A/N: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! :) Happy Thanksgiving weekend everyone! And now...
Chapter XXXII
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Christine glared at him as if she would like to flambé him where he stood.
The Phantom struggled with what little patience remained after his brief visit above.
After being subjected to Carlotta's incessant caws and warbles while waiting to speak to Giry and give her further instructions, his frayed nerves were loath to put up with a replay of Christine's histrionics from the day before.
"Perhaps you would care to tell me what it is that I am to have done?" he asked with a sardonic lift of his brow.
"You made me Aminta - or rather her into me!"
"What?" He shook his head at her babble of nonsense.
"You did, didn't you? Every action - it's there. I'm her, aren't I? You wrote her character to portray me!"
His lips twisted in a smirk. "So you freely admit that you are shallow and vindictive?"
"Of course not! I mean, I admit nothing - I'm none of those things."
"Which begs the question - why should you so swiftly draw a comparison?"
"Why?" she huffed an incredulous laugh, swooping down to pluck up one of the pages and jabbing her finger at a line. "Take this direction - 'She growls and stamps her foot' or this one 'She crosses her arms and rolls her eyes in aggravation' - and so many more of her actions throughout this scene alone - this is me! You wrote this opera with me in mind, it's quite clear. Don't bother to deny it!"
He threw back his head and let out a brusque laugh devoid of humor. "Add vanity and egocentricity to those aforementioned traits."
He gauged her indignant reaction, her cheeks blazing fire, her eyes sparkling diamonds, and reined in all of what he wished to say, cautious as to how he spoke. "Do you have any concept of how long it takes to write an opera, Miss Daaé?"
She jerked her head in an indifferent shrug, her reply just as brisk. "Weeks?"
"Weeks?" He scoffed out another stern laugh then grew intently somber. "Try months. That one took fourteen of them. Some can take years. I assure you that any similarities between your character traits and Aminta's are entirely coincidental."
A measure of doubt clouded her eyes and he pounced on that.
"Do you think you own the market on behavioral characteristics? That you are the first to exhibit such actions at any given time?" He moved to pick up the sheets of music and stood, handing them back to her. "Or perhaps it is guilt that leads you to leap to such absurd conclusions."
"What do you mean?" She snatched the pages from him. "I have nothing to feel guilty about." She averted her eyes as she spoke, clearly ill at ease.
"No?" he asked in disbelief. "Your expression states otherwise."
"You don't know me."
"Your actions paint a clear picture of the woman you are." He paused as she lifted her head in hurt defiance at his disparaging tone. Once he had her full attention he went on, "You appear out of nowhere to audition for a spot in a trifling chorus, but when chosen for the lead you do not wish to be known by your given name. You are quick to match your actions to those of Aminta's, a scheming character of pretense - which leads me to believe that perhaps your own story of avarice and betrayal is entirely genuine?"
He narrowed his eyes at her, unable to resist the swift jab to her conscious.
Her face flushed with guilty color. "Your Don Juan is just as much of a schemer -!"
"He needs to be all of that and more in order to challenge Aminta."
"- And he is twice the fool and villain that Aminta is! Yet you wrote him as tantamount to some paragon of virtue, worthy of sainthood."
He snorted. "Hardly that. He does have his vices. They are made apparent in later acts."
"Yes, he does," she emphasized, focusing on the first part of what he said. "He kidnapped Aminta."
He impatiently nodded.
"And you kidnapped me. So tell me Monsieur Phantom, do you see yourself as this Don Juan seeking revenge? Is that why you kidnapped me? And why even choose me? What have I ever done to you?"
He scowled and turned away. This was entirely too dangerous. She was getting too close.
"Mademoiselle Daaé," he stated in a voice fast losing all tolerance. "Please desist in creating a fantasy out of the present reality with every damned line of that opera. It is a tale of fiction. You are an actress. Hence, play the role as it is written and cease with behaving like a wronged harridan in this melodrama you have fashioned inside your mind. Now, if we may begin?"
"I am hardly fashioning anything inside my mind. The facts speak for themse -"
His hand flew up to put an abrupt stall to her words. "Enough of this! You have said your piece, I have said mine. Now Take. Your. Place."
