Beneath the Porcelain Mask

15. The Phantom of the Opera (part one).

I'm here, The Phantom of the Opera!
~Erik

Andrew Lloyd Webber, The Phantom of the Opera.

Also, Erik banner.

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By the time the sixth hour struck and the bells began to chime in the sitting room, I was already dressed and walking about the House with a song in my throat. Somehow I'd woken up with a new spring in my step and I felt more alive.

I'd sort of taken over the House on the Lake over the past few days and hadn't dared to step foot outside until yesterday, just in case any gendarmes' curiosity had been piqued by any rumours. As a result, the vast majority of the fifth cellar had been reorganised and tidied up until I was satisfied and Erik had stopped grumbling. He had given me a coolish shoulder ever since Christine appeared for a lesson and I'd told her he was out, but never mind. They'd both thank me sooner or later.

He was by the organ when I entered, still furiously scribbling away at Don Juan Triumphant. Humming, I stepped over and set a plate of gypsy toast down on top of the instrument beside his mask, pushing the ever-growing mountain of paper aside.

"Good morning!" I said, my voice higher than usual. He grunted in reply and kept scribbling, occasionally testing some notes.

"Where are you going?" he muttered as I stepped into the hall, leaving the door open.

"Up Top," I replied, pulling my hair into a bun and fastening it with pins from the nearby dresser. "Jeremy is showing me the scene-shifting department. Why?"

He muttered something about a celery and 'mops knives.'

"I can't hear a word you're saying," I said, reentering the parlour and heading up the steps to my room and the passageway. "Wish me luck!"

He didn't, or if he did he muttered it to himself.

I hurried up through the freezing passageways towards my old room. The Angel moved easily and I hurried over to the door, grabbing the key from its chain around my neck. It opened easily, and, after making sure no one in the corridor to see me, I slipped out and hurried on towards the stage.

A few people stared as I went past. The story of the masked lady being fired must have spread by now, so seeing me in staff-only quarters would be confusing. But as long as the managers didn't find out, as long as they didn't tell les gendarmes....

"Nikki!" I looked up and saw Jeremy standing at the top of the stairs that led beneath the stage. He waved as I walked over and offered me his hand, which I took with a smile. "I was worried you wouldn't come!"

"You didn't tell the managers, did you?" I said as he led me down the stairs. He frowned as we reached the bottom and put his hand on my back to steer me ahead by a step.

"No. Should I have?"

"Absolutely not!" I cried, so sharp he let me go entirely. "I mean-"

"It's alright," Jeremy said over the noise of clanking chains and shouts of the other men. He stepped over some lengths of timber and took my hand to help me through the rest of the maze towards a ghostly white figure.

"Nikki," he said, catching the harness of a huge, grey horse. It flicked its massive head, stamping a heavy foot and sending plooms of dust into the air. My breath caught. I fumbled with my gloves. Why horses? They were alright when they were small or attached to a carriage that would get me away from the police, but this was virtually a giant, an unrestrained, sixteen hands giant who was staring at me a little bit too directly. "This is Nevel!"