Author's Note: I do not own Phantom of the Opera.
38
Kayla woke up alone in the dorm, faint light sparkling weakly through the floral designs of the frost on the window panes. When she struggled up onto her elbows and blearily peered out, she was greeted with the sight of a perfect winter wonderland and thick, dancing clouds of falling snow. After their wild hurrah of the night before, the hushed air of the room and general air of abandonment suggested that the female ballet corps had all returned to their homes for Christmas. All except the youngest Giry, who breezed through the door just has Kayla burrowed back under the blankets again. "Are you up?" Meg hopped onto the end of Kayla's bed, poking at her feet.
Kayla curled up into a ball. "No." Her voice was muffled, even to herself.
"Come on, Kayla!" Meg whined, bouncing up and down on the mattress. The little ballerina tugged on Kayla's blankets. Kayla tugged them back, and there was an immediate tug of war over the quilt. "You don't understand, Kayla," Meg yelped, jolting forward as Kayla gave a particularly vicious pull. "There's cinnamon rolls in the kitchen. Everyone's left except me, you, the younger set crew, and the senior cavaliers, so it's just you and me with a bunch of boys. Boys who are going to eat all the cinnamon rolls if we don't go downstairs right now!"
With a determined yank, Meg finally succeeded in tearing the quilt off of Kayla's scrunched up form. Kayla shrieked. Meg stood, beaming triumphantly, and hurled the blankets back at Kayla's head. "Come on, my fellow mademoiselle, get dressed and meet me in the kitchens!" The petite prima ballerina disappeared down the hall.
Kayla rolled out of bed and let herself drop onto the floor. And immediately leapt up, screaming as the icy floor hit her skin. Shivering and fully awake, she scurried over to her trunk, hurriedly unlocked it and immediately began pulling clothes over her head, changing under her nightgown like it was a tent, trying to conserve the little body heat remaining. She was a phantom herself today, black work shirt and slacks, hair loosely tied back with a black ribbon.
"Gone into mourning, have we Abbots?" Jamie called as Kayla shuffled through the door of the dining room. There was icing on his cheek.
"It's to match my soul," Kayla returned flatly, gently nudging the brown haired boy out of the way and scooting onto the bench.
"Out of sorts?" Avère asked sympathetically. There were hints of shadows under his eyes. "You don't look like you had a good night."
"Oh, leave her alone, Avère," Meg said sternly, emerging from the kitchen carrying a tray of steaming pastries. "You know what kind of reputation La Carlotta's parties have."
"Oh, the party was fine," Kayla corrected quickly. "Great, actually. The guests were more of an issue."
"Will our vengeance services be required?" Clemens inquired from the far end of the table.
Kayla shrugged as Meg reached over her shoulder to place a plate piled high with cinnamon rolls on the table in front of her. Jamie stretched his gangly arms up and attempted to snatch a bun off of the tray. Meg smacked his hand away, and Jamie lowered his arm again, looking rather more triumphant than scolded. As she moved away, a bun dropped out of the air and landed on the table in front of the brown haired stagehand. Said pastry was immediately snatched up by Baptiste, who was sitting on his other side. Jamie swiveled slowly to glare at him. "The protection of Abbots has made you far too bold, my little apprentice."
Baptiste beamed, his cheeks puffing out like a squirrel's.
Meg slid the tray into the centre of the table, and it was immediately covered by outstretched hands. The dancer sat down next to Kayla on the bench, a second tray in hand. Kayla felt the terror of the night before dissipating as she nibbled on the sugary, sticky pastry and watched her fellow cast and crew members tearing at their breakfast like a pack of wolves.
A blanket accompanied her to the lair, hanging about her shoulders like a cloak. The drafts were icy, and the air became even colder as she reached the lake. Shuffling over the stones, the edges of the quilt slithered over the ground as she pulled out the chair of her desk and plopped down. Shoulders hunched, she reached out for a brush and tugged the book pages towards her. The jar of sealant was viscous with cold. Kayla swore.
"Language, language," a deep voice chided.
Kayla's hand shot up and was seconds away from gesturing before she considered the consequences of that action. She lowered her hand and picked up the brush again. "Morning. Merry Christmas Eve."
"Oh, that is today? That would explain the quiet."
Examining the clump of sealant clinging to the end of her brush, Kayla blew on it, trying to warm it up and make it easier to smooth over the page. "Thought that quiet would be just your cup of tea. Peace and silence for once."
