A/N: There's some fluff near the end. You've been warned.

Disclaimer: Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

Chapter 15 - Red Death Triumphant

Coming to Palais Garnier on the evening of the masque, Carlotta made her way into the Grand Escalier and stopped in awe. The Opera was full of people: politicians, dignitaries, celebrities and many other, all in glamorous evening wear complete with a mask.

Scanning the crowd, she soon spotted Maestro Flaubert and his lovely wife, leaning on the balustrade of the Grand Foyer. Coming down the stairs there was Julianne in the company of André and Simon, their lead tenor and baritone. They were followed by a group of willowy girls from the ballet corps.

In a far corner, Carlotta saw la Debonnaire. She was showing a lot already but it didn't stop her from putting an empire style gown and coming to the party. She appeared to be engaged in a heated conversation with Thibault and Carlotta wondered what could they be arguing about. Perhaps la Debonnaire wanted to return to the Opera House after she had the baby and Thibault wouldn't let her?

"Bonsoir Mademoiselle!"

Turning around, Carlotta came face to face with Daroga who smiled at her from under a simple black domino mask.

"On duty tonight?" she asked, pointing to his uniform.

"Someone has to keep an eye on things," the guard sighed tiredly.

He would've rather been home, watching TV with his wife and kids, but he thought it wise to take a shift at the masquerade.

"May I ask you, Mademoiselle, does our masked friend intend to make an appearance?"

"I think so," Carlotta said without much conviction. "He's been strange lately, that is to say, stranger than usual. Do you have any ideas about what could be wrong with him?"

He has the hots for you, you stupid goose of an opera singer, Daroga thought to himself.

"Not a clue," he said out loud, shaking his head vigorously.

"I meant to take him shopping for a tux for tonight but he told me he already had it figured."

"Did he now?"

Carlotta nodded. "He asked me to just wait for him here. He said I'd recognize him."

Oh! That was going to be precious!

"He should recognize you for sure," Daroga commented checking out Carlotta's designer dress.

"I overdid it, didn't I?"

She had thought Rosso Valentino would've been the perfect choice for a ball but looking at other guests, most of them sporting conservative black, she suddenly felt overridden with doubt.

"You look superb," the guard assured her. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my duty calls. I hope to see you again later in the evening."

Waving Daroga goodbye, Carlotta stepped deeper into the crowd. Soon she came by some friends who presented her with their friends who on their hand presented her with even more friends.

After an hour or so, tired of making small talk, she set to rest by the old entrance hall. Not ten minutes later she was approached by Thibault followed by a couple men she recognized as two of their major patrons.

"There you are ma cherie!" the manager said, slipping an arm around her shoulder.

Carlotta shuddered but didn't dare make a scene of brushing Thibault off in front of other people. It'd only make her look like a lunatic.

"You may remember Monsieurs Arnaud and Hubert from a reception a while ago." Thibault motioned to the two gentlemen that came with him.

"Yes, of course, I remember." She smiled, offering each of them her hand for a kiss.

"They both remained quite impressed with you the last time around," Thibault continued, allowing his eyes to drop to Carlotta's cleavage. "I was just telling them how much you have improved in the past couple of months and how I'm considering making you our new primadonna starting next season."

"Really?" Carlotta sniggered.

The hell she was going to be the primadonna! Not unless she opened her legs and that wasn't going to happen. She'd sooner let Erik play with his lasso.

Erik… Perhaps this was the time she did something for Erik whose incredible talent was once again rotting away five stories below.

She addressed Arnaud and Hubert, "Has Monsieur Thibault also told you who do I owe my sudden improvement to?"

"I believe not," Arnaud said a little surprised "Care to enlighten us?"

Carlotta felt Thibault's hand travel down to her waist and pull her closer in what could only be interpreted as a possessive gesture.

"She's been having some extra practice with an internal collaborator," he scoffed. "He turned out to be a decent vocal coach."

"Decent is not the word to use here," Carlotta argued, not at all put back by Thibault's dominant act. "He's brilliant! He sings, he plays, he composes but that's not all. He's also an architect, an artist, an illusionist and an engineer."

For what she knew, he was also a pretty skilled assassin but she decided to leave this one out.

"I must admit, this sounds very intriguing," Hubert commented. "Does this person have a name?"

Thibault's fingers dug into Carlotta's side in silent warning but she was too far into the woods to back up now.

"Erik. His name's Erik."

"Erik who?"

"Oh for heaven's sake Hubert!" Thibault rolled his eyes in annoyance. "This man may be able to strike a ballad but he's absolutely no one."

He'd had enough of the bloody ghost! Wherever he looked there he was, sneaking his way into every little corner of the Opera House. Madame using him to motivate the ballerinas, Flaubert wondering whether he liked the most recent production, Julianne acting paranoid every time she had to go on stage, and on top of that Carlotta, the ever so sassy Carlotta, acting like his little bitch! Who was he to deserve all that?! A hundred-year-old dead man who was only tolerated because he very well served as a tourist attraction! That was his place and there he should stay!

"What in the world...?"

