Author's Note: Still do not own Phantom of the Opera.
29
She went straight back to her office and threw the paints and brushes onto the desk. Reaching down the front of her shirt in a fashion that may have made even the most loyal of Team Daäe switch allegiances, Kayla extracted Erik's note. It was crumpled, with rips along the edges. The envelope was bent, and there were pieces of the red skull stuck to the top of Kayla's chest. There was a long, thin slice under her collar bone that was oozing tiny droplets of vermillion. "Damn you to hell, paper cut," Kayla hissed, grimacing as the cut stung in protest.
She made to toss the note on top of the brushes, but hesitated. She swiped the art supplies into an empty desk drawer, then carefully flattened out the crumpled envelope and slid it underneath the tubes of paint. Then she left the office.
Lunch was uneventful. She sat at a table with the cavaliers and the set crew, and ate some sort of spicy sausage soup and more of the fluffy French bread. After the bowls had been cleared, Kayla, leaning against Jamie with her boots propped up on Leonardo's knees, recited the Disney version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. The ballet rats heard her storytelling tone from across the room, and abandoned the seniors to join the set crew. The little dancers had squeezed themselves into thin empty spaces on the bench, squished by the older boys around them. A couple of them claimed the laps of relatives, such as Amelia, Clemens' niece, and Marie, Claude's granddaughter. Kayla could feel the glares of the senior ballerinas, at whose altars the ballet rats had previously devoted all their worship. But who cared; Lena was perched on top of her outstretched legs. None of the ballerinas were getting cuddles from adorable little girls. Damn, she missed sister time with Samantha.
She was in the middle of an explanation of the Court of Miracles – a confusing topic, as the ballet rats were not incredibly keen on there being a slightly malicious underground stronghold that they had never previously heard of, in a city they had lived in their whole lives – when the rest of the room went abruptly silent. Once they realized, the cavaliers, crew, and rats all turned as one to face the door.
Carlotta stood imperiously in the doorway. Chin raised haughtily, she surveyed the silent room with the air of an empress. "Abbots," she announced. "I would like to speak with you."
"Why?" Kayla sighed, eyes narrowing.
"A private matter… that does not concern the rest of you," Carlotta answered, directly the last statement sharply at the rest of the room.
"I'm sitting on her leg. And she's telling a story. She's busy," Lena squeaked defiantly, crossing her little arms.
"LENA!" the ballet rats admonished shrilly, casting nervous glances at the infamous Prima Donna.
"I don't care, I'm not moving until we hear what happened to Esmeralda," Lena hissed at her compatriots.
"Shut up, that's Signora Giudicelli you're talking to!" Clare whispered in terror, peering out from behind Avère's broad shoulder.
"Hey, hey, it's okay guys," Kayla shushed them calmly. She glanced at Carlotta. "I'm in the middle of lunch, and Lena's right, she's sitting on me and I'm kind of halfway through a recital. Can it wait?"
The two women stared at each other, amber and dark blue staring intently at each other. The soprano broke first. "I will be in the prima practice room," the diva proclaimed with a toss of her auburn head. "Meet me dere in ten minutes." She swept away like a hurricane.
Kayla glanced back at her tablemates. They were all staring at her concernedly.
"I'm not going to be there in ten minutes," she said coolly. "More like thirty. Baptiste, pass me the rest of the baguette."
"You're late," commented Carlotta peevishly as Kayla stalked into the practice room fifty minutes later.
"I got lost; I didn't exactly get a grand tour of this place," Kayla snapped back unconcernedly, hands clasped behind her back as she walked heel-toe, heel-toe, on the wooden floor. She had gotten lost, she was not lying on that point. The practices rooms were scattered throughout the opera house, mostly in wings that she had not yet had the chance to explore. The practice room generally reserved for the prima donna was in the East wing, almost as far from the stage as one could possibly go. Then again, Kayla departed from the dining hall forty minutes after Carlotta's exit, and had only spent ten minutes lost in the rabbit warren of hallways.
The room was bare, dark wood floorboards turned to liquid bronze in the lazy beams of sun drifting through the small round windows. It was not monstrous in size, but large enough, about five or six square metres in total, and had cream papered walls, devoid of any of the golden trimmings that adorned so many of the other rooms in the Populaire. A grand piano gleamed in the corner of the room, and a shiny oak chair rested by a small table against the left-hand wall.
"You've won over the ballet rats, hmm?" Carlotta hummed, shifting a ribbon on her lavender taffeta skirt back into place. "And the cavaliers as well, you ar' a persuasive little thing."
"I'm not little, you're just a little taller than I am!" Kayla barked teasingly. "They were actually kind of impressed that I talked you down."
"You did not 'talk me down'," Carlotta protested. "I wanted to speak to you in private, and I got what I wanted. Dat one little rodent, though, I could 'ave smacked her!"