The Phantom moved away, his stance one of arrogant grandeur, like a king expecting complete obedience. He took a seat at his pipe organ - leaving Christine to stare after him open-mouthed and hardly satisfied with the outcome of their confrontation.
Somehow she resisted throwing the damnable papers at Hades' arrogant head and marching out of his hellish throne room - instead not so demurely taking the spot she had on the previous day. If he wanted a meek servant blindly to obey and refrain from speaking her mind, he would have to seek out Jolene, because Christine would have no part of such intimidation! It might indeed take years to write an opera, but yesterday she had seen him pen Act One for her to learn and he certainly could have added those gestures then, as another method to torment her.
She glared at him, while he remained oblivious, ruffling through the pages of his score.
He may well deny it, but she could see the parallel, and she would not play his game. To cause her upset only gave the Phantom Rogue satisfaction that he had obtained the upper hand, likely thinking her weak. The illness had depleted her strength, but over the past four years she had learned to be stronger of mind, to defend and stand up for herself. Once Erik was killed, the need for such strength became paramount after returning to The Heights. This man, this phantom may keep her bound to his underground tomb, but he would never exercise complete domination over her.
Forcing nonchalance, she nodded for him to proceed with the first scale of her warm-ups.
They got no further than three octaves.
He pulled his hands abruptly from the organ, giving a discordant slide of the keys. This time, he glared at her.
"I told you not to partake of a meal in the two hours before you are to sing. Yet on this first full day of practice you choose to defy me?"
She blinked, too stunned to take offense at his flawed presumption.
How could he tell when she had eaten?
As if reading her mind, he nodded. "Oh, yes, Miss Daaé, I can tell. There is a loss of clarity to your tone; the quality is not as crystalline as the first time I heard you sing."
She looked at him dubiously and wondered if he was making it up so as to peeve her. She could tell no difference.
"As you surely must know, monsieur, I have no way of measuring the passage of time in my chamber. When Jolene brought my meal, I ate." She fidgeted at the lie, then pacified her guilt by telling herself that no more than a quarter hour could have elapsed before she did finally eat the bread and fruit.
He looked at her as if uncertain whether to believe her then gave a short nod. "Very well. I will speak with Jolene. For now, instead of focusing on your vocal instruction, we will take this time to rehearse the first act and will return to your singing lesson later. Come."
Ever the autocratic dictator he brusquely stood, his actions clipped yet somehow still bearing an element of distinct grace. She watched as he descended the steps to the level area of the bank and turned to look at her in question. A coiled panther on the prowl, lithe with grace, keeping his distance but ready to spring…
She shrugged off a sudden sensation of weakness and warily followed. He motioned to an alcove. "There, you will make your entrance and walk toward me."
She eyed the opening dubiously. The thick darkness proved that the alcove was not shallow and she wondered how deep it ran.
Sensing he watched her closely, she lifted her chin and gave a short nod. "Am I to sing the words or read them from the paper?" At the disdainful lift of his brow, she added, "I don't yet know the songs."
"You've not committed them to memory?"
She grimaced. Oh yes, Monsieur Phantom, that and so much more.
"I don't know how to sing the tune to the words, especially if you give me no accompaniment."
"Of course." He gave another short nod. "For now, you may read the lyrics."
She moved to the opening, first peeking inside at the sound of a distant, hollow drip and making a full analysis of her close surroundings before turning back to face him. They looked at one another.
"Well?" he asked in a mocking manner as if he thought she expected to see the carcass of a body hanging from the tunnel's rock ceiling. "Are you finally ready to begin?"
She pressed her lips together. "I'm not sure where to come in. Do I speak the reply to the question that Don Juan gives? Or should I begin elsewhere?"
He let out a weary breath. "I will give you your cue."
In the next instant the powerful and melodic voice of an angel flowed throughout the chamber, dispelling all previous dark and morbid thoughts of the tunnel behind her. She stared at him transfixed. His song came to a stop.
He crossed his arms. "Now what seems to be the problem?"
"I…" Shaken, she blinked. "P-problem?"
"Your entrance, Miss Daaé. Did you not memorize all lines contained within the first act? You must know all of the cast's lines for the scenes in which you will appear, in order to know where you are to begin."
