Hello, all, and thank you so much for continuing to stick with this story. My apologies for such a huge wait in between chapters. As a peace offering, today I'll give you two new chapters instead of just one. And I expect to be able to get back to posting regularly now.

A quick author's note, which I should have put in with the last chapter: my version of the Persian is not only the former chief of the government police in Persia, he's actually employed with the French police force. Though in France he's now just a regular police officer, I thought he needed something to do with himself besides hanging around the Opera and bothering Erik.

Onward, then: In which the daroga takes Erik to task, and poor old Leroux gets turned on his head. I do hope he doesn't mind what I've done with his text.

Chapter 24. April 1887. Second week after the wedding.

Some days after their wedding, Erik had finally extracted himself from the marriage bed long enough to pay a call to the Persian.

"You must go to see him, Erik. He has no idea whether any of us are alive or dead; why, the poor man must be frantic!"

"He knows we are both well. I sent him that letter, as you requested. He is fine." Erik was far more interested in the way that Christine's golden tresses were falling over her bare breasts, and the absolute necessity of demonstrating his appreciation of the effect, than with the daroga's peace of mind.

"If he is really your oldest friend as you told me, you owe him a visit to announce your marriage anyway. It would be terribly rude, otherwise." She neatly evaded his grasp and clutched the sheet to her beautiful bosom. This had the combined result of removing enough of the current visual distraction for him to be able to make a response, and disappointing him that said distraction was now mostly hidden from his adoring eyes. He threw himself crossly back onto the pillows.

"That accursed Persian already was terribly rude himself, breaking into Erik's house and causing all manner of trouble."

"That was your own fault and you know it." Her eyes looked distinctly annoyed, not at all the glaze of desire which he had swiftly learned to love seeing. "And I saw that letter you wrote him. He's probably more worried now than he was before. You could not have been more cryptic if you tried."

"Erik was trying. He knew it would wind up that old fool like a piece of Erik's clockworks." If he could not have his newfound marital rights, he would at least take refuge in sarcasm. A pitiful bargain indeed.

"Erik!"

"Do not scowl at Erik like that, Christine…oh, all right! I will go!"

"When?"

"…later."

But he had only a few moments of bliss, before Christine suddenly murmured, "Oh, no," leapt out of bed and snatched up her robe, and dashed for the bathroom. When she came back, she would not meet his eyes.

"Erik…"

Much to the amorous husband's chagrin, his bride had informed him, with great mortification, that so far as marital relations went he was out of luck for several days, possibly a week. It was this revelation that had resulted in his making good that day on his promise to visit the daroga; there was now no reason to stay in bed late. Accordingly, Erik had presented himself later that morning at the Persian's door, and informed a mulish Darius that he would not depart until he had seen the daroga. He might not have been quite so forceful about it, however, had he known of the accusation which would be thrown at him the minute he entered his friend's presence.

"Murderer! You've killed Comte Philippe. What have you done with his brother and Christine Daae?"

"What?" said Erik blankly, momentarily forgetting about the purpose of his visit.

"You heard me!"

"Daroga, what on earth are you on about? Killed the Comte? Not at all. What makes you think that I did?"

"Because the newspapers are saying that you did!"

"They are?"

"Yes!"

"I have no idea why that should be. And since when do you believe everything you read in the papers? I suppose next you'll be telling me you've taken up serialized novels."

"Are you telling me you have not seen a newspaper in the last few days? All they are printing is speculation over what happened at the Opera. I would think you would have been interested to know what is being said. As soon as I was well enough to rise from my bed, I sent a letter to the de Chagnys to find out if the Comte was really dead, and I received no answer. What was I to think, Erik?"

Erik recalled now what he had been going to announce to the Persian.

"No, in fact, I have not seen a paper at all. Erik had far more important things to think about."

"I do not doubt it! Things like whatever dreadful act you have committed against Raoul de Chagny and Christine Daae! No one has seen either of them since that night you abducted her off the stage!"

