, but I closed my ears to him.

"He's done nothing wrong," I said, my voice rising. "Listen to me, Officer. He's done nothing wrong. If you want me to spy for you, I will. But I swear to you – if you hurt him-"

"We are not planning on hurting him, Mademoiselle," the Officer said, his voice tighter than before. The gun listed a little to the right, wavering towards me. I hadn't stopped walking; I was only a foot away now. "Stop walking. Back away."

I stopped, but I didn't step back. "Let him go."

"He's a criminal-"

"He's a bargaining chip!"

"Irene, stop-"

"You listen to me, Officer – you simply cannot march up here and threaten us-"

"If you take one more step, Mademoiselle, I will shoot."

Fabre had reached his breaking point. His fingers were white on the gun.

I backed away, very slowly, and collided softly with Erik. He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me tight against his side. He was shaking.

"Officer Fabre," he said. "Arrest me and you lose Irene. Threaten Irene and you gain me as your enemy."

"Your options, Phantom," Fabre said, waving Erik's words aside with a shake of his head, "are to come quietly, or to be brought in by force. Which will it be?"

"Quietly," Erik said. "As a gentleman should. Irene, please step over there."

He released me. I didn't move.

"Fabre," I said, almost pleading, "I plan to marry him."

"God," Fabre said, his voice a groan. "This is the longest arrest I have ever made. I am not planning to shoot him, Mademoiselle Dubois, I only wish to handcuff him and take him to jail. He will have a proper trial, and there will be a judge and a jury. Justice will be done."

"If you arrest him," I said, "I will not carry out your assignment. I'll leave Paris. I doubt you'll be able to find me; you didn't manage to find the Inspector even with outside help."

"It seems we are at a stalemate," Erik observed. He sounded less worried now; I wondered what he was thinking. Then I remembered something, and my heart rose with relief. Thank God.

"We are not," the Officer said, grimacing. "You will be arrested either way. Mademoiselle Dubois will help us, unless she wants her lover to languish in jail for the rest of his life. Now will both of you be quiet and let us arrest you?"

It was the wrong question. I burst into gasping, half-sobbing laughter. Officer Fabre's horrified eyes went from the Phantom to me.

Erik took two steps backwards, looped an arm around my waist, and we vanished into the cobblestones.

It seemed, I thought as we plummeted downward, that Officer Fabre had forgotten to check the roof for trapdoors.