"Yes, yes of course." She fidgeted in embarrassment. "Please … once more?"
This time she steeled herself against the warm stirring of emotion that the sound of his voice engendered. She managed her lines and walked to where he stood.
"What was that?" he asked, clearly unimpressed.
She shook her head in confusion. "What?"
"Your entrance. You are supposed to exhibit coy seduction in your approach. You moved as if you were a milkmaid off to milk the cows."
She frowned. "I thought you are to be my vocal teacher. Now you will instruct me on how to walk and act too?"
"Of course. This is my opera. As you will be training with me the majority of the time, I will need to instruct you in the choreographic moves required."
"You will teach me to dance?" Shock filled her voice.
"Only the most basic of steps and stage directions. Madame Giry will teach you the remainder upon your return."
"Then I will be expected to dance as well as sing?" She tried not to sound horrified, recalling her botched audition with the stern ballet instructor.
His expression marginally softened. "Your role will require nothing complicated. I wrote the part of Aminta as a lead in voice, not in the dance."
Christine gave an abrupt nod, her nerves only slightly less tense.
"Now, if you will return to your position," he prodded. "We will start from the beginning."
Again, she returned to the alcove and walked out on her cue.
Again, he stopped the practice upon her approach.
"Now you prance about like a fluttery girl at her first ball. Surely you know the art of seduction, Miss Daaé?" he drew out the words wryly. "You must have used such a tactic before?"
She crossed her arms over her chest at his implication that she was some wanton Jezebel.
"Actually no."
"Not once?" he asked in clear disbelief.
She thought about Erik and practically begging for his kiss, but she had been so innocent then and hardly aware of what she was doing. She attempted nonchalance, refusing to engage in such a familiar conversation.
"I will start over then, shall I?"
"Yes," he sneered softly, "that would be wise."
She huffed off in a snit of irritation and whirled around to wait. At her cue, she sashayed, swinging her hips from side to side in exaggerated display and fluttered her lashes as she'd seen some of the more brazen women do on her travels.
The Phantom narrowed his eyes as she came to a stop before him. "Your approach is meant to entice Don Juan. Not send him fleeing into the next township."
Incensed more than before, she thinned her lips and settled her hands on her hips. "I'm doing the best I know how!"
"You expect me to believe that?" He pointed his finger at her. "You are making this scene into a mockery, Miss Daaé!"
She moved a step toward him. "This entire opera is a mockery, monsieur!"
"You are required to act and sing - not give your continual and redundant opinions," he growled, taking a step toward her.
"If you don't like my performance, then find someone else to play your twisted Aminta!" she shot back with another step, close enough to spit in his face, and balled her hands tightly at her sides.
"If you think that to incessantly challenge my patience will ensure my change of heart with regard to your stay here, you are very much mistaken."
"Why? You clearly don't like my interpretation of your pathetic, horrid character - SO JUST LET ME GO!"
He clenched his teeth and grabbed her arms hard.
"I WILL NEVER LET YOU GO!"
The passion of his angry avowal captured her breath as did the swiftness of his act and the heat of his possessive grip searing her skin through the thin sleeves. She felt breathless and weak and uncertain all at once, no expedient and cutting rejoinder tripping off her tongue to irk his confidence and soothe her pride. Her mind was a stunned blank - her senses now acute and aware only of the heat of his body, the dual blaze of molten gold that were his eyes, the proximity of his lean strength and large hands gripping her beneath her shoulders …
A sharp inhalation of breath sounding more like a cry, had them both turn their heads to look.
Jolene stood at the entrance of his bedchamber, her expression of horrified shock impossible to miss even from this distance before she quickly lowered her eyes. "Pardon, monsieur, mademoiselle," she said with lashes still lowered as she moved hurriedly down the stairs and past them, "I must see to the meal."
The Phantom paid her no mind, but Christine wondered how long the girl had been in the lair, not failing to note she had come from his bedroom. From his bed?
With a heated flush of irritation at the vexing idea that was in all likelihood a distinct probability given his reputation, Christine then noted how close she and her demanding teacher had come and still stood.
