A/N: Thanks for the reviews of the last chapter – they were much appreciated! Glad you guys are enjoying this. :)

And now…


VI

The days trickled past, an unending monotony, until one full week had gone by since the night of the unconventional ball, marking Christine's sojourn at Montmarte as over one month.

The lessons, though not excessively grueling, were endlessly tiresome. Raoul did not seem to understand that Christine possessed no desire to handle his wretched arsenal of weapons. With each session, he unrolled the incredibly long leather casing, insisting she take the time to learn the use of each blade, stake, and spike - and, as he put it, cast aside later whatever was not to her liking. Had it truly been up to Christine, she would have dumped the whole leather roll into the drink without a backward glance.

For the most part, the training was an act of tedium, but she did appreciate what skills her cousin taught that did not require the brutal weaponry – skills she felt she could actually use should the need present itself. For that reason alone, she continued to meet with him in the locked parlor each afternoon after luncheon.

True to his word, early on the evening of the first day, Raoul gave Christine her first riding lesson. He never let her wander from the stable area, only allowing the horse to walk with her in a slow, wide circle. But he promised her by week's end that if she caught on well, he would extend her lesson to a walk along the grounds in the week following.

Not only did she establish herself as a decent horsewoman, she excelled, earning his cheerful praise. She felt an affinity with the gray gelding chosen for her, though not so much for the sidesaddle she was expected to use. It was rather awkward to sit sideways and hook her leg around a pommel, as befitting a lady. She wished for the split skirt she had once glimpsed in the Opera House costume department, so that she could ride with more freedom as Raoul did.

Awkward or not, she would do what she must, learn what she must, so as to escape what had begun to feel to her a prison. She would find her way home, to Paris…

On the day of the promised outing, Raoul presented her with a different horse – this one pure white. Christine looked at the lovely beast in confusion.

"This mare is also gentle, but with more spirit, not to mention it is more suitable to complement your lovely presence," he explained with his streak of boyish charm.

Christine laughed at that. "Whatever does a horse's appearance matter? I like the grey."

So saying, she offered the gelding a bit of sugar she had filched from the kitchen and affectionately patted its nose and splotched muzzle. Indeed, much of his face was covered by that uneven black splotch.

"But you would look so fine riding this one," Raoul argued, his voice almost a whine.

Christine shook her head. "Raoul, enough. Mist and I have an understanding…"

"Mist?"

Her face grew warm in slight embarrassment. "I didn't think anyone would mind if I named him, since the earl never bothered." Raoul only ever referred to the beasts as "the white", "the grey", and "the black" - what he rode. "The color of his coat reminds me of grey mist at twilight…" Christine added in reflection.

The black splotch over its face reminding her of a mask, though she did not voice those words.

She had not seen or heard from the Count since the ball ten days ago, and while she supposed that wasn't all that remarkable (there had been no arrangements made between them), she had hoped he might come to call, since introductions had at last been exchanged. A foolish wish, given that he never once deigned to leave his castle for a social gathering in the two years he had lived in the region … not until he had come to Montmarte. What incentive had brought him to dispense with his solitude, she strongly wished to know, and if perhaps she might have been the cause.

Yet again she questioned the salacious dream that played on a repetitious cycle within the darkest corner of her mind, still not wholly convinced it had all been her imagining…she remembered too the mirror on her wall, the hazy glimpse of her inside the ancient glass, the absence of her seducer where his form should have been...

It had to have been a dream.

Unless her mind had been playing tricks on her again...

"You are certain you don't wish for a better horse?" Raoul persuaded once more, "You have earned it."

"I am satisfied with Mist." Christine's smile was determined. "He has been with me from the beginning, and I feel more familiar with him."

Thankfully, Raoul gave no further argument. Once their horses were both saddled and mounted, he led the way out of the stable with Christine following, the steady clopping of hooves against the stretch of hard earth peaceful, coming at an easy pace.

The skies above were a murky ash-gray, the clouds few, boding no rain, and the fresh scent of evergreen laced the chill air. They took the trail along the perimeter of forest that bordered the earl's estate. Christine found her gaze turning aside to scan and linger amid the lofty trees of fir. She told herself she looked for nothing in particular, though at every fleeting shadow and glimpse of black, her heart quickened.

"What lies within the forest?" she wondered aloud as they passed a narrow dirt path that led into the dense wood.

Raoul frowned. "Why do you wish to know?"

"Curiosity, I suppose?" Christine shook her head. "It was a rhetorical question. I don't really need to know."

"There is nothing but an old rundown castle. It wouldn't interest you."

