A/N: Yes, believe it or not readers, I am still alive! And as not to bore you with long, uninteresting details of my delay, I present chapter 17.

Maggie

The days passed slowly into December.

I hardly ate. And when I did, it wasn't much.

Jacques and some of the others continued to worry, and I continued to brush them off.

I finally heard the infamous La Carlotta…and wished I hadn't.

Salty and a few others had a good hearty laugh at the expression on my face when I listened during rehearsal, the night Carlotta was to resume the role.

"It's not that terrible, just…overwhelming."

"In the worst possible way," Remy added.

There was no mention of who was to be the new chief scene-shifter. Whatever belongings found on my brother, including his ring of keys, was passed to me. I gave the keys to Jacques save for the one that went to the door of what was now solely my little hovel.

"One of these days you'll be promoted, and these keys will be coming right back to you." He predicted.

"Well, that depends on whether I'm still here or not."

Jacques knitted his brows in confusion. "Why wouldn't you be?"

"That's the thing about Buquets, Jacques. They never stay in one place too long…or haven't you figured that yet?"

I spent the better part of the morning determining what I was going to say to Christine. For the first couple of days after spilling her secret about her Angel of Music, she avoided me. If our paths crossed, she took off like a jackrabbit. I started thinking about what would happen at my next encounter with the enigma I was now employed under, especially if I couldn't provide the adequate information he sought. This motivated me to snatch any opportunity to catch Christine alone.

I soon got my chance. It was the last night of Faust and there was rumor of the managers receiving a threatening note from the infamous phantom, demanding that Christine Daae sing the main role of Marguerite for the final performance.

So, later that morning, the managers and perhaps 1/3 of the company put their two cents in over the situation for the first half of rehearsal. Madame Carlotta had returned, also demanding the role be reassigned solely to her. Remy, Blackcap, and I lounged in the wings seeing as rehearsals had come to a halt. I felt rather sorry for Christine as she stood by, tolerating Carlotta's verbal abuse.

"Christine Daae doesn't have the voice!" Carlotta whined. "It was my part to begin with and it's mine to finish!"

"But Signora," Monsieur Firmin beseeched, "With Mademoiselle Daae singing, the House has been sold out!"

"She's good for business," his partner, Armand Moncharmin added, earning a disapproving glare from Firmin.

"And I never was?!" Carlotta screeched.

And so, the banter continued. Christine looked close to tears, and while I wasn't terribly keen about her, I couldn't help but wish she would speak out, stick up for herself. It was finally decided that Christine would end the production of Faust for the public's sake. The managers left and people began filtering back onstage to start rehearsal. The boys and I started moving back to our positions. Carlotta hadn't left and I noticed her cornering Christine, raising her voice for all to hear.

"You never had sufficient talent for a leading role before. So, who has been teaching you?"

Christine visibly cowered under the diva's harsh gaze.

"N-no one, Madame."

"Liar! One does not simply rise from the chorus to limelight overnight! You must be in good company with those fool-hardy managers. Was it because of their influence you got where you are now?"

As soon as the accusation left her mouth, everyone who was listening or pretending not to listen became dead silent. Christine head snapped up, staring her rival in the eye, the hurt expression on her face transforming to one of defense.

"How dare you suggest a thing, you evil woman!"

"Don't deny it, you little vixen! Shy little Christine Daae, sleeping around for the sake of position!"

There were several gasps from the dancers and chorus members. Tears trickled down Christine's face, fully aware that because of her silence in regard to her tutor, the rumor was now set and spreading like wildfire.

"How can you be so hateful?" she whispered.

"I'm generally not kind when something is taken from me," Carlotta sneered. "How else would you snatch the limelight? I am the Opera's Prima Donna; I have acquired the honor, the fame, through means of pure talent and status. I have pushed myself through singing lessons, I have been well-disciplined; all to share my gift with the world. The only way a poor, feeble brat like you could gain such opportunity would be to work hard…in the bedroom."

