Hello there!

Sorry it's taken so much time to update. College finals are next week for me, so I've been rushing about trying to get music memorized and projects completed feeling as though my head is cut off. Anyway, Here's a 3,000ish word chapter as a little 'thank you' from me for being so patient. A lot goes on in this chapter, so I hope all of you enjoy every small detail as much as I've enjoyed writing it. This summer, I'll definitely be able to turn out chapter faster with the same amount of quality, so hold tight with me for another week or so, as I try to get my bearings together!

Ever yours,

Soprano in Shadow


"You wouldn't believe the way he treated me, Firmin! Ugh, that jerk!" Christine vented as she rinsed the shampoo out of her hair. Nodding along to the frustrated singer's mini rant absentmindedly even though she couldn't see him through the shower curtain, Firmin was sending email after email to various members in the Organization, his fingers flying across his phone's touch screen keyboard.

"I mean he basically called me a bad actor. Me! I've defended his anonymity since the first opera he produced, and he says that I would make him the laughing stock of the opera world?"

"Calm down, Cat. I'm sure that it's just part of his… charm. Maybe tomorrow will be better?" Firmin asked, as he worriedly read an email he just received from Madame.

Christine's head popped out from behind the shower curtain. "Firmin, tomorrow may just never happen. I've never crossed words with a composer or a director before. He'll probably call me and ask me to leave New York as soon as possible!"

"Err… Christine," Firmin began, as he tried to find a way to break the news, "I don't think Mr. Destler will be asking you to leave anytime soon…" Firmin trailed off as he tried to find a way to word the next piece of information. "It seems as though his appearance in New York is not a coincidence whatsoever. From what Madame has sent me… Well, Mr. Destler has been assigned as your second."

A quiet pause followed as the nervous man's latest words sunk in. "Get Antoinette on the bloody phone now!" the soprano shrieked from within the shower.

"Yes, Christine, I understand. Yes, I know he can be a bit eccentric, but you can handle—I know. Yes, I know. Of course I haven't forgotten." Antoinette Giry snapped into the phone as she massaged her temple in hope of relieving the pain.

"No, Christine, I can't withdraw him from being your second. Yes, I understand you're a little sore… Okay, maybe sore isn't the most appropriate word, but still. You should let bygones be bygones."

Reaching into her third drawer, Antoinette glanced at the prescription bottle to make sure it was the correct one, unscrewed it and popped a painkiller into her mouth, followed by a gulp of water. This conversation needed it.

"No, Christine, I can't send him out to you. He's on an assignment in Europe for another week. I know he's the only man you've worked with as your second, but he has clients to handle."

The door to her office slid open as Meg Giry peeked into her mother's office, only for Antoinette to point at her and then to the chair in front of her desk. Biting her lip, Meg sat as she waited for her mother's lecture.

Antoinette sighed as the soprano's voice on the other end began to plead once again. "No, Christine, I can't send you out to Europe on a red eye to help him handle all of his clients in one night, just so he can second you for the rest of your stay in New York." Meg tried to stifle a laugh at her mother's choice of words, only for it to be stifled under her mother's disapproving glare.

"Alright, I'll see what I can do, Christine. Enjoy dinner. Tell Andre it's on me. Bye now." Antoinette sighed after putting the office phone back onto the receiver and began to shuffle through different folders of agents on assignment.

Meg Giry swallowed as she tried to visualize how Christine must have looked, distraught.

Antoinette leaned back into her chair as she stared solemnly at her blond daughter. "Meg Giry, I hope you're happy now. What have I told you about switching seconds I've assigned for long term projects?"

Sighing in frustration, Christine tossed the phone back to a petrified Firmin, who fumbled to catch it. Why wasn't Andre ever here when a crisis occurred?

"Alright, so new plan tonight. Dinner at Sparks' Steakhouse instead of sushi, and then we come back here and plan what to do about our clients." Christine said, as she held the towel that covered her body in one hand, and rubbed her head with the other. "Firmin, if you can get reservations in. And ask them to make sure that the press doesn't get in this time—That's the last thing I need."

Three glasses of champagne clinked as Andre led the three of them in a toast. "To our dear soprano. May all of the bickering that has occurred between yourself and Mr. Destler pay off on opening night!"

Christine couldn't help but smile. Her two companions had been attempting to cheer her up all day. Not that it hadn't helped, but Christine had a feeling that with how wonderful tonight had been going, something would have to go wrong—something always did.

"As long as that idiot stays away from me from now on, I don't care. I can't stand him." Christine rattled on, not noticing both Andre and Firmin's faces pale. "Did I tell you that he actually tried to get some amount of passion from me when he wouldn't shut up about the duet? I'm sorry but who would ever be passionate about that cold stick in the mud?" Christine laughed as she took another sip of her champagne, when a chilly voice froze her to the core.

