Wow I'm going really fast. Don't expect me to usually put up chapters this early, readers, but for today it seems I will be! :)

Enjoy!

Fabre droned on for a long, long time in that tiny, dark room. I eventually came to the point where I wished he'd simply shut up just so I could think, but he wouldn't stop talking. Nadir was the one who finally cut him off.

"That's enough," he said, after Fabre circled back around to a point he'd made long before. "We've gotten it. You think the Inspector is back because a copyist is missing, and the copyist specialized in Raphael's works, who was the Inspector's favorite artist. This is your evidence."

"Not to mention that the copyist's pieces are so similar to the originals that they are virtually impossible to distinguish, which makes them very, very valuable," began Fabre, "nor that the body we thought was the Inspector's wasn't actually his-"

"And does anyone in the police department actually know what the Inspector looked like?" I demanded. "Nadir and Erik and I were the only ones who met him. You only discovered his 'supposed' corpse, and now you're saying it wasn't even him."

"We believe the Inspector employed a doppelganger in case something like this occurred," Fabre said. "The doppelganger is dead. The Inspector is alive, in Venice."

"You only think he's there because someone who copies rare Raphael works has vanished from Venice?" I said. "What kind of proof is that?"

Fabre stiffened at my casual insulting of his evidence. "It's good proof," he insisted, failing to use proper grammar in his annoyance. "At least we know Venice is the best place to start."

"You're not going to start anything," Nadir said, his temper rising. "He's not," he said to me. "They're not even going to investigate. They're just going to fling you out there and hope that your presence is enough to bring the Inspector out into the open. They're using you as bait."

I had guessed this already, but as usual, attack was the best defense.

"What do you mean?" I demanded, glaring at Fabre. "I'm not going to be used as bait. Find some other woman to drop into the middle of Venice and wander around while you and your men stumble from one clue to the next. I'm going home with my fiance."

"Once again," Fabre said, "you really don't have a choice, Mademoiselle. Refuse and we send the Phantom to trial. Cooperate, and we'll send the two of you home when you're done. Do you see any other options?"

I did, but I didn't know if I could get around the table before he drew his gun. I shook my head, and slipped the syringe back up my sleeve. I'd have to wait.

"Very well," I said. "Tell me what I have to do for your assignment."

Officer Fabre smiled without emotion. "As of now, nothing. I'll have the Phantom brought upstairs. The two of you can wait here while Nadir and I gather men and equipment. We'll be leaving in a half hour at the most."

He rose to his feet, checked his gun, nodded at me. "Don't try anything. There are guards up and down these halls; you'd never get out."

Nadir smiled sadly at me as he followed Fabre out.

Erik was still bleeding when they brought him downstairs. I got up when he entered the room, and reached up carefully to touch the line of blood across his cheekbone.

The door slammed; we were alone.

"Does it hurt?"

"No," Erik said, taking my hand and holding it against his chest. "Did they hurt you?"

"No," I said. "They're allowing you to come with me."

"On the assignment," he said. "You're taking it."

"It's either that or allow you to go to trial," I said, "and we're not going to do that."

Erik pressed his lips together until they turned white. Then he let out a long breath, and his face relaxed into calmer lines. "I see."

I was planning on escaping in Venice, of course. Erik had figured this out, but he wasn't going to say anything here, especially while people were probably eavesdropping on us. I reached up with my free hand and brushed an errant lock of hair off his mask.

"Did they-?"

Erik shook his head. "No. I've been treated rather well. Fabre's methods are despicable, but you can't argue with how he handles prisoners. Of course all my weapons and things are gone, but I expected that. Are you thirsty? Tired?"

"Just angry," I said. I swiped at the sweat on my forehead. The interrogation room was much too warm. "And ready to be out of here. Nadir's coming with us too."

"A good choice," Erik said. He lowered his voice. "For both parties, perhaps."

I nodded, sitting down on the edge of the table. A section of my ripped skirts trailed pathetically around my ankles, a flapping green flag fallen in defeat.

"Did they say anything to you?"

Erik shook his head. "I don't know anything about the case."

"They think the Inspector's in Venice," I said, "because a very good Raphael copyist has mysteriously vanished, and also because the body they thought was the Inspector's has turned out to be a doppelganger's."

"The Inspector is devoted to Raphael?"

"Apparently."

"And how do they know the body isn't his?"

"I have no idea."

Erik ran his fingers through his hair. "Their investigating leaves much to be desired."

"Yes," I sighed, "and yet they've managed to destroy our reputations with a handful of shoddy rumors. What will Francis do now?"

"He'll get more publicity for a little while," Erik said. "Bad news is good news, you know. There won't be trouble until I go to trial."

"You can't go to trial," I said, suddenly feeling very afraid. "Fabre said you're going with me."

Erik's eyes were distant. "If Fabre said there was going to be a trial, there will be a trial. Irene, it would be the trial of the century. The Phantom of the Opera, captured at last by the Parisian police, forced to face the punishment his many crimes deserve." He looked down at me. "There's going to be a trial."

"But Erik – you can't go! You're coming with me! And Fabre said afterwards we could leave-"

"He did, did he?" Erik said. "Fabre won't keep his promise. This is what is going to happen: you are going to draw the Inspector out of Venice, and the police are going to capture him – hopefully without him injuring or capturing you – and then both the Inspector and I will be sent back to Paris for our respective trials. The only difference between our fates is that I'll get more publicity."

This was too much. I pulled my hand free from his and stood. "And now you're saying they'll convict you, when we haven't even ruled out the possibility that Fabre will keep his word. I don't agree. We'll have to wait."

Erik said nothing, only watched me.

"Oh, stop it!" I snapped. "You always jump to the most pessimistic scenarios. We still have time; we'll figure something out."

