Hey all! Here is the next chapter for your enjoyment. At least my lateness is improving. Less than two weeks. YAY! Once again I have to say a huge thanks to Terpsichore. She had a ton of stuff to do this weekend and today but she was able to get the story edited tonight instead of tomorrow anyway. And also I have to say a huge thanks to iluvmyphantom. She did a great pic of Conner that is super cool! I have been having super bad luck with the links lately but I will give this a try. (Just take out the spaces)

http// img84 .images hack. us / my. php ? image conner 25 us . jpg

Oh and there should be an equal sign in between the words image and conner.

So something exciting I figured I would mention. I checked my stats the other day and I noticed that the last ten chapters or so I have gotten well over 1000 page views. 1000! That is so crazy! Hurray! Although another thing I have noticed is that the number of reviews has dropped, which is slightly concerning. So if you guys have time just remember to review! I love hearing from you all.

P.S. For those of you who wanted to know the room I mentioned a couple of chapters ago. (The one above the chandelier.) Is an actual room…though I did take some artistic license on the description.

Chapter 63: Opening Night

Opening night at the opera was just hours away, the excitement of its arrival setting the very air of the theater afire with anticipation. Swarms of ballerinas, already clad in their costumes, ran to and fro, some adding the final touches to their stage makeup while others raced to get their hair properly pinned at the base of their necks. Members of the chorus, only slightly calmer than the teenaged dancers, lounged among the assembled set pieces chatting lightly with one another to dispel the pre-performance butterflies but secretly worrying about the play to come.

So much relied on how well they did tonight, the fate of the theater, their jobs, their very way of life hinged on what happened in the next few hours. If they performed to the best of their ability and recaptured the heart of Paris's highborn, all would be well; rich patrons would return, dipping into their vast pockets to pay the enormous cost of keeping the opera house in business. However, if the unthinkable happened and the curse of Phantom still tainted the very stones of the building, every member of the cast risked losing their only source of reliable income. Needless to say, tension ran high as everyone prepared to meet either triumph or despair at the end of the night.

Determined to at least appear above the petty concerns of the lower masses, the leading performers stuck close to their rooms, checking and rechecking the last little details that either made or broke a performer. Costumes were donned, the ribbons and stays tied and hooked with obsessive care, nerves were soothed with a glass of fine red wine, or several quick shots of whisky.

Carlotta sat before her lit mirrors applying a liberal amount of liner to her dark eyes, a fine tremor in her hands slowing her task. Sitting nearby, Brielle watched her employer with a concerned line creasing her brow. Though she knew the diva would never admit it, Brielle could sense just how nervous the older woman was. All that day the singer had practically spit fire at any who crossed her path, wailing her grievances for all to hear when something did not meet her high standards. Her antics had even begun to wear upon Brielle's steely nerves.

Poking herself in the eye, Carlotta made a furious hissing sound and slammed her lining brush onto the table top. Openly wincing, Brielle waited for the next explosion of the day. The singer leapt to her feet and began tearing angrily around the room, cursing viciously in her native tongue. Sitting up a little straighter, Brielle desperately tried to school her features into an impassive mask, but her own irritation was making the task terribly difficult. She had had just about enough of Carlotta's peevishness.

With a great sigh the Irishwoman raised a hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "What is it you are looking for?"

"Everyting! Noting is where it should be! I am an artist! I 'ave no time for this! Damn all those stupid bastards for deserting me in my time of need. You are completely useless! Once I 'ad ten people waiting on me before a show! But now all I 'ave is you and you know noting of opera!" Her chest heaving with each breath, Carlotta threw herself onto a nearby couch, beating her fists against the upholstery with a venomous shriek.

Raising both hands up to cover her ears, Brielle waited for Carlotta to tire herself out, which usually happened within a few minutes when no one paid her any mind. After a few more piercing wails Carlotta raised her head to glare blackly across the room at where Brielle sat, her face starkly white against the darkness of her hair. "I knew it! You 'ate me too!"

Rolling her eyes skyward, Brielle prayed for patience. Lord, give me strength…no wig is worth this much trouble. "No one hates you, Carlotta. You are just nervous. But do not take your nervousness out on me. Everything will be fine…if you tell me what to do I can help you."

Staring at her as if she had just grown a second head, Carlotta pulled herself up primly. Puffing up self-righteously, the diva's cheeks flushed red with outrage. "I am not nervous!" she exclaimed, enunciating each word very carefully so Brielle would not mistake her meaning.

