Prologue

A thick, white fog swirled around the man's feet as he walked silently through the cemetery. A crescent moon shone brilliantly overheard, casting shadows from the statues and headstones lining the pathway through the graveyard. The cool mist curled around his hands, dampening them, and he absently pressed his palms to the legs of his trousers. He could hear his pulse throbbing in his ears; he was anxious. Cemeteries had always made him so. He could practically taste the decay that lie below his feet; the rotten bodies, the wasted lives, all beautifully masked behind magnificent monuments, stone angels, intricate headstones. He quickened his pace. A large silhouette stood before him, and he took a deep breath as he approached it.

He kneeled when he reached the tomb, and lowered the small bouquet of white roses onto the steps leading to the iron gate. He took another shuddering breath.

"Well, Monsieur Daae," he said softly. "It appears she has abandoned us both."

He straightened, gazing at the dark sky. The ship for England departed in just a few hours, and he still had much to prepare for the voyage. Returning to the opera house was a great risk, but a necessary one; perhaps he could scavenge some of his personal effects. Maybe even salvage some of his music. The vermin who had defiled his home certainly wouldn't have found all the entries and exits the lair possessed; surely he could slip in and out quickly enough to go unnoticed.

His eyes shifted back to the tomb. Anton Daae had given him two great gifts: Christine, and the means to possess her.

Angel of music.

He snarled at the thought.

"Farewell, monsieur. May you rest easy now that your daughter is safe from this demon."

He inclined his head briefly and made the sign of the cross. Then he turned on his heel and fled into the night, disturbed mist and white roses the only evidence that he had been there at all.