Author's Note: So, sorry for the delay in posting, the week kind of got away from me, what with midterms and work and such... but here it is now! I still do not own Phantom of the Opera, that right belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber, Gaston Leroux, and others.

13

Joseph Buquet was standing in the circle of stagehands when Kayla arrived, and the man looked visibly startled to see that she was unharmed. "Yes, I am alive, asshole," Kayla barked by way of greeting before turning to the men she would be officially managing.

"Clemens and Jean, if you could please be in charge of the level two balcony, left side; Henri and Andre are on the right. Francis with Baptiste and Germaine with Rene are taking the first balcony, left and right respectively. The left wings are the jurisdiction of Dennis, Leo, and Edward, the other side gets Bernard, Marius, and Gerald. The rest of you are on duty backstage. Jamie, you're with me on the catwalk." The instructions fell from her lips with ease, and there was not a single complaint – unless, of course, they were counting Buquet.

"Who put you in charge?" the coarse man growled.

"Our new managers," Kayla spat. "They seemed to like my professional behaviour. Yours, on the other hand, left much to be desired."

"Oh, really?" Buquet sneered.

"You'll be eating your words after they fire your ass," Kayla snarled.

"Oh, I see," Buquet chortled. "You're the managers' whore."

Kayla's vision tinted crimson, and her mouth opened before she could stop herself. "Oh ho! Says the man who watches the dancers changing, you lecherous old sot!" she shrieked. "I got this job because I keep high standards of responsibility, not because I let my bosses get me into bed. Unlike you, who gets to stick around, probably because you and a couple of the dancers have a creepy little arrangement going on, you slut."

In that section of the backstage, you could have heard a pin drop. After a moment, Jamie let out a long, drawn-out whistle of approval. Clemens was grinning in undisguised delight, some of the older men were visibly holding back laughter, and the other teenagers burst into applause. Buquet, on the other hand, was growing red with fury.

Kayla drew her fingertips down her cheek, causing streaks of concealer to disappear. The rest of the crew gaped when they saw the sickly purple bruises. "Next time, leave less evidence when you fail to murder someone," Kayla hissed. "Tonight is your last night at the Opera Populaire, one way or another, and if you interfere with this performance or threaten me and anyone else in any way, I will kill you myself."

Buquet's face was a priceless combination of anger and fear, and he was not the only one who looked furious. Jamie, who was already privy to the revelation, was bristling. Her teenage fanclub looked ready to rip Buquet to shreds, and the older ones were radiating protective, fatherly rage.

"I have an idea!" Kayla exclaimed poisonously. "Germaine and Rene, would you take Buquet up to level one, and keep an eye on him, please? That way you can notify me if there are any… unpleasantries."

Germaine – a broad, gentle man who reminded Kayla of her father – calmly replied, "Yes, of course, Abbots."

Kayla smiled gratefully at him before turning to the others. "Is everyone clear on their positions?" she demanded.

"Yes, Abbots," the crew chorused.

"Alright, get to it, then; before Carlotta can try to change anything," she instructed in mock-seriousness, and they all chuckled.

Suddenly, a series of high-pitched notes that vaguely reminded Kayla of a teakettle echoed from a distant section of the backstage. Jamie looked at Kayla in mock horror. "Speak of the devil…" he remarked casually.

All intent on avoiding an encounter with the insufferable soprano, the group hastily dispersed to their positions. Germaine and Rene all but dragged Buquet towards the balcony stairs, while Jamie and Kayla scurried up a second set of stairs to the catwalks. Therefore, Kayla had a first class aerial view of Firmin and Andre, struggling to carry the large, bulky litter on which Carlotta was comfortably reclining.

Carlotta's extravagantly puffy, lacy pink dress had to be lowered onto her by a set of makeshift pulleys that extended out from one of the balconies. In some miraculous feat of engineering, the high, bejeweled whit wig stood straight and tall on her slender neck without wobbling. Carlotta's olive skin was completely covered with white, and layered with blush on her cheeks. As the managers continued to shower Carlotta with lyrical compliments, Christine, Madame Giry, and Meg emerged from the wings with the air of people on the way to a funeral. Christine's brown eyes were distant and glazed over with despair.

The entire cast was gathered on the stage as everyone fussed over Carlotta's costume. Then, as if prompted by some invisible force, everyone on stage began to sing. "Light up the stage with that age-old rapport! Sing prima donna…" They paused to take one synchronized breath. "Ooooonce mooooore!"

As the song ended, Kayla called down, "Nice first attempt, y'all." Jamie snickered next to her. "Attempt being the operative word in this scenario."

Carlotta whipped around to pinpoint the source of the sass, and it took her a couple of seconds to think to look up. When she finally did, the diva was incensed. "How dare you!" she shrieked.

"Trust me, darling, I'll dare as often as I like," Kayla replied sweetly. "I'd invite you to come up here and remedy the situation, but I doubt your dress would fit." Jamie clapping his hand over his mouth, bending over and hanging onto one of the ropes, shaking with silent laughter.