Waving a placating hand Brielle nodded. "Fine…have it your way."

"I am famous all over Europe. Opera 'ouses 'ave begged me to perform in their theaters." Seemingly regaining her confidence, Carlotta stomped back to the mirror and began dabbing at her face once more.

Glad to once again be left alone to think, Brielle leaned back in her chair and closed her tired eyes. The days had passed so quickly that she had hardly had a moment to herself, but at least her mind had been more at ease since having spoken with Erik a few days ago. Now she had more of an idea as to what had been plaguing him. And that first conversation had paved the way for others. At night, when he came to her room through the mirror, they whispered in the darkness, safe in the shadows and each other's arms, finding freedom in their newfound openness. She spoke of her nightmares, no longer hiding what she saw, and he of his deep-seated uncertainties. They trusted one another now not to turn away from the unpleasant, the worrying. I suppose the truth really can set you free. Who would have thought one conversation could accomplish so much?

Conversation…uh-huh… Blushing at what she and Erik had been doing after their conversation she felt her skin come alive with the memory of his hands upon her. Remembering their wild wantonness now was like a brand against her senses, warming her blood until she was forced to fan herself with one hand. It had been the first time that Erik had actually dared to be the instigator, touching her without any clear encouragement, and the change had been most thrilling. Opening her eyes, Brielle sat up straighter, trying to ignore the shivers of delight marching along every nerve ending in her body.

With a start she realized that Carlotta had turned in her chair and was now staring at her. "What?"

Raising an interested eyebrow the diva flashed a toothy smile, momentarily distracted from her preparations. "Who is de man you are tinking of?"

"Who says I was thinking of a man?"

"It is all over your face. I know de look when I see it. 'E must be good from de way you were squirming just now," Carlotta stated with a knowing smugness glittering in her eyes, all peaches and cream now that she had something other than that night's performance to think on. "Please tell me it is not one of de useless stage 'ands."

Extremely uncomfortable under this new scrutiny, Brielle got stiffly to her feet, both hands raised girlishly to cover her red cheeks. "No, not a stagehand. Please can we not speak of this?"

"Come, now, we are both women. 'Ow can you keep such secrets from me? I 'ave 'ad many lovers in my time. I could give you advice, yes?"

"No!" Brielle gasped, horrified at the thought of exchanging such stories. Somehow speaking of Erik with Carlotta went against her every instinct, what she shared with him had so long been a secret that to speak of it aloud would be like cursing during a mass.

Grasping her hands together before her, she tried to temper her tone. "I mean 'no thank you.'"

"You 'ave no reason to be shy," Carlotta admonished with a wave of her makeup brush. "People in de theater take lovers all de time. It is not like de outside where dey say nasty tings about unwed women." Turning back to the mirror with a confident flick of her head, Carlotta patted at her hair. "Besides…you are not really a shy person. So you cannot fool me with all dis blushing."

Shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, Brielle worried her bottom lip between her teeth. I suppose this must be what it feels like to talk about sex with your mother. She is over fifteen years my senior…ick! "No... not shy…I just do not like speaking about certain things."

"Or 'aving people stare at you?" Carlotta supplied, hitting very close to one of Brielle's biggest problems. "Is it because you 'ave de white hair? I tink it is not so bad…you are too pretty to be running about wit your eyes glued to de floor whenever someone looks at you."

Strangely touched by the diva's backward compliment, Brielle felt her embarrassment fade, a happy smile turning up one corner of her mouth. She was on the verge of thanking her employer when Carlotta interrupted her. "So it is good you take de lover, yes? 'E will work de shyness right out of you." Meeting Brielle's gaze in the mirror, Carlotta flashed a wide, pleased smirk, apparently tickled pink by her own glib remark.

Shaking her head, Brielle edged toward the door. "I think I will just go and take a little walk."

Still grinning, Carlotta shrugged. "Do not let 'im put marks on you where others can see. It is just pushing it to 'ave love marks on de neck. Oh and…"

Picking up her pace, Brielle jerked the dressing room door open, her face blazing once again. "Yes, thanks so much for the advice I have to go now!" she called hurriedly before slamming the door behind her. Leaning back against the polished wood, Brielle took a moment to catch her breath. With her heart pounding within her chest she felt almost as if she had just escaped a firing squad.

