Hi guys,

I said there was a deal struck in this chapter, but its probably not the one you might think.

Thanks, as always, to everyone who has followed and/or favourited this story since I last updated. And special thanks to: Unnamed Wanderer, UnmaskedHearts, Phantom01, ElsieEdwina and Grandma Paula for your lovely reviews. :)

Grandma Paula: If you're still reading, Thank you, yes future chapters will get longer, I estimate about two more short ones before we really get started.

Chapter Two

Christine Daae left M. Lefevre's office and began to make her way down to the chapel where once upon a time she had conversed with an Angel. Losing the Angel of Music had been the worst thing about leaving the Opera House as a child. Being on the cusp of adolescence at the time of her departure Christine had been beginning to to wish that the Angel that her father had sent could be a boy, someone tangible, someone she could kiss like Raoul had been.

Christine clamped down on that train of thought; neither the Angel, nor dear practicing Catholic Raoul would want anything to do with her. Not when, in their view, she was a heathen, supposedly wed to satan. A romance between a witch and a Catholic nobleman was almost as laughable as one between said witch and an Angel.

Arriving at the doorway to the chapel, Christine set down her bag; off to one side out of the way; and pausing only to ensure that her wand was safely on her person, she crossed the threshold. It was perhaps, inadvisable to carry a tool considered evil by Christian doctrine onto ground dedicated to that faith, but after so long, she would feel lost without it.

Well, she didn't burst into flame, so Christine moved further into the room. She crossed to sit by the altar as she had when she would light a candle for her father when she was a child.

"Christine."

Christine stiffened at the sound of her name. She was seven years old again in that moment, as the Voice called out to her.

"Angel?" she whispered.

"I am here Christine, welcome home."

There was a sick moment of realisation as it dawned on Christine that somewhere in the back of her mind she had recognised the magical signature which had been following her from the moment she had entered the theatre once more. She had once wished that the Angel of Music had been a boy, now it transpired that she her wish had been granted. Her Angel of old and her silent shadow, now present, were one and the same.

Christine Daae drew her wand.

Erik watched in confusion as Christine produced a wooden baton from the pocket of her dress and pointed it, as if it were a sword or dagger, directly at his chest.

"Who are you Monsieur?" She asked.

Erik forced himself to laugh. "What do you mean child? Have you forgotten your Angel of Music?"

"If you were an Angel you would not associate with me." She informed him, her baton not moving an inch. "Now show yourself Monsieur."

Erik remained motionless. How did she know where he was?

The stick in Christine's fingers twitched.

Erik felt the same cool sensation trickle down his back that he had come to associate with his ability to become invisible. Wide eyed, Christine was on her feet in an instant, the hand holding the baton rising in a defensive manner.

She could see him.

It could have been seconds, or it could have been hours that the masked man and the young woman stared at each other in tense silence. Both wary, both waiting to see how the other would react. Then both spoke at the same moment.

"How can you see me?"

"Who are you, Monsieur?"

Erik swallowed, thoroughly out of his depth. Were this anyone but Christine he would have killed them in a heartbeat. However, as it was Christine, the one person that he could never cause harm to, he had no idea what to do. Reason stated that he should kill her and flee, but his heart balked at the very notion.

"I will not harm you, Christine." Erik assured her.

The baton did not move. "What were the Angel of Music's first words to me the night he entered my life?"

Erik frowned, puzzled by this question. He remembered every word that they had ever said to one another. But why would she ask this? Was she testing him?

"I asked you, 'Why are you crying little one?' And you returned that you were sad because your father had broken his promise to send the Angel of Music to you."

"And then you said...?" Christine asked, lowering the baton for the first time since she had drawn it out.

Erik felt himself smile, a small rueful smile. "'Not just anyone can be worthy of the Angel of Music.' I may not truly be an Angel my dear, but you were worthy of His attention."

Christine returned the baton to her pocket, not taking her eyes from his. "You have me at a disadvantage Monsieur."

"How so?" Erik asked.

Christine gave him a pointed look. "You know my name Monsieur, but I do not know yours."

"You know who I am."

"By reputation only M. le fantome," Christine returned. "But you are neither ghost nor Angel, so you must have a name."

Erik found himself laughing, thoroughly enjoying this intelligent, brave, apparently independent woman that his sweet little protégée had grown into during her time away. "Touché ma Cherie, I do have a name."

Blue eyes rolled in their sockets as Christine realised that he was not about to tell her what his name was.

"What is your name then, Monsieur?"

"What is my name worth to you Christine?" Erik asked, only wishing to further his time with Christine.

"What would you ask in return?" Christine returned, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes.

Erik's eyes widened and it was all he could do to prevent his jaw from dropping open when one look at Christine's face told him that she was well aware of the implications of her question. Erik swallowed, thickly.

And then the sweet innocent Christine Daae he remembered was back. "Forgive me Angel, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. In return for your name I will answer one question you have- I'm certain you must have some."

Erik was still struggling with the abrupt change Christine had just gone through. "Something for something?" He managed. "A quid pro quo?"

Christine nodded. "Exactly."

"Erik," he said. "My name is Erik."

"Just Erik?"

Erik's one visible eyebrow rose. "That is two questions, Christine."

"Then answer it and I shall answer two in return."

"Just Erik," he confirmed with a nod. "Reason suggests that I must have a family name but my mother never saw fit to tell me."

The baton was at her side now, held in a loose grip. She extended her right hand to him. "Then M. Erik, it is a pleasure to finally make my tutor's acquaintance."

~v~

Next time: we continue from where we left off, and Erik asks his questions. What do you think they will be?