Chapter 9: Where Black Meets White

Meg didn't know how long she had been screaming. Five minutes? Ten? Half an hour? She had no idea. Time seemed to lose its course here and every second stretched into eternity…

She coughed and tried to swallow in order to ease the burning in her throat.

How could she have ended up in such a situation? She had let panic overcome her, forgetting common sense, and now she was paying for it. She'd had doubts, so why hadn't she thought about looking for any hidden passages in the last chamber before venturing further into unfamiliar areas?

Despair filled her again. The rational part of her was telling her that she should save her strength for now and try calling for help again later when the opera house wouldn't be plunged in sleep, but some dark voice at the back of her mind was whispering that it didn't matter how long she shouted, anyway.

No one would be able to hear her here. And no one would come to rescue her, no matter how ardently she prayed…

A few tears escaped her once again, rolling down her cheeks, and Meg gritted her teeth to suppress them.

She could not let herself waste her energy on things as stupid as crying or pessimistic visions. Her maman would surely start to look for her as soon as she noticed her absence; Madame Giry knew her well and what was more, she had already caught her once in the secret corridor behind the mirror, so eventually she would come to the right conclusion and try to check underground.

Only, she probably won't begin to search until late morning. And even then, finding this corridor among the dozens of others will definitely take some time…

These thoughts summoned a familiar lump in her throat, but Meg quickly pushed them away.

So what if she might have to wait even the whole day? She could do that. She just had to think positively and preserve her strength.

Taking a deep breath, the ballerina slightly changed her position on the rubble, and that was when she noticed something: the barely perceptible movement of her own arms in the darkness. The chamber didn't seem to be so dark anymore, and if she looked carefully she could almost discern the outline of her hands. And that could only mean one thing.

Her head snapped up and her heart beat faster as she saw a faint, distant light seeping in from the corridor high above her.

Thank God…

Tears of relief welled up. "I'm here!" Her slightly raspy voice echoed against the stone walls. "Maman, I'm–" Meg opened her mouth again, but that same second, the words died on her lips.

The shadow at the end of the tunnel did not belong to her mother. The tall, powerful silhouette she saw could only belong to one person who wandered these tunnels.

A white mask flashed in semi-darkness, and she felt ice-cold tentacles of fear crawling up her spine.

No…

The urge to hide pierced her chest, even though she knew it would be pointless. The Phantom must have heard her screams and was aware that she was here. And what was more, it seemed that he was her only chance for getting out of here.

Meg's stomach clenched into a tight knot. Before she could think of anything to say, the Opera Ghost was already there, standing at the entrance. From their last encounter she remembered that he was a little over a head taller than her, but now he seemed even more towering and intimidating. The flame of the torch he held illuminated the interior, and she froze as his cold eyes bored into her. For a fraction of a second, some strange grimace flickered over the man's face, and then his visible eyebrow furrowed, his expression changing to the one she already knew too well – boiling wrath hidden under cover of ice.

"I should probably say that it's a pleasure to see you again, Mademoiselle Giry, but under these circumstances we both know it would be a lie…" The Opera Ghost sent her an inscrutable look, then stepped aside to place the torch in one of the sconces. Keeping a safe distance from the crumbling end of the corridor, he returned to his place, crossing his arms against his broad chest as his features darkened even more.

"Tell me, mademoiselle, was eavesdropping on private conversations as enjoyable as you had suspected?" There was steel in his tone.

Meg felt her heart rising to her throat. How could he have known that she had been at the lake?

"It was not like that," she said weakly. "I just wanted to…" she broke off, not sure how she could explain her reasons without enraging him even more, and the Phantom scoffed, looking away.

"Spare me your explanations, Mademoiselle Giry. I doubt I want to hear them. I only wonder if you really thought that you could spy on me in my very home without me realising? That I wouldn't notice a missing torch or your wet footprints?" His eyes fixed on her again, flaring up with irritation. "If that is so, then pardon me, but you are really insulting my intelligence…" His mouth pressed into a thin line.

"I don't know what tales you have heard about the Phantom of the Opera so far," he ground out, "but let me tell you one thing that is true." The man straightened to his full height and glared down at her. "I have been controlling everything in this opera for longer than you can imagine and nothing, I repeat, nothing has ever escaped my attention. Though, to your credit I have to say that you are the first person who has come so far. Well, my congratulations, mademoiselle." The Opera Ghost spread his hands and bent in a mocking half-bow. "You have managed to get on my nerves and get lost in the opera underground, almost killing yourself by one stupid action. Was that what you wanted to achieve when you decided to meddle in matters that do not concern you?!" His voice rose, filling with fury, and despite herself Meg cowered in fear.

