"Thank you again for seeing me unannounced and at such a late hour," Nadir says, placing three sugar cubes on saucer of his delicate white teacup hand-painted with pink roses.

"You have a sweet tooth, M. Khan," Adele comments, pouring him another cup from the matching teapot.

"I do," he chuckles. "One of few bad habits, at least I hope they are few. Over the years I have found limiting pleasures makes those I do indulge in that much more pleasurable. So sugar cubes and opera bring me my bliss." Reaching into his fishnet bag, he removes a small paper bag and deposits it on the small table. "A gift to replace what I have used of your supply, plus a bit more as a thank you gift."

"You have already been quite generous, providing my daughter's and my dinner and breakfast," she says, taking one cube for her own cup of tea.

"I know that Mlle. Meg bought some chocolates, but I myself thought a pastry might also suit your fancy." At which point, he retrieves another bag with an assortment of macarons.

Looking over her shoulder at the curtained doorway behind her, lowering her voice, she says, "I shall be direct, Monsieur: are you interested in becoming Meg's patron?"

The comment is so unexpected, he swallows hard, almost choking on his treat. A deep red flush reaches from beneath his beard, rising on his cheeks to the edge of his Astrakhan hat. "No, no. Madame, you completely misunderstand. Not that the young mademoiselle is not quite gifted and lovely. I apologize, most sincerely."

"Then what is it you want? You are certainly not interested in courting me," she says. "I have seen you about the Garnier – both in the audience and backstage – guiding some construction. Since I am no longer employed, anything to do with the business of the theater is something I cannot help you with."

"Which is exactly why I am here, if we could perhaps start over." Reaching into his pocket, he hands her a card. "I am contracted to make repairs to the theatre having occurred during the Don Juan Triumphant opera and, as such, happened to run into M. Andre after seeing your daughter at the green grocer."

"Harrumph, saved the man's posterior…er, position on numerable occasions – neither of the two men who call themselves managers know a stitch about managing themselves, much less an opera company."

"Indeed?"

"Were it not for the Opera Ghost, the place would have been bankrupt five minutes after they took over. The state only cares that these managers have money – no concern for art or music or how to control he performers."

"I might mention the Vicomte was with him."

Adele rolls her eyes. "Another connoisseur. Foolish fop. Became infatuated with a young singer and then proceeded to create all sorts of problems. The entire hoopla would never have happened without his interference."

"Why did you not stop him?"

Adele sighs, toying with her napkin. "Cowardice. The fear had been drummed up to such a level over several months, everyone was always on edge. I was afraid for myself since I was the contact between the Phantom and the managers. The assumption being I was party to the mishaps and pranks. Once the mayhem began, I feared for my own life."

"I was there, in the audience, and can certainly understand your fear."

"The Vicomte assured me I would not lose my position…nor Meg lose her role in the ballet."

"But?"

"M. Andre said he could not afford the idea of someone who assisted in terrorizing the company continue in their employ."

"Well, M. Andre will be contacting you tomorrow to offer you…and Meg…your jobs back," Nadir says, stroking his beard. "Thus, my late call."

"How, why?"

"The young singer…Mlle. Daae. He wishes for her to return."

Adele shakes her head. "I am confused. Christine went off with the Vicomte."

"And, left him. She is now residing in an old dressing room at the theater."

Adele's already pale skin blanches.

"Erik with her. I just met with them and we need your help."

"Erik?"

"Is that not how you know him?"

After a moment of taking his measure, she says, "Yes and no. For years I did not know him as a person – just an act…a novelty at a fair – one of the human oddities born deformed carnival owners put on display for people to mock. Then years later, he showed up here as an assistant to Garnier. It was then I learned his name was Erik. Later he became the Opera Ghost…or the Phantom as some came to call him."

"I doubt that is his real name – he quite likes referring to himself by different titles rather than a given name. One of them being Trap Door Lover."

"He certainly was that here." Chuckling, she leans back into her chair. "So you knew him in Persia?" she asks. "I often wondered what happened to him – so gifted. Of course, that is the manner of life. If not among those in power, your life is really worth nothing more than what you can provide in the immediate moment. When I heard he escaped, I was relieved. Such gifts should not be abused. Artists deal with enough disdain by the ignorant."

"Dancers?"

"Dancers, singers, musicians." The thin shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. "When Erik came to the Opera House, I recalled myself to him. I had given them extra money to play a Vivaldi piece for me the time I saw him at the fair. In exchange for that early meeting, he began giving me money to run errands for him and a little more so Meg could escape the eyes of the patrons. When Christine joined us, he paid for her protection as well."

"The Vicomte was her patron, no?"

Adele shakes her head. "A friend from childhood as it turned out."

"I see. Well, it appears the friendship is over."

"So they want her back? How does she feel about that?"

"Excited."

"And Erik?"

"Unsure – he suggested I speak with you."

"Maman," Meg says, pushing the curtain aside, rubbing her eyes. "Who are you talking to? Oh, M. Khan." Pulling her robe more closely around her as she fully enters the room.

"It seems Mr. Khan is an old friend of Erik's."

Meg's dark eyes shift back and forth between her mother and the Persian, neither of whom give any indication of what being an old friend of Erik's might mean in the present time. "Is that so?"

