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Chapter Text

Elodie began her work at the opera with the seamstresses – a favor from her father’s friend who had assumed, wrongly, that Elodie would spend more time with his son who also worked at the Palais Garnier in return. She was aware that Roland was a good match and a perfectly fine gentleman but she had already decided to reject him anyway. He reminded her of her brother.

The seamstresses gave her small tasks fixing tiny rips in the tutus and bodices of the ballet girls. The repairs were easy enough but quickly had Elodie lamenting how clumsy the girls were. They were constantly catching their clothing on set pieces and corners backstage, but the girls denied any responsibility. They said it was the work of the opera ghost.

He had been quiet after the disappearance of Christine Daaé and Raoul de Chagny the previous year and the ballet girls insisted he was finally making a return. Elodie quickly put together the semblance of a story through opera gossip but much of the information was contradictory or confusing. One thing was certain: there was a love frowned upon by a brother rarely mentioned and he had been one of multiple unfortunate deaths.

Another death, the one of Joseph Buquet, was of particular interest to Elodie. He had either been found hanged backstage or he had been hanged on stage in the middle of a performance. She would have surely heard the second story before if it were true, and while she could be insensitive at times even she was self-aware enough to not pry about a dead man that seemed so beloved by those that spoke of him.

As for the ghost, there were hardly any definite facts about him. However, Elodie managed to determine several things that were undeniably true if he did exist. And Elodie often repeated to herself that he may not. Box 5 was his box. He was ugly. The extent to which ranged from a partially scarred face all the way to a living skull. And finally, he must be lonely.

This final point was her own contribution to the story she heard. The ghost lived in the opera house but never spoke to anybody. Elodie imagined him hearing the music and the gossip and the laughter of the crew and wondered if his silence was a choice or a burden. Could he even leave the opera or was he bound to the building? This question was the inspiration for her gifts to the ghost, a silly idea to keep herself amused.

The first week she sketched the tree in front of her family’s home. It was a hornbeam that she remembered being planted when she was young. On the back was written ‘Rue des Archives tree’ and ‘Elodie’ as well as the date she drew it. Box 5 was the obvious delivery point but she found the door was locked. After a moment of debating whether finding the box keeper was a good idea and the ethics of breaking into a door at her workplace, Elodie simply made sure there were no witnesses and knelt on the ground to slide the paper under the door.

The same time next week she did it again with a sketch of a blackbird that had been singing outside of her window. There were always birds outside but this one had made a nest on her windowsill. She had been tempted to label it ‘No more fresh air’ due to her fear of dislodging the nest if she attempted to open the window even a little but ended up labeling it the more thematically appropriate ‘My opera at home.”

The week after that she arrived with a sketch of the front of her favorite bakery, ‘Best source of tarts,’ and found the door to box 5 cracked open. Cautiously, she opened the door fully and peeked inside. Empty.

She was starting to believe in ghosts.

Walking the perimeter of the box revealed it to be perfectly ordinary. Elodie almost didn’t notice the envelope on one of the front seats. Her name was written on the front in sloppy red ink. She picked it up with shaking hands and left her sketch in its place. The thought that the ghost was real and she had invited his attention sent her heart beating wildly. Hopefully someone was just indulging a silly girl. She opened the letter.

Show M. Boffrand your work. O.G.

Elodie returned the letter to its envelope and considered returning it to the seat in front of her as well. She rushed out of the box and was halfway down the hall before realizing she hadn’t closed the door behind her. Making her way back she discovered it already shut. She didn’t check if it was locked.

While mending the day’s small rips Elodie asked the girls around her about M. Boffrand, claiming she had heard his name in passing and wanted to know its significance. It turned out that he was a set designer and Elodie became more anxious with each stitch while trying to figure out what the ghost had planned for her. Her anxiety must have been obvious and she was sent home early by the head seamstress after too many sighs and finger stabbings.

“Did you finally give up?” Julien asked as soon as Elodie closed the front door behind her. Just her luck to run into him as he was leaving himself.

“No,” Elodie said flatly, she would never give up before him, “there wasn’t enough work for me.”

“You could have found Roland. He would have enjoyed your company when he was waiting for a scene,” Julien said it casually but Elodie understood the accusation behind it. While their parents had given up forcing her into a marriage – two married daughters and a soon to be married son were enough to satisfy them – Elodie suspected that Julien resented the fact he would have to support her if she hadn’t married by the time father died. Not that he would die anytime soon barring an unfortunate accident, and Elodie certainly proved herself willing to provide for herself.

“I have no interest in the boy.”

“He’s hardly a boy just as you are hardly a girl,” his hands increased their movement as his exasperation rose, “It’s already hard enough to find a good match for you after you’ve rejected so many men, Elodie. Please give him a chance.”

“I’ll consider it,” Elodie lied. “I’ll be in my room embroidering.” They both knew the second part was also a lie, but Julien didn’t stop her from sheltering there. She spent the rest of the day gathering sketches and creating new ones. She was particularly proud of the larger work she did of the view from her window after dinner.

The next day Elodie went directly to M. Boffrand’s office in the hopes of finding him before he left to oversee any work on the set for the upcoming production of Mireille. Elodie knew the set was just beginning to be worked on and she worried he would be quite busy all day if she missed him. To her surprise, he was waiting for her in his office.

“Mademoiselle Elodie, I hope,” the man said when he opened the door moments after she knocked. He was short, Elodie noticed, almost her own height, and he looked old enough to be her father.

“You were expecting me, Monsieur?” Elodie almost crushed her sketches in her hands as he guided her to a chair and took his seat behind his desk.

“Yes,” he picked up a letter in front of him and waved it about, looking at her accusingly, “I was informed you would be seeking me shortly by someone claiming to be the beast that should be gone.”

“I apologize, Monsieur, I was as shocked at this meeting as you.”

Boffrand looked unimpressed and Elodie did her best to look apologetic though she didn’t know what for. It wasn’t her fault the ghost story had maybe been true. She placed her sketches on his desk, “I don’t know why these were asked for,” the truth, at least, “but I brought my best work.”

Boffrand began leafing through her papers and his eyebrows slowly rose with each new page.

“It’s fine work,” he murmured, “these are all large subjects, how are you with details? Painting?”

“I don’t have much experience with painting, Monsieur, but I’m good with details,” Elodie leaned forward, “would you like me to demonstrate?”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” he held his hand up and she sat back in her chair, “I already have designers, myself included, and I have no interest in replacing good workers on the whims of someone claiming to be the ghost. I think your friend should be more straightforward next time they want something done.”

“I don’t know who they are, I swear.”

“For your sake I hope you’re lying,” Boffrand replied and stood up, “now follow me. I’ll have you paint under Jonathan’s supervision for today and if you do well I’ll let the managers know of your new position. The letter suggested you wouldn’t be missed in the costume department.”

Elodie blushed, suddenly desperate to know what the letter said. How much did whoever was playing this game with her know? She didn’t want to pry too soon. Perhaps when she had firmly gotten into his good graces she could get a peek at the letter.

Boffrand handed her off to Monsieur Parmentier with the promise to return in two hours. Elodie didn’t get a chance to speak to him much that day beyond him insisting she call him Jonathan, claiming that nobody in the department would remember who Monsier Parmentier was. He seemed nice, but was perfectly happy to give her mulberry trees to paint on the backdrop and leave her alone while he worked on a less complete section.

True to his word, Boffrand returned hours later while Elodie was still struggling through her first mulberry tree. She feared her blending of colors was lacking and she couldn’t get the shine on the berries just right. Boffrand, however, seemed extremely pleased with her work.

“I expect you back the same time tomorrow,” he said with a smile.

Jonathan, now aware she wasn’t a temporary part of his job, made more frequent stops to check on her. He offered different techniques to blend the colors together and suggested using different colors to really make the berries pop. Elodie, now slightly more confident, experimented with the colors and ended her work for the day with high spirits for once.

Two days later Elodie returned home after another day of painting and found her father waiting for her, scowling. The entryway was in danger of becoming her least favorite part of the apartment.

“Roland informed me you weren’t with the seamstresses yesterday,” he said.

“I wasn’t with them today, either,” Elodie replied. She busied herself with removing her coat.

“Elodie. I know I’ve been lenient with you perhaps too much to change things now, but please tell me you haven’t quit your work and have been God knows where these past days.”

Elodie laughed full and, Julien would warn, unladylike, “Have some faith in me. The set designers saw me sketching when I was bored and I was invited to work with them.”

“Truly?”

“Truly! I shall have to paint you a mulberry tree. It’s all I’ve done for the past three days and I think I will soon be the greatest painter of mulberries in the world,” she laughed again.

Her father finally smiled back at her relieved. “I would like to see that. I regret that I’ll have to tell Mathis where Roland can find you.”

She glared at him.

“I’ll never hear the end of it otherwise,” and then he was laughing at her.

The next week’s offering was a sketch of a park fountain. ‘A tempting swim.’ As a child she had splashed about in her fair share of fountains. She wished she could have given into the temptation again but it was only March, almost April, and she didn’t think the thrill was worth catching a chill over.

Elodie placed the paper on the front seat. This time there was no letter for her and she was glad and disturbed. She needed to know who she was playing with. If she hadn’t been moved to the art department the past week she would have thought it all a dream.

“Ghost? May I speak with you?”

She stood still and listened for anything. Silence was her reply. Elodie reached for the door and paused, lowering her hands to clutch her skirts.

“I’ll simply say thank you, then. I hope the mulberries are satisfactory.”

She closed the door behind her and held her breath, listening. The lock on the door clicked. It was so quiet she could have imagined it, but a jiggle of the handle confirmed the box was once more unavailable to all but the quite possibly real ghost. Dizzy with anxiety, Elodie turned unsteadily to make her way through the Palais Garnier and found someone blocking her way. With dark skin and green eyes, she could only assume she had come face to face with the man called the Persian.

Chapter Text

Elodie knew of the Persian. Another figure in the story of the opera ghost that she couldn’t get a firm idea of. Elodie doubted he was the cause of any trouble, despite his purported evil eye, after hearing too many stories of him helping drunken ballet girls avoid strange men after a party. It truly seemed like he was in the wrong place at the wrong time just as she was right now.

“Why have you been going into the ghost’s box?”

Ah. Right to the point, then. He didn’t seem angry at her debatable trespassing, at least, but he was certainly unhappy judging by the way he was staring at her like she stared at that one mulberry leaf she couldn’t quite get right.

“I don’t believe my business is your business, monsieur,” Elodie hoped her voice didn’t shake.

“Madame.” Elodie didn’t bother to correct him. His voice grew softer and almost desperate, “His business is my business. If he has contacted you I need to know.”

This man knew something about the ghost. Elodie would also like to know.

“I’m sorry, I’m not quite clear on who he is.”

“The ghost,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, I,” she sputtered, “I know there may be a ghost. Who is he?”

“Someone you do not want to know. Trust me.”

“I don’t see why I should trust a man when I don’t know his name,” she remained firm, “or him mine.” She took a step away and when he didn’t pursue she turned to fully leave.

He grabbed her arm. It was light enough she could break free easily but she stayed to hear him say, “You may call me the Persian, as everyone does. I only wish to protect you, Elodie. Please. Be careful if nothing else,” and he let her go. She tried not to run as she took the long way to the set construction.

He knew her name. Everything he said suggested he wasn’t the one playing ghost. How did he know her name? Maybe he saw her sketches? But then he would know what she was doing in Box 5. He was in the opera house often enough to find out who she was and he was nothing to panic over she reasoned. He didn’t even know she was unmarried.

It wasn’t until she was done blocking in the base colors of the next tree that Elodie’s hands fully stopped shaking. She would have to avoid the Persian for now until she could find out how he had observed her the past weeks without her noticing.

“Elodie!” She jumped and nearly knocked her paints on the ground. It seemed she needed to learn how to avoid being caught unaware in general.

“Monsieur Cochet,” she drew out his name, “what a surprise.”

“You know you can call me Roland,” he was all casual and smiles. Elodie was not.

Roland refused to accept that she was not a promising pursuit. Previous suitors had at least shown less enthusiasm at each meeting even if they were still desperately holding onto the hope she would warm up to them like her little sister held onto her hat in the wind. Her record in running them off was after one dinner. Their record of resistance was 8 months and Elodie feared Roland was already determined to beat it and he was only at 2 months.

“I know,” she adjusted her pallet and began to paint again, “isn’t there a rehearsal right now?”

“I’m a body to fill the background crowd. They won’t miss me,” he waved his hand dismissively, leaning in close, “especially when I’m doing something much more important.”

“Distracting me?” Elodie grit her teeth and began detailing the bark on the tree, striking the canvas like a snake. Jonathan, working on one of the physical tree props across the room, gave her a questioning look when she caught his eye. She made a face she hoped he would understand as ‘help me.’ He stood up and Elodie went back to her paints.

“Talking to you,” he said. As if she didn’t know what he had meant. She was silly for believing in a ghost, not that she actually did of course she reminded herself, not for being dense. Another negative point for a man that had no chance to begin with.

“I was hoping to invite you to dinner as well. Julien can accompany us, I know he is eager to see our relationship succeed.” Jonathan put his hand on Roland’s shoulder before Elodie could respond.

“As much as I like to see young love,” he said, “I need Elodie’s full focus on these trees. Please send a nice letter invitation next time.”

“Yes, I’ll let Julien know to keep an eye out for your invitation,” Elodie nodded, “and I’ll see you then.” She would endure any dinners with Roland if it meant her work could become her haven. Roland appeared to consider staying but Jonathan’s strengthening grip on his shoulder encouraged him to give a quick goodbye and return to the stage. She hoped the director would be angry with him.

“Not your accomplice, then,” Jonathan said when Roland was gone.

“No. Never,” Elodie scrunched her face in disgust, “he’s too boring to do something like that.”

Jonathan hummed in thought, “you know him well, though?”

“I think he’s simple enough that you may know him well already. He asks me to dinner and then he’ll tell me all about his future prospects while I ignore him and my brother kicks me under the table.”

She told Jonathan about her brother’s plans to get her married off and how she had managed so far to avoid it.

“Well, I hope you continue to avoid it,” he said, “I would hate for your husband to prevent you from painting my backgrounds for me.”

He left her to work on her trees in peace. Her mind went back and forth between imagining the sun on her skin in a mulberry grove and thinking about how she would scare Roland away. She had ignored him enough. Maybe she needed to be embarrassing and have horrible table manners at the restaurant. It was a bad plan if she happened to like the place; she would never be able to go back. She hoped they had horrible bread so she could chew it with her mouth open.

She sighed. The ghost could do it. She could ask him to scare Roland. She knew he could leave threatening letters, at least, and based on the stories he could leave traps for him. Maybe a curtain to the head or mysteriously open trapdoor on stage would deter him. Elodie immediately regretted thinking it. She wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

And there wasn’t a ghost to ask for help anyway.

The next day Elodie heard a scream from somewhere within the opera house and became afraid the ghost could read minds. She was sure he had done something to Roland. First he got her a better job and now he was getting rid of a man that annoyed her.

She lifted her skirt and ran while more screams led her to the crime scene. She was glad she wore simple, light clothes when she painted. As she got closer to the dressing rooms for the ballerinas she began hearing giggles mixed in with the screeches and the chill in her chest warmed to anger.

“What is going on over here?” the ballerinas went silent and wide eyed as she rounded the corner. She probably looked a mess with her hair knocked out of place and a flushed face from her mad dash over, “I could hear you half the building away!”

Several teenage ballerinas began to talk at her at the same time. A couple were attempting to apologize while the others talked over them and were incomprehensibly trying to tell her what happened while pointing.

Finally little Jammes, one she recognized from frequent tutu rips during her short stint with the seamstresses, yelled, “There’s a huge spider!”

Elodie deflated, her shoulders sagging. Was it the drop of the adrenaline or the disappointment of the ghost not existing?

“Where is it?” The ballerinas didn’t move. “Where is the poor thing you’ve been screaming at?” she said more firmly, “I’ll take care of it.”

Jammes pointed at one of the dressing rooms. “It was on the wall.”

Elodie entered the room and saw it. It wasn’t huge. Under an inch across by her estimate, light brown and mostly leg anyway. A tower of ballerinas huddled in the doorway watching as she approached the dressing table nearest the spider. Elodie searched her surroundings for something suitable to put the spider in and only saw articles of clothing strewn about the room the ballerinas would never let her use and empty alcohol bottles. She didn’t want to intoxicate the thing.

“Alright, come here you,” she said softly, pulling her handkerchief out of her pocket. She covered the spider with it and gently scooped it into a pouch made of the cloth. She felt it pushing with its legs as it searched for a way out. She held the opening firmly. The wall of ballerinas parted as she walked closer.

“You’re amazing,” one of the girls said with sparkling eyes as she passed.

“Are you still working here?” another said, “I don’t see you when I rip my skirt anymore.”

“Are you the pest catcher?” Jammes asked excitedly.

“Not officially,” Elodie said, “but I if you need to you can find me in the set area painting the backdrop if you have another spider problem.”

The ballerinas gave a cheer and swarmed back into their dressing room as Elodie made her way through the Palais Garnier to release the spider and go home. Near the entrance she heard footsteps following her and she managed to catch a peek of the Persian around a corner.

She was sure he had seen her look, and she no longer heard footsteps, but even outside she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Elodie walked off of the path and to a bush near the building.

“There you go,” she said encouragingly as she gently shook the spider out of her handkerchief and watched it scurry into the foliage. Turning back to the path she noticed a couple passersby looking at her. She looked back and they also scurried off.

The opera house was haunted by insects not ghosts Elodie decided. Every day seemed to bring a new teary-eyed ballerina to her workstation. First there was another spider. That one she did actually consider huge and she almost regretted her promise to the girls. Still, she scooped it into her handkerchief and held her breath to avoid panicking until she got it outside.

The next day held a moth. It was more annoying than anything and the only part about it that made her worry was the fact that she almost squished the thing several times when trying to capture it. The girls didn’t help as they were decidedly less concerned about the moth as well and stood about the room in her way as she chased it around.

On the last day before the weekend Jammes was actually crying when she came to her.

“I don’t know where it went,” she wailed, “what if it’s in my dress?”

‘It’ was a centipede and Elodie found it under a forgotten envelope on the floor. Its sudden movement in the light sent that day’s observers running for the door and she almost lost sight of it again in the flurry of movement. She prodded it with the envelope it had used as shelter to encourage it onto her handkerchief, now used for bug catching more than germ catching, and quickly made it into a pouch. Thankfully it wasn’t too big and it fit inside easily.

The ballerinas gave her the usual praise as she walked past and tiredly acknowledged them. She wished she was getting paid for this. She technically was, she supposed, since it was still within her working hours. She wished she was getting paid extra for this.

Someone watched her take the centipede outside. They watched every time and she could feel their eyes even if she couldn’t figure out who it was. At first she thought it was the Persian, but he had gotten strangely sloppy when following her and she could hear his footsteps whenever he tried. She wouldn’t entertain the idea that the ghost was watching her. She didn’t feel like being nauseous the rest of the day.

Chapter Text

Elodie went to dinner with Roland on Sunday. Instead of Julien, however, her father accompanied them as well as Roland’s father. It was better that way Elodie thought. Nobody kicked her when she got lost in her own head, and she was in there a lot that night thinking about what she would draw for the ghost the next couple weeks. She wished she knew if he preferred the nature or architecture sketches more.

