"Enter," Adele responds to the knock on the door of her office. Speaking to anyone now would be a relief. Nadir left what seems like hours ago to make certain the Vicomte was out of the theater and on his way home.

"If I am not back within a few minutes, know I felt a need to follow him."

"Just let him be. Troublesome child of wealth and irresponsibility."

"I would, but he seems hellbent on hurting Erik and I will not allow that."

"Erik should not have made off with Christine, if you ask me."

"You said yourself she wants to be with him…at least as a friend and mentor…the young man is the one interfering."

"I suppose you are right. Try not to be too long. Despite my lack of superstition, this is an eerie place at night when empty."

"Large buildings do have that about them. I remember times at the palace late at night. Everything was new and bright, but once everyone was asleep, the spirits seem to come out. I never questioned where they came from. Perhaps from the land itself or wandering fairies coming in from the forests and lakes.

"So, you believe the place is haunted."

"We carry our ghosts with us, Madame. We are the ones who are haunted."

"I suppose you are correct – Christine with her dead father, Erik with God knows who all. You with your wife and son."

"And you?"

"My mother. Every time I take a step, I think of her," she smirked. "That is an exaggeration, of course, but she was the will behind my dancing…of course, my own obsession drove me as well. The two of us together saw both the glory and then my fall from grace when I could no longer walk properly, much less dance."

"Meg's father?"

Shaking her head, no. "What is the expression – ships passing in the night?"

"I am sorry."

"I am not – I have my daughter." Her smile rueful. "You best go or the boy will find himself in some sort of trouble, I have no doubt."

"Madame Giry," Jacques sticks his head in the door, doffing his cap. "I did not want to bother you, but Henri and Albert have returned."

"And?"

"Well, they say after M. Khan left them in the carriage, Joseph got out as well. Told them to go home and keep quiet."

"Indeed?"

"They were worried…him being injured and all."

"You believe he came back here?"

"Yes. He always kept a bottle of whiskey on the catwalk – it was there earlier and when the boys and I checked, it was gone."

"Whiskey? On the walk? Was he daft?"

"Said it steadied him and I was not going to argue with him. Buquet had a temper and…well…"

"So where do you think he is?" she asked. "I take it you have looked for him backstage."

"I think he might be looking for the O.G. He was always muttering about him – especially after he fell and broke his teeth."

"So, what do you want from me? If you think he is in the cellars, then by all means look for him there."

"Well, Madame, we hoped you could go with us."

"Down the steps? With my limp?"

"We would take it slow."

Adele snorts. "You are afraid of the Phantom."

"Yes, Madame, I suppose you could say that, much as I hate to admit it."

"As it turns out, I am rather in the mood for an adventure," she says. "Let me get my wrap, the cellars do get chilly. I worn you, though, you may wind up carrying me."

"There are three of us and, to be honest, you look to be light as a feather."

"It never fails to amaze me how charming French men can be when they want something," she smirks. "Come along before your nose starts to grow like the little wooden boy in that new book from Italy."

"Madame?"

Waving him off, she shakes her head. "Nothing. Come along. I find myself becoming more curious about Joseph's whereabouts."

"Wait," Erik says, taking Christine's arm drawing her back inside the anteroom.

"What is it?"

"Voices."

"I heard nothing."

"You were likely not listening."

Christine frowns at him, her face flushed. "I think I would have heard voices if there were any to hear."

"Under normal circumstances I would agree with you, but you are not used to this place."

"Has it occurred to you, you might be seeing demons where they do not exist?" The moment the words are out of her mouth, she regrets her words.

"No. If only because I have met too many in my lifetime."

The chill in his tone confirms her haste in her response. After these two weeks learning about him and his life, how could he be anything other than wary of people. "I am sorry."

Grateful at the softening of his tone when he explains, "The acoustics throughout the cellars are quite good, especially down here with the lake. The workman often talk to one another between levels without needing to shout, although there is the issue of echoes."

"So, you heard an echo?"

"Precisely."

Sensing more than seeing his smile, any of the tension she felt at her comments is gone. "Whoever was speaking is higher up?"

"Yes and coming down."

"What are we going to do then…about the intruder?"

"Nothing now. If we can hear them, they can certainly hear us." Erik closes the door firmly behind them, shooting the bolt.

A shrill sound comes from the panel.

"An alarm?"

