Preparations for Don Juan Triumphant kept everyone busy for the next few months. I wanted to congratulate myself on convincing our patron and managers to perform it, but it had nothing to do with me. After meeting the Phantom at the masque ball, Messieurs Firman and André were far too terrified of the Phantom to disobey. Despite their reluctance to show the opera, they set about with due haste to see it happen. The vicomte's wishes to ignore it were obviously overturned.

My part disappointed me. I had a small role, near the end, in a group of dancers wearing red, white, and black, with no singing. I tried not to think on it too much, reminding myself that I longed to hear the music. And that music...

Monsieur Reyer nearly collapsed when the composition became clear to him. It was certainly unlike anything I'd ever heard before. Raucous and discordant, it was so far from traditional opera that Piangi had a hard time hitting the right notes. This also upset Monsieur Reyer. He feared they would never learn it in time.

The minor role I played did not excuse me from daily practice, naturally. But my heart seemed to be into it only half the time. My performance swept upward and downward, like a leaf on the wind; sometimes fierce and determined to reach the sky, other times nothing more than a shredded dried husk, skittering along the earth, never to rise again. Madame Giry worried over me, I know, but she said very little in the way of reassurance. She worked endless hours to choreograph the show and made sure the ballerinas took care of themselves, none more so than the star of our show, Christine. Both she and Meg were busy learning their performances and in our down time, I separated myself from them.

Surrounded by people, yet feeling so alone—not a new feeling for me, but for a change it was welcome. Almost. Acknowledging the truth about the phantom's feelings put me in a foul mood, and I did not want to be cruel to those who had only ever been my friends. It became clear to me solitude was the best option.

Then it all went wrong.

Practice went as it usually did, with me sitting in the auditorium watching the rehearsal until I needed to get dressed for my part. Watching Piangi and Christine, it struck me; this was the Phantom's fantasy. He pictured himself as Don Juan. This Lothario was an expression of his deepest desire; everything he believed he was not—handsome, loved by all, adored by women. The starring female was to be Christine, as per the Phantom's orders. It was undoubtedly written with her in mind. Upon this realization, my performance suffered more.

"Jacqueline," Madame Giry called out to me one day. It was time for rehearsal, and I was headed backstage to get dressed, but paused for her to catch up to me.

"Yes, Madame?"

"We need to talk." She studied me, then let out a sigh. "You are very distracted, lately. Would you like to talk about it?"

Did I? Not really. I did not know how to explain myself. I shook my head.

She cocked her head to one side. "Then I will ask you to concentrate harder. Is it the opera ghost that has you so upset? You must forget this Phantom situation. It is...out of your hands now."

Her words were like knives, cutting me apart. Tears pooled in my eyes as I thought of that man, sitting alone, fearing to be seen. "How do I so easily forget someone so memorable? How can I forget someone who so desperately needs help? Have you forgotten him, Madame Giry? Do you ever ease his burden of loneliness?"

The pain in her eyes told me the answer. Reserved, she said, "I saved him."

"Did you?" The tears spilled down my cheeks. No spluttering or snuffling, just endless streams that I let drip from my chin. "To what end? To be trapped in the dark, ignored and unloved?"

"You were not there!" She blinked her own tears away. "You did not see him being beaten! For no other reason than his deformity! He was just a helpless boy."

"That's why you deliver his messages. You are friends. You took pity on him. Did you bring him here to live, or did he follow you?"

"Yes, I took pity on him. Although..." Her eyes glazed with memory and she shook her head. "Never mind that. I gave him a life away from the cruelty he knew. Showed him the first bit of kindness he had ever known."

A wistful smile bloomed on her lips, and I could read on her face how much she cared for the boy she rescued.

"Madame, you want me to forget. Help me. But tell me about him first. Help me stay this insatiable curiosity. Tell me and I will never go near him again. I promise." The words weighed heavy on my soul as they passed my lips.

Madame Giry wrung her hands together before gesturing to a white-painted prop bench, nearly hidden in a corner. Once the bustling prop masters gave us an initial questioning frown, they dutifully ignored us. From the dressing rooms came the playful shriek of a ballerina, but no-one emerged.

"He was a sideshow at a traveling fair," Madame Giry began, her disdain evident in her tone. 'The Devil's Child.' He wore a sack to cover his head when he was not being shown to the audience and laughed at.'

Referring to himself as a demon, and his hatred of himself, made sense then. He had been taught by others to believe he was repulsive.

"But then he...escaped." The hesitancy when she spoke of his escape, gave me the sense there was something sinister surrounding the event, but I decided it was inconsequential at this point, and I let her continue without interruption. "I led him here and helped him hide. He has known nothing outside of this opera house since. You have heard his music; he is brilliant. Talented in so many ways. Art and architecture. He designs our sets and costumes for every opera."

Shame set in. I never paid any attention to where the sets came from, never thought to ask. But something else did occur to me.

"Madame Giry...what is his name?"