A gentle hand on her forearm brought her back to reality. “That would be lovely, wouldn’t it Elodie,” her father was saying. After she stared blankly for a second he added, “I’m sure everyone would be delighted by your paintings.”

“Oh, yes, um,” she tried to summon any fragment of the conversation that may have snuck itself into her brain and failed, “I would like to practice more things, though, it seems I’m limited in subjects right now.”

A subtle nod from her father told her she had guessed a suitable response.

“Unfortunately we won’t be able to show off her work for a while. I’ll purchase canvasses for her soon,” he said, “but we’re going to be quite busy preparing for Julien’s wedding these coming weeks.”

“I know, I know,” M. Cochet said, “we’re looking forward to attending, of course. And maybe soon there will be another wedding?” He looked expectantly at his son.

“Elodie and I are still getting to know each other,” Roland said meekly, rubbing his neck. A great sign for his waning interest. M. Cochet seemed perturbed by this which made Elodie perk up. “Perhaps we’ll spend some time together after the wedding?” He looked at her hopefully and her mood stumbled back to its starting position.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Elodie slumped back into her chair. The wedding was just over three weeks away and she was starting to hope she could drive Roland off by then and the official ending of their courtship could quietly slip away under the excitement of that day.

Mollified for now, M. Cochet began speaking to her father of business investments again and Elodie became very interested in her glass of wine.

The next day she stopped at box 5 later than she previously had. She had learned how to listen for the Persian following her and she discovered he only did so around the times she entered and left the Palais Garnier. If she was on explicitly friendly terms with him she would love to find out what he could possibly be doing all day, but after their only direct encounter she was nervous to approach him until she knew more about whoever was playing ghost.

Shortly after she finished her lunch she took another break to go to box 5. She was worried the door would be locked because of her tardiness, but she found it waiting unlocked. The sketch for today was of the blackbird nest outside of her window. To her surprise two eggs had appeared in the nest, so she had labeled it ‘I thought there was only one!’.

Sitting on the seat she usually left her sketches was a piece of fabric folded neatly. She swapped it with her sketch and found it was a linen handkerchief. The ghost’s? Elodie opened it to find a clue to its owner and gasped. Bluebells were embroidered in the corner alongside a butterfly with brown wings with small hints of blue mixed in.

“Is this for me?” she asked the empty box as she ran a finger over the butterfly. It was so beautiful she almost thought it perfect but she could feel some light imperfections running through the stitching. The silence of the box continued.

“It must be,” she said. Nobody else visited the ghost. “Thank you. I wish I could say that face to face, you know. And I’m hoping you’re actually listening whoever whatever you are.”

Elodie folded the handkerchief and played with the edges for a moment waiting for a reply. It was such a lovely gift from someone she had never spoken to, let alone seen. What were his intentions towards her? Maybe it didn’t matter if there was barely a chance they would truly meet.

“I already felt bad about not being able to deliver a sketch next week,” she began, “so I suppose I’ll have to make the next one extra special.”

She wasn’t sure if the ghost cared about the details of her absence and she sighed at the continued lack of response.

“I’m going to London with my parents. We leave tomorrow and won’t be back until late next week.” She left out the part about her father’s potential business partner and how her task was to accompany her mother during their stay. No need to scare the ghost off with boring family business.

“I wasn’t supposed to come here today but I said I desperately needed to finish the mulberry tree I had started,” she continued, “I don’t think he bought my story but Father let me come anyway. He knows I like to get out of the house,” she laughed softly, “but he doesn’t know I wanted to meet with the opera ghost.”

She clutched her new handkerchief to her chest for a moment then tucked it into her skirt pocket.

“See you in two weeks, then.”

The rest of her day was uneventful. There wasn’t even a single panicked ballerina before she went home.

Angeline, her only older sibling, came to their home for dinner as well as her youngest child who was just over a year old. She had found a nice bakery and wanted the family’s opinion before she recommended it to Julien and his soon-to-be wife. Angeline chattered about herself for only a few minutes before bombarding Elodie with questions about her work.

They had been close as children and even though Angeline had been married and out of the house for over ten years it didn’t take long for their conversation to become comfortable. Their talk of the present soon transformed to reminiscing.

“Do you remember sneaking away from Mother to jump in that fountain?” Elodie asked. It had been on her mind ever since she had sketched a similar one for the ghost.

“Oh how could I forget,” Angeline exclaimed and dramatically held her hand to her heart, “It was so hot and Julien was so mad! We barely got wet before he snitched.”

“He’s still boring like that,” Elodie said, she leaned in conspiratorially, “I think you should leave your husband so I have someone fun to live with again.”

Angeline gave an exaggerated gasp, “You’d make Oliver cry if he was old enough to understand.” The baby, who was old enough to at least understand his own name, stared blankly at his mother.

“Let’s try the cake, then,” Elodie said, “so I can hide in my room and dream of better times.”

The cake passed the test. It was a soft white cake Angeline called ‘Angel’s Food.’ Their mother was particularly fond of it and Elodie suspected she would be trying many more products from the newly discovered bakery soon. Instead of being able to retreat to her room Elodie was convinced to join her family in the drawing room because, as it turned out, Angeline had another surprise besides the cake.

“A fourth child?” Elodie made a face, “If it’s a girl you really are just recreating the family.”

“Wouldn’t that be fun?” Angeline said with a sparkle in her eye. They had very different ideas of fun. “I can already tell my older girls are going to be terrors like us in a few years. I need the shyest child possible to balance them out.”

“I wouldn’t wish that on anyone,” Elodie said flatly. “They’d be–” Elodie felt her eyes water and hurriedly grabbed her handkerchief from her pocket and sneezed.

“Is that a new handkerchief? Can I see it?” Angeline was pointing to Elodie’s pocket where the butterfly handkerchief was poking out after being pulled along by her old plain one. Elodie hesitantly handed it over and Angeline admired the embroidery for a moment before raising her eyebrows.

“Bluebells? Who’s declaring their everlasting love for you?”

The room became the loudest it had in years. Curse Angeline and her appreciation of flower language. Elodie hadn’t even thought about any meaning behind it; the butterfly had caught her attention more.

“Elodie? In love?” Her mother said.

“Did Roland give you that?” her father asked, “Have you changed your mind about him?”

“Isn’t your pregnancy more important?” Elodie tried to deflect, “When are you due?”

“This is our fourth, we’ve done this before. And we’re not entirely sure yet,” Angeline waved her off, “This is beautiful, El, who is he?”

“Have you been seeing someone else?” her father was becoming concerned.

“No I-”

“Oh,” Angeline yelped, silencing the room, then puzzled said, “There’s a spider.”

She held the cloth up and Elodie could see the spider hidden in white thread on white cloth clearly when held up to the light. What she had thought were imperfections was the thin outline of it.

“Elodie,” her father pushed, “who did you go to see today?”

“Nobody,” she protested. She couldn’t see a ghost. “The ballerinas gave it to me. They’ve been coming to me when they find spiders.” And every other bug under the sun.

Her father gave her a hard stare. Angeline quietly passed her back the handkerchief and which she tucked back into her pocket.

“I promise. You know I would tell you if I had my heart set on someone so we could break off whatever match you and Julien forced on me.”

“I know.” He didn’t sound convinced. She feared she was becoming too independent even for his taste. The drawing room remained awkwardly silent.

“More importantly,” she tried again, turning to Angeline in a desperate attempt to salvage the mood, “I think you should name the new baby after me.”

Angeline smiled and saved her with stories of fourth-time-rejected baby names and the joys of reusing baby furniture. She avoided meeting her father’s gaze as much as possible.

After she had finally retired to her room, Elodie double checked her luggage and laid out her traveling clothes for the next day. Elodie herself ended up laying on her bed tracing the edges of the ghostly spider. Now that she was looking at it, it had probably been added after the bluebells and butterfly. The stitching was much simpler and the back noticeably messier.

Eventually she folded the handkerchief and gently set it on her dressing table. Elodie lay back down and fell asleep wondering if the fearsome ghost could have a gentle touch.

Chapter Text

It was their second day in London and Elodie had already run out of things to say. She had accompanied her mother to Kew Gardens for the day and was currently drawing the North Gallery building while her mother viewed the pictures inside. Elodie suspected she would be desperate for conversation in another day or two but for now the silence suited her just fine. To her surprise, it didn’t last long.

“Who do you draw those for?” Her mother was quiet.

“Myself,” Elodie said shortly. She wouldn’t describe her relationship with her mother as strained. In fact, she would hardly describe it at all. She was a comfort when Elodie was a child but as she had grown she had relied on Angeline more.

“Do you keep them at the opera, then?”

“Why do you think I take them anywhere at all?” She made the next line too dark in her annoyance. She hadn’t brought an eraser.

“I’ve seen you tuck sketches into your bag,” her mother said, “every Monday morning.”

Elodie had forgotten that her mother wasn’t just a passive presence. She Watched. In a way that not many people did.

“Is it your secret man?”

Elodie laughed. “My secret man?”

“The one that gave you the handkerchief,” her mother insisted.

“First of all, I believe you know the ballerinas gave that to me. Second–”

“You play with your sleeve when you lie.”

Elodie grimaced. She was sure her mother would have scaled the ranks of society if she’s had more opportunities. Instead, she was using her knowledge to pester her until she slipped. She would rather tell her some parts than lose like that.

“Alright. You won’t tell father?”

“If you continue telling me about him.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but there’s not much to tell,” Elodie said, “There’s a man at the opera that I’ve never seen. He likes my art and in return he got me introduced to Monsieur Boffrand and gave me this handkerchief.”

“And you’re fond of him?”

“The idea of him at least. I don’t even know his name.” She had never seen him and had several times questioned his existence.

He was probably nothing like she thought. He had killed, hadn’t he? A far cry from the gentle ghost she imagined. She felt the handkerchief in her pocket. Maybe the shy and lonely ghost she had created in her head wasn’t the one haunting the opera house. Though she feared he was starting to haunt her heart.

“Let’s see the orchids,” her mother said, “perhaps he would like them.”

Satisfied for the time being, her mother went back to silently moving through the world as before. Every so often she would give suggestions on a subject for Elodie to draw. Elodie was suspicious of her mother’s sudden interest in her art at first, but by their last day in London she was suggesting subjects she wanted to see Elodie’s interpretation of rather than things she thought might interest the ghost.

Elodie’s time in London had been far better than she had expected and her newfound bond with her mother over art had brought her general mood to new heights. She hadn’t even thought about having to see Roland until they were back in Paris. Everything seemed to be going well for her and Elodie wanted to take advantage of the good energy. She was going to make progress with the ghost.

She had more than one sketch today as an apology for missing the previous week. Fancy buildings, beautiful plants, and They were mostly labeled with only the name or location of their subjects from London. A couple, like the orchid garden, ‘Suggestion from my mother’, had a small detail from the trip.

Elodie opened the door to box 5 and immediately began chatting, “Hello ghost, I had a surprisingly wonderful time in London but I’m glad to be here again.” She moved to put the sketches on the usual seat and found a box that looked familiar. Opening it confirmed that it was a box from her favorite bakery, the one she had given the ghost a sketch of weeks ago. Inside were two fruit tarts.

“I feel like I’m always thanking you,” Elodie laughed, “but I’ll do it again. I love these, thank you. Have you had one, yourself?”

She had arrived early in order to give her time to coax the ghost to speak and, sitting in the seat beside her sketches, she decided to also use it to eat a tart. She grabbed the one with apple filling.

“The apple is my favorite but sometimes they use a type of apple that gets too mushy,” she took a bite, “This is a good one.” She worked on her tart slowly for several minutes, watching the occasional worker check something on the stage while awaiting a response that wouldn’t come. She wasn’t knowledgeable enough about that part of the opera to know exactly what they were doing out there.

“Would you be surprised to know I practically begged for a job here despite never seeing an opera?” she asked the air.

“Never?” The sudden and harsh voice in her ear made her jump and nearly drop the remainder of her tart. She whipped her head around searching for the source of the voice.

“You won’t find me. You’ve never seen an opera?”

“No. I’m hoping the one I’m painting for will be the first.”

“It’s not a very good one,” the ghost said. His voice moved about as he spoke. At first it was in her ear, then behind her, and now it was as if he was sitting in the seat next to her.

“Well, I won’t know any better,” she said, “and I have other things to worry about. Like if you got one of these tarts for yourself as well.”

There was a long pause and Elodie worried they were back to silence.

“Ghosts don’t eat.”

“I promise the strawberry one is just as good. Maybe we can eat them together next time. And maybe you can tell me about better operas?” Elodie finished her tart and brushed some crumbs off her skirt.

She waited several minutes but he never replied. Elodie took the second tart with her to the set room, her mood only slightly dampened. His voice had been wonderful.

She had only been painting for an hour when Meg, one of the ballerinas, came to find her.

“Elodie! Spiders!” she said with tears threatening to spill.

“Show me where,” Elodie sighed. She knew she had promised to help them with any insects but it happened far too often for her taste and Meg had said spiders this time. Multiple. And sure enough there was an infestation of spiders on one of the ballerina’s tutus. An egg sac must have hatched, Elodie reasoned, even though the spiders were too big to have emerged recently.

She ended up having to take the entire garment outside to shake it out. Once spiders stopped raining onto the ground she searched it meticulously and removed almost a dozen more by hand. A final pass over the tutu revealed no more spiders and Elodie determined it safe to return to its owner.

When she returned to her mulberry trees there were books on her chair. The gesture was familiar enough she was certain the ghost had left them. She grabbed the top book, Mirèio, and flipped through it. It wasn’t in french. Confused, she looked at the other book, also Mirèio, and discovered that copy was in french.

“Jonathan,” she called to the man on the other side of the room, “did you see who left these?”

“No, I was called away,” he was frustrated, “somebody knocked over a stack of chairs. None were broken, thank God, but I had to check them all. Nobody knows who did it of course.”

“Must have been the ghost, then.” Elodie said conspiratorily. Jonathan made a grunt of acknowledgment but no comment. Elodie tucked the books into her bag for later and left him to brood over his work. She continued on her trees and unless M. Boffrand added more she estimated she was halfway done.

On her walk home Elodie made it one street before someone began walking beside her. A glance identified the man as the Persian.

“You did not go into box 5 last week. I had hoped you had given up associating with him,” he said. When she did not respond he continued, “Please, Madame, you must not give him hope.”

“Hope for what?”

“Anything,” he said, “give him anything and he’ll never let you go. It will destroy him again.”

How could she destroy a ghost? Besides, Elodie had already given him many things, though all similar and simple, and he had given back. A handkerchief, those little tarts she loved, and now books. He had even given her the job she had grown to enjoy so much.

“He’s given me more than I’ve given him,” she realized.

“What has he given you? Has he done anything to you? For you?” The Persian, who until now had maintained a neutral face, looked on the verge of panic.

“Nothing horrible,” she held her hands up in a placating manner. “He got me away from the seamstresses and left me food to welcome me back.”

She thought a moment about him doing anything else. She considered the handkerchief and the sudden ballerina infestation.

“I think he might be torturing the ballerinas with spiders,” she said. She swore the Persian flinched at the mention of torture but he quickly relaxed and was rolling his eyes. She faintly heard him mutter something about a child.

“Have you seen him?”

Elodie didn’t know if she could trust him. He obviously knew more about the ghost and she wanted access to that knowledge. And he had seemed almost concerned for him earlier.

“No,” she said cautiously, “I’ve only heard him speak for the first time today.”

“Good,” he nodded, “pray you never do.”

Was the ghost a real man? The Persian spoke as if he was. She was initially playing a silly game in the Palais Garnier trying to communicate with a spirit. A harmless way to make her life more interesting. But, if she believed the Persian, he wasn’t playing a game. It was just his life.

“Why is he in the opera house?”

“His secrets are his own,” he said. “I must leave you. You know where to find me if you need help with him.”

He was gone before she could fully process what he said. She wasn’t sure how he could help her, but, based on the fact he had somehow led her to her front door when he shouldn’t know where it was, she was glad he was trying to be an ally.

That night she began to read the french copy of Mirèio . From her limited knowledge of Mireille–knowledge formed purely from knowing what sets were being built and why–she soon discovered that it was the poem the opera was based on. By the end of the week she finished reading the poem and despite her best efforts she cried.

Chapter Text

“Daroga spoke with you.” The ghost said it the moment the door to box 5 closed behind her. It wasn’t a question.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Do not lie to me. He spoke to you and then he spoke to me. What did you tell him?” He was becoming more agitated as he spoke. Elodie’s heartbeat quickened as she placed the week’s sketch, the newly hatched blackbirds chicks outside her window labeled ‘The new chorus members,’ on the usual seat.

“I swear I don’t–” she had spoken to someone out of the ordinary last week, “Wait. The persian?”

“Persian, daroga, thorn in my side. He is many things,” the ghost rambled, “Many horribly annoying things. He is concerned. You have done nothing concerning. Erik has done nothing concerning. Yet he is concerned. What did you say to him?” His voice bounced around her as he spoke.

Who was Erik?

“He advised me to stop visiting box 5,” she said, “that’s all.”

“Why?”

Because he seemed concerned for the both of us she thought.

“He wouldn’t say. So I won’t stop visiting,” he didn’t respond immediately. She took the opportunity to change the subject. “Thank you for the books, by the way. I’m hoping the opera is as good.”

“I’ve already told you it’s not. Did you read both of them? What did you tell daroga?”

He both did and didn’t take the bait. Damn.

“I’m afraid I could only read the french one.”

“Mistral wrote both but the original is occitan. I highly recommend it. Things are always lost in translation. Now, what did you say?” His voice moved closer as if he was advancing on her. She leaned back. Could she risk the consequences if she didn’t give in?

“As little as I could. He was as insistent as you. You can read the occitan book?”

There was a moment before he replied. “Of course.” He managed to sound reluctant and smug at the same time. Thankfully he seemed willing to drop the other subject for now. Elodie had to work on the set but she wasn’t willing to leave the ghost–Erik?–so soon. He had seemed dangerous for a brief moment but she had pulled him back to a more comfortable tone. She had to lure him with her.

“Would you read it to me?”

“Pardon?”

“Would you read the occitan book to me, Erik? I thought you might want them back so I have them with me.” And thank God she did.

“You want Erik to read to you?” His voice had gotten quiet.

“I believe I’ve asked twice now, yes,” Elodie smiled. Had she made the opera ghost himself unsure? “Jonathan will be gone today so I could use the company.”

She removed the books from her bag and set them next to the sketch. Erik (she felt safe to assume that was his name) didn’t respond and she played at smoothing out and straightening her skirts in an attempt to gain more time in the box. She was ready for him to say no. But the persian–Daroga?–had implied Erik may want something from her, and here she was giving him a chance to get closer to her and whatever it was he wanted.

“Go see to your painting. I shall speak to you later.”

Did later mean later that day or next week when she brought another sketch? There was only one way to find out. Elodie almost tripped on her skirts in her haste to the workroom.

It had been hours and she was losing hope. Elodie put the finishing touches on one tree and began on another. The repetitive shapes and lack of Jonathan watching abilities (he made interesting faces when he forgot she was watching him) let her mind wander. Her father had purchased a canvas for her and she hadn’t started on it yet. She knew she was going to paint a mulberry grove but she didn’t know what else she would add. A simple grove would do to start but she thought it could use a little more life. People?

Working on the smaller painting would give her a time to speak to her mother as well. Others may walk in and out of the drawing room but as long as she was vague she could likely play off any talk of Erik as talk about someone who worked at the opera. Was being a ghost a job?

