Of Phantoms and Angels

XVI. Journey to the Cemetery

     Lilienne sat at the small table that served as the girl's vanity, twisting her hair into a braid in the half-light of early morning; she had awoken before the sun, too restless to fall back asleep.  The sky was only just beginning to lighten with the faintest shades of blue, yet she was already up and dressed.

     She tied the black ribbon in her hair to hold its braid and stared at her reflection in this dim lighting; the features of her face seemed softer, her skin smoother, everything obscured in the semi-darkness.  Yet, in absence of light, her eyes seemed brighter.  Lilienne always liked her reflection better in the soft light of evening or early morning, like it was now.

     Lilienne stood, silently moving to the window to glance over the start of the day.  Not much moved, just the few who'd decided to get an early start on their day; the paperboy rode down the damp streets on his bicycle, tossing his papers, a carriage driver was hitching his horse, and she could see Mme DuPont heaving a sac of flour in for later use.

     Just then, none other than Christine Daaé stepped into the dim morning.  Even from this distance, Lilienne could see that she was dressed in black.  It was no secret that she often visited her father's grave.  And Lilienne could understand why the girl might wish to see him now.  Though, she couldn't understand what her dilemma was with the Phantom's opera.  She thought it should be obvious what she should do.

     She was about to leave her place at the frosty window for a cup of tea with Mme DuPont in the kitchen, but before she could look away, something caught her eye; the Vicomte de Chagny had jumped onto his horse and taken off through Paris, riding hard.

     It hit Lilienne so hard, she let out an loud gasp before she could stop herself for fear of waking the other girls.  If Raoul was chasing after Christine, that could only mean one thing, and her mind instantly went to the carriage driver - he had pulled this trick before.  

     She flew from the room, leaving the door open behind her; she didn't have time to close it.  If the Phantom had gone with Christine, and Raoul was close behind, then this could only ever end badly.

     She grabbed a costume cloak as she ran from the opera house, greeted by the winter air that had yet to be touched by the sun's warmth.  She threw the cloak around her shoulders as she ran, not feeling the stinging cold between the running and the adrenaline.

     She ran flat-out for what felt like ages, as if she couldn't get there fast enough.  She stumbled along the path as it changed beneath her feet to a muddy trail, breathing hard, panic spurring her onward - she had to do something, or else somebody was going to die.  She was the only one who knew, she was the only one who could protect her Angel; from the Vicomte, and from himself.

     She reached the cemetery, falling against the gate as her lungs heaved for air.  She saw the carriage, tied to a post mere yards away.  It was empty - he was already inside, probably already with Christine, probably already facing Raoul.  There was a metallic clanking from among the headstones, the grating sound making Lilienne's head jerk up as her fears were confirmed.

     She ran through the cemetery, following the sound of the clanking through the tombstones.  She wove around the graves as the sounds became more distinct, until she could hear their grunts.

     Then, she saw the swish of a black cape and heard the Vicomte shout - obviously, the Phantom was winning.  She watched him pick himself up, taking the offensive.  Lilienne's stomach writhed inside her as she watched from behind a grave-marker; neither man could lose, yet neither could win.  It would be disastrous either way.

     She gasped as Raoul knocked the Phantom to the ground, forcing the sword from his hand and kicking it away in a flurry of white powder.  Without thinking, Lilienne lept forward.

     "No, Raoul!"

     She threw herself onto the Vicomte as he reared back, ready to deliver the final blow and run the Angel through.  He pushed her aside with ease, the hilt of his sword making hard contact with her head.  She fell back into the snow, dazed and disoriented, and with nothing else to do, she scrambled along the ground, right in between him and the Phantom.

     "No!" 

     "Lilienne?" The Vicomte asked, noticing her for the first time.

     "Lili?"  Christine spoke from behind him.  "what are you doing?"

     "Not like this," was all she could say, breathlessly.

     "You should be at the opera house," the Vicomte remarked, a mixture of annoyance and concern in his voice.

     "And you should return there.  Now."

     She instructed with an uncharacteristic authority.  She saw the Vicomte's eyes flick between her and the Phantom who lay sprawled in the snow behind her.  Putting his sword back in its sheath, he and Christine mounted his horse, riding back to warmth and safety.  They looked down upon the two of them skeptically as they passed.

     "Now, let it be war upon you both."  

     The Phantom had stood in a frenzy of frustration, infuriated by his defeat, and Lilienne could practically feel his seething anger.  He shook the snow from his cape with obvious annoyance, still breathing hard from the duel.

     "Don't be so dramatic."  Lilienne spoke up, still sitting on the ground.  He turned to face her.

     "Mlle LaClaire, you shouldn't have come here."  His irritation showed.

     "I had to come.  Either way, neither of you could have won."

     His expression softened, and he walked up to her, extending his hand to her.  She accepted it, allowing him to pull her off the ground.

     "You're head..."  He stood her in front of himself, his eyes resting on her forehead.  Lilienne's hand immediately flew to the injury the Vicomte had accidentally inflicted upon her, feeling the warm liquid.  

     "No, don't.  Let me."

     He produced a handkerchief from somewhere in his cloak, gently dabbing the blood from her head.  Despite the cold, a flush formed on her face.

     "I - I'm fine, really.  It's not so bad," she stammered.

     "You must be cold," he remarked, looking at the thin cape that barely covered her arms.  He removed his own, moving behind her to place it over her shoulders.  Its warmth instantly flooded her.

     Suddenly, his hand was pressed to her mouth, a strange smell filling her nose.  She tried to fight it, but almost immediately her body became heavy, her knees weak, and her head light.  She felt herself sink back into him, his arms wrapped around her as everything dissolved into blackness.

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     She squirmed in his arms as he covered her mouth and nose with the cloth in his hand, but it didn't take long for the ether to takes its effect.  Soon, she slumped back into him.  He hadn't wanted to do it, but he couldn't take any risks.

     He picked her up, carrying her to the carriage - as a dancer, she was quite light.  Leaving the cemetery behind, he returned to the borrowed carriage, laying her gently in the back and wrapping his cape more tightly about her.  What kind of person goes out in this weather with nothing but a costume cape?  he thought scoldingly, yet with amusement.  And also a slight and unnerving concern.

     Untying the carriage, he wrapped another cloak about himself, covering most of his face.  With a flick of the reins, they were headed back to the Opéra Populaire where Lili could get well and warm - but not by means of the fools at the opera house.  No, this had come about because of him, and he was going to righten it.

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