"No word?" Raoul follows close on the heels of Madame Giry as she walks from the stage back to her office.

The elegant woman stops short, causing the young Vicomte to trip on the ruby colored carpet, forcing him to press a hand against the wall covered in a golden stripe patterned wallpaper. Stepping back to avoid his grasp, she watches as he falls to one knee. "Why are you here?"

"I need to know where Christine is," he replies as he gets back onto his feet, dusting himself off and straightening his clothes.

"Why do believe I might have this information?"

"Because you know everything that goes on here," he says. "Besides, as I have learned from my inquiries, she lives with you. Do you not care about your charge's whereabouts?"

"What I know and what I care about are none of your business," she responds. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have duties to attend to." Turning away from him once more she proceeds to her office.

"Madame! I am sorry," he calls after her. "Please. I am worried sick."

"M. Vicomte, as you say I know Christine well," she says. "And in the time I have known her, she has never spoken of you. This begs the question of your demands about her whereabouts and the depth of your concern."

"We knew each other as children," he says, blue eyes pleading. "I was overjoyed to have found her again."

"That does not give you ownership over her," Madame Giry says, pressing both hands on her staff. "or any right to information about her."

"You are correct. I just hate the idea of losing her again…we were just children, but we loved each other."

"Yes, well, when she returns and if she is interested in seeing you again, I am certain she will let you know," the former ballerina says. "Now, I must go." With those words she enters her office closing the door firmly behind her.

"That was quite a sortie," Nadir says, causing Adele to start.

"How did you get in here?" she asks, her eyes going to the keys on her chatelaine.

"The door was open," he replies. "I did knock first."

Quirking an eyebrow, she replies, "I always lock the door." Walking around the desk to her chair, she sits down and nods for him to take a seat.

"Then I suppose I must have used a bit of magic, I could have sworn the knob turned easily when I put pressure to it."

"I am aware you work with the magistrate on occasion, M. Khan," she says. "Lock picking is second nature for police and criminals alike. I am going to assume you are the former since you awaited my return and I do not see the room being disturbed in any way."

"Thank you for your trust."

"What do you want?" she asks, then waves away her question. "Christine. 'Where is Christine?' seems to be the question of the day."

"I wonder that you are not curious."

"I do not know where she is."

"But you know who she is with," Nadir says, his tone hard. "She has been gone for a week now. Does that not concern you? The look on the Vicomte's face suggests you do not."

"What is your interest? Why do you care? Girls go off with their patrons all the time," Adele says. "Many of them ask to be connected with a wealthy sponsor. Sometime that is their only way out of poverty…if only for a short time. A week is nothing."

The Persian bounces to his feet. "You arranged this?"

"Oh, sit down," she scoffs. "I arranged nothing. Christine is close to the age where she needs no guardian's approval for marriage. She is certainly old enough to choose her companions. Why are you so concerned?"

Sitting back down, he rests his elbows on his knees, shaking his head. "You cannot understand."

"Understand what? That our illusive Phantom is a man with a disfigured face? Too ugly to be found attractive by a young woman in a normal way so he must abscond with them?" Adele rises and moves to the armoire where she has a hotplate set up with a tea kettle. Pouring water into the vessel, she turns to him. "Tea?"

"Yes, I suppose tea would be good."

Preparing the teapot, she goes on to set up a tray with cups and saucers, a bowl of sugar cubes, a creamer and a plate of meringues and walnut cookies. When the kettle whistles, she pours the boiling water into the teapot, the covers it with a cozy.

"Let me help you," Nadir says, coming up behind her, taking the tray, carrying it to the small coffee table set in front of the chaise where he has been sitting. Pulling the guest chair from her desk, he sets it across from the sofa, indicating she take his seat while he uses the wooden chair. "So. Inform me why I should not be concerned."

"You seem to know him, you tell me why I should."

"Very well. My time with him goes back perhaps fifteen years, in Persia."

