"A package? For me?" I raised my eyebrows in surprise.

Madame Giry continued to smile knowingly at me, pushing the large flat box into my hands.

"It is from your sponsor." The matter-of-fact tone made me frown. The identity of my sponsor was still a secret to me, but the way Madame was looking at me made me feel I was missing something. That perhaps if I thought about it long enough I would be able to guess who he was.

Irritated, I turned away. Christine and Meg followed, pleading for me to open the box. Letting out a sigh, I decided there would be no harm in humoring them. I would tell them about it later anyway, if they did not watch me open it. Holding my breath, I lifted the lid. A glittering mass of black and white was revealed. My jaw dropped as I pulled a magnificent ball gown from the box. White beaded lace accented shimmering black taffeta, bedecked with black sequins that reflected light back at me as though a hundred stars were caught in the fabric. An elegantly decorated black half-mask with black and white feathers was included as well as a pair of satin gloves. My costume for the masque ball. I could hardly believe it. My sponsor, whom I had never met, had bought me an outfit for the ball!

Did this mean he would be there as well? Did he wish to meet me after all? Would he dance with me?

I had grown rather used to the idea of him being an anonymous guardian angel of sorts, but the thought of finally meeting him sent a score of butterflies loose in my stomach.

/

"I don't think I can do this, Meg," I said, adjusting my mask while staring at my reflection in the mirror.

"Don't fret. Lina! You look wonderfully mysterious!" she replied swatting my hand away. She readjusted my mask and tucked a few stray strands of my hair back into place.

I allowed her to fuss over me while re-examining myself. No, I still did not find my appearance acceptable. Or rather, I found my appearance too acceptable. I had pearls and rhinestones adorning my fashionable hairdo, the mask fit perfectly, and the black and white dress glittered when I moved. But although my neckline was not quite as low as Meg's it was close, and I felt that there was much too much skin revealed. The fact that my sponsor chose this dress especially for me made my skin crawl. Because it was an off-the-shoulder style and low cut across the back, the scar on my back would be visible though my arms would be covered. The short, fluttery, black sleeves, while sheer, were too dark to see the wretched scars beneath, but a few other scars were revealed. My eyes finally settled on the last piece of the ensemble, my favorite part. A pair of gloves, clean and white. I could not help but feel that it was somehow symbolic; my hands were pure, clean of the blood of Benoit.

"Just stay close to me and you'll be all right," Meg reassured me upon seeing the doubt in my eyes. I smiled at her.

It felt strange without Christine there with us. She would be arriving with Vicomte de Chagny, so had left early to meet him. I looked at Meg in her all-white dress.

"Well, then," I said slowly, "what are we waiting for."

/

The uplifting sounds of merriment reached our ears even before we entered the room where most of the guests were. Sweet sounds of singing drifted toward us, drawing me onward. I wished I could run, but I impatiently kept pace with Madame Giry and Meg who followed Piangi and Carlotta. Silently, I thanked my sponsor for inviting me to the more decorous party; backstage was alarmingly raucous.

But when we came into view of the guests…What a glorious sight! This particular masquerade had a theme of black and white, and while it might sound uninteresting, it was far from dull. The costumes were all magnificent; black and white mixed with gold, silver, and various shades of gray swirled about the marble floor; diamonds, stripes, polka dots, rosettes, and feathers, all sparkling, swishing, twirling; pastel colors, artfully added, provided the much needed pop of color. It was breathtaking.

Once I saw all those masks, I recalled that my sponsor was likely to be in the crowd. It was strange, but I wasn't as nervous as I had been just minutes before. Perhaps it was the mask. Even though my sponsor would be able to pick me out from among the throng (he had, after all, chosen my outfit), the mask was somehow a shield; a barrier that he would have to break past to see the true me. Of the five of us sauntering down the steps, I was the only one who did not have their mask on a stick. My mask was strapped to my face and I intended to leave it there.

Holding my head high as we descended the staircase, I passed statuesque men — painted gold, holding candelabras to better light our way — and decided I would not let my nerves get the best of me. They had done that far too much in recent days and I'd had enough. Besides, I had a Phantom to call on if I needed, though that was a tenuous plan. I was not sure he would come. I hated to admit it, but I was worried about him. I was worried that I had scared him off. There hadn't been a sign of him since our meeting on the stage. Many believed he vanished before that. Because many did not believe he murdered Benoit. They thought I did.

