Chapter VII

We're having a ball, so I told Raoul to bring his sword. I'm tired of being kidnapped as Christine, and a masked costume party seems the most likely place for that to happen again.

I asked him to bring his pistol that he keeps boasting about, but apparently that won't go with his costume. He's dressed as a matador—a fancy matador. At first, I thought he was a Revolutionary officer, but he soon set me straight with an indignant swish of his cape.

I'm the Sugar Plum Princess. That is, I could be the Sugar Plum Fairy, but I have a tiara, and that makes me a princess. I'm not a dancer in this company, but my frothy lavender costume with pretty beading says otherwise.

Raoul and I ruin our entrance by arguing the whole time about whether or not we're engaged. He says that by agreeing to look after Gus, I might as well have been the one to propose. I tell him he's a player.

He looks confused and says, "Of what?"

The music strikes up, and he pulls me to the center of the room to dance. Somehow it's not odd to me that I'm dancing complicated waltzes I never learned.

A blur of lavender tulle and thick dark curls sweep past me, and I begin to lose my temper. "Raoul!" I hiss, "Christine stole my costume!"

"Did she?" He turns us in the dance so that he can see it for himself. "No she didn't. She's clearly dressed as a fairy."

"Then what am I?"

"A princess."

"Have you been practicing lines or something?"

"Don't be ridiculous." He dips me, and I hope I fall gracefully enough. "I can barely read."

As he brings me back up, my face is scandalously close to his face. I know it's just the dancing that makes my cheeks warm and my heartbeat accelerate, because obviously, obviously I am not about to kiss the Vicomte Raoul de Changy, who's the most notable fop in literature, and probably not even real.

His hand on my lower back certainly feels real.

Our foreheads are almost touching. I try to remember what the last thing I ate was. I wonder if this is a Sleeping Beauty thing and I'll wake up as soon as our lips meet, and if that's the case I don't want him to kiss me, and can't be sure if it's because it's him, or the fact that I don't want to wake up.

Someone cuts in.

Without quite knowing how, I'm on the other side of the dance floor, in the arms of a monster. His face is hidden behind a skeleton head, but the fullness of his sleeves and pantaloons makes him look fat. As we twirl, his red shoulder cape strikes out like a dangerous propeller, and all the couples around us flee its stinging whip.

"Good evening, my angel."

My heart sinks. "I am not your angel."

"Of course." He chuckles. "My deepest apologies, my fairy goddess."

"You can't see very well behind that mask, can you?"

"To think that you worry for Erik's comfort at such a time!"

What I worry for is my own safety and sanity. I try to manipulate the dance to catch a glimpse of Raoul. Bloody useless. That's what he is.

"My fairy is so eager to take the lead tonight! Shall we steal away to a more private location?"

"To the stairs, please."

The skeletal jaw drops open a little, but with a shrug of those incredibly poufy shoulders, he acquiesces.

I have a plan.

As soon as we reach the center of the staircase, I put my hand on his chest. Well, his chest must be somewhere beneath all those layers of velvet and brocade.

"What is it, sweet fairy? Are you well?"

"I feel faint…" My hand goes languidly to my forehead, and I stumble back, intending to make a lovely crumple at his feet. Instead, my foot twists oddly. I fall, face first towards the ongoing festivities, and I can't remember anything more.

-x-

"Did anyone see what happened?!"

Raoul's in quite a panic. I try to sit up, but my head spins. The dressing room won't hold still. A gentleman who must be some sort of doctor stoops over me with a little jar of strong smelling pink crystals. It seems over half the inhabitants of the opera house are peering at me as the dizziness begins to wear off and nausea sets in.

"Do I perform tricks in my sleep?" I mutter, annoyed at the turn out.

Raoul says something that sounds familiar to me. "Doctor, hadn't we better clear the room?"

He agrees, and the swarms of strangers leave us be.

Raoul is staring at me, but it's not with his usual smirking. He looks worried.

"What is it?"

"The fiend who whisked you away stole my costume."

I sit up straight and it's a miracle nothing worse happens to my head from it. "That's what you're worried about right now? Your costumes aren't even close. Erik was Red Death."

"Nonsense. He was a fancy matador, and I scorn him and his mind-thievery."

"Are you going to fight him?" I suggest, not in the slightest bit serious.

His lips gradually form a horrible, close-mouthed smile. "If I could catch him… will you be alright with the doctor?"

I give up. "Yes. Go if you must." He touches my cheek lightly and hurries away, one hand on his sword.

When I'm feeling better, I decide to get some fresh air. The only way to do that and still avoid the crowds is to gain access to the roof.

Apparently, that's where Raoul expected to find his matador copy, because it's there on the roof that he sits, right beneath a huge stone gargoyle with a rose in its mouth. Oh, Paris and your need to make art of everything.

"Feeling better?" he asks with a swig from something in a green bottle.

The open air's a little chilly, and I rub my arms to get warm. "I take it you didn't find him."

"I can't believe it. I can't believe he stole my costume."

There's a little room beneath the gargoyle, so I sit. "He's two people."

"Lissie, stop eating so many sweeties. You're having wild fantasies."

"I am not! He has... he has… what you'd call an impediment of the mind. He truly believes he's two people, though he doesn't know it. Erik is a sweetheart, but Derek is the madman you must be on the lookout for. In fact, I'd feel horrible if you hurt Erik! But if you could take care of Derek, somehow... catch him in that state… You wouldn't kill him, would you?"

"We'll never be free of him otherwise," he says grimly.

"Why not? You didn't even believe in the phantom until tonight. Couldn't we just tie him up and toss him in a wardrobe somewhere?"

He turns to me with the saddest expression. "That would be just like killing him. Because he would starve."

"Well maybe there's a doctor who could help. You don't happen to know of any Van Helsings, do you?"

"No. But there's a Dr. Jekyll who's said to be quite skilled in—"

"Not a chance," I say.

"Why not?"

"Because I've read…" How to explain this… "I've read his book."

"I wasn't aware he'd written anything."

"Yes, it's… not good." I hug my knees to myself, and not for the first time wish this gown wasn't so filmy. "So, what are we left with?"

"We wait. And watch."

Author's Notes...

It's a good thing when I'm amused by my own ridiculous scribblings, right? Because I've laughed almost the whole time writing this especially silly chapter. So even if it's all just an inglorious travesty, at least I'm amused by it. I hope you are, as well!