Well I suppose I did the world a service…cheering up Carlotta with my own embarrassment is the act of a bloody saint if I ever heard of one. Slightly annoyed with herself for allowing the diva to send her running so easily, Brielle raised her hands up to press against her face again. Lord, I acted like a silly schoolgirl. Gah! Pushing away from the door, Brielle set off down the busy hallway, trying to put Carlotta's teasing behind her, and hoping to find her brother sometime before the performance in order to wish him luck. Wait…is wishing him good luck really bad luck? Damn, I can never keep that rule straight.

Weaving her way down the packed corridor, Brielle turned sideways and attempted to squeeze between two gathered groups. Responding to a few greetings, Brielle gave a few quick and harried waves but did not pause. Being pressed among so many bodies still had the power to make her stomach roll with anxiety. Breaking free from the crush, she struck out toward Conner's dressing room.

"Madame Donner?" Someone shouted from over the crowd, the decidedly English accent giving the speaker away as being the new tenor, James Turner.

Turning to scan the crowd for the man, Brielle felt a moment of annoyance at the delay, but pasting a polite smile on her face she waited until the tall singer caught up to her. "Can I help you with something, Mister Turner?"

Looking rather comical in his overdone stage makeup, James took a moment to catch his breath. "Madame, I was just wondering as to if you would be going to the masque later tonight."

Staring up at the man blankly, Brielle merely shook her head, wondering as to the forwardness of his question. "Assistants rarely are invited to such things, Mister Turner," she said slowly.

"Oh…oh…yes, well, I didn't think of that."

"Besides it wouldn't be appropriate for a single woman to attend such a function on her own."

Brightening at this, James nodded hurriedly, his manner growing more and more odd the longer he stood in front of her. A strange combination of nerves and perhaps even a little fear gave his eyes a certain sharpness Brielle had never noticed before. "Exactly!"

"Exactly what?" Brielle asked, growing more and more confused by the moment.

"Well, I have been watching you for quite some time... You seem to be a pleasant enough woman… after all you are able to stay Carlotta's temper on most occasions. And, well, if you are not planning on going to the masque I would very much like to know where you might be spending your time after the performance. It is my intention to stay close to you through the evening…" Stopping there, he seemed to realize how forward that sounded. "Er…no…sorry that sounded… um… rather…."

Enlightenment came slowly, and as it occurred to her that this man was trying to ask her to the dance Brielle's mouth formed a perfect O of understanding. At least I think that is what he is trying to do. Feeling like a dolt for the second time in less than half and hour she raised both hands up to stop James' rambling speech. "I thank you for your invitation, sir, but I hardly know you at all. I am sorry but I am going to have to turn you down."

James' dark eyebrows, their expression exaggerated by the black painted through them, came down into a quick frown. "I have offended you…"

"No, sir. I am not offended but I still am not willing to allow you to continue on in this way," Brielle said slowly, trying to find a polite way out of this conversation. "Thank you once again, but I…" Seeing Father Thomas standing nearby Brielle thought to go and speak to him in order to escape James but then new tenor saw her intention and moved to stop her.

Reaching out quickly, James grabbed hold of Brielle's upper arm, his long thin fingers digging a bit too roughly into her skin. "No, do not go. You have gotten the wrong idea." Growling low in his throat, his eyes danced earnestly over her face. "I have gone about this the wrong way."

Trying to shrug out of his grip, Brielle cast a quick glance around to see if this silly man was already causing a scene. "Mister Turner… release me, sir!"

Taking a step closer to her, James bent his head slightly to the side, his normally dullish eyes flickering with several bright and indefinable emotions. "Come now, just listen for a moment!"

Turning her head to the side, Brielle sought to put some distance between them. He was standing so close to her that she could feel the heat of his body through the material of her dress, smell his nervous sweat hanging in the air around her. It took about half a second for her to become incredibly uncomfortable with his nearness, but before she could even open her mouth to tell the man he was overstepping his bounds, she saw the tenor's avid expression collapse in upon itself. His eyes jerked suddenly away from her and stared at a spot over her right shoulder, his entire face draining quickly of color. Without even turning around Brielle felt a dark, menacing presence approach from behind, a very familiar dark, menacing presence.

