Author's Note: Phantom of the Opera belongs to Webber, Leroux, and respective parties. I own Kayla and my original characters.
8
As soon as Kayla saw the dark shape whisk away into the inky blackness of the higher balconies, she collapsed back down onto the wooden slats of the catwalk. Her face was throbbing from the bitchslap she had received, and she could feel her cheek starting to swell. Despite all this, she started to grin; the Phantom of the Opera had just saved her life. Though, upon further reflection, it may have just been to thwart Buquet. But then again, she was a girl, so perhaps the ghost's sense of chivalry had prevailed.
The music from the pit continued, and, checking the set book, Kayla realized that there were still a number of scenes to go. She very gingerly struggled to her feet, holding onto the coarse ropes for support. Her head spun and she swore quietly. She had not moved very far before Jamie popped up from the tightrope-esque ladder stretched across to the balconies.
"Where on earth is Buquet? The sets need to be moved for scene 4… sacre bleu, Abbots, are you alright?" he gasped as Kayla swayed and nearly fell over for the fifth time that evening.
The chestnut-haired boy swooped in and held her up. "What happened?" he demanded, gazing with wild eyes at the swiftly purpling bruise on Kayla's pale face.
"Buquet," Kayla choked out, clutching Jamie's elbow as another wave of dizziness overtook her. "But don't worry about me," she protested. "We've got an opera to finish."
Jamie's brown eyes flashed with barely supressed rage. "Clemens!" he called, leaning over the ropes of the catwalk.
"Don't tell them!" Kayla begged, clinging to the ropes herself as she tried to stand on her own.
Jamie gave her a searching look. "Very well," he consented finally. "If you at least tell me what happened. Clemens!" he barked again as the stage hand appeared on the opposite balcony. "Buquet's gone, and I'd bet my salary he's absolutely rat-arsed, so tell Henri that I'm helping Abbots up here. You'll have to find someone else to help you on the balconies. Got it?"
The red haired boy waved in confirmation and scuttled away. Jamie turned to Kayla and smiled knowingly. "I guess it's just you and me now, sweetheart," he teased, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.
"Don't even think about it," Kayla responded weakly, lightly punching his shoulder. "Try anything and you'll end up on stage singing soprano with Christine and Carlotta." Jamie snorted, and the two of them got to work.
Between cues, Jamie forced her to explain the fight, and Kayla did so, leaving out the part about almost falling to her death and being rescued by a myth. When her story was over, Jamie shook his head in disgust. "Buquet's foul," he muttered darkly as he and Kayla tied down ropes. "I don't understand why they haven't gotten rid of him yet." Peering at the stage far below them, he added, "But I suppose if we're lucky, le fantôme will take care of him for us!"
Kayla did not bother to hide her smile at the accuracy of her new friend's prediction. Wincing, she held her temple as a headache pounded her skull.
Jamie looked at her worriedly. "It won't be long now," he encouraged.
He was right, of course. It did not feel like very long at all until the grand finale and curtain call. The applause was so loud that even the catwalk swung slightly from the vibrations. When Christine took a bow, the entire theatre was on its feet.
As soon as the red curtains cascaded back down across the stage, the crew began to tidy and put away the set pieces. Jamie helped Kayla down from the catwalk and let her borrow his scarf to cover her green and purple face. "We've got Il Muto tomorrow," he explained while he and Kayla carried a large wooden forest set to the storage area. "But no rehearsal since we've performed it so many times, for the cast, at least. We'll have to set up the stage of course, but it shouldn't be that difficult."
Kayla, of course, already knew that Il Muto would be the next performance, but she did not comment. Inside her mind, however, she silently cheered that by tomorrow night, she would have no more problems from Joseph Buquet.
Backstage was cramped and loud as the cast and crew celebrated a successful gala. Certain members of the ballet corps were passing around green glass bottles, filled with some kind of liquor. Jamie took a swig of the proffered flask before offering it to Kayla, who bestowed on him a look of such scathing disapproval that the boy immediately handed the bottle back to its owner and did not touch the booze again for the rest of the night.
After the sets had been carefully returned to their homes backstage, and Kayla had returned the set book to the stage office, Jamie dragged Kayla over to Madame Giry. When the older woman tersely asked the problem, Jamie pulled the scarf off Kayla, despite the girl's efforts to keep her face covered.
As soon as Madame Giry saw the extent of the damage, she pulled Kayla closer towards her and led her out of the wings. "See you in the morning, Abbots!" Jamie called. Kayla waved shortly, distracted by the fact that she had just seen Meg sneaking down into the chapelle.
Kayla followed Madame Giry past groups of revellers into a small office decorated with posters of past performances and pictures of the ballet corps. Shutting the door, Madame Giry gestured Kayla to a wooden chair. "What happened?" she asked gently.
So Kayla explained: from Buquet's argumentative behaviour, to the disagreement over the cloud and the brawl that followed, the near brush with death, and being saved in the nick of time by the Opera Ghost.
"That man does not deserve to even stand outside this opera house," Madame Giry spat, her French accent thick with anger. There was a knock on the door, and when Madame Giry opened it, there was Jamie, who was holding a jar of ice wrapped in a cloth. "Excellent thinking, Monsieur Blanchard," Madame Giry praised. The stage hand blushed, mumbled a goodbye, and fled. Madame Giry shook her head, chuckling, as she handed the jar to Kayla. The cold glass soothed Kayla's throbbing cheek as Madame Giry took a seat on the other side of the desk.