"I'm so sorry, mademoiselle, for taking up your precious time when I'm just trying to make this opera perfect. And of course you're one to judge about love, Ms. 'I haven't had a date in 5 years'… Maybe you should judge people by their character instead of shallowly basing people on their looks!" Erik spat out angrily as he glared into her now turned face, but quietly enough so that the surrounding tables couldn't hear their bickering.

She stood there shocked. Was he following her? And what had he meant by that last comment? He didn't think that she was basing him off of his mask wearing, was he? And why did she care so much?

"Mr. Destler, I'm so sorry! May I offer you a seat?" Andre asked as he hastily got up and signaled the waiter to bring over an extra chair.

"Well, as I was sent here to rendezvous with all of you tonight… Thank you so much, Mr. -" Erik broke off not knowing the elder gentleman's name.

The man in question let out a nervous chuckle, obviously attempting to provide some light to the tense atmosphere. "Andre, call me Andre, Mr. Destler. I'm assuming Madame spoke with your contact to inform you of your and Christine's situation?"

"Yes, Antoinette did, however she alerted me personally. I have no contact," Erik explained as he leaned back and accepted the freshly poured glass of champagne. The other three looked at him in wonder. Only one other person could call the Madame 'Antoinette' besides young Meg, and that was her adopted daughter

"How is it that 'Antoinette' allows you to go without a contact and a with free reign?" Christine asked, curious.

"Let's just say that Antoinette isn't as cold and uncaring as is the face that she tends to put out there." Erik said breezily. "Now, since apparently this 'opera diva' doesn't know how to take her day job seriously, maybe it would be best if we retire to Antoinette's penthouse?"

Nodding, Andre and Firmin began to rise from their chairs, when Christine asked, "Wait! What do you mean by all of us retiring to the penthouse? You don't mean..."

"Why, Miss Daae, you didn't think that penthouse was just for you, did you?" Erik drawled sarcastically as Christine's face paled once more.

Later, reports would state that the scream, which could be heard from outside of the steakhouse and on the streets of Manhattan, was from the discovery of a mouse in the dining hall.

However, if the paparazzi had captured the scene of a masked man bursting forth from the back door—carrying an unconscious soprano on his shoulder—with a nervous Firmin following, and lastly an embarrassed Andre (who was stuck not only paying the bill, but also slipping $2000 alongside it as payment for the disturbance) bringing up the rear, then they would have realized that even assassins who were world famous singers did have their own melt downs every once in a while.

"Is she waking up yet?" Christine could hear an irritated Andre grumble as she began to regain consciousness.

"You would think that being an assassin would help keep her drama free. But no," Erik said shoving his hands in his pockets as he carried on watching her with the other two men. "Since she's a diva, she has to go and swoon in public. What a wonderful performance. What else can the little drama queen do?"

"She's normally never like this honestly, Mr. Destler," Firmin said nervously. "She's actually quite sensible. She's had a good head on her shoulders since she was born. Trust us, we'd know," was the last thing Christine heard before drifting off to sleep again.

Erik looked at the both of them. Maybe now he could try and understand a little more about her ways. "You've known her since she was a child? Well, can you tell me what she has against men?" Both of Christine's contacts shook their head frantically at that question.

"Unfortunately we cannot relate that story to another unless Christine allows it," Andre said solemnly. "However what we can say is that she's a lot closer to being fixed than she was a year ago, if you catch my drift.

Erik nodded in response, thinking. If she was as damaged as they claimed, then maybe Christine would understand his own past. Maybe it would be time to open up to the flighty soprano so that they could possibly work together in peace? "What can you tell me about her father?" Erik asked, curious about the man who had raised the stubborn brunette.

Andre shrugged. What was there that he could say without having to explain much? "All I can tell you is that he raised Christine into who she is today: her strength, musical intellect, intelligence and stubbornness: all of those are from him. When he died, everyone was so surprised and hurt by this loss. Madame herself paid for a full assassin's funeral, and I believe that you were the only one who did not attend of the current members. I believe this all occurred before your time."

"So Miss Daae was raised to become an assassin her whole life? That hardly seems fair," Erik said, a tad alarmed at the thought of raising a child to become a cold-blooded killer. Even he wasn't that cynical about the world.

Firmin shook his head frantically, trying to brighten up the harsh picture that his partner had painted. "You don't understand, Mr. Destler. He never wanted her to become like himself. Christine's mother had passed on in trying to bring a second child into the world, and Gustave was just not ready to be a parent without his wife. He taught her everything that he knew because Christine wanted to learn. I think Christine did it in order to become closer to her father."

Erik nodded in understanding, as he spread a blanket over the unconscious girl and moved the brunette's curls off of her face, a slight smile growing on his own.