A white-gloved hand shot out around her shoulder and shoved James with enough force to knock the man back several steps. "The lady said to release her, pig!" a low voice growled threateningly, so close behind her that her hair shifted with each furious breath, sending delightful shivers shimmying along her nerve endings, immediately she knew who her rescuer was.

"Touch her again and I will remove your hands from your body!" Strong fingers wrapped firmly around her shoulder then, hurrying her off to one side, and away from where James Turner was regaining his balance with Father Thomas's help.

Allowing herself to be whisked off through the crowd, Brielle glanced quickly over her shoulder. The man behind her was roguishly dressed in the costume of one of Mephistopheles' demons in Faust, covered in black from head to toe, his entire face covered in a grimacing black mask, leaving only his frowning mouth for the world to see. She could not see any distinguishing feature on his face but still she knew him; knew him as surely as she knew her own thoughts. Erik…

A thrill of excitement mixed with just a little fear galloped through her nervous system. She had never seen him out in public before, where so many could look upon them together and possibly recognize him. Rushing along with his hand planted between her shoulder blades Brielle couldn't help but marvel at the ease with which he moved among the crowd. His natural predatory grace, the efficiency of his long-legged gait, gave him an air of confidence that seemed almost supernatural in origin.

With her breath catching in her throat, Brielle flashed Erik a worried smile. "What in the world are you doing?"

Without pausing in his stride the masked man grimaced. "He put his hands upon you," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Damned singer touched you."

Turning her head around to look straight ahead, Brielle twisted her body slightly to shrug his hand off of her back. She reached around to take his hand in hers but he latched onto her upper arm instead, his gaze darting about their surroundings to make sure they were not being followed. Even as they passed into a less occupied area his agitation showed no signs of abating; if anything his movements became more stiffened with fury with each step he took.

"He did not hurt me, Erik. There is no need to be so angry," Brielle offered, hoping to ease him out of his black mood as she ran to keep up with his hurried pace.

"I should have ripped his arm out of its socket…" Erik muttered to himself, ignoring Brielle's statement.

"For God's sake, Erik, can we stop now? Your legs are longer than mine and I am beginning to have trouble keeping up with you!" Blinking as if he had just heard her for the first time the masked man turned his attention to her, slowing his steps as his burning eyes came to rest upon her face. "Now… what in the world are you doing? Running around and pushing people for no reason. Has your brain been gathering wool lately? Someone could have recognized you!"

Behind the black mask the blue of his eyes glittered sharp as broken river ice in the sun. "Do you honestly think I would stay in the shadows as some cad practically dripped his stink all over you?"

Brielle took a breath to respond but found that her mouth had gone completely dry. He is jealous… she thought with a certain amount of wonder. He saw Mr. Turner grab my arm and it made him jealous. So much so that he stepped out into the world without a second thought… There was something sinfully exciting about this knowledge, that his feelings for her were so strong to affect him so. A slow, crooked smile stole across her face as she reached out and gently brushed her thumb over his frowning mouth.

"You are so full of malarkey sometimes," she said, the laughter behind her words and the playfulness in her touch diffusing some of the edge in his eyes. "But really you cannot go about knocking people off their feet!"

His glare lasted a moment longer before deflating on a long sigh. "I did not like it when he presumed to push his company upon you. It was his own fault. Besides, I did hold back. I didn't hit him in the face…" he grumbled. "But he really shouldn't have touched you…"

Finding his version of holding back funny, Brielle could only roll her eyes. She knew she should be slightly more serious about this mild display of violence, but secretly she was glad he had hit the singer. The man had been getting on her nerves. Blast it…soon Erik will have me attacking people as well. Thinking to tease the last threads of his temper from him, Brielle tilted her head flirtingly to one side. "Oh? And why is that?"

Without missing a beat, and with all seriousness, Erik jumped to reply. "Because you are mine," he snapped.

Though the blatant chauvinistic threads in that statement should have irritated her, Brielle found her reaction being exactly the opposite. She was immensely pleased and strangely enough she found that she didn't have a snappy remark to throw back at him. Instead she raised up onto her toes and pressed a kiss against his mouth, startling him out of his frown.

"As if I would go to a party with anyone but you," she managed to say after a moment.

"You do not really want to go to that thing do you?" Erik asked gruffly. "What with all the people… All the snobbery of Paris really."

Shrugging easily, Brielle shook her head. "Oh, no. Not really. I never was one for parties but I think it would be the tiniest bit entertaining to see all the pomp." Then after a moment's more thought, "And to see if you remember the dance steps I taught you."

