Songbird

1, in which I meet the Phantom.

     Don't make deals with the Devil. It's something you learn from birth, but no one warns you about the others. The ones who have taken over his dirty work. The subtler motions, the slow creep into your mind that they do. Maybe I should have seen the warnings, but the Phantom felt so...Genuine.

     I hadn't wanted fame or fortune; I wanted to inspire people. To make people feel better, to help them through difficult times. He offered something no one else gave me.

     A chance.

     We met the night I sang at Martly's. A quick, cheap bit of entertainment in a rundown bar. Martly never even paid me, I just wanted the practice.

     He approached me at the end of the night, as the soft jazz started again from the radio. He asked who taught me – No one had, not since high school. He claimed I had potential, offered to fund lessons for me. I asked him that night what he gained out of it. A long term investment, he called it. Nothing for me to lose, everything to gain. He gave me a week to think about it, and then I tentatively agreed.

     He offered a hand. I should have known better.

     My lessons turned into small performances outside of Martly's. He was more than willing to let me read my contracts – seemed ecstatic that I did. No funny business, he financed all of it, I received most of the pay. No fine print, no wording I couldn't clarify. Everything was there.

     I should have known better.

     Gigs became singles. Singles turned into record labels. Record labels slipped into a concert.

     Standing backstage, moments before I would go out, we stood there just watching the crowd.

     "So, off to smaller and less successful places?" I asked half-heartedly, a return to the conversation we had earlier that week. There wasn't much more he could do from here.

     "I'm afraid so," he replied. "I'll stay for the concert of course, but I dare say you won't see me after, Miss Jordan."

     For a moment, we were silent. Then, I offered him my hand.

     "Thank you. For everything."

     There was a change in his face when he shook mine, something that made a shiver run down my spine. A spark in his eye I hadn't seen since Martly's.

     "You've become quite the songbird."

     I tried to laugh away my unease, blamed it on my nerves. "Haven't heard that nickname in a while."

     "I dare say it's been a while since you were last on a stage. Do have fun, my dear."

     His tone made me shiver, but by the time I was on stage, ready to perform, I felt it all fall away. I was lost in that moment, forgetting everything that got me here. Just hearing the cheers, the others sing along. Everything in that moment, that performance, was perfect.

     I should have known better. Everything has a price.

     The last note echoed out into the stadium, cheers following me as I left the stage, an exhilarating feeling as I slipped out of sight.

     A jolt of lightning shot through me. My head swam, and I stumbled into the nearby machinery. I heard people shouting, my name turned to muddled voices. Everything fell silent as I collapsed to the floor. The fog in my head cleared as I slowly pulled myself up.

     Something was very wrong. It wasn't metal or wood beneath me, no pain from what I had hit. My eyes were still adjusting, but I knew I wasn't where I should have been.

     A soft laugh froze me to my spot, a familiar sound that threatened to overwhelm me.

     "You had me worried," he murmured. Slowly, I turned to face him. The Phantom's devilish grin loomed above my tiny glass prison, a bauble atop his cane. "But it seems I've gained quite the little songbird."