"You arrested him there? For crimes?"

"Actually, no. I kidnapped him in a way…word reached us of a clever musician who was also a skilled architect."

"Really? How fascinating."

Hearing the slight sneer in her voice, he goes on. "Word had it, he was adept with a tool called the Punjab lasso. A garrot, as it turned out. Quite a find. All this at only nineteen years of age."

"You want me to kill for you?" Erik laughed as the man in the Astrakhan hat made his plea.

"No. When did I say that?"

"You said your master wanted someone with my special skills," Erik replied, already turning away to rejoin the crowd that gathered to hear him play his magical violin.

"Your skills of music and architecture…"

"I seriously doubt a humble street musician's talent would be sufficient to rouse the interest of the ruler of a country such as Persia. The words of other men of power reaching him as to my skills as a bodyguard would more likely pique his interest. There have been times when I killed, but only to protect myself…or my keepers in some instances, the employers I just mentioned. Never for folly, which is what you seem to be saying. Assassin as court jester."

"My master wishes a new palace. He enjoys music."

"He is a bored man is what you are saying," was Erik's response. "I am certain he would also enjoy me frightening people with the face that lies beneath this mask. Would you care to see my face? I usually save that treat for the end of my performances."

"I have seen faces destroyed by disease and injury. I doubt yours would be any worse," the daroga responded. "My intention is merely to bring you back to Persia with me…to offer you employment with the Shah."

"So he trusted you and…was correct in what was expected of him by your, um, master?"

"I had no idea…"

"You worked for the man who employed him…and you. Certainly you had some idea of what he would be expected to do."

"I suppose I did. My own choices were limited. My child was left in Mazandaran. I had to return to him and my master was most insistent he meet this amazing man. If he was a freak of nature…all the better. It would make him that much more easy to manipulate. Once he was finished with him, no one would care."

"But you cared."

Nadir nods. "We developed a friendship of sorts – when he was building the palace. I was entrusted with guarding him, which often entailed his living in my home for weeks at a time. My son grew quite fond of him and the affection was returned."

"Is your son with you now?"

The Persian shakes his head. "The boy was very ill – had always been sickly. When he could no longer fight for his life…and he struggled mightily before that time…Erik helped end his suffering."

"If that is so, why are you so concerned about Christine?"

"If she responds to him unfavorably…"

"Then what?"

"His rage."

"You think he would harm her?"

"I do not know what he would do – his behavior can be erratic."

"He paid me to protect her so she would have no need to seek the patronage of the men who visit backstage."

"You have that power?"

A curt nod is her response.

"You secure positions for the dancers?"

"If they wish it…need it. Some of the dancers are contracted and receive a regular wage…albeit minimal, but steady. Then there are others who are not needed all the time. Much depends on their skills and the programs we are presenting."

"I had no idea."

"Our rehearsals are often showcases," she says. "If the choice is feeding the desires of a wealthy man for a period of time or the street…well…" A small shrug completes the thought.

"So Erik has been paying Christine's way, in a manner of speaking."

"She pays me a small sum for her room with us…Erik's money affords a better flat, more food, clothing for all of us – Christine, my daughter Meg and myself."

"Why all of you? I understand the girl – he is a man, no?"

"The same reason, I suspect, he cared for your son," Adele says.

"Family?"

The woman's smile is her answer.

"All of us lost souls?"

"You could say that," she laughs softly. "Even with my situation here, raising a child alone is difficult."

"Where did you meet?"

"Here."

"Was he practicing his pranks then?"

"Not at all," she replies. "He was one of the primary contractors – many of his ideas went into the building of the Palais."

"I do not understand."

"He designed the palace you spoke of, no?"

"Yes."

"Did you believe Charles Garnier did all this on his own?" She waves her arm in the air.

"Erik?" Nadir says, finally relaxing into his chair. "Of course, that makes sense. So he took ownership as the Phantom."

"That was not exactly how it happened, but, in a sense, I suppose you are correct."

