A/N: After YEARS of waiting on your end, and years of endless interruptions and incredible, unforeseen events on my end, I am finally continuing the journey I promised I would see finished. I have every intention of upholding that promise, even if all my readers have forgotten the story. Here now, in the season of phantoms, is the next chapter in Jacqueline Devoreaux's tale! Another chapter will be posted next week, most likely on Wednesday.

The search for Madame Giry almost did not happen once I realized she could be anywhere. The opera house was massive, and I knew of only a couple places where the tunnels let out. I thought of that seamless exit the Phantom had left me outside of on our first meeting. If she had gone into a tunnel such as that, then there was very little chance I would ever find her. Growling in frustration, I changed my course, my dress swishing loudly at the sudden movement.

My mind was buzzing with too many thoughts and I could not think straight. The revelation of who the phantom truly was pounded against my skull. He was an anonymous sponsor, a voice coach, a threat. A murderer and a savior. The missing link. Madame Giry knew of his existence and kept his secrets, kept him safe from the outside world, just as she had done for me.

Words from the rooftop that had confounded me now made sense. I understood now that the Phantom had taught Christine to sing and fallen in love with her. He was jealous of the vicomte and was plotting a revenge of some sort. I figured the vicomte would be able to take care of himself, provided Madame Giry rescued him from the current danger, and provided he didn't go rushing headlong after the Phantom into his domain again.

Reason fled from my mind as I diligently considered how to get in touch with the Phantom. I hoped Madame would lead me to another of his secret tunnels, perhaps less dangerous than the one I'd traveled before, but she was far beyond my sight. There was no hope of finding a new tunnel. I let out a frustrated sound, something between a growl and a whimper.

I almost gave up, when the thought came: would Raoul kill the Phantom? He would. I couldn't let him. Although my frantic wanderings seemed to lack any real purpose, I found myself outside the diva's bedroom, as though my feet understood where to take me when my head did not. I stared at the door only a second before opening it. I only knew one way to get to the Phantom, and though it be dangerous, I would take it. The mirror tunnel.

This time I was smart enough to snatch a kerosene lamp from a bedside table. There was no time to waste, and I paused at the tunnel's entrance only to make sure I had not been followed. Taking a few seconds more, I pulled the mirror shut behind me, then rushed down the dank tunnel. My emotions, overwhelmed as they were, still controlled me more than logic. When I came to the branch in the tunnel I went the opposite way than I had last time, thinking perhaps it was a shorter route, and hoping it would still lead me to the lair. I trotted along as fast as I dared, the going made easier this time by the light I carried.

After a time immeasurable, I stopped. I stood, panting lightly, wondering what I was to do with another passageway. I learned the hidden pathways of the Phantom were far more extensive than one could have imagined and that ball gowns were not proper sneaking attire. Growing frustrated at yet another turn in the passage, I had the distinct feeling that I was going around in circles. No, this wasn't right... maybe I missed a doorway somewhere. Maybe if I went back...

I swirled around and made to head back to look for hidden doorways, but shrieked as I ran into something. Someone.

I gasped and took a step backwards. If anyone thought the Phantom looked terrifying in the candlelight of the golden opera house rooms, they would die of fright to see him in the pitch-dark tunnels. His visage was horrifying in that mask, especially at such close proximity, but I was beyond fear of him now. It may have been a fault, not to be afraid, but I was not.

"You!" he breathed. He sounded angry, but he looked confused. I, on the other hand, was relieved at having found him. My smile appeared to confuse him all the more.

"What are you doing here?" he snarled. Without waiting for an answer, he roughly grabbed my arm and started pulling me back along the passage.

"I had to see you!" I blurted. My thoughts went awry every time I was near this man and I was having trouble forming a coherent sentence. What came out was not what I intended, but it got his attention. He stopped and looked sharply back over his shoulder. What was that emotion I saw in his eyes?

Taking advantage of our delay, I said, "I know now. I-I know that it was you." I gulped as he stared at me fiercely. "The night of my audition. It was you in the auditorium, listening. Wasn't it?"

I cocked my head to one side to study him, but his rigid posture gave him away. He did not speak so I plunged on. "Life has been so...ah, chaotic...since then. I never found out if I was accepted as a student or not. I think Madame Giry forgot about me. Or you did."

Unblinking, I held his gaze. There was some sort of war going on there and I was going to force him to choose a side. I hoped it favored me.

He leaned his face down closer to me, his voice low and menacing when he spoke. "You should not be here. Ever. If you come down here again, I will kill you."

I felt my eyes widen in disbelief at his dismissal. He tightened his grip on my elbow and steered me down the passageway. I wanted to argue; to fight back, pull away and tell him he was making a mistake. But I was too shocked. I did not expect him to show such hostility toward me. An aggression of my own was boiling at my core and as he dragged me along, the volcano of my patience erupted. A searing hot magma of anger exploded forth and I could not control it.

"Would you really kill me? After all you've done to protect me?"

"Yes!" he shouted over his shoulder.

"What if I did not come alone?"

"Then I would kill anyone with you." With a malevolent glance back at me, he added, "And make you watch."

"Then I'll make sure I bring Giselle with me," I said defiantly.

My wry, morbid comment gained me another curious look from the Phantom. "And if..." And if I brought Christine with me, would you hurt her? I couldn't voice the question, because I already knew the answer and it hurt. It hurt me more than it should have; hurt more than the iron grip he had on my arm. Instead I swallowed and continued asking questions that he continued to ignore.

"You never hurt Madame Giry! She knows about your secret tunnels, doesn't she? Why do you need to shut me out? What happened to Raoul? Did you kill him? Answer me! Did you hurt him?"