"Oh, I don't know. It might be intriguing. Does anyone live there?"

"The forest is too dangerous," he insisted, a slight edge to his voice, "the castle too far. Would you like to visit the sea instead?"

The Count had also warned against perils to be found within the forest at night, though hours of protective daylight still remained. Yet glancing over at Raoul's rigid jaw set like stone, she inwardly sighed and surrendered the idea of suggesting an exploration of its woodland paths.

She had no doubt to whom the castle belonged, the likelihood of more than one such edifice existing in this small region remote. And she certainly had no intention of seeking out its master. Still, she had never actually seen a castle, save for the glimpse of one in a painting at the opera house, and would not have minded viewing its turrets from a distance.

They soon approached a cliff that overlooked a vast body of water which glistened darkly in the muted light of the overcast day. Dismal and foreboding, the sight of the brackish green waves crashing against the jagged rocks beneath sent a chill down Christine's spine that had nothing to do with the frigid wind blowing against her face.

"Nothing like the sea at Perros-Guirec, is it? Should your scarf blow into those waters I would be hard-pressed to dive in and retrieve it."

"I would be hard-pressed to ask you to," Christine muttered her agreement.

Rather than retrace their path to the manor, he led her further down the cliff's side and toward a fringe of forest that edged what appeared at a distance to be a clearing. As they drew closer she could see that here the wild grasses had been trodden down flat in places by the wheels of some conveyance. But it wasn't the appearance of former habitation that caused her insides to begin to churn. It was the rust color that stained numerous fronds of the grass.

Raoul slid off his saddle but Christine did not budge.

"Raoul, what is this?" she said grimly, though her mind whispered the answer she had no wish to know.

"A small band of gypsies camped here three months ago," he said with his back to her, studying the area.

"On the earl's land? I'm surprised he would allow it."

"We are no longer on his land. The fork in the path took us away from it."

"No longer on…" her words trailed away, her somber gaze going to the hideous reddish-brown that cloaked much of the greenery. "Raoul, why did you bring me to this place?"

"They were all killed, not a one of their band left. Six men. It is purported that a wild beast attacked in the night."

He had no need to say the words; she had already pieced much of that truth together.

"I want to leave, Raoul."

"We won't stay long. I just want to scout the area to see if anything was missed…"

"I want to leave now, Raoul."

"Christine, we will. Soon. I just -"

She turned the horse around, lightly kicking her booted heel against its side while flicking the reins to encourage Mist into action.

"Christine!"

Paying him no heed, she departed the foul place of death as quickly as she felt able, still such a novice to the skill of riding. She wished she could push the gelding from its present trot into a wild gallop and flee the dismal site with all haste.

He continued to call after her, to return. She continued to ignore him.

How dare he bring her to the grisly scene of such a violent crime without first telling her of his appalling plan to do so! But of course, that was his motive. He knew she would never have agreed to come see this, so he had tricked her, likely hoping to encourage her belief in his dark and gruesome tale of preternatural beings that stalked the night.

At last she reached the path that ran alongside the forest and led to the manor. From the corner of her eye she glimpsed a shadow dart within the trees, but before she could turn her head fully to see, the gentle horse beneath her tossed its mane and let out a whinny of clear agitation.

"Mist, what's wrong?" Christine pulled slightly on the reins, as Raoul had taught, attempting to slow the horse to a mild walk.

Mist shook his head harder, letting out another harsh whinny while trying to fight the bit, then abruptly broke into a wild run.

"Mist- stop! NO! What are you doing?!"

The surroundings sped past in a blur of gray and black and green while Christine desperately struggled to hold her seat, the frantic pace the spooked horse set jarring to her bones. She actually feared she might break inside and lose all her teeth from the violent rattling they took.

To her panicked horror, the saddle suddenly disappeared from beneath her skirts. She felt the icy surge of air surround her in the moment before her body slammed hard against the unforgiving ground and the breath was knocked from her lungs…

Her mind swirled in a thick haze. She came to slowly, her eyelids weighted and refusing to open. She struggled to think, to question what happened, but could only let out a low whimper. Her body lay splayed upon the dirt and what must be sharp bits of bark or pebbles, perhaps even thorns. If not for her thick clothing, she would be pierced to the skin. Even so, she thrummed with bruising pain from head to foot. In such a battered state, she should feel no inkling of safety…

Yet the strong arm that lifted her beneath her neck, the large hand that clasped the round of her shoulder filled her with a strange melting relief. She wished to sink into the bearer's hold and never resurface. The icy touch of fingertips that so tenderly brushed her cheek alleviated the fiery sting of a scrape there.

