Author's Note: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, that right belongs to Webber, Leroux, and all the other geniuses.

12

Madame Giry led the way to her office before sending Meg away to organize the ballet corps. She forced Kayla to sit down before revealing yet another white envelope – the only difference being that this one was addressed to Kayla herself. With trembling hands, Kayla opened the note.

"Mademoiselle Abbots," the note began crisply.

"I would first like to congratulate you on your acceptance of employment at the Opera Populaire. In addition, I commend you on your level of professionalism and expertise during last evening's gala.

I quite frankly approve of Monsieur Andre's decision to promote you to the head of backstage management. You are to work on the catwalk once again this evening, but, if you value your life, do not work near Joseph Buquet. Focus on your own duties on you will have nothing to fear. Should you ignore my warning, do not expect to escape unscathed.

I look forward to watching your commendable work at tonight's performance, and will contact you soon, as I have a proposition that may require your assistance. I remain, mademoiselle, your faithful patron,

O.G."

Kayla felt frozen, as if the message on the page before her was a curse that turned her to stone. The Phantom of the Opera considered himself to be her patron? The one happy fact she could currently see was that he, as of yet, did not want her dead, or else he would not have warned her about the folly of shadowing Buquet. As if she would willingly stalk that man after he had almost murdered her.

Madame Giry's lips were pursed so tightly that her mouth looked like a perfectly straight line. "He is pleased with you," she stated quietly.

"But why?" Kayla wondered.

Madame Giry simply shrugged her thin shoulders.

Kayla flipped over the piece of stationary, revealing a postscript that had been hastily scrawled on the other side.

"I have borrowed something of yours, for safekeeping, as it was abandoned on the stage earlier this morning. It will be returned to you provided my orders are obeyed."

Blue eyes bulging, Kayla pounced at her bag and began to paw through the contents. iPhone and headphones, check; cosmetics, check; wallet, check; university stuff, check; art supplies, check. And she suddenly realized what was missing: her sketchbook. Kayla's mind immediately overflowed with curse words in every and any language she could think of. "Oh shit," however, was the only one she said aloud.

Madame Giry looked scandalized. "What's wrong?" she asked, sounding only a touch disapproving.

"He's got my sketchbook," Kayla hyperventilated, banging her head on the edge of the desk and cursing her stupidity.

Madame Giry, fortunately, understood the gravity of the situation instantly. "Are there any drawings that would alert him to who you are?"

Kayla groaned and slammed her forehead onto the desk again. "Yes," she grumbled. "There's a sketch of him without the mask."

Madame Giry inhaled sharply. "He is going to effing kill me," Kayla mumbled into the wood. "I am going to effing die here."

"I am afraid I do not know what he may do," Madame Giry sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "All I can tell you is to be careful."

"Caution means nothing if he wants me dead," Kayla moaned.

"What will happen to you?" Madame Giry inquired timidly. "If you die here?"

Kayla raised her head and stared at the older woman thoughtfully. "I don't know," Kayla murmured sadly. "Maybe I'll wake up at home. Maybe I'll be dead at home, I don't know. This isn't a normal occurrence with a predictable ending."

The woman's face was grim. "I will not allow misfortune to befall you if I can help it," she declared.

Kayla smiled weakly. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't think that there's much you can do against him."

"I saved his life," the ballet mistress insisted. "He will listen to me."

"I sure as hell hope so," Kayla muttered.

"Come," Madame Giry stated resignedly. "I need to alert Christine to her new role, and there are other preparations to attend to."

The two women walked to the backstage silently as mice. Kayla's footsteps lagged, as if her feet had decided that they were not in the mood to go anywhere. Madame Giry seemed no less reluctant as they moved through the wings. Her lined face was melancholy as she gently removed the page boy costume from a mannequin. "He has heard… the angel sees; the angel knows," she murmured distractedly, draping the bundle of pastel-coloured fabric over her arm.

After that, the two separated – Madame Giry to help Christine into her costume, and Kayla off to help set up the stage. Most of the pieces were already prepped for movement between acts, and the arrangement of the bedroom scene for the first act, though labour intensive, did not take very much time to complete. When her fellow stagehands discovered that Kayla was experienced in costuming, Jamie and Clemens dragged her to the large cast and dancers' dressing room to assist the actors and ballerinas with their makeup and outfits.

Thus, when the audience began to congregate in the lobby about an hour before seating was scheduled to begin, Kayla found herself painting the face of yet another actor, covering the cheeks and forehead with white using broad, smooth strokes. It was about six 'o'clock in the evening now, and Kayla had not taken a break since her sojourn to the stage that morning. Her body had recently come to the realization that it had not ingested food since the afternoon of her inter-universe jump over a day previously, and her stomach had decided that the most logical course of action was to eat itself.

Pulling out a different pot, Kayla brushed shimmery blue powder over the man's brows and cheekbones, accentuating his features so they would be easily seen on stage. She added a coat of baby-blue to his lips, and a navy blotch to his cheek. Surreptitiously pulling up a picture of the "fops" on her phone for reference, Kayla inspected her work. "I think you're done," she ventured, holding up a mirror. The actor examined his face in the reflective glass, turning his head from side to side to check every detail.

"Perfect!" the man exclaimed, sounding slightly surprised. "I've never had my makeup look this good!"

"She's quite talented, isn't she?" smirked a woman in a flamboyant lavender dress with matching makeup. Laughing, she smacked the man in the back of the head, nodding respectfully at Kayla. "She painted me and Francois as well," the actress added, gesturing at a man in lemon yellow.

"Did she really?" the actor in blue asked delightedly. He turned to Kayla with new-found admiration. "Thank you, mademoiselle, for your expert job," he stated politely. "I'm Antoine, by the way."