"Is it safe to talk about this in here?" Kayla questioned softly. "Couldn't he be listening?"
Madame Giry shook her head. "No. He has known me for far too long and respects me far too much to spy on me," she scoffed. In retrospect, Kayla reflected, this should have been obvious. "He does not appear to bear any will towards you, or he would have allowed Buquet to kill you," the ballet mistress stated bluntly. "But since he made the effort to save you, we must assume that he may be keeping an eye on you from now on."
Kayla moved the jar on her cheek as she pondered this. "I would have thought that he would be too interested in Christine to remember me for long."
Glancing at Kayla thoughtfully, Madame Giry agreed. "You are correct; he is coaching Ms. Daäe very diligently, but of course she must not know this."
"She'll find out by tomorrow morning, if not sooner," Kayla countered tiredly. "He's going to introduce himself tonight, as it were."
Madame Giry rose and strode to the door. "I must see that Ms. Daäe is not harassed by anyone backstage," she mentioned as she turned the knob.
"And to give her the Angel's token?" Kayla added.
"Yes, that also," Madame Giry smiled, pulling the rose out from its hiding place in the folds of her black dress. "Will you be able to find your way back to the dormitory on your own?" When Kayla nodded, the older woman looked satisfied. With a kind, "Goodnight, ma chérie", the ballet mistress left the office.
Kayla sat quietly on the chair for a moment longer, savoring the peace and quiet. Taking the jar of melting ice with her, she limped out of the office, feeling exhausted. She slowly navigated the twisting hallways up to the dorms. The party was still in full swing; many dancers were still consuming more alcohol than would be deemed wise, and as a result were loud, rambunctious, shrill, and utterly drunk. Kayla squeezed her way to her cot, grabbed her bag out of her trunk, and hastily retreated.
Backstage was still crowded as well; coming back downstairs from the dorm was similar to moving through a mosh pit at a rock concert. "Mademoiselle Abbots!" a voice bellowed in her ear as she was yanked out of her original path of travel. Before she fully processed what had happened, her hand was being wrung by Firmin, who was screaming his congratulations in a vain attempt to be heard over the ruckus.
Forcefully spun in the other direction, Kayla was met with the beaming face of Andre, whose expression morphed into one of horror as he saw the bruise. "Dear God, what happened to your face?" he said in an aghast tone.
Kayla shrugged. "Fell," she lied dully.
Andre looked highly skeptical, while Firmin on the other hand missed the entire interaction. "Vicomte! Vicomte!" Firmin shouted, dragging Andre towards the young nobleman. Andre in turn dragged along Kayla.
The young man turned towards them, smiling. In the dim light, his hair now looked auburn, and it occurred to Kayla that Raoul's hair colour could very well end up being an enigma she would be unable to solve. "A splendid performance, monsieurs," Raoul complimented, flashing teeth so blindingly white that Kayla had to resist the urge to shield her eyes.
"It went off without a hitch, if I do say so myself," Firmin boasted.
"And the set arrangements were incredible," Andre interrupted, patting Kayla on the back.
"The cloud was a bit late…" Kayla apologized. "But everything else went fairly well, I think."
"Incredible," Andre repeated, ignoring her protests.
Raoul's warm hazel eyes met Kayla's cerulean ones with a look of carefully disguised curiosity as his gaze flickered over her injuries. "I look forward to seeing more of your work soon, mademoiselle," he assured her with a charming smile. "But for now, I have a prima donna to congratulate."
"Yes, we appear to have made quite the discovery with Ms. Daäe," Andre agreed gleefully.
"Perhaps we could present her to you, Vicomte," Firmin suggested.
Kayla and Raoul shook their heads in complete synchronization. "Thank you gentlemen, but this is one visit I should prefer to make unaccompanied," Raoul refused politely, not noticing Kayla's mimicry. What he did notice was the large bouquet of flowers in Andre's hands, which the young Vicomte confiscated as he headed to Christine's dressing room.
"They appear to have met before," Firmin shrugged carelessly as he flitted off and began to socialize with the rest of the cast. Andre turned to Kayla with a look of regret. "My apologies; those flowers were for you," he admitted.
Kayla grinned. "The fact that you even went to the trouble to get me flowers is a gift enough," she assured kindly.
Andre's eyes moved to her cheek again. "No one gets a bruise like that from a simple fall," he said. "And certainly not in the shape of a hand."
"Could we discuss this tomorrow, monsieur?" Kayla begged. "I'm exhausted, and I want to get an early start on work tomorrow."
"Of course, mademoiselle," Andre acquiesced warmly, patting her on the shoulder. "Your work tonight was excellent; you deserve your rest."
"Merci," Kayla acknowledged gratefully, dropping a quick half-curtsey before diving back into the crowd. She re-emerged by the flight of stairs that led up to the prima donna room. Continuing upward, she eventually came to the hall of doors. Pausing outside box five, she evaluated her options. She could go back to the dorm right now, and have to deal with the intoxicated ballerinas for the remainder of the evening, or she could hang out in the last place anyone would venture, with the risk of being punjabbed by a pissed off Phantom.
"But he's going to be wooing Christine tonight," she muttered to herself. He would most likely have his attention on his pupil rather than his precious box. Her mind made up, she cautiously turned the knob.
Author's Note: So, I felt bad leaving it with such a short chapter, so here is the next a week earlier than I planned! You all know the drill; review or PM with questions, comments, or critiques, and follow and favourite only if you want to, no pressure.
Thanks!
Tierney