“Cante uno chato de Prouvènço,” Erik’s sudden voice in her ear made her jump.

“Must you do that so close to me?” Elodie held her hand over her pounding heart.

He laughed like a child, “Set me a chair and I shall sit in it,” he said, “and we can begin.”

Right to business, then, despite the childish introduction. Elodie grabbed a discarded chair at the edge of the room and brought it next to the tree she was working on. She stared at it.

“I’m not much farther now.” He really sounded like he was there.

“It’s so you can watch me paint,” she explained, “and it’s much better than directly in my ear.”

“How thoughtful. Now listen.

Cante uno chato de Prouvènço.

Dins lis amour de sa jouvènço,

A travès de la Crau, vers la mar, dins li bla,

Umble ecoulan dóu grand Oumèro,

Ièu la vole segui. coume èro

Rèn qu’uno chato de la terro,

En foro de la Crae se n’es gaire parla.

Is there anything you notice?”

“It rhymes beautifully,” she answered easily. The book she read was delightful but the style had left something to be desired.

“Obviously,” he said and Elodie glared at the empty chair.

Erik continued to read the poem and ask her thoughts after every couple of stanzas. Sometimes he would read from the french book and sometimes he would translate the poem himself. His own translation was often accompanied by why he chose one word over another. This meant that Elodie listened more than she spoke, but she would never complain about being able to hear Erik’s voice. His explanations took up enough time that they only made it through the first two cantos.

“Why did you learn occitan?” she asked while she cleaned up her station for the day. She hadn’t been as productive as she had hoped. Erik had distracted her by walking his voice around the room half the time.

“The same reason I know any language. I was in the area and so I learned it.”

“You know other languages?”

“French, occitan, italian, farsi, a strange combination of chinese dialects because I was in too many places for too little time,” Erik said, then added dismissively, “all horribly out of practice, of course.”

“Well you’re getting occitan practice out of me at least.” She wasn’t getting any practice, though. If they made it through the entire poem she might ask him for lessons. “Jonathan will be back tomorrow. How are we going to do this again?”

“Again?” he said. “I can speak so only you hear me,” his voice moved to her ear, “but you don’t seem to like that.”

Elodie flinched away.

“You see?” he laughed at her.

She hated the feeling of someone so close to her. It was one of the many reasons she had resisted her father and brother’s matchmaking for so long. It was fine if she initiated it, sometimes even enjoyable, but too many had pushed too soon and too often. If she wanted to learn more about the ghost she would have to endure it. But she didn’t want to give that up just yet.

“I hear,” she rolled her eyes, “We’ll have to find some other time to talk, then.”

“You want more of the ghost’s time?” he asked, “Why should he give it to you?”

“I had hoped you enjoyed today,” she said, “and I thought inviting you to talk would reduce the amount of insect infestations. And prevent future furniture avalanches.”

“I will be in contact.” He ignored the accusations.

Elodie nodded in agreement. She had a feeling he wouldn’t respond to anything more she said anyway. As a ghost he could see her. Or he was watching her from somewhere she couldn’t see. Elodie left the room and the lingering presence behind.

After dinner Elodie was again painting mulberry trees. Or at least the base colors she would plant trees on. Her mother sat in her usual chair starting a new child’s dress for Angeline’s next child. Her father was reading something. She didn’t care to see what it was. After sparse chatting, her father excused himself to his study. Elodie would have to blame her poor mood on anxiety about Julien’s upcoming wedding.

“His name is Erik,” she said as soon as she heard her father’s study door click, “and he claims to speak at least five languages.”

“Mm,” was all her mother said. She sounded pleased.

Elodie stopped painting. She had gotten blocks of green and blue onto the canvas but she couldn’t decide how to add depth. She wanted the sky to shine from behind the trees.

“Sunrise or sunset?” she mused.

“Why not both?” her mother asked.

Elodie stared at her in shock. Her mother stared back expectantly.

“I could,” Elodie said eventually, “but wouldn’t that be a bit boring?”

“It would be a series. Perfectly normal.”

Perfectly normal. Something she wasn’t known for being. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be normal, it was just that her refusal of one thing considered normal made people scrutinize the rest of what she did. Her clothing was perfectly normal. She spoke to people perfectly normally, though working with the informal set designers was starting to remove her instinct to address others as Madame and Monsieur.

They worked in silence again. Elodie placed a few tree trunks on the canvas and planned a small trail. She would have to study the sky, she decided. Elodie put her paints away and excused herself to her room. She had left just in time to view the sunset from her window. It was mostly blocked by the surrounding buildings.

If she made a trip out of the city she could see it unimpeded. She leaned on the wall and stared at the blackbird nest on the windowsill. She wished she could see the world like them. It would be so much easier to paint the sky if she could just get up there. The closest thing she could do was find a tall building like . . . the Palais Garnier.

Next week. Next week she would make it onto the roof of the opera house. Julien’s wedding was in only three days. There was no way she would be able to spend a late night on the roof without facing some sort of consequence before then. It probably wouldn’t go over well after, either, but she didn’t want to be accused of ruining the mood at the wedding.

Chapter Text

Elodie chewed her lip as she painted. The day was almost over and she hadn’t heard from Erik. It wasn’t that she expected his attention all of the time. She just couldn’t imagine what else a ghost could possibly be doing and she wasn’t sure she would be at the opera house the rest of the week. She didn’t know how to contact him or if he would even care to know. She didn’t want to scare him away when they had just begun talking.

She wouldn’t worry about it she decided. She paused several times as she packed her things, debating on stopping at box 5 on her way out. She wasn’t worrying about it she reminded herself. She would take an alternate route out of the building so she wouldn’t be tempted.

On her way out of the building Elodie listened for any sign of Erik or the Persian’s footsteps and for the first time she was disappointed nobody seemed to be following her. She may have questioned her priorities and new lack of self-preservation if she wasn’t beginning to dread the socializing she would have to do at the wedding.

The lead up to the wedding went smoothly. Elodie accompanied her family to the civil ceremony though she was sure Julien wouldn’t have cared if she missed it. She didn’t want to upset her new sister-in-law (Emma, she was reminded) so she went along without much grumbling.

The church wedding was beautiful. Julien wouldn’t have allowed it to be any other way. To Elodie’s annoyance she was given a seat next to Sylvie, her youngest sibling. She knew they would see giving her a seat next to Angeline as too risky but she had thought they would have set her next to some distant relative.

Sylvie was quiet like their mother but without the hint of calculations going on behind her eyes. Elodie suspected this was due to being overshadowed by her two older and louder sisters for most of her life. Elodie had felt sorry for her as they became adults, but the way Sylvie was looking at her suggested she likely felt sorry for Elodie now that she herself had a good husband and healthy child.

Elodie felt like the ceremony was twice as long as usual. The fear that her stomach would growl during the vows made the time stretch. She had had a small breakfast in order to take advantage of the lunch the newlyweds would be providing.

Elodie was on her third pastry and had so far successfully avoided Roland. She had seen him in the crowd several times but he kept getting caught in conversations every time he attempted to make his way to her. She managed to speak to Angeline for several minutes.

“It’s a shame they didn’t want music,” Elodie said. She hadn’t been dancing in ages.

“They don’t want the party to end late. I think they’re trying to leave tonight,” Angeline said, “I heard some of Emma’s family is far away. Aren’t there balls at the opera house, anyway? Go to one of those.”

“I could have been dancing tonight.”

“If you were dancing tonight you’d be dancing with Roland and you’d hate it.”

Elodie grimaced, “You’re right. On second thought I’ll have to thank Emma’s relatives for living so far.” She was about to hate his company soon anyway. She could see him finally making his way to her over Angeline’s shoulder.

“Elodie,” he said.

“Roland,” she said.

“Can we talk?” He seemed nervous.

Angeline excused herself and they made their way to the edge of the crowd.

“I think we should call off our courtship,” he said.

Elodie was so happy she could kiss him. A horrible idea that would confuse the poor man but true nonetheless.

“Oh?” she hadn’t expected it to be this easy. Surely there was a catch.

He shuffled his feet and glanced around, “I’ve met someone wonderful just now.”

“Who?” Elodie was still too stunned to form a full sentence.

“Maria,” he said. Then added, “Emma’s sister.”

Elodie would have to thank more of Emma’s relatives. They were helping her more than her own family at this point.

“That’s wonderful,” Elodie said, “I’m happy for you.” And for herself.

“You’re not upset?” The glancing was getting worse.

“No,” she said flatly.

“Jealous?” he squeaked. Was he trying to make her jealous?

“No.” She felt the catch was about to catch her.

“I only worry,” she followed his gaze to his father as he paused in thought, “I worry my father will request you stop working at the Palais Garnier.”

“What?” she almost shouted. A couple of cousins she recognized looked over at her outburst.

“Even if I tell him I’m the one breaking it off he might try to get you fired,” he said, “He only got you that job to be closer to me. And if you’re not getting closer to me . . .” He made a vague hand gesture.

She got the idea but there was nothing that could stop her from painting her mulberries.

“But don’t worry yet,” Roland said, “maybe we can work something out?”

“Why are you telling me this?” her eyes narrowed. His mouth opened and closed silently. “Is this supposed to make me want to associate with you? Why would it?”

“My father,” he stuttered for a moment, “it, uh, it was his idea.”

“So you’re not interested in this match?”

Roland shook his head. “Not anymore. I was at first but,” he struggled for a moment, “you’re not exactly,” he made more vague gestures, “easy to get along with?”

It was the nicest way her pointed disinterest had ever been described. She was almost insulted.

“What reason could there possibly be that your father wants us to marry so bad?”

Roland cringed.

“Elodie,” her father was calling her, “we need you over here.”

“This isn’t over,” she gave Roland a pointed look and finger as she walked away. She made her way through the room to her father and a small group of gathered women.

“Emma wants to try something that’s popular in England,” he told her in a hushed voice, “you just need to stand in the crowd. Then we can go home.”

Easy enough. She waited in the group as several more women were plucked from the crowd. She barely heard the voices around her as she watched Julien and Emma standing a short distance in front of them. They were smiling and talking about something. Julien pointed at Elodie and Emma nodded. Then she was pointing out others in the crowd. They seemed happy.

Elodie wanted to go home.

Emma grabbed the crowd’s attention and announced she would be throwing her bouquet and that the assembled ladies should try to catch it for good luck. Elodie shuffled to be closer to the edge of the group. She needed luck but she didn’t trust it coming from a wedding.

She braced herself as Emma looked through the crowd, made eye contact with her, and turned around. Her arms lowered and she gave a little jump as she threw the bouquet, which did not fly in a straight line into the bulk of the women but careened at an angle straight towards Elodie.

She considered jumping out of the way. She considered letting it hit her in the head. The woman next to her bumped into her. Elodie, distracted by catching her balance, forgot her reservations, saw the flowers rapidly approaching, and raised her hands to defend herself from the floral projectile.

She caught the bouquet.

On Monday the door to box 5 was locked. Maybe she should have told Erik she would be gone. She waited a moment and tried the handle again. Still locked. She let her forehead audibly thump onto the door.

“Erik,” she spoke muffled into the door, “Unlock the door.”

She had just started talking to him and she had already run him off. If only she could have done the same to Roland.

“Please?” she tried. She listened for the click of the lock and heard nothing. She rattled the doorknob again and let out a frustrated grunt.

“Okay! Okay. I’ll come back later.” She stalked off to the set room. On her way there she saw Daroga. He simply gave her a nod and continued on his way. She must not have upset Erik irreparably, then. Or he didn’t know. Or he was waiting to confront her outside of the opera house where Erik wouldn’t hear.

Jonathan, however, was waiting for her outside of their shared workroom.

“Don’t take offense,” he said, “but some of your trees have been finished.”

“By who?” He moved out of the way as Elodie threw the door open.

“Ah, see, I told them you’d be mad. But don’t worry, I painted the one that looks good.”

She surveyed the background. There weren’t that many added trees. A few on the edges to fill space that most people wouldn’t see and one large one that Jonathan was likely claiming.

“Why?”

“The managers want it done by next week,” he said.

Next week. She looked at the final blank spot. It would take only a couple trees.

“I can do that,” she said, “you’ll help if I fall behind?”

“Of course,” he settled down on his side of the room, “You’re really not upset?”

“Not much.” An understatement she was hoping would become truer by the end of the day. It was the fact nobody told her until it was done that got to her. She settled in and became so lost in her painting that she almost forgot to take a break to eat and go to box 5.

It was still locked.

She was going to break the door down. She could slide her sketch under the door like she used to but she didn’t want to lose the progress she had made with the ghost. She leaned against the door again, this time with her back against it rather than her forehead. She could only guess what might make him unlock the door.

“I’m not going to apologize if I don’t know you’re listening.”

“I’m listening.”

His voice was in front of her and it wasn’t too loud.

“I’m sorry for not telling you I would be gone,” she said, “I didn’t think you would care.”

She heard a click.

The door was unlocked and she quickly entered the empty box. There wasn’t anywhere for him to hide. He likely used something to unlock the door from a distance. Elodie pulled out her sketch and set it on the usual seat. It was the outside of the church the wedding was held in. She hadn’t felt like giving it a proper title and had only written the address on it.

“You asked me to speak to you and then weren’t here to speak to,” he said flatly.

“Were you waiting for me?” she said it in a teasing manner but there was a genuine spark of curiosity in it. How long would he have waited? “If it makes you feel better I had a rotten time at the wedding,” she added.

“Good,” he spat. Ah. She had upset him quite a bit.

She didn’t want to make it worse and with a sinking in her stomach she thought silence wouldn’t make it better either. A dilemma she didn’t have experience solving.

“Erik,” she was taking too long to think of something.

“I’m glad you had a rotten time while you left poor Erik here to rot. Make him think he’s wanted then leave him to waste away in his tomb of an opera house.” His voice grew closer as before while he growled at her. She didn’t have anything to defend herself with. She couldn’t leave him angry. She wanted him to watch the sunset on the roof with her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. It was going all wrong so quickly.

She was going to panic. She had to think faster.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” she said.

“Bother me? You seemed so eager to speak with me. Maybe you’re trying to gain the ghost’s trust? You want to know if the rumors of my face are true?” His voice gradually rose to fill the box, “And you’ve grown tired of waiting to see? Shall I put myself on display for you?”

She didn’t care what he looked like. He was different from all of the men her father had attempted matching her with. He didn’t flatter or show off what he could give her. She didn’t know what to expect from him and it made her eager to find out what he was going to say or do next. But was that much different from what he accused her of? A different type of display. The words caught in her throat.

“Can’t admit it? Leave, then! And forget about reading Mirèio! Or leaving your horrible little presents!”

Elodie caught her hip on the seats as she tried to escape the box and she couldn’t stop the small sob that hiccuped out of her. She partially collapsed onto the back of them as she tried to collect herself.

“Oh, that’s worse, Elodie, ” he was suddenly gentle , “ It’s worse if you cry .”

She managed to prevent any actual tears from falling as she pulled herself off of the seat and rushed out of the door. Her breathing was fully normal by the time she returned to her paints and if Jonathan noticed anything he didn’t mention it.

Chapter Text

By Wednesday Elodie had stopped being hyper vigilante of her surroundings when in the opera house. She hadn’t noticed any signs of Erik after he had sent her away. Right before she left on Tuesday a ballerina had come to her about a spider, but it had been a tiny thing. If Erik was looking to upset her he would have found something worse like another centipede.

Elodie used her old handkerchief to relocate the spider. She had left the butterfly handkerchief at home. Seeing it on her dresser had been upsetting enough and she had tucked it into a drawer she never opened once her chest stopped aching.

She didn’t want to confront him yet but she needed a guide to the roof. She could probably find it herself but in the maze of the opera she was afraid she wouldn’t get there until the sun had already set. Some of her coworkers would surely know how to get up there but then they might start asking her questions.

In the end she approached the man that already kept many secrets.

“Daroga,” she said confidently, hoping she had guessed correctly.

“Painter,” he frowned.

They stared at each other for a moment.

“You learned that from him, no doubt,” Daroga said.

“Is it that bad for me to know your name?”

“It’s not my name, it’s my job,” he sighed, “or my former job at least. And I’d prefer if you didn’t remind me of it.”

“Why does Erik call you that then?”

“Because he knew me when I was a daroga. A sort of chief of police,” he clarified, “and don’t say his name or he’ll come eavesdrop if he isn’t already.”

“I’m not so sure he can be summoned seeing as I don’t believe he’s an actual ghost. I doubt he’ll come if I’m here, anyway,” Elodie almost laughed when Daroga shot a glare when she spoke Erik’s name again, “I’ll have to seek him out eventually I think.”

“I won’t lead you there when you do. I learned my lesson last time.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not looking for him now, then. I’d like to go to the roof tomorrow night and I’d like you to show me the way since he,” she put extra emphasis on it, “isn’t speaking to me right now.”

“How did you manage that?”

“Show me the roof and maybe I’ll tell you,” Elodie said. A bold proposal, she thought, but Daroga–she would have to figure out a different name later–seemed interested in Erik’s activities at least if not his well being.

“You’re both so stubborn I’m tempted to let you find your own way up,” he threw his hands around in frustration.

“But you don’t want me getting lost?” she asked hopefully.

“I don’t want you wandering somewhere you shouldn’t be,” Daroga said, “or finding a door that shouldn’t be opened, seeing as he is apparently angry with you. Which is a bad thing to be.” He added the last part as if he was reprimanding a child.

“I didn’t say he was angry. He’s upset.”

“That makes him more unpredictable, unfortunately. Why do you think he’s upset with you? Has he done something?”

Elodie avoided making eye contact with him. She barely knew how to feel about everything that had happened and she certainly didn’t know how to explain it.

“He thinks I want to see his face.”

“You’re not curious?”

“Of course I’m curious,” she snapped. Then she let out a frustrated huff and, putting her fingers to her temple, squeezed her eyes shut. “But that’s not why I want to talk to him. He read some of Mirèio to me, the poem the next opera is based on, and what he said about the translation was so, I don’t know, interesting? Smart? He knows a lot or he’s an amazing bluffer. I want to hear more. Learn more. I just want to know who I’m learning from.”

Elodie opened her eyes and found Daroga looking at her with a thoughtful look on his face.

“That’s . . . very generous of you.”

“What is? Wanting to talk to a man that speaks about more than business prospects?”

“Giving time to a man that you can’t see,” he said, “and you’ve heard rumors of what he’s done, yes? It’s likely at least half of what you’ve heard is true.”

“Are you trying to help me or convince me this is a bad idea again?”

“I can tell you’re too far gone to stop. But don’t worry, he got me, too,” he laughed briefly, “Why else would I spend so much time in this opera house surrounded by people that don’t trust me?”

“I thought you liked opera,” she said. She knew he went to every performance and doubted he could sit through them all if he found it distasteful.

“It was an acquired taste.”

“Do you ever think about going home?”

“Not anymore,” he said with a finality.

Elodie nodded. If he didn’t want to talk about it, it was either painful or had something to do with Erik. Maybe both. She opened her mouth to apologize.

“I’ll show you to the roof tomorrow.”

Elodie had one more man to confront.

She found and cornered Roland after the extras were sent home for the day.

“Why are you so interested in marrying me?”

“Hello, Elodie,” he said as he moved into a defensive position.

“Hello, Roland,” she said, then repeated her question.

“I’m not.” He was slowly moving toward the door.

“Right. Your father is. Why? And why bring someone else into it?”

