Author's Note: Phantom of the Opera has never and most likely never will belong to little old me, so continue to thank Webber, Leroux, and others for their fine contributions to musical, literary, and cinematic masterpieces.

22

It did not take very long for Kayla to retrace the route from the dorm to the managers' office, and from there to the lobby. The two managers were waiting patiently by the door, attired in their thick coats and furs and top hats. "Mademoiselle!" Firmin greeted as Kayla pattered down the wide staircase. "Thank you for your haste. The carriage is waiting outside, if you would please follow us." With that, Firmin strode out the front doors.

Andre, however, stood by while Kayla threw the cloak over her shoulders, tied the thick silky ribbon around her neck, and snuck her iPhone into a handy little pouch inside of the cloak. "You look very nice, Ms. Abbots," he complimented warmly, offering Kayla his arm as they moved toward the door.

"Thank you, Monsieur Andre," Kayla replied with a cheeky grin. "You don't look too bad yourself."

The pair walked quickly down the marble steps to the main doors. There was a long line of richly dressed people waiting on the shallow stairs outside the opera house, probably in a queue for tickets, as Kayla and Andre exited the Populaire. Kayla could not pay attention to the crowd of their future audience, because Paris was covered in snow.

Fat, fluffy flakes were drifting gracefully out of the soft bluish grey sky, and the lampposts, railings, and buildings were all blanketed with thick drifts of white. The sky was cloudy, but the snow was sparkling on the ground. The trees on the avenue glittered with frost. Kayla, completely accustomed to the harsher bleakness of a Calgarian winter, found the scene utterly magical.

Andre held open the door and helped her into the carriage. Smoothing out her skirt as she settled herself on the cushy seat, Kayla peered out at the winter wonderland of the city as the two managers sat down on the seat opposite. "How far away is Carlotta's place?" Kayla inquired offhandedly as, with a loud creak, the wheels began to move and the horses' harnesses began to jingle as the carriage began its journey.

"Not very long," Firmin replied, taking off his hat and setting it down on his lap. "Signora Giudicelli's townhouse is in the northern area of the city. It will not take long." The sleek haired manager leaned back in his seat and stared up at the ceiling as if settling in for a long vigil. Kayla watched him for a moment more, but as no further information was forthcoming from either him or Andre, she too relaxed into the cushions and watched as the snowy streets of Paris passed them by.

When Firmin had mentioned Carlotta's "townhouse", Kayla, in all her modern thinking, had pictured a tall, sophisticated brick structure, like something out of the Devil Wears Prada. When she recalled that she was in nineteenth century France, her mind immediately leapt to pictures she had seen of Versailles, which she was not even sure existed yet. Carlotta's residence ended up being more like a tremendously intimidating version of Pride and Prejudice's Pemberly. The carriage stopped in front of a large, black, iron-wrought gate, and it was pulled open by a group of white-wigged men in plum livery. The enormous front lawn was piled high with snowbanks. Pulling around a tall fountain, the carriage halted in front of the grand front door.

"What do you want me to tell her, exactly?" Kayla asked, suddenly quite nervous.

"Whatever you think will convince her to return," Firmin whispered simply.

"We have complete faith in you," Andre put in reassuringly as another purple-coated man walked down the steps. "We will be waiting out here when you are done."

So no pressure, Kayla thought sourly, realizing that they expected this to be a quick visit. The carriage door opened, and Kayla clumsily got out. "Merci," she said to the servant who had opened the door, and the elderly gentleman smiled and bowed.

Kayla put her hand self-consciously to her throat, where the rose pendant was radiating warmth. She took a deep breath. All right, relax, it'll be fine, she told herself sternly.

The same male servant opened the gleaming wooden double doors, gestured Kayla into the mansion, and shut them behind her. Kayla stood awkwardly in the entrance hall for a lonely moment before a maid in a matching plum uniform and a jaunty little black muffin cap came scurrying down the stairs. "Are you here to see Signora Giudicelli?" the girl questioned as she hurried towards Kayla.

"If she will see me," Kayla confirmed dryly. "I'm assuming she's in a foul mood?"

The maid – who looked to be about Meg and Christine's age – nodded. "She's in a right temper, madame, but I will ask if she will see you. Would you like to sit down?" The girl held out a pair of luxurious looking bedroom slippers. "I hope you do not mind taking off your boots."

