Author's Note: It should come as not surprise to anyone that Webber, Leroux, and others are the proud owners of Phantom of the Opera

17

The procession moved steadily through the halls, down a narrow flight of stairs, and into a section of the opera house that Kayla did not recognize. In a dimly lit but cozy room filled with long wooden tables, Jamie sat Kayla down on a bench and whisked away. He returned balancing two bowls, a loaf of bread on a cutting board, and a wickedly sharp knife.

"Sebastian's still got bread in the oven, and a big pot of stew on the stove, so you lot go get your own!" he barked.

The rest of the stagehands hurried through another doorway, presumably into the kitchen. Jamie placed a bowl and a spoon in front of Kayla and began to slice up the steaming golden loaf. "Eat up, Abbots," he said encouragingly.

Kayla did not need to be told twice. Taking a scoop of food, she popped the spoon into her mouth, barely avoiding burning her tongue. The gravy was steaming hot and delicious, filled with tender pieces of beef, sweet slices of carrot, and thick, creamy slices of potato. Kayla was in heaven. "It's so good!" she mumbled through a full mouth. Jamie chuckled and handed her thick slice of baguette.

The rest of the crew returned soon after with their own bowls, and Germaine and Henri were juggling twenty one mugs and two bottles of wine in addition to their own food. Sliding their burdens down onto the table, Germaine arranged all the mugs on the wooden surface and neatly filled each with the maroon liquid. The alcohol was then distributed to the group.

Kayla hesitatingly picked up the small cup and looked up as Germaine cleared his throat. "I know that Buquet was not well loved by the Populaire, least of all by us," the fatherly man said slowly. "But for all his faults, he at least bothered to work hard. And his behaviour, though appalling, provided us with the change of management we so desperately needed." He raised his mug and nodded at Kayla. "To Abbots," he proposed. "And to an improved rest of the season."

"To Abbots!" the shout echoed around the room as the crew lifted their cups to toast their new manager. Kayla blushed and took a careful swig of wine as the other men drained their portions.

The wine was spicy and slightly bitter, burning the back of her throat. Swallowing quickly, she took another careful bite of stew. "Wine's not your thing?" Jamie smirked, leaning over to check the level of her drink. When Kayla shook her head, Jamie snatched up the mug. "Baptiste!" he called, preparing to slide the wine across the table.

Sticking out her hand to block the pass, Kayla queried, "What on earth are you doing?"

"Giving your wine to Baptiste; what does it look like I'm doing?" Jamie laughed.

Kayla shook her head vehemently. "He's fourteen, even one glass is too much," she insisted sternly. "Give it to one of the seniors; Claude, maybe." Shrugging, Jamie slid the mug over to Claude. The fifty-year-old toasted Kayla before downing the wine in one gulp.

"Aw, why couldn't Baptiste have it?" Clemens groaned, sticking his lip out at Kayla. "He's hilarious when he's tipsy!"

"Come on guys!" Kayla exclaimed exasperatedly. "Getting hammered is not going to make our jobs any easier."

"Hammered?" Baptiste repeated confusedly.

"Drunk," Kayla clarified. "We're the set crew of the Opera Populaire, one of the best operas in France, for heaven's sakes! It's an honour and a privilege, and without us, the show doesn't happen. It's a serious responsibility," she concluded. "And besides," she added. "Getting wasted is the ballet corps' area of expertise, not ours."

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then the room was filled with laughter. Jamie threw back his head and howled at the ceiling. More than one person looked like they almost choked on a spoonful of stew before starting to laugh. Slamming his head down on the table, Clemens buried his face in his arms, his shoulders shaking. Rene and Marius toppled on the bench, and proceeded to roll around on the floor in hysterics. The other teenagers were all laughing so hard that they appeared to be having trouble breathing.

"Was that too far?" Kayla asked Germaine anxiously.

The older man just shook his head, his eyes twinkling merrily.

"Not at all," Claude wheezed, leaning across the table to speak to her. "That was very witty, and undeniably accurate."

"Except for the little girls," Jamie chimed in thoughtfully. "And Meg Giry. But besides that, they are wee drunks, aren't they?"