"Don't speak to me of that idiot boy!" Erik snapped. "I don't want to hear about him! I came here for a reason, and it wasn't to be accused of – "

"Raoul de Chagny and Christine Daae, Erik?"

"Damn it!" bellowed Erik, making the windows rattle in their frames. Darius came rushing to the door and peered in apprehensively. "I haven't killed anybody! And I have no intention of doing so ever again, but if you keep on like this, I might change my mind!"

"Then tell me, for the love of heaven, what happened!"

"I did tell you. I sent you a letter three days ago."

"Oh, yes, that letter which explained nothing, and confused everything! You did a splendid job of seeing to it that my mind was left in worse state after reading it than before." The daroga waved a hand irritably at his manservant, who withdrew with an injured look.

Erik could not help smirking. "Yes, I must admit, that letter was a masterpiece."

" 'A masterpiece,' " scoffed Mihr scathingly. "Oh, don't stand there and preen yourself on your cleverness, you unbelievable imbecile. Do you know that letter caused me to rush to headquarters to make a report, because I thought you'd – "

"You did what, daroga?" Erik's voice was suddenly low and dangerous, and the Persian stepped hastily backward, putting a chair between himself and the man who had once been the most feared assassin in the Orient.

"I told my colleagues what I knew, Erik, and it was your own fault that I did so! You sent me that cryptic letter intending for it to distress me. Well, you succeeded – " Mihr broke off abruptly, as Erik took a threatening step forward. But then he stopped short.

Christine would not want him to harm the Persian, traitor though he had become. Christine did not want him to harm anyone. He had promised her that if she married him, he would give up his wickedness and be as gentle as a lamb; well, she had fulfilled her side of the bargain. He must do the same to his. He dropped the hands he had raised.

"Your double-crossing neck is safe, daroga," he snarled. "I have become the most virtuous of men now, remember? You needn't look so terrified – though I must say it is rather gratifying that you are."

"Nothing has come of it, I promise you," Mihr insisted, speaking very fast. "They did not believe me. They thought I was off my head, said I'd been working too hard; and they refused to look into my claims. You are in no danger of arrest, Erik."

"Good," said Erik curtly. "That would be the supreme irony, if Erik had to flee yet another country now, after all that has happened."

"I'm not sure I'm sorry you aren't," said the Persian, beginning to be angry again. "Your conduct was inexcusable."

"So was yours, daroga. A man of the law, breaking into his old friend's house with pistols in hand?"

"You deserved having your house broken into and worse," snapped Mihr. "How was I to know that Mademoiselle Daae's life was not in danger? You were quite beyond all reason by that point and I knew it. I was trying to prevent a great tragedy from occurring, and I would have done anything to stop it."

"Well, you failed." Erik's voice was contemptuous. "The old policeman is finally losing his touch."

"I know I failed, Erik! So what did happen? Who is dead? Are you going to tell me now, or am I going to summon some of my comrades and prove to them that I was telling the truth?"

"As if you could hope to hold me captive here until they arrived. A false threat, daroga. But as it happens, I did come here to clear everything up for you – though if I did not have something worth boasting about to you I would not tell you a thing, and just let you remain in torment. However."

Erik folded his arms and announced, with great self-satisfaction, "Not a hair on the heads of either of the Chagny brothers or the former Mademoiselle Daae has been harmed by me. You need not worry about anyone's fate – except, perhaps, for mine! Daroga, I am a married man."

He had been expecting the Persian to be gratifyingly shocked at this, but instead, all he got was further vitriol.

"Oh, so you forced her to the Madeleine after all, did you? I suppose you saw to it that she was fully entranced when she said her vows, then?"

"Not in the slightest!" exclaimed Erik, offended. "Daroga, you insult me."

Mihr stood still for a moment, breathing hard and glaring. Then he snapped, "I insult you? Allah! You can say that after everything that transpired below ground? Yes, yes, of course you can. You always were utterly shameless."