Commanding him to do something seemed to break his resolve and he gave a great jerk, pulling me around in front of him, and turned me to face him. Part of me insisted I was scared, another part too angry to be scared. Eyes intense, and mouth set in a grim line, he said, "Leave me! I am not worth your attention. You are too late to save me."

Like a punch, his words knocked the fight out of me. The sorrow in his eyes was unmistakable, but I did not fully understand what he meant. Staring blankly ahead I did not react as he reached past me to slide the mirror-door open, his chest bumping my nose in the process.

"Go."

The volcano was empty. Dead. This Phantom did not need to kill my body; he had stripped my spirit from me with those few simple words. I stepped backwards out of the tunnel, shaking my head slowly, refusing to believe what he said was true.

Without another word he closed the door.

In the dimness of the bedroom, I could see only myself reflected in the dark glass; a beautiful young woman, dressed for an extravagant party, but all alone in the dark, rejected. Returning the lamp to its place on the table, I slumped to the floor, where I cried until I felt the need to leave, before I was discovered.

I was in no mood to return to the ball so, snuffling loudly, I decided to turn in early. It was my luck that I happened to pass Giselle on my route back to the dormitory. Unfortunately for her I was in a foul temper, as I never had been before. The sight of her flirting with a so-called gentleman caused something to snap. All the rage at being denied, at being tormented, at being almost loved, shot out of me in an inexplicable reaction.

"You!" I shouted, pointing a finger at her. Giselle's brown eyes widened when she saw me bearing down on her and her would-be lover. The man had the good sense to get out of the way, giving me a clear path to Giselle. I marched right up to her and punched her square in the face. Giselle screamed and doubled over clutching her nose, the man yelled at me, but honestly, I didn't hear a word he said. Yes, it was an unprovoked attack. Yes, my fist hurt now. But I felt good and I'll be damned if she did not deserve that after all the grief she caused me.

"Don't you ever come near me again! Don't even look at me!" I shrieked at her. "You're a filthy, lying, hag and you might be a better dancer, but I'm a better singer and I have been through more than your minuscule brain can even comprehend and I don't need any Phantom to protect me! I can protect myself."

Giselle blinked up at me with big, round eyes, tears pouring down her cheeks, hand still covering her nose. I turned a frown to the man, who only stared at me, speechless. Throwing one last glare at Giselle, I pulled my mask down over my face, spun around and strode away.

The encounter had my adrenaline pumping. There was too much frustration pent up inside me, I would never be able to sleep. I needed to talk. Changing course, i headed toward Madame Giry's room, hoping she would be there, and on the way I met Vicomte de Chagny.

"Oh!" I breathed a relieved sigh. "You're alive!" Unable to restrain myself, I threw my arms around his neck in a hug. He looked at me quizzically as I pulled away, noting my red eyes, no doubt.

"Yes, I am," he said slowly. "Are you all right?"

I nodded vigorously. "The Phantom?"

Raoul's brows drew together in a frown, lips pursed tight, and he shook his head. "He lives. For now." My expression must have showed concern (which he wrongly interpreted) because next he said, "Don't worry, Miss Devoreaux. We will catch him and he won't hurt anyone anymore."

"Monsieur," I began, lifting my mask, "will you perform his opera?"

His eyes narrowed and he raised his chin. "I see no reason to. We don't schedule our shows on a lunatic's orders."

"Will you at least consider it? He writes wonderful music; it may be a marvelous opera if you give it a chance."

Suspicion narrowed his eyes even farther. "How do you know this? What do you know of him?"

I ignored him. "I think all he wants is for someone to hear his music. Is it a crime to allow him that?"

"No, I will not encourage him. He is a menace and needs to learn the Opera Populaire is not his to run. It isn't a crime, but it may be cruel to give him the opportunity. To give him the hope that we will perform his plays when, in truth, we will schedule what we want. Not what he tells us to. This theatre is not to be run by a madman. Not while I have say."

"Then, Monsieur le Vicomte, I suggest you keep a close eye on Christine. I do not think the Phantom will intentionally harm her, but it is hard to say what kind of plans he may have for her." He looked deeply disturbed, and I realized how suspicious I sounded, so I added, "Do not worry overly much; I will look after her as well."

"Miss Devoreaux, if you know something—anything—that could help us capture him, now would be a good time to say so."

"I assure you, Monsieur le Vicomte, I know nothing of that nature." Reluctantly, he returned my forced smile and we parted ways with stiff and quiet 'good night's.

He was beginning to think she was mad. How had she found her way into his tunnel again? The answer was, of course, the mirror. Now that she knew the tunnel would lead to his lair, she would use it when she felt an urge to call on him.

A smile quirked the corner of his mouth. Someone call on him? What a humorous notion! Nobody called on him. If ever they did, it would be to arrest him.

His smile faded. But she had come looking for him. Actually came looking for him and smiled when she saw him. That bright smile that both angered him and sent him reeling, all at once. Not even Madame Giry smiled at him, not in the way Lina did. What did it mean? She was happy to see him? Nobody was ever happy to see him. At the masque ball, even Christine was frightened. She had come to him, but it was not out of love. He knew that.

But Jacqueline. Oh, Jacqueline! She still held onto fear but did her best to ignore it and shore up her courage in his midst. Smiling at him, singing to call him out, letting him stand so close...is this what it felt like to have somebody love you? He did not know. His brow furrowed as he hurried back to his lair. No, he did not know what love felt like, but if Christine, who had been under his wing all these years, still did not love him, then it was unlikely Lina would, after only a year.

His anger slipped away as he walked, and he realized his predicament. If Lina showed up in his tunnel again, he would have to kill her. If she smiled at him, he was not certain he would be able to carry through with it.