"Yes, very relaxing I am sure, if I were not occupied with determining what kind of circumstances would lead to my assistant crying in my box at one 'o' clock in the morning."
Kayla very slowly turned around, narrowing her eyes at him from under the quilt over her head. "I'm your assistant now? Sweet. Do I get a raise?"
"You are avoiding the subject."
"You can't just intrude upon a moment of weakness, asshole," Kayla snapped, wrapping her blanket under her chin and slouching in her chair as she swivelled back to face the set book. The pages were sharply pulled out from under her hands.
"I do not appreciate your tone," Erik stated coldly, taking the brush out of her fingers and placing it and the pages on the other side of the desk, out of her reach. "You will tell me what was wrong. And you will tell me now."
"First of all, you have no right whatsoever to force me to talk. Second of all, the magic word is please. Thirdly, I will talk when I am good and ready, which is possibly never. And fourth, I will talk in whatever damn tone I want, thanks."
Erik's fists clenched. Kayla peered up at him from under her makeshift hood and raised her fists. "I can fight you, and I will," she whispered. "I'm a ninja, bro."
Erik snorted, and his hands relaxed. "Why is that funny?" Kayla scoffed.
"The words you use do not make sense," Erik chuckled. His green gaze fell on her again, and the amused smile vanished. "I need to know what is wrong. You are of no use to me in a deteriorated mental state."
"And yet again it all comes down to the effing opera," Kayla groaned, slamming her head down on the desk. "And my usefulness. Plus why are you talking, you're like the King of deteriorated mental state."
"I am not the one who snuck into a haunted opera box after midnight on Christmas Eve to cry like a small child," Erik sneered.
"Ah yes, your sympathy is inspiring. I really want to divulge my feelings now."
"Mademoiselle, forgive me but I am days away from initiating my triumph and revealing to the world the greatest work I shall ever create. I have come too far to put my plans on hold because of a child too stubborn to admit that something is wrong."
"I'm twenty freaking years old, Erik, I'm an adult."
"Really? Because you are acting like an infant."
Kayla slammed her hands down on the desk. Erik flinched. "Do you want to know what's wrong? Really? Do you?"
"Yes, I do," Erik growled, the side of his face not covered with porcelain contorted with anger.
"Well, then, here's the master list: this is the first Christmas I haven't spent with my family, who I might never actually see again, Enrico, Carlotta's cousin and my ally, has gone back to Italy and I'm never going to see him again either, and the precious Vicomte basically proposed that I sleep with him behind Christine's back. So forgive me if I seem a little upset!" And, against her better judgement, she burst into angry tears.
Erik was completely silent. Woah, hormones, slow down, her brain railed, but her tear glands did not respond to the request, and she cried harder. Sobs racked her body with such force that she was actually having trouble breathing. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Erik standing awkwardly a couple paces away. Almost timidly, he took a few steps closer, dragged another chair over, and sat down next to her. His face was blank.
He did not say a word as the time dragged on. When she finally ran out of tears, she huddled under her quilt, sniffling and breathing shallowly, her shoulders still shaking. "Might I recommend summoning the kitten that lives in your little magic box," Erik mumbled quietly. Kayla gave a laughing sob, but pulled her phone out of her pocket and scrolled through her photos until she found the gif Erik had suggested. Time seemed to freeze as she and Erik stared at the kitten gif, this time with Kayla copying Erik's calm breathing.
"You're not mad?" she choked out finally, peering up at the stoic figure next to her.
"No. You did nothing wrong. The precious Vicomte, on the other hand…"
"I feel like it would kind of – forgive the pun – kill the Christmas mood if the Vicomte mysteriously died."
"You would let him live? After all he has done?"
"Well… yeah. He's a little kid."
"He is twenty one years old. He is no child."
"I'm twenty. I'm a child. Sorry if my outward appearance confused you. And if I'm a little kid, Raoul definitely qualifies as a whiny little kid who wants what he can't have. But I digress. Just don't kill him, please? It'd really upset Chri- I mean, people. Make it my Christmas present."
"You would like the Vicomte's life as your Christmas present. Is that what I am hearing?"
"I guess."
"You will owe me a favour."
"I've already almost finished your bloody set book, what more do you need from me?"
"I would like to commission a portrait."
"Um, okay, what kind? If it's of who I'm thinking of, you've kind of already got a full scale model."
"No, not… Ms. Daäe." His voice wavered as he mentioned Christine for the first time in months. Kayla cocked her head at him in confusion. "I would like a portrait of you, actually."
"What? Why?"