With that, the senior hands also broke down, roaring with hilarity and slapping each other on the back. "The dancers' job!" Henri choked, and everyone lost it again.

It took a very long time for them all to calm down enough to speak coherent sentences without giggling. Kayla's mood improved dramatically as the meal progressed; her stomach was full of food, her mind was energized by the comedic conversation, and her body felt very warm and comfortable.

Somewhere in the room, a clock chimed eleven. Kayla's eyes widened, and she quickly slurped up the remainder of her stew. "Okay, everyone, finish up and go get some rest," she suggested.

The teenagers immediately morphed into four year olds. "Aww! Why?" Rene whined.

"Don't be such a baby, Rene," Kayla grinned, moving to stand. "Even if the managers aren't freaked out enough to have an emergency rehearsal, I want our crew up early and rehearsing. We have to be perfect, even if no one else is."

"It makes sense," Henri agreed, nodding. The other six over-thirty stagehands rose to their feet, prepared to comply with her request.

"When would you like to see us, Abbots?" Germaine inquired respectfully.

"Eight 'o' clock," Kayla decided. "We can meet on the stage, talk about how the day's going to work, go to breakfast, and then come back and set up."

"Just so ya know, lass, seating generally starts at eight," Claude mentioned. "The actual performance starts about half an hour after that."

"Thank you, Claude," Kayla acknowledged, smiling at him gratefully.

"I don't see why we have to go to bed," Clemens moaned.

Kayla immediately turned on him, but Baptiste reacted first. "She wants us to be awake again in nine hours!" the young boy drawled, putting his hands on his hips. "We need our rest if we want to pull off a stellar performance."

Clemens opened his mouth to retaliate, but quickly shut it again as he realized that he did not have a valid argument.

"Goodnight, gentlemen," Kayla yawned, brushing a few strands of blonde hair off her forehead. "I will see you all at eight."

She had walked all the way to the dorm before she realized that she had no idea how to get back to the dorm. Swivelling around, she marched back to the table. "I don't know how to get back to the dorm," she stated bluntly.

Jean, Dennis, Gaston, Leo, Antonio, and Julius immediately burst into laughter. Clemens, Andrew, Xavier, Rene, Marius, and Baptiste reacted oppositely, and glared at the amused young men.

"Sacre bleu; why the hell is that funny?" Marius snarled. The six other boys stopped laughing instantly.

"Need I remind you, she was practically fainting when we came down here?" Baptiste screeched.

"She hasn't eaten for two days, you bastards!" Andrew spat.

Kayla held up her hands. "Whoa now, calm down, boys," she coaxed. "I don't mind, and it honestly is funny that I still don't know my way around. No need for coronaries and hyperbole on my account."

The insults stopped, but the death glares did not. There was a period of silence in which the young stage hands on either side of the table stared each other down. The seniors and Jamie, the neutral party, watched with smiles playing about their lips. "Apologize to the lady," Clemens growled dangerously.

"Sorry, Abbots," the six culprits mumbled, shamefaced.

"Don't worry about it, guys; it's fine," Kayla brushed it off good naturedly. "But it still doesn't solve the problem that I want to go to bed and have no idea how to get there. Would someone mind showing me the way back?"

Jamie bounded up like the bench was on fire. "I will, my lady," he volunteered, pretending to be overly excited. He skipped over to her and held out his arm, which Kayla graciously accepted.

As Jamie escorted her through the darkening hallways, he pointed out landmarks that could help her find her way, and supplied a constant stream of information concerning which halls led where, the purposes of the different levels, and which sections of the building to avoid. It was all very helpful, and Kayla hoped she would remember it all.

"Here we are!" Jamie announced grandly, sweeping his arm towards the dormitory door as they traversed down the hall towards it.

"Thank you, sir," Kayla simpered, dropping into a curtsey.

"It was my pleasure, my lady," Jamie assured proudly.

The two stared at each other in complete silence for about three seconds before they both cracked up. As they stood there snickering at their own antics, the door swung open and Meg Giry stuck her head out. "Kayla! There you are!" the golden-haired dancer exclaimed. "I couldn't find you after the performance, and Maman and I were getting worried!"

Jamie turned to Kayla with a disappointed look on his face. "She's allowed to call you by your first name and I can't?" he pouted.