Finally, a recognizable custom! Kayla inwardly cheered at the reference to Canadian culture, even though she felt slightly in over her head. "Yes, of course," she consented, bending down and deftly unlacing her leather boots. Leaving them by the front door, along with her cloak, and sliding on the warm slippers, Kayla followed the young maid into a sitting room.

"Please, sit," the maid offered with a curtsey. "I will tell Signora Giudicelli you are here. Shall I give a name?" she added, looking at Kayla expectantly.

"Kayla Abbots," Kayla replied politely. "Thank you."

"Make yourself comfortable, Madame Abbots," the maid finished, and whisked away again. Kayla resisted the urge to comment that she was a twenty year old single girl, not even close to a madame.

Lowering herself gingerly onto a couch, Kayla glanced at the room around her. The couch she was sitting on was covered in lovely fuchsia velvet; most of the seats in room were, in fact, warm-palate velvet. All the wood visible was stained in a dark brown shade, and gleaming with polish. The wooden floors were covered with flashily patterned Persian carpets, thick and fluffy with golden cord tassels. Glass cabinets standing like sentries along the walls held various trinkets and baubles. One, Kayla was surprised to note, housed an extensive collection of delicate china teacups. The walls were papered with an ornate design of golden blossoms and vines, but barely any was visible under all the posters and rather conceited artwork hung on the wall; every single one heavily featured Carlotta.

Kayla was staring blankly at a particularly garish portrait of Carlotta and Piangi when an unholy shriek drifted violently from upstairs. Stifling an exclamation of her own, Kayla perched rigidly on the edge of the couch as footsteps thundered through the frescoed ceiling above. Feeling quite out of place in her skirt and blouse, about to face the dreaded tempest of a star, Kayla took a preparatory breath. Face the music, she reassured herself.

The apparently angry prima donna stormed down the stairs, heels clicking loudly as she traversed the marble foyer. As she turned into the sitting room, the singer's eyes met Kayla's, and the diva stopped short. "You!" she yelped, pointing an accusatory finger at Kayla.

"Me indeed," returned Kayla dryly.

Carlotta hovered uncertainly in the doorway for a moment more before she swept inside and plopped down on a bright pink chaise lounge with a huff. "What are you doing here?" the Italian woman demanded. "The managers sent you, didn't they?"

"I'll admit, it wasn't my first choice of assignment," Kayla confirmed coldly.

Leaning back on the tall cushions of the chaise, Carlotta sighed heavily. The prima donna's thick red curls were tied back with a simple cream ribbon, and her olive skin was glowing, clear, and natural. Without the regular layer of cosmetics, Carlotta's face was actually quite pretty; she looked younger, and her features were softer. A cerulean blue satin house coat was draped loosely around her long, white cambric night gown. Though she had most likely just gotten out of bed, Carlotta looked ready for a Vogue photo shoot.

"Let me guess: they want me back," Carlotta exclaimed tiredly, her bold black lashes fluttering shut. "I don't see why they would send you. They have less of a chance of convincing me than anyone from that tasteless place."

"That's what I told Firmin and Andre," Kayla shrugged, flipping her streaky blonde braid back over her shoulder. "I told them there wasn't much that could get you back, but would they listen? No! The only person more stubborn than those two is you."

Carlotta lifted her head and squinted at Kayla. For a moment, Kayla worried about getting evicted from the premises, but the diva simply cackled. "No one has ever said anything to me that can compare to the outrageous insults you pay me. I like you."

"I don't see anything endearing about me continuously sassing you," Kayla remarked, relaxing onto the couch. She had not expected Carlotta to be this easy-going.

"Everyone else, they just flatter, flatter, flatter," Carlotta stated, waving a manicured hand dismissively in the air. "But you, you tell it like you see it – you don't care about getting on my good side. I respect that."

"You do the same thing," Kayla pointed out, grinning.

"Exactly!" Carlotta cried. "We are alike, you and I. Neither of us is worried about impressing the other."

"So, am I correct in sensing a 'screw the drama, let's be friends'?" Kayla joked.

"Allies," Carlotta clarified, sitting up and holding her hand out to Kayla, who looked apprehensively at it for a moment before reaching out and shaking the diva's hand.

"Allies," Kayla agreed strongly. Carlotta released her grip, and both women leaned back in their seats again.

