Author's Note: Phantom of the Opera belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber, Gaston Leroux, and other such people who are much more famous than me. I only own Kayla Abbots and any other original characters.

5

There were still crew members milling about backstage, but Madame Giry led her past all of them to a dark corner, blocked from view by a giant shelf of masks and props. "Before we go any further, I must ask you," the woman spoke in a voice festooned with ice. "Who are you and what do you know about this opera house?"

Kayla's mouth dropped open, and she imagined that her face resembled some sort of dim bottom-feeder.

"Well?" Madame Giry demanded.

Resigned to the fact that she was probably going to get fired, Kayla gritted her teeth and decided that the truth was the only viable option at this time. After all, she knew things that could potentially sway the ballet mistress. "I'm Kayla Abbots," she began. "I am a nineteen year old university student from Canada. I'm from the future, I suppose, and a different universe, per say, and I have no idea how I got here." Madame Giry looked skeptical, so Kayla decided to persevere. "All of this," Kayla continued, waving her hand around them, "This opera house, these events, are a legend where I come from."

"Do you really think me so naïve as to believe this?" Madame Giry hissed.

"No, but I think you are an intelligent and reasonable woman who cares very much about this Opera House and your family, and as Erik is included in both of those categories, let me assure you I am not here to hurt him or get in his way."

Madame Giry recoiled as if Kayla had slapped her in the face. "How much do you know about him?" she whispered weakly.

"I know that you saved him from a gypsy caravan, where he was showcased as the 'Devil's Child' or some such bullshittery," Kayla listed breezily. "I know that you brought him here, and that he now lives beneath the Opera. He has fashioned a rather marvelous identity as the Phantom of the Opera, which ensures that no one cusses with him. You're kind of his mother, because his actual mom was not really a mom at all. He is also a genius in every sense of the word, he loves Box Five for some reason, and he is giving Christine Daäe singing lessons under the guise of an Angel of Music." Kayla tilted her head and frowned into the distance as the ballet mistress stood in stunned silence. "And he also dresses with more class than any man I have ever seen. Oh, and he's really quite attractive even with his so called deformity." She paused again. "And he's writing his own opera, and he's got an organ in the basement. Am I missing anything?"

Obviously Madame Giry had not predicted the full extent of Kayla's knowledge. Taking a deep, shaky breath, the woman said, "Very well. Which side of his face is deformed?"

"What?"

"I believe you," Madame Giry admitted calmly. "There is no one in this world that would be privy to such knowledge. But just to be sure; which side of his face is hidden?"

Kayla was stumped for a moment. Racking her brain, she mentally reviewed the movie scenes in which Erik's face was clearly visible. "The right side," she guessed cautiously. "He wears a white porcelain half-mask on that side."

Nodding sharply, Madame Giry took Kayla's arm and pulled her to a walk. "Does anyone else know what you do?" she murmured. "Have you told anyone else?"

Kayla shook her head. "In my world, almost everyone does," she explained. "But here, no one knows besides us."

"Good. Do not speak of this to anyone," Madame Giry ordered. "And no one else is to know where you have come from. He will already know that you are here, but I will try my best to assure he does not know from where. It would not fare well for the Phantom to have a grudge against you so soon."

This did not sound at all promising, but Kayla refrained from mentioning that opinion. For all she knew, the Opera Ghost could have overheard their entire exchange, and might at this very moment be plotting her demise. It occurred to her that she was no longer at home on the couch with Samantha, crying over the tragic life of a very attractive antagonist, but that the man whom she had once grieved for was very real, very intelligent, and probably murderous. She could not afford to get this wrong.

Madame Giry quickly toured Kayla through the backstage, showing her the areas to find props, set pieces, extra rope, and anything else she may need for work. A small, secluded office, by the exit to the main dressing room hallways, was the next stop. "Officially, this office belongs to Joseph Buquet," Madame Giry told her, not even bothering to hide the condescension in her voice as she said the man's name. "But he is a drunk and a fool, and does not use this space as he should. As you seem to be the type of girl to take your occupation seriously, I believe I could transfer the ownership to you." Madame Giry walked away, seemingly to search for something, giving Kayla a chance to look around.

The room was about the size of her walk-in closet at home, just big enough for a small desk, a chair, and a lamp. Shelves jutted out from every available wall-space, which would make navigating the cramped room even more difficult, but as every shelf was covered with books, Kayla did not mind at all.

"You will not likely spend very much time in this room," Madame Giry declared, pulling a black book the size of a large photobook off of a shelf in the far corner. "But you will need access to this room for these." Placing the volume on the desk, she gently opened the long cover. Inside was a plethora of artwork – images of set pieces, sketches of costumes, and tidy descriptions of the acts and scenes that the images depicted. "This is the set book of Hannibal," Madame Giry described. "This book will tell you which sets need to be moved or changed, and the cues for doing so. Each opera we perform has its own set book – Il Muto, Faust…"

"Don Juan?" added Kayla slyly.

Madame Giry gave her a puzzled look. "I don't believe we have every performed an opera with such a name."

"Don Juan Triumphant; it's his," Kayla whispered conspiringly, tapping the side of her nose cheekily.

Madame Giry smiled at her. "Sometimes, I think you know too much for your own good, my dear girl. No, we do not have a book for his masterpiece; it's still in progress as far as I am aware."

Kayla carefully reached out and turned another page, revealing the designs for Elyssa's solo in Act Three. The art was flawless, and Kayla resolved to learn how to draw just as beautifully as this. Madame Giry looked on with a satisfied smile on her lined face.

"Would I be able to take this with me to performances, just until I'm able to memorize all the cues and pieces?" asked Kayla pleadingly.

Madame Giry studied her face for a moment. "Stage hands are not allowed to even touch the set books," she stated finally. "But as you appear to be an artist yourself, I know you will treat this book with the respect it is due." Kayla grinned broadly at her, and ever so gently picked up the set book. Rummaging through a box in the corner of the room, Madame Giry re-emerged with what appeared to be a bundle of leather. "Your belt," was her only explanation as she and Kayla worked to untangle the strips.

It took about four knots for Kayla to make the belt small enough for her waist. There was a loop of rope attached, a bag of chalk for her hands when climbing, and a few simple tools for repairing set pieces. There was even a pouch large enough to contain the set book. Madame Giry stepped back and looked Kayla up and down. "Bien," she pronounced finally. "You look like a true member of the crew." After a moment, she added, "I do think we should find you a more practical shirt for work; white dirties easily, but it will have to do for now. Come, I will introduce you to the others."

Author's Note: This chapter is slightly shorter, but there won't be too long of a wait until the next one is posted. Thank you to everyone who has favourited, followed, or reviewed. Please feel free to review or PM me with any questions, comments, or constructive criticism.

Thanks!

Tierney