Before I go on, a side note: I know Erik didn't live in India when he built the palace, but I know more about India, and I couldn't remember the real country at the time.Artistic license and all that.

And now, the chapter you've all been waiting for.

8

Katrina decided she liked Helen.

Helen was always cheerful; she admired everything about the opera house. From the red carpets, to the statues, to the roof, she seemed determined to paint or sketch every inch of it. Katrina knew all the secret places no one would have drawn or appreciated besides an eight-year-old or Helen. The joys in a simple staircase or sunny window were shared by them equally.

Before long, Helen was slightly inclined to agree with Marie concerning Erik's choice of things to teach the child. It wasn't as horrid as her sister had painted, but it was still disconcerting to realize the tiny human beside you was carrying several lassos and a pistol at most times.

Katrina also had the disturbing habit of asking insightful questions in the middle of the random ones every child asks. She would ask about death, goodness, evil, and then be asking if she should make a crown for Tomino. It was humorous, but infuriating.

The child would appear in the most unexpected places. Sometimes, she would simply be walking along side a person and they would never know how she had gotten there without them seeing her approach. Helen found her as often in the rafters and walkways above the stage as she did in the cellars and stables. Marie attributed this to living around the theater, but Helen was sure there was more to it.

Helen and Marie found Katrina playing on the rehearsal piano once, a Beethoven dance. She would play it as originally intended, and then change something. It went on for thirty minutes before she realized someone was watching her. To the inquiry "where did you learn that?" she replied, "Uncle Erik."

"I tell you, Helen, it is maddening. Uncle Erik, Uncle Erik, Uncle Erik!" Marie ranted, positively seething after one question and answer session rendered little information.

Helen just laughed, but had a plan of her own to follow.

That night, there was a performance of the opera. Pierre was on good behavior, and the audience loved it. Marie went out with some friends to a party, and Helen begged off, pleading a headache. She helped Katrina straighten out the dressing room and lay out all the needed items for Marie's arrival and bedtime. Whenever that should be.

They walked out into the hall, looking at each other quizzically. Katrina looked odd without her dog nearby, and the quiet without him was deafening.

Helen was about to ask Katrina if she needed a guide home, when Pierre came stumbling down the hallway, drunk. He was mumbling to himself, but when he saw the two females, his eyes lit up. "Ah ha, a couple of morsels of dessert to end my day! Come here, sweets!"

"Run," Helen ordered, watching the singer reel towards them, a leer on his face.

She felt a tiny hand tug at her arm. "Come with me, I know a place he can't find us."

Helen paused, but quickly agreed, darting after Katrina. It was fortunate that Pierre was tipsy, or they might not have succeeded in reaching the dance room in time. Mirrors covered every wall, polished brightly so dancers could adjust their technique. Marie could see by the light reflected from the hallway. Katrina walked confidently to a mirror on the right and reached as high as she could. "Can you lift me?" She asked.

Rushing over, the woman picked her up, knowing that there was no way they could hide there. She could hear Pierre's slurred words as he came after them. His language was appalling. Just then, a mirror swung in, and they darted behind it. It shut noiselessly, and Katrina took Helen's hand again.

"Hold your hand up by your face, and I'll lead you."

They shuffled on, Katrina with confidence, Helen with fear. She had never been in such a black tunnel before, never had to depend on a child for guidance. Suddenly, a light glistened, reflecting water off of a lake. Helen stood on the shores, not sure whether to be enchanted or terrified. All the rumors she'd heard in the past few weeks came flooding back, and she trembled.

A great voice bouncing off the walls made her cringe down.

"What has happened? Are you alright?"

"Yes, we're alright. The tenor was sick, so we had to get away from him is all. I'm going up to the stables so Mademoiselle Helen can get back."

"Sick?" The voice asked, obviously unhappy about something.

Helen found her own voice at that. "Drunk, Monsieur."

The voice paused, and then said, "Take her to the house, Katrina. Stay there until I come."

The girl obediently began to untie a boat, and held it, waiting for Helen to board. "Are you mad?" Helen asked, eyeing the device and the child that would steer it. "We are miles below the opera, and you are sailing at the command of a disembodied voice? Do you know where this lake leads?"

