Author's Note: I still do not own Phantom of the Opera. I asked Santa but he said no.

23

On the way downstairs, Carlotta and Kayla stopped by a room filled with shelves upon shelves of shoes, and Carlotta spent a number of minutes trying to find a suitable match for both her outfit and the weather outside. Once that task was complete, they hurried down the stairs, Carlotta with high heeled gold boots in tow. The carriage was called for, and Carlotta waited impatiently as Kayla put on her blue cloak and laced up her black work boots. When they were both ready, the two women hurried through the chilly air to the carriage. "The Populaire," Carlotta instructed, and with a light snap of the whip, the four chestnut horses started to trot. Carlotta and Kayla passed the ride in silence, which, unfortunately, allowed Kayla to consider the Phantom's possible reactions to the contract, none of which were very pleasant.

As the carriage turned onto the Populaire's wide, treed boulevard, Kayla leaned forward and handed the small pile of contract pages to Carlotta. The diva accepted it without a word, her only response being a sharp nod which Kayla decided to interpret as gratitude. The horses stopped, the carriage door opened and Carlotta and Kayla climbed out onto the snow covered steps of the Opera.

The crowd of ticket buyers parted like the sea when they spotted the diva sashaying up the stairs. While Kayla hurried behind her, the prima donna threw open the doors with an almighty bang. Firmin and Andre, who were in a whispering huddle with Madame Giry and Raoul at the top of the stairs, whipped around to face the noise. Carlotta practically skipped towards them, her gleaming white teeth bared in a victorious grim. "I have a contract!" she declared triumphantly, waving the sheaf of paper in the air. When Firmin and Andre bolted to the soprano, Kayla snuck past the group. Madame Giry smiled at her as Kayla passed her on the stairs.

"Well done, Kayla," Madame Giry said quietly, moving out of earshot of the Vicomte.

"I've got them alternating," Kayla whispered conspiratorially. "Christine and Carlotta both get spotlight."

Madame Giry sighed and nodded. "I am sure this did not go completely according to plan, for the managers or for the Vicomte, but it will suffice," the ballet mistress allowed.

"Whatever keeps our friend downstairs happy." Kayla flashed a wink at the older woman, who smiled back knowingly. With that, Kayla danced away down the hall. As she ventured further into the passages, thoughts of a waiting menace filed her mind. She could picture the Phantom creeping behind her, reaching out to loop around her neck…

"Mademoiselle!"

Kayla yelped and leapt a foot in the air, startled by the unexpected noise. The fact that it was Raoul who was rapidly approaching made it all the more surprising, and slightly unsettling. Biting back a scream of "WTF", the girl looked quizzically at the Vicomte as he moved nearer. "What have you done?" the nobleman asked, sounding no small bit irate.

"What have I done?" Kayla shot back. "Nothing, actually."

"Do not lie to me," Raoul spat. "The contract – you wrote it."

Kayla raised an eyebrow. "You could read it all the way through, and I doubt my name is anywhere on that document. And unless you have the time and inclination to compare the contract with my handwriting – none of which I will provide, let me assure you – you can't prove a bloody thing."

"I am the Patron!" Raoul snarled through gritted teeth. "You have no right to arrange how the Opera works!"

Kayla shrugged and turned away. "Neither do you get to control the system," she called over her shoulder. "You should be thankful Carlotta is willing to share the position with Christine."

"I have influence!" Raoul yelled after her. "I could have you removed! Do you honestly think they will side with a woman, a mere member of the set crew, over the Patron?"

Facing him, Kayla walked backwards down the hall, holding up her arms. "Bring it on," she sneered. "I will fight you, and trust me, Vicomte; I hit like a Canadian girl, and it will hurt. If this is how you treat girls, I hope you're upfront with Christine. You most definitely do not deserve her."

The Vicomte stopped short, staring at her in shock. Not trusting her luck, Kayla whisked around a corner and ran, an endeavour which was difficult – but not impossible – in a skirt.

Slowing down, she felt her face relaxing into a grin as she stepped onto the safe haven of the stage. All the teenage boys were piled on the floor like puppies, while the men sat cross-legged next to the heap. As Kayla's boot heels clacked on the boards, Jamie's head popped up from the centre of the mountain. "Abbots is back!" he cheered.

All the boys popped up, looking like a colony of meerkat sentries. "It's about damn time," Dennis mumbled, squinting tiredly at her. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Respect to the lady!" Clemens snarled, shoving Dennis off the mountain of bodies and onto the floor.

"GACK!" Dennis yelped, hitting the ground with a thud. "It was a simple question!" he protested.

"Calm down, boys," Kayla admonished with a grin. "One pissed off lad is enough for one day, and the Vicomte has already filled that position."

Clemens and Dennis shot each other a look that screamed, "Truce". "What would the patron have against you?" Clemens asked.

"Because, at the managers' insistence, I convinced Carlotta to come back," Kayla answered lightly.

"Or because your hair is nicer than his," Jamie grinned. "It's the only logical explanation."

"So you convinced out little Italian to return," Claude guffawed. "I think congratulations are in order."