"If you will keep quiet for two minutes together I will tell you everything. No, I didn't entrance Christine, she married me of her own free will, astonishing though that is. She is a marvellous creature, daroga! I did not kill the Comte de Chagny, and I did not do anything to his irritating little hothead of a brother – save drugging him and locking him up in an old Communard's dungeon for a while. But I soon set him free, and he suffered no permanent harm. Sit down and ring your servant's bell and have Darius bring us both brandy. You'll need it. What a good thing you've never abided by the Mohammedans' asinine strictures against alcohol."

"You'll have to spin quite a tale to get me to believe this," the Persian threatened.

"Well and good, then. I always was good at story-telling. Sit down and ring that bell, I tell you."

As the Persian clutched his brandy glass as though it were a life-line, Erik told him of what had transpired in the depths of the Opera House, after he had taken Mihr back to his flat. He did not, however, make a good job of it initially, and managed only to confuse the other man for a time. No sooner did Erik begin to tell the story when he was overcome at the memory of Christine's first embrace, and the coherence of his tale disintegrated abruptly.

"Daroga, it was all because – well, because Christine – oh, she is the most wonderful woman in the world – I still can not believe it when I think of it. My God, I feel as if I were going to die of love sometimes – my heart may burst any time now, daroga – "

Thoroughly agitated, Erik gasped for breath, pressing one hand to his chest. Then he jumped to his feet and began pacing, brandy glass in hand. The Persian looked on in consternation.

"Daroga, if you knew how beautiful she was when she – oh, God – oh, she did it willingly, daroga, and she has done everything else willingly too, and I never, never thought she would!"

"What has she done?"

"She has saved me, saved Erik you see, and it was the first time I ever – not even my mother – she was alive, Christine was alive I mean, not Erik's poor miserable mother, she is long since dead, but Christine – she was alive, so alive when it happened daroga, and she was so much more beautiful than I ever thought she'd be dead. There was no comparison." He was vacillating in and out of French and Persian.

Mihr stood up as well, thoroughly alarmed. "What do you mean, Erik? Tell me now! What have you done?"

"I haven't done anything, daroga, I told you it was all Christine. It was not Erik's fault."

"Have you killed her after all, Erik? Have you? Is that what all this raving is about?"

"No!" cried Erik, balling his hand into a fist. "Murder my Christine? Never! How can you speak such sacrilege, daroga? I would kill myself first."

"I may beat you to it. Explain yourself, Erik!"

"I am!" Erik snarled. "You keep interrupting me, daroga. I am trying to tell you about Christine – how she – she – " He held the back of his hand to his lips, fingers flexing like a spider's legs and his golden eyes closing tightly, and could not go on.

Tried beyond bearing, Mihr set down his glass with a thud. Then he took two long strides across the room and seized Erik by the arm.

"Are you going to tell me if she's alive or dead?"

"Why are you shaking me like that?" Erik asked, his voice thick with sentiment as he dragged his eyes open again. "Look, you've spilled the brandy. I told you; if anyone dies it will be me, of love. Let go, daroga." He wrenched away and stepped back to lean weakly against the wall.

"Sit down in that chair," commanded the Persian with a thunderous expression, pointing sternly at the armchair Erik had vacated, "And tell me what happened, in a sensible fashion and with coherent language. Or I shall have you arrested."

"But, daroga, I am too undone just at present – look, I'm shaking – "

"Now!"

There was no other man in the world who could have talked to Erik like that and lived to tell the tale – or whom Erik would have obeyed. But the former Angel of Death sat meekly down as he had been told, and his host replaced the spilled brandy. After a good bit of it had disappeared, Mihr, by dint of ruthless prodding, finally succeeded in extracting the story. It had been a long time since he had been the chief of the Persian police, but he had not lost the abilities that had got him to that exalted position and allowed him to make a career on two different continents of upholding the law. If Erik was not the most difficult subject Mihr had ever had to interrogate, he was certainly high on the list, but he was also quite overwhelmed with emotion and in short order he was the worse for drink as well. And his old friend had known him for a very long time. It was, ultimately, an unequal fight.

