She is singing to bring down the chandelier!

"What happened?" Ang whispered, hand clutching the door frame.

"I should not say more," Raoul hedged. "The news is distressing enough, and with what happened yesterday—."

She turned to face him pleadingly. "Please. I have to know. What happened?"

With a heavy sigh, Raoul stepped to where she stood, gently took her hand, and led her back to her chair. "The show had ended and most patrons had already left the theater. There were only a few workers still milling about the seats when the chandelier came down. Just two were injured, ushers who were sweeping the aisles. However, there was one fatality.

"Oh no," Ang gasped softly, her thoughts and fears instantly going to Gus. "Who was it?"

"A young woman. She is—was—married to one of the ushers and was waiting for him to finish his work so they could go home." Raoul's blue eyes looked askance then.

"What are you not telling me?" She waited for him to answer her, and when he didn't, she touched his sleeve. "Raoul, please. Please tell me. I have to know."

He slowly, reluctantly, swung his gaze back in Ang's direction. While his eyes remained dry, it was clear that he was deeply affected. His hand settled warmly over hers, pressing it in comfort. "She was hired to replace you backstage."

She felt as if he'd just stabbed her, the pain and shock was so acute. The room tilted, and spun, and she blindly groped for something to hang onto in a desperate attempt to keep from fainting, from topping from the chair.

"Miss Angelique!" Raoul was at her side the moment she slid to the floor, and instantly, she was swept into his arms. "Fetch water," he ordered to whomever might hear as he strode from the room and down the hall.

"I'm fine," she muttered. She hated the dizziness, hated how good the man smelled, and how comforted she felt in that moment.

"No arguments," Raoul countered gently, kindly, as he settled her onto a lounge. A minute later a cool, damp cloth materialized across her forehead and she sighed into it. She hadn't realized she had begun crying until the backs of someone's fingers caressed her cheek, catching the moisture.

"I knew I should have said nothing; you are too fragile to endure such distress again," he soothed.

"Now do you understand? I have to go back otherwise he'll kill someone else." She attempted to rise, but steady hands pressed her to the lounge, keeping her in place.

"What are you talking about? It was just an accident, Miss Angelique."

"No! Don't you get it?" she cried, struggling against the detaining hands until Raoul finally let her sit up. "This was my fault! I left the theater, and to punish me, to punish everyone, he killed the woman they hired to take my place! It's a message! Don't you see? I have to go back! It's too dangerous to stay away!" By the expression on Raoul's face, it was clear he thought she'd gone crazy. She clung to his hand, willing him to understand. "The costume mistress's hand, then Joseph Buquet, now this— It's all because of me! Just take me back. He won't hurt anyone else as long as you take me back!"

Raoul's hands came to settle on either shoulder, grounding her when she felt as if she were spinning out of control. "Who are you talking about? Who's responsible?"

"The opera ghost."


It took until after lunch for Ang to successfully convince Raoul to return her to the theater. Through every argument, and all the way across the city, he had no qualms about making his displeasure known. He'd gone to far as to say that, if anything further happened, he would kidnap her again and carry her off to the Far East or to her America.

If only going home was that simple.

The moment his carriage rolled to a stop before the theater, Ang threw open the door and ran full tilt for the door, bursting inside in search of the backstage crew.

"Gus?"

"Ang!"

They ran at each other and embraced fiercely, and Ang clung to Gus' shoulder like a lifeline. "I'm sorry, Gus. I'm so sorry. If I knew he would have reacted like this—"

Gus pulled back to cup her face between his hands. "This isn't your fault."

"Everyone is going to blame me anyway," she argued. Gus couldn't say anything against that; she knew she was right. "If I thought leaving would fix things, I would. You know I would."

Gus stroked her cheek and gathered her in close again. "Listen to me: you are not responsible for—"

"There she is!

Ang and Gus both turned in the direction of a furious little dancer as she marched their way. She had hair black as a raven's wing, with matching dark eyes and olive skin; her overall appearance reminded one of the Romani who traveled from town to town by caravan. And this girl had plenty of fire. Ang's eyes widened at the dancer bore down on them, and she was obliged to take half a step back when it was evident the girl wasn't going to stop. It was only because Gus caught the girl's arm that Ang wasn't slapped across the face.

"Meg! Stop that! What's the matter with you?" Gus demanded, pushing the girl's arm away and stepping in front of Ang to shield her from the dancer's rage.

"She's at the bottom of everything that's been happening around here!" Meg blamed. "I know it! And this proves it!" She brandished a note and waved it in Gus's face.

"Meg, I told you I didn't want anyone to know about it. It was just a harmless joke," a beautiful, slender blonde girl stated somewhat shyly as she came up alongside the black-haired beauty.

"Stay out of this, Christine. I told you: she shouldn't be allowed to keep scaring people like this. It's cruel! She should be fired!" Meg stomped her little slippered foot adamantly while her meek friend fell silent.

"Ang didn't write this!" Gus practically yelled. "First of all, she wouldn't; she has no reason to. Second, she can't write in French well enough to have written it anyway."

"It's still her fault that things have been going so wrong around here! And what about last night? Hm? Carlotta swears someone switched her vocal tonic and that was why she didn't hit that last note in the aria!"

"That obviously couldn't have been her. Ang wasn't even here last night!" He waved the note in Meg's reddening face. "As the note states!"

Ang took the note from Gus's hand and walked away, tuning out the arguing to read it. She had thought the arm that slid around her shoulders belonged to Gus; it didn't. It was Raoul.

"Quite a scene everyone is making."

"Welcome to the theater," Ang answered dryly. "We tend to be a dramatic bunch."

Raoul quieted as she read through it. She still wasn't entirely proficient at reading in this new language, especially given the curious chirography so different from the printed handwriting she was familiar with. But as her brain slowly interpreted the words, she shuddered. She didn't even pull away when Raoul tucked her closer against her side.

"What does it say, Angelique?"

Unable to voice it, she simply turned it in his direction, allowing him to read it for himself.

" 'If my red-headed Angel is not returned to me, the lights will come down upon your blonde cherub next.' Next what? What does it mean?"

Ang leaned into Raoul's side embrace, allowing him to take a little of her weight as more invisible bricks seemed to heap themselves upon her shoulders. "The blonde girl over there; she plays a cherub in the opera's next show."

"I do not understand."

She turned sorrowful gray eyes upon Raoul's kindly blue ones and sighed heavily. "So what other lights came down recently?"