Arnaud's bewildered whisper steered everyone's attention to the feet of the staircase where a spectral figure had appeared in a thick cloud of smoke.

The ghost's face was a naked skull, with blazing eyes glaring around from under an officer's cap. Underneath a golden rimmed velvet cloak, his body appeared to be just bones, but looking closely they were only imprinted on his crimson uniform.

Locking eyes with Carlotta, he walked towards her, his every step resounding like a salve in the dead silence that had suddenly fallen over the House.

"Who is this?" Hubert asked, turning to Carlotta and Thibault.

Carlotta's face lit up.

"That, gentlemen, is Erik."

She attempted to go out to meet him but Thibault grabbed her wrist. Sending him a heated glare, she yanked it out, and turning on her heel she ran into Erik's arms.

Locked in his embrace, feeling people's stares burning a hole in her back, she felt exceptional. She felt like a diva.

"You there!" Thibault accosted the closest guard whose name he didn't even remember. "Why are you standing here like an idiot! Do something!"

The guard only laughed. "About what?"

He was a dark-skinned man Thibault thought he'd already seen around but he couldn't put his hand to it. He was never interested in getting to know anyone from the staff.

"Who let this abomination in?!" he fumed, pointing at Erik.

"Oh, you mean the ghost?" the guard played dumb. "I guess he just let himself in."

"Take him out of here! Now!"

"Why? He's not causing any trouble. Unless, of course, you mind him flirting with opera singers."

Daroga! Yes, that's what they called him! Daroga, like the Persian in Leroux' book. No wonder he wouldn't help him! He probably was on it with the ghost!

"Why so silent?!" Erik's booming voice resonated like a thunder in the hollow space of the Grand Escalier. "I thought this was a ball!"

Hearing the macabre apparition speak with obvious humor people finally let go of the tension. A few of them laughed and someone shouted, "Musica Maestro!".

"I'll have you fired first thing on Monday!" Thibault hissed at Daroga, turning back to the center of the commotion, just in time to see the ghost take Carlotta's hand and press it to where his lips should've been.

The orchestra played and they began to dance, two flashes of red moving across the monotone sea of blacks, midnight blues, bottle greens and plums. Others followed in their example and soon the atmosphere eased again and the party went on as if nothing had ever happened.

When the song ended, Carlotta dragged Erik back down to have a drink with Arnaud and Hubert. The two men were very excited to meet him. Things got a little awkward when they became curious as to why had they never heard of him before if he was indeed such a multi-talent. In that moment, to Carlotta's utter shock, Erik calmly explained he suffered from a congenital facial disfigurement which made him somewhat shy. Arnaud and Hubert dismissed that as a valid excuse and encouraged him to show his work to the world, arguing further that if he was indeed disfigured, that could only work in his favor.

During the course of the evening Erik made many more valuable acquaintances: people from the arts department, who were very interested in his relation to the Opera House, a couple men from the press, who on their hand were interested in his relation to Carlotta, some fashionistas, who spent good twenty minutes trying to get the most flattering shot of his outfit, and even a few phans, who in their obsession over his humble persona went as far as to spend their savings on the tickets to the masquerade in hopes of meeting him.

He danced, he drank, he laughed. He plain enjoyed himself, contrarily to the last masque where he was being devoured by anxiety, trying to keep an eye on Christine while giving her the space she'd requested. This time around he didn't have to worry about his date running off with another man because she spent most of the time parading by his side looking proud like a peacock.

"This must be the most magical night of my life," she told him several hours later, as they were taking a little break hidden in the Basin de la Pythie, "and it's mostly thanks to you."

Wrapping her arms around his waist, she laid her head against his chest. He held her there, playing with her hair and wondering whether it might be the right time to speak to her about his feelings. When he saw a rather tipsy Thibault, walking down the stairs, heading right at them, it was his cue.

"Come little toad," he said, taking Carlotta by the hand. "I wish to speak to you about something, but I'd rather do it somewhere more private."

Leading her back to the Grand Escalier, he took a look past his shoulder to see, not without relief, that Thibault got interjected by some of the guests. Unable to move without making a social blunder, he only followed them with burning eyes until they disappeared swallowed by the crowd.

Erik had thought it would've been enough to get higher up and far from the heart of the party to have a little privacy but it turned out even the hallways that ran around the amphitheater were full with people resting, talking or making out in the dark. Even in the backstage, they ran into some girls from the ballet, a guard taking what appeared to be an urgent call from his wife, and Jerome smooching shamelessly one cute guy that had recently joined their chorus.

Going on autopilot, they eventually ended up by the Salon du Chant, and finding it empty, they went inside, locking the door behind them.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?" Carlotta asked, giving Erik an inquisitive look.

"I just… uh..." he began clumsily.

He had a speech prepared in which he declared his sentiment with garb and garnish but suddenly he couldn't remember a word of it. His mind was a blank sheet of paper.

"Is it about something I did?" Carlotta prompted worriedly. She feared she'd gone overboard again, watching his side throughout almost the entire party or getting her hands on him.

"No, no," Erik assured, grabbing her gently by the arms.

"What is it then?"