"He came to tell me…us that Erik is with Christine at the opera house."

Meg's eyes widen. "How?"

"She ran away it would seem."

"Why?"

"You would have to ask her, but from what I understand she wishes to be with Erik."

"And Erik?" Meg asks, picking up one of the macarons.

"The same."

Turning to her mother, Meg asks, "What about our plans?"

"M. Andre will be offering us our jobs back," Adele tells her. "I believe I need to talk to Erik before any decisions can be made one way or the other."

"Does she want to come back here with us?" Meg asks.

"No – she does not wish to impose on your hospitality."

"I still do not understand why she left Raoul. He is incredibly wealthy and would give her anything she wanted."

"Except her freedom – to sing and be with the man she loves."

"Seems as though she might have thought of those things before bringing the house down."

"Meg!"

"Well, it is true. Christine is my friend, but all this back and forth between her angel and her friend from childhood. Erik was lucky to escape. Christine as well – I was there when the mob raided Erik's house and they were out for blood, not caring whose it might be."

"Well, I know for a fact, she was not aware Erik was still alive when she left Raoul," Adele says.

Nadir raises an eyebrow.

"If he thought she was going to return to him, he would not have faked his death…made plans to leave Paris."

"With you…and Meg?" he asks, nodding his head toward the girl.

Nodding, Adele says, "There was nothing for any of us here any longer."

"And now?"

"Now, I suppose we have to reassess all our situations."

"Well, I think people believing Erik to be dead is a good thing," Meg says. "Maybe people will just let him be."

"Except for the Vicomte," Adele says. "I cannot imagine he is pleased with Christine leaving him – Erik or no Erik. Which brings us back to the question? Where is Christine going to live? Where is Erik going to live for that matter?"

"My thought was this – there is an available apartment on the floor above mine," Nadir says. "The three of you could live there and Erik would move in with me."

"And you live where?"

"Rue de Rivoli."

Meg's eyes widen. "We can hardly afford this flat."

"So you do want to be Meg's patron?"

"Maman!"

"Not in that sense," Nadir says. "All three of you women will be working and pay a share towards the rent. Erik and I will make up the difference so you are not spending all your money on housing."

"Those foolish managers would believe the patron story."

"I do not want anyone thinking I have a patron," Meg says. "I do not need a rich man in order to dance."

"What if they believed I was Christine's patron?"

"Ah, I see," Adele's thin lips break into a smile. "Did you discuss this with them – Erik and Christine?"

"They are both wary but wanted to know how both of you felt."

"Another prank?" Meg says. "At least no one will be terrified."

"I can find nothing suitable to wear here," Christine says sorting through the gowns hanging on a rack covering the far wall in the wardrobe room. A cacophony of colors, unending ruffles, voile and taffeta hang next to rougher fabrics impersonating richer silks and satins all, however, constructed with the same care and attention to detail.

These fanciful costumes for both men and women surround a single rack of uniforms made from cotton duck or wool dyed in a varying shades of brown to navy blue and black. "Everything is so…well, as if it belongs in an opera. I should look foolish wearing any of these on the street."

"I agree," Erik sighs, examining a Hussar's uniform, with less braiding than some of the other jackets in front of him. Discarding the trousers, he drapes the jacket over his arm. "While my wig and hat are serviceable, the garments I borrowed from a few workmen are more suitable than what I see here." Taking one last look around the storeroom, he says, "At least we were able to find some blankets and another bedroll, so the journey was not a complete loss."

"Do you suppose everything in your house was destroyed – all your clothing?"

Erik shrugs.

The sounds upset him the most – furniture being thrown, broken to pieces. Crystal shattering. The worst being the cry of his organ dying – the only way he could describe what he knew to be the result of people gone mad. What might have happened to him had they found him. Grateful they left the chair after a few unsuccessful attempts to dislodge the heavy mahogany. Fortunately, the base was built into the floor…his hiding place undiscovered.

"I have not ventured down there – for fear of what I might find and what I might not."

"Were you planning to go back?"

"Yes, once the world believed me dead…for the reason you mention and others."

"May I ask what others?"

"Hidden treasure," he manages a smile.

"Really? Treasure?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Well, then, we must go there now," she says, turning away from an assortment of tutus.

"What about your chocolates?"

Pressing her lips into a moue she says, "Can we not stop in the manager's office first?"

Erik laughs. "Are you not tired? You suggested you wanted to bathe and then rest."

"I have done little more than rest for several days. Raoul and his sisters did nothing all day – yet the servants were busy, busy, busy," she says, "discovering you were alive, being with you, I am excited for anything we can do together."

Joining her at the women's racks, he fingers through the gowns before removing the pageboy costume from Il Muto. "Here, take this, the pants will make it easier for you to move about." Handing her the Hussar jacket, he says, "You can use this jacket, it was the smallest one I could find, so unlikely to fit very well. I cannot say you will look fashionable, but you will be comfortable and warm. We can drop off our finds and the papers I wish to find in the managers' office…"

Taking the garments chosen for her, she says, "And my treats."

"And your treats, afterward we can visit the cellars of this place once again."