Author's Note: Phantom of the Opera belongs to Leroux, Webber, etc. Not me. Nor do I own Vertigo by U2 or The Importance of Being Ernest.

19

Kayla's alarm went off at seven fifteen sharp.

"Lights go down, it's dark, the music in your head can't rule you heart…"

Kayla woke up to U2 in her ears and a pounding in her head. And this, she thought contritely, is why I don't drink. Apparently even half a glass of wine was enough to give her a small hangover, but the headache could have been a result of the stress of the past two days.

Unwinding herself from the duvet, Kayla clambered out of bed, an action she immediately regretted. The floor was ice on her bare feet, and the air was freezing. Outside, snowflakes danced on the wind.

Gathering up her bag and a bundle of clothes, Kayla tiptoed to the bathroom where she brushed her teeth and, much to her delight, took a bath in the old style tub, washing her hair with the lavender shampoo provided by her marvelous bag of modern convenience. Kayla vowed never to take such luxuries for granted again. She dressed quickly, once again in the standard blue shirt, black pants, vest, and boots. The ruby pendant was warm against her skin.

She snuck back into the dorm once more to return her sleep clothes to her trunk and to make her bed. Leaving her bag and sketchbook locked away, Kayla struck her phone into her vest pocket before heading off to the stage.

"I can feel the beast, wrestling for a check; girl with crimson nails has Jesus round her neck, swinging to the music, swinging to the music…"

Bono sang on in her ears as Kayla navigated the winding halls. The stage was empty, the rest of the crew not yet present, but as it was only quarter to eight, this was easily forgiven. She plopped down on the edge of the fluffy Il Muto bed and lay back, her slightly damp hair cool against the back of her neck. Kayla found herself envying the actors; this bed was comfy. Arching her back in a stretch, Kayla gave a little sigh of contentment. As much as she was concerned with how this adventure was impacting her "real" life, she felt more at home here than she would have expected. Back home, she would be missing classes, unless, of course, time worked differently here… in which case, her entire family could be dead by the time she popped back to the modern world. To which she would say brav-freaking-o.

Kayla sternly halted that train of thought, as her main concern at this point was supposed to be not pissing off the Opera Ghost, therefore staying alive long enough to actually get home. She could worry about time continuity later.

The mattress bounced, and Jamie's beaming face appeared above her own. "Good morning, ma chérie," Jamie smirked.

Kayla shoved his shoulder, and the stagehand toppled off the bed with a loud thunk. "Surname only, Blanchard!" Kayla crowed.

Jamie stuck his tongue out at her before clambering back up onto the bed and perching next to her.

"Where is everyone?" Kayla questioned, surreptitiously turning off her phone and sticking it and her headphones back into the pocket.

Jamie tucked his hands behind his head and stared up at the frescoed ceiling. "The over-thirties are up and on their way," he recited. "The rest of them are in various stages of crawling out of bed, and when I left, Jean and Xavier were having a row."

Kayla bolted upright. "What? Why?" she spluttered.

Jamie grinned up at her. "Over whether you were prettier than Christine, of course," he explained smugly. "Jean was in favour of Christine, but Xavier disagreed."

Kayla's cheeks matched the colour of her necklace. "Why the hell would they bother rowing over that?" she asked sceptically.

"There've been two camps since you were hired," Jamie clarified.

"Team Daäe and Team Abbots?" Kayla suggested sarcastically. To her surprise, Jamie nodded.

"The over thirties are remaining uninvolved, but besides that, the two sides are even," Jamie stated, sitting up and stretching. "It's not that we don't all think you're pretty, because we all agree on that, it's more about comparison."

"What team are you on?" Kayla teased.

"Team Giry," Jamie said promptly.

Kayla laughed. "You're talking about Meg, right?"

Jamie's brown eyes bulged, and he also began to cackle. "Sacre bleu, it sounds so wrong when you say that!" he choked.

