The Treasure *Phantom of the Opera* (sequel to The Quest)

Chapter 23

A/N: A lot of darkness in this chapter, but well, the storm is brewing ... also, please remember, this is a high fantasy tale based on what I saw as a high fantasy story hidden within movie ...

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**Chapter XXIII**

Without Music, life is a journey through a desert

- Pat Conroy

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Celeste pressed her back to the outside wall in a shadowed nook of the villa, trying to control her harsh breaths. She had long ago heard her pursuer's footsteps race past and not return, so felt sure she'd somehow evaded him by darting around corners and slipping through whatever passages came in sight.

She took a step toward the opening and cringed as tiny rocks grated beneath her shoe, the sound not unlike stepping on ground glass. Merde! Had they been so loud earlier? Another step, this time more careful. Another crunch, worse than before.

The earth at this part of the villa lay littered with the smallest of pebbles, something she hadn't paid attention to while fleeing for her life. Her breathing had been ragged, the only sound that had pounded through her ears. To walk across this private courtyard – what must be the distance from the stable at Whiterose to its manor house –then climb the low wall and hopefully reach quieter ground and the safety of her room - she may as well bang a drum and announce her presence to anyone listening for it. But what choice did she have? She couldn't cringe inside this cold nook the entire night, which had only just fallen. And she would never retrace her steps to the forbidden wing. Not alone. Never again.

Her heart lodged somewhere in her throat. It must be there as fast as her blood swirled, rushing into her ears. With measured steps, she continued, again wincing at the long-drawn-out sound made – like the crunching of small bones – and she quickened her pace. The din now sounded like a landslide, and she halted. God, what was she going to do? Out in the open with the moon shining down on her, its harsh glow pointing her out, she felt vulnerable, trapped, terribly alone ... except ...

...from all around she felt unseen eyes watch from deep within the shadows of the forest. Cold, yellow, piercing. She shivered, but when she swung her head around to catch sight of the threat, the forest remained dark. She knew she had not imagined it. This fear of being stalked, this dread ... the hungry glare of those eyes burning through her flesh and chilling her to the marrow of her soul.

The night air was warm, stifling, but an icy breath whispered against the nape of her neck, as if death, itself, sought to capture her. And she ran. Heedless of the noise she made. Ran for her life. Ran as if the frantic beats of her heart could be her last ...

The shadowed form of a man stepped out from behind a tree near the wall, blocking her retreat.

She gave a frightened cry, skidding to a halt and almost lost her balance.

Mon Dieu, please let it be the nice capitán. But even in shadow, she realized this man was too tall. His bearing was sure and commanding as if he owned the entire territory and her in it. His pace was deliberate and taunting, as if to show she was his prey and he would emerge the victor. A few more steps ... and then his face appeared in the moon's strong glow.

She had never seen this man. His hair, long and black, was as dark as his eyes that shimmered with hatred ... with insanity, with ... sheer evil. She had seen a look like that once in a man's eyes before, though his was darker, as if a devil from hell controlled him. She never would have believed it possible, but this ... man, if that's what he was ... looked more evil than the fiend who raped her.