A/N I'm posting this chapter a little earlier than I normally do. We're going away for the weekend...Gettysburg, actually. Maybe I'll see a certain masked man while I'm there ;) To everyone reviewing...thank you.
Philippe was in his study when he heard a noise in the hall. It was one of many. The house was a beehive of activity with the masquerade taking place the very next day. Security itself was tight. To the casual observer, the house and grounds were crawling with trade people setting up for the ball. It was, but because of the illustrious guests attending, and the fair number of politicians set to be among them, there was a contingent of secret service operatives blending in with the caterers, florists and press, making certain that everyone on the premises were legitimate.
"Raoul, is that you?" he bellowed.
His younger brother appeared in the doorway, sweaty and disheveled from his four mile run. "Can we make this quick, Phil? I need a shower."
Philippe gestured to the chair in front of his desk and leaned back. "Sit. I thought you'd be interested in what I found out about that bad-ass tenant over at Elizabeth's."
Raoul perked up at that and sat down. "What've you got?"
Philippe studied the printout in front of him, and looked up at his brother. "You were one lucky s.o.b. This Reauchard, if he's one and the same, is a killer. He's an assassin, and he's been paid by just about every country between here and Timbuktu to lighten the population."
He turned the fax around so his brother could see the information for himself.
Raoul whistled as he read Erik's history. "Shit. Is this guy for real? Wait till Christine gets a load of this! He's known as the Phantom?" He looked at his brother in disbelief.
A cold light came into Philippe's eyes as he glared at his brother. "You will stay away from Reauchard. You're no match for him."
"Isn't what he does illegal or something?" Raoul gestured to the paper between them. "He's not freakin' 007, for shit's sake! Wouldn't one of those countries have arrested him for murder by now?"
Philippe chose his words carefully, keeping in mind that Reauchard's line of work and his own former life were very nearly similar. "You don't seem to understand. Most of these countries have been the ones to hire him. The governments are the employers, Raoul."
He paused and said in a quieter tone. "He's been predominantly a political assassin and a damned good one." He said it with a certain grudging respect.
"But a...what is it, Phil...a Punjab lasso? What the hell is that?"
Philippe looked at his younger brother soberly. "It's a catgut garrote. Apparently it's his usual method of killing."
There was a knock on the door and Andre Moncharmin stuck his head inside. "You wanted to see me, Philippe?"
"Yes, come in Andre. I need to ask you about something."
Moncharmin sat down and looked expectantly at his host. "How may I be of help?"
Philippe tapped the fax in front of him. "Have you ever heard of a man named Erik Reauchard?"
Moncharmin reasoned to himself, that acknowledging some facts about the Phantom would be a wise thing to do. But only a little. After all, Philippe was well aware of Andre's access to all kinds of information on people, the opera house being a microcosm of the world. "I've heard of him, yes. He's a nasty piece of work from what I've been told." Of that, his experience was first hand, but his host was not to know that.
"Are you aware of his weapon of choice?"
Moncharmin looked at Philippe and shrugged. "If I remember correctly, he prefers to strangle his victims."
"I don't much care for his presence in Gettysburg. To me, it's too much of a coincidence for my taste." He eyed the other man shrewdly. "Two Frenchmen in this town just prior to the arrival of your president? We're getting mighty popular with Europe all of a sudden." He put a hand up when Moncharmin opened his mouth to protest. "I know, I know. I didn't mean you, but I have my party to think about. I've notified the agents assigned to the house and they'll be watching for him also."
"Well, why not go after him now?" Raoul asked. "We know where he's staying."
His brother shook his head. "Because he's not wanted for anything and he hasn't broken any laws."
Moncharmin looked at Philippe, wondering if he should ask him about the presence of the president at the meeting tomorrow night. Would he get a truthful answer if he did? Andre very much doubted he would, and decided against it. Besides, by the time the meeting took place in the library, he planned on being far away from Gettysburg and on his way back to Paris.
With that in mind, he spoke up. "I will do my part to help, and watch for him. He won't get past us, will he?"
Raoul rolled his eyes at that. He had never been very impressed with Andre Moncharmin. Even less so now.
"Thank you, Andre. You relieve my mind." But the look the brothers exchanged said something entirely different.
