To Outwit an Angel

18. Rescue Mission, Bitches!

Sharlene's POV:

I was on the verge of kissing Piangi again, on the very cusp of reliving that magical moment from before, when a heart-stopping shriek pierced the opera's grandeur. It was so sickeningly familiar that my head spun.

 Loretta.

 Where was she? Was she okay? My eyes darted over the empty ballroom. Yes, Raoul and Madame Giry were over there, and Piangi stood right beside me. But where was Lori? What had happened to her?

 Her scream had alerted everyone. Our eyes roved around, alarm freezing us in place.

 "The Phantom. The dressing room. The mirror. We should—"

 I couldn't finish my sentence. Her cry had emanated from that direction, and I wasn't going to waste precious seconds weighing our options. I bolted for the dressing room, several pairs of shoes pounding in my wake. At least I wouldn't confront the Phantom and rescue Lori alone.

 "Christine!"

 The girlish voice arrested me. I skidded to a stop, almost slipping on the polished marble hallway. A mop of curly blonde hair flew into my line of sight, as Meg Giry grasped my shoulder.

 "You heard her scream too? I was waiting on Maman to get me. She said she would. Just needed to talk with Christine privately first, but... but..." Meg's words had rushed from her trembling lips, only to slow down as she regained her breath. "But then I heard her scream."

 The footsteps behind me broke off, and Meg glanced over my shoulder.

 "Oh, good, you brought help," she said, "let's go."

 She was already turning toward the dressing room, but in one long stride, Madame Giry was by her daughter's side, placing a firm hand over her shoulder.

 "You're not coming with us. It's likely nothing to worry about, but if it is dangerous..." She trailed off, which unsettled me.

 Dangerous? When even Madame Giry hesitated at the prospect, I knew it was serious. My heart was still pounding. I was not going to suffer through a stand-off with Meg Giry, of all people, when time was my greatest asset in rescuing Lori.

 "Figure that out later. We need to move."

 Meg broke from her mother's hold and stamped her feet firmly in my way.

 "You're not going a step farther until I can go with you."

 "Fuck it. Let her go."

 I was beyond pretending to be Carlotta for the uninitiated. If Meg thought my sudden propensity for cursing was odd—not to mention my desperation to save "Christine"—then she could go to fucking hell.

 Meg didn't care where the approval to join us came from. Mine was apparently as good as any. She bounced out of my way, keeping pace with me, as we raced down the hall. Madame Giry chased after us, heels clicking sternly on the floor. She could berate me for dragging Meg into this later, but I would plow through any obstacle, including some crazy ballet girl intent on a rescue mission, to save my best friend.

 "Meg Edith Giry, you slow down this very second!"

 I had never heard calm, collected Madame Giry shout before. Terrified of this novelty, I stopped alongside Meg. It took mere seconds for Raoul, Piangi, and Madame Giry to catch up to us.

 "You listen to me, young lady. I want you to leave and sit quietly in the dance foyer until I come to collect you. I refuse to drag you down there."

 "But Christine—"