She sat up straighter, sucking in a breath. Biting her lower lip, she considered me intently before responding. "I have never told anyone. It is his secret to tell."

"Madame, please. Please let at least one person know his name. His real name. Does his genius not deserve that much?" I raised an eyebrow as she shook her head, imploring me to leave the subject alone.

Without thinking, I reached out and grabbed her hand. "Please."

Her brow furrowed and she seemed to be fighting against herself. Letting out a sigh, she finally replied, "Erik. His name is Erik."

"Erik." Saying his name aloud on my tongue roused strange emotions. Knowing his name instantly made him more human, which I am not sure was a good thing, considering he was, after all, a murderer. It was so much easier to excuse his heinous actions when he was simply an unknown phantom. Regardless, the knowledge of his name gave me relief, although I could not say why.

I smiled at her. "Thank you."

Lips pressed tight, she nodded.

The sound of Carlotta's shrill voice rose above the din of the ballerinas in the dressing room.

"It is an insult! And he know it! It sound like somebody stepping on a cat! He threaten-uh me! Threaten me then he give-uh me this piece of...garbage!" Carlotta spat. Madame Giry and I rose and went to see what was happening.

La Carlotta stormed toward us with the managers in tow, and all her helpers trailing after. What I did not expect to see was the vicomte, leading them all.

"I know, senora, but I will explain—ah! Madame Giry! As you are in charge of choreography, and familiar with the phantom, you need to be a part of this discussion."

She stepped forward, standing slightly in front of me. It did not block the vicomte's view of me. He regarded me evenly and gave a little nod.

"Actually, it was Miss Devoreaux who gave me the idea."

"Me, Monsieur le Vicomte?"

Again, he nodded.

"What idea?"

Having found who he was looking for, he turned around, striding back the way he had come. Madame Giry and I followed, the managers flanking him, listening intently. Carlotta thought better of staying behind and came trailing after. We had to keep a brisk pace to stay with Raoul.

"We have all been blind," he said, "and yet the answer is staring us in the face. This could be the chance to ensnare our clever friend."

"We're listening," Monsieur André told him.

"Go on," Monsieur Firman said.

"We shall play his game. Perform his work but remember we hold the ace. For if Miss Daaé sings, he is certain to attend."

Bait. He wanted to use Christine as bait. My stomach dropped. The managers were willing to go along with this, immediately backing him up.

"We are certain the doors are barred!"

"We are certain the police are there!"

"We are certain they're armed," Raoul added. As one they said, "The curtain falls. His reign will end!"

Madame Giry's mouth opened and closed, but she was speechless. I found words first.

"You intend to capture him?"

"We must," Raoul said. "He has become far too dangerous."

"But perhaps if you tried to speak with him—"

He rounded on me, face taut. "The time for speaking has passed! He will never let us be, as long as he thinks this theatre is his. Monsieur Buquet has already fallen victim to his predatory behavior. How many more must pay the price before it is over?"

"You've seen firsthand how deadly this situation is, Miss Devoreaux," Firman said. With a haughty look down his nose at me, he added, "Your fiancé."

My insides turned as cold and solid as ice. "Will you kill him?"

"Only if he refuses to come peacefully," Raoul said.

He set off again with a purposeful stride, and the others all followed after. I was frozen in place. I heard Madame Giry begin her own pleas, but whether they were for the Phantom's safety or the others', I did not hear. Carlotta's sneer as she passed was felt more than seen, and Piangi's humph of disapproval barely registered.

There was a time when I longed for talk of the opera ghost to be over, for his grip of terror to release those he held tight. Now that the moment was here, I was not relieved, as I thought I would be.

He threatened to kill you, I reminded myself. But he saved you first. My emotions made no sense. Grabbing my head, I closed my eyes. Perhaps catching him was the best option. Once he was out of my life, then I wouldn't have to fight with myself anymore. And once he was out of my life, my sponsorship ended, and I would have to find another sponsor or crawl back to my father.

Or run away.

Again. If I ran this time, I would run farther than the city limit. I would leave the country.

Slow down. Deep breath. Calming myself did not bring enlightenment, so I did what I always did: I sought out my friends. As of late, I had avoided Christine as often as possible, hoping to avoid the painful truth—two men loved her and not a single one loved me. Madame Giry was right. The situation was out of my hands. Whatever was to be, would be. I needed to face and come to terms with it. Christine did not deserve my hatred. As a friend, I loved her, and I did not want her name to be synonymous with bitterness.

Casting my thoughts back to when I first entered the opera house, the memory of her and Meg warmly greeting me and showing me around, melted the ice in my heart. She herself had been deceived by the Angel of Music. If I was to hate someone, it should be him.

With knots in my stomach, I searched for Christine. It was Meg I found.

"Oh, Meg!" I ran to her and hugged her. Though she hugged me back, she pushed me back promptly. Keeping her hands on my arms, she studied me.

"Is everything all right?"