"Man up, Blanchard," Kayla teased, shoving him with her shoulder. "It's a right you'll have to earn."

"Very well," Jamie sighed. "Goodnight Abbots, goodnight Mademoiselle Giry." Grinning cheekily, he strutted back down the hall.

"Go to bed and make the rest of the crew go too, Jamie!" Kayla yowled after him. The chestnut haired stagehand waved to show he had heard before turning a corner and disappearing from view.

When Kayla turned back to Meg, the ballerina was watching her with a look of concern. "Are you alright?" Meg asked. "I heard you got questioned by the police."

Kayla shrugged. "It wasn't a big deal," she explained, following Meg into the dorm. As soon as she was fully through the door, she got swarmed.

The young ballerinas were in a frenzy of panic. There were fifteen so-dubbed "ballet rats", all of whom had been in the audience of Kayla's rendition of Beauty and the Beast. "We were so scared!" one of them shrieked, wrapping her pale, skinny arms around Kayla's waist. "We thought la fantôme had gotten you!"

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Kayla assured, giving the young girl a squeeze.

"If le fantôme had gotten you, we would never hear the end of the story!" another squeaked.

"LENA!" the others admonished loudly, turning on her and ignoring the hisses from the older dancers in the room.

"But I am okay, and you will hear the rest of the story," Kayla intervened, chuckling at their attitudes. "Just not right now; it's late, and you ladies should be sleeping… as should I."

"Will you tell us the rest tomorrow?" a third inquired.

Kayla grinned and nodded, and, squealing, the young ballerinas scuttled off to their beds.

Meg showed her the way to a bathroom so Kayla could brush her teeth, and thanks to her handy-dandy bag of modern convenience, Kayla was able to. The bathroom was nowhere near as primitive as she was expecting, which was a relief. When she returned from her sojourn in the restroom, many of the candles and gas lanterns had already been extinguished.

Cautiously navigating the dusky rows of beds, she made her way to the nook under one of the round windows, which her and Meg's beds occupied. A pale beam of moonlight illuminated a sharp dark shape resting on her pillow. Moving as quietly as she could as to not disturb anyone, Kayla snatched up the object. It was her sketchbook. She hugged it to her chest before setting it down so she could change.

Once she was attired in her nightgown, and her bag and clothes were safely stowed in her trunk, Kayla slid under the covers and leaned against the headboard, relying on the moon for light as she gingerly opened the sketchbook. Nothing seemed to be missing or out of place. When she flipped to the drawing of unmasked Erik, a white envelope dropped out from between the pages.

Kayla eyed it dubiously. A declaration of war, no doubt, her thoughts whispered darkly. There was no denying it now; the Phantom of the flipping Opera had been through her sketchbook, and he had seen all of her artwork, including his own face. She was so screwed.

The wax seal had been slightly squished by the covers of the book, giving the red skull a distorted, comical appearance. Flipping it over, she read the sharp, ornate cursive that graced the front:

Mademoiselle Abbots

There was no allowance of even a molecule of doubt. Snorting, Kayla ran her nail under the wax edge and pulled open the envelope. Kayla held the fancy stationary up to the light, squinting at the black ink.

Mademoiselle Abbots,

Congratulations on being the only individual in the Opera Populaire to adequately follow my orders this evening. Continue to do so and you will have nothing to fear.

Await further instructions.

Your faithful patron,

O.G.

Kayla scowled. There was no reason for him to be so cryptic. Further instructions? Why on earth would she need further instructions? After checking the back of the page, which was annoyingly blank, Kayla returned the note to the envelope and stuck it back into her sketchbook. Returning the sketchbook to her trunk and grabbing her phone and ear buds, Kayla jumped back into the mercifully warm bed and quickly scrolled through her music to set an alarm. Placing one silent bud in her ear, she drifted off to sleep.

Author's Note: I know, only one chapter today, but if it's any encouragement, there's a 75% chance that I'll double post next week. My classes are totally hectic at the moment, but on the bright side I only have a little over a week of lectures to go. Anyway, thanks for reading, and review, PM, favourite, follow, etc. if the mood strikes you. You guys are awesome.

Thanks!

Tierney