The fire in his eyes cooled and a slow, sweet smile spread across his face, memories of that magical night melting the hard edges of the man standing before her. "As if I could have forgotten. In fact, I dare say that should we ever dance again that I may teach you something."

"Sweet Mary…may she help you escape this sinful arrogance," Brielle responded, making the sign of the cross with a laugh. "But I would very much like to know who you have been practicing with, Erik. Perhaps I should go and knock her off her feet as well. Or perhaps…"

The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted Brielle's train of thought. "Brielle?" Meg's voice exclaimed happily from a few feet away.

Whirling away from Erik with a guilty and startled expression, Brielle watched Meg come bouncing up to them, looking very pretty in her angelic dancing costume. Conner soon appeared behind the blonde, his hair, for once, tied neatly at the base of his neck in preparation for the upcoming performance. Her wide dewy eyes flickering curiously between Erik and Brielle, Meg flashed a beaming smile at both of them. Beside her Brielle felt Erik stiffen under Meg's scrutiny. Before his anger must have insolated him against the touch of others' eyes, but now with the younger Giry standing just feet away, Brielle could practically see the tension radiating from his stiffened posture.

"Oh, Bri. This is all so exciting isn't it? I always love performance nights. I have missed it more than I thought," she said hurriedly, her golden curls practically shivering with her every movement.

Coming up behind Meg, Conner gave a short wave and a tight-lipped smile, his fairy green eyes flickering uneasily to Erik. "Meg saw you from across the way and just had to come over," he stated as an explanation. "Fancy meeting you here, though…"

"Won't you introduce me to your tall friend, Brielle?" Meg asked with a grin as she tilted her head back to study Erik's masked face.

Letting out the breath she had been holding, Brielle realized that her friend had not recognized Erik as the Phantom. Apparently the costume he had stolen was working. "Oh… Well this is Erik. A close… er… family friend to both Conner and I."

Raising a hand up to cover the laugh fighting to escape her, Meg shook her head. "Family friend? Goodness, Bri… sometimes the things you say are so funny."

Huffing at that, Brielle crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes, well, I suppose he is as much a family friend as you and Conner are," she stated sarcastically.

Coloring at that, Meg turned her attention to Erik and candidly held out a hand to him, purposely ignoring Brielle's statement. "Hello, I do not think we have met before. I am Meg Giry…Tell me, are you the chap that kidnapped Brielle a couple of weeks ago?"

Staring at Meg as if she were some horrible alien creature, Erik stood rooted to the floor, his face wooden and pale behind his dark mask. Taking pity on the poor man, Brielle reached out and laid a soothing hand at the base of his back. "Meg is Madame Giry's daughter and is one of the best dancers in the company," Brielle stalled. "She kindly befriended me when I first came to the opera. Her heart is sweet and understanding in that way…"

Quickly glancing in Brielle's direction, Erik cleared his throat and reached out a hand to clasp Meg's. "An honor then, to meet one of Brielle's friends. You must be a highly extraordinary person to have gained such praise."

Charmed, Meg held onto his hand slightly longer than was necessary until finally Conner made an irritated sound deep in his throat. Releasing Erik, the blonde took a step back. "I do not know about extraordinary…but you are welcome to think so," she said happily. "Are you new to the company then? I don't think I have seen you at the practices."

"Speaking of the masque," Conner cut in quickly, changing the subject so unskillfully that everyone turned puzzled glances his way.

"No one said anything about the party Conner," Meg admonished. "I was asking Monsieur... er… Monsieur… Lord, I do not think I caught your last name."

"Now I know you are not seriously considering going with that half baked chorus boy who asked you to go."

Completely forgetting the loaded question she had asked Erik moments ago Meg squared off against Conner. "Oh? And who else would I go with?"

"Me of course."

"Pfft! Like I would!"

Rolling his eyes toward Brielle, Erik shot her a questioning look over Conner and Meg's odd behavior. Unable to explain their strangeness even to herself, Brielle could only shrug her shoulders. A gaggle of dancers swooped past then, giggling excitedly amongst themselves. The petite redhead at the back of the group pulled up short when she caught sight of Meg and Conner. Gracefully turning on her toe, Maryann, the new prima ballerina, swept over to them, a falsely sweet smile plastered across her freckled face.