And even though Giselle had gotten a letter from the Phantom, and so knew he was real, she also believed that I was a killer. It was quite a marvelous set-up. She was terrified to be left alone with me for fear that I would do something awful to her, but she was also afraid every time one of her friends poked fun at me. I only needed to make her think the Phantom was listening to our conversation and she would go white as a sheet. 'Did you hear that? I thought I heard someone crying your name, Giselle. Nevermind, it's gone now. I must be hearing things.' I shamelessly enjoyed every minute of it.

My attention was drawn to the members of my party when they began to sing. Particularly, because they sang about how lucky we were to be free of the Phantom and his demands.

"And we can breathe at last!"

"No more notes!"

"No more ghosts!"

I tried not to let them bother me, but I felt rather offended on the Opera Ghost's behalf. This was a song I did not think I could join in singing. It felt…wrong. Although the man was obviously a murderer, I couldn't get over the fact one of those murders had been on my behalf.

"Three months!" sang Firmin.

"What a joy!"

"What a change!"

"What a blessed release!"

Behind my mask, I frowned. It did not feel like a release. It felt more like I had made a friend only to be abandoned by him. How stupid, I chided myself. The Phantom is not your friend. I pushed the uncomfortable emotions down, down, down into a place as secret as the Phantom's lair and allowed the granduer of the party to bring a smile back to my face.

At the bottom of the staircase, our group spilt up and I went with Meg. We commented on the costumes, the décor, and the guests, until I caught sight of Christine.

"There she is, Meg!"

As always, she looked stunning. However, she seemed to be the only one who missed the theme of the party. Her pale pink dress, while beautiful, easily stood out amidst the black and white and gold. I wondered if Raoul had chosen it, just as my sponsor had chosen mine, and whether he intentionally made Christine more noticeable. I would not have been surprised. Although they tried to meet in secrecy, I knew that they were talking more and more over the last few months and Christine would go all moon-eyed whenever she spoke of "Raoul." She said his name so commonly that I was beginning to pick it up. In recent days, I had to exercise restraint in familiarity, making sure to call him by his proper title.

I watched the two of them happily dancing with that uncomfortable mix of emotions in my gut. Bitterness, jealousy, joy, and regret vied for most prominent position within me, but guilt won out over all. How horrible to be so angry at a friend who had done nothing wrong! Christine, like many many other people, had found love. How could I be upset with her for that?

My emotional discomfort was blessedly distracted when a group of black-and-white clad guests filled the staircase and began a choreographed segment. Their gold and white fans flashed as they flicked them with sharp, well-practiced moves. Meg and I exchanged grins. Even all the dancers on the main floor stopped and watched the magnificent performance, some joining in the song that filled the hall.

Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you!

Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds.

Masquerade! Take your fill, let the spectacle astound you!

A chill ran down my spine as the tune changed into something different; something cruel. Immediately, I understood.

He was here. Everyone else sensed it too. All faces turned to the top of the staircase. There he was, on the right-hand side, taking us all in, eying us as a hawk eyes its prey. He too, had ignored the black-and-white theme, opting for red pants and jacket, embroidered with gold, and a long red cape over one shoulder. His usual mask had been turned in for a half-mask, resembling bone. The Phantom had come to the masque ball as the Red Death.

Everyone moved away quickly, making way for him as he took slow, deliberate steps down the stairs. There were frightened gasps from among the crowd, but nobody said a word to him. After a few steps he began to sing in a mocking tone of voice.

Why so silent, good monsieurs? Did you think that I had left you for good?

Have you missed me good monsieurs? I have written you an opera!

I felt a twitter of excitement at his announcement. This master of music wrote an opera? For us? I could hardly believe my ears. If this opera was as good as the music I had heard him playing when I'd stumbled into his lair, then we had to perform it. We just had to. Somehow, some way, I would convince the managers that we should.

"Here I bring the finished score," he sang, holding up a black leather-bound portfolio. "Don Juan Triumphant!" he practically shouted the title as he threw the score on the stairs, sheet music spilling from its case. I was already moving, wasting no time dashing to the stairs to collect the score. I was more excited than afraid and I drew to a sudden stop only because he swiftly brandished his sword, startling me.

