A/N: You see, I really am trying to finish this! I'll update as much as I can. Seriously. ;)

Disclaimer: yadah yadah I own nothing yadah yadah except for the characters I create

Ch. 9 Distractions

"I don't know Meg. Isn't it a little… much?"

"Oh Chrisy, Chrisy, Chrisy. Is there really such a thing?"

The two girls looked across Christine's flat at each other for a few seconds, Christine standing before her small vanity, Meg Giry seated cross-legged on top of the small bed. It wasn't long until the room was filled with laughter as the two friends came down with a terrible fit of giggles. Wiping a tear from her eye, Christine plopped down on the bed next to her friend, smoothing out the folds of her obviously expensive new evening gown. "But seriously Meg, look at it! I don't know how Raoul could have picked it, not that I'm ungrateful. It's just so…so… pink."

"Well, Christine, Raoul is a man, and with a man's rapier wit he has bought his woman a pink dress. Ten to one he'll be wearing blue or some very manly costume like a soldier's uniform. Besides, it is a masquerade party after all. Everyone is going to look silly."

"You're right, Meg, as usual," said Christine with a half gracious, half teasing smile. "It is a lovely gown, color or not. Did you find something to wear?"

The petite dancer plucked at an errant thread on the sleeve of her plain dress. "Oh, well, you know me. I'll just nag the costumers until they let me borrow something."

Christine chuckled, patting Meg's arm. "Just don't let Madame catch you!"

"Don't worry about her; she'll probably be right there with me!"

At this the two started laughing all over again. After catching her breath, Meg got up. "Speaking of mother, I better get on home. She hates for me to be out after dark, especially with all those bodies cropping up one a night ."

Putting on her coat, Meg turned towards the door when something on the bedside table twinkled invitingly. "Christine, what's this?" she asked, picking up what appeared to be a copper coin of foreign origin.

An unreadable expression flitted momentarily over the young soprano's features, quickly replaced by another of her amiable smiles. "Oh, it's nothing. Just something I found outside the opera last week. You know how many tourists we get."

"Oh yes. How could one forget?" Meg replied as she returned the strange coin. "Well, Chrissy, I'm off. See you at practice tomorrow?"

"Of course. Goodnight!"

With that the dancer slipped out the door, down the stairs, and into the quickly darkening Parisian dusk. Christine sighed in a weary sort of way and set about changing into her nightgown, sending nervous glances at the coin where it sat glinting dully in the lamplight. Pink, frilly evening dress safely stowed, she sat on her bed and turned the shiny metal over in her fingers. It was ordinary looking with a man's profile embossed on one side, an unfamiliar coat of arms on the other, but yet the thing seemed to shiver with a strange coldness that no amount of touch could dispel.

"Oh darn it all!" Christine suddenly exclaimed in a voice that was choked with frustration.

Gripping the cold coin in her small fist, she wrenched open the top drawer of the bedside table and threw the copper in where it hit the bottom with a thud, its frozen face staring blankly back up at her. Christine stared back for a moment before her large, innocent looking eyes began to sweep the contents of the drawer. The copper coin was not alone in its wood confines; there was also a long black feather, a wolf's head amulet carved from wood, an envelope filled with a fine, loamy soil, and two black silk handkerchiefs. The sight sent a slight shiver down the singer's spine for all of the items, including the coin, had mysteriously appeared on her bedside table, not found and collected as Meg had heard. The only exceptions were the two handkerchiefs. They had appeared, not on the table, but on her wrist. Christine shivered anew at the memory. The two pieces of silk had been the first two items to appear, and both had covered a short but deep cut on her left wrist. How the wound came to be there was a total mystery, but over the last few months it had refused to heal completely. Every time it looked like the cut was about to knit itself together, the next morning it would be wide open again, and another object would be laying innocently on the table.

Christine held the marred wrist to the lamplight. There stood the cut, ragged and red with yet more scabbing around the edges. Somehow she knew that her tormentor would be back tonight. She had long ago thrown out the idea that it was Erik, for, though Christine knew well enough his capacity for violence, she was positive that he would never harm a hair on her head. No, this was something much darker, a spirit as malevolent as the angel of music was good. This thought brought a strangled, almost cackle-like laugh from the singer's well trained throat. Angel of music indeed! she thought, running her fingers through her hair so roughly that a few strands parted forever from their neighbors. He's only a man, no better or worse than I. Well… Maybe a little bit worse.

The moment of hysteria was gone as quickly as it came. Intent of at least attempting to rest, Christine shut the drawer, extinguished the lamp, and swung her legs onto the bed, drawing the covers up close around her. Eyes shut tight against the gloom she willed sleep to take her away to a place where she would be free of this constant worry and anxiety, a place where her father played violin, and she sang along without a care in the world. Oh angel, how I wish you were really real.

Strong, purposeful steps carried Count Dracula from the outskirts towards the city proper. He was in a much better mood compared to the previous evening, what with the chill night air nipping at his face and a soft blanket of snow crunching beneath his shoes. It was the perfect winter night, and the vampire had always preferred winter to any other season. The long nights and cool temperatures were perfect for a creature such as himself. Unfortunately something as perfect as that came with a price: prey was harder to find. Like most creatures, most of the human population of Paris did not go out much on these cold winter evenings. This frustrated Dracula to no end. This is ridiculous, he thought, passing under the flickering light of a streetlamp. Even with the cold, there's always at least a few of the unfortunate creatures huddling in an alley. Where could they all be? There is no way I will visit Christine with an empty stomach.