“Someone else?”

“Emma’s sister. Whatever her name was,” Elodie stepped around him to block his exit. Even if he escaped he would have to take the long way around. A little victory.

“I don’t remember what I called her, she doesn’t exist,” Roland stopped shuffling around.

“Why make somebody up?” How dare they think that would work! Why did that work? Actually, why did she need to know the family of someone she hardly knew? “Just tell me why we need to be married. If it’s business at least I’ll understand. I might not like it but it’ll put my mind at ease.”

“And you’ll start thinking of ways to sabotage it. Julien warned me.”

“I should have known he was a larger part of this,” she muttered. Julien was becoming increasingly insistent that she be married despite her increasing ability to care for herself. At first it was a little sweet that he was concerned about her future. Now it seemed like he just wanted to be rid of her.

Roland turned to leave and she grabbed his arm.

“Roland Cochet you will tell me why we are to be married. It concerns you and me more than it concerns our meddling family members,” her voice was firm and held an edge that only came out once in a blue moon. Roland blanched.

“I have three brothers. My family’s company isn’t big enough to share between us. If I marry you Julien will bring me on as a partner to your father’s company since he is the only son.”

“I don’t believe he would do that,” she said. Julien hated sharing as much as she did. “Tell me the truth.”

He looked at her hand still holding on his arm and said roughly, “The truth is that he’s tired of you, just as I likely will be when we marry. We’re going to expand the company to England and I’ll take you with me. I don’t like this any more than you do but I know what my duty is and what I need to do to keep myself secure.”

“What of everything I have here? I don’t want to leave Paris,” or Angeline. Or the opera house and Erik, even if he hated her now. She dropped her hand from him. Her heart pounded, “I’ll never marry you.” Julien had used her as a pawn. And when she had done her duty she wouldn’t even get a promotion. He was trying to remove her from the board.

“I wish that was true,” he sneered. Roland had never been angry with her. It was unsettling. She missed the always smiling Roland that was nervous when she tried to dodge him. Had this been brewing underneath the entire time or had she somehow broken him?

Roland made to walk around her to the door and she didn’t stop him.

She followed behind Daroga quietly. She had spent the last night through afternoon thinking about the future and she still didn’t know what to do. She could only refuse Roland so many times. Julien had never had a solid plan before and she was afraid she would eventually give in.

And with Erik . . . she didn’t know what to do about him either. Daroga didn’t seem worried about them anymore and she suspected he may even be pleased Erik had someone else to talk to. If he started talking to her again. She hoped he heard her plans tonight.

Her parents didn’t know of her exact plans but did know she would be home late. She had given them a story about how she needed to stay late due to the managers wanting the backdrop done by Friday night. Both parts were independently true, but she didn’t need to stay late to ensure the painting was ready.

She would have finished the painting that day if she hadn’t been distracted by her impending removal from Paris by her own brother. She had to stretch the time as much as she could.

“I’ll drag him up here myself if it’ll make you stop sighing,” Daroga broke into her thoughts as he opened the final trapdoor and ushered her onto the roof.

“I’m not thinking about Erik,” she took his offered hand gratefully, “Mostly. I’m thinking about weddings and how to avoid them.”

“Whose wedding?”

“My own,” she said flatly and began to unpack her bag. She brought papers and an old tin of wax crayons her mother gave her when she began painting.

“When did you get engaged?”

“I’m not. I caught the horrible bouquet at my brother’s horrible wedding! And now I’m supposed to get married because of some flowers his wife threw at me!” She spoke louder than she usually dared, projecting her voice into the sky and glad nobody else was around to hear her.

“Is that so bad? Many people want nothing more than to get married,” Daroga chuckled.

“Have you met Roland? He’s an actor. He might be in the chorus? I don’t really know the details and quite frankly I don’t care because I never want to talk to him again let alone marry him,” she said it in a single rambling breath.

“If you knew what he did you could avoid him better.”

“I like the way you think, Daroga,” her scowl turned into a smile, “Have you never been married?”

“I was married,” he said slowly. He sat on a ledge near her makeshift workstation.

“Was?”

“She died in childbirth,” he held up his hand to stop Elodie from interrupting, “It’s alright, it was many years ago. The child died shortly after.”

“Still, I’m sorry. To hear me complain about getting married when you lost your wife must be,” she trailed off.

“I turned down several marriages after her death, so don’t think I don’t understand your plight,” he gave her a reassuring smile.

It would be several hours until sunset and Elodie was glad of Daroga’s company. While he didn’t wish to talk of Persia itself, she was able to get him to speak of his late wife. He made her seem like the perfect woman.

Eventually he excused himself from the roof. He claimed the bricks he sat on made his back hurt and he needed to find a softer place to wait. He promised to keep an ear out in case her parents became restless and sent someone to fetch her.

Alone on the roof, Elodie began sketching the view. She finished it quickly and would run out of paper at this rate.

She began to sketch the view from the other side of the roof and began humming to slow herself down. She hummed piano pieces she barely recalled and one of the few songs from Mireille she had overheard. With nobody to witness it she even attempted to sing a folk song she had heard sung at a festival but half the words were replaced with gibberish from her foggy memory.

After an hour of messing around the sun finally began setting and Elodie blended her crayons on her paper. One part was completely orange, another blended with pinks and purples. She would have to choose her favorite when she could see them in better lighting.

With her mission complete, Elodie continued to lounge on the roof. It was peaceful above the city. She could still hear the distant people beneath her but nobody could disturb her up here. Maybe she would bring more of her items and live on the roof.

Watching the sky darken and the stars come out to keep her company, Elodie sighed and quietly nodded off in the cooling air.

“Elodie. Elodie!”

She blinked awake, “Hm?”

“Your father is here. I told him I would fetch you but we’ll have to be quick if he’s going to believe you fell asleep at your workstation,” Daroga had already begun packing her things and Elodie joined him. Her untied cloak began to slip off her shoulders and she paused to fasten the clasp around her neck.

Wait. Her cloak?

Once they were packed and descending the floors of the opera house, Elodie thanked Daroga for letting her borrow his cloak. It had become a little chilly on the roof.

“It isn’t mine,” he said.

“Oh,” she exhaled and tried to subtly inspect the cloak a little closer. It was warm and made of high quality material as well as many decorative beads she could feel on the shoulders. She held it tight around her until they approached the final set of stairs and she reluctantly took it off but held onto the lingering floral scent of it. It was the closest thing she had to proof the ghost truly was corporeal.

“Can you return it for me? I don’t want father getting any more suspicious than he already is.” What if Erik wanted her to return it herself?

Daroga took it from her with a knowing look, “He’ll understand.” He gave a pointed look down the hallway. Elodie tried to find what he was looking at but the opera looked the same as always.

She thanked him again and opened the door her impatient father was waiting behind.

Chapter Text

Roland began escorting Elodie home the very next day. She had protested, of course. It had been a one time incident, she said, she was an adult not a reckless teenager, and Roland lived in the opposite direction, did he really need to go so far out of his way? Her suggestion to have Daroga escort her instead had been firmly shot down as well.

At least she was still allowed to walk to the opera house in the morning alone. She made a visit to box 5 as soon as she arrived the following Monday. The door was unlocked and there was nothing and nobody waiting inside for her. She waited inside for a moment, and losing her nerves and desire to call out for Erik, turned to leave.

“No sketch today?”

Elodie had expected to be glad to hear his voice. Instead she felt annoyed and a little sick. She was going to apologize to him directly–though she was almost certain he had heard her speak to Daroga–and ask him to read to her again. She was even willing to beg at this point.

But he sounded so nonchalant, like he hadn’t yelled at her and practically told her to never speak to him again. And he had the audacity to ask why he wasn’t being given another drawing? After he called them horrible? Her stomach twisted further as she felt her anger rise. She doubted it would be easy to get him to apologize.

Her fingers twitched, “I thought you didn’t like them.”

“Why would you think that?” his voice was between her and the door. She wished she could shove him into it.

“You said they were horrible.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t like them.”

“How else am I supposed to interpret that?” she asked, brows knit, exasperated and confused.

“Ah. My apologies,” he said, immediately proving Elodie wrong, “your art itself is excellent. It’s why I had begin work with Monsieur Boffrand. But the sketches . . . are a reminder. I don’t mind seeing it from your eyes, though.”

She hadn’t considered that he might miss the outside world, but she couldn’t figure out why he didn’t see it himself. He wasn’t actually a ghost, so why did he avoid everything outside of the opera house? He avoided most of the inside as well.

“I’ll make the next one extra special,” she said, anger mostly forgotten in the surprise of an apology.

“I look forward to it,” he seemed pleased, “Shall we continue reading today?”

“I don’t think I’ll be available. The mulberries are done and I’m not sure where Jonathan is going to have me work.”

“But I know where you will be today.”

“How? Ghost powers?” she asked sardonically.

“In a way.”

“Great. If I end up alone like you say we’ll read.”

“I’m sorry, there’s just not much for you to do,” Jonathan said, “You weren’t the only one working on the backgrounds, you know, they’re all almost done. It’s not like you’re being let go.”

“There’s nothing you can think of?” Elodie followed him down the hallway, “I’ll help with anything.”

“You could help by not following me.”

“Jonathan, please, you know I don’t want to go home.”

He stopped walking and sighed. Elodie knew he was at least partially aware of her problems with her brother and Roland. She should have learned more about Jonathan when she had the chance so she could know if he would be on her side. So far he seemed to be but there was always the risk he was only humoring her for now.

They spent so much time working in the same room, why hadn’t she spoken to him more?

“Follow me,” he said and led her back down the hallway and down several flights of stairs. Finally, he opened a door and revealed a room full of furniture.

“These are old set pieces. Study how they’re made and the aesthetics. If you learn enough I might let you help me design pieces for whatever they choose after Mirèille. And if not, at least you can’t say I didn’t try to help.”

“Thank you,” she said. Jonathan gave an exaggerated bow and left.

Elodie got to work moving furniture around the room. Chairs were probably easiest, she hoped, so she found as many different types as she could and brought them together. Within the group she separated the ones with cushions and the ones without, then tried to sort them further by type of wood. She didn’t know much about wood types so she sorted that part by color and weight.

She stood back to survey the mess she made. It was good enough for now.

“I see you’ve already gotten me a chair,” Erik’s voice appeared at a far enough distance she didn’t jump out of her skin for once.

“You can’t sit in these. I have to study them.”

“Shame. This one looks particularly comfortable.”

Elodie followed his voice to an ugly chair. “This one?” she didn’t disguise the disgust in her voice.

“The cushion looks nice at least.”

“I suppose,” she began turning it over. It was made of a light material and the back had intricately patterned holes carved into it. The legs were plain besides having a slight curve to them. The best part of the chair was the cushion, which she sat on. It was soft but clearly not stuffed with enough to prevent it from going flat within a year, maybe less.

“All done,” she chirped and slid the chair away from the rest, “you can use it now. Shall we read?” His laughter floated from the chair.

She wanted to ask him to show himself. To sit in the chair for real. She doubted anybody would be coming into the room besides Jonathan and even then he was just as likely to let her come and go as she wanted. Erik must believe she wasn’t desperate to see him just for the spectacle of it if he was speaking to her so willingly.

He began to read the poem again. She would believe he was reciting it based on how effortlessly the words flowed from him. A few times he had to prod her to continue studying her chairs when she became too focused on his voice. She couldn’t imagine what sort of person could match it.

She imagined a figure wearing the cloak she had briefly held. Despite her above average height it had been long on her. She mentally adjusted the figure to be tall. He would have to be skinny as well if he barely ate, which as a ghost he claimed not to do at all.

“You’re distracted again,” he said.

“I want to hear Mirèio more than I want to stare at chairs,” she sighed, “How did you even know I would end up down here?”

“I’ll admit I didn’t. I knew there wasn’t any more work for you and expected you would use your free time to explore the opera house. Imagine my surprise when I heard the racket you were making down here.”

“I’m glad I could surprise you for a change.”

“Don’t make a habit of it. Ghosts hate surprises.” There was a hint of a smile in his voice. It was like he had admitted she was in on the joke. They both knew he wasn’t a spectre but they were playing a game similar to the one she had started months ago with her gifts to the ghost.

“I’ll try not to.” She grabbed the next chair, a light thing with woven pieces, and Erik soon began reading again. They had made it through most of the third canto where Mirèio and the other village girls talked about love.

Most of the girls preferred a rich husband and dreamed of marrying a prince. Mirèio wanted to marry someone she loved. Someone gentle but poor like Vincent the basket weaver. Would basket weaving be interesting to watch?

She refocused on Erik, who was explaining that the next section, O Magali, was a traditional song from Occitania and not an original part of the poem.

“Are you going to sing this one?” she asked. There had been small pieces of song in the first two cantos but Erik had only read them.

“No, I’m distracting you enough.”

“You’re that good?” She didn’t want to admit she couldn’t be any more distracted.

“Good enough I should ask for something in return.”

“I’d offer to sing something for you in exchange but my voice is horrible.” She hadn’t sung in front of anyone since she forced to as a small child. Her lessons had quickly been stopped.

“I know.”

“You know?” But when could he have possibly–“the roof? Erik!” She said his name with a whine. Why didn’t he say something?

“I hear everything in my opera house,” he explained simply.

“But I wasn’t in it! I was on it! God, I can’t believe you didn’t stop me,” she held her head in her hands, “I think I deserve a song.”

“Deserve? Not for that performance,” he laughed at the frustrated muffled yell she gave out, “but I can indulge you.”

Elodie was prepared to sarcastically thank him but was stopped by the song that began to surround her. She stood as still as she could as he sang, afraid that any wrong movement or sound may stop him. She didn’t even dare to look around. Instead, she stared at the chair that she had set aside for him.

When he finished she finally let out the breath she was holding.

“Nothing to say? Perhaps I oversold my ability.” His voice was light and obviously pleased with himself. She wanted to agree with him and encourage the light teasing. There were so many moments when they read together when he seemed carefree for a minute before slipping back into his more brooding persona.

“You should performing on the stage not living below it,” she breathed. Then she cringed. Suggesting he put himself in the spotlight was likely unwelcome and would knock him out of the agreeable mood he was in. She mentally prepared herself for however Erik would respond.

Instead, Elodie was alone in the room again. She almost called out for him but stopped to listen to footsteps echoing outside of the room. Hopefully he was only being silent to avoid detection. She faked studying the woven chair again just as Jonathan opened the door.

“Here she is, as promised,” he grumbled and sent Elodie an apologetic look. Roland was there to escort her home. It seemed early but it wasn’t like she had a choice in the matter anymore.

“Who was singing?” he asked as they left. She remained silent in protest.

“Was there someone with you?”

“I was busy looking at chairs. It’s an opera house. The singing could have been coming from anywhere.” It wasn’t like he would believe her anyway. Roland gave a shrug and dropped the subject and any attempt at small talk, which she was glad of.

Chapter Text

“Where were you?” Jammes whined. She had found Elodie during a break from chairs she had taken when the boredom had become unbearable. Erik hadn’t returned yesterday or today and she found the silence became unbearable after a couple hours. A quick walk around the opera cured her boredom for a while and she was slowly becoming a master of navigating the lower levels.

“Downstairs looking at chairs,” she said, “What am I removing today?”

“Like the cellars? Are you looking for the ghost?” the young girl had perked up already.

“No,” she said flatly.

“Oh,” Jammes sounded disappointed.

“Do you want me to look for the ghost?”

“I just thought . . .” the girl hesitated, “You could remove him like you do the spiders?”

“I’d need a bigger handkerchief. Is it another spider today?”

“It is,” she giggled.

“Easy enough,” Elodie said and followed Jammes to the offending arachnid. The girl’s request to remove Erik was concerning. She was under the impression that he had been largely absent from the opera operations for the past year.

They arrived at the ballet practice room and Elodie had to greet the swarm of ballerinas inside before she could locate the offending spider. She pulled out her handkerchief and–

–it was plain. She had never retrieved the butterfly handkerchief from the drawer she had hidden it in. She hesitated before scooping up the spider. She would have to retrieve the other one later.

“Can I watch?” Jammes asked when Elodie headed toward the doorway.

“I don’t mind.”

“I’m coming too!” Meg called across the room.

The girls followed Elodie through the winding opera halls. In the safety of the outdoors they crowded the handkerchief as she released the spider.

“It’s gross,” Meg said.

“You’ve seen spiders before. Didn’t you already know that?” Elodie asked.

“I can see it better out here.”

“You don’t think the patterns are a little pretty?” her pointing finger startled the spider and it scurried out of sight. It had been a light brown with complex white spotting on its abdomen.

“Maybe.” Meg didn’t look convinced.

“I think it was pretty,” Jammes said. She looked at Elodie out of the corner of her eye for a brief second but stayed facing the spot the spider ran to. It reminded Elodie of how she had copied Angeline’s opinions as children when looking for approval. Cute.

“Don’t lie, Cécile,” Meg pouted. The other girl made a hmmph in response.

Jammes must be her family name she guessed. ‘Little Jammes’ was more of a nickname but Elodie had never questioned it before. Damn names and her new goals. Ever since Roland had fooled her with Emma’s non-existent sister she had decided to be more attentive of them.

“You don’t have to like the spiders, Meg,” she said gently. She didn’t want to be the cause of something between the friends. The girls stood to head back inside. Cécile poked at Meg’s side, who swatted her hand away.

“Wait,” she said quickly, “before we head back in. Why did you ask if I would remove the ghost? Has he come back?”

“Mama said he doesn’t like being talked about,” Meg loudly whispered at Cécile. The girls grabbed at each other dramatically and looked at the building looming over them.

“Don’t worry about him,” Elodie said, “He’ll have to worry about me if he’s done something.” And Daroga.

“Jeanne got a letter,” Cécile said conspiratorially, “it said she needed to practice more.”

“That’s not so bad.” Enough to make them nervous, though. Nobody would want to risk a disappearance.

“Other girls got letters but won’t say anything.”

“But he hasn’t done anything? Just wrote some letters?”

Meg motioned for her to come closer. Elodie leaned down so she could whisper in her ear.

“He asked for box 5 to be left empty again. Mama doesn’t think the managers will do it.” Meg looked over her shoulder when she was done speaking.

“And you’re worried about if they don’t?”

The girls nodded. Meg looked more worried but they were both buzzing with the excitement that came with teenagers and gossip.

“I’ll see if I can get that large handkerchief ready.” She patted the girls on their shoulders and Cécile grinned at her. Meg begged them to explain the joke to her on the way back.

Erik didn’t make another appearance until Friday. She was tempted to ask him what he had been doing but didn’t want to accidentally tip him off to the fact she already knew some of his activities. If he knew about her conversation with the girls he didn’t mention it. He also didn’t mention what she said about his singing and she certainly wasn’t going to bring it up.

They read through the fourth canto faster than the others. It was focused entirely on Mirèio’s suitors as they tried to ask for her hand in marriage.

“Do they have nothing better to do than try to look at a beautiful woman?” she sighed.

“Life is made for looking at beautiful things. That’s what opera is all about.”

“It’s part of it,” she said, “but that makes the unbeautiful more interesting, doesn’t it? The things people don’t pay attention to.”

“Unbeautiful? You mean ugly?”

“No. People don’t pay attention to plain looking things either. A road isn’t beautiful or ugly but the bricks can be interesting.”

“If Mirèio thought like you she may have gone with Ourrias and not found his life so boring.”