They were taking Erik's car to dinner, and moving quickly without seeming to, he gently steered Christine to the passenger side in front and opened the door for her. Meg climbed into the back seat behind Christine and looked around the interior of the BMW, liking what she saw.
"Yeah, when I'm ready for a new one, I'm getting one like this," she said admiringly.
Christine looked at her demure gray Malibu sitting in the driveway. "Mine gets me where I need to go. It's only a car, Meg."
"Of course it is, ma petite," Erik said soothingly. "From point A to point B. That is all that is necessary, no?"
She looked at him in puzzlement."Then um, why did you lease this one, Erik, if that's all that matters?"
He said nothing, and backed out of the parking slot, but Nadir looked pointedly at her.
"Because he might need to get from point A to point B fast, Christine."
She glanced at her car again; the Persian caught her look and smiled. "Faster than that," he said.
"Oh."
Erik reached over and squeezed her hand. The Persian observed his friend from the backseat as Erik handled the powerful car with his usual skill, shifting the gears smoothly. To see Erik in love for the very first time was fascinating. For him to feel that particular emotion at nearly forty years of age, must bewilder the man to no end. The fearless Phantom brought down by Cupid's arrow and wielded by such a sweet, unsuspecting young woman as Christine Daae, who had no idea of just whom she was dealing with. And for her to actually reciprocate that love was even more puzzling. He turned to Ms. Giry and they chatted the few minutes it took to arrive at the inn.
The red brick Cashtown Inn sat on a gentle grade of the old Chambersburg Pike, rising gradually toward South Mountain. In late June of 1863, it seemed to the inhabitants of the tiny village of Cashtown, that the whole rebel army had descended on them. In reality, it was the vanguard of General A.P. Hill's 3rd Corp. The inn, built in the late 18th century, sat at the crossroads of the village. It had served the travelers of the nearby turnpike for years, offering a meal and a warm bed. The owner of the inn was purported to take only cash for payment, hence the name. It became an armed camp during the Gettysburg campaign, housing confederate officers and their staff, while the battle at Gettysburg raged eight miles to the east.
The inn had seen much in its history and now it served as a charming bed and breakfast with a cozy fireside tavern and Victorian dining room, plus the added benefit of the claims that it was haunted.
As they walked up to the wide wooden porch, Christine glanced at Erik who kept pace beside her. "We'll ask for the dining room. It'll be much quieter for us. Most diners this time of the evening will be in the tavern and it's not very large."
They were met at the desk in the homey front room by the host, who barely glanced at the three of them, but eyed Erik with interest. The four followed him down the hall past the noisy tavern, and into the lavish and colorful dining room with its rich mahogany floors and wainscoting. Sure enough, just as Christine predicted, the dining room was nearly empty, with diners seated at only two other tables. Erik requested a corner table, and after the ladies had been seated, he sat down closest to the wall, facing outward and surveying the room closely. He would no more expose his unprotected back, as give away his home's location to his worst enemy.
Their waitress came to take the drinks order for their table, and Erik questioned her on the house wines they carried. From the moment she heard his voice, she forgot the others seated with him. The man was very thin and his eyes were kind of weird. His face was in a curious way, faintly disturbing- not that she could put her finger on what was different, but it wasn't his appearance that drew her in. It was that voice. Slightly dark, and rich as the best chocolate in the world. Melt in your mouth. Soft, so soft. It was...
"Excuse me, but do you think you could maybe take our order now? It's not part of your job to make the customers uncomfortable, is it?"
She mumbled an apology, her face turning red, then nervously took their drinks request and hurried away. Jealous little bitch, isn't she? Hands off, he's mine.
Erik said nothing, but simply stared back at the waitress. The young woman stood there with her mouth hanging open the whole time he questioned her on the wines. Was she an idiot? Then he turned and looked thoughtfully at Christine. Lovely, gentle- protective? To think he brought out that particular reaction in her caused him a moment of perplexity. No one had ever felt the need to defend him before.
Meg caught her friend's eye and gave her a slight thumbs up. Christine's anger had evaporated and now she felt only embarrassment at having caused a scene. She was angry, but not for the reason everyone thought. That woman had stared at Erik as if he was some kind of tasty morsel. She could practically see the tart salivating.
The Persian was vastly amused by the small scene with the pretty waitress. To think that the diminutive Ms. Daae felt the need to protect a killer of the Phantom's caliber was ludicrous indeed.