"No violence on my little ladies," Kayla ordered strictly. "But yes, Lena is very sassy. I love her to death. They're all great mini-minions."
"I only have two allies in this opera house," Carlotta sniffed regally. "Ubaldo, and, unfortunately, you. You, on the other hand, have supporters everywhere. Five seasons I have slaved away in the Populaire, five! You've been here… what, three days?"
"Four," Kayla corrected. She was surprised by her own number. Four days down, over three months to go.
"Four days! I have been here for years!" the soprano moaned.
Quirking an eyebrow, Kayla mildly inquired, "Do I detect a hint of jealously?"
The intensity of Carlotta's glare could have turned Kayla to stone.
"Of course not," Kayla answered her own question. Sticking her hands in her pocket and rocking back on her heels, she asked, "To what do I owe the pleasure of being mysteriously dragged to a random part of the opera house?"
"Ah, yes, that," Carlotta acknowledged. The diva's heels clacked on the wooden boards as the soprano moved across the room to the table. She picked up a white envelope. Kayla froze.
Walking back, she held it out to Kayla who took it gingerly. Flipping it over, she examined it more carefully. Relieved, her eyes roved over the Mademoiselle Abbots in curvy violet script, gilt golden edge, thick, ivory paper, and diamond-shaped purple crest that sealed the envelope. It's not a Phantom trap, she assured herself. A small part of her was still shrieking in terror, while an even tinier section was sighing in disappointment. Hushing up the disappointed section mercilessly, she wondered if she had envelope PTSD now. Carlotta glared at her impatiently. "It's too pretty to open!" Kayla grinned, running a finger carefully over the lightly textured paper.
"For the love of God, Abbots, open the bloody envelope!" Carlotta exclaimed.
Kayla winked and gently ran a fingernail under the wax seal. Popping it up carefully, she gently flipped open the envelope, and slid out a creamy stationary card, crested with the violet inked Giudicelli seal.
You are cordially invited to the Giudicelli Estate on Friday, October the 14th, for a night of dinner, dancing, and music.
Arrival at 7 'o' clock, supper to be served at 9 'o' clock.
Formal attire.
Bring a gift or be prepared to perform.
Kayla read the flowing letters for a second time before looking at the diva. "Is this for me?" she grinned delightedly.
"No, it's for the Opera Ghost; of course it's for you, you ninny!" Carlotta retorted sarcastically.
Kayla scanned the invitation for the third time. "You want me, in your house, in a social situation?" she clarified.
"Yes, I would not have invited you if I did not," Carlotta sighed.
"But you invited the managers, didn't you?" Kayla frowned, catching the slight grimace around Carlotta's red lips.
"Yes, and the Vicomte," Carlotta agreed sourly. "And he will bring Daäe; that is for certain. I could not tell him he was not allowed to bring her."
The cryptic final line jumped out at Kayla once more. "Bring a gift or be prepared to perform?" she quoted confusedly.
Carlotta looked away.
"What?" Kayla's voice was suspicious.
"It's…." the diva hesitated.
Kayla scowled at her. "You're being a silly little avoider. It's like Daäe whenever you ask where she was, when you both know she was at the Chagny place."
The comparison to her sworn enemy convinced Carlotta to speak. "It's for my birthday," she muttered.
"OHMAIGASH CONGRATULATIONS!" Kayla yelped excitedly, clapping her hands. "Merciful heavens, was that so bloody hard? I love birthdays, you silly soprano you!"
The room was abruptly silent.
"That was not the behaviour of a typical ally," Carlotta commented bluntly.
"Well excuse me for being enthusiastic," Kayla snarked.
The two had a staring contest.
"I can be enthusiastic about your birthday. I'm no threat to your bloody supremacy. We're allies. We can be occasionally friendly. We've reached that point," Kayla pointed out decidedly.
Another pause.
"Fair enough," agreed Carlotta, surprising the younger woman.
"Okay, anyway, continue," Kayla prompted, waving her hand.
"Traditionally people bring gifts," Carlotta explained. "If they do not, I make them perform something."
"Okay, sweet. Oh, except I'm'a have to perform. I have no money," Kayla laughed nervously.
"That's all I had to say," Carlotta concluded, gesturing at the envelope in Kayla's hand. "I just wanted to give you that privately; no one else from the Populaire is getting one."
"Except Piangi, the managers, and the Vicomte," Kayla nodded.
"Except for Piangi, the managers, and the Vicomte," Carlotta echoed in confirmation.
Carlotta departed soon after, to rest before the performance. It was about three in the afternoon, and judging by the fact that no one seemed to be looking for her, Kayla felt comfortable with just wandering around the Populaire. Taking a peek out of a window she passed, Kayla saw that Paris was still buried in fluffy snow. October snowstorms. Not something that was unusual for her, as the snow in Calgary usually started halfway through October and did not let up until the end of April, but for some reason she had always pictured Paris as being in an eternal state of fall. Oh well, there was still the rest of the month. The weather would probably change eventually.