Christine…Christine...

She heard the silken command not with her ears, the concerned whisper of her name instead filtering like mist through her dazed mind that once more began to succumb to darkness. She wished to respond, to prolong the sensation of being held by arms not yet familiar but recognizable to her soul…

"Christine!"

Raoul's harsh cry brought her to full awareness. She heard the thud of boots hit the ground then race toward her. A second time she felt arms lift her shoulders, desperate and not as gentle as before.

"Are you badly hurt? What happened?"

"Raoul…?" she whispered in confusion, gradually opening her eyes. "But…were you not already here?" Even as she said the words, she knew them to be false. She could not recall all of what happened, not entirely, but the arms that earlier held her with such strength tempered with such gentleness had not been her cousin's. Of that she was certain.

"You must have hit your head when you fell and imagined I was with you. I'm sorry to say I only just arrived. Can you sit up? Most peculiar – the grey taking off in frenzy like that. He's never behaved in such a manner - has always been so placid, could have been a pony for a child. Are you certain you're alright? Have you any idea what spooked him so?"

With his aid, Christine sat up, pressing a hand to her forehead. Raoul's words were plentiful and terse, and she sensed his odd rambling came out of his concern for her.

"A snake in the grass perhaps?" she suggested groggily.

"In this cold? Not likely. They burrow for warmth."

Christine shook her head, not truly caring what the dreadful reptiles did, wishing only to return to the manor and find her own comfort and warmth.

"Can you stand?" Raoul clasped her arm.

"Yes, I think so."

She ached all over, was certainly bruised but didn't feel broken. Ten years of training in her strict instructor's classes had conditioned her to endure many a fall.

With his help, she rose unsteadily to her feet, holding to his arm a moment to regain her balance. Wrinkling her nose at her frightful appearance, she did her best to whisk away the soil and crushed leaves that clung to her hair, bodice and skirts. Raoul, being the gentleman he was, averted his attention to his horse, bringing it around to where Christine stood.

"I will return you to the manor then fetch the stable boy to go in search of the grey," he said. "You will need to ride with me, Lotte."

Christine nodded, having already arrived to that conclusion. She wished to leave this place without delay. But once Raoul lifted her into the saddle she could not resist a furtive glance back into the forest, in an attempt to see past its dense branches. All the while she wondered if she really had imagined his presence earlier...

Just as she imagined it now.

She could not shake the feeling of being watched – but that seemed foolish. Surely if the masked Count was truly there, he would not have disappeared from her side so secretively and without explanation…for what cause would he leave? They did not part on ill terms; he had no reason to be lurking in the shadows, spying…

Troubled but determined not to dwell on what held no explanation, Christine set her sights on the darkening road before them. A sharp burst of wind came out of nowhere and whipped her long, tousled hair into her face. She shivered.

A storm was coming.

xXx

The next afternoon Christine was summoned to the earl's study.

Her hip and shoulder were badly bruised and her head still ached, though the injuries weren't severe, certainly nothing she couldn't manage. Cold compresses, rest, and tea steeped with mint leaves and served with honey had achieved wonders. Though, even if she was lying in a sickbed and mortally wounded, she presumed the earl would demand her presence if he so willed it.

He sat at his desk, busy at work, writing what appeared to be a letter. Christine hesitated then entered the room, waiting for him to acknowledge her presence.

Gritting her teeth, she waited…and waited.

He demanded promptness; she condescended to his demand, only to have him completely ignore her? No doubt in an absurd display of power, to remind her what control he held over her as her guardian.

Annoyed by such peevishness, she opened her mouth to question his reason for summoning her at the same time he laid down his quill and looked up.

"A messenger from Lord Lomax arrived this morning. Lord Lomax has requested your company on Friday afternoon. I have written a reply agreeing to his request."

At Montmarte five and a half weeks, and Christine still could not believe his gall.

"As long as you have accepted on my behalf, perhaps you should also meet with him in my place."

His eyes narrowed in warning at her calm and clipped reply.

"I need none of your impertinence, Miss. You will present yourself downstairs upon his arrival at three o'clock Friday afternoon."

She did not bother to voice an argument, knowing it was futile. If she refused, likely he would only lock her in her bedchamber and send a servant to escort her at the appointed time. He had threatened to do so before. That thought spurred another. She recalled how one of the chorus shared with the other dancers the trick of ridding themselves of an unwanted admirer and causing a total loss of interest – to behave the opposite of all he preferred in a woman.