At the same time he became aware of their present state and released her with a sudden push, stepping away from her. Without a word of explanation or remorse, he waved a hand in command. "Proceed with your lines. You may work on perfecting your entrance in your own time."
Christine swallowed hard, still shaken and embarrassed and annoyed by the entire incident.
Of course he noticed.
"You must put aside all of what you are feeling and step into the character as if it is a new frock to be donned, Miss Daaé."
"A frock, monsieur?" She laughed skeptically. "An ill-fitting one to be sure."
Her offhand words brought his sudden attention to the gown he had provided for her that hung slack, and a blush warmed her body at his intent perusal. She brought her arms up, her hands lightly covering the sleeves as a barrier against him. He frowned, his eyes again lifting to hers.
"Then pretend. Surely you have engaged in pretense at some point in your life to know how to play a role."
His twisted words, as always, seemed double-edged implying more than the moment at hand, and she gave a terse little nod. As a young girl, she had often played the tragic heroine of the present novel she was reading, at times even persuading Erik to join her as both villain and hero in their games of pretense.
Yet as her rehearsal progressed, she found it difficult to keep her attention solely focused on the libretto, her eyes often straying to the kitchen area. The lair had no walls separating the rooms, save for the bedchamber, and from the position he told her to stand Christine glimpsed the table where Jolene busily sliced vegetables and threw them into a large pot.
Her lips recited the lines at hand, but her mind often wandered far beyond the moment, speculating on the girl's relationship to the Phantom and just what it entailed. She did not like where such thoughts took her, even more, despised that she should care. On her travels, she had met young women Jolene's age betrothed to be married. If the girl wished to throw her life away by being his possession of decadent amusement, it was certainly no concern of Christine's.
With relief she received the Phantom's directive that it was time to begin her singing lesson and looked away from the kitchen, moving toward the organ without needing to be told twice. The music he played and taught no longer sought fully to control her, but it did help her escape her thoughts, something she direly needed at this moment.
The time passed, his approval in her tone apparent even if his responses could not be construed as praise, and she was surprised when he drew the lesson to a close.
"We are finished?" she asked, looking away from the closed portcullis on which she had fixed her attention.
"It is time for dinner," he explained, not looking at her. He scratched something on the page with a quill. "You will find dishes and cutlery on a shelf near the table."
A curious glance toward the kitchen revealed that Jolene had disappeared, and Christine blinked, uncertain what to do. Was she expected to eat here and not return to her chamber? Did he plan to dine with her? The prospect seemed entirely too intimate, to share a meal together, alone … and surely he would need to remove his mask, since the bottom of it covered much of his upper lip, which he doubtless would refuse to do.
At her hesitation, he looked at her.
"I …" She licked her lip in nervous confusion, but refrained from asking if he was to join her. "Will we, will we be resuming lessons afterward?"
He curiously regarded her in her flustered state. "We will go over the second scene of Act One, but there will be no further vocal instruction. Before you leave to retire to your chamber for the evening, I will give you additional pages to memorize."
Christine looked at him once more as he returned to his opus, then moved away and down the stairs.
She found all she needed and ladled into a bowl a thick vegetable stew containing bits of shredded meat. She glanced across the lair to the dais and the organ. He had not moved from the bench, now and then scratching notes on his pages.
She took a seat at the table, all the while staring at him as she ate.
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xXx
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The second and third days went much like the first, following the same pattern. The Phantom taught her his opera and scolded her inefficiencies, offering meager praise. Christine learned her role and challenged his libretto, often giving her opinion where it was unwanted.
On the fourth morning she stopped just inside the entrance to his lair in astonished shock.
Jacques sat at the base of the organ, his head and hand pressed to the polished wood, while the Phantom played a lilting melody. Christine quietly approached, watching the two, convinced of her theory of their relationship when she witnessed the Phantom turn his head to look down at the boy, a tender smile curling the edge of his lips.
She inhaled a stunned breath at the sight, a hint of the familiar causing her heart to quicken.