"Fool," the resonant voice raged.

"Monsieur?"

"Who are you and why are you questioning me?" The tall man in the black cape whirled around to face her, his questions more commands than inquiries.

Encounters with someone challenging her seldom took her aback. Years of ballet masters insisting on repeated practices with little or no concern for the wellbeing of their troupes hardened her to the vagaries and idiosyncrasies of theater people – not to mention landlords and shopkeepers or just the odd man on the street in a foul mood. However, the combination of the mask, cape and overall presence of this person did find her at a loss for a salty comeback.

"Well?"

"I was looking for M. Reyer," she finally said, answering him simply with the truth without any sense she was interested in an argument. "I am to begin work here as the ballet mistress."

"But you are not a dancer," he said, waving a hand at her staff.

"No longer, I fear," she replied, nostrils flaring, but keeping her tongue cordial. "Since you seem to be so aware, you know that a ballerina's feet become deformed over time and simply walking is painful."

"Of course. Of course," he said, bowing low. "My sincere apologies. Deformities are tragic of any sort."

"Is that why you wear a mask?"

"Indeed. How astute of you to notice."

"One would have to be blind not to." Her sarcastic tone matching his. "Now that we have determined we share a disability, may I introduce myself?"

"You are Madame Adele Giry," he said. "There is little that escapes my knowledge."

"Are you M. Reyer?"

"Good lord, no." The deep throated laugh was immediately appealing, matching the melodious speaking voice.

It occurred to her he might be one of the singers in the company – in costume for a role. However, his demeanor suggested otherwise. A deformity would prohibit him playing most, if not all roles available in an opera. "Then who?"

"This is my opera house, although I gave Charles all the credit," he said, once again accompanied by the delicious laugh and a small bow. "Those who work here call me the Phantom. To those who know me under other circumstances call me Erik."

"Erik? No surname?"

"No." The humorous tone gone. "I am a citizen of the world. Surnames attach people to places and others in life they may wish to leave behind."

"Yes, I suppose I understand." Her mother gone years before. An unknown father. So many years a solitary person herself, until the birth of her daughter, the product of a short period of patronage.

"You had best be getting to your meeting. I should not like to be the cause of your dismissal before you have even begun to work, although I would be certain to rectify the situation should it become the case."

"Yes, thank you," she said moving back toward the hallway to the offices as directed by the guard who let her in.

"Good luck."

Stopping, she turned back. "Will I see you again?"

"If you like. Most here do not care for my presence."

"I see."

"Do you?"

"The Phantom of the Opera? I think I am beginning to understand."

"Good. I am happy to have met you, Madame Giry," he said. "Now I must be about my business."

"I as well," she said. "One more thing?"

"Yes?"

"Who is the fool?"

"Everyone here but you," he replied. "However, in this particular instance, the master of the flies. M. Joseph Buquet. Once again, the backdrops are in the wrong order for the performance and now I must adjust them."

"Why not just tell him?"

"My dear lady, that would take the fun out of things."

"As I reached M. Reyer's office, I heard a loud crash."

"The backdrop?"

Adele laughs. "The backdrop…followed by a number of voices shouting 'He's here, the Phantom of the Opera.'"

"So you always knew who he was?"

"Yes," she said. "Why he trusted me, perhaps because of my own disability…or that I was not frightened when I first saw him. I do not know for certain, but he did…and we became friends of sorts. In any event, I trust him."

"Yes, I understand perfectly," Nadir says. "Then I shall accept your feelings about the girl."

"Young woman," Adele replies. "Christine is naïve in some ways, but older than both of us in others."

"The Vicomte de Chagny is determined to rescue her."

"Yes, I understand that but, without my help, he can stew in his own juices as far as I am concerned," she says finishing her tea. "These patrons seem to think they own the entire place part and parcel, including the performers."

"He drinks."

"All the better for stewing," Adeles says, holding up the teapot. "More tea?"