Erik did not like this girl, this Amelia Barineau. He had been watching her all day, and his dislike for her had only grown. Not only was she de Chagny's sister, she was arrogant, snotty, and just overall unpleasant to be around. Even if she didn't share a drop of blood with the Vicomte, Erik would want her out of his opera house. Her husband wasn't much better. He spent more time ogling the women auditioning than doing anything useful.
He watched from the catwalks as Andre, Firmin, Madame Giry, Monsieur Reyer, and the Barineaus discuss who was going to get the lead. Erik pulled a cream colored envelope with a red wax skull shaped seal from his pocket and let it flutter down to their group before retreating back into the shadows so it would seem as though the letter would come from nowhere.
"What's this?" he could hear Amelia ask as she picked up the envelope and turned it over. She glanced around and up towards the catwalks, searching for the source of the letter.
"Nothing!" Andre cried.
"Absolutely nothing!" Firmin agreed as he ripped the envelope from her hands and stuffed it in his coat. "Just a stagehand playing practical jokes Madame. They like to fuel their stories of the Opera Ghost, the stupid superstitious lot, through little tricks like this."
"We don't have time for nonsense, Monsieur," Barineau snapped.
"I agree wholeheartedly Sir," Andre said. "I can assure you that we'll talk with them immediately and put a stop to it."
Erik sighed heavily. It seemed like the managers hadn't lost their ability to grovel. Spineless cowards, he thought with disdain. It was time to teach those two insolent fools a lesson. He was still very much in charge and it was time everyone knew it. Erik dashed silently over to mechanism that was holding up the background for the upcoming opera, and with a few tugs on the right ropes, the whole thing went crashing down onto the stage, barely missing the group that was gathered there.
Amelia shrieked and threw herself into her husband's arms. "What the hell was that?" Barineau demanded.
"There's no one up there," Madame Giry announced. "It must be the Phantom."
"It must have been improperly secured," Firmin snapped as he shot a glare at the ballet mistress. "It's not the first time the stagehands have had a problem with that, but I promise you Monsieur, it will be the last."
"What kind of incompetent oafs do you have working up there?" Amelia snapped.
"Rest assured, Madame, we will take care of it."
"You'd better."
Did nothing faze this woman? Erik wondered. She so readily bought Andre and Firmin's excuses. Was she really that desperate for a logical explanation, or just that stupid? He was going to have to step up his game if he was going to scare her off.
"Is everything ready for the Masquerade?" Barineau asked. Erik had forgotten that the managers had planned another Masquerade to celebrate the grand reopening of the Populaire. The corners of his lips twitched upwards. They were just presenting him with opportunity after opportunity to wreak havoc upon Amelia Barineau.
Mia forced herself to repress a yawn as the managers droned on and on about their stupid party. She was so bored, but of course, she couldn't show that. She had to support Gaston. But God, would those two ever shut up? The most exciting thing that had happened since she had gotten here was the background falling, and that was terrifying, not amusing. Hopefully every day wouldn't be like this once rehearsals had actually started. Otherwise this was going to be unbearable.
Finally she had had enough. She tapped Gaston's shoulder. "I need some fresh air. I'll be back shortly," she whispered. He nodded dismissively, his focus never leaving the managers. Mia forced herself to accept his complete indifference to her presence and left the room. Once she was out, she released a sigh of relief. She had spent a lot of time with longwinded socialites but those two took the cake. All she needed was a minute to compose herself before going back in.
The long hallway stretched out before her, full of doors begging to be opened, rooms just asking to be explored. She tried to repress such childish impulses, but she hadn't been shown this part of the opera house when the managers took her and Gaston on a tour. Eventually her curiosity got the better of her, and Mia caved.
She opened the first door and walked in. Mia looked around her, half in disgust and half in awe. She could tell from the tacky pink wallpaper, the enormous portrait of a terrifying-looking woman with fiery red hair that clearly clashed with her pink dress, and the ungodly amount of costume jewelry, long-dead flowers, and other useless knickknacks that she was in the dressing room of the former Prima Donna, La Carlotta. Apparently the whispers she had heard from the staff were true. Carlotta truly had no taste.
Just as Mia was about to leave, she caught her reflection in the floor-length mirror. She walked closer to the glass, studied her reflection for a moment, before tucking a stray strand of her hair back behind her ear. Suddenly the door swung shut behind her, closing with a soft click, making her jump. "Must be a draft," Mia said as she rolled her eyes and laughed at herself before walking over to the door, ready to head back to Gaston. She froze and stared at it before trying to twist the knob again. And again. Mia's eyes widened as she realized the door was locked.
This girl is making it way too easy Erik thought as he turned the key, locking Amelia in the dressing room. He could hear her on the other side trying to get out, but without the key, she was trapped until someone came to rescue her.
"Hello?" he could hear her call rather pitifully. "Is there anyone there?"
Nobody that's going to help you. Erik slipped the key into his pocket and began walking away. It looked like she was going to be stuck there until someone missed her enough to come looking. Suddenly it dawned on him. Somebody that would miss her enough to come looking. Erik had been looking for a way to lure the Vicomte back here and now here it was, locked in a dressing room, his for the taking.
He quickly slipped into the nearest secret passage and made his way back to the dressing room so that he was watching her from the other side of the one-way mirror. Amelia had her back to him as she tried the doorknob again and again in vain. Erik reached for the lever to open the mirror. She was so busy attempting to get out, she would never see it coming.