"You have no right…" Carlotta shrilled, but Jamie immediately cut her off.

"I think the rest of us would argue that she has every right," the young man defended icily, leaning over the rails to glare at the prima donna. "Do your own job, and we'll do ours."

From their hiding places in the wings, the other stagehands burst into applause.

"This silly girl has no place in this opera house!" Carlotta screamed, her Italian accent becoming more pronounced in her rage.

Andre drew himself up to his full, though unimpressive, height and stated coldly, "You may be the prima donna, Signora, but allow me to make the employment decisions, if you please."

Kayla grinned cheekily and waved sarcastically before stepping out of range of the diva's death stare.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please prepare yourselves, as we will be starting the performance in twenty minutes," Firmin instructed loudly, and dragged Andre away to the hallway leading to the managers' office.

There was a moment of confused silence, and then the cast came alive. Piangi and his incredibly short sidekick removed themselves to their position outside of the "door". The three "fops" whose makeup Kayla had applied earlier – Antoine in blue, Francois in yellow, and Annette in lavender – set up behind the red velvet curtain. Carlotta primly sat on the bed that dominated centre stage, while Meg shoved Christine, causing the young singer to land on the mattress on all fours, like a cat. Christine looked shocked for a moment, but started to laugh quietly. When Carlotta finally managed to shush the dancer and the young soprano's hysterical giggles, Christine appeared to be much calmer and brighter. Once Christine was properly seated next to Carlotta, Meg drew the bed curtains across, blocking the two leads for the audience's view, and whisked away to her own position in the wings.

Kayla could hear the murmurs of the spectators on the other side of the curtain. Surveying the wings and balconies, she confirmed that her crew members were in their places. A questioning glance at Germaine was returned by a signal that Buquet was still being monitored. A second glance at the wings was rewarded with a firm but reassuring nod from Madame Giry.

All too soon, Kayla caught the familiar notes of the orchestra's warm-up. "Let the audience in, let my opera begin," she muttered to herself as with a swell in the melody, the curtains flew aside, and the three fops pranced forward, with Meg springing out close behind.

"They say a certain youth has set my lady's heart aflame!" Annette trilled.

"His lordship would surely die of shock!"

"His lordship is a laughing stock!"

Together, the three sang, "If he suspect her, God protect her! Shame! Shame! Shame!"

"This faithless lady's bound for Hades; shame, shame, shame!"

With a comical wag of her finger, Meg pulled back the bed curtains. The movement revealed Christine and Carlotta, who, to the eyes of the audience, appeared to be making-out behind Carlotta's lacy rose fan. The viewers, with whom this opera seemed to be a favourite, burst into applause as Carlotta lowered the fan and Christine clapped her hand to her mouth in an exaggerated motion of shock.

Kayla peered over at Box Five. Unsurprised to see it occupied, she found herself still annoyed that the managers were practically begging for disaster. "Oh Raoul, you utter asshat," Kayla sighed exasperatedly.

Jamie cast a curious glance in her direction. "What's bothering you, Abbots?" he inquired.

"The Vicomte is sitting in the Phantom's box," she explained tersely, tilting her head towards Box Five.

"Do you believe the stories, then?" Jamie asked cautiously.

"We have nothing if not belief," Kayla quoted, still glaring at the oblivious nobleman. "Besides, I have my suspicions, so if I tell you to do something, just do it, understood?"

Jamie nodded, convinced by the serious look Kayla could feel plastered across her face.

"Serefimo, you're disguise is perfect!" Carlotta warbled. A member of the orchestra rapped on a wooden box, perfectly imitating the sound of a knock. "Who can this be?"

Piangi waltzed onto the stage through the "door", looking as proud as a peacock. "Gentle wife, admit your loving husband," he proclaimed, pretending to grope Meg, who in turn acted shocked. The audience applauded again, and Kayla resisted the urge to slam her head into something. "My love – I am called to England on affairs of State, and must leave you with your new maid. Though I'd 'appily take the maid with me," Piangi added with a self-satisfied smirk.

"The old fool is leaving!" Carlotta stage-whispered, earning another round of laughter. The singing exchange continued, after which Piangi and his sidekick took their leave. Carlotta peered furtively after him before crying, "Serefimo – away with this pretense!"

Christine strode confidently to the front of the stage, tearing off her skirt and casting it aside. Annette, Francois, and Antoine let out dramatic gasps. "You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband's absence," Carlotta sang, holding up her fan as she and Christine leaned behind it once again. Piangi stuck his head back through the doorway and shook his fist at the display.

Hooking their arms around each other's waists, Christine and Carlotta floated in a circle as Carlotta continued, "Poor fool, he makes me laugh, haha, haha! Time I tried to get a better, better half! Poor fool, he doesn't know! Hoho, hoho! If he knew the truth, he'd never, ever go!"

Suddenly, a voice echoed through the theatre. "Did I not instruct," the invisible Phantom boomed.