"Those managers, they think they can convince me to come back, just like that?" Carlotta seethed, twisting on the chaise lounge to stare out the window at the managers' coach. "Lure me back in with jewels and chocolates and doggies, like some sort of spoiled baby."

"You do have to admit, though, storming out in the middle of rehearsal is kind of infantile," Kayla suggested hesitatingly, not positive how her new "ally" would react.

"The manager before, Leverfe, wouldn't listen to me unless I made a scene," Carlotta sniffed. "Is it so bad that I want to set a high standard for the opera?"

"No," Kayla responded slowly. "It's just that maybe not everyone is able to reach your standards, and I tend to doubt that many people have as much invested in a performance as you do."

"I'm not going back," Carlotta muttered rebelliously, shutting her eyes again.

Kayla knew for an absolute fact that Carlotta would return to the Opera Populaire, but she knew that convincing the soprano to come back would require great diplomatic skill to achieve. "I guess they'll be casting Christine as the Countess for the rest of the Il Muto shows, then," she sighed, glancing at Carlotta out of the corner of her eye.

"That puttana Daäe?" Carlotta snarled, bolting upright. "Why would they cast her?"

"You have to hand it to her, she has a beautiful voice," Kayla commented mildly. "She can hit all the high notes, the audience seems to love her, and she's a lovely little thing. She loves singing, you can tell. And the poor dear's trying so hard."

Carlotta glared at the young stage manager, but said nothing. So Kayla plunged ahead.

"She's a gentler, more modern soprano, but she doesn't have the same experience, stage presence, or operatic vibrato, which is why the managers are still pushing to bring you back," Kayla explained, glancing out the window at the courtyard, where the coach sat as the grey horses pranced impatiently. "I was thinking about that earlier, and I figured out a plan that could work… but you probably don't want to hear it, since your mind's made up," she added teasingly.

Carlotta's eyes narrowed. "I'm listening," she stated warily.

Kayla readied her arguments. "What I was thinking," she began, "was that you and Christine share the prima donna position." Carlotta's eyes bulged, and the diva opened her mouth to protest. "Oh no, you don't, I'm not finished and you are going to hear me out," Kayla admonished, raising an eyebrow at the singer. "Both of you seem to have a significant amount of admirers, so completely cutting one of you out of the cast would take away a significant portion of the Populaire's audience. So we would have to determine a system by which all of our audiences remain happy." Kayla paused, trying to gauge Carlotta's reaction, but the prima donna's expression remained neutral.

"Go on," Carlotta prompted brusquely, but the fact that the soprano was still intrigued by her speech encouraged Kayla.

"My idea," Kayla continued, "was to have you and Christine alternate playing the lead for performances; so she would sing lead for one performance, and you would perform the next night. Both of you would have the option of taking secondary roles on your off nights. Neither you nor Christine would have to give up the lead; you'd still be a major part of all the shows; and it would likely make your jobs less stressful. And the opera wouldn't lose revenue," she concluded.

Carlotta was completely silent, and Kayla feared that her idea had not been received well. "Being prima donna seems like a lot of pressure to put on one person," Kayla remarked, staring at her hands. "It was just an idea," she added lamely when no opinion from Carlotta was forthcoming. Resigned that convincing the diva would not be a success today, Kayla rose to her feet. "I am sorry that I could not convince you," Kayla stated, trying to mask her disappointment. "I'll go now; the mangers are waiting outside for me." Struggling with the heavy black skirt, Kayla turned towards the door.

"Sit down, Abbots!" Carlotta barked.

Kayla hit the cushion with the split-second reaction time of one who had spent a lifetime as an obedient older sister.

Carlotta swung her legs over the edge of the chaise so she was sitting upright and facing Kayla. The prima donna examined Kayla's face, scrutinizing. "If I was to agree to this," she said slowly. "And Daäe gave up; I would be full prima donna, yes?"

"I suppose so," Kayla shrugged, trying to supress the bubble to hope expanding in her chest. "But I don't think she'll give up. I have a feeling that her more dubious ally can be very… persuasive."

At the subtle hint of Opera Ghost, Carlotta visibly shuddered. "What kind of hold does it have? That a spectre has so much control over our lives."

"Blackmail and death threats," Kayla suggested promptly, relaxing into the embroidered cushions. "The use of state enforced force and terror to control its citizens and eliminate dissent. That's how most dictators get their stuff done."