"Though it pains me to say it, I do owe a great deal to you. Your contributions to my designs and to the set book have allowed me to put a great deal more effort into my opera. If you do, in fact, return to your own time, I would like something to remember you by."
There was a moment of silence.
"Aw, you sentimental little ghostie! You do like me after all!"
"Can a man not appreciate his assistant without being accused of sentiment?"
"Oh, don't give me that, we're friends now! Fine, I'll make you a portrait. I hate drawing myself, but whatever, I'll do it. And while we're on the subject of not killing people, could I trouble you to not kill Piangi?"
"Why would I kill that harmless fool?"
"I don't know… too much adrenaline? Just don't do it, promise?"
"Very well."
"I'd hug you, but you're not much for physical contact, so I'm going to hug you mentally, okay?"
"That sounds strange, but the sentiment is appreciated."
Once he deemed her sufficiently calm, Erik returned to the organ, pounding away on the keys as Kayla finished up the last pages. When she was finished, she hurried back upstairs. The crew was dogpiled on the empty, echoing stage, warbling off-key renditions of Christmas carols. Kayla ended up napping on the floor next to Jamie.
Meg found them a few hours later to summon them for supper. Kayla and Meg sat at the head of the table, being waited on by the cavaliers and the set crew. It was all very gratifying, Kayla though to herself as she grinned at the merry, rambunctious company. There was a pang in her chest as she watched Meg laughing at Jamie's attempt at stand-up comedy; she missed Samantha.
They went to bed early, calling out hushed goodnights as they scurried off to their separate dormitories.
"Kayla. Kayla. Wake up. Kayla."
Kayla groaned and swatted her hand clumsily in the direction of the voice.
"Kayla. Wake up. I've got a ribbon tied on me and I don't know why." A finger poked her shoulder. "Kayla."
"Fine, fine, I'm up," Kayla moaned, forcing her eyes open. Meg was perched on the bed next to her, her golden hair framing her face like a curly, perfect halo. Her cheery brown eyes were staring at her inquisitively. The dancer raised her hand so Kayla could see the red ribbon knotted around her wrist, the end trailing down to the floor.
"I can't find the end of it. And you've got one too."
Kayla blinked tiredly and lifted her head to glare at her own arm. Sure enough, a ribbon, this time indigo blue, was secured to her own arm. "What the…" Kayla breathed, her voice trailing off as she saw the lines of crimson and blue snaking under the door. The mystery nudging her bleary mind into full consciousness, Kayla struggled up and threw back the covers. "Come on, Giry, the game's afoot," she crowed, letting the silky fabric wind around her fingers as she followed it to the door.
The two girls followed the coloured trail out the door, up the corridor, and down the stairs. It twisted and turned, looping around corners and over lamp brackets, requiring Kayla to lift Meg up on more than one occasion so the dancer could extract herself from the little traps. It led past the kitchen and down a corridor Kayla rarely ventured down. Both ends were tied to an iron door handle at the end of the hall. "Looks like we've reached our destination," Kayla smirked, tugging at the knot at the end of the ribbon and looping it around the thick gauntlet of indigo laced over her entire forearm.
"Wait, Kayla, we're in our nightgowns!" Meg whispered worriedly, nervously adjusting the pile of cherry ribbon in her arms.
Kayla looked back at her in fond exasperation. "It's not like we're naked, dearie. Come on, adventure awaits!" She pushed open the door…
…And was immediately tackled by the set crew. "Merry Christmas!" Jamie yelled in her ear. All the young men shouted similar greetings, and Meg was receiving the same treatment from the cavaliers a few feet behind her. A fire was roaring in the stone fireplace, and tiny candles were glittering on a small pine tree in the corner of the room. The boys switched places, and Kayla was suddenly surrounded by cavaliers.
"Merry Christmas, Abbots," Avère grinned, ruffling her loose blonde hair with his large hand.
"First Christmas at the Populaire for you, so we thought we'd do something special!" Leonardo smiled at her, his chocolate eyes twinkling.
"You guys!" Kayla admonished teasingly, punching the lead cavalier lightly on the shoulder. "Getting rudely awoken and then attacked on Christmas morning, I'm touched."
But a surprise adventure and ribbons were not all they had planned. There was a pile of wrapped packages under the little Christmas tree. "Oh crap, no. You didn't."
They had. They all made Kayla and Meg sit next to the fire and one by one delivered the small gifts directly to their laps. Small and varied, the mini presents were all thoughtful and adorable. Hair ribbons, sweets, pencils, fudge, tiny little wood carvings, and her own pocket watch were among the objects that found their way to the stack at her feet. "This is too much, you guys," Kayla chuckled, grinning madly.