A sharp slap rang through the air, and was surprised to find it delivered from the hand of Christine Daae. 'Bravo,' I silently cheered. As the realization of what she'd just done dawned on her, I rushed to her side before she could dissolve into an emotional mess. I looked down my nose at Carlotta, which was fairly difficult to do as she was the taller.

"Last time I checked, Madame, any two people are entitled to the same moral rights, even if one is rich, wise, powerful and famous, and the other is not." Not allowing her any time for a comeback, I led Christine away.

Safe in Christine's dressing room, she broke down and cried while all I could do was attempt to sincerely console her and, personally, wish she would put a cork in it soon.

"How can she be so vile? I never did anything to her."

"She sees you as a threat, and one will do almost anything to eliminate a threat."

She wiped at her eyes with a dainty white kerchief bearing her initials in blue stitching. "What the company must think of me now…"

"I wouldn't fret too much about it. Tomorrow, there'll be some new rumor about someone else, and everyone will forget what she said." She gave a genuine smile, which led me to babble on. "And I guarantee the one thing people will be talking about most is how that banshee got put in her place."

We both cracked up laughing. Recovering from the fit of giggles, I took a moment to glance around at Christine's belongings, grasping any useful insight to Christine's personal life. My eyes landed on a white wooden vanity, briefly scanning the few objects strewn about it. Hair ribbon, stage makeup, a fan, hairbrush—and something small and gold that winked at me, but I couldn't determine what it was. Christine caught me spying at her trinkets and smiled. She glided toward the vanity to pick up the golden thing, and then returned to sit across from me, holding out her hand to reveal a simple gold, oval-shaped locket with a star engraved on front. Opening it, she showed me a picture of a friendly-looking man and a lovely blonde woman.

"They're beautiful," I remarked, in all honesty. Christine smiled and nodded, gazing into their black and white faces.

"Mother died when I was very little, then Father was taken by an illness just a few years ago. It's—it's not been easy."

I could sense the waterworks would appear any moment, so I changed the subject. "Do you have many friends, here?"

"No, not many. I get along with mostly everybody, but I guess I'm not what you'd call sociable. Meg's about the closest friend I have. She is nearly four years younger, though."

"Really? I thought she was your age. How old are you?"

"Twenty. Twenty-one come spring. What about you?"

"The same. Joseph was nearly five years older."

"You and your brother got along well, didn't you?"

I was vaguely aware of my eyes growing distant as Christine's had done when mentioning her parents, and I stared off into space.

"Actually, we fought quite a bit. But I guess I wouldn't have it any other way."

Judging by the confusion on her face I assumed she had no siblings to speak of, and therefore couldn't fully comprehend what I meant.

"You don't have any brothers or sisters, am I right?" She shook her head.

"I've always wanted a younger sister. I suppose that's how thought of Meg when we became close; a sister as well as a friend. But I'm sure it's not the same. It must be a blessing, I can only imagine."

I snorted. "Huh, a blessing and a burden."

Our conversation was soon joined by Meg. After our stomachs declared it time for lunch, we headed to the café.

"I'm glad you're singing tonight, Christine. I can't take much more of that God-awful sow."

Christine gaped at her companion's choice of words. "Meg how can say such things?"

"She's a horrible woman! I think Mag—," she caught herself, remembering we were in public, "Err—Sidney put her right in her place, the witch."

I laughed at Meg's perturbed expression while Christine, once again, reprimanded her friend's language.

"Honestly, if your mother could hear you, now…"

Boy, if Christine thought Meg's language was bad, what would she think of mine?

"Ah, what would she do, feed me to the ghost?"

"I'm thinking about it, young lady!" another voice interjected.