"She kissed me, daroga." Erik was slumped wearily in his chair.

"She what?"

"Yes, of course you are shocked. You know what I look like. Oh…oh, it's so good to kiss someone, daroga! You can't imagine how it was, for me. And then – and then it happened a second time! Oh, if you knew how beautiful she was when she let me kiss her, alive – as she had sworn on her eternal soul. It was the first – " This was an embarrassing admission, and Erik took another deep swallow of brandy for fortification. "The first time that I ever kissed a woman. What woman would have ever let me do such a thing, looking as I do? But I kissed her, alive, when I'd only ever thought I would be able to if she were dead."

"And she is not dead, now?" the Persian asked sharply.

"No, no, she's not dead!" cried Erik. "She is my wife, my living wife! And if anyone touches a hair of the beautiful head of my wife, they'll pay! She's a brave and honourable woman who, on top of everything else, on top of marrying me of all people, saved your life, daroga, at a moment when I wouldn't have given two sous for your Persian hide. Why the devil did you come down there with that little idiot? You, who knows better than anyone about Erik's tricks! I'd told you to stay away, why didn't you listen? You never listen."

Erik raised a trembling hand to his mouth again, lowered it, and said, "Oh, if you knew how beautiful she was when she let me kiss her, alive – "

"What do you mean?" demanded Mihr brusquely.

"Yes, I see a comment like that upsets you, daroga, when it issues from me. I can not blame you, you who knows what I am. More brandy, please."

Erik held out his glass. He ought not to drink so much, especially when he still had to get home, but talking about this was extraordinarily difficult. When the glass was refilled, he gulped another burning swallow for further courage, and continued, "I always believed that a woman would die if I did anything of the sort. I bring only death to people. You know that, daroga."

"I thought you were not going to commit any further atrocities after I helped you escape the shah," said the Persian, glowering. "That is why I did it, Erik! So that your gifts and your brilliance might benefit humanity, not so you could 'bring death' to any more people!"

Erik, head spinning from brandy and passion, waved a dismissive hand. "Do not be such an old woman, daroga. Yes, I tried to keep that promise. But I journeyed to more dangerous countries than yours, you know, and sometimes Erik had to…Erik had to, you see. I went to Constantinople after leaving Persia, and there – and there – "

"Erik. Get hold of yourself or I shall shake you again."

"Don't flatter yourself, daroga, you wouldn't dare. I did what I had to do when I had to do it, that is all, and then I decided to come back to France. And then I went to live underground, which was a stupid thing for Erik to do. His mind could not handle the isolation, even though it was what I thought I wanted. My madness came back, daroga, that madness that you saw yourself, and then Erik fell in love and everything went to the devil. More brandy."

"You've had more than enough already. No more. Continue, please, and try to make a little more sense or we will be here all day."

"You are cruel, daroga, and most inhospitable. Very well, then. Yes, Erik did horrible deeds while in the grip of madness over Christine, but that is all right now, daroga, because she has redeemed me! Yes! She has! She has redeemed Erik, of all people! By God, I don't know why she did it, because he certainly didn't deserve it, but I am so very happy she did. Yes, I am happy, daroga! Have you ever seen me so before?"

"Not about anything good," said the Persian dryly. "But I must say I've never seen you in quite such a quivering mess before. I should have known better than to give you so much brandy while you were in this condition."

"I needed it, daroga, I needed it. It is a good thing we shall be here for some time, you know, as it would not be safe for Erik to go through the streets to get home while in this condition. He must have his wits about him when he is out in public, as he never knows when he will be set upon."

"I never know when your paranoia will get completely out of hand. Paris is a civilized city and I strongly doubt you have much to worry about in this neighbourhood. If anyone is in danger I ought to be, as an obvious foreigner, but I've never been bothered in the least. Continue, I said."