"Who on earth gave me this?" Meg demanded, brandishing a bracelet in the air. It was gold, probably just a gold coloured alloy, but it was beautiful, curved and delicate, sparkling with tiny blue and white gems.
There was an almost choreographed motion of simultaneous head-shaking. "Not me," they all chorused.
"Well, it's pretty. I'm keeping it," Meg shrugged, slipping it onto her thin wrist. "Thank you to whichever of you silly boys did this."
As one, all the boys glanced out of the corners of their eyes at Jamie, whose face remained perfectly calm but for the smile curling at the corners of his mouth.
"Wait, just remembered, I've got crap for you people too," Kayla squeaked, scrambling to her feet and bolting out the door. She reappeared a couple of minutes later carrying the tiny little portraits she had doodled of the crew and the cavaliers in anticipation of needing inexpensive Christmas presents, and she had painted watercolour daisies for Meg.
"Mercy me, look at how cute I am!" Jamie exclaimed, staring at his tiny drawing. "I'm keeping this forever."
The rest of Christmas passed in a state of calm. Carlotta stopped by to give Kayla a lavishly wrapped gift, a miniature coal black top hat attached to a headband, adorned with a veil of diamond studded black lace and a cerulean ribbon. "I thought you would find it funny," the diva snickered as Kayla pulled it out of its box.
"I don't know when the hell I'm going to wear this, but it's adorable and I'm going to wear it right now, actually. Thank you."
Carlotta was just as grateful, if not even more so, for the ink and pen drawing of the diva and Piangi that Kayla had drawn. "I love it, Abbots. It is so… classy."
When the diva left – she and Piangi were going to one of the socialite Christmas parties of the Parisian elite – Kayla rejoined the rest of the crew in the dining hall, her new hat perched jauntily on her head. Meg had vanished, likely off to celebrate with her mother. "That's new," Clemens commented, pointing at the top hat.
"You look like a magician."
Kayla glanced at Jamie quizzically. "What?"
"A magician," Jamie repeated. Kayla tilted her head and studied her reflection in the back of her spoon.
"I do, don't I?"
It was a strange thought; Erik had called her "little magician" a couple of times now. She shrugged the coincidence off and focused on enjoying Christmas dinner with the boys.
Her stomach full of food, Kayla stumbled into the dormitory at midnight, high off chocolate and witty conversation. She turned on one of the gas lights and made her way through the dim room to her bed.
There was a white ribbon tied to the bed post.
Kayla chuckled and leaned over to untie it. One last adventure before bed.
The silk wound out the door and down the stairs once more, but veered off into the wings, then onto the stage, across the stage, and back into the wings once more, spinning a labyrinth through the dark. So gradually that she barely noticed, the ribbon slipping through her fingers slowly darkened, from dove white to cloud grey to stone grey. She wrapped it over her shoulders like a scarf. By the time she truly noticed the gradient, Kayla had arrived at the door of her office, where a storm cloud line trailed under the door of her office. Fishing the chain of keys from under the collar of her shirt, Kayla's fingers brushed against the warm rose pendant hanging at her throat. One of her few connections to her own time; it was strange that she had almost forgotten about it. Shaking her head and focusing on the task at hand, she riffled through the ring for the office key and reached down to unlock the door. The lock clicked and the door swung open without protest. Her eyes followed the ribbon across the rug, over the floorboards, and up to an obsidian bow attached to an iron structure that Kayla was 237% sure had not been there before. And draped over the metal form was a dress. And not just any dress. It was the dress she had doodled in the lair.
Kayla stared at the dress in complete silence. With great strength of will, she turned around, set the bundle of ribbon on the desk, walked out of the room, locked the door behind her, and wandered back to the dorm. She would deal with that particular complication in the morning. One thing she knew for certain:
New Year's Eve was going to be a night to remember.
Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, or favourited last chapter, and if I haven't thanked any new followers/favouriters already, I will be doing so shortly by PM. Thanks to Guest, Guest, and E-man-dy-S for their guest reviews.
I know, I'm sorry, this isn't Masquerade, but the set crew had their own plans for Christmas and refused to cooperate with me. Plus, I want to make sure the Masquerade is perfect for you guys. Please accept my apologies.
I will finish up the Masquerade chapter and will post it by tomorrow night at the latest.
Thank you all for reading!
Hugs,
Tierney