Kayla sauntered down the hallways, leaving her feet to aimlessly lead her. Her eyelids were heavy, her stomach full of soup and bread, her thoughts slow. And there would be dinner in a couple hours. The food was awesome, and she loved it, but she felt a strange craving for exercise. But it wasn't like she could just go running in the city, or go toss around a volleyball. The sport did not exist yet, at least to her knowledge.
She glared down at her unrepentant stomach. "Don't you dare get non-athletic on me," she warned. French cuisine was like crack, and when it came to food, self-control was not her friend. But as long as she figured out some sort of physical activity she could do every day and keep in shape, then she could keep eating baguettes. There was no further motivation required.
When she finally withdrew from her own head and filed away her mental exercising brainstorm, Kayla looked up to see the hallway of boxes. She had no idea how she had gotten there, which was slightly concerning, but she had the next four or so months to figure out the building layout, so she tried not to worry about it. She stopped in front of Box Five and stared at the brass door handle.
"I have a proposition for you, if you will deign to listen."
The deep dark voice echoed in her memory. She reached out and ran a fingertip over the shiny number.
"Mademoiselle!"
"EEEEK!" Kayla squeaked, starting back from the door as if electrocuted.
Raoul de Chagny was approaching, a wide smile plastered with white brilliance across his handsome face. Kayla scowled at him. "Dude, no," she bit out sharply. "You can't just sneak up on me like that."
"I see you're still upset with me," the Vicomte said cheerfully, bowing as he stopped closer to her.
"Uh, yah, you threatened me," Kayla emphasised.
"You do understand, I cannot allow Carlotta to take control over the Populaire," Raoul rationalized, ignoring her. "Christine has a marvelous voice, and should be allowed to sing. She deserves to be prima donna."
"I won't deny that, but dude, how is being a threatening asshole any different than screwing with people's heads?" Kayla retorted. "If you're so superior, try it the way that the contract suggested, instead of being a completely obvious Phantom impersonation." She resisted the urge to comment that she had been the contract's author.
"The Opera Ghost; a regrettable business, that," Raoul mused. "Most upsetting to my dear Christine. But he did not appear last night, so perhaps whoever the spectre was has been appeased. You didn't seem very surprised on that unfortunate night, did you, Mademoiselle Abbots?"
"Whether or not I was surprised is none of your concern," Kayla stated icily. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to find my crew." She turned her back on the nobleman and began to walk away. A strong hand grabbed her wrist.
"Now wait a moment," the Vicomte's voice coaxed amusedly.
Kayla whipped back around and five-starred him cleanly across the face.
He dropped her hand, gloved fingers rising up to his cheek in shock. There was a bright red handprint. Kayla, however, was confident that it wouldn't bruise; she was a strong girl, but even she could not hit hard enough to leave a semi-permanent mark.
"Don't. Freaking. Touch me," Kayla snarled.
"You are not yourself," Raoul spluttered, his hand still tracing his glowing cheek in disbelief. "Still worked up over the Buquet incident, I shouldn't wonder. I will forgive your nervousness."
"I said, DON'T TOUCH ME." Kayla growled. "You threaten me, you threaten my job, you imply… I don't know what the hell you were implying actually…. But I am not going to put up with that kind of behaviour. And if you ever try to touch me again, I will take out your nuts."
Raoul paused, then laughed. "You value your independence, I admire that," he smirked. "I will see you at the performance, I trust? Good afternoon."
Without waiting for a reply, he bowed and walked briskly back down the hall.
Kayla glared daggers at his retreating back. She waited for a few moments after he rounded the corner, and then slammed her head against the wall, wordlessly shrieking. Screw the Vicomte!
At this point, she truly sympathized with Erik; she had thought Raoul was adorable and sweet in the movie, kind of like a rather a really enthusiastic but stupid puppy. Now, however, she understood the Phantom's view completely: at the moment, Raoul was being a complete dick.
Author's Note: Apologies for the excessive dialogue in this chapter, and lack of our little Phantom friend, but my imagination took a brief holiday, so I had a hard time figuring out what to do in this chapter. Anyway, here is this chapter, a day late - *guilty face* - and why was it late, you may ask? Because yesterday the universe attempted to screw over my life, including but not limited to waking up late, accidentally spilling an entire bowl of cereal and milk into my school bag, almost missing the bus, and then having the bus almost crash in an intersection. Apologies for the rant. I was more upset about the fact that I didn't eat breakfast than anything else.
Moving on, let me know what you thought, thanks for all the reviews and new follows and favourites, and to E-man-dy-S and Guest for the guest reviews last chapter.
I'll probably end up posting a shorter chapter at some point this weekend - homework permitting - because I feel guilty about posting late. Anyway, have an excellent day, all! Thanks for being awesome readers!
Tierney