The Phantomess of the Opera 06

Chapter 6: Curious Demands.



   A two way mirror?
   I stared at my shocked reflection in the glass- the cracked open doorway cut off half of my reflection, only showing the masked part of my face. I could only lie there, sprawled out on the plush carpet, wondering why I thought Erik and Christine’s music lessons had more complications  than a small barrier between them.
   Had they ever met face to face until now?
   The weird possibility snapped me out of my phase, and I sat up, supporting my weight on my hands behind me. I tilted my head at the mirror-window, before finally rising to shut it. I lingered there for another moment, hand on the glass… picturing Christine standing here, a breadths away from my guardian, singing for him. It was a… strange concept, nonetheless, but I could see where both parties were coming from. A young girl, hurting from familial loss, longing for a friend. A man shunned by the world for what he is, how he was born, getting a small glimpse of a hopeful saviour.
   I shook my head. There was this nagging feeling of an oncoming disaster inside me- I sent up a silent prayer for both of them, that it would work out.
   With any kind of luck…. I could have a full family again.
   It was a selfish wish, I knew that, but I wanted it. I needed it.
   I frowned, squinting my eyes shut, and with another shake of my head, tromped away from the glass. The comte would be back with whatever police force he could muster up, I assumed, so I couldn’t dally for too long.
   Then some envelopes caught my eye.
   I turned towards them, recognizing the yellowed parchment and rosey scent- Erik’s notes. Why were they here? These look recently sealed too… how long had they been there?
   Curiously, I picked one up, before flipping it over- it was addressed to me. My eyebrow rose before carefully breaking the wax seal.
   Victoria, it read, as you know, I will be busy tonight. However, a Phantom’s duty is never done- please deliver these letters in my stead. The locations and persons for delivery are on the back of this note. Post haste, if you please. Yours respectfully, Erik.
   I flipped the note over, finding four places and persons- the opera managers, Firmin and Andre, “to be delivered to their office”, Carlotta, and Raoul, Vicomte De Chagny. I blinked, before putting the five notes in the pouch on my belt.
   There was a pounding in the hallway- the comte had returned. I crouched and tensed, automatically ready to fight, before I snapped myself out of it, leaping for the mirror.
   Just as they entered the room, I was running to my first destination, my guardian’s barrier shut tightly behind me.

                                                 ~

   I should have sensed something was off the next morning, when I finally returned back to the lair and Erik was gone.
   I didn't understand why Erik had suddenly vanished- I had delivered his notes yesterday, after all. Christine wasn't in the lair either, but I had half been expecting her not to be there anyway.
I walked around the entirety of the lair, sniffing everything I could get close too, hoping to find a trail or something that would lead me to Erik’s whereabouts. But still, nothing. Even his scent was stale.
   I snorted. And I call myself a werecat! I could only shake my head at the notion. What point was there, anyway? Erik would come back. He always came back. There was no need to worry.
   Dare I satisfy my curiosity then, and see what they all had to say about the notes?
   I decided I could, though I did have some time before the bustling faculty of the opera house arrived- and knowing Carlotta’s famous temper tantrums, she would storm right in there with the crowds, like she was back at her old job or terrorizing everyone. I laughed at the sudden image of her as some kind of bird, fluffing up to twice her size when enraged. Only fitting, for a cat to think so.
   Suddenly, something caught my eye. I brushed my hair out of the way and faced it, seeing one of Erik’s fedoras and matching capes on a coatrack. Had those been there the whole time?
   I approached them as well and sniffed them, still trying to find a scent. But nothing. They were freshly washed; all they smelled of was soap. Must've been there to dry, then.
   I grinned mischievously.
   With my new idea in mind, I shed my own cape, tying the strings of Erik’s cape around me, and slid on his fedora. The hat was too big, and it kept slipping down over my eyes, but I managed to push it back. The cape was too big, as well (Erik had a much larger and broader frame compared to me, after all) and I near found myself tripping over it as I attempted to walk. I had it draped across my arms, one arm placed strategically in front of my face, so you could only see my eyes.
   “I am the great Phantom of the Opera!” I impersonated, making my voice as low as possible, “I am a ghost, and you WILL tremble before me! And you WILL obey my orders!” I straightened then, raising a single finger, “That being said, please dispose of Mme. Carlotta Giudicelli. Post haste, if you please.”
   “One can only hope for that,” a voice behind me said. Regrettably, I jumped, making a noise akin to that of a small dog’s yip. Turning, I heaved a sigh of relief upon seeing it was Erik.
   … And then I remembered what I was wearing.
   “Erik! Uh…. I have a valid explanation for this.” I reasoned then, removing the fedora and holding it at my chest. I blushed sheepishly, and had a grin to match.
   Erik, however, stood there, arms folded behind his back, stiff as ever, looking…. highly amused.
   “It's a good thing I just washed those. Otherwise, I’d reek of cat for the next few days.” He was joking, I could tell, even when he leaned forward and said, “Are you absolutely sure you don't shed hair everywhere?”
   I laughed. “Positively sure.” My next move was placing his giant cape and hat back on the coatrack before tying my own cape back on. “I’d ask where you were,” I began, “but knowing you, you’d only give me a cryptic answer.”
   He hummed. “That is true. And besides, it is nothing you should concern yourself with.”
   “Right. Your business is your business.” I affirmed. “I delivered your notes last night, by the way.” With a frown, I added, “You could've told me that blasted Vicomte had hunting dogs. I nearly lost a leg because of those wretched things.”
   “Most noblemen do,” he answered, removing his coat until he was wearing his vest and shirt. “I regret not telling you, though you should’ve guessed.”
   “I don’t know about the lives of most noblemen.” I responded curtly, frowning and folding my arms. With my sudden curiosity, I asked, “How did last night go?”
   I realized a second later that I shouldn’t have asked that when Erik froze suddenly, his back to me.
   “I thought you just said ‘your business is your business?’” He asked softly.
   His response only made my curiosity flare higher. “Well… I assumed that you would tell me anyways-”
   “She should be none of your concern.” Erik interrupted flatly, “She is only my concern. Though, however, you will still be needed to help me.”
   Though my curiosity was at its peak at this point, I dare not question him any further. It appeared to be secretive. Yet, my mind would not stop me with this unhinged answer. And there was only one other person that could tell me what had happened.
   Christine herself.