At this, Carlotta threw back her head and laughed. "A dictator," she chortled. "I have never thought of it that way, but yes, that so-called ghost is one." The diva grinned broadly at Kayla before swiveling around to face the door. "Minette!" she yelled.

The maid from earlier rushed into the room seconds later. "Yes, signora?"

"Tell Benedict to make the managers leave," Carlotta ordered, tugging on a red curl that had escaped from its tie.

Shooting a quick glance at Kayla, Minette queried, "What shall we tell them if they ask after Madame Abbots?"

"Mademoiselle," Carlotta corrected carelessly. "Tell them I wish to speak with her for a while longer, and they needn't wait."

Minette cracked a small smile. "Very cryptic, signora," she complimented. "Will you need anything else?"

"Some tea, brought up to the music room," Carlotta requested. "Thank you, Minette."

"Of course, signora," Minette acknowledged with a perfect curtsey, and walked calmly back into the foyer.

Kayla and Carlotta exchanged and brief, mysterious look before hopping off their chairs and sneaking over to the window, where they knelt under the sill to spy.

The dignified doorman moved briskly down the front steps to the carriage. The window was opened, and Firmin stuck his head out. Kayla could hear none of the conversation, but the manager appeared to be speaking quite vehemently. Andre's round face joined Firmin's a moment later, and the grey-haired manager looked worried. There were a couple minutes of terse conversation, sensing argument was futile, nodded and disappeared from view. The driver cracked the whip, and the horses and carriage trotted down the lane and out of the iron-gate.

Kayla turned to Carlotta with a quizzical smile on her narrow face. "So, what's the plan?" she ventured. "If none of this works out, you could always kill me and make it look like an accident."

Carlotta, who seemed to appreciate Kayla's morbid sense of humor, grinned. "We go to the music room," she said simply, rising elegantly to her feet. "Come."

Clambering to a standing position, Kayla repositioned her skirt again and followed the diva out of the sitting room. The two women strolled down the wide, airy hallway, passing a multitude of closed mahogany doors and open archways alike before Carlotta finally stopped. "Here we are!" she cried, flinging open a set of shiny wood and glass double doors and whisking inside. Kayla followed cautiously.

The room was large, practically the double the size of Kayla's apartment back home. The walls were a deep yet gentle shade of rose. There were two golden framed, floor-to- ceiling mirrors that Kayla eyed suspiciously before turning her attention away. Large windows on one end of the room looked out onto the snow covered garden and grounds, while a cheerful fireplace crackled away on the opposite wall. A harp stood proudly in a corner, along with a guitar, but the crowning jewel was the gleaming grand piano in the centre of the room. The ivory keys shone, and the darkly stained wood was polished to perfection.

"That is a gorgeous piano!" Kayla gasped.

"Do you play?" Carlotta asked.

Kayla shrugged. "I took lessons when I was younger, and I remember a few pieces, but I'm no expert. My sister's a genius, though. Do you?"

"No, I don't play," Carlotta snickered, sliding her manicured hand over the gleaming wood. "I just like the way it looks." Without warning, Carlotta nudged Kayla closer. "Play something," she requested.

"I'm not very good," Kayla protested dubiously.

"Just do it," Carlotta smirked.

Kayla carefully manoeuvered herself onto the bench, tapping her toes experimentally on the shiny golden pedals. What to play? Kayla only knew a select number of simple pieces that Samantha had taught her to play, and she was not an expert at any of them. So it was with great caution that she began to piece out "No One Would Listen", Gerald Butler's gorgeous solo, which had been, much to her dismay, cut from the 2004 film and soundtrack, and not even a part of the stage performances, but was easily accessible on her dear friend, YouTube. It was short, simple, and belonged in the movieverse – perfect.

Carlotta stood by and listened in silence as Kayla coaxed the notes from the beautiful instrument. "You should talk to Maestro Reyer," she suggested as Kayla finished the song. "You could probably play piano for the orchestra."

Kayla raised an eyebrow at the diva. "In addition to managing the set crew? Good luck with that," she returned. "And that would be ignoring the fact that I can't read music to save my life."

There was a soft knock on the doorframe, and Minette walked briskly into the room, carrying a full tea tray. Setting it down on a table by the window, the maid turned to Carlotta and asked, "Will you need anything else, signora?"