Katrina looked puzzled and a little amused. "It's not a disembodied voice, it's my Uncle Erik. The lake leads to a way out and up that way and that way," she pointed, "and to my home that way." She pointed across from where they stood. "It's safe, as long we are in the boat I can take us there. But don't swim, the water has traps in it."

Helen got in the boat meekly, and watched as the girl rowed easily over the silent water. The lantern on the boat cast strange shadows, making the place look ill, or enchanted. Helen wasn't sure which yet.

They docked at some stone stairs, and Helen gratefully climbed out. Katrina followed and tied to boat neatly like an expert fisherman. She walked past Helen to a door, and wiped her feet on the mat before opening it.

Inside was a little entryway, neatly arranged with a coat hanger, umbrella stand, and what appeared to be a bell, only on the wrong side of the door. The living room was to the left, where shelves of books surrounded a cheery fire and some chairs were carefully placed. On the rich, thick rug slept Tomino. He grunted and twitched, chasing some forgotten beast in his dreams. To the right was a kitchen area. The little pantry was closed, and the dishes were stored on a splendid shelf. There was a table and chairs for eating, and a side board for serving, all carved in the same manner. A hallway in between them lead to another part of the house.

Helen sat on a chair, gazing around her in shock. Katrina set about making tea, not entirely sure what the protocol was, as she had never entertained company since arriving in Paris. She sat beside Tomino while the kettle warmed.

When the whistle sounded, the girl bounded up, brewed a large pot, and returned with all the things arranged on a little cart. She poured a cup of the sweet smelling tea and handed it to her friend almost shyly. There was a third cup, ready and waiting, Helen noted, sipping on her drink in numbness.

At last, she could take the silence no more.

"So, you live below the opera?" Helen began, unsure where to turn the conversation.

"We do," the voice said from behind her. She jolted around to see a tall, lean man, swathed in black evening clothes from head to foot. His face was hidden by the shadow of his hat and the muffler he wore close to his chin. His hands were gloved and held a long, black cane. "I see it surprises you."

"Yes," Helen admitted. "You must be the famed Uncle Erik," She stood, extending her hand, feeling a little better now that the tea had warmed her. He ignored her hand, and turned away, setting the cane in the holder by the door fastidiously. Katrina went over and held out a newly poured cup of tea to him.

Accepting it, he turned to face Helen. His eyes blazed yellow from below the shadows. Yet when he spoke the child, his voice was gently firm. "Katrina, go practice."

The girl took her tea and her dog, and obediently walked into the hall. A few moments later, organ music echoed through the house on the lake. Only then did the man move to sit across from Helen, yet he didn't remove his wraps. His voice was hard and cold when he spoke again. "The tenor is dead. You and Katrina were last to see him alive, no one else was there."

"Are you certain?" Helen asked, shocked. "He was drunk, yes, but quite alive."

The head bent down a little, hiding the face even more. "I went up to deal with him as Katrina rowed you here. When I arrived behind the mirrors, he had been found. The doctor said it was a heart attack, and nothing could help it. Tell no one where you were, only that you took Katrina home after seeing him. It is better this way."

"There is nothing else to tell, when you put it like that." She agreed. A swell on the organ made her jump. "Dear heavens, she has strength behind those fingers. You've taught her well. She's a very talented child."

"Talent had nothing to do with it. She was born with nothing, but she has a great capacity to create the talent within herself. No, she was born hopeless at music."

Helen was rendered speechless at that little statement. "Have you said this?"

"Many times, she must work to become anything worthy. So must we all. And I think you should go. Katrina will lead you up." He stood to walk by her towards the music room.

"Now wait a minute," Helen started. She'd had enough of lassos and pistols, revolving mirrors and secret houses on lakes. Marie was right, this man was unfit. Reaching out, she grabbed at his arm, and caught the cloak instead. It and the muffler fell away, and not even the deep shadow of the tall hat could hide Erik's face.

The scream echoed until Marie thought she'd heard something as she slipped on her robe for the night