Kayla smiled and shrugged. "Where is everyone?" she asked next.

"There was no arranged rehearsal," Jamie explained, beginning to pull the other boys up to their feet. "The managers were running around like crazed rabbits, so we just came down here and made sure everything was set up for tonight. Then we sat around, and then you showed up."

Kayla considered this for a moment. "I'm going to change out of this blasted skirt," she decided. "And when I come back, we are going to the kitchen because I could kill for food right now."

"Why don't we just bring some food here?" Xavier suggested. "Then there'll be stuff to eat when you come back."

"Great!" Kayla agreed. "But we'll just have to make sure there's no trace of it on the stage or in the wings; we don't want to make a mess right before the performance."

"Don't worry lass, I will keep 'em in line," Claude promised cheerfully.

Grinning fondly at her boys, Kayla left and walked back to the dorms. Waltzing up the stairs, she pushed open the door. As she moved through the maze of beds to her own cot, she removed her cloak, and upon reaching her bed she knelt down and unlocked her trunk. Opening the heavy wooden lid, she stared, unseeing, at the contents. What was Raoul so pissed about? She wondered as she tossed her phone carelessly onto her cot and folded up her blue cloak. Exchanging it for her pants, she shimmied out of her skirt and into the pants with a feeling of relief. Gently laying the skirt down in the box, she took a quick glance around the room. Mercifully, it was empty. As fast as she could, she slipped the dove grey blouse over her head, switched into her sport bra, and pulled on a work shirt. This particular garment happened to be a deep maroon; just like Buquet's, she realized with a jolt. Buttoning up the shirt as fast as she could, she was filled with a surge of relief when her torso was covered up again. Leaving the vest abandoned inside the box, she shut and locked her trunk, snatched her phone off the bed, and sauntered out of the dorm.

Dancing down the stairs, she glided through the wings and back onto the stage. The crew had barely moved, but as she approached, Jamie, Clemens, and Dennis shot out from the opposite wings, arms piled high with food. "Right on schedule!" she laughed as she waltzed forward.

Germaine had procured a clean sheet from somewhere, and spread it out over the floor of the stage. The three teens set the snacks down and dropped to the floor. This action was immediately copied by the rest of the crew. Kayla hesitated for a millisecond before lowering herself to sit between Jamie and Baptiste. There was a bowl of shiny rosy apples, clusters of carrots, and a bowl of roasted potato slices. There were two piles of sliced up bread, and a small tray of soft yellow butter. And then Kayla saw the plate of…

"PASTRIES!" she shrieked, snatching up a croissant and taking a bite. It was glorious. The men stared at her in amusement. "What?" she demanded through a mouthful of pastry. "I like to eat, is that such a crime?"

"She does have a day and a half of consumption to make up for," Jamie snickered, nudging her shoulder.

"Shut up, Blanchard," Kayla laughed, shoving him in retaliation.

They ate in a comfortable silence. After about ten minutes, Claude spoke up. "What will be the plan for tonight, Abbots?" he asked.

Kayla swallowed the last bite of an apple. "So just to be clear, no one's talked to the managers?" she inquired. Her question was met with shaking heads. "Me neither," she sighed. Frowning up at the ceiling, she ran through some mental solutions. "I don't really want to go through a rehearsal, especially without the actors' cues and such," she stated. "The stage is already perfectly set up for the first scene, and the less we have to move, the better…"

"We already know this opera off by heart," Dennis pointed out.

"Right," Kayla agreed. "But that does not mean that if the managers decide that we're rehearsing, we get to slack off. It would be incredibly stupid to be overconfident."

"You could end up hanging from the rafters," Xavier deadpanned. Kayla, who felt like Buquet's death was years ago, laughed without a second thought. After a couple seconds, however, she stopped, feeling desperately guilty for finding someone's death amusing.

"I'd prefer not to lose any more of my crew members," Kayla returned solemnly. "So if you could not piss off the Opera Ghost, that'd be great."

"Okay, lads, hands on your hearts," Jamie exclaimed, obeying his own order. "I do solemnly swear as a member of Abbot's set crew to not behave in any way which would drive the Opera Ghost to hang us off the rafters – or any other part of the Opera House, for that matter – and I do solemnly vow, that if the Opera Ghost decides that I must die, to not perish in a way which will interfere with a performance, so help me God."

The entire crew echoed the oath with twinkling eyes and smirking lips.

Kayla laughed and raised her right hand, placing her left on floorboards. "I accept your pledge, and I, Kayla Delaine Abbots, do solemnly promise on the Opera Populaire and all it represents to not piss off the Opera Ghost, managers, or patron in any way which results in termination of my employment or being strung up like a Christmas decoration," she vowed.

"So help you God," the crew chorused.

"So help me God," Kayla repeated, hoping with all her heart she could keep her promise.

Author's Note: To everyone who has followed, favourited, or reviewed, thank you! Especial thanks to Samantha, E-man-dy-S, Guest, and Guest, who I was unable to thank through personal message. And thank you to everyone who has read this far.

Please feel free to PM or review with questions, comments, critiques, or Elysian peace ideas. I love you all, and Merry Christmas!

Tierney