“Maybe she does think like me. She was only rejecting those men because she already loved Vincen.” If only Elodie had that good of a reason to have rejected all of her suitors.

“Is that why you’re rejecting Roland?”

Elodie scrunched her face. It was like he read her mind.

“Don’t you start talking about him, too. That’s all I hear about at home by this point.” She didn’t add that she spoke of Erik at home as well, though only to her mother. “But no. It’s by principle at this point. I’ve been disappointed by enough men my family has provided, I’ll find my own if I find one at all, thank you very much.”

“How will you find him?” He asked it seriously, curiosity non-existent.

“I’m not sure,” she answered honestly, “I’m more worried about getting rid of the current one. But don’t you worry about that, too.”

“Very well,” he laughed. “I’m glad to drop it as I must take my leave.”

“Ghost business?” He didn’t usually mention needing to do anything. If he was offering an opening for information she might as well take the bait.

“In a way. They’re going to run through a piece of ballet on the stage and I would like to make sure there have been improvements.”

“I’m sure I’ll know if there have been on Monday.”

“Yes, I’ll likely be in a terrible mood. Farewell.”

“Goodbye, Erik,” she laughed. He was an odd mixture of informal and formal in a way she enjoyed.

Erik was gone for less than an hour when she made her way away from her chairs and towards the stage. She had never watched the ballerinas perform more than a couple seconds in passing when she was summoned to remove an insect. She hoped they wouldn’t mind her watching while she took a break from her work.

“They can’t practice today,” Jonathan was saying as she neared the stage.

“And why not?” A woman’s voice. Possibly the ballet director.

“As I’ve told your girls several times we’ve been shorthanded and we haven’t finished getting everything ready for Mir eille . We still need to get one of the backgrounds up and one of our trapdoors is stuck. They’re trying to fix it and I don’t want any ballerinas falling through the stage.”

“They fall enough,” the woman said dismissively, “we can take the risk.”

“I assure you you can’t.”

Elodie stood in the stage wing and confirmed that it was the ballet director arguing with Jonathan and giving him quite a stare down. He sighed.

“Give us another hour at least,” he said, “the backdrop should be secure by then.”

Elodie finally stepped onto the stage. “Can I help?” she offered. Please let her do something different than stare at chairs.

“No,” Jonathan said, surprised, then added, “maybe. Stay here.”

Elodie stood obediently as Jonathan left to check on the progress of stage setup. A couple ballerinas waved to her from the other side of the stage.

At the back of the stage were several men tying the backdrop to the bar that would raise it up. A meter or so in front of them there were tall fake mulberry trees to help add to the background. She imagined they would look impressive with the mulberry backdrop. Her backdrop.

“I’ll have a job for you in a moment,” Jonathan said to her then turned to the director, “and after we’re done you still have to wait. That trapdoor is still a problem even if you don’t see anything. You have to wait for my okay.” She was still unimpressed but moved to speak to her ballerinas.

Jonathan explained that when they were done tying the backdrop, which would be soon, several of the men would need to help raising the ropes. All Elodie had to do was stand at one of the ends and make sure it went up smoothly. Jonathan assured her she would likely not need to do anything but all she had to do was yell if something seemed off.

She stood between the fake tree and backdrop waiting for the men to climb to the flies. Looking out into the empty seats was intimidating. She couldn’t imagine seeing it full of people. Movement in one of the boxes revealed Daroga watching them. A shout from above signaled the crew below. Jonathan made sure she was ready and walked around the side to watch from the back.

The backdrop rose slowly and evenly. The very tops of the mulberry trees were becoming visible as it raised to above Elodie’s head. She shifted her gaze to the top of the backdrop and squinted at it. The ropes were holding but she swore the very end looked slacker than it had a moment before.

She watched the corner. It was definitely slipping.

“Jonathan!” she yelled. The ascent of the backdrop stopped and jiggled it just enough that the corner fully came loose.

“Jonathan!” Several more ropes came loose and the first meter of backdrop swung down before settling. “The ropes!” She kept her eyes on the remaining ropes. The last one sagged from the force of the falling corner but looked like it would hold. She held her hands on the fabric as if she could somehow prevent the rest from falling.

“Who tied that side?” Jonathan yelled into the flies, “Bring it back down. Slowly! We need– Elodie the tree!” Several ballerinas had started yelling as well.

She had been so focused on the backdrop she hadn’t noticed the corner knocking into the mulberry tree during its descent. Elodie whipped around in time to see the toppling tree that hit her firmly on the head.

Then the world was spinning and she was falling farther than should have been possible. She floated in darkness until a pair of thin arms wrapped around her, pulling her back into the opera house.

Chapter Text

Elodie was moving. She kept her eyes squeezed shut in an effort to reduce the pounding in her head. It didn’t work. Why was she moving? She shifted and the arms holding her tightened their grip. Someone was speaking.

“–a little farther.” The voice was familiar.

A strong throb in her head had her pressing her face into what must be the chest of her captor? Savior? She couldn’t remember exactly how she got here. She moved her head again and felt smooth fabric against her face. Satin?

“Stop moving,” the voice breathed.

Eventually Elodie was lowered onto something soft. She heard furniture shifting and then her head was gingerly lifted and placed onto a pillow. Cold fingers brushed the hair out of her face as pure darkness claimed her again.

There was a second voice when Elodie woke up again.

“Why did you bring her here?”

“It was nearby.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes.” The first voice said, obviously annoyed.

“I don’t think you planned this very well. They’ll find her here soon enough.”

“You think I planned this, you fool? You think I would harm her?”

A pause, “No. Not like this.”

Footsteps approached and Elodie hesitantly opened her eyes. She was afraid light would exacerbate her headache but it only continued thrumming steadily behind her eyes.

There was a strange man standing above her. Strange in the sense that he was both a stranger to her and he wore a white mask that covered most of his face. Or at least the right side of it. He was turned slightly so she could only see the one side blurrily through her headache.

“How is your head?” he asked urgently. She definitely knew him.

“Erik?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes, yes, it is Erik before you,” he said dismissively, “You may gawk at him after you tell him how your head is.” He hovered above her with his hands ready like he would grab her if she made any sudden movements. Another face appeared behind him.

“Daroga,” she said.

“She’s speaking entirely in names,” he observed.

“Why does she call you that? Never mind. Stop distracting her,” Erik shooed him away, “Your head?” he tried again.

“It hurts,” she said simply. She moved to sit up and immediately collapsed back down as her head swam. “I might throw up,” she confessed. Her movement had stopped but the room continued to spin.

“Onto your side. Daroga, fetch a bucket or something.” Erik continued to hover over her while she rolled over and tried to get comfortable. She curled into a ball as well as she could in her corset and groaned.

“Where am I?”

“You don’t recognize this room?” he seemed worried. Elodie lifted her head. Thankfully her vision was slowly coming into better focus.

“Oh. Chairs,” she said. She looked at her pillow. It was the chair cushion she had admired before. She couldn’t admire what she was laying on but she assumed it was one of the day beds she hadn’t looked at closely yet. There were only a couple of them in the room and she had left them in a corner because of their not-quite-chair nature.

She focused again on Erik.

“Must you stare?”

“You said I could,” she mumbled and laid her head back onto the cushion. She continued gazing up at him as he hovered anxiously. Did the mask match his face? It had an exaggerated brow but the cheekbone, while still very prominent, was more realistic.

“Don’t,” he warned.

“I won’t.”

Erik stared down at her. The eye she could see was practically golden.

“Where is he?” he grumbled and broke their eye contact, standing up straight and turning away. He was thin. And despite the fact it wasn’t late enough for him to be wearing evening attire (unless she had been unconscious for far longer than she guessed) he wore a tailcoat and white bowtie. His clothes looked high quality, likely meticulously tailored, yet still gave the impression that they barely had anything to hang on to.

Erik stalked about the room while occasionally glancing at her. She caught glimpses of the other side of his face. It was hard to make out from the distance but she could see the way his visible cheek and eye were sunken.

Did he really not eat? The horrible idea of it and her pounding head combined made her begin to sniffle. Erik’s head whipped around at the noise and he returned to hover over her, his long legs making short work of the distance. He still held himself so she could only see his mask.

“Please don’t do that. Do you still feel unwell?” He turned to glare at the door again as if he could will Daroga to return.

Elodie whined and shook her head, a mistake that made her sniffle again.

“Do you eat?”

“What?” he looked to the door again.

“You look like you’re starving. Do you eat?” Panic bubbled in her chest. Why was this so distressing? Her headache got worse; her temples felt like they were being pressed upon.

“You’ve had a head injury and you’re worried about my eating habits?” he asked incredulously. She nodded and whined again in response. He sighed.

“I eat when I need to,” he said softly. He reached out to brush the hair she had disturbed from all of her head movements out of her face but pulled back before reaching her. She slowly did it herself. Did he not want to touch her?

Her vision was starting to swim again. If he wouldn’t even touch her did he even want her to see him again? She didn’t want to speak to walls anymore. She could barely remember what he looked like when she wasn’t looking directly at him. She was afraid she’d forget what he looked like altogether after she recovered.

“Erik,” she said desperately. That got him looking directly at her. She tried to focus on him. The mask mirrored his uncovered face in a way. She imagined it would be a better match to a fuller version, though the eyebrow was still off. His mismatched eyes watched her. Now that he was closer she could see that his darker eye was light brown. He moved to avoid her gaze and for a moment it flashed golden like the other before going out of view.

“Erik,” she repeated and reached a hand out to touch him. He lurched back as if hit but turned fully toward her again.

She still didn’t remember how she got into the room or where she had been previously or what exactly had caused her injury. She wanted to ask him if she could see him again. The way he was avoiding her was making her worry he didn’t want to associate with her at all anymore, though she couldn’t imagine why. All of this thinking and worrying was making it hard to focus. It was tiring.

She wanted to tell him to eat more.

Instead, she held his gaze, said “You have pretty eyes,” and promptly lost consciousness for the third time that day.

The next, and hopefully last, time she reawakened, there were many more than two voices around her.

“–been confused–”

“–the ghost–”

“–familiar place–”

She couldn’t make out much of what was said. She opened her eyes and found she was in a different room. One she didn’t recognize this time. An experimental movement of her head revealed that her headache had mostly gone away. She again rolled onto her side to see who was speaking.

Jonathan was in a group of men with arguing about something. She caught sight of Roland among them as well. One of the men noticed her looking at them but before he could alert the others two people blocked her view of them.

It was Meg and Cécile with tears streaming down their faces.

“We’re sorry!” “We told you about the ghost and he attacked you!” “We’re so sorry!” Their words came out in a flurry that threatened to worsen her headache again.

She held up a hand to quiet them.

“He didn’t attack me, he–” She cut herself off. Maybe some things were better left unexplained. It was all she managed to say for a while, anyway. A doctor asked her a bunch of questions, the girls continued to apologize to her despite her protests, and Jonathan reminded her of what happened and told her of the search.

At first nobody thought to search for her. They assumed she was stuck under the tree but, upon not finding her there after they raised it, they realized there was a trapdoor near where she had been standing. They searched under the stage before someone suggested she could have wandered away.

With her foggy memory and no other explanation–or no other explanation they wanted to consider–they decided that after she fell under the stage she had been dazed and wandered back to the room full of chairs like she would have if the tree had never fallen. Nobody questioned how she had moved a day bed or if she would have been well enough to search for a pillow.

They then moved Elodie to the small infirmary the opera house kept for injuries, though the injuries were usually less severe, and waited for her to wake up. Once she had, and they could rest easy that she wasn’t dying or in a coma, they dispersed.

Daroga briefly visited her after everyone else had gone . He had been caught during his search for something for her to vomit in and he had to help them attempt to find her to avoid raising suspicion. Thankfully she hadn’t needed the bucket .

And now she was in a strange bed waiting for Roland to escort her home. She lay on her back, eyes closed, and was glad she could remember what Erik looked like, though the memory of how determined she was to interrogate his eating habits made her face hot . It had felt so important at the time. Hopefully he understood it was the knock to the head speaking.

She grudgingly accepted Roland’s arm on the walk home. She still felt weak and wouldn’t make the walk without the help.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked.

“I just need to rest for a couple days.”

“I think you should rest all next week as well.”

“Roland, I’ve been looking at chairs. I think I can manage that even with a bump on my head.”

“Then why were you on stage? I don’t want you down there anymore, anyway. I barely want you in the opera house at all with everything strange going on around you,” he whispered harshly. They were still walking in a well trafficked area.

“There’s nothing strange going on. And I was on stage because I got bored. I was only there for a couple minutes.”

“A couple minutes too many. I know how you left the seamstresses and I heard what those girls said. I don’t believe in ghosts but I do believe in men. I won’t let last year repeat itself. I was there. I saw what happened,” he said it all so sincerely if she hadn’t seen Erik anxiously watching over her she may have even started being wary of him.

“Did you?” she challenged, “Nobody else seems to know exactly what happened.”

“Not exactly, no,” he admitted, “but I remember Christine Daaé going missing. And the managers going crazy looking for their money. The chandelier fell, Elodie. People are dead. Someone has it out for the Palais Garnier but we didn’t shut down. And now that we’ve dared to make some small improvements it seems he’s come back to finish us off.”

She didn’t want to miss another Monday sketch but there was no way to convince Roland otherwise. Father would definitely agree with him.

“Alright. I’ll be careful,” she said. Careful of tipping anybody off to Erik’s existence. She knew she wasn’t a convincing liar so it would be difficult. She mostly denied things that happening and hoped people wouldn’t poke too hard while she tried to change the subject. She’d do the best she could.

The last few blocks were walked in gloomy silence. Elodie avoided looking Roland in the eyes when he said goodnight and he almost seemed to regret that he had asked her to stay home. She excused herself to her room while Roland greeted her father and relayed the day’s events.

Chapter Text

Elodie was confined to her bed until Monday and there was no hope of leaving home for even a short walk until later in the week. She had company in the form of the blackbird family outside of her window. The chicks were getting large and one disappeared on her second day of rest. She assumed it left the nest on purpose and hoped it could fly. She didn’t think she could handle the alternative well in her current state.

She had been working on her home paintings nearly every night since her father bought her canvasses and she was prepared to finish at least one during her house arrest. Her sunset painting had gone through several iterations as she painted the sky over and over again. Her first day out of her bedroom saw her finally commit to a gradient of grayish blue to hazy orange with pink mixed in some areas for interest.

“Are you going to do a sunrise one as well?” her mother asked.

“Maybe. If I can wake early enough to get a good view.” She wasn’t sure there would be a major difference anyway. She could fake it. “I have other ideas.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

She worked on the tiny mulberries. She knew that they were going to be much smaller than the ones she painted for the backdrop but she hadn’t truly appreciated the amount of detail she wouldn’t be able to add. She would have to come back to them with a much smaller brush.

“Have you learned anything else about Erik?”

Elodie paused. Then began painting a tiny house at the back of the mulberry field. She hadn’t had anything to tell her mother in a while. Her progress had been stagnant despite the fact that her and Erik had been speaking the entire time. Any questions about himself were ignored unless she got him in the perfect mood. And even then his answers didn’t give much away. They just hinted at places he had been.

Her mother hadn’t spoken of Erik to anybody that she knew of but she didn’t know how far she could push it. What details would make him a danger instead of an interest?

“He sang for me. From the opera we’re putting on.” That should be safe.

“So he’s a performer?”

“No.”

“Oh. He wasn’t very good?”

“Also no. I’ve never heard a better voice.” She covered part of the house with a tree.

“Then why not perform?”

“He can’t show his face,” Elodie said slowly. This was getting into rockier territory.

“Can’t? He must be hiding something.” She said it neutrally. A good sign.

She tried to find the best place for another tree. She shouldn’t cover the house too much.

“Or maybe you’re hiding something?”

Just the fact that Erik seems to have fun pretending he’s a ghost and quite possibly never leaves the opera house. She needed to organize her thoughts about him before attempting to actually have this conversation.

“He’s hiding his face, that’s all.” Deny. Subject change? No. Think of an explanation. “He was . . . in an accident. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“Alright,” her mother gave her a sidelong glance over the top of her sewing. Elodie thought it was a good explanation. Maybe the problem was her delivery.

There was no more talk of Erik, which Elodie was thankful of, and she attempted to actually remember the things her mother would randomly chat about. Most of it was about Angeline and her next child. Julien was brought up a couple times. He was settling into married life and would likely begin visiting again.

Angeline visited first. She appeared the next day after lunch.

“I’m surprised you’re so happy talking about work.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You don’t like Roland and he’s the entire reason you even got that job.”

“He’s not supposed to bother me at work. I’m afraid that might change because of the accident.” She sighed but continued painting. She had finished the sunset painting for now and had begun painting the blackbirds on her windowsill. So far it was the view from her window and a partially constructed nest.

“It’s sweet that he wants to check up on you,” Angeline pushed.

“I don’t want him to,” she scowled.

“Right. You want someone else to check on you. Maybe the one who gave you that handkerchief?” She leaned over Elodie’s shoulder with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

“There’s nobody else. I appreciate everybody trying to help my love life,” she said sarcastically, “but I have better things to worry about. Do you know what Julien and Roland have planned?”

Angeline didn’t. So Elodie told her.

“And you don’t think Roland’s concern is real?”

“I don’t care if it’s real! He wants to use me. If he told me he loved me and brought me flowers every day I still wouldn’t want him.” And he was possibly a threat to Erik. She didn’t think he had much influence and hoped that his efforts to find a saboteur would fizzle out.

Elodie’s appetite for work talk was soured. Angeline attempted to make small talk for a while longer before quietly saying her goodbyes and leaving Elodie to her paints.

That night Elodie grabbed the notebook that was meant to be her diary. It had barely 10 pages full because she wrote in the neglected thing maybe once a month. It was about to become much more useful to her as she filled it with everything she knew about Erik. Her mother’s questioning made her want to come up with a believable story and Angeline’s visit had only reinforced the idea.

After she had written some basic knowledge down (first name only, age unknown, spoke many languages) she wondered if he would think it was odd of her to do so. Then, deciding a man that lived as a ghost in an opera house had no business finding her odd, she continued.

He was skinny, she noted, and quite possibly didn’t eat. She made a page dedicated to finding foods he preferred.

The next page detailed his skills. Languages. Singing. Possibly embroidery. Definitely moving about his voice. Where did he do it from? He had to be somewhere that he could see the goings on within the room he was speaking to. It couldn’t be as simple as standing outside the door. Someone else would have seen him by now.

Where else could he possibly be?

Was he in the walls?

With dawning horror she was suddenly convinced that’s where he was. It made the most sense for how he moved about without being seen and there were probably cracks or small holes in the walls he could see through. Had he been so close this entire time? Her stomach twisted.

She didn’t understand it. Why was he confined to the opera house? Had he chosen to be there? His talents and brief stories showed a picture of a well traveled man. If he had decided to finally settle down she doubted his current life was what he had in mind.

She closed the book.

She would figure it out later once she could talk to him. And knock on the walls to see if they were hollow.

By the end of the week Elodie was afraid she was losing her mind. The monotony of the days were beginning to blend together. Roland came to see her several times–Wednesday and Friday?–but she had stubbornly ignored him as well as she could, citing a lingering headache (a lie) and a desire to not lose her painting momentum (the truth).

She finished the painting of her blackbirds. The second chick had fledged and left the nest, leaving only the parents remaining. They continued coming to the nest and singing for her and each other. In the painting the chicks were still there begging for food.

