Author's Note: The ownership of Phantom of the Opera and all the fame and fortune that follows still do not belong to me, as that right belongs to Webber, Leroux, and other such stakeholders.

11

"What time is it?" Kayla panted as she and Jamie raced down the backstage halls and into a section of the opera house she did not recognize.

"About eight," Jamie returned, turning up a set of stairs. "Not many people are awake just yet, but Andre wanted to meet with your privately about something."

Kayla's mouth went dry. Was her career over already? And this thought unearthed a whole host of worries – what if she did get fired? How on earth was she supposed to survive in 1854? How would she get home?

Jamie stopped abruptly in front of her, and Kayla collided into his back with a muffled grunt of pain. The boy turned and winked at her. "Not a chance, Jamie," Kayla warned with a nervous smile.

"You can't blame a man for trying," Jamie grinned back. Gesturing to the large wooden door that lay in front of them, he encouraged, "Go on; Monsieur Andre is expecting you." With a confident nod, he turned and strode off the way they had come. Kayla stared at the door for a moment.

For heaven's sakes, get a grip; you're an adult, not a frightened school girl, her snarky side pointed out. Steeling her resolve, Kayla rapped her knuckles on the dark wood.

The door flew open immediately. "Mademoiselle Abbots!" cried Andre, drawing her into the room. "Please, please, come in." Kayla took the seat offered to her, taking a quick glance around the office as she did so.

It was a large, spacious room with a wide window overlooking the silent morning streets of Paris. There were two heavy, luxurious desks next to each other on one side of the room, with gleaming wooden tops and gorgeously upholstered chairs accompanying them. The walls were lined with bookcases, filled with a mixture of novels, guides, photos of the casts, and mementos of plays and travels. Andre sat down on the other side of the desk, shuffling folders, and pushing fountain pens off to the side. "I apologize for the mess," he remarked as he began stacking some of the clutter into piles. "Running an opera house is much more labour intensive than Firmin or I suspected."

"Work of any kind is rarely organized," Kayla commented, trying to quell her stomach, which was trying to tie itself into knots.

Andre finished his impromptu organization and became still, staring at Kayla across the desk with a speculative look on his cheerful face. "Your face appears to have made quite the miraculous recovery," he said at last, gazing intently at the right side in particular.

Kayla brought her fingers self-consciously to her cheek, wincing as she unintentionally probed the carefully concealed bruises. "It's make-up," she explained shame-facedly.

Andre brought his fingertips to meet under his chin and cocked his head at her. "What happened?" he asked gently.

For the third time in the past ten hours, Kayla once again retold the confrontation on the catwalk, though she omitted the brush with death and the phantom. Andre looked quite concerned by the time her story was done.

"I'll go and collect my stuff, then," Kayla muttered helplessly, staring at her hands.

"What on earth do you mean, mademoiselle?" Andre asked, puzzled.

"You're sacking me, aren't you?" Kayla stated sadly, looking up into the manager's kind brown eyes. "I got into a fist fight with my superior on my first day."

"Mademoiselle!" Andre explained, looking at her, aghast. "I would not have hired you in the first place if I planned to have you leave after one performance! And as far as the fighting goes, Madame Giry and your friend Monsieur Jamie Blanchard have both vouched that it was entirely self defense on your part." Kayla simply stared at him with her mouth hanging open. Andre's eyes twinkled. "What I actually wanted to discuss with you," Andre continued, rising from his chair and moving to pace in front of the window, "was your promotion."

Kayla's blue eyes widened. "What?" she spluttered.

"You did exceedingly well at the performance last night, far too well for a junior stagehand," Andre said with a broad smile. "To tell you the truth, based on our discussions with Leverfe, we were already planning on ridding ourselves of Joseph Buquet. The fact that he had the nerve to attack you during a performance is enough to convince us. Buquet will be gone by tomorrow, and Firmin and I have decided that the position of chief stage manager will fall to you."

Kayla's mouth curled into a smile. "I can't believe it," she managed.

"If anyone deserves it, it is you," Andre assured her, grinning at the girl's joy as he sat back down.

Kayla's eyes drifted unbidden to the desk in front of her as she tried to hold back grateful tears. Crying ended up being pushed to bottom of her list of priorities. "What's that?"

Andre followed her gaze, and together the girl and the manager stared in disbelief at the white envelope gracing the formerly empty centre of the desk. Kayla's heart leapt into her throat as she saw the ornate, red skull that seated it. "Where in heaven's name did that come from?" Andre frowned.

"I don't know," Kayla whispered.