With little time to prepare for battle, scarcely a day, she must find and question Daisy. The young maid had proved to know information about the Count cel Tradat, never mind that Christine had already learned most of it. Perhaps she would know something about Lord Lomax as well…

Christine straightened her shoulders and gave her answer.

"As you wish."

The earl's brows lifted in mild surprise. "I am pleased to see that you've accepted your fate."

"You told me I have little choice." She attempted to sound as meek as possible.

"Yes, that's true…" He continued to regard her with some suspicion then abruptly nodded. "That is all. You may go."

As relieved as she was to leave the dim confines of his stuffy library, a tenacious desire to know more niggled at her and she couldn't prevent a question. She turned at the door.

"May I ask, have any of your other guests made inquiries?"

The moment she released the betraying words into the air, she wished she could call them back.

He shifted in his chair and regarded her with fingers steepled beneath his double chins. "Is there anyone in particular to whom you refer?"

"No, I only wondered."

"The Count cel Tradat, perhaps?"

She felt the burn of embarrassment scorch her face and wished a second time that she'd kept her silence.

"I see that I'm correct." He snorted in laughter. "You appeared to enjoy each other's company at the dance. His holdings are beyond reproach, I would not be averse to such a union. You see, I can be amenable. Would you like me to issue an invitation so that I might speak with him and discern his level of interest?"

Heavens, no! What had she done?

"Please - forget I said anything." She backed a step away, her hand on the knob. "I wasn't really that curious, and certainly not about him. I just…I only wondered."

By his pensive expression at her sudden agitation, Christine doubted he would respect her wishes. She quickly left the room and closed the door before she made matters worse.

Perhaps he would forget…

She hoped he would forget.

xXx

Why could she not remember…?

Christine sat in the parlor and stared out the window at the deepening shadows that swept across the lawn.

The time she had returned to her room on the night of the ball up until the following morning when she woke in her bed still remained a haze of troubled confusion. Had the masked Count –

Erik

It came to her as sudden as a piercing wind, blowing a fraction of the cobwebs from her mind – that was the name he had given. The name he had told her to call him by! Surely lurid dreams did not conjure something so rational as a name? Her heart pounded at her next thought: Had he actually done something so scandalous as to visit her bedchamber and work his seduction on her with his dark velvet voice, his chill touch...and lips that burned?

She closed her eyes against the stirring memory.

Surely not...

But had he?

If that was true, why then did he now keep his distance? And if it was only a dream, his lack of contact still made no sense. She had thought, after their dance, that he might appear the following day, at least give some explanation for his sudden departure at the ball…

Almost two weeks, and she'd heard nothing.

Christine struggled to evade all the internal pesky questions for which she had no answers, initiating bright conversation with Raoul at dinner and later throwing herself into a book she'd found in the library, one not very intriguing but it helped to pass the time…

Pass the time into what? She certainly had no wish for tomorrow afternoon to arrive.

Reminded of her undesirable task, she grimaced. Slamming the book shut, she set it on the table. Upstairs, she found Daisy turning down Lucy's bed for the night and questioned her about the disgusting Lord Lomax, grateful the little maid was such a wealth of information about the locals. At last, armed with what she needed to deflect the old man's interest, Christine moved to return downstairs, when a blur of motion outside a window on the second landing caught her attention. She moved closer to the pane to see.

Through the glass, she saw a woman with fair hair and wearing a long white nightdress dart across the lawn.

Lucy…?

Startled at the sight, especially now that dusk had fallen, she pressed her brow to the glass to see better, noting the hazy apparition was headed for the maze.

Hesitant with what she should do, Christine continued downstairs.

Clearly Lucy wasn't in her right mind, in all likelihood again immersed in her fantastical world of invisible beings, and could easily get lost within the labyrinth – how well Christine knew the danger of that!

Making a decision, she grabbed her cloak from the hat tree near the door and slipped the heavy garment around her shoulders. Prodded by the recollection of what her initial visit to the labyrinth entailed, she made a quick detour to the parlor and picked up the knitting bag of her late great aunt, there finding what she had hoped to use. She selected one bright ball of yarn and slipped it into her cloak, picking up another she kept in her hand.

Raoul had gone into the village, and the earl had retired to his rooms for the night, not that she would seek his questionable help unless absolutely necessary. It was up to Christine alone to protect Lucy –

And find out what the devil was going on.

xXx


A/N: - yes, I know - bad me - only a glimpse of Erik. Rest assured, there will soon come a time in this tale when the chapters will be saturated with his presence... muahahaha. ;-)