After her second painting she slowed down. She had considered making more natural landscapes but didn’t want to go back to mulberries just yet. The views from the windows didn’t inspire anything in her. She could usually find something interesting to look at but nothing was grabbing her. She was too burnt out and restless.

Elodie was almost surprised when she left on Monday and there was nobody at the door to intercept her. Her father had asked her several times the night before if she really felt alright and subtly suggested she should stay home longer. She had laid on the lingering headaches a little thick.

On her way to work she stopped by her favorite bakery and bought several fruit tarts as a little treat for her regained freedom. She got two apple ones as well as a pear and a strawberry. One apple was for her and the variety was to hopefully tempt Erik. If he refused she could always give a couple to Daroga instead.

“That’s a big box, did you get me one?” Jonathan intercepted her on the way to box 5.

“Ask again later,” she said, “I might snack on them all day.”

“I’ll be craving it all day. Now follow me, you have a new workroom. We moved some things while you were gone. Roland insisted.”

“Of course he did,” she sighed. She’d have to sneak off to box 5 later if Roland wasn’t skulking around. Jonathan led her to an area she hadn’t explored before near the ballerina’s section of the opera.

“It’s an old dressing room,” he explained, “We don’t have enough people to need it and Roland wanted you set up somewhere safe and nearby,” he made air quotes, “though I don’t know where he thinks more falling trees will come from. The backdrop looks great, by the way. It’s fully pulled up now but you should see it the next time they lower it.”

“Mm. Am I allowed to leave my room or will I need an escort to see it?”

“Roland did say he was going to check on you but I don’t think you’re a prisoner. You’re my employee. Not his.”

“Thank you,” she said as he took his leave. If everyone else refused to help her she knew Jonathan would fight to keep her. She had better keep up on her painting and studying so he wouldn’t change his mind.

She took a survey of the room. She recognized some of the furniture from the other storage room but noted that everything they had brought up was of a similar style. There were several tables alongside her chairs as well as what she guessed was a detached banister leaning against a wall. There was also dusty furniture against the back wall, some of it covered in sheets, which she assumed actually belonged in the room.

The furniture could wait. She had more important things to study.

Elodie strode to the wall next to the door and knocked on it.

She didn’t know what it should sound like. She continued to the wall to the right. It sounded the same.

The wall opposite the door sounded different. She knocked on it again with her ear pressed to it. Her knocks echoed within.

“What are you trying to do?” Erik’s voice appeared behind her.

She should have known he would be drawn to the ruckus she was making. It didn’t sound that loud to her but if he was actually in there . . . should she come clean? Would he be amused or annoyed with her looking for him?

“Trying to guess the material,” she said.

“I doubt that.”

“Where are you when you speak with me?”

“I can appear where I want. And right now I am behind you.”

She turned to glare at the empty room. Erik was there picking up a chair and inspecting its legs.

“They scuffed this one,” he said.

She almost yelled. She thought she was going to have to coax him out again. He was reluctant to show himself before, what had changed?

She watched him run his fingers over the scuffed leg. He was in evening wear again despite the early hour. He set the chair down and turned to her. The mask was different. It was still white but covered his entire face this time.

Another mystery. She needed to focus on her original goal.

Elodie went to her box of tarts and retrieved an apple one.

“I need a full stomach to focus,” she said, “would you like one?”

His golden gaze bore into her.

“Why are you so insistent about this? I was hoping you would forget when you recovered.” His voice had an edge to it.

“I–” Why did she care? “We’re friends aren’t we?” Friends? Yes, that sounded right. “Am I not allowed to share food with a friend?”

“You consider me a friend?” he seemed taken aback.

“What else would you call us? Surely we’re not just acquaintances,” she huffed and took a bite of her apple tart.

“I’m. We’re. I’ve been teaching you Mirèio,” he fumbled.

“Teaching?” She wrinkled her nose, “I don’t want to be your student. We’re reading it together for fun. Like friends.”

“Like friends,” Erik echoed. He hesitated before approaching the box and inspecting the food inside as intensely as he had the chairs.

He chose the second apple tart.

Chapter Text

It was hard to imagine the man before her causing any sort of terror. Trouble and irritation? Sure. He had scared and laughed at her with his sudden vocal appearances plenty of times, but she couldn’t match him to the disappearances and potential murders of several people.

He had eaten his apple tart slowly, having to lift up his mask to take bites and only doing so when she wasn’t looking directly at him. She could see him do it on the edges of her vision. While doing so he had chosen a seat: one of the tables. Despite her offering multiple chairs he had insisted on sitting on it and letting his legs hang over the side.

Every so often he would kick them and let them gently swing back and forth before coming to a stop.

“We need to read faster if we’re going to finish before the opening. No more diversions,” Erik said. He had retrieved his copy of Mirèio while Elodie wasn’t looking. Did he hide it in the room beforehand?

“I like the diversions,” Elodie said. She could easily listen to Erik talk about whatever subject he had latched onto that day for hours.

“Like them as much as you want but we must abandon them for now,” he said and began reading. He only looked at his book half of the time, confirming what Elodie had suspected about him having much of it memorized.

They made it through almost all of the first canto of the day without many distractions. Elodie had papers that she was drawing chairs on, trying to combine the styles of everything that had been left in the room. She rolled her eyes at the fight between Vincen and Ourrias, though she knew stories were exaggerated and dramatic. She had been horrified at Ourrias’ stabbing of Vincen after he won the fair fight when she originally read it.

Erik stayed on his table most of the time, pacing around the room a couple times to stretch his legs, and was true to his word, only allowing a brief tangent at the end of the canto, when Ourrias drowns in a sinking ship, where he told her about his time on boats. He hated large ones, apparently, but enjoyed smaller more maneuverable ones well enough. There was less chance of getting stuck inside in the event of a wreck.

At the beginning of the next canto, the sixth, he refused to explain all of the names.

“Mistral says who they are. They’re all poets,” he said.

“But do I know any of them?”

“They write in occitan,” he said, “so it’s unlikely.”

She dropped it and he continued to read. Halfway through he paused again.

“Someone approaches,” he pointed at the door and became silent. A moment later Elodie heard the footsteps down the hall.

“How–” she began. Erik held a finger up to where his mouth sat behind his mask to silence her then pointed at the door again. She slowly turned to look at it. Someone rattled the doorknob. She hadn’t known it was locked. She glanced again at Erik and he gestured her toward the door.

When she got to it she hesitated. Did he really want her to open it? She turned to question him but he was gone.

Roland was there.

“Where did you get a key?” he asked.

“Jonathan,” she said like it was obvious.

“Right. How are you liking the new room?”

“It’s nice. I would have liked to know about it beforehand.” She stood unmoving in the doorway despite the feeling Roland would like to come in.

“I didn’t want to bother you with work details while you were recovering. Are you sure you’re well? No more headache?”

Maybe she was a better liar than she thought.

“I can feel one starting right now.”

Roland sighed.

“This would be easier if you didn’t insist on hating me,” he said wearily.

“It would be even easier if you called it off.”

“I can’t do that,” he said. They stood for a moment longer. “You’ll warm up to it. Everyone does.”

“Maybe,” she said. “I’d like to get back to my chairs now.”

“You hate the chairs,” Roland said.

“Hm.” She stared at him.

Elodie had rejected men several times but never one man multiple times. She thought it would be easier but rejecting the same man day after day was wearing her down a bit. Roland never became as angry as he had the night he told her about his and Julien’s plan but she was always waiting for it. Not that she wasn’t needling him in the first place.

“Fine.” He huffed and, throwing his hands up in frustration, left her. She watched him retreat down the hall and closed the door when he was almost out of sight. She turned the key.

“Erik?”

He didn’t need to be silent anymore but there was no response. Which meant he had left. Where had he gone and how? The only place to hide, if he hadn’t left, would be with the furniture in the back of the room under the sheets.

Elodie slowly approached them like she approached the insects she caught. She pulled the sheets off of a dressing table and several chairs. Nothing. A sheet on a tall piece of furniture revealed shelving that had been cleared off.

The final sheet was the tallest. She had to stand on the tips of her toes to reveal the tall mirror of the dressing room. It wasn’t anything he could hide in but it was the only thing fully touching the wall. If there wasn’t a wall behind it . . .

The pit in her stomach returned, though not as deep. He was definitely using the walls to get around. There was no other explanation she could think of besides him actually being a ghost.

She should be terrified and shaking, not mildly anxious with a queasy stomach. Why wasn’t she? She took a deep breathe and slowly exhaled. It was because she had told Erik the truth. They were friends of sorts.

Elodie stepped to the mirror and pulled on the edges. She hoped Erik wouldn’t be upset with her prying further. If he was she was sure she could make it up to him somehow. More food, maybe, but that could annoy him more.

The mirror wasn’t budging. He had to open it somehow. She felt around the edges but couldn’t get her fingers into any of the sides. She sighed and let her head fall back. Her eyes rested on the top of the mirror. He could reach that. She could reach that but not comfortably.

She took the cushion off of a chair and pulled it over. Now that she could see the top of the mirror there was definitely a groove she could shove her fingers in. She ran her fingers across it and found something in one section near the left side. She fumbled with it for a moment and something behind the mirror clicked.

It swung out and hit the chair she was standing on. It moved slow enough that it barely jostled her. There had been a moment of panic, however, and she would have been embarrassed by her flailing and grabbing of the chair if anyone was around to see.

Elodie hopped down and opened the mirror door enough for her to step through. There was a passage behind it that she could barely see down. She would need a lantern to venture farther in. She squinted to see any more. She thought she could see a small light down the passage but it disappeared as soon as she looked directly it.

Her eyes must be playing tricks on her in the darkness. She exited the passage and pushed the mirror back into place then pulled on the edges to make sure that it had locked again. Did anybody else know about this? She could think of one.

“Daroga,” she said.

“Painter,” he laughed. “You really shouldn’t call me that.” He seemed more amused than annoyed.

“Tell me your name and I will,” she said.

“Maybe one day,” he said. “Did you need something?”

“I need you to take one of these tarts, actually. Pear or strawberry?”

“Neither. They’re probably too sweet for me.”

There went her bribe.

“Oh. I suppose I need something else, then,” she said.

“Was it that important?”

“Yes,” she said, “I don’t want to give Jonathan two. I’ll accept information instead.”

“I don’t think the information you want is something I can give.”

“You can’t know that,” she said and he looked at her doubtfully. “Who else knows about the passages?”

“How do you know about them?” he asked quickly, “Did he show you?”

Maybe she shouldn’t have messed with the mirror.

“He didn’t show me, I found an entry in the room I’m using. It was the only way I could think he moves around. Unless he’s actually a ghost and can walk through walls. I mean, he is walking through walls but, well, you know what I mean.”

“Don’t go in them alone,” he said.

“I didn’t. I came to see you first,” Elodie said. “If I’m desperate I might go myself but I’m happy with where I am now.”

“Good,” Daroga nodded, “very good. As for who knows,” he thought for a moment, “only the three of us truly know about the upper ones. There are others in the tunnels below the opera house but they don’t make their way up here. And if they did they would only find the normal entrances. The one you stumbled into is probably one of the hidden ones.”

“It was behind a mirror,” she said.

“A hidden one. You’d be safe from the people below but don’t get any crazy ideas.”

“I won’t,” she said. Besides, she already had someone to guide her through the tunnels.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll take the pear tart as payment.”

“Thank you,” Elodie smiled and retrieved it from the box.

She gave Jonathan the final tart and showed him the sketches she had worked on that morning. He liked what she had done but encouraged her to make more and see how she could combine styles. She did so for the remainder of the day. She especially focused on the shapes of the legs because Jonathan had pointed out that one the chairs she sketched wouldn’t be very stable.

Just when she was becoming deathly bored of her work Roland appeared to walk her home. He walked with a small limp. She tried not to sound too concerned when she asked what happened to him.

Apparently he had tripped on one of the last steps going up and smacked his shin on the edge of the top step. He denied being clumsy and swore that he felt the step shift beneath him, though he also admitted that he couldn’t find anything loose about it.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t until the next morning that Elodie realized she hadn’t given Erik his sketches for the week. Maybe he thought she was bringing him food instead of art this week. She had promised him something special after she had missed a week and she had missed a second week because of her prescribed bed rest.

He was waiting for her in the abandoned dressing room, right out in the open in his formal wear, and she silently marched up to him and produced the sketches. It was hard to gauge his reaction–he was wearing the full mask again–but his slightly widened eyes indicated surprise.

“Don’t feel obliged to continue giving me these,” he said.

Elodie wrinkled her nose and gave the papers a shake in his direction, “You said you liked them.”

“I do.”

She gestured for him to continue.

“We’re friends,” he stumbled over the word, “I don’t need them to . . .” He began to wring his hands in front of his chest as he trailed off.

“To what?” she prompted.

He finally took the papers from her and silently inspected them. The one on top was a sketch of the fledglings before they had left the nest, ‘All grown up.’ The other was the roof of the opera house with a sunset in full color, ‘Cold night.’ She had added two small figures, one sitting and one standing nearby, silhouetted against the disappearing sun.

He ran a thumb over the them.

He wasn’t going to answer her. What did he think the sketches were for? He had mentioned being friends and apparently that meant enough to him that she no longer needed to give him sketches for him to do something.

What had he been doing for her? Was that why he read to her? As payment for the sketches or the other way around?

“I never expected anything back.” The thumb he was absentmindedly moving over the figures stilled. The edges of them had become fuzzy. “Whatever it is you were doing because of them,” she thought of how to phrase it, “Don’t do it if you don’t want to. Really.”

She tried to reach out a reassuring hand but retracted it when he visibly tensed, bringing the sketches and his hands back into his chest. His gaze was intense. The mood of the room had shifted and she didn’t know what to do with it. He needed to relax.

“How did you know it was me opening the door? Or were you trying to get caught?”

“You avoid putting your full weight on your right leg. It makes your steps uneven.” He lowered his hands from their protective position.

“Oh,” she said. “I injured it when I was little.” It had bothered her for years but she barely thought of it anymore besides when it ached during bad weather.

Erik finally moved his gaze from her to focus on placing the sketches into his copy of Mirèio which he had again produced without her knowledge.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make the book appear out of thin air. Are you a magician now?”

He looked at her blankly.

“How do you think I move about the opera and deliver my letters?”

“I suppose,” she sighed, “but this is different. It seems more rudimentary. Do you do card tricks as well?”

“Yes.”

Elodie nodded but didn’t say anything. On the one hand she was afraid if she did he would produce a deck of cards as well and her entire morning would be gone and on the other she was afraid he would never show her a card trick at all. She’d save her curiosity for another day.

“Should we begin?” She asked. She went to collect her supplies for sketching and found her pencil missing. “I swear I left it on the papers,” she muttered.

“I think I see it.”

She didn’t like the tone of his voice. It was one of the few she could recognize and it meant he was up to something.

“Oh, yes, here it it,” he reached past her head and produced the pencil. She stared at him unimpressed.

“I hate you,” she said when he laughed at her but she was smiling. “Start reading,” she shooed him away from her current workstation, “You’re the one that said no distractions.”

They finished the canto sixth canto and moved on to the seventh. She listened morosely as Erik recited the passage of Vincen and Mirèio’s fathers talking about their children’s relationship, or the impossibility of said relationship.

Her father had never blamed her for anything her spurned suitors did like Mirèio’s but they also hadn’t done much beyond attempting to lower her family’s reputation. It had never worked very well because of their similar status. Her family had given up on marrying her up long ago. In fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if they would be elated she wanted to marry anyone at all.

Maybe even enough to make Julien call off his deal with Roland.

“I thought you would have a lot to say about this part,” Erik said, snapping Elodie out of her thoughts.

“Why would I?”

“Problems with rejecting men, not marrying who you want,” he began listing on his fingers, “family controlling–”

“I’ve never asked to marry anyone,” she cut him off, “that’s why they started this whole business in the first place.”

“Why bother making such a fuss if you’re not waiting for anyone? Surely it would be beneficial for you to have more connections.”

A fuss? Beneficial? She was tempted to smack him but he looked genuinely confused, his slightly cocked head adding to the impression. She settled for slightly rude instead.

“Have you ever been married?” she asked.

“No,” he said tersely.

“Why not?”

He made a circular gesture around his mask.

“Your family can’t offer anything beneficial?”

“My family is nonexistent,” he hissed, “and I have nothing to offer that would make me bearable.”

“I’m bearing you perfectly well.”

She said it before she could think. He flinched and stood to his full height, looming over her.

“Is that a proposal?”

She should say yes. Would he even agree? It would solve both of their problems. She could be rid of Roland and give Erik a wife which was clearly a sorer subject than she had imagined.

“No,” she breathed. She couldn’t use him like that. Not when she was fighting against being used like that herself. She had even just told him he didn’t owe her anything.

“Scared?” he leaned closer. His hand came up to his face, ready to grasp his mask.

Her breath quickened. He was so close. Did he want to scare her? It was working.

She thought of him sitting on the table and swinging his legs.

“Never,” she said.

“Liar,” he laughed and pulled back with his hand lowered again. She didn’t laugh with him.

“I’m serious,” she said and he scoffed, “I promise. I’ve already seen your face, remember?”

“You saw the passable half when you were barely coherent and it still clearly distressed you.”

She had been distressed because he looked malnourished, though Elodie was ready to admit her memory of those events had become increasingly fuzzy.

“I was out of it,” she defended, “anything would have distressed me.”

“Anything except for Erik’s eyes,” he mocked.

Her face grew hot, “I was hoping you would forget that,” she muttered.

“I would never,” he dramatically covered his heart, “a lack of marriage and disgusting face may haunt my days but I’ll always have the assurance that at least my eyes can be beautiful. Those things nobody ever notices. Can you tell me the colors of your coworkers eyes? Jonathan’s? You seem close to him.”

“Jonathan?” she asked incredulously. “I have no idea what color his eyes are.”

“And if you don’t notice his, who will notice mine? It doesn’t matter what you think.”

“Who can even see yours?” She demanded, “I didn’t even hear your voice for what? One month? Two? I didn’t know who you were or if you were someone playing a trick!”

“Ah but it was you playing a trick on me, pulling me into your spider’s web with your niceties.”

“What’s my trick? Giving you drawings and food? You’re right. This whole time I wanted to feed the opera ghost. My wildest dream has come true. I may as well let them take me to England, then, since I have nothing left to do here.” Her panic had coalesced into deranged confidence.

“Remember who you’re talking to.” He was quick to tower over her again.

“My friend,” she emphasized the word with a finger to his chest which he stared at, “Who I am currently angry at but will make up with later. Perhaps with more food.” She poked him again.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re the one with a million talents, I’m sure you can figure it out. Or ask your other friend.”

“I have no other friends.”

“But you do consider us friends! Delightful. I’ll let Daroga know you like me more than him.”

“Don’t tell that fool anything about this.”

“I’m sure he’ll be happy you have a friend,” Elodie said.

“Elodie,” he grabbed the wrist of the hand poking him with surprising strength, “don’t invite him to meddle where he is unneeded. It didn’t end well for him last time and it will be worse if he tries to do it again. Don’t anger the ghost.”

He squeezed her wrist and she let out a cry.

He let go of her with a flick of his wrist. She pulled her now aching wrist to her chest and rubbed it. A shaky breath left her, the anger and annoyance she felt going cold.

She thought of him on the table again. This would pass.

“Is the ghost different from Erik?”

“Not as different as one would like,” he said with a soft voice. He reached for her wrist again, and though he did it slowly she still retreated. “He hurt you.”