Andre gingerly picked up the envelope, and, scraping his nail under the edge of the wax, peeled back the morbid seal. As he flicked the envelope open, the assuming note slid out. The grey haired manager glared at the ink letters and read aloud, with Kayla surreptitiously mouthing the words she had memorized:

"Dear Andre,

What a charming gala! Christine was, in a word, sublime. We were hardly bereft when Carlotta left. On that note, prepare for a disaster should you cast her when she's seasons past her prime.

O.G.

P.S. I commend your wisdom on the promotion of Ms. Abbots. She shall be in charge of the sets for tonight's performance, rather that the fool Buquet. Do not dare to ignore these instructions. "

The post script was an unexpected addition, and Kayla was shocked that she of all people had garnered enough attention to be mentioned in a note. Andre's expression easily fell into the category of utter bewilderment. "Who on earth is O.G? And why would he care whether you were promoted?"

Kayla shrugged. "I don't know," she lied.

Andre slipped the note back into the envelope and stood, walking back around the desk to pull out Kayla's chair for her. "Whatever the case, Ms. Abbots, you will be in charge of the sets this evening," the manager declared as he took her arm and led her to the door, gripping the envelope in his other hand. "I will see you back to your wing, and then I must find Firmin."

And that's how Kayla found herself strolling arm in arm with Andre down the gorgeous marble halls of the Opera Populaire. As the pair walked towards the main lobby, Kayla saw Firmin bounding gleefully up the secondary set of stairs that led from the foyer. "To hell with Gluc and Handel; have a scandal and you're sure to have a hit!" Firmin sang happily as he bounced up to their level.

Andre dropped her arm and hastened towards his business partner as Kayla realized that they were about to sing Notes. Her inner fangirl was immediately seized by hysterics.

"This is damnable, when they all walk out! This is damnable!" Andre seethed, storming towards his friend, who grabbed him and steered him further down the hall.

"Andre, please don't shout!" Firmin admonished. "It's publicity, and the take is vast! Free publicity!"

"But we have no cast!"

Kayla hummed along quietly as Firmin pointed out the gigantic line for tickets that stretched from the doors of the theatre and some distance into the street outside. Then he noticed the note clutched in Andre's hand, and Kayla continued to hum as Andre read it aloud. She followed this by echoing Firmin's indignant tone as he read his own letter to Andre.

"Dear Firmin,

Just a brief reminder: my salary has not been paid. Send it care of the ghost by return of post. PTO No one likes a debtor so it's better that my orders were obeyed."

"Who would have the gall to send this?" they wondered. "Someone with a purer brain. These are both signed O.G, who the hell is he?"

"Opera Ghost?" Kayla supplied under her breath.

"Opera Ghost!" they shouted. "It's nothing short of shocking…"

"He is mocking our position!"

"In addition he wants money…"

"It's clear the man is clearly quite insane!"

"Where is she?" Raoul de Chagny burst into the foyer like the hounds of hell were on his tail. As the patron and managers musically argued about the source of the newest letter and the current location of Christine, Kayla amused herself by attempting to identify the colour of the Vicomte's hair. Today it was either hazel brown or deep gold; she could not decide which.

"Do not fear for Ms. Daäe. The Angel of Music has her under his wing. Make no attempt to see her again," Firmin read skeptically.

"If you didn't write it, who did?" Raoul demanded bluntly.

The wooden doors burst open and Carlotta, Piangi, and their silly prep crew came sweeping into the opera house with all the tact of a Canadian snowstorm. "Oh, here we go," Kayla sneered quietly with an exaggerated eye roll as Carlotta started to sing-song scream at Raoul and the mangers, who denied all claims in tones that perfectly complemented the diva's ire.

"Your days at the Opera Populaire are numbered," Raoul sighed, warm hazel eyes flickering over the black scrawl of the newest note. "Christine Daäe will be singing on your behalf tonight. Prepare for a great misfortune should you attempt to take her place."

Carlotta's face was so red that it appeared that her head exploding was an inevitable possibility. After exchanging a meaningful look, Firmin and Andre hurriedly linked arms with the furious diva and sang, "Far too many notes for my taste, and most of them about Christine. All we've heard since we came is Ms. Daäe's name…"

"Ms. Daäe has returned."

Madame Giry and Meg appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Raoul, Carlotta, and the managers whipped around to face the newcomers. Kayla was the only one who was unsurprised.

"I hope no worse for wear, as far as we're concerned!" Firmin groaned indistinctly.

"Where is she now?" Raoul asked anxiously.

"I thought it best she was alone," Madame Giry explained.

"She needed rest," Meg supported softly, with her eyes fixated on the ground.

"May I see her?" Raoul requested eagerly, stepping forward.

Madame Giry held up a hand to stop his advance. "No monsieur, she will see no one," the ballet mistress stated firmly.