The audience let out gasps of surprise, and the cast on stage all wore identical masks of horror. Jamie's brown eyes were bulging. Striking a pose, Kayla laughed as she mouth along to the next words, gesturing dramatically.

"…that Box Five was to be kept empty?"

"No really, bright eyes? What alerted you?" Kayla wondered sarcastically. Jamie, overhearing, stifled a chuckle, looking significantly less freaked out than he had been a few seconds before.

"It's him," Christine breathed, looking around wildly.

Snapping her bright pink fan shut, Carlotta brandished said prop at Christine and snarled, "Your part is silent, little toad!" Trying to laugh off the interruption, Carlotta swept off the wings to get a hit of her throat spray. It was the worst character break Kayla had ever seen on stage.

No one else could hear the ghostly words that followed, but to Kayla, Erik's voice was as clear as if he was standing right next to her. "A toad, madame?" the Phantom mused. "Perhaps it is you, who are the toad."

Carlotta returned to her position onstage, issuing playful instructions to Maestro Reyer. She began to sing as if nothing had transpired. "Serefimo, away with this pretense; you cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband's abs…" As she made to finish the word, a ghastly croak issued from her throat. Rightly so, Carlotta and the rest of the cast were horrified, though the audience, thinking it was some kind of joke, roared with merriment.

"Abbots!" The desperate plea reached Kayla's ears from the first balcony. Twisting around to answer, Kayla saw Germaine leaning over the railing. "Buquet ran off," he hissed worriedly. "What do we do?"

Kayla felt the crushing weight of leadership sinking on her shoulders. Smacking her forehead, she formulated her plan. "I want the entire crew down at the muster point, behind the stage right wings. No one is to be on the balconies or the catwalk, understood?" she barked.

"What about Buquet?" Germaine asked urgently.

"If a grown man can't take care of himself, nothing we can do will protect him," Kayla declared. "Natural selection, if you will. Now forget Buquet and get downstairs, now!"

"Yes, Abbots!" Germaine affirmed, and whisked away to spread the word and collect the other men on the balconies.

"Jamie, go downstairs and gather up the lower level crew," Kayla ordered sharply, and the young man obeyed immediately.

Recovering from the shock, Carlotta made a second attempt. "Oh poor fool he makes me laugh, aha, aha! Aha, ACK!"

Carlotta screamed, sounding both terrified and mortified, and ran off the stage as quickly as her high heels would allow. The curtain hastily swung shut, and Antoine, who was caught in front of it, took several moments to find the opening and slip back out of sight. Firmin and Andre burst onto the stage, wide-eyed and frazzled.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Firmin called, his mustache bristling as he visibly held back panic. "We apologize," he continued after a pause. "The performance will continue…"

Maestro Reyer threw up his hands in exasperation, exhibiting the 1800's equivalent of a "WTF" face. The audience gaped.

"…in ten minutes time, when the role of the Countess shall be played by Ms. Daäe!" Firmin concluded as Andre dragged Christine out from behind the curtain to display to audience.

Madame Giry yanked Christine back off stage, and Kayla watched them hurry back to the dressing room.

"Thank you for your patience," Andre articulated carefully. "Meanwhile, we would like to present the ballet from Act Three of tonight's opera…"

"What?" Reyer cried.

"The ballet, maestro? The ballet!" Andre blustered. The managers bowed and whisked off stage again.

As Antoine was caught in front of the curtain yet again, performing a little dance of his own to a delighted audience, Kayla raced down the ladder to the balcony and down the stairs to the muster point. "You heard the managers, we're trying this again," Kayla grimaced as soon as she was in earshot of the company. "Does anybody know what scene they want us to start from?"

"Scene two," returned Clemens promptly. "That's what Madame Giry told me."

Kayla's brain automatically pulled up the pages of the set book, enabling her to visualize the new set quite clearly. "Alright, scene two is in the garden, so we need the bed to be removed, plus the bedroom walls away, and the forest backdrop needs to come down," Kayla flung out the set pieces as they occurred to her. "I want the six strongest moving the bed, the rest deal with the walls; let's move!"

The set crew sprang into action, ducking and diving around the young ballerinas who were beginning their routine onstage. Kayla hurried to help Jamie pull back one of the walls, scuffing her boots against the wooden floor as she heaved at the unyielding piece. As the pair finally dragged the wall back to its home in the wings, Clemens sprinted up. "Kayla… I mean, Abbots," he spluttered, blushing. "We need to bring down the backdrop, and since the catwalk is your area of expertise, we figured you'd be best for the job," he rushed.

"On it," Kayla nodded resolutely, adjusting her work belt around her hips before jogging up the stairs again.

Author's Note: There we are! Again, sorry for the delay. Also, in Chapter 11 I was alerted to the fact that I messed up on the dates; I wrote 1854 in the first paragraph when it should be 1870, and I was too lazy to change it. Just a heads up in case anyone was confused. :)

Please review or PM with any questions, constructive criticism, or other comments.

Thanks!

Tierney