Andre saw this and said, "Mr. Destler, we do need to know that you won't ever hurt her. The fact that you're not Raoul, and she hasn't tried to kill you yet says a lot, but I want to know that you will never do anything that could harm our little Angel at all. She's gone through enough."

Erik nodded at this and scowled as he processed the contact's words. "Who's this Raoul? Not Raoul de Chagny?" Both contacts winced as Andre realized his mistake.

The conversation ended as the brunette began to stir. As her eyes opened, she looked around until she found herself staring at the eccentric composer. Silently they stared at each other until a quiet cough from Firmin caught her attention.

"So now that you're awake, shall we begin our meeting?" Firmin asked brightly.

With a groan, Christine nodded as she sat up on the couch she had been laid on. Handing her the stack of fifty-six files, Andre couldn't help but tousle her hair a little before Erik moved to sit next to her on the sofa in order to have a better look at the files.

"Alright so we have how long? Three months, right?" Christine asked as she began to separate the men from the women, and then by sexual orientation. It would make things quite a bit easier to only go after those who would be attracted to her…

Erik nodded. "I'm assuming that opening week would be the least productive, since there are so many other things to deal with. So minus these two weeks, we'll have approximately two months and a third to deal with our clients. So about eleven weeks, I would say."

"Well then let's strategize: with these many clients I'd say we'd have to take care of five clients per week. Of course we don't have to divide and conquer, we could scramble it up in order to not create a pattern." Christine stopped speaking as she held up one photo from her own stack.

"Well hold on. It says that this bloke will be attending the opening night of the opera. He has a box, but it's in the middle of the house so that's no good. Andre, see if you can switch his box with someone else's so that he can be right by the edge, yes?" Christine smiled at the contact's quiet chuckle.

Erik nodded, impressed with her strategy. Maybe being a second to the soprano wouldn't be so difficult after all. "Well that could definitely work. Now, I believe that we can work on two to three during the daytime and then the remainder later in the evening. However, we'll just have to make sure that there's a reason why we're always together..." Erik trailed off as both he and Christine began to think of ways to make this work.

"What about long lost cousins?" Christine asked, but Erik shook his head.

"Too risky. The reporters would want to know family connections and such. We could go more personal. Siblings?" Erik suggested.

"All the journalists would have to do is look my name up, and they'll remember the headlines of my mom dying in childbirth," Christine said. "It's impossible."

Erik nodded. "Past lovers?"

"No date in five years, remember? How about friends just getting together"

"If we're just friends getting together, then they would speculate that we were doing much more than just catching up. Plus, you looked tooshocked during the press conference," Erik responded.

As both were busy concocting a story, Firmin leaped up and called Carlotta. They paused as they saw him hang up his phone and then turn the closest television on.

"Firmin, we're a tad too busy to be watching shows at the moment—even if it is the news," Christine said distractedly as she and Erik both continued thinking. Shrugging Firmin grabbed the remote in order to mute the broadcast, only for Christine to quickly change her mind once she glanced at the screen. "No! Wait! Stop!" Grabbing the remote from Firmin the soprano turned the television's volume up even higher as a photo from the conference appeared on the screen.

"Inside sources tell us that there was more than confusion going on at the press conference this afternoon at the opera house between the composer and opera diva. As soon as Mr. Erik Destler, the until-now anonymous composer, was placed on the market, sources claim that he has been quickly taken off it by Christine Daae, and that the two of them are nesting as we speak." The ever-smiling news reporter spoke on about the details of the opera and Christine, as all three of them glared at a smug looking Firmin.

"Firmin, what did you do?" Andre demanded before either person of the supposed couple could even speak.

Firmin shrugged. "It's not like you weren't thinking of doing the exact same thing, Andre. I was just faster about it, and involved Carlotta." The two older men began to bicker until finally Christine interrupted them.

"Alright, boys, enough! What's done is done. I'm sure Mr. Destler and I could have figured out something better to say to the press, however, this could work to our advantage. I mean it's only eleven weeks. Right, Mr. Destler?" Christine said tiredly, as she glanced at the clock. "I'm off to bed. I've got rehearsal in the morning, which involves pleasing a masked brute. No offense, Mr. Destler."

As she began to walk past the composer, Erik grabbed her hand, causing her to stop and look at him. "I would prefer when we are not in rehearsal, Miss Daae, if you would call me 'Erik'," he said quietly to her, his eyes smoldering as they caught a glint of moonlight.

Blushing lightly, Christine nodded, as she clasped his hand with her own and smiled softly. "Only if you call me 'Christine'. Goodnight then, Erik." His grip loosening upon her saying his name, Christine walked slowly to her own bedroom, leaving a bewildered composer behind. It was the first time the soprano had ever said his birth name, and the way she had said it…

"Goodnight… Christine."