Author's Note: Ownership of the Phantom of the Opera is held by Andrew Lloyd Webber, Gaston Leroux, and other such owners. I only take credit for my original characters.

2

Kayla landed with a jolt on what felt like the plushiest carpet she had ever encountered. Stumbling backwards, she found herself sitting on an equally plushy chair, which her exploring fingers identified as being covered with velvet. A blind reach forward uncovered velvet curtains bunched off to her left. It was still black as pitch, meaning that she was blind as a bat. Further exploration revealed that her black leather messenger bag was sitting on a seat next to her, and the necklace that was currently taking the blame for this mess was hanging around her neck. "What the heck?" she whispered. Pulling the pendant from its position on her collarbone, Kayla gave it a gentle squeeze. Nothing happened. "I need to get home, I need to get home, I need to get home," she prayed, and pressed her fingers to the carved ruby for a second time. The result was the same.

"Well, screw you!" Kayla hissed angrily, imagining that the rose was laughing at her. She swore again. As the curse crossed her lips, she heard footsteps echoing somewhere in front of her. Shrinking back into her seat, Kayla waited in silence as the footsteps continued, slowed, and stopped. There was a whoosh, and a flicker of light below her. The light began to move and multiply until a curved line of flame illuminated the dark, polished wood of a large stage. With an electrical-sounding hum, a soft glow began to emanate from above Kayla's head. Growing brighter and brighter, flickering gas bulbs glittered and sparkled through the crystals of an enormous chandelier. Kayla slowly got up and peered over the edge of the half wall that stood in front of her chair. Below her there were rows and rows of gorgeous looking red velvet chairs, with pristinely polished armrests. Gold embossed private seating boxes jutted out from the high walls, and blindfolded statues proudly gallivanted on the ceiling. To her right, Kayla saw the scenery on the stage shifting – an unmistakable sign of a rehearsal. It took another long look at the chandelier to make her realize where she was: the Opera Populaire.

Kayla continued to watch the stage, crouching down under the edge of her opera box in an attempt to stay completely out of sight. Musicians of all varieties were streaming into the orchestra pit, lugging their instruments along with them. The conductor, whose name Kayla believed to be Maestro Reyer, was arranging piles of sheet music on a small podium. As the orchestra began to warm up, the performers bustled onto the stage. Carlotta, the A-class diva, followed by her husband, Piangi… at least, Kayla thought he was her husband. She wasn't positive. Samantha would have known. Countless others came after. From her position, Kayla had a constricted view of the rows of dancers stretching in the wings, led by the always impressive Madame Giry, whose name was impossible to forget. As she watched, two more ballerinas sprinted into the line; the short, golden haired Meg Giry, and OH MY GOODNESS EMMY ROSSUM! No, Kayla reflected - after her inner fangirl had suitably calmed - Christine Daäe. There was no kidding around with this now; Kayla was undeniably in the Phantom of the Opera.

Very slowly, an awful truth began to dawn upon her. She realized that she was sitting in an opera box, on the right side of the stage when facing it, and seemed to be higher up than any box in the immediate vicinity. And there was a column in the back corner. Every piece of description of the infamous haunted box from the book and the movie came hurtling back to her with all the force of a runaway train. Oh no. Whatever force that had brought her here couldn't seriously be that morbid. Clutching her bag tightly to her chest, Kayla cautiously crawled around the edge of the wall towards the door. When she guessed she was out of sight of the stage, Kayla rose to her feet and slunk out the door. Shutting it behind her, she stared at the dark, polished wood in horror; it bore an ornate, golden 5. She, Kayla Abbots, had been sitting in the Phantom's box.

"Skitprat, skitprat, skitprat!" she shrieked curses in Swedish. In a fit of desperation, she twisted on the spot and willed herself home. Obviously, nothing happened. "Well, disapparation's out of the question," she muttered crossly.

And just to cap the whole debacle off, Kayla heard footsteps approaching down the hall. Fantastic. She was going to have to interact with movie characters in an 1870 setting; of all the days to have been wearing… As she looked down and registered her state of attire, her inner monologue cut short.