Christine looked at Erik and smiled as they perused their menus. "What looks good to you?"
He was still studying her in some confusion, and suddenly realized his mouth was hanging open, and closed it with a snap. "Uh...the duck with chipotle pico-de-gallo." He set his menu down and took a sip of wine. "What would you like, ma petite?"
"Um, the Chilean blue mussels, I think."
While they waited for their meals, the women regaled them with the story of their stay overnight in the Pettigrew room at the inn.
"It all started when Chris and I decided to debunk the idea of ghosts at the Cashtown." Meg giggled and looked at Nadir. She was still nervous around Erik and he certainly didn't warm up much to her. He only had eyes for her friend.
Christine buttered a warm roll and took a bite, then looked at the two men. "We were daring each other to go through with it, on Halloween night, no less," she said.
"And what did you see?"
Christine shrugged. "Nothing really." She hesitated and Meg spoke up.
"It wasn't what we saw- it was what we smelled and heard mostly." The two men looked at them in silence while their dinners were served.
"We spent the evening in the tavern having a few drinks and socializing. Ha! Everyone was telling ghost stories, trying to frighten us, I think," Meg stated, taking a bite of her steak.
Christine glanced at Erik, aware of his intense gaze on her. "We went upstairs around eleven and got ready for bed. We talked for a while then eventually fell asleep." She paused and took a sip of water. "The doorknob rattling, woke me up around one-thirty."
"Yeah," Meg said. "She woke me up shaking the stuffin' outta me. I turned on the bedside lamp and the noise stopped."
Christine took up the tale. She laughed and shook her head. "There we were, wee hours of the morning, hugging each other and afraid to get out of bed. But together we worked up the courage and approached the door very cautiously."
"Yeah," Meg snorted. "If we'd moved any slower we wouldn't have reached it till noon."
Erik, surprising them all with a laugh said, "Well at least you were moving in the right direction and not going out the window. What happened next?"
Christine and Meg exchanged amused glances.
"Uh well, neither one of us wanted to be the one to open the door, so it devolved into a double dog scenario."
Erik and Nadir looked at Meg, puzzled at her meaning.
"She means we, um, egged each other on until I'd finally had enough and simply opened the door."
"And?"
Christine sighed. "Nothing we could see, but we both smelled cigar smoke. And before you say it- no, there wasn't anyone there, and I will swear that there never was. At least nothing living."
"I believe you, Christine," Erik said softly.
Meg caught Erik looking at her friend. She still didn't understand Christine's attraction to him. He gave her the willies, but she was envious of the adoration she saw in his strange eyes when he looked at Chris. She could admit one teeny thing to herself. Erik's speaking voice was a small slice of heaven. Meg abruptly changed the subject. "My friend here is playing Cinderella and going to her first ball tomorrow night, isn't that so, Chris?"
"Is that right, Christine? And do you have a Prince Charming?" the Persian asked.
She blushed and turned automatically toward Erik, who was observing her quietly. "Um, I was invited by my friend. Nothing more than that."
Erik visibly relaxed, and when the waitress returned with the check, he counted out some bills, leaving her a hefty tip as well.
The waitress, embarrassed by her earlier behavior was very pleased with her tip. Absolutely sexy voice AND a big tipper. Nice! "Thank you, sir. Have a great night." Erik gave her a curt nod as the woman continued to smile at him.
Christine stared hard at her until the woman finally turned away. She would make sure they didn't eat here again any time soon. I'm surprised she can walk in that dress, let alone sit down, it's so damned tight. And I'll bet she feels the wind on her ass it's so freakin' short.
Erik placed his hand at the small of Christine's back, and ushered her from the dining room. It was full dark as they slowly made their way out to the car, Erik again deftly steering Christine to the front passenger side.
Meg winked at Nadir. "Looks like we'll always be relegated to the back seat with her around."
The Persian chuckled. "So I see."
Christine turned and gave her friend a pointed stare. "Would you care to take my place, Megan?"
"Ah, no thanks. Nadir might miss me." Meg gave him a weak smile and turned to look out the window.
She watched the scenery outside the car sliding by, thinking Christine's new boyfriend was the most interesting thing to hit Gettysburg in years. She looked at her friend shrewdly, who as usual was looking at Erik, and smiled.
Christine obviously thought so too.