Carlotta and Piangi exchanged a sharp, distrustful glance, and screeched, "Will she sing? Will she sing?"

In response, Madame Giry held out the fourth white envelope of the day, and there was an immediate clamor for possession, from which Firmin emerged victorious. It was he who tore into the envelope and pulled out the latest piece of correspondence. Firmin began to recite.

Unexpectedly, Kayla's vision blurred, and her legs began shaking so badly that she was forced to support her weight on the smooth stair rails. When she shut her eyes, she could see the dark silhouette of the Phantom, sitting at his desk in front of his model of Il Muto. His deep, melodious voice echoed through her mind.

"Gentlemen, I have now sent you a number of notes of the most amiable nature detailing how my theatre is to be run. You have not followed my instructions. I shall give you one last chance. Ms. Daäe has returned to you, and I am anxious her career should progress. In tonight's production of Il Muto, you shall therefore cast Carlotta as the page boy, and put Ms. Daäe in the role of Countess. The role that Ms. Daäe plays calls for charm and appeal; the role of the page boy is silent, which makes my casting, in a word, ideal. I shall watch the performance from my usual seat in Box Five, which will be kept empty for me. Should my commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur."

The part of Kayla's brain that was not being hijacked by some sort of flash back snarled, "Not beyond my imagination it ain't." She continued to watch, immobile, as the Phantom poured hot crimson wax onto the envelope and stamped it with his seal, inspecting the red skull with an ominous smile. "I remain, gentlemen, your obedient servant – O.G."

Kayla's eyes snapped open and the hallucination dissolved as the angry prima donna let out the most unholy shriek Kayla had ever heard. "It's all a ploy to help Christine!"

"This is insane," Firmin moaned.

"I know who sent this!" Carlotta shrilled, turning on Raoul. "The Vicomte – her lover!"

"Indeed?" Raoul scoffed sarcastically. "Can you believe it?"

"Signora!" Andre protested, hurrying down the stairs after the incensed diva, who appeared, at least to Kayla's ears, to be swearing in Italian.

"This is a joke!" Firmin hissed. "Signora!"

"This changes nothing!" Andre called. Carlotta continued towards the door. "You are our star!"

"And always will be!" Firmin added. "The man is mad!"

"We don't take orders!" Andre blustered.

Kayla resisted the urge to roll her eyes and shut her eyes again; her head was pounding. If this migraine was going to happen every time there was a change in perspective, according to the movie at least, this would be no fun at all.

"Miss Daäe will be playing the page boy – the silent role," Firmin announced loudly. "Carlotta will be playing the lead!"

Despite all the flattery, Carlotta continued to wax melodramatic and make for the exit. Kayla, who was in no mood to watch Andre and Firmin serenade-slash-kiss Carlotta's spoiled ass, stayed exactly where she was as Carlotta and her entourage whooshed away, with the pleading managers following close behind.

"Are you alright?"

Kayla lazily opened one eye to detect the source of the inquiry, and was shocked to discover Raoul looking down at her. "Something is trying to break out of my skull with a sledgehammer, and I'm getting really tired of Carlotta's bullshit, but besides that, I'm just dandy," she mumbled sarcastically. "Thank you for your concern, Vicomte."

"Please, call me Raoul," the man requested kindly, paying no mind to Kayla's attitude.

Kayla squinted up at Raoul and smiled. "Thanks, Raoul," she said. "I wish the other guys I know were a gentlemanly as you. No wonder Christine likes you so much."

To Kayla's great amusement, the young nobleman's cheeks took on a hint of crimson. He allowed Kayla to lean on his arm as she struggled to stand upright. As she stood swaying, Madame Giry and Meg approached.

"I need to speak with you, Kayla," Madame Giry stated, her voice laced with stress.

"Will Christine be all right? Is she safe?" Raoul cut in.

Madame Giry nodded tiredly. "You will no doubt see her at the performance, Vicomte," she agreed. "But for now, pray excuse us."

Raoul inclined his head in acceptance, and released Kayla, who took a few wobbly steps before Meg swooped in to support her. "See you later, Raoul," Kayla grinned drunkenly.

"Good afternoon, ladies," Raoul bowed before stalking away, muttering something about rejecting plans. Madame Giry led the way out of the lobby.

Author's Note: Apologies for the long wait... its midterm season and I have a lot of work to do. Also I'm trying to get through multiple seasons of about five different shows simultaneously, which really isn't helping my productivity all that much. Nevertheless, I'll try my best to post once a week at least. Thanks for reading, and please review or PM with any questions, comments, or constructive critiques.

Thanks!

Tierney