Nodding, he opens the panel. "The front door again. Someone else has entered. So now we have three people breeching the front entry…one of whom likely fell into a trap. Another who seems to be in limbo and now this."

"Should we investigate?"

"The way I feel right now, I would like only to have a nice cup of tea, a warm buttered croissant and then go back to bed."

"You made a joke."

"I was not joking. This is quite tiresome," he groans.

"Are you in pain?"

"Some…mostly tired," he sighs, rubbing his hand. "However, duty calls."

"We could just let all these people whoever they are deal with one another. The mischief they have gotten themselves into is their fault, not ours."

"You think so? I was just thinking bringing you down here was a mistake."

"I do not agree," she says, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Stepping back, she gazes up at him, then lifts herself again pushing aside his mask to kiss his lips.

"Christine…I do not know what to say…to do…you k-kissed me and you d-did not d-die," he stutters, touching his fingers to his mouth. "I thought certainly you would earlier, but then convinced myself they were not true kisses. But, now…"

"Why would I die?"

"My mother told me she would die if I kissed her…that some disease rotted my face. I believe she kept expecting me to die and free her."

Taking him by the hand, she says, "Come, we are going to have our tea and croissants – then I will change your bandages and you will go back to bed."

"What of the alarms…the intruders?"

"The doors are disguised and are locked and bolted, correct?"

He nods.

"Then, as Pappa would say, lämna dem åt sitt öde."

"What does that mean?"

"Leave them to their own devices," she replies. "It is in the Bible – Psalm 81:12. People are going to do what they are going to do and think what they are going to think. Let them deal with their choices."

"And we shall do the same?"

"Yes," she asserts. "The traps are not active?"

"I disarmed them."

"So no more accidents?"

He shakes his head.

"Then we shall have our small meal and then sleep," she says. "I am exhausted by this entire day and do not wish to deal with any more people."

"Except me?" A wistful note in his voice.

"Except you," she assures him. "Now, let us get into our home and out of this darkness."

"He must have fallen down the stairs," Henri says, pulling Buquet's body from the water with Albert's help. "We told him he was in no condition to be wandering around after nearly hanging to death."

"Stubborn man he was," Jacques says, setting Adele on her feet. "Determined to find the Phantom."

"A lesson to all of us," she murmurs. ""When you strike at the king you must kill him."

"Madame?"

"One American poet speaking to another."*

"You do like your books and sayings, Madame Giry," Jacques says.

"I do," she smiles. "Too much time in the theater can have you forgetting about the world outside. Our Joseph might have done well to have explored a hobby other than taunting a fictitious ghost."

"Well, maybe now all the fuss about the Phantom will stop," Henri says.

"I hope so," agrees Albert. "Tired of all the props failing and, with all due respect, Madame, the ballet girls screaming and fussing all the time."

"You believe Joseph Buquet was pretending to be the ghost?"

"Who else?"

The idea others in the crew believed Joseph was causing their distress was a surprise to her. What might he think when I tell him? Fury or amusement? She hopes the latter. "I suppose you are correct," she says. "Who else?"

"Do not move," Nadir cautions as he carefully approaches the vicomte stretched out on the macadam floor.

"I cannot move. I was hit in the head and when I fell my jacket caught on something," the vicomte replies, adding, "thank God you found me."

"My ten-year-old son had more common sense than you," Nadir says as he sets down his lantern and rights the one Raoul was using to guide him. "You are lucky the lamp did not go out."

"My brother would agree with you," Raoul grunts. "Perhaps prayer does work."

Moving the sandbag to one side, Nadir begins to work on freeing Raoul's jacket from the partially opened trap door. "If you were a cat, you would be down to your last life considering the events of the past day. You do seem to have a death wish."

Able to sit up now, Raoul rubs the back of his head. "What happened to me?"

"You triggered a booby trap and, if I am any judge, fortunate a bump on the head is the worst you suffered."

"Booby trap?"

"Did you really think you could walk through a door and confront a man whose entire life has been one of being hunted and abused by people without any possible consequences?"

"I did not think."

"As I said, my Reza knew better than to challenge someone or something he had every reason to be wary of." The Persian gets back to his feet. "First Buquet and then the Phantom…I might add Mlle. Daae."

"Christine?"

"The young woman appears to be happy with her situation, I suggest you leave her alone." Offering his hand, Nadir helps the vicomte to his feet. "Let us get out of this place."