"No, that will suffice, thank you Minette," Carlotta answered. The maid curtsied and left.

Kayla rose from the piano and followed Carlotta to a small seating area by the window. "That's one of the only songs I know how to play," she mentioned ruefully as the diva poured the tea. "I'm not even remotely orchestra worthy. My sister, on the other hand, would love it."

"Enough whining about your 'lack of talent'," Carlotta snapped. "Tell me about your sister."

And thus, Kayla found herself discussing her younger sister with an apparently interested prima donna whist sipping tea out of flowery china cups. The topic then jumped from Samantha to Carlotta's family life, at which time Carlotta explained that she and Piangi were not actually married, an arrangement that Kayla privately resolved to rectify. From Piangi it moved to Italy – "It was so sunny and warm," Carlotta sighed, "None of this awful cold and snow," – and from there to the ridiculous amount of snow, at which point Kayla laughed and proceeded to explain the violence and unpredictability of Calgarian weather. After that, they argued over the superiority of different dog breeds; Carlotta adored her tiny miniature poodles, while Kayla, though more inclined towards cats, preferred larger, intelligent dogs, and had a deep seeded dislike of any dogs shorter than her knee.

When Kayla finally glanced up at the clock, she was shocked to see it was half past noon. "Shoot, it's late!" she exclaimed, struggling to her feet. "The managers will be wondering where I am!"

Carlotta lazily followed Kayla's gaze and shrugged. "Let them wonder," she sneered. "I'm in no hurry. Let them worry."

"So you are coming back, then?" Kayla clarified slyly.

Carlotta rolled her eyes dramatically but nodded in defeat. "Yes!" Kayla cheered, pumping her fist in the air.

"Come with me," Carlotta ordered briskly as she sashayed to the door. "I want you to write up the terms of the arrangement with Daäe." Kayla stuffed two more cookies in her mouth before following the diva. Following Carlotta up a wide, curved staircase to the second floor of the manor, Kayla let the prima donna lead the way into a large bedroom, presumably Carlotta's. The diva in question hurried into a walk-in closet, screaming for Minette.

"You wanted me to write up the terms of your surrender?" Kayla inquired sarcastically.

"Yes," Carlotta barked. "There is paper on the desk."

Kayla looked around the luxurious chamber, drinking in the rich fabrics and gilded décor. When her eyes finally landed on the gleaming mahogany desk, she sauntered towards it. Carefully picking up a fancy fountain pen and a sheet of crested stationary, Kayla sat down. "What do you want me to write?" she called.

"Your explanation," Carlotta replied from the closet. "Sharing the position, alternating shows, option for secondary roles, phrased so she can't argue. Whatever keeps the so-called Opera Ghost off our backs."

As Minette helped Carlotta into a flashy red dress with gold beading, wide, ruffled, hooped skirt, sweeping neckline, and elbow sleeves, Kayla neatly wrote up the terms of agreement. Every so often, Carlotta would think up another point she wanted, and Kayla would add it. By the time Carlotta was dressed, fully made up and hair styled, the lengthy contract was complete. "Sign here," Kayla indicated, handing the pen to the diva. Carlotta signed her name in large, loopy script, and tossed the pen aside.

"Come," Carlotta snapped, grabbing the cloak Minette held out for her as she marched out the door.

"Thanks, Minette," Kayla whispered, with a smile for the young maid.

"My pleasure, mademoiselle," Minette grinned.

Author's Note: It's a day early, but what the heck. Might as well get another chapter up. This is a long one today, and hopefully the Kayla and Carlotta interactions weren't too bad... Let's be clear, they are allies, rather than friends, and will continue to sass and insult each other for the remainder of Kayla's stay, but they can work together and be civil. Kayla is going to try to survive in the Populaire diplomatically, so she's going to try to avoid enemies.

Anyway, thanks if you read this far. Review or PM with questions, comments, or Elysian peace months brainstorms, and follow or favourite if the mood strikes you. To all those who reviewed for the last couple of chapters, thank you very much, and special notice to Samantha and E-man-dy-S, my two guest reviewers. If I didn't PM a thank you for anyone' s review in the last couple of chapters, forgive me; I had my last exam yesterday and things were incredibly hectic with studying and such.

Thanks everyone!

Tierney