Thus, when the older stagehands arrived, they found Kayla and Jamie on the bed and floor respectively, rolling about in a fit of hysterical giggling.

"What did you say, Blanchard?" Claude accused menacingly, a twinkle in his dark eyes notifying Kayla that his ire was not serious.

"I was just telling her about the fight in the dorm," Jamie snickered.

Germaine rolled his eyes.

"If those boys focused as much on their jobs as they did on girls, we would be the greatest set crew in France," Henri stated amusedly.

"I thought we already were!" Jamie protested with a chuckle.

"The greatest set crew in the country? Don't be daft, boy," Claude drawled. "Working at the best opera house in France does not by any means make you the best."

"What's this about being the best?" Clemens' voice echoed ahead of him as he appeared in the wings.

"You're not the best!" Germaine barked. "That's the end of it!"

"Where is everyone else?" Kayla asked for the second time.

"They were right behind me," Clemens explained cheerfully, jerking his thumb back towards the hallway. True to his word, the other teens materialised moments later.

It took an additional three minutes before the final two stagehands, Xavier and Jean, arrived, out of breath and sporting brilliant black eyes. Neither of them could meet Kayla's gaze as she sat staring at them.

"I expected more from both of you," was her only remark before she turned away and addressed the rest of the crew. "Okay guys," she began, clapping her hands together. "Another performance of Il Muto tonight, seating starting at eight, so we should be entirely prepped by seven-thirty, tops. Do we know the cast list yet?"

"No, but whether Christine or la Carlotta is playing the Countess should not affect the quality of our work," Dennis replied strongly.

Kayla grinned and nodded approvingly. "Correct, thanks Dennis," she acknowledged.

The eighteen year old boy bowed. "My lady," he responded.

Marius snorted, and Dennis's friends immediately swivelled around to glare at him.

"Hearken to me!" Kayla snapped, waving her arms in the air. "The sooner we get our plan sorted, the sooner we can eat, so listen up!"

True to her expectations, the side interaction was put on hold and the entire crew faced her again, listening attentively. "Is there a planned rehearsal for today?" Kayla asked, looking to the seniors.

Germaine shrugged. "I have not seen the managers," he explained. "Regretfully, I have no more information."

Kayla pursed her lips and frowned, thinking.

"SACRE BLEU!" Clemens yelped, leaping backwards and holding his hand to his heart. "Abbots looks like Madame Giry!"

They all examined her face for about a minute before laughter ensued. "That she does!" Jamie gasped. Baptiste bent in half, leaning on his knees and wheezing. Kayla glowered, but her look only increased the volume of their hilarity.

"ENOUGH!" Claude finally roared, impatient with the pace of the meeting. The gruff shout succeeded in shutting everyone up, and attention once more returned to the new manager.

Clearing her throat, Kayla re-explained. "So, if there is a hastily scheduled rehearsal, I want us all in the wings fifteen minutes early if we can. If there's no rehearsal, I want us backstage at least an hour before we're supposed to be, and maybe after lunch we can do a little rehearsal of our own."

"It's settled, then," Clemens stated, clapping his hands together. "Let's go get breakfast."

With a loud cheer, the set crew bounded off stage, dragging Kayla along. And in the midst of nineteenth century teenagers, Kayla felt completely at home.

"So everyone's just staring at the urn that Jack is carrying, and finally, Algernon stands up and walks over to look at it. His mind is totally racing, and he just improvises: 'Oh, I thought you would like my little joke! The old Ernest is dead, long live the new Ernest!' And then…" Kayla paused to take a deep, shuddering breath. "He taps his cigar ash into the urn!"

Everyone at the breakfast table lost it. Jamie slammed his head repeatedly against the edge of the table, while Clemens howled up at the ceiling. Baptiste had rolled off the bench and was curled up in a ball of the floor. Dennis kneeled next to him, and both boys' eyes were streaming with tears of laughter. The other juniors were in similar states of hysterics, and the seniors were chuckling merrily.

