Author's Note: So I lied, I felt guilty for how short the last chapter was, so I decided to post the next one about five minutes later. Standard Disclaimer, Andrew Lloyd Webber, Gaston Leroux, and respective parties own Phantom of the Opera. Kayla and the other original characters - whom you will meet soon - belong to me.

6

The other stage hands had already assembled by the time Madame Giry and Kayla found them. Most of them were young men, thin and wiry to the point of looking underfed, but with muscular arms. About seven of them looked over thirty-five, but everyone else looked under twenty, not including Joseph Buquet.

Joseph Buquet was the kind of man that made a person wish that they had a Taser accessible. Flabby, grubby, and perverse, Buquet was the last name in creep. Kayla knew for a fact that he had peepholes hidden throughout the backstage so that he could spy on the dancers. He had greasy grey hair, wild eyes, and thick, strong hands that were capable of breaking bones. And this was the man she would now be working with. Kayla swallowed nervously.

"Gentlemen," Madame Giry greeted in a tone that suggested that she was lying through her teeth with such a respectful title. "This is Mademoiselle Abbots; she will be working with you on the sets from now on."

The other crew members made no pretence of sizing her up, and Kayla fought to keep her expression completely neutral. She was no stranger to attempted intimidation. "What level?" one of the younger ones demanded.

"Catwalk," Kayla shot back without blinking an eye. She had worked on the highest, narrowest, and most dangerous section of the backstage ever since she had started working at the theatres in Calgary. A number of her new companions looked decently impressed.

"Well, that's a shame," another purred. "It would have been quite interesting to have you backstage, darling." A couple of others, Buquet included, laughed approvingly.

"You will address me by my surname only," Kayla requested icily. The blatantly obvious invitation offended her, and she was not going to take sexism from anyone in this opera house.

"All business, ma chérie?" the same teen wheedled. He stepped towards her, smirking. "A pretty girl like you, I bet you're not opposed to a bit of…"

He never got around to saying what he believed she was not opposed to. As he spoke, he reached out as if to touch her cheek. Before he could, Kayla snatched his wrist and in one, swift movement, flipped him onto his back. Holding his arm in a painful twist, she leaned over him, wisps of her blonde hair swinging into his face. "Let me make this perfectly clear," she snarled. "I may be a girl, but I am not here as a toy, and I am certainly not going to be sleeping around. I take my job seriously, and if you or anyone else tries that again, I will break every bone in your body. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Abbots," the boy choked, his eyes wide with fright.

Smiling darkly, Kayla released her hold and stepped away, brushing invisible dust off of her cuffs. Madame Giry looked shocked, but proud. "Good luck my dear," she told Kayla warmly, squeezing her shoulder. "I will be in the wings during the performance if you should need me. As for the rest of you," she turned to the twenty-one male stage hands. "This gala is very important for all of us, and it is imperative that tonight's performance runs smoothly. If I hear that any of you have been harassing Ms. Abbots instead of focusing on your work, you will have both myself and the managers to answer to." With that final warning, Madame Giry imperiously swept away.

As soon as Madame Giry disappeared, Kayla, propriety be damned, rolled up her sleeves, exposing her tanned forearms to the elbow. "So," she chirped, surveying the crowd of flabbergasted males. "Where do we start?"

For such a stressful beginning, Kayla assimilated quite well into her new peer group. Contrary to her predictions, they all were quite respectful to her. Even the smarmy guy, whom she had very violently put in his place, politely apologized for his behaviour, introduced himself as Jamie, and proceeded to defend her and her suggestions against any and all criticisms with the fierce devotion of a Rottweiler. The older men listened to her educated ideas and more often than not adopted them; the boys her age followed her every move with watchful, awestruck eyes; and a group of them leapt to obey her every command, vying for her attention in a courteous yet flirtatious way that Kayla found quite endearing. It would have been perfect save Buquet, who seemed rather annoyed with all the attention and respect that she was receiving, and fought against her from the start.

The stage was set up precisely according the set book well before the performers began trickling into the wings to prepare for the opera. From the other side of the red velvet curtains, Kayla could hear the orchestra trooping into the pit, and, if she listened hard enough, the very distant laughter of their audience. At this time, all of the stage hands scattered to their assigned positions – some in the wings, behind the biggest set pieces, and the balconies. Kayla, Buquet, Jamie, and another boy named Clemens were in charge of the balconies, with Kayla and Buquet working the highest catwalk, looking after the ropes and hanging pieces. Between acts, they would all report to the wings to help move the largest backgrounds.

Kayla found the job too intense to worry too extensively about Buquet and his stupidity, or Christine's rapidly approaching solo, or the fact that Raoul was seated in box five. However, she was acclimatized enough to backstage work that she was able to keep a running commentary running in her head. "This just got personal," she thought sourly as she glimpsed the Vicomte lounging in the Phantom's box. She imagined the Phantom's reaction when he realized that he had been denied his precious box so that his pupil's childhood sweetheart could use it.