Sensing her entrance, the Phantom looked from the boy and toward her, and for a second time Christine felt a rush of unsteadiness. A warmth she had never witnessed glowed in his eyes, his countenance relaxed and transformed into … an Angel wearing a mask…
Disconcerted at the irrational workings of her mind, she quickly looked from him and to the boy. Jacques smiled up at her in enthused greeting, bringing a faint smile to her own lips.
"He enjoys the music."
The Phantom's low, smooth voice made her jump and she looked at him in confusion.
"But - I thought he couldn't hear?"
"He hears the melody in a manner that all should experience but few come to comprehend. He feels the music within him."
Christine nodded softly in complete accord. A strange connection seemed to link her to the Phantom as they stared at one another. Fragile with the knowledge of a shared understanding, without malice. Absent of the usual tension and curtness…
"As do you," he added quietly putting her thoughts into words.
"Yes," she whispered.
"As do I."
Even if she could speak, she felt unable to frame an answer.
Jacques stood and approached, taking her hand and moving with her so that she would come the few steps forward. Grateful for the interruption but nervous to draw closer to the man seated at the bench, she shook her head.
"What is it?" she asked slowly, hoping the lad would understand.
He persisted then pressed her hand to the polished black wood and looked at the Phantom expectantly.
"He wants you to feel what he does," he said quietly though explanations were no longer necessary.
Christine gave a little nod as the boy then pressed his hand beside hers. She lifted her eyes, slowly bringing them back to the Phantom. His eyes held hers as he began to play, a softer piece this time, one that cosseted her ears and wrapped around her heart even as the vibrations of his music pulsed beneath her skin and traveled throughout her body, making her blood sing.
Dear God, this was just like…
Jolene suddenly appeared in the entrance to his bedchamber, scattering Christine's far-reaching, dazed thoughts that brought her back to another time and dousing chill reality into her tingling senses. She snatched her hand away from the wood and took a step back. The Phantom stopped playing and swung his head to see what she did.
"Pardon the intrusion, Maestro," the girl said somewhat nervously and moved down the stairs. "I came to get Jacques."
"Of course." He gave her a slight nod and smile.
The girl moved past and took Jacques's hand. "I am sorry I did not arrive earlier. I know that you wish to practice with Mademoiselle Daaé. I hope he was no bother -"
He lifted a calm hand to stop her anxious words. "All is well, Jolene. Do not let it trouble you. It is always gratifying to have a captive audience that offers no criticism."
He looked back to his score. Jolene stared at him a little longer then also turned away - but not before Christine saw the transparent adoration in the girl's blue eyes that she had for her master. Faced with the proof of what she had long assumed true, Christine nonetheless felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her.
Jolene loved the Phantom.
Was he aware?
Did he have feelings for the girl?
He suddenly looked at Christine and caught her studying him, a frown on her face.
His own rare expression of ease vanished and his eyes narrowed. "There is a problem, mademoiselle?"
"Of course not," she said a little too quickly, now ill at ease to be near him, upset by what she'd learned. It was no business of hers what involvement the two shared, though especially after her traumatic experience, she despised seeing any girl used as a floozy, for whatever reason. Never mind that Jolene did not seem to take offense to the arrangement. The girl regarded the man as a savior and protector. In all likelihood her immeasurable gratitude would compel her to give him whatever he asked. Her servitude, her loyalty, her body…
"I am ready to proceed with the lesson, monsieur," she announced somewhat frostily ignoring the heat that singed her face. "The sooner, the better."
"Then by all means, let us begin."
The lesson commenced, the tension not decreasing as the day's training progressed. As always, he stopped twice for meals and, as always, did not join her. She wondered if he ever did eat, feeling desperately grateful and oddly slighted that he never once stated that he would dine with her or even asked if he might.
At the end of the day, he handed her the usual pages he had copied and quietly ordered her to memorize them. "This is the last of it," he told her and she gave a brief nod, taking the papers and swiftly moving away toward the corridor that led to her bedchamber.
Before she left his lair, some force inside compelled her to look over her shoulder.
The Phantom stood with his back to her, his head hanging low. At his clear dejection, Christine battled the unexpected urge to return to his side, staring at him for several uncertain heartbeats before at last hurrying away to the safety of her empty chamber.
No longer fearing him …
But suddenly terrified of what she might say or do if she remained in his presence.
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xXx