Having overheard the latter part of Conner and Meg's exchange, Maryann rudely interjected herself into their conversation. "Why, Monsieur Sinclair, is this where you have been hiding? With second-rate dancers and former cleaning ladies? Do not waste your time on little Giry's favor… she wouldn't have any fun at the dance anyway seeing as there would be so many real dancers there," she bit out nastily, draping one lily-white hand over Conner's arm.

Ever since Meg had embarrassed Maryann at the party Conner had thrown, the small redhead had harbored a burning ill will against the blonde. But Brielle had never expected such open hostility from the prima ballerina. Turning wide, startled eyes back and forth between Meg and Maryann, the Irishwoman waited for the fur to fly.

Shrugging off Maryann's unwanted touch, Conner's face flushed angrily. "Move on, Maryann. I think I hear Satan calling you. He wants the soul you promised him for getting you this job."

Not made for the down and dirty bickering that Maryann was so schooled in Meg could only work her fists at her sides furiously, looking incredibly relieved when Conner quickly put the other woman in her place. Emboldened, Meg made a shooing motion with one hand. "Yes, and maybe he can teach you enough manners not to interrupt other people's conversations. Bye now."

Brielle flashed a mean toothy smile Maryann's way as the redhead sputtered with fury. Beside her Erik's stony expression and tall stature likewise served to urge the dancer on her way, though perhaps his efforts were unintentional. Seeing herself outnumbered, Maryann made a sour face and whirled away from them, making a rude gesture over her shoulder.

"Fine. I do not know why I wanted to bother with Irish trash anyway!" she called cattily as she shoved her way through a group of people and disappeared.

"That woman could use a good scare," Erik stated matter-of-factly, his voice dipping low and threatening.

Shaking her head in disapproval, Brielle put a staying hand on Erik's shoulder. Meg, so thrilled by her bravado, missed what Erik had offered and bounced happily in place. "Haha! That showed her! Conner, you have the most wicked tongue of any man I know!"

"Hmm, lass, you have no idea just how wicked," Conner said with a smug smirk.

Ignoring his obvious innuendo, Meg smiled at both Brielle and Erik. "And I bet she is going to be in a snit all day long too! That was so much fun. And you," she said, pointing at Erik. "You looked so mean that if I didn't think it an act I would have been quivering in my shoes right along with her! How perfect. What a lovely way to start off a performance!"

An act… If only she knew. Sensing that Erik was nearly at the end of his very limited social graces, Brielle thought to say good luck to both Conner and Meg and be on her way, but a sudden horrendous crash from the other side of a hanging backdrop startled her into silence. Before she had a moment to gasp aloud, Erik's arms were around her, pushing her protectively behind his body in a gesture that was becoming more and more familiar. Several stagehands jumped into action and went racing past them toward where the crash had come from.

"What the hell was that!" Meg piped up from over Conner's shoulder. Brielle hadn't noticed immediately, but apparently Conner had thrown Meg behind him just as Erik had done her.

"It sounded like someone shouting and then running into a set piece. I suppose they had the set fall on them," Erik offered, his sharp ears picking up more than what everyone else's did.

"Did you really hear all of that?" Meg asked, duly impressed.

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't," he replied a little bit too curtly.

"Well, I hope no one got hurt," Brielle said worriedly, easily smoothing over Erik's harsh tone. A pair of ballerinas came running toward them from the direction of the commotion, their eyes huge in their faces as they wailed at the top of their lungs.

"It is terrible! Maryann knocked over one of the pillars and broke her leg!"

Everyone in the vicinity grew deathly quiet at the announcement, too shocked by the bad news to say anything. Allowing the girls to pass by, Brielle felt a sinful smile flicker across her face. "Um… So about me saying I hoped no one was hurt… Never mind that."

"Oh, Brielle, you are so bad! She is a wicked woman but… but… this is terrible! The performance is only a few hours away… who will take her part. She wouldn't allow an understudy!"

Spotting the managers coming toward them at a hectic pace Erik automatically slunk backwards to get out of their direct line of sight. Watching Erik fade into the shadows nearby Brielle was actually surprised he had lasted out in the open as long as he had. He doesn't even realize how far he has come. He worries and worries… but really he is not the same man he was a year ago.

Andre was physically pulling at his curly gray hair, his face ashen as he grabbed hold of Firmin's sleeve. "We are cursed, Firmin! Cursed! You saw her… There is no way that stupid chit will be able to perform tonight! This cannot be happening…this cannot be happening."

