A/N: Thanks for your reviews! They honestly keep me going and mean the world to me.

Chapter 8:

When the letters arrived, first at the office, then at the house, Julianne had braced herself for another threat from the Opera Ghost…or perhaps something even worse than that.

Since their last encounter everything had been eerily silent and she could not shake the feeling that something dreadful was about to happen. She had wounded his pride, of that she was certain, and made him even more dangerous by uttering that stupid knee-jerk remark that astounded her still. In his absence she had busied herself locating the secret passageway through which he had fled but there was no sign, no small detail to betray the smooth, marble façade.

So she'd been relieved to discover a correspondence from Adelina Patti, a popular soprano, instead. It appeared she had shown interest in joining the ensemble previously but had been ignored or denied by the management. While Julianne couldn't claim to be an expert on the world of opera, she also wasn't ignorant enough not to have heard of Adelina Patti, especially not when being married to an aficionado like Édouard. It was, therefore, inexplicable to her that Moreau had denied the diva a role in the past. Had their takings been limited she would have attributed it to their inability to pay her the wage she demanded, but since that wasn't the case she could not imagine what on earth had prompted him to make such a terrible decision.

The Palais Garnier hadn't had a big name since La Carlotta had left and could surely only attract an even greater interest with a new star associated with it. She hesitated only briefly, considering how the behaviour of the ghost would affect Patti's arrival but then decided, perhaps naively, that she might possess enough talent to win him over.

The correspondence she had received, had invited her to the Grand Théâtre de Bordeaux where the diva was currently wrapping up a performance. While a somewhat unusual offer, Julianne had felt humbled by the dedication the woman clearly possessed and driven by a desire to flee the city, she'd scribbled a hasty reply and handed it to her courier.

The day she was set to travel to Bordeaux was the day the body was discovered.

She'd arrived at the opera house early in the morning as was her habit and had allowed Alexandre to help her carry her luggage into the office.

"No doubt the chauffeur will assist you with these later on?"

He seemed unsettled at the prospect of letting her out of his sight, almost like a son who'd become even more protective after the loss of the father, or so Julianne imagined. She had never been blessed with children.

"I would imagine so," she smiled, hoping to put him at ease, "after all, Adelina Patti is trying to win my favour. It would be terribly silly if she sent someone who did not possess any manners."

Alexandre chuckled, if also nervously, and then retreated to the door when he could find no excuse to linger.

"I shall be back in no time and I will send a letter ahead to inform you of my arrival."

He nodded politely, bowed and then took his leave.

Juliane found herself staring after him, thinking back to the first few months after Édouard's death and the difficult decisions she had to face. Choosing which one of the loyal domestic staff to keep and which one to let go had been heart-wrenching, made worse by the show of understanding most of them displayed. Trying to understand how to appropriately spread the money between the remaining few was even harder. Julianne had been well-educated by her father but it wasn't so much about the mathematics behind it, as the dos and don'ts of such an undertaking.

How to figure out if Patti's demands were unreasonable or not was a problem she'd still have to solve. Therefore, she reluctantly abandoned her reverie and retreated to the desk to search for some information about the ensemble's wages. Of course, she could have asked Moreau directly since as a former bookkeeper he was still in charge of handling the finances, but his lack of judgement and his secretiveness had disappointed her and made her even more determined to discover and handle matters herself.

Julianne remained occupied for some time and so it was nothing more than a coincidence that she heard about the gruesome find. Had she been not so susceptible to the sound of chaos, she would have missed it and no-one would have paused to inform her.

The corpse had been dead for several days, yet it was leaning against the side façade of the opera building almost peacefully as if it had just taken a little nap from which it had never awoken again. Its waxen skin seemed to melt off the scaffolding of bones and a fine line that appeared to be carved into the skin, out of which maggots and an assortment of other vultures were crawling, suggested strongly that his end had been anything but pleasant.

A small crowd consisting largely of employees from the Opera had gathered around it, taking perverse pleasure in surveying the work of the Sûreté. Hardly anyone else seemed to care. Perhaps the Parisians had grown so jaded by the crime and squalor that surrounded them day in and day out, that the find of a single corpse did not matter.

But it mattered to Julianne, mattered greatly and not just because she couldn't bear to witness another death, but because she knew that it was a message to her. No-one but the Opera Ghost would have taken the trouble to place the corpse there. He had wanted her to hear about this. She didn't know who the man was, she didn't know what he had done to displease the Opera Ghost but somehow this was her fault. He had alluded to it, hadn't he? He had warned her.

She pushed herself deeper into the crowd, allowed them to swallow her up.

Which of these people around her would be next? Whose life was she gambling away?

The corpse was lifted up at last, his softened limbs dangling helplessly off the gurney. The mocking sun caught itself in an object around the man's finger, a wedding band that threw the light blindingly back into her face.