We turned to see Meg's mother, the Opera's box keeper, Madame Giry marching toward us in a distressed manner. Madame Giry—whose first name I never did know nor did anyone else, because she kept it strictly confidential—was an older woman and a rather amusing character, if I do say so myself. I'd never talked to her, really, but one learns a lot from the Hell's Angels band of brothers. Her husband, Jules, had died years back, but she was still always seen in an old, frumpy, fading black taffeta dress, worn shoes, and a funny bonnet with wilting feathers. I had seen her from time to time, leaving Box 5—the ghost's box or so I was told.

"Margaret Giry, what's this I hear about you, skipping the end of rehearsal?! You're not going to be lead dancer for long if you don't take this position seriously."

Meg was positively gelatin under her mother's fierce temper. "But Mama, I had to make sure Christine was alri—,"

"—Christine is just fine, as you can see. Be cautious, girl. You know you were only considered for the position because of the ghost. He gave it to you, and he can take it away! Which brings me to another thing, Meg Giry, you've been gossiping about the ghost again, haven't you?"

Christine and I had backed slowly away, eyeing Madame Giry like she was a snake ready strike anything that moved. Meg's eyes shifted toward us, and our faces conveyed our pity for her.

"Just stories, mum. It was only a bit of fun, they're not hurting anybody!"

"Does everything I say go in one ear and out the other? I've told you the ghost does not like to be talked about!"

The good Madame chastised her daughter a few more minutes before allowing her to go to lunch with us. As she passed by me, she gave a sympathetic half-smile.

"I am so dreadfully sorry about your brother, young Buquet. But I was quite right," she stared off into nothing, "Joseph Buquet had no business talking about things that didn't concern him. I told him it would bring bad luck, and unfortunately, it did."

She nodded curtly and briskly walked back down the corridor, leaving me speechless. I didn't know what to think and quite frankly didn't know how to handle this information. Meg rushed to me while Christine stared after the woman's retreating back.

"What in the world was that about?" Christine breathed.

"I'm sorry, Sidney. She shouldn't have said that." Meg placed a hand on my arm.

I finally managed to find my voice. "So why did she?"

Meg shook her head. "I've given up trying to figure her out. But she's always been extremely superstitious about the ghost. She's always on my back about telling tales about him. But it's because I have actually seen him! She's seen him too. She just won't tell anyone."

"I can't believe she could be so unfeeling about Jo. I know he wasn't the best card in the deck, but…"

"It's just Mama's way. She's always been a bit overdramatic. I don't mean to sound cold, but I do have to agree with her. Joseph Buquet ought to have held his tongue. He was always talking about the ghost, spreading rumors like a disease. Mother tried to warn him more than once. I guess he just didn't care to listen and now he's paid for it."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Were there more secretly against Jo than I cared to know about? Did I really want to know? My senses were clouding up with these thoughts and with increasing disgust towards Meg's analysis. I had to leave; go somewhere quiet.

Christine tried to catch eye contact. "Are you alright?"

"Excuse me." I whispered, brushing past them.

"I'm sorry to be so blunt, Maggie."

I faced Meg. "You spread wild stories just as much as he did. Perhaps, you ought to heed your mother's advice, and hold your own tongue."

I didn't look to see her expression change. I fled to the second cellar as quickly as I could, going without lunch or anything else the rest of the day for that matter.

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"Joseph Buquet had no business talking about things that didn't concern him..."

"Joseph Buquet ought to have held his tongue..."

"Mother tried to warn him…"

They're voices rang out through my head. As I sat there, thinking…thinking.

"I told him it would bring bad luck…"

"I guess he just didn't care to listen…"

I know my brother told the ghost stories, I had heard them. I had scolded him for it. But it didn't make me disregard him. It didn't make me think less of him. With each day here, it seemed I was discovering one more person who had some kind of trouble with Jo, and it made me wonder. Just how well-liked was Joseph? Everyone who consoled me, everyone who gave condolences…just how many of them were pretending? My weary brain couldn't sort out who was sincere and who didn't give a damn.

There were too many things to think about. So, worn out from thinking, I fell asleep and decided to worry about it later.