“The ghost or Erik?”

The way he spoke was confusing.

“Forgive him.”

“The ghost or Erik?” she repeated.

He sank onto his knees before her, head hanging low. The way he acted was confusing as well. This was the second time he had accused her of using him for something but she couldn’t imagine what she could possibly do to him. He was clearly aware that he was intimidating. She wouldn’t dare trying to actually manipulate him.

And this grovelling had happened before, too, hadn’t it? She had started to cry and he had switched his tone quickly. Was he pushing her away? Was this some kind of test?

“I don’t care about the ghost but I’d like Erik to forgive me,” he looked up at her questioningly, his eyes glistening, “I didn’t mean to upset you like that.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” his fingers grabbed at the smooth floor.

“Why not?”

He stayed kneeling but rocked back to sit up. His hand ghosted over his mask.

That was always the answer, wasn’t it? If she asked him why he was living in the basement or why he played a ghost that would be the answer.

She sighed. She didn’t feel like hearing any more Mirèio today. And she was afraid if she tried to dismiss him he would see it as a punishment.

“You don’t need to apologize for this one, either, I think,” she murmured. “Come look at chairs with me. Have you designed furniture before?”

She learned that while he hadn’t designed furniture, he had worked on many buildings. He still had a lot to say about the chairs, so much that there was no way she could ever remember it all, but she didn’t mind. His voice stayed soft the entire time.

Chapter Text

Elodie didn’t see again Erik for several days. Which was what she had expected after she had accidentally implied an interest in him, immediately rejected him, and then continued to talk about his face. It hadn’t been her finest moment.

Honestly, she didn’t think she would see him until Monday at the earliest so she nearly jumped out of her skin when he appeared behind her saying her name.

“Would you like to see a card trick?”

Of course she would. She had been thinking about card tricks ever since he mentioned them.

“I would,” she said, “but isn’t this a distraction?”

“It’s all I have time for. Opera business,” he said, shuffling the deck of cards he had already pulled from his pocket. He had either expected her response or was going to show her either way. “Pick a card.”

He fanned part of the deck out for her. She slid a card out from the edge.

“Three of hearts.”

“Interesting,” he took the card and shuffled it back into the deck. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like the three of diamonds instead?”

He held the deck out to her.

“Take the top card,” he prompted.

It was the three of diamonds.

“No, I think I like the three of hearts,” she smiled.

“My mistake.” He shook the card and it turned into the three of clubs. “It seems I may need some help, can I borrow your handkerchief?”

Elodie retrieved the embroidered handkerchief from her pocket.

“It’s my favorite one, be careful with it,” she said as she pressed it into his palm.

“Of course.” He wrapped the deck of cards in the handkerchief and held the cloth so the deck was hanging before her. A couple of shakes later the three of hearts was summoned from one of the folds, summoning a small gasp from Elodie as well. He pulled it from the fold and held it out to her.

“I can’t seem to keep this one. Hold onto it for me?”

“Alright,” she smiled and took the card as well as her handkerchief once he had retrieved the rest of the deck from it.

“Now I must take my leave. The chorus calls.” Erik gave a little bow and pocketed the deck again.

“That’s the end?”

“Not impressed?” he teased.

“That’s not it. You were amazing, obviously,” she swore he stood a little straighter after she said it. He was always hunched just enough that she forgot how tall he truly was until she had to noticeably look up at him. “I don’t trust this.” She waved the card.

“It’s just a card. It won’t bite you,” he said as he took a step away from her. That had become the cue he was attempting to leave. At this point she would begin finding something to be interested in, like putting the card in her pocket, so he could slip away.

She didn’t let him leave her sight. Would he let her hold him hostage or would he find a way to make her redirect her attention?

“Elodie,” he said, more curious than warning.

She had already discovered the mirror door and confirmed with Daroga that Erik was traveling through the passages she found but she wasn’t sure how to bring it up. Or ask for a tour of the walls. The passages around the rest of the building were a mystery to her, especially box 5. There didn’t look to be anywhere for him to emerge from in there unless the wall fully moved. She did briefly consider that he might climb into the box but decided somebody else would have seen him do it by now.

“Is it easy for you to open the door? I had to stand on a chair.”

“I have historically not enjoyed anybody poking around my domain. Especially not curious women.”

Again, it sounded less like a warning and more like a challenge.

“Historically but not this time?”

“Potentially.” He walked to mirror and pressed the mechanism at the top of it with an ease Elodie envied. If she was going to be taller than average her body should have committed enough for her to reach as high as him.

“Because?” Erik remained standing at the revealed doorway. Elodie crossed the room. She could feel the cooler air coming from the doorway behind him.

“We’re friends,” he said the word hesitantly again but didn’t stumble over it like the last time. It had definitely affected him in some way. Was he going to mention it every time they spoke? “Are you accompanying me to the chorus?”

She shouldn’t in case Roland came to check on her, which happened at least once a day. But yesterday she had ignored him when he knocked and he had eventually given up. He might not even try to check on her.

She silently stepped into the darkness and he pulled the mirror closed behind them.

Prowling through the corridors wasn’t as exciting as Elodie had hoped. Erik was a poor tour guide as well, walking several steps before her and expecting her to follow him perfectly. The way was dark but once her eyes adjusted there was just enough light sneaking in for her to make out the surroundings. Still, at one point she had tripped over a piece of wood–leftovers from construction or a stupid booby trap–and he had actually shushed her.

Her adventure was looking to be a mistake.

Once they reached their destination her mood didn’t get much better. The area they were currently standing in was a passage beside the chorus practice room and they were running through the same song over and over again. It would be driving her mad if she didn’t have Erik to watch.

He was viewing the chorus from a small hole in the wall and seemed to have forgotten she was with him based on his very open behavior. No matter the feeling he always had a full body reaction to the performance that he didn’t bother to hide. When they sang individually he would sometimes lean almost fully against the wall like he was trying to absorb it all while for others he would clench his fists and hunch his shoulders and she half expected him to fully curl into a ball on the ground.

“Are you even enjoying this?” she whispered. She took satisfaction in the small jolt that ran through Erik. His turn at being scared was well overdue.

“They’re much better than before,” he said in a hushed voice. He had assured her earlier that the passages were designed to allow sounds in and prevent them from leaving up to a point. As long as they remained quiet they could converse.

“You don’t like some of them,” she observed.

“I’ve heard worse. And we need them for a full chorus,” he sighed. “It’s gotten too close to replace them. I should have been involved earlier.”

“Why weren’t you?”

He gave her a look over his shoulder before turning back to the practicing chorus.

“Your suitor is in there.”

“I thought he was just an actor.” He had never mentioned singing.

“He only pretends to sing most of the time. He’s a good dancer, though.”

Erik moved over so she could peer through the crack. It looked like they were in the formation they would be on stage. Roland was part of a large group dancing together in pairs. He looked like he was enjoying himself far more than she had ever seen. It may have been part of the act.

“Do you dance?” she asked.

“I can dance. I don’t do so often.”

“Will you be at the ball? I hear there’s going to be one to celebrate the new opera season.”

She had an itch for dancing ever since Julien’s wedding but she hadn’t planned to go. Actually seeing the chorus dancing the folk dance from the opera made her longing stronger.

“I’ll be around.”

Good enough for her. Maybe she could coax him out of the walls and onto the dance floor. She wondered what his type of dance was. Did he like the waltzes or could she convince him to dance a polka? Those were her favorite and it would be fun to have him hopping around the room with her though she could hardly imagine him doing so.

There was a disturbance in the room that drew her focus back in. Roland was being called into the hall by somebody. A head poking into the room revealed it to be Jonathan.

“Roland is leaving.” She moved over so Erik could see. “Can we listen?”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth Erik was directing her through the passages. There wasn’t a walkway next to the hallway the two men were in so they ended up listening to them from underneath the floor.

“–ignored me!” Jonathan was saying.

“She does that to me all the time.”

“You’re you. I have work for her.”

There wasn’t any way to see them but Jonathan was clearly annoyed. She hadn’t considered the possibility that he would try to speak to her. The locked door and no respond must have given him a shock. She did feel a little bad about it. She actually liked him.

“I’m worried about her,” Jonathan said. “I don’t like how she disappeared and I don’t like that she’s locking herself in that room.”

“Do you believe in the ghost?”

She gave Erik a look.

“I believe somebody I’ve never met asked for her to be moved to my department. I never read the letter but Michel didn’t seem happy about it. I take it you believe in the ghost, then?”

“In a way. I think whoever caused that mess last year is coming back to do it again. I just can’t figure out why he’s after Elodie this time. Her disappearance wouldn’t have as much impact on the production. It feels more personal.”

The voices were beginning to move. They followed underneath.

“You’re overthinking things. It’s probably a coincidence and she has nothing to do with it.”

“But now you have me worried.”

“They’re heading to your room,” Erik ushered her back around to the upper level, “Let’s go. Quickly!”

They rushed back to the mirror door. Elodie felt more comfortable in the passages but after one stumble Erik took her hand to lead her easier. When they got to the door Erik began fiddling with the mechanism one-handed. She gingerly pulled her hand from his. He didn’t even glance at her as he shifted to using it again and easily opened the mirror with the use of both hands.

“I shall leave you here.”

“It was fun,” she glanced anxiously to the door, “I’d like to see more next time.”

He bobbed his head in acknowledgment.

“Next time you’ll have to take better care of your card as well.”
Her confusion was short-lived as Erik held out the three of hearts to her.

“How?” she laughed and took it from him.

“A true mystery.” He was already swinging the door closed. “Tell them you fell asleep.” And he was gone.

Bless Erik for his idea. Roland and Jonathan had believed her story of getting bored and taking a nap. She was proud of the red mark on her cheek she had added for effect. She had gotten it by pressing her face firmly against her arm as if she had been laying on it until they had knocked on the door. Roland had grumpily returned to his practice after confirming Elodie wasn’t missing again.

“You really didn’t hear me earlier?”

“I’m a heavy sleeper,” she said. “What’s so important that you’ve come back?”

“I thought you might like to know that we’ll be starting production on the next opera. I’d like to go over your sketches again next week and we can decide on the final designs. It won’t be a perfect match but I’ll send somebody to find something close we can order.”

While she was looking forward to working on the next set pieces it also meant she wouldn’t have much time to explore with Erik. She had been hoping to learn more of the passages throughout the coming weeks.

“I haven’t heard what we’re producing next.”

“La traviata. It’s a popular one and our returning star is eager to perform it.”

“Returning star?”

“Carlotta. The soprano that left last year after croaking like a toad on stage. Last I knew she didn’t want to take any risks of it happening again but,” he shrugged, “things have calmed down around here.”

It was odd to hear someone speak about the events of last year so openly. When she had first arrived she had tried to suss out the entire story but nobody would speak of it for long and she was forced to put all the pieces together herself.

“You’re not worried about speaking of last year?”

He laughed. “Should I be worried? Nobody wants the ghost’s attention but it doesn’t seem to be a bad thing for you.”

Elodie held her breath for a moment. She knew he had suspected something since the beginning but she didn’t know how much he was beginning to suspect or out how accurate his guesses were.

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” she said. She believed very strongly in strange men and keeping them and their secrets safe. Jonathan was willing to talk to Roland about her at least and she didn’t trust him not to join in a ghost hunt if Roland ever escalated his suspicions.

“Me neither,” he said. “Meet me in our usual workroom Monday.”

He left her alone in the room. She sat and stared sulkily at the mirror which stubbornly remained closed.

Chapter Text

The next day Elodie would have spent time exploring the passages by herself if she wasn’t so worried somebody would come looking for her again. By midday she didn’t have any visitors. She hoped if anybody found her gone and the door unlocked they would come find her instead of assuming she had disappeared, so she felt it was safe enough to visit other people instead.

Her first visit was to Daroga. She searched for him for a while and ended up running into him, almost literally, in the hallway next to box 5.

“Do you consider Erik a friend?” She was resting her face on her hand, elbow firmly on the table between them.

“I’ve known him for long enough he may as well be.” He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed.

“Did you meet in Persia?”

“Why would you think that?” He took a sip of the tea she had procured from the kitchen.

“He said he speaks Farsi. That’s a language around there, right? Unless I’m misremembering.”

“It’s another name for Persian.”

“And you’ve known him for a while, probably before he was here. Persia seems the most likely unless you also speak Italian? Or Chinese?”

“No,” he laughed, “just the two. We did meet in Persia, I’ll grant you that answer. Why do you care if I’m friends with him?”

“Because he said you weren’t friends and I wanted to get your opinion on that.” She took a sip of her tea and grimaced. It needed more sugar but she hadn’t wanted to take too much from the kitchen.

“That sounds right. Do you consider Erik a friend?”

“Yes.”

“Probably not the best choice but I can’t say I’m upset about it.” He swirled his tea and watched it lazily swirl about the cup.

“Because of last year?” He gave her a sharp look. “I have several people already worried about me because of that. At least tell me why.”

“His behavior during your accident has me less worried about you. He’s behaving himself this time. He’s the one I’m worried about.”

“You said that before. Something about giving him hope again? It confused me at the time and still does. I know about Christine,” Daroga sucked in a breath, “but I don’t know what Erik was doing. Did he take her? She reappeared, right? With her now husband?”

“Yes. He,” he paused to look about the room, “We shouldn’t speak of this here.”

“Please,” she leaned over the table to place a reassuring hand on his, “I need to know.”

“It’s not my story to tell. What I will say is that we both thought he was going to die. Of a broken heart, he said. But he didn’t. And I don’t want you to break it again.”

She pulled the hand on his wrist back to cover her mouth. A broken heart. She felt even worse about their conversation earlier in the week.

She uncovered and covered her mouth again. “I’ll do everything I can not to. I think I’ve been clear enough with him. I–” she cut herself off.

“You?” he seemed surprised by her response.

“I’m not looking to marry anybody,” she said slowly. “I got the silly idea in my head as a kid that I’d only marry for love. And it hasn’t happened yet and I don’t know if it ever will.” It felt foolish to say it out loud. People married because they were told to every day. And she was only assuming Erik was interested in her because Daroga asked him not to break his heart.

“Wait.” She paused as her thoughts caught up to her. “Why do you think I could break his heart?”

“I think losing you in any way could do it. And I don’t think your wish to marry someone you love is silly. It’s what I did.”

She shouldn’t have assumed he was afraid of Erik falling for her. Did Daroga think Erik could ever– Why did she care? Elodie felt her face warm.

“So you’ve told me. I’ll try to follow your example.” She tried to take a sip from her cup and found it empty. She stared at it.

“It seems our meeting is over,” Daroga said. He took a long drink. “Mine is gone, too.”

He graciously let her leave before she embarrassed herself further. Did she really expect Erik to think of her that way just because she was one of his limited, no, seemingly his only option at the moment? She had run off plenty of other men with only slight effort. He would probably be ready for her to be gone when Roland whisked her away.

Roland himself intercepted her on the way to visit the ballerinas.

“You weren’t in your room,” he said.

Elodie made a show of looking at the walls of the hallway. “It seems I am still not in my room.”

“You shouldn’t wander. It’s not safe.” He walked closer to her.

“It’s not safe according to you. I have had no problems.” She shrugged and continued walking to the ballet practice room a little faster.

“A tree fell on you,” he said flatly as he trailed behind her again.

“An accident. If it happens a second time I’ll start worrying.”

“A second time could kill you. The first time nearly did.”

It had certainly given her the worst headache of her life and a newfound difficulty maintaining her balance for prolonged periods. Hopefully that symptom would fade.

“And then you’ll lose your way into the family business. How tragic.” She rolled her eyes even though Roland couldn’t see her face. She was resolutely facing forward.

“Is it so hard to believe that I’m worried about you?”

“Yes. I’ve made it clear I want nothing to do with you. Why would you be worried?”

“Because I like to think of myself as a good person. You’re frustrating but I know your family would miss you. Maybe I would, too, if you gave me more of a chance.”

Too much had happened to give him a second chance. She didn’t think she would be able to will herself to reject him again. She would end up convincing herself that marrying him was fine if she didn’t commit to hating him at every possible chance. It would be admitting defeat.

“I’ll give you a chance if you manage to marry me,” she turned the final corner.

“Unless you’re about to reveal something unimaginable I should have the announcement and date planned soon. Your father and I have been discussing it.”

“I have some ideas,” she said. So soon? Now that she was thinking of it, it had been several months since they had been introduced. The time flew by so quickly. She had hardly thought of it since she had met Erik.

They stopped walking in front of a door. Elodie could hear the ballet instructor barking directions behind it.

“I’ll accompany you,” Roland said when she made no move to enter.

“Thank you. There’s no need.”

“I insist.”

“I insist that there’s no need.”

He didn’t leave. She opened the door with a huff and shuffled along the wall to wait for a break to be called. The ballet girls mostly ignored her by this point, the excitement of someone removing pests had quickly become mundane and only Meg and Cécile paid her any mind. She had intended to ask them about any further communication from Erik but didn’t dare to do so in front of Roland.

Luckily, the girls had a different topic ready.

“I caught a spider,” Cécile said proudly.

“Impressive,” Elodie said.

“It was a little one,” Meg muttered and Cécile puffed out her cheeks.

“If it was a big one I’d worry you don’t need my any more. I don’t know if I could take it.” Elodie dramatically swooned before grinning. “I was worried you hadn’t seen me because of the accident.”

“The ghost said he didn’t do it so it couldn’t be our fault,” Meg said cheerily. Elodie’s heart skipped a beat.

She should have knownt. She knew Erik hadn’t had anything to do with the accident–besides probably preventing worse injuries–but everyone else had connected him to it for understandable reasons.

“He also suggested that a blanket would work for him instead of a handkerchief,” Cécile added.

Elodie barked out a laugh in surprise. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Roland remained quiet as the girls briefly told her about improvements they had made in their ballet positions, which Elodie didn’t understand but tried to seem the proper amount of impressed, before they were called back to practice.

Elodie led the way through the halls again. She didn’t want Roland trailing her all day so she made her way back to the dressing room with her temporary setup.

“You’re good with them,” he said. “The kids,” he clarified when she turned around to give him a look.

“They’re fun,” she said after a moment. “I have some nieces and nephews so I’ve had practice though they’re not as old as the ballerinas.”

“Eager to have your own?”

“That’s not the word I would use,” she said and returned to facing exclusively forward. Kids were, in her mind, an inevitability. It had never crossed her mind to be eager about it but she wasn’t dreading it either.

“You don’t think our children would be wonderful? Beautiful, even?”

Ah. She would have been happy to leave the implication hanging. Despite the fact she didn’t actually hate him, just the marriage and plans being forced upon her, the idea of having children with him made her stomach twist. That future was becoming too real.

“Is it proper to discuss this?” They were almost to her room.

“I suppose not. I didn’t think you cared about that.”

“There’s a limit for everything. I’ll see you on the walk home.” She walked through the door and shut it without a glance back. She held her breath until she heard Roland leave then let it out shakily. Her hands had a slight tremble as well.

She walked to the mirror and stared at her reflection. The woman looking back at her was impassive. If only her inner thoughts reflected that as well. She let her forehead bonk against the glass.

Roland didn’t retrieve her at the usual time. She tapped her foot impatiently for several minutes before looking for him instead. A search of the chorus practice rooms, dressing rooms, and the stage didn’t reveal any leads. The one chorus member she found didn’t have a clue either.