"Lower your tone. Do not shout. Someone will just have to dance for her. We cannot allow this to interrupt the performance. There is too much riding on this!" Firmin said reasonably, though several hitches in his voice gave away his agitation.

Overhearing their conversation from where they stood a few feet away, Meg began to twist her hands nervously before her. Everyone in the room knew how much depended on this one night. Conner, his eyes skittering across the floorboards, slowly brought his eyes up to Meg's worried form with a bright smile. Turning on his heel without a word, he strode over to where the managers were having twin nervous breakdowns.

"Hello there, gentlemen," he began far too happily.

Waving a hand in Conner's direction, Firmin tried to fend him off. "Not right now, Monsieur Sinclair, we are very, very busy. Maryann has decided to ruin our lives today by breaking her damned leg in a fit of stupidity."

"Oh, yes, I know. That is what I wanted to talk to you about. You see I know who would be perfect to fill in for Maryann tonight."

"Really?" Andre demanded hopefully before being shoved aside by Firmin.

"No thank you, Monsieur. I am sure the two or three young ladies you are courting are very nice, but we really need to focus right now."

Looking slightly irritated by Firmin's assumption, Conner scowled. "No, you misunderstand. The girl I am speaking of has practiced her part along with Maryann's for four hours of extra practice every day. She stays late after everyone else leaves and knows every step of every position upon the stage. She moves as if God himself is guiding her limbs."

Turning to Brielle, Meg let out a relieved breath. "Oh, that is good that he knows someone. Who do you think it is?" Shrugging, Brielle did not voice the suspicion growing within her mind, though secretly she hoped she was right in her assumption.

Stabbing Firmin excitedly in one shoulder, Andre's color began to return to him. "Who is it then! She sounds perfect! Knowing Maryann's part and all… Tell us her name!"

Clasping his hands calmly behind his back, Conner's smile returned full force. "Why… Meg Giry of course. Meg could do it with her eyes closed."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sitting slouched low in an overpriced leather chair, Andrew stared desolately out his office window, one hand clutching a Scotch bottle close to his chest. He didn't move, hardly blinked, simply watched the day wane away and the people hurrying about their lives outside his window. Dressed in white tie and tails he looked ready to step outside and attend any one of the parties being thrown that night, but the flat darkness of his eyes betrayed his dapper appearance. He was not thinking about merrymaking. He was thinking of murder.

"Sir?" Monsieur Beaumont's pleasant voice inquired from the corner. "Is it wise for you to continue drinking? The opera is only hours away and I am sure you wish to be in full control of your capacities by that time."

Turning his head slowly, Andrew stared at his newest employee with hooded irritation. "It may ease your mind to know that it would take more than a measly quarter of a bottle to make me intoxicated. If we had to leave this very moment I would be in full control of myself. Worry about your end of our arrangement."

Tipping his head in acknowledgement, the Frenchman smiled blandly, his eyes remaining cold and watchful despite the easy expression. "I never worry, my lord, but your point is taken. I will mind my own business."

Sitting up a little straighter, Andrew set his bottle aside, quickly scanning the room around him, a hint of fear tightening his mouth. Seeing nothing, or no one, out of place, he relaxed. "Have you taken the necessary preliminary measures?"

"Yes, I have been to the opera. I have the basic layout memorized. And after speaking to several very helpful people I discovered that your fiancée has been calling herself Madame Donner and is now working for the lead soprano. I know what room she in staying in and what she and her daughter look like. The plan should come off without a hitch. She will stay close to her employer through the performance most likely, but I was unable to find out where she would be afterwards."

Waving a dismissive hand in the air, Andrew leaned his elbows again his desk. "I have a man on the inside who should be able to help with that. I actually sent him a note earlier today asking him that very question. But I have taken several precautions so that I am sure as to her whereabouts after the performance. She will go precisely where I wish her to go."

"Then there shouldn't be a problem."

"No, no problem. Everything is working out perfectly," Andrew stated flatly, his face holding none of its usual smug triumph. "In a few hours Brielle will be back where she belongs and that blasted man will be dead." Turning to gaze out the window once more Andrew fell back into brooding silence. See, John, you do not frighten me. You are dead and I am still alive… you cannot touch me. And soon I will take everything you used to have… Who is the best now?

"Who is the best now?"