"No problem," Kayla acknowledged, feeling bashful. "Nice to meet you."

Setting his tall white wig atop his head, Antoine strolled away, perfectly balanced on the kitten heels his costume required. Kayla grinned in amusement, but the expression quickly faded as a double wave of dizziness and nausea overtook her.

"Kayla?" The newest greeting came from Meg, who was already made-up and costumed for her role. "Are you feeling any better?"

Kayla looked up at the delicate ballerina with a tired smile. "I'm pretty good, considering that I've been working for six hours, and haven't eaten for possibly a day and a half," she remarked cheerfully.

Meg's mouth dropped open. "Why didn't you say anything earlier?" she spluttered. Kayla merely shrugged. "I'll show you where the kitchen and dining hall are after the performance, as there's not enough time right now, but I'll be right back with something to tide you over until then," Meg promised quickly before vanishing into the busy crowd.

A group of young ballerinas approached Kayla timidly, and shyly requested help with their cosmetics. Remembering how in awe she had been of older girls when she was younger, Kayla happily obliged, drawing them into a comfortable conversation as she worked her way through the ranks. Thankfully, the girls knew exactly what their make-up was supposed to look like, and became freer with their suggestions and descriptions as they warmed to her presence.

Thus, when Meg finally returned, Kayla had at least fifteen adolescent girls gathered in a semi-circle around her, watching her finish up the final dancer's makeup and listening attentively to the story Kayla was telling. Kayla powdered the girl's cheeks with blush as she continued her tale.

"The girl reached out to touch the dying rose when… BANG!" she cried, and the girls squealed in fright. "The lid was slammed back down. 'Why are you here?' the Beast snarled angrily. 'I ordered you to stay out of the West Wing!' The frightened girl tried to apologize, but the Beast roared loudly and leapt at her with claws outstretched. She fled, racing out of the castle and into the storm that howled with icy rage outside."

Kayla had originally been at a loss as to what to talk about, but when the topic had rolled around to her background, the girls had begged to hear some of the stories she had grown up with in Canada. Though the irony of her choice did not escape her, Kayla decided on Beauty and the Beast – the lighthearted animated retelling, of course.

"While the Beast grieved the loss of a chance to break the curse, Belle galloped with Philippe out of the foreboding gates, not hearing the cries of the hungry wolves that flew on the whistling winter winds," Kayla described dramatically as her audience stood rapt with wonder.

Meg held out an apple and a warm sourdough bun to Kayla as the storyteller set down the makeup brushes. The young dancer opposite Kayla snatched up a mirror and peered at her reflection with a contented little grin.

"All dancers need to be ready to warm up in five minutes!" Madame Giry barked as she stuck her head into the room. There was an immediate flurry of activity as all the ballerinas made for the door. The younger dancers who were standing around Kayla followed the order with obvious reluctance, slowly gathering up their props and adjusting their costumes.

"Will you tell us the rest of the story later?" one requested hopefully.

"Of course," Kayla responded warmly. With happy squeaks of thanks, and cheerful "good lucks", her new disciples scurried after their older counterparts.

Kayla snatched the apple and bun out of Meg's hands and began eating ravenously. "Thank you Meg; you wonderful lifesaver you," she moaned around a mouthful of fruit.

"The little girls seem to like you," Meg commented.

Kayla shrugged, finished the apple, and tore into the bun. "I have sisters and cousins, I know how it is," she explained thickly, cramming pieces of bread into her mouth. "Attention from an older girl can be a pretty big deal."

Meg tilted her head curiously. "How old are you?" she asked abruptly. "If you don't mind me asking."

"Twenty," Kayla replied automatically. "I'll be twenty-one in January."

Startled, Meg blurted out, "Why aren't you married yet?"

The bread decided to take a detour down her windpipe. Kayla managed to save herself from death by choking before she laughed out loud. "Married?" she spluttered. "That's hilarious… if there's one thing you should know about me, darling – boys are not interested in me."

"The Vicomte seems to be," Meg objected flatly.

"Not at all," Kayla snickered, amused by the ridiculousness of the idea. "Trust me, he's going for Christine," she stated. "They'll be engaged before New Year's, I bet you."

"What are the stakes?" Meg asked slyly.

"Oh, it's a legit bet now? I don't have any money," Kayla laughed.

"You will as soon as you get your first wages," Meg pointed out. "How about two francs?"

"Done," Kayla agreed. They shook on it.

Madame Giry reappeared in the doorway. "Meg, you should be warming up now," she ordered. Meg started guiltily, and hurried out into the backstage. The ballet mistress walked closer as Kayla stood and picked up her bag. "Kayla, the rest of the crew is gathering behind the wings," she explained softly. "You should join them."

Kayla nodded and slung her bag securely across her shoulders, adjusting the work belt Madame Giry handed to her across her hips. "Thank you, Madame Giry," Kayla articulated slowly. "For everything."

The older woman looked at her sharply. "You will survive this evening," she declared icily, in response to Kayla's silent worry. "You are a young woman. He will not harm you."

"But I know his secrets," Kayla protested wearily. "I know what he's planning."

Madame Giry's gaze softened in confusion. "What is he planning?"

"Buquet's going to die," Kayla revealed in a rush.

The ballet mistress's features tightened determinedly. "So be it," she said. "You, Kayla, will be safe – he is, if anything, a chivalrous gentleman."

"I hope you're right."

Madame Giry gave Kayla's arm a reassuring squeeze before hurrying off, probably to collect Christine.

Kayla took a deep, calming breath, dropped her bag off in her soon-to-be-office, and went to join the crew.

Author's Note: Thank you everyone for reading! Feel free to review and PM if you have any questions, comments, or critiques.

Thanks!

Tierney