Erik opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out of it. He felt as if something gripped his throat and squeezed, making it hard even to breathe.

"What are you doing?" Carlotta mumbled in confusion when he reached up and holding the upper part of his mask with one hand, he gave the jaw piece a sharp tug.

The bottom fragment, which was attached to the rest by a rubber band, gave up easily enough. Throwing it carelessly across his shoulder, he seized Carlotta by the neck and smashed his lips against hers.

She kissed him back at first, but then she suddenly pushed him brusquely away.

"Stop it!" she cried, looking down to conceal the tears that welled up in her eyes.

Erik felt his heart sink. If the kiss was a way of posing his question, there he had his answer.

"Erik so sorry. He-"

Carlotta didn't let him finish. "Of course he's sorry!" she spat. "He always is! Now I bet he's gonna tell me to stay friends like he always does!"

"That's not what I-"

"I'm sick of it! I'm sick of being played with like that! Friendzone is no fun! You of all people should know that!"

"WILL YOU FINALLY SHUT UP AND LET ME SPEAK?!"

Grabbing Carlotta by the arms, Erik pulled her close and breathed out, "I took you here to tell you that I loved you, you annoying little toad, and to beg you to stay with me."

Carlotta was aghast. Erik… loved her? It didn't make any sense!

"What about Christine?"

"What about Antonio?"

Now, where did that come from?!

"Antonio is a thing of the past," she assured.

He replied, "So is Christine."

When the information sank in Carlotta smiled through the tears. Erik loved her! He really loved her, even if he usually stopped himself from acting on it! It hadn't all been just some wicked game!

This time it was her who pulled Erik into a deep kiss. Her arms wrapped around his waist and she pressed her body flush against his, hungry for more.

Suddenly Erik grabbed her butt and sat her on top of the piano that stood in the corner. She didn't mind, it only made it easier for her to reach his lips. Kissing him senseless, she wrapped her legs around his hips and soon enough she felt his hand travel up her thigh all the way past the edge of her stocking.

"Please, tell me to stop," Erik huffed in Carlotta's ear.

He didn't really mean to harm her but he felt he no longer had control over his own hands.

"Stop? I don't want you to stop!"

It was about time she got some real action from him!

"Careful what you wish for" he warned, and to make his point, he slid his palm along her inner thigh up to her most intimate territory, feeling a sensation of warmth radiating from her body covered only by the tiniest scrap of lace.

"Pull it aside and touch me," she commanded.

Erik swallowed hard. "You don't really-"

"Do it!"

Finally, he obliged her.

The moment his fingers came into direct contact with her bare flesh he lost what still remained of his sanity. All thought of propriety lay forgotten as he indulged himself in exploration, guided by Carlotta's beautiful voice.

Just like with music, it was instinctual. Alternating piano and forte, he played her like a violin, then finally changed to a building crescendo until he hit that highest note and felt her shatter, the frantic spasms slapping his fingers like broken strings as he tried to elicit from his precious instrument every last bit of sound.

There was a noise behind the door and that snapped him out of the trance. Retracting his hand, he helped Carlotta get off the piano. Slowly, she stood on on wobbly legs, looking at him with the glimmering eyes of a porcelain doll. She opened her mouth to say something but the noise behind the door repeated.

"Where the hell did they go?!" they heard Thibault's gruff, now think with alcohol.

He yanked at the handle.

"Why is this door locked?! Carlotta? Cherie? Are you in there?"

At the sound of her name, Carlotta clung to Erik's side.

"It's okay," he calmed her. "The door's locked. Listen," he pointed out at the silence, "he's gone now."

"He's got a passpartout in his office," Carlotta said. "He probably went to get it."

She wasn't usually so scared of Thibault, even knowing what kind of scum he really was. He'd never do anything to her unless she let him. That is, as long as he was sober. Drunk, he might be capable of anything.

"Erik," she cried, "take me somewhere Thibault could never find me!"

Erik snorted. That pig had a passpartout! He could get everywhere. There only was one place...

"Come," he took Carlotta by the hand.

Checking that the manager was indeed gone, they got out and ran down the corridor in the opposite direction from the administration offices.

A few minutes later, Thibault returned with the skeleton key and was surprised to find the door to the Salon open.

Going in, he scanned the surroundings. There was no one there but he spotted something white laying on the floor in the corner. Picking it up, he examined the object in the faint orange glow of the streetlight seeping through the high windows.

It looked like a piece of a mask and he had a pretty good idea who it belonged to. This was a jaw piece and there had only been one person at the ball who had it covered: the Opera Ghost!

5 more chapters to go!

Next chapter: Interesting things transpire in that secret place in the Opera House where you can't get even if you have a passpartout. Prepare for some fluff and an awkward boat trip!

Do you think Carlotta should make an exception to the rule and let Erik punjab Thibault?

Should Erik listen to Mss. Arnaud and Hubert and perhaps start a youtube channel?

As promised, here's a couple PICTURES I did of the REDESIGNED RED DEATH COSTUME.

Go to PINTEREST and add the pin number of one of these (there's 2 pics):

pin/386324474277486113/

pin/386324474277486139/