It was not long until his questions were answered. With a pace quickened by annoyance, the Count rounded a corner and nearly collided with a patrolling police officer. Only quick reflexes on both sides prevented a rather embarrassing situation. "Pardon me, monsieur," said the officer with a slight catch to his breath from the surprise, "but what are you doing out of doors this late? Haven't you heard? There is a curfew in the outer districts. No one is allowed on the streets after dark."

Dracula put on a pleasant, slightly confused smile, but inside his blood had started to boil. "Excuse my ignorance, officer, but I am a newcomer to this city and am unavare of your laws. Vhat is the reason for the curfew?" he drawled, allowing his heavy accent to show.

The officer's face loosened a trifle, but he kept his serious police demeanor. "Well, since you're new you wouldn't know, but over the past six or seven months there's been a rash of unexplained deaths in the city, especially out here. We think it could be a serial killer, but…"

"But vhat?" prodded the vampire. He wanted to know what his new prey made of his nightly pursuits.

"It's just… The victims don't even look like victims until you examine them. They just look asleep. I should know; I've found a few of them myself."

At this, the man shivered in a way that has nothing to do with the weather. "All their blood is drained, every drop, with no wounds except for a small bite to the neck, and there is no blood at the scene. Now, I'm not a superstitious man, monsieur, but I cannot see a human being doing what was done to those people."

"Oh, you are quite right about that, officer."

"Excuse me?"

"That vas no man who killed those people, who drank their flesh dry."

A kind of predatory gleam shone in Dracula's eyes; he took a step towards the police officer. The officer backed away, laying a hand on his gun holster. "But… How do y- Stay back," he stammered out as the side of a building cut off his retreat.

The beast now stood only inches from the man, instilling fear with his very presence. "Aren't you curious," whispered Dracula in his strange, entrancing voice as he pressed a hand into the wall on either side of the now terrified man, "who has defied you for months, picking off your precious citizens one by one?"

The man was now visibly shaking. "Y-y-yes…"

Leaning down so that his unsheathed fangs hovered close to the patrolman's ear, the Prince of Darkness hissed a single word.

"ME!"

Wait, what was that?

A couple streets away a young patrolman stopped and turned. Did I just hear a scream? No, no, couldn't be. No one's outside. It was the wind. Yes, that's it.

He took a few steps before another more disturbing thought imposed itself on his mind. But that sounded like it came from Pierre's block. He would whistle if he was in trouble, wouldn't he? Wouldn't he?

Not if he was fighting for his life.

"Mon Dieu…" he whispered before turning on his heel once again, making for the next block as fast as he could.

The sight that greeted him was one that would be etched into his memory for the rest of his life. There on the corner a dark shape sat hunched over a body wearing boots just like the ones that clad his feet. It was another patrolman. Pierre…

The young officer stood rooted to the cobblestones, eyes glued to those familiar boots that twitched spastically from the mysterious offender's fatal ministrations. Finally his wits overcame their shock, and he drew his revolver. "Stand and turn around," he yelled with as much authority as he could grasp. "No sudden moves; I have a pistol aimed."

The dark figure froze and stood erect. The young man's eyes grew wider and wider as the man's stature became apparent. Merde, what have I gotten myself into? he thought, fighting down his qualms. "Now t-turn around; hands where I can see them. Slowly, remember, I have a pistol aimed at your heart."

"Do you, now?" said a bone chilling voice.

The patrolman gulped. "Y-yes. Now please turn around."

"Vell, since you said 'please.'"

Slowly, as commanded, the man turned to face the young police officer. What color the patrolman had left in the frigid air drained away as his face came into view, for it was twisted into what can only be described as a feral grin: all blood and fangs with two gleaming eyes hidden beneath furrowed brows. "Vhat's wrong?" asked the creature, its accent even further garbled by overlarge teeth. "You look like you have seen a ghost."

The officer stood in frozen panic, gun still aimed, albeit a little shaky. "Ah, but you do not need vorry, little one. I am real enough, and fully satisfied thanks to your friend there. Vould you like me to prove it to you?"

Before the patrolman could even begin to think about the ramifications of that question, the black cloaked creature was upon him, his gun in one hand, and his neck in the other. "You see," said the beast as it took its claw-like thumbnail and drew a deep cut into his throat, "I draw your blood, but do not feed. Vhy would I vhen I am not thirsty?"

With a distinct, almost bark-like laugh, the young man was unceremoniously dropped to the pavement along with his weapon. Choking, he grabbed the pistol and looked up just in time to see the other stand after retrieving a fallen object. It was a rose with petals so dark red that they almost seemed black tied with a blood red ribbon. The patrolman stared at it as the creature brushed snow from the delicate leaves. "I suggest," said the entity which was quickly looking and sounding more like a man, "that you stay where you are and not follow. I am far less forgiving when I am the one being stalked. Trust me; you are testing my patience by simply holding that weapon. Lucky for you, monsieur police, I have an engagement tonight that must be kept, and I would rather not arrive any messier than I already am. Good night."

The young officer watched the mysterious man pace quickly down the street until he turned a corner and disappeared. Gritting his teeth with pain, he dragged himself into a sitting position and gave a strong blow to his whistle. Soon another responded, and then another, and then another until every patrolman in the district had heard the call. As he continued to call, the young man thought Don't you worry. We will meet again. For Pierre's sake we will meet again, and next time, I'll be ready. Just you wait.

A/N: Yep, I added a new character: the unnamed young police officer. What role will he play? You'll just have to wait and see! Please review!