He began to look around the room, but my action caught his attention. He jerked his head my direction and I saw a light of recognition come on instantly in his eyes. Still holding his sword aloft, he gave me a quick, but penetrating, once-over. My throat went dry and I am pretty sure I blushed. Just as I thought I might, I did not feel beautiful, but revealed to the world. He cast me a nearly imperceptible smile and when I saw that smug look he wore … I knew. I knew.

It was he who had bought this dress. I stared at him, bewildered, even as he moved on, turning his gaze elsewhere.

"Fondest greetings to you all," he continued, settling the blade of his rapier across his gloved hand, while I struggled to understand what had just happened between us. My sponsor bought this dress for me… no, it didn't make sense! I stared after the Phantom as he crossed the wide stairway toward Piangi and Carlotta.

A few instructions just before rehearsal starts:

Carlotta must be taught to act, not her normal trick of strutting around the stage.

Using the tip of his sword as he spoke, he ruffled the black plumage adorning Carlotta's red hair. She blinked up at him indignantly and floundered for words, but either found none or was too frightened to say them. Pushing her out of the reach of the Phantom's sword, Piangi stepped up to defend her, ending up with the rapier pointed right at his own face.

Trying to keep one eye on the Phantom, I gathered up the score from where it fell and did my best to keep it in order, while he stuck the point of his rapier on Piangi's large, elaborately decorated, golden paunch, continuing to give advise.

Our Don Juan must lose some weight.

It's not healthy in a man of Piangi's age.

He came back across the stairs, pointedly ignoring that I was in his way.

And my managers must learn that their place is in an office! — not the arts.

Here he threatened both Firmin and André by pointing the sword at their faces, in turn.

As for our star… Miss Christine Daaé

Slowly he put his sword away as he turned his gaze toward Christine. As he sang, he stepped around me as if I weren't even there and descended the staircase toward Christine, who remained on the ground floor, transfixed by the man in red.

No doubt she'll do her best

It's true, her voice is good

She knows, though, should she wish to excel

She has much still to learn

If pride will let her return to me, her teacher

Her teacher!…

The revelation hit me like a brick wall. It was him; it was him all the time. All the pieces suddenly seemed to fit together, forming a full picture in my mind. The reason Christine didn't know her teacher's name was the same reason I did not know the name of Madame Giry's music teacher friend. It was the same person and it was the Phantom! Somehow this man had taught Christine to sing without her ever knowing exactly who he was. The memory of that darkened auditorium as I auditioned now appeared alongside the image of the Phantom standing in front of me in that same space, just as dark; Christine's disappearance after the gala and finding the hidden passageway that led to the Phantom's lair. The rumor that my sponsor had killed Benoit in a fit of jealous rage… it had seemed so ridiculous at the time. Though I could not attest to his emotional state, my sponsor certainly had killed Benoit.

It was too hard to breathe suddenly; my corset much tighter than ever before. The world around me tilted and I sat down on the steps. No one noticed me. They were still entranced with the Phantom, who ignored me as well. He had eyes only for Christine.

The two of them stared at one another as they stepped closer and closer to each other. Feelings, both strong and vicious, rose within me. I hugged the opera play tightly to my chest, knowing what these feelings were, but wanting desperately to deny them… I wanted the Phantom to look at me that way. I had known for a long time that the Phantom favored Christine; his letters said so. I had no claim to his attention whatsoever, yet felt betrayed. I thought perhaps his coming to me when I called meant that we had made some sort of connection; the fact that he had not killed me when he could have; the scars we both shared.

Thankfully, I was too deep in shock to cry. So I only watched as the Phantom reached up in a swift motion and pulled the necklace from Christine's neck.

"Your chains are still mine!" he cried out suddenly. "You belong to me!" he added in a snarl and waving a fist in her face, the necklace chain dancing wildly as he did.

With that, he turned and ran up the first flight of stairs to the landing, where he spun back around to face her. It is hard to say what happened next exactly. A flourish with his cape, and flames shot up from the landing surrounding him. The next instant he was gone, but a hole gaped at us from the center of the landing. People gasped at the fire and the trick of a man disappearing through the floor. A few women shrieked as Raoul came running down the stairs, his sword at his side, and leapt into the hole without hesitation. The triangular pieces of flooring that made up the opening through which the Phantom had dropped, snapped back into position with a loud, and final, boom.