The set crew was the only group currently in the dining hall, so there were no other witnesses to Kayla's recital. The cooks were probably hearing the boisterous laughter, but a few well-placed compliments from Kayla about the food of the previous evening had landed her in the centre of their good books, and Kayla knew they would not mind the noise.

"Please, please don't stop," Xavier pleaded with a groan.

"Don't stop what, may I ask?"

Madame Giry's stern accented voice reached their ears from the open door, where was she observing the chaos amusedly.

"I'm telling them a story, and they seem to be enjoying it," Kayla snickered, twisting around to face the older woman.

"Sit down for a spell, Antoinette!" Claude guffawed, patting the bench beside him. "Ms. Abbots is a fine storyteller!"

Madame Giry allowed a small smile to escape. "Unfortunately, I cannot," she replied. "I need Kayla to accompany me for a moment."

Kayla took a swig of water out of her mug and squinted at the ballet mistress. "Is there a rehearsal? Or some sort of costuming issue?" she guessed.

Madame Giry shook her head. "No, Kayla. The managers would like a word with you."

"Helvete," Kayla hissed under her breath. She rose to her feet, shoving the wooden bench backward. "Well, off I go to get fired, my friends!" she exclaimed cheerfully.

"Don't be silly!" Germaine laughed.

"I'm not so sure," Jamie deadpanned. "Abbots is quite the trouble maker."

"We'll miss you, Abbots!" Baptiste teased.

Kayla gave a sweeping bow. "Maybe I'll be back, maybe not, my lads," she proclaimed. "Best of luck to you all. Love you!"

The crew's cheering and catcalls followed Kayla and Madame Giry all the way out the door and into the hall. "What's this all about, then?" Kayla questioned as Madame Giry took the lead.

"I do not know," Madame Giry shrugged. "But the managers were quite insistent."

Kayla sighed. "I really am going to get fired, aren't I?" she moaned.

"I doubt he would let that happen, my dear," Madame Giry assured quietly.

At the mention of the Phantom, Kayla stopped dead in her tracks. "Is this about the 'proposition' he has for me?" she groaned. "I got a note. Last night. And now I'm nervous. It was annoying."

"I doubt the managers would know about that," Madame Giry corrected. "But he is not going to let you leave this opera house until he puts whatever plans he has for you into motion."

"Wonderful," Kayla exclaimed sarcastically. She could not decide whether the knowledge that she was essentially trapped here at the Phantom's whim was reassuring or terrifying.

The pair walked in silence until they reached the managers' office. Andre answered their knock immediately. "Merci, madame," he thanked Madame Giry. "Please come in, mademoiselle." Madame Giry gave Kayla a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before walking away down the hall, leaving Kayla to enter the office alone.

Firmin was pacing nervously in front of the round window as Kayla and Andre walked further into the room. "Mademoiselle Abbots!" the manager greeted, hurrying forward to pull out a chair for her. "I hope we were not interrupting anything."

"Not at all," Kayla lied. "I was just arranging the schedule with the set crew."

Firmin sat down across the desk while Andre occupied the chair next to Kayla. Kayla positioned herself gingerly on the cushions. "There is a… task, of sorts, that we feel may require your expertise," Firmin ventured finally.

Kayla blinked. "So I'm not getting fired?" she blurted.

Andre let out a hearty peal of laughter. "Goodness, no!" he choked. "Get rid of the best set manager this opera house has ever had, don't be ridiculous!"

"The task we require you for is much more difficult," Firmin stated hesitatingly.

"What do you need me to do?" Kayla asked warily.

The managers exchanged a worried look before Andre slowly answered.

"Talk to la Carlotta, of course."

Author's Note: Thank you all for reading, please review or PM with questions, comments, critiques, or any other ideas for the three months of Elysian Peace. Quite a few of you have already given me some great ideas, so thank you! And thanks for everyone who reviewed, followed, or favourited for the last chapter!

Thanks!

Tierney