Erik tried to do so, but soon his fragile composure disintegrated again. He continued talking, but in gasping, broken sentences, till he fell silent altogether and could not go on. With a sigh, the Persian rose, excused himself, and went out to the other room to tell Darius to make some strong coffee and bring it in. Returning to his parlour, he saw that Erik had finally calmed, and was sitting motionless in his chair.

"Have you recovered yourself now?" Mihr asked. When Erik, his eyes red-rimmed behind the mask, nodded silently, the daroga seated himself again and remarked, rather sarcastically, "It was lucky for your purposes that you are not usually given to falling apart like this, else you would not been able to carry out your…assigned duties in my country."

"I prefer to forget the Rosy Hours of Mazanderan," muttered Erik, as he had before, and they were silent then until the coffee arrived. Erik sipped at it feebly, and tried again to finish his story. But he continued to speak in fits and starts, so that the Persian had to wait some time to have all the pieces of the story together. When Erik had finally finished, Mihr commented, "Well, I must say, Erik, that is an incredible turnabout."

"Yes," said Erik. "Like something one might see in a melodrama."

"Melodrama is a good deal more pleasant when acted out on a stage, and not actually happening to one in real life," said the daroga darkly. He lit a cigarette, and then leaned back in his chair and inquired, "Do you honestly expect me to believe all this?"

Erik's yellow eyes flew wide open, and he snapped, "Yes, I do! It is all true."

"Erik, the last I heard, that girl was weeping with horror at the idea of being forced into matrimony with you, and she was considering letting a quarter of Paris die along with her so she wouldn't have to, and – "

"She was not!" retorted Erik, glaring at Mihr. "She would never have made that choice. She is too good."

The Persian dismissed his protest with an annoyed wave of the hand, making a thin smoke trail through the air, and persisted, "And yet after you compelled her to make just such a choice; after you kidnapped her and raved at her for hours; drove her to attempt suicide and then tied her to a chair when she finally did; after you taunted her with what was going to happen to me and her fiancé in your abominable chamber; after you endangered her life right along with everyone else's, while claiming all along that you were doing so out of love for her – after all that, you expect me to believe that she suddenly recognized a heretofore undiscovered attachment to you, and married you of her own volition?"

"Well…yes," said Erik weakly, suddenly realising how absurd this all sounded when discussed bluntly in the cold light of day. But it was true! He did have Christine's love now! Erik did not understand it any better than the daroga did, but somehow it had happened, and his heart swelled with pride.

Mihr shifted forward and tapped ash into the tray on the table between them, and then sat back again, took a long drag on his cigarette, fixed Erik with a gimlet stare, and said evenly, "Rubbish."

"Daroga!"

"You are merely spinning me this fabrication to placate me and get me off your trail. Do you think I don't know your tricks? I am well aware of your love of convincing someone of a truly fantastic tale and then laughing at them after. No doubt you were expecting to go home and congratulate yourself on your cleverness as usual. Well, it won't work."

"But it is all true!" repeated Erik, leaping to his feet and scowling down at Mihr, who remained unmoved and merely continued smoking and staring up at him calmly. This annoyed Erik still further. "I swear to you that it is!"

"You have told me many times that you only swear when you want to fool stupid people. You ought not to have done so if you wanted to retain the ability to include me in that category. Really, Erik, a skilful gambler never shows his hand." The daroga's tone was ironic, even mocking, and it flicked on the raw. How dare this double-crossing old busybody lecture him on how to play the game properly?

"Then, come back with me to my house and I'll show you!" cried Erik recklessly, making a sweeping gesture toward the door. "I shall show you that Erik has a wife now, and that he's loved for himself after all, and you'll have to eat your words! I'll have you speak to her yourself, and then you'll be sorry you insulted Erik like this, daroga, you'll be sorry."

The Persian gazed at him a few moments longer, letting Erik stand there and pant with wrath, till he finally heaved himself out of his chair, stubbed out his cigarette, and said, "As you wish, then. This I have to see. Let me have Darius fetch our hats and my cane."

O-O-O O-O-O