As the cues began to line up and become more frequent, she was unable to dwell on the calamity that would eventually repay the trespass. Jamie very helpfully hissed instructions at her from his position on the balcony below, directed her to the pieces that needed to move.

Everything was going absolutely splendidly until Act Three. While Christine confidently took to the stage for Elyssa's solo, there was a decidedly less graceful encounter occurring on the catwalk.

"I don't care what the damn set book says; nothing has to move for this act!" Buquet argued angrily.

The man and the girl were standing across from each other on the dangling wooden planks of the catwalk, both glaring at the other. As Christine had walked into position, Kayla had casually mentioned that there was only one moving piece in the act. Buquet had very vulgarly disagreed, and here they now were, in a standoff.

"The whole purpose of the set book is to follow it!" Kayla countered, brandishing said item in her opponent's face. "I am supposed to pull down the cloud to cover the moon at the final 'you will think', and lift it back up as the song ends!"

"Nothing moves!" the furious stage hand repeated.

Kayla rolled her eyes. Jamie and Clemens were both in the wings, covering for the two workers who were helping the young child actors control the horses that the scene called for. Out of sight and out of earshot, so she was forced to deal with the issue on her own. "The cloud needs to be moved! You don't even have to do a damn thing; you can just sit on your ass for all I care!" she snapped, turning away.

"I'm in charge here!" Buquet growled.

Whipping back to face him, Kayla seethed, "You aren't in charge; your whiskey bottle is in charge, and I am really quite astounded that they haven't fired you yet." Ironically enough, Buquet took a swig out of the aforementioned flask.

Tilting her head to listen, Kayla heard Christine's melodious voice starting to sing the verse preceding the cloud cue. As she walked away from Buquet towards the rope control, Kayla's anger got the best of her and she called softly over her shoulder, "In addition, it's nice to know that you are the type of man who feels threatened by a nineteen year old girl."

WHAM!

Buquet, not missing the not-so-subtle insult in Kayla's word, charged her, knocking her down onto the hard wood of the walkway. Kayla's head slammed into the boards, and she vaguely wondered whether or not a full scale beating was much better that being womanized. Struggling to sit up, Kayla shrieked, "You twisted, fat, idiotic son of a…" The words that followed quickly morphed into a string of profanity, and within seconds, the catwalk was playing host to a full-scale brawl. On stage, the soprano sang on, blissfully unaware of the war occurring just above her. The orchestra's instruments drowned out the muffled thumps and wrathful taunts trickling from the walkway above. The only clue to the battle was a slight shaking of the hanging pieces.

Underneath the orchestra pit, in the tunnels of the opera house, the Phantom himself stood silently, rapt by the intoxicating spell that his beautiful student's voice wove in the theatre above. Christine's voice was flawless, as always, but there was something not quite right…

Cocking his head to one side, the Phantom listened closely. Soon he was rewarded by almost indistinguishable bangs, as if someone was fighting on the top levels… Snapping to attention, the Phantom immediately pinpointed Buquet as a source of the chaos. How a man could be so unprofessional was completely beyond his intellect. And there was also the matter of the young new trainee…

Walking quickly, the Phantom of the Opera vanished down a dark corridor, leaving nothing but shadows behind.

Back on the catwalk, the battle raged on. Kayla managed to wriggle out of Buquet's choke hold long enough to yank on the rope that released the cloud. It was a couple seconds later than had been required, but at least she had gotten it down, Kayla reflected, relishing her small victory. "Take that, you moronic douchebag!" Kayla hissed, thinking that perhaps douchebag was not a prevalent insult in 1870. She could not consider that for long, since Buquet tackled her again almost instantaneously.

As Christine's voice rose and fell in a stunning range of octaves, Kayla fought wildly against Buquet, leaving deep red claw marks in his meaty forearms. As the song reached the highest note, Kayla broke free and sprang forward. In one quick motion, she pulled down hard on the rope of the cloud, and knotted it back to its anchor position. The cloud rose off the moon, the aria ended, and the audience applauded thunderously.

Kayla drew herself up to her full five-foot-ten-inch height and spun to face Buquet. "You were saying?" she mocked in a syrupy voice.

"You bitch," Buquet snarled. His thick hand shot out and slapped her hard across the face. Such was the force behind the blow that Kayla stumbled backward and off the walkway. She managed to grab hold of one of the ropes and there she hung, blinking dazedly at Buquet's fleeing form. Desperately she tried to get a better grip on the rope, but she was so dizzy from the multiple hits she had received on the head that she only succeeded in reducing her hold to one hand. The knowledge that she was about to die flickered hazily through her brain. And this was not Inception, where she would wake up in reality. Gotta get up, her subconscious shrieked, but her arms would not respond. Sorry Samantha, she thought fleetingly.

Her hand slid completely off the bar.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading, please review or PM me if you have any questions, comments, or constructive critiques!

Thanks!

Tierney