I gave my head a vehement shake. "No," I said. "No, it's not, Meg. They're going to trap him! The phantom!"

Meg's wide eyes blinked at me, then relaxed. "They have a plan, then?"

"Yes. The vicomte thinks he will attend the opera if we perform it. He intends to lure the Phantom out by keeping Christine in the play."

A slight smile relaxed her soft features further and she sighed in relief. Noticing my tense frown, her smile faded.

"Wait...are you worried about him, Lina?"

"About the Phantom?" I nodded vigorously. "Yes. Yes, I am, Meg. God forgive me, but I am!"

Her lips pressed together in a perfect mimicry of her mother's irritated expression. "Jacqueline, you used to hate talk of the phantom. I don't know why you changed your mind, or how it changed so completely, but he's dangerous. Surely you can see that? He must be stopped! I don't know how the police will find him, but I have to trust that this plan will work."

"I met him, Meg."

She blinked. "You what?"

"I met him. Several times." At her incredulous look, I went on to recount our various meetings. The more I told her, the more rigid her posture became, and her hands fell back to her sides.

"You went through the tunnels alone? After you were warned to stay away from them?" Meg frowned.

I shrugged. "I was determined. Then I met him, and yes, Meg, I was frightened. When I next saw him, he was on the catwalk above Monsieur Buquet's dead body. Fear took over and I ran. But oddly when I tried to run away, I ran right to where he was hiding. He was going to kill me, but he stopped and let me go. And then he killed Benoit."

Her eyes glistened with hurt. "Why did you never tell me this?"

"I don't know. You were all so afraid of him. I was too. I didn't know what to do."

"I don't understand how you can be afraid of Benoit, but not of the Phantom of the Opera. He's haunted us for years and now he's kidnapping people—"

"Benoit was born privileged and handsome and still he made my life miserable!" My voice was starting to shake with emotion as I poured my soul out. "The Phantom has been hurt as I have! Senseless beatings because of his appearance!"

"But you are beautiful, Lina!"

"Exactly! I am normal in appearance! I get beat, and I know not why, but I can socialize as though nothing is amiss. Imagine, being hurt yet having people scream in terror at your visage and running away. For him there was no normal life at all. No one to talk to."

She fumbled around some words before shock widened her eyes and she stood a little straighter. Tilting her head to one side, she said, "Lina...do you...love him?"

The blatant question surprised me, but I knew the answer. I heard myself answer truthfully before I could stop. "Yes. Yes, I think I do."

Meg pulled in a deep breath.

"I just don't want them to kill him, Meg."

"Well, it's not your judgment to pass. The police will do what they need to in order to catch him. He may only be thrown into prison."

I prickled at her words. "I'm not sure that's an improvement in his sight."

"He doesn't get a choice," she said, harshly. "It was his decision to start threatening and murdering people ."

I knew what she said was logical. I knew what she said was right. Yet I could not fathom my life without his presence now.

"He's my sponsor, you know."

"What?"

"I figured it out at the masquerade. He's the one who has been sponsoring me anonymously. With him gone..." I shrugged.

"Oh, Jacqueline!" she breathed.

"...Perhaps I will be too."

We stood in an awkward silence, before I finally said, "I am in too deep and I don't know how to get out."

Her look of pity made my stomach flip-flop. "Perhaps you should have thought of that before chasing after ghosts and making deals with them."

The spiteful remake made me speechless. What more could I say? I ambled away before saying something I regretted. Maybe someday Meg would regret her words.

The whole interaction left me sour. I forgot all about talking to Christine. I needed to clear my head.

Unfortunately, upon my return from a walk around the city, I was in no less turmoil than before, so I wandered the resplendent halls. Thinking myself to be alone, a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye made me jump. I laughed at my reflection in the giant mirror.

"Did you forget about the mirrors?" I asked my reflection. Though I spoke softly, my voice reverberated down the hall, emphasizing how alone I was. Sapphire eyes stared back at me from a face gaunt with exhaustion. The woman I saw in the mirror was not amused by my sarcasm.

I'd seen this woman before. Sorrow, pain, and loneliness were cleverly hidden in the feminine features of her face, but if you gazed into her eyes, you would see the broken spirit beneath the facade. In essence, the underlying causes had shifted, but the basic emotions remained the same. The man I loved did not love me in return and I was lonely; the pain had gone from a literal, physical pain I needed someone to save me from, to me being unable to save someone else from their pain; the sorrow of knowing I was stuck in a situation I could not escape stayed the same.

Watching my reflection in the mirror, I absentmindedly reached up to remove my cloak. As I saw myself standing there in that pose, another image came to me.

I stared.

My hands were up at my throat; I envisioned the Phantom, in that same pose, that night on the rooftop, when I had been terrified...and freezing. This was the position I saw him in that seemed so odd at the time. He was going to remove his cape.

And I knew why. He was going to cover me! He cared. He cared enough to consider protecting me from the cold.

I dropped my cloak and burst into a run.