A part of her wanted to counter that everything that concerned her mother or Christine also concerned her and that she had every right to try to protect her family, but no words wanted to pass her lips.

The man cursed under his breath and averted his gaze, his hands clenching into fists.

"I should let you pay for your foolishness," he muttered, "but despite what you might think of me, Mademoiselle Giry, leaving you here to be eaten by rats is not something I would do, no matter how tempting it may seem. And if I haven't misinterpreted your screams this time" – the Opera Ghost threw her a pointed look – "I believe that you also do not want to spend more time here. I obviously cannot allow you to go around and spill all my secrets, but I think we might be able to come to some sort of agreement." He straightened again.

"Though recent events prove otherwise" – the Phantom didn't deny himself the pleasure of sending her another harsh gaze – "I trust that you have inherited some of your mother's common sense, and thus I would like to offer you a deal. I will take you back to the opera, but you won't be free. From now on, I will keep a close eye on you and you will have to comply with certain conditions." The Opera Ghost cleared his throat slightly, then raised a gloved finger.

"First, you will keep what you have seen or heard here to yourself, including knowledge about any secret passages. Second" – another finger joined the first – "you will not get into my way or take any actions against my will ever again. If you break either of these rules…" he hesitated and then looked aside, some hard-to-define notes slipping into his tone. "Well, I'm obliged to inform you that it might end badly not only for me, but also for members of your family. I hope you understand that as well as the terms…" he finished more quietly, moving his gaze back to her, and Meg felt a chill run through her.

What did he mean? Would he do something to her mother if she disobeyed him? Was he–

"I asked if you understand the terms." A trace of harshness was back in the Opera Ghost's words, and with a jolt of panic Meg forced herself to nod. After all, did she have any other choice?

"Good."

With a swirl of his black cape, the Phantom turned on his heel and headed back deeper into the corridor. Dimly, Meg could see him go up to the one of the sconces and reach for a coil of thick rope strapped to his belt. Having tied the one end of the cord to the metal holder, he came back, carefully approaching the end of the tunnel.

"I trust you are capable of climbing?" His visible eyebrow rose questioningly as he stopped a few steps before the edge. When she nervously inclined her head again in response, the man threw the other end of the rope down, then took a few steps back, making space for her.

Meg slid down to the water, but did not get much further. She had already realised that this story wasn't so black and white as she had thought before, but despite that everything in her body was screaming at the thought of approaching the Opera Ghost. Could she really trust someone like the fearsome Phantom of the Opera?

"If you are waiting for a written invitation, Mademoiselle Giry, then I am afraid that you will be met with disappointment." The Opera Ghost's low hiss tinged with a trace of irritation again. "So if I were you, I would consider hurrying up. Unless, of course, you are perfectly comfortable with spending more time in that pit…" he added dryly.

Meg swallowed the lump forming in her throat and forced her legs to move, carefully swimming up to the wall. If there was one thing she was certain of right now, it was that she did not want to be lost in that impenetrable, suffocating darkness ever again. And enraging the Phantom certainly wasn't a wise idea…

Her fingers closed around the rope, and she gritted her teeth, trying to ignore the throbbing in her injured palm and the strange weakness in her muscles. With a quiet grunt, she began to pull herself up. As the rope grazed the ledge, a few tiny pieces of stone crumbled away and splashed into the water below.

Meg's already knotted stomach constricted even more. Feeling her arms beginning to shake, she pushed herself a little over the shelf, desperately trying not to rest too much of her weight against the unstable part, and a scream ripped out of her as two strong hands clamped around her arms, jerking her up.

A fraction of a second later, her feet hit the stone floor and she stumbled forwards with a gasp, landing on her knees just in front of the Phantom. Her breath hitched.

For several heartbeats, time seemed to stop in place, and then the man took a step back, releasing her from his iron grip as a scowl flashed across his face. Without his support, Meg swayed and slumped to all fours.

"For your and your family's sake, Mademoiselle Giry, I highly advise you not to try doing anything unwise again." The Opera Ghost's dry voice resounded coldly somewhere above her head. Without another word, the Phantom turned and went to roll up the rope.

Some tiny whisper at the back of Meg's mind was telling her that she should stand up and show what remained of her dignity, but she could no longer find the strength. It was as if the fuel inside her that had let her go so far had finally ended.

Meg glanced down at the water dripping from her hair, thick white nightgown and miserably soaked woollen night jacket as she tried to hide the moisture welling up in her eyes.

She had thought that she could help, but in the end…

She blinked, trying to chase away the shameful tears along with the dark spots dancing in her vision, but she had little success. She wasn't even able to control the shivers shaking her body.