A sharp breath escaped her and she turned wildly on the spot, trying to locate a way out of the throng but it was impossible. Everyone had shifted closer together and was surging forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of the body as it was being carried away. There were angry words in her ears and pointy elbows in her sides and she was being trampled. She pivoted at the same time as the crowd pushed forward again, bringing her face to face with the deceased.

Somewhere across town another woman would soon receive the news she had been dreading.

I'm afraid he's contracted pneumonia, Madame, tonight will be crucial.

Or perhaps she would never find out. Perhaps he wasn't prominent enough to be successfully identified.

Madame Doucet,

Allow me to express my sincere condolences. Édouard was a loving husband and a remarkable man. I am terribly saddened I did not insist sooner that he'd see a physician. I fear I am in part responsible. Know that he loved you very much.

With regret,

Jules Ferry

Sweat pooled beneath her corset, traced down a delicate line over her stomach, following a path Édouard's fingers had often taken. Somehow she broke free, ran a few paces until she was forced to stop, dispelling food and bile onto the pavement. Panting and cold, she steadied herself against the wall of the opera house with one hand, and used the back of the other to wipe her mouth. The secrets hidden in the folds of the cloak she had haphazardly thrown on seemed to singe her skin.

Two letters bearing the seal of the de Chagny family.

"Madame Doucet?" The voice startled her despite its calmness and turning around she found herself staring into the dark eyes of Madame Giry. "Are you unwell?"

Julianne wiped her mouth again before lowering her trembling hand.

"You must leave," she urged her quietly, "attend your daughter's wedding and then retire. He knows you have betrayed him. You will be next."

The other woman's eyes widened while sympathetic wrinkles blossomed on her skin.

"He has never hurt me, Madame, and as long as my Meg is safe I have no fear."

Panic welled up in her, combined with the urge to shake some sense into the woman.

"Please! I cannot have another one's life on my conscience!" she wanted to yell at her but the dispersing crowd had found a new focus in her shaken frame, and so she tore herself away with the remaining shreds of dignity she possessed and retreated into the cool interior of the building. But whatever peace she had hoped to find was quickly chased away when members of the crowd joined her, passing her by with curious glances.

She felt herself becoming a spectacle, an oddity. A woman in a man's world, a woman whose duty it should have been to stay at home, a woman chasing a ghost.

She couldn't bear those nosy looks anymore, those ruthless stares that seemed to tear the foundation of her composure away from under her feet. Blindly, she set course for the office, walking at first, then running, driven on by the panic and despair that seemed to tighten its grasp on her. Blood was pounding in her ears while her heart was throbbing frantically as if it longed to beat its way out of her chest.

She didn't hear the wall as it slid open. She didn't notice the man that had become one with the darkness. But she felt his hands, cold and unfeeling, covered in leather gloves dragging her into the corridors beyond.

Instinct to survive made her struggle against him, but his grip was firm and unwavering, as if a metal cuff had been permanently attached to her wrists. After a while filled with nothing but silence and angry pants and gasps, her body slackened.

"If you intend to do to me what you have done to him, please just be quick."

He chuckled again and tilted his head up so that she realised for the first time that his eyes were of an odd amber colour that seemed to glow in the darkness.

"I don't intend to harm you just yet, Madame," he responded with all the politeness of a gentleman, just as Madame Giry had described. "On the contrary, I am once again inviting you to my house."

"And I must, once again, decline."

It became clear to her then that she was dealing with a madman and the only way to stand her ground was to treat him with his own brand of curtesy.

"I have a rather important appointment with a famous opera singer. She expects me, Monsieur, and if I fail to show up I am certain questions will be asked."

"By who? Your servants? I believe they've already been informed of your departure. And Adelina Patti? Did you really think a woman famed for her temper and stubbornness would grovel and beg for a role at this opera house?"

She felt herself shrink as his laughter reverberated around her. How could she have so blindly trusted a letter that had been delivered to the Opera? But there'd be another one delivered to her house! The shock, the realisation of his omnipresence made her feel like a tiny insect caught in a fat spider's web.

"I won't do it," she decided though her voice sounded feeble and thin.

"If you must," he inclined his head and turned around, leaving her in utter darkness once more, "you won't be the last person starving in this maze."

Her panicked breath emerged in small hiccups as she watched his tall body disappear. Closing her eyes, she counted his steps, willing herself to outlast him. If he had brought her here, there would also be a way out. But as the silence grew heavier around her and her searching fingers encountered nothing but hard, unforgiving stone, her fear muted all rational thought.

"Please, please, I'll come just don't leave me here!" she cried into the darkness but no sound betrayed his presence.

Crumbling, she sank down onto the damp floor, permanently cut off from the world of daylight.