“Erik?” she tried her last resort in a hallway near the theater boxes. She hadn’t seen anybody in a while so it seemed safe. “Erik? Are you listening? Have you seen Roland?”

“I’ve seen him many times unfortunately.” His voice appeared in front of her.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“You’re free of his presence, isn’t that what you want?”

“Not when he’s supposed to be walking me home. If I leave without him he’ll get even worse. Somehow.”

“He won’t bother you anymore. I promise.”

Alright. Two clear options for what he meant by that formed in her mind. Either he had threatened Roland in some way and Roland, who was acting brave about finding his saboteur the opera ghost, had chickened out when actually presented with the ghost or . . .

“Did you kill him?” she asked quickly to get it over with.

“No. Do you want me to?” he asked casually.

“No! Erik, he already wants to find you. If you did something to him–” She could feel her voice getting louder as she went on. She took a breath to calm herself. “He’s going to look for you even more. If he disappears I know he spoke to Jonathan at the very least. I’m sure there are others he’s talked to that will blame it on you. Correctly this time!”

“There are others.” Erik stated calmly.

“What if they come looking? Would you kill them all too?” Elodie ran a hand over her hair. She hated talking to him when she couldn’t see him. “What about me?”

“What about you? Are you planning on turning me in?” He still wasn’t angry. She could practically hear the head tilt accompanying the question.

“I’m not talking about– I wouldn’t. I’m already not looking forward to leaving Paris. Don’t make me lose you sooner.”

The following silence stretched so long Elodie was convinced Erik had left.

“Follow me,” he finally said when she moved to begin searching again.

She rushed downstairs as Erik’s voice led her to a storage room right next to the bottom. Roland was inside, hidden behind a large set piece, bruised but breathing. How could she play this off? He had a bump forming on his head. Maybe he wouldn’t remember what had happened to him. She wasn’t fully sure what had happened to him either.

She pictured him falling down the stairs and Erik moving him into the room. Erik’s involvement was probably more than that but she didn’t want to think of it. Instead, she thought about the first time she caught a spider for the ballerinas and how she had been convinced Roland had been killed by the ghost just because she had thought it. Now she knew she could have asked him to do it all along.

Elodie patted Roland’s face a couple times but he showed no sign of waking. She put her arms under his and lifted him enough to move him toward the hallway. A ripped piece of paper was revealed as she moved him. She left him at the doorway while she retrieved the paper and read it.

The ripped paper was a note addressed to Roland from the ghost. It detailed what he was and was not allowed to do with her. Erik had stated that Roland was free to do whatever he wanted outside of the opera house, but within it he was not to have free contact with her. He was only permitted to escort her at the end of the day and, if Elodie consented, to have brief conversations while she worked as long as he didn’t distract her for a vague ‘long period of time’.

He was also warned not to speak improperly to her, seemingly a reference to their conversation earlier today. She really hadn’t minded and she didn’t think Erik cared for decorum either.

Did Erik always plan to do this or was the ripping of his letter the cause of his anger?

She stood before the door, accepted that she was now officially Erik’s accomplice, and opened it. There was an envelope sitting on the floor before her feet. Elodie opened it and began laughing hysterically.

It was the three of hearts.

Chapter Text

Miraculously, Roland barely remembered the events leading up to his fall. He begrudgingly accepted Elodie’s explanation of him tripping on the stairs–reminding him of his other stair-related incident helped–though he continued to insist that somebody else was involved.

“I agree,” Elodie had said, “Whoever is doing the maintenance has obviously been slacking off on the stairways.”

Roland finally relented but she was sure he would bring it up the next time he decided it was too dangerous for her to work in the opera house. She was more worried about what her father would think if he got wind of it. By the time they were eating together Sunday evening there wasn’t any indication Roland had told him of the incident. The thing she ended up arguing with her father about was her attendance at the ball.

“I don’t see why I can’t go alone,” she aggressively stabbed a vegetable on her plate, “I’m old enough that most people will assume I’m already married.”

“You’re young enough that I don’t trust your judgment. If Angeline could go with you I wouldn’t be worried at all.”

Angeline was further along in her pregnancy than she originally thought and was no longer comfortable being seen in public. They had begun writing each other regularly which helped Elodie remain sane while Angeline was unavailable. Angeline had even offered to let her stay in her home in exchange for helping watch the children once the baby was born.

Elodie considered accepting and finding a way to create passageways in her walls. Erik might be on to something with his lifestyle.

“I can escort her,” her mother said.

The quiet of surprise overtook the table.

“You haven’t been to a ball in years.”

“All the more reason for me to go.”

“Fantastic,” Elodie said before her father could find a reason to stop them, “Now that I can go, I have another request. Regarding Roland.”

“I can’t stop him from going.”

“Not what I was going to ask,” she laughed. “I want to dance all night. And if I hit it off with someone I want to break things off with Roland.”

“Elodie,” her father said sharply.

“I’m serious. You’d be satisfied as long as I marry someone, right? It doesn’t have to be Roland. Mother will be there to make sure I don’t make a fool of myself.”

Her mother nodded her head in agreement.

“I doubt I’ll find anybody. I’m only asking for a chance.”

“Very well,” he relented. “But I expect you to accept whatever happens. I’m not sure if you’ll still be included in the gallery if we insult the Cochets by calling off the engagement so late.”

“Are we officially engaged? And what gallery are you talking about?”

“The gallery that–” He dropped his cutlery onto his plate with a loud clank. “Have you really not been paying any attention to anything? Why do you think I bought you those canvasses?”

“Because I started painting for the opera and you were impressed with my new talent?”

“Because Mathis was interested in your paintings and he wants to show off his son’s future bride. He secured a spot for you in a small gallery where a couple of your paintings will be sold.”

“Oh,” Elodie said. She did vaguely remember a conversation about paintings and showing off over dinner.

“Indeed,” he agreed and began eating again.

Elodie pushed the food around her plate until her parents were done and retired to her room early.

The upcoming ball was a bright light in Elodie’s future but it was also the end of the line. She had thought of her plan to find a new suitor after her last argument with Erik. Her father did seem alright with her choosing a different match if it meant she would stop resisting marriage. The gallery–she kicked herself again for not paying more attention to that conversation–was just a small snag that could be smoothed out later.

Instead of worrying about how she was actually going to find someone to marry her, she turned her focus onto her notebook about Erik. Frustratingly, it didn’t gain many more notes. But it was a good distraction. She had successfully fed him an apple tart, which she noted on the foods page, but he hadn’t commented on how much he liked it. He didn’t dislike sweet foods like Daroga, at least, so she could try offering him others she came across.

The harder task of the night was to figure out Erik’s age. She barely had any clues to go on besides his traveled history. He certainly dressed like an older man with his insistence on exclusively formal wear, but given his many other eccentricities she didn’t think that was much of a hint. He had known the Daroga for an amount of time that she assumed was a nebulous several years.

If she was extremely generous she would put his age in the late 30s slightly over her own. At the other extreme she could see him being almost 60 but his easy navigation of the passages she struggled with made her doubt he was quite that old.

Elodie doubted he would be offended if she asked him how old he was point blank but she also doubted he would give her a straight answer.

She met Jonathan on Monday as requested. They spent the entire day looking at her sketches and discussing why she had made certain choices. She stumbled over the fact that some of those choices had been Erik’s choices. The first time she played it off as a happy accident. The second was a bit harder but she held her ground until Jonathan relented. The third and fourth were tougher sells.

“For the love of God tell me if you’re using someone else’s work. I’ll pay them instead.”

“I’m not trying to. I’ve had some help,” she finally admitted. “But only for some of these. The legs on this one was my idea.” She pointed to a specific sketch. She had noticed some chairs with bent legs and had pushed it further. She didn’t think they would be practicable but sketched them out anyway.

“You did these here, didn’t you? Who could possibly . . .” he trailed off when he met her eye. “Don’t say the ghost. You know I don’t believe in that.”

Elodie shrugged.

“No.” He said. “No, I won’t accept it. I’ve seen you speaking to the Persian. It was him. End of conversation.”

“Are you going to pay him?”

“He looks like he has enough money,” Jonathan waved her off and she was happy to let him do so. The less they spoke about Erik and Daroga the better. She knew Daroga was already suspected of being the ghost–it was part of why people at the opera didn’t trust him–and she didn’t need to accidentally add to the rumors. Jonathan wasn’t the gossiping type but she’d rather be safe than sorry.

He was the type to keep her busy, though, and he had her following him around the rest of the day and all of Tuesday. His excuse was that it was too early to start work on the actual set for La traviata and he wanted her nearby in case he thought of a small task for her.

Wednesday afternoon she decided she had enough of his small tasks, mostly taking notes he didn’t want to, and she told him she wasn’t hired to be a secretary. He reminded her that she wasn’t technically hired to work with him at all. She accepted her fate and ended up learning some of the administrative parts of Jonathan’s job. Part of the work was to sit in Jonathan’s office while he wrote letters to workshops and suppliers. He said she needed to learn how to be bored. She thought about how Erik could be able to visit her if she had free time.

On Thursday he let her leave for lunch (they had eaten together the previous days) and she gathered three cups of tea and already prepared sandwiches (for the ballerinas) after double checking the card in her pocket. She sighed in relief after feeling the cardboard wrapped in her handkerchiefs. The extra padding should make it impossible for the card to be moved without alerting her.

Daroga caught her as soon as she stepped out of the kitchen. “I was told to fetch you,” he said. She didn’t ask who had told him.

He helped her carry the food to box 5 where Erik was waiting. He had pulled one of the chairs nearer to the pillar to the left of the box and was sitting low in it with his feet up on the railing. It was the most casual she had ever seen him.

“You’ve been busy,” he said as he rolled his head to the side and peeked at her over his right shoulder.

“I have,” she agreed and set the tea cups on a small table that had been placed next to the seats. “We’ll never finish Mirèio at this rate.”

He grunted and sat up. As he turned to grab a cup he revealed the left side of his face, newly uncovered.

“You’re staring again.”

“Did you hurt yourself?”

He stared blankly at her and she pointed to her cheekbone. She could see that through all of the headaches and confusion of several weeks ago she had accurately remembered his face. His eye was still sunken and his cheek looked hollow and now it had a red mark that looked like it was just beginning to heal.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said bruskly.

“Too late. Let me see,” Elodie set her cup down and reached her hands out to him. He looked at her outstretched hands, seemingly entranced, and leaned forward. He accepted her hand touching the spot but as she ran her thumb over the rough mark he jerked back and brought his own hand up to protect it.

“Thank you for the tea, by the way,” Daroga said.

“Do you need to be here?” Erik curled up into his chair.

“No. And I think I might regret it if I stay.”

“You can’t leave, I grabbed a sandwich for you.”

Elodie passed out the sandwiches. Her and Daroga happily ate and she was glad to see Erik take a couple reluctant bites as well. Not a fan of them or did he not like eating in front of others? He had only taken bites of the apple tart when she wasn’t looking directly at him.

“Why did you go back to the half mask? Not that I’m complaining.” She asked in between bites.

“This is a new one.” She didn’t notice a difference. “I already had the full one. A simple and crude thing suitable for allowing myself to show myself again. I finally got the motivation to finish this one.”

“And what motivation was that?”

He rubbed a finger over the mark on his cheek.

“Does this one hurt you too?”

“You see how much she cares, Daroga?”

“I do,” he sighed. Was he upset about it somehow?

“Then you know you’re not needed anymore. Stop bothering me,” then he leaned toward Elodie with a glint of mischief in his eyes, “Elodie. Tell him he can stop bothering me.”

“Why are you bothering Erik?”

“I’m not. Unless you consider making sure he doesn’t starve to death or do anything stupid bothering him.”

“So you’re doing it because it’s fun,” Elodie nodded, “I understand.”

“It’s not fun,” Erik slumped back his chair. “I only tolerate you doing it because you’re nice about it. He yells at me when you’re not here.” He pointed an accusing finger at Daroga. She was sure Erik yelled back. “You should have heard him last Friday. He’s not as calm as you.”

“I thought Roland was dead,” Daroga mumbled behind his hand and into her ear. How did he even know about that?

She almost said she wished he had been. Erik’s question replayed in her head and she held her tongue. She shouldn’t encourage him.

Erik was sitting contentedly in his chair when she returned her gaze to him. He had somehow eaten his sandwich while they were distracted.

“Have you done anything else to Roland? He hasn’t mentioned anything.”

“I would never harm him again,” he said. She doubted that. “But a few of his things may have gone missing from his dressing room. A shoe. A notebook. A snack he brought.” She raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t eat it.” She laughed. Daroga also couldn’t hide a smile and Erik looked pleased with himself.

“I may have taken something of yours as well.” He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to her. She flipped it over. The three of hearts.

“What?” she squawked and fumbled in her own pocket. The card was gone. “When?” she repeated almost angry this time. She had it before she entered the box. She was sure of it.

“When you gave me my sandwich. Which was very tasty I might add.”

“Can you believe this?” she gestured the card towards Daroga. He gave her a look that suggested that he not only believed it, he had seen it so many times he would never be surprised again.

Erik’s chair was empty when she turned back. Daroga was similarly unsympathetic when she almost expressed her surprise again. She should be used to this by now.

“I couldn’t resist,” Erik chuckled. The sound echoed around the box. “And I must take my leave, anyway.”

“Has he always been like this?” Elodie slumped into her chair. She wasn’t ready for her break to end. She hadn’t seen Erik or Daroga all week and their lunch had been too short.

“Ever since I’ve known him.”

“How long has that been?”

“Too long.”

She should have known.

Chapter Text

Elodie continued to have no time to herself in the opera. It had been a privilege to have free time in the first place, of course, but sneaking into box 5 for a few minutes every couple of days was disappointing compared to the hours of talking and reading she had gotten used to over the past couple weeks. She already felt herself missing Erik’s tangents despite his insistence he didn’t go on them.

One day after visiting box 5–she gave Erik a sketch of the new clutch of 4 eggs on her windowsill and he told her about the ballerina's improvements–she realized that not only were they unlikely to finish Mirèio, they were unlikely to read any more of it at all, and was almost on the verge of tears until she made it to Jonathan’s office.

Chatting with Jonathan was interesting in its own way. He told her about people that should have been her coworkers but her isolated work had kept her from speaking to them at all. Not that she would have taken the time to get to know them when she had first started working. Now she was tempted to speak to them if only to sate her curiosity. Had any of them visited other countries? Did they have any surprise talents?

According to Joanthan they were all extremely average people. He tried to give her tips on who was who for when she spoke to them more often but she didn’t think she could remember so many people at once. And she didn’t understand why she was working so closely with Jonathan, either. Sure, they had worked together while she painted the one backdrop, but she was transforming into his assistant.

“There was talk of dismissing you. Between your accident and Roland’s insistence that you’re being targeted they had a good case for getting rid of you. Managers don’t like taking risks, you know? You’re talented enough I want to keep you here. In exchange I have to keep an eye on you.”

“I’m not staying here, though. Roland wants to move to England after we get married. If we get married.” She corrected herself. She had a week before she had to admit it.

“I’m aware. Do you think that’s going to happen immediately? I should have your help for a couple more productions unless you leave early to spite me.”

She could quit. Her mother would let her leave the house as much as she wanted and she could still come to the opera. Erik undoubtedly had a way to discreetly enter the building. All she would have to worry about was if any other family member came to visit before she returned.

“And give up an excuse to stay out of the house? Don’t worry about it.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said. “Now come double check my numbers.”

She groaned.

“Are you bored or not?” Jonathan laughed.

She accepted the papers. They were lists of furniture and props they had decided to buy instead of produce with leftovers in the storage rooms. Jonathan had copied them over almost flawlessly besides a few ambiguous numbers (a 6 that somehow looked like an 8 and a 0 that looked like a 6) as usual. She took as long as she could to finish checking them then sat bored in Jonathan’s office the rest of the day.

Elodie surveyed her wardrobe. The ball was early next week and she hadn’t decided which dress she wanted to wear. The ball was a masquerade as usual at the Palais Garnier and she had already found a white mask with black lace trimming that she could reasonably match with anything. She would love to commit to a more extravagant costume but she hadn’t saved quite enough money to make such a purchase comfortably.

She pushed her dresses around on their hangers and started pulling them out and looking at them before putting them back one by one. A pink dress that she barely wore anymore caught her eye but she rediscovered the small tear she hadn’t fixed yet. A green dress with heavy sleeves. It was nice but a little out of season. A black dress that seemed a little dark for her purposes. She wanted to be as approachable as possible. It could add intrigue, she supposed, depending on any accessories she added. She put that one back, as well.

The next dress she pulled out was a deep blue that gave her pause. She had seen this color before. She pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket and spread it on her bed next to the dress. The bluebells embroidered on it were a perfect match. She contemplated the dress for a moment. It was plain. She would need to add something.

The next night Elodie brought the dress downstairs and began embroidering. She hadn’t practiced in a while but her mother, who was still working on baby clothing, gave her pointers when needed. She added small white bluebells around the collar and sleeves as well as dotted around the bodice.

It took her several days to finish it. While embroidery wasn’t her favorite activity, it was more exciting than anything Jonathan had her doing. He promised that after the ball and the premiere of Mireille he would have her painting again. She certainly hoped so. In the meantime she thought about what she could add to her outfit.

After she was satisfied with her bluebells, Elodie found a blue thread that was similar enough to the dress fabric to be almost invisible. On the left breast of the bodice she made a spider. She attempted to mimic the shape of the one on her handkerchief. When she was done she held it in front of her and admired how she could barely see it. It was odd feeling satisfied that her work was almost invisible but she imagined people that noticed it would be the most worthwhile to speak to.

She hadn’t spoken to Erik in a while. Even when she wasn’t working with Jonathan she was often being watched by Roland. He had taken to escorting her to the opera as well as home at night. If she had any reason to be wary of Erik–besides the outbursts, almost murder, and probably past murders, of course–she would probably be begrudgingly touched by the gesture. She didn’t think Erik would harm her, though, so she wasn’t.

Jonathan had noticed her deteriorating mood and remarked upon it several times. Unwilling to tell him the real reason, she had given a vague excuse about ‘being a woman’ and he hadn’t questioned her further. She was curious what he thought she meant but didn’t want him to figure out she was messing with him.

Elodie was sure Erik was getting irritable as well. He had been so determined to finish Mirèio the last time they had a chance to read it and now they were back to not talking at all. A large spider and then a centipede had mysteriously appeared in the ballerina’s dressing room one after another. Roland and then Jonathan had accompanied her during the removals just by chance. Jonathan found a rat in his desk later in the day. Roland hadn’t told her what happened to him, but he was jumpier than usual when he walked her home so she knew something had happened.

She had known Erik placed insects for her to remove. She imagined the first few were to test her, though she hadn’t figured out what he was testing her on yet. This time, however, was an obvious ploy to get her alone long enough to tell her something. If it was important he could leave her a letter like he did to everyone else. Maybe he just missed her voice. She scoffed earning her a confused look from Jonathan who was cautiously opening a desk drawer.

“Sorry, thinking about something,” she said, waving him off when he looked like he was going to ask what that something was. “Scared of rats over there?”

“Yes, actually,” he said. “Well not scared, exactly. They don’t frighten me but I don’t like them. Especially when I’m not expecting them. You’re were so nonchalant about it I’m afraid you put it there and might do it again.”

“I wouldn’t do that to an innocent animal,” she said. Thinking about the implication, she added, “It was funny, though.” If Erik had put rats in something of Roland’s as well she wanted to encourage it. She might be