A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger last chapter. Breaking up this part of the story proved a bit awkward, and this chapter was already quite long. Thank you for all the reviews! Enjoy!

Chapter 12

The Persian looked down at the child at his feet as he collected himself. She wasn't crying. In fact, she simply looked rather annoyed, as if she was tired of dealing with her father's moods. Nadir knew Erik did not rage at her often. Usually she seemed to calm his temper rather than stoke it. Yet apparently only a few times had been plenty for Émilie.

"Well, Émilie, where are you off to this fine afternoon?" he asked finally.

She only shrugged, her own anger fading into bewilderment. She rubbed her wrist where Erik had held too tight.

"Would you accompany me on a walk, my dear? The weather is very pleasant, not too bright, and we can go see the swans in the park," Nadir said the last loudly, knowing Erik was listening on the other side of the door. "Does that sound agreeable?"

"Yes, please."

They set off back the way Nadir had come, slowly approaching the fresh air of the outside world.

Émilie tugged on the Persian's hand just after they stepped onto the Rue Scribe. "Are my mama and papa different from other mamas and papas?" she asked.

"Yes," he said after a short hesitation. "Your family is a bit different."

"Oh."

They were at the park before Émilie spoke again.

"Does my mama not love me?"

Nadir was too alarmed to respond and Émilie continued, "She talks to papa all the time, but not to me. I talk to her but she never answers."

They walked on in silence, Nadir seeking an answer amongst the passerby. At last he glanced around, hoping Erik wasn't following too closely and asked, "Can you keep a secret, Émilie?"

The little girl nodded eagerly.

"When you were just a baby, you had a mother like every other girl. Her name was Christine. She was very kind and very beautiful, and she loved you very much. So much. But she got sick and she died. She didn't want to leave you, but…But she…She knew her love for you wouldn't end. Now your father likes to talk with her. Her memory gives him comfort." With some maneuvering, he was able to get down on one knee in front of the little girl. "And you, dear Émilie, you may speak to her too if you ever need someone to listen. She'll hear everything you say. You might not hear her speak back, but she will always watch over you."

Émilie stared back at him with those wide, precocious eyes. They were the eyes of someone who, despite few years and a sheltered existence, had been forced to comprehend a great deal.

Suddenly she smiled, all teeth and glittering eyes. "Thank you, Uncle Nadir, I understand."

He patted her cheek and stood, glad the moment was over. "Now," he said, "why don't you run to that tree over there as fast as you can."

"But…but papa always holds my hand. I'm not allowed to leave his side." She looked around nervously, the park now full of dangers without Erik's intimidating presence.

"It's not that far. I'll be able to see you from here."

"Émilie doesn't want to."

"Alright then, we shall run together. You must run slow though. I am not as quick as I once was."

At that promise, Émilie hesitated no longer. She grasped Nadir's hand and took off for the tree. From the start, she was yanking on Nadir's arm, her young legs itching for as much speed as possible.

"Faster, Uncle Nadir, faster!" she cried.

"I cannot, my dear," he panted and he dropped her hand. Émilie sprinted ahead without pausing until she had reached the tree. There she bounced on the balls of her feet until Nadir joined her.

"Where next, Uncle Nadir?" she demanded.

So he sent her to the bench, the lamppost, the pond, the rose garden. And as she ran, she left behind the pale, listless girl from the cellar.

Erik took the same care with Émilie's dress as with his own. He put her in the dresses of noble children, with full skirts and bows and ruffles. It did not stop her. It did not slow her down. She pulled the petticoats up over her knobby knees and ran like any other child in the park. Or almost any other. Her movements were awkward and unpracticed. She had long ago lost the last of her baby fat. Now she was tall with spindly limbs and sharp joints. It would have made her look unhealthy, but her face – her perfect face – was rosy and her eyes were bright.

When she returned, winded and shaking from over-exertion, she sat down heavily beside Nadir on the grass.

"I like this game," she said after a while. "Can you bring me to the park every week and play with me?"

"If you like. I'm sure your papa will play it with you as well."

Immediately she sobered. "Oh papa! He will be so angry. He does not like me outside without him. But…he told me to leave and not come back-"

"Émilie, look." Nadir pointed into the shade beneath the trees. There Erik stood, hiding his mask beneath a wide brimmed hat and high collared coat. The three of them watched each other for a moment. "Émilie, do you see that old woman by the pond? I want you to take these coins to her and tell her you wish to feed the ducks. She will tell you what to do."

"What? No! I don't want to!"

"If you do, I will bring you to the park next week and we will run some more. Say, 'Madame, please, I would like to buy some crumbs.'"

"I've never talked to-"

"My brave girl. I believe you can do it."

With a doubtful nod, she went to do as the Persian commanded. He made sure to smile reassuringly whenever she glanced back.

"Who is that woman?"

Nadir looked up to see Erik glowering down at him. The bottom corner of his mask had been riddled with teeth marks, as if someone had chewed on it.

"A cleverly disguised assassin. Sit down, you have me looking into the sun."

Erik arranged his long limbs into a comfortable position before saying, "She's not well, Daroga."

"Not well! Didn't you see her running?"

"She paces all the time and can't focus on anything. And she's not sleeping. Every night she wakes Christine and me up to complain that she simply isn't tired."

"That sounds like you, my friend."

"Yes, but I don't want her to be that way. I want her to be happy, always."

"You'll never get that with a child."

In the silence, Nadir looked over to see that Erik had fixed him with cool, unamused eyes.

He continued, "She needs to be out, Erik. There is not enough stimulation for a child in a cellar."

"She has books!" he blustered.

"She needs more than books. She needs people and little friends, sunlight and exercise. Your daily walks are not enough. I used to have Reza run about in the gardens for hours to tire him out. And don't tell me you didn't run about as a child."

"I was usually locked in an attic."

"The great and powerful Erik, locked in an attic. I don't believe for a second that stopped you. No, she may be a genius and she may be yours, but she is still four years old. You ought to send her to school."

"What can a school teach that I cannot?"

"Absolutely nothing. But she must meet with people. Have Madame Giry teach her ballet with the other girls. She will find friends there. You cannot confine her to a cellar all her life. Besides, we are no longer young men, Erik. Who will look after her when we are gone?"

Erik sighed and turned his gaze to his daughter.

"You flatter yourself, Daroga, if you compare your age with mine. I am not on my deathbed."

"Between you and Émilie, I get closer every day."

"Not I," said Erik as Émilie turned to them and waved, her hands still full of bread crumbs. "I have never been so far from death as I am now."