"But…"

"No, buts." Reaching down, Nadir picks up Raoul's lantern and hands it to him. "We are not welcome here."

"I suppose you are correct."

"Finally some common sense," the Persian says. "But to be certain, I shall accompany you home this time. Frankly, I am weary of watching out for you."

"I did not request your help," Raoul says, moving grudgingly toward the door to the street.

"Perhaps not, but here it is," Nadir says, patting him on the back. "Come. Things will look different tomorrow and if not tomorrow, the next day."

Pushing Isis to one side, Christine sets the tea tray on the coffee table.

With a complaining meow, the cat jumps off the table and rubs herself against Erik's leg.

"Not now, little one, I should not like to embarrass myself any further by falling down in front of Mlle. Daae." Favoring his left leg, Erik moves toward his favorite chair then stops.

"Sit here, next to me," Christine says, following his glance. "I will tend to them later when I put the rest of my things away. Corsets and bustles are not very comfortable as sleepwear. There was nowhere else to put them."

"Are you certain?"

"I would not suggest it if I was not certain."

"Is this where you were sleeping?" he asks, moving the pillow to the floor, to make a space for himself.

"Yes."

"Your blanket is not here," he says, looking around.

"I wore it into the bedroom when our little friend woke me," she says. "I thought she was wanting either pets or a treat, but it turned out she was concerned about you."

"Ah, so that is why you came looking for me," Erik laughs. "She is quite the mother hen when not trying to trip me. I am sorry I put you to so much trouble."

"I am sorry you did not trust me," she counters. "Even if I decided to move back to the Giry's apartment, which I did not, I would have spoken to you about it first."

"You did not?"

"No, I did not," she says, pouring their tea, handing him a cup. "There is no reason, unless you wish me to. I am quite content here…especially now being able to return to the world above when it suits me. This is quite the nicest place I have ever lived."

"Truly?"

"Except perhaps when I was a child with Mama and Pappa, but I hardly remember those days except for feeling happy. I do miss my Pappa."

"I know I am not a substitute for him," he mutters, lowering his head. "At one time, I thought that was a way to be close to you."

"My Angel of Music?"

"That was your idea," he snorts, "I never intended anything beyond teaching you…hearing you sing…being a friend, even if we never met face to face. I just could not bear the thought of losing you."

"True enough, I can understand your fear…I do believe, however, your choice of courtship was extreme," she laughs lightly.

"Acting in moderation has never been one of my strong points," he mutters. "All I have ever wanted in life was to be loved for myself. You accepting me after what I have put you through is quite amazing."

"You have travelled, I suspect you have met any number of people who seemed strange in appearance…even to you."

Erik cocks his head. "That is true. Especially when I was with the travelling fair. There were any number of so-called freaks on display."

"That must have been difficult."

"For all of us, although even some of them found me particularly grotesque," he laughs. "That I find this amusing is strange, but, yes, I must admit there were one or two poor souls who had me feeling fortunate."

"How so?"

"My music, my wits…my body, if scarred is intact and shaped like other men. All these allowed me to escape and find a disguise allowing me to travel amongst normal folks."

"Exactly. Moving from place to place with Pappa I saw men here in France whose faces are nearly destroyed from the war…although I understand this is not the same as having a deformity since birth."

"You are telling me my face is not a problem for you?"

"I already told you that. My concern was always the devil invaded your soul."

"I am sorry I frightened you."

"Well, that is the past. We are here and I am quite fine with you being you," she says, focusing her eyes on him, the strength of the look causing him to raise his head and return her gaze.

"Are you certain?"

"If nothing else, removing your mask will make it easier for you to eat your croissant and drink your tea."

"Yes, it would," he admits.

"So."

Taking a deep breath, he unties the barbee mask, keeping the damaged side of his face turned away. "I should prefer this be all I reveal for now."

"Whatever suits. Thank you."

"No, I thank you."

"Now let us eat and then perhaps you might read to me…if you are not too tired."

"I am not too tired."

"Good."

"Then perhaps you might sing for me," he says, "and show me your new skills on the piano."

"Only if you sing with me."

"A duet?"

"Yes."

"I believe I should like that."

Isis meows.

"A trio?" Christine giggles. "We cannot leave her out."

"A trio, then."

*Oliver Wendell Holmes, sent a review of one of Plato's works to Ralph Waldo Emerson who sent it back to him stating: "When you strike at the king you must kill him."