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Fabre opened the door. "It's time. Phantom, I don't want to handcuff you, but I feel I must. Your hands, please."

Erik extended his hands, and Fabre snapped the cuffs on. "Mademoiselle Dubois, I trust you to walk on your own. We are going to the back of the station, where a carriage will pick you up and take you to your first stop."

"Wait," I said. I'd seen Nadir and thought of something the Officer had failed to mention. "The Inspector knows Nadir's face. He'll know exactly who we are if the three of us show up together."

Officer Fabre smiled. "Precisely."

There was a moment's silence.

"You want us to be found," I said. It seemed difficult to breathe. "The reporters on the steps tonight – you brought them there because you wanted a big scene, a popular article in the newspapers. The Inspector is going to know we're coming. He'll know I'm coming to Venice. He'll have everything set up for my arrival. I – I don't stand a chance."

"Yes," Fabre said. He looked around at the three of us. "Sometimes undercover work isn't all that quiet. Sometimes you need something to be big and blown-up."

"But you're destroying your own investigation," Erik said, his words cold and blunt. "If the Inspector knows Irene is coming, he'll know your men are coming too."

"I'm only sending one," the Officer said. "And he has his instructions. Mademoiselle Dubois, are you sure you want to bring your fiancé with you? As you wrote in your confession, he nearly died last time because of you."

I drew in a painful breath. Erik's eyes were fixed on Fabre, his expression implacable, menacing.

"You can't send Nadir with us," I said, regaining control of myself. "I know more about the case than he does. Erik – it's up to you."

"I'm coming," Erik said, without taking his eyes from Fabre. "Even in handcuffs."

Fabre nodded. "Good. Yes, Mademoiselle Dubois, Nadir can stay. You're right – it would draw too much attention to have all three of you there. Though why you want to keep a masked man with you is more than I can fathom."

He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. "Yes, we should be going. Monsieur Khan, you are excused. I expect you to keep the details of this case silent."

Nadir stood aside as Fabre went into the corridor.

Erik dropped something into his friend's hand as he passed, something shiny, silvery. I couldn't tell what it was. Nadir slipped it into his pocket and turned his face to me.

"I'm sorry," he said. He paused. "I'll keep an eye on Antoinette and Francis."

"Tell them I love them," I said. I wanted to say something more, but I couldn't find the words. I looked at Nadir for a long moment. "Thank you."

Fabre was still walking; he snapped his fingers and two policemen swept past Nadir, separating me from him. I turned away, and followed Fabre down the corridor. Erik was flanked by three policeman; I could hear his handcuffs clinking as he walked.

We climbed into the carriage, and Erik sat down across from me, his head lowered.

Fabre looked in at the two of us. "Good luck."

I ignored him. It was childish, but it was better than cursing at him, which was what I wanted to do.

The Officer patted the side of the carriage and stepped away. A new man came up the carriage steps, and paused in the doorway, looking at us.

He was blond-haired, but it was not the white-blond hair of Luke or Nicolas; it was more honey-colored, and his eyes were a faded hazel. His face was clean-shaven; the absence of facial hair made him look young. He could have been as tall as Erik, but I wasn't sure.

"Good evening," he said. His voice was that of an older man, harsh, gritty. Blunt. "I am Christophe Janvier. You may call me Christophe."

He swung himself lightly into the carriage – perhaps he was younger than I had thought – and shut the door.

The carriage started, and Erik and I exchanged looks of interest. This man clearly had presence, but would he be able to keep an eye on both of us?

"I see you two know each other quite well," Christophe said.

I glanced sideways at him. "We are engaged."

He looked at me, his hazel eyes penetrating, yet cool. "That's something you should refrain from telling people, especially if you wish to stay alive while in Venice. The man you're seeking is wilier than you think."

"Oh, the Inspector already knows about the two of us," I said, irritated that he thought I'd be stupid enough to tell everyone about Erik and I. "It seems you know less than I thought you would."

"I know about the Inspector," Christophe said. "Many people do. He's quite famous in Europe, though they used to call him something else. And did you consider pretending that the two of you aren't engaged while you're in Venice? The Inspector might find more use for you as a depressed woman than as a happily engaged one."

"I think Irene is probably better versed on the Inspector than you are," Erik said, breaking into the conversation. "She's spoken to him a number of times, you see. How long have you been on his case? A month?"

Christophe considered Erik the way a snake looks at a cat – wary, but interested. "Almost a year. What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't," Erik said.

I made a mental note not to use Erik's name around this man. "Are we supposed to call you Christophe, or do you have another name you want us to use?"

Christophe shook his head. "Christophe is fine. Your name will have to be changed, though. Lillian, perhaps. Or Cynthia. What about Claire?"

"No," I said, finding that my voice was suddenly shaky. What did he know about Claire? "I'll choose my own name, thank you. I don't suppose you have something for me to dye my hair with."

"We'll leave the hair as it is," Christophe said, looking me up and down. "But you should lose the ring. As for you…" he turned to Erik. "We'll have to figure out what to do with that mask."

"I'm capable of disguising myself adequately," Erik said, annoyed.

"I'm not taking off my ring," I said.

Christophe sighed. "I should have known you two would be disagreeable." He reached down and untied the laces of his shoe, then drew it off and shook it up and down methodically. Something rattled around inside of the leather, something hard and metallic-sounding.

I fingered the syringe in my sleeve. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Erik slip silently out of his handcuffs.

"I would remain calm," Christophe said, without looking up from his shoe. "I have no intention of harming either of you."

"Then what precisely are you doing?" I said.

Christophe straightened up and held out an open hand. "Taking this out. Sometimes I get tired of it poking me in the foot all day."

He was holding a sharp metal dart. A small leather sheath lay on the ground of the carriage, next to the discarded shoe.

For a long moment, no one moved.

To be continued...