To Outwit an Angel

8. wdym erik was awake the whole time?

(A/N: Heads up! There's some French dialogue in this chapter. To avoid spoilers, we placed the English translation in a closing author's note. Just scroll down there when you hit the French. Happy reading!)

Sharlene's POV:

Opera stardom. I was just now returning from a meeting in the managers' office, 'Notes' as I knew it in the musical, and it had clued me in on one thing: this was my new life, and I already delighted in it. These managers were absolute fools the defy the Phantom like this, but damn, it paid off.

 Not only did I imitate their beloved Carlotta, I was her! I had lived in her skin for two days now, and all the reasons why she was such a prick fell into place. She really was that skilled, trained by the best of Italy and shipped off to France, where she rocked the Opera Populaire like no one before... Maybe not rocked—operaed? That didn't matter. What mattered was that the Il Muto rehearsals started tomorrow, and I was the Countess. 

 Loretta would be thrilled for my achievement, and once we fried that Phantom's vocal cords, there wasn't a chance his freaky voice-throwing powers could ruin my performance. Speaking of which, our friendly bottle of formaldehyde should still be tucked away in mine and Loretta's dressing room.

 Tonight would be our time of attack, and since it neared sundown, I'd better find Lori soon. I sauntered down the dressing room hall, paying specific attention to the sway of my bustle. Just in case Piangi came by.

 Recently, I'd been entertaining my favorite cat-and-mouse chase: hard to get. How else could I drive him crazy? Still, this wasn't as easy as avoiding Rob, strategically giving him glimpses of what he was missing. I did want to talk to Piangi, and with this strategy, I risked being immature. This method had never failed me, though, so why sabotage this relationship by avoiding what's tried-and-true?

 I slipped into our dressing room. Loretta slouched on a small purple sofa. Her head rested in her hand, and a small oil lamp illuminated her thoughtful look.

 "Are they still hunting for me?" She asked, straightening herself on the sofa.

 "No, Madame Giry said you were home. Don't worry about it."

 "And you played along?"

 "Naturally." I said, drawing out the syllables dramatically.

 I opened the drawer to the dressing table, which concealed our bottle of poison. 

 "We're still on for tonight?" I asked.

 Loretta shrugged.

 "We might as well."

 "Perfect." I studied the bottle of formaldehyde, partly for instructions. "...You're not mad about not getting to sing in Il Muto, right? If you really did want the part, it's probably better to hold off on the formaldehyde."

 "No, I don't want to sing in front of all those people," Loretta shuddered briefly, "I have no idea how Christine sang in Hannibal with basically no warning." 

 I exhaled almost silently. That was exactly what I hoped she would say. What I expected her to say, even. My big moment was was still on, and Loretta would be the pageboy. 

 "How were the managers? Everything went off without a hitch?"

 "More or less, but Raoul was a dick about that stupid note. Seriously? If Carlotta had something to say, she'd say it to his pretty face."

 Loretta let out a sharp laugh.

 "When's he not a dick though?" 

 We both laughed like idiots after that remark, desperately muffling our mouths to not alert the rest of the cast. After we calmed down, Loretta checked her oh-so Victorian pocketwatch.