Where there had been a knee-length skirt, black tights, and a red sweater seemingly only minutes before, there was now a black vest over a starch white, button-up work shirt with sleeves buttoned at the wrists, and black breeches that fit her not unlike skinny jeans. Whether the hems of the pants flared out Kayla did not know, since they were tucked under sculpted, heeled leather boots. In short, the only things that had not changed were her underwear, bra, and her hair, which was still darkly-streaked blonde and in a ponytail. The rose pendant hung out over the shirt, so Kayla hurriedly stuffed it back under the buttoned collar. The voices drew closer as Kayla slung her bag over her shoulder. Quietly making sure the box door was firmly closed behind her, Kayla waited silently as three impeccably dressed men came strolling around the corner.

"The cast and crew are currently rehearsing Hannibal, which will be performed at tonight's gala," the man in the lead was explaining as the trio approached. The two following were wearing thick, glossy furs, and carrying the most ridiculous top hats Kayla had ever seen. One of them, whose dark brown hair was swooshed back so high over his head Kayla was mentally debating whether a set of teacups would be able to stand up if stacked on top, looked up at Kayla absentmindedly before jumping backward as the reality of her presence registered. His companions looked just as, if not more, startled.

"Pardon me, mademoiselle, but how did you get in here?" the first man asked hesitatingly. Kayla decided that he must be the original manager- the one who was retiring. In the book, she was pretty sure his name was Poligny, but she had a feeling that in the movie-verse this assumption was incorrect.

Since the notion of parallel universes, let alone cinema, would likely not sit well with three Frenchmen from 1870, Kayla replied honestly, "My apologies, monsieur, but I do not actually know." She examined the three men quickly, intent on identifying them. There was Monsieur not-Poligny, dark-haired with a tidy mustache, a second brunette with a silver and brown mustache- Firmin- , and a fellow with a grey curly hairstyle and mustache that Dori from the Hobbit would likely have approved of, Monsieur Andre.

"Oh! I know you!" she blurted out as she recognized the two new managers.

They appeared slightly taken-aback. "I do not believe we have met," Firmin commented in a bewildered sort of voice.

"Oh no, of course not," Kayla amended quickly. "I've just heard great things about your work in the jun… I mean, scrap metal business. It is an honour to meet you at last, Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin." She curtsied, which was incredibly difficult to pull off in pants.

Andre's cheerful face grew pleased. "You see, Firmin?" he exclaimed to his partner. "There are people who understand the nature of our former profession." He turned his beaming smile on the nervous girl. "What is your name, mademoiselle?"

"Kayla. Kayla Abbots," Kayla stated clearly, pleased that her voice remained perfectly steady.

Andre turned to not-Poligny. "You don't mind if I conduct a brief interview with Mademoiselle Abbots, do you dear Leverfe?"

Finally, a name! Kayla silently rejoiced.

The former manager shook his head. "Even though I am incredibly curious as to how this young lady made it into the Opera Populaire undetected, dealing with her is no longer my duty. You may proceed, sir."

Andre's smile was worthy of a Cheshire cat. "How old are you, Ms. Abbots?"

"Twenty, sir," Kayla replied.

"Do you have any educational background or theatre experience?"

Kayla grinned and answered truthfully, "I have been a university student in Canada for three years, sir, and I work part time at the theatre, opera, and ballet there as well."

"Canada? How extraordinary," Andre turned to Firmin delightedly. For Kayla, who had been expecting sexism in regards to her education, this was a happy twist. "What kind of work did you do there?"

"I studied fashion, art, design, and a few engineering courses, so I mostly helped our backstage, with the costumes, makeup, and scenery sets," Kayla shrugged modestly. Inwardly, she sighed. Samantha, the musical genius of the family, would have had no trouble whatsoever getting a job here.

"You're hired."

Wait, what? "I beg your pardon?" Kayla gaped.

Andre's look could only be described as smug. "It would be an honour to have you working for us backstage. You would be working with the set crew, and with the costumes as well if we can manage it." Firmin nodded his approval. "Of course, you would be required to reside her at the opera house," Andre added casually. "I hope your family would have no objections?"

Kayla nearly whooped at this unexpected twist of luck. "No, no objections, monsieur," she grinned. "My family's back in Canada, so I had nowhere else to go anyway." If, of course, she could ever tell her sister, Samantha would never believe that it had been so easy to scoop up a job at the Opera Populaire.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading, take a moment to review if you liked it or if you have any constructive criticism. Feel free to PM me if you have any questions!

Thanks!

Tierney