I have only made everything worse…

Something heavy dropped onto her shoulders and back, startling her from her thoughts and making her jump. With a tiny pang of panic, Meg raised her head and to her surprise discovered that she was wrapped in a thick black fabric, from which emanated a pleasant warmth.

Astonished, she touched the material, and that was when it sank in.

The Phantom's cape…

But… why?

She moved her sight to the man standing before her, but she did not find the answer there – the Opera Ghost's face was as inscrutable and deprived of emotions as the mask concealing its right half. His steel, grey-blue eyes met hers for a few seconds, then the Phantom looked away, avoiding her gaze.

"If you are ready, Mademoiselle Giry," he said roughly, handing her a strip of material, "then, please, stand up and blindfold yourself. I do not intend to let you see more of my secrets than you already have."

Meg glanced at his hand, trying to overcome the dizziness blurring it.

"I also do not intend to wait for you, so I'd appreciate it if you hurried up." Harsher notes slipped into the Opera Ghost's tone, and she was left no option than to comply.

Resting her hand against the wall, Meg pulled herself to a standing position, but the same moment the world whirled around her, making her knees buckle. A faint gasp escaped her lips as she staggered, and suddenly everything dimmed. With a last flash of consciousness, she saw someone's arms reaching towards her, and then everything was engulfed by darkness…

Oh, curse it!

Erik lunged forwards, catching the girl just before she could hit the floor. How the hell could he have not noticed she had been on the verge of fainting?

Feeling something knotting in his stomach, he laid the unconscious ballerina on the ground and dropped to his knees next to her. Leaning closer, he checked her state and sighed with relief as he saw that her chest was rising and falling in a steady, slow motion. She didn't seem to have any serious injuries, either.

Unsure how to proceed, Erik grabbed the blonde by her shoulders and shook her gently, but the only reaction he received was a tiny frown that passed her brow.

At least dealing with her in such a state will be easier…

The Opera Ghost winced, and then drew back a little. The girl was breathing normally and did not look badly sick or hurt, so letting her stay asleep a little longer probably wouldn't be dangerous. Though, if he had to be honest, she was also far from looking well: her usually neatly combed hair was tangled and dripping with water, her soaked nightgown with its night jacket was torn in a few places, her hands and feet were covered with smaller and bigger scratches, and her face had an unnatural bluish-white tinge. His voluminous black cape hung loosely over her petite figure, making her look even more pale and fragile.

Erik felt a wave of guilt. Meg Giry looked as if she had gone through hell, and he certainly hadn't made it easier for her.

But what was he supposed to have done? Thanked her for the intrusion? For meddling in his personal matters? And then, just walked her to the door as if nothing had happened, bid her a good night and asked if, by the way, she could kindly forget everything she had learnt about him?

Even if he had tried to explain everything better, she wouldn't have listened. He had seen how she had been flinching away from him. Had seen the way she had looked at him as if he were some bloodthirsty murderer ready to kill her at any moment, even after he had told her he did not wish her death and offered his help.

His hands curled into fists.

Cursed girl.

And why the hell did he even feel bad about all this? It was her fault that she had found herself in such a situation. She had entered the opera underground, knowing that it was forbidden, knowing that this place was dangerous. What was more, she had been trying to spy on him as if he were some low criminal!

A spark of anger flared up in his chest, and went out the next second as his gaze once again fell on the ballerina's limp body.

Hell, she really looked terrible…

With a deep sigh, Erik reached forwards and scooped the girl up in his arms, feeling strangely out of place when her head rested against his shoulder. For some reason, his mind went back to that night when he had brought Christine down here, and then reminded him how terribly it had ended. The soprano's recent words from the roof flooded over him again, and something in his chest constricted painfully.

Gritting his teeth, the Phantom pushed the thoughts away and forced himself to straighten up.

There was no time for brooding. Now, he had to focus on solving the present problem.

And the situation, putting it gently, wasn't good. He had no idea what Meg Giry was thinking, but judging by the way she had been looking at him, she would gladly have sent the police after him. And there was still no guarantee that she wouldn't, even after his warning.

Hell.

There was only one person he could ask for help.

And he could only hope that said person would not turn him in herself as soon as he appeared before her door with her unconscious daughter in his arms…

Author's notes:

Talking about getting help, I would like to once again thank my beta readers – Laurel/lks358 (prologue, chapters 1–4) and Lily/librarylexicon (chapter 5 onwards): Thank you both so much! I'm making a lot of silly grammar and vocabulary mistakes, so it's great to have a friendly native speaker around who can correct them and explain some things to me. :) And I'm truly honoured to have the opportunity to learn from such amazing writers.

Extra thanks go to everyone who favourited this story, sent me a message or left a comment/review (or left Kudos/a comment on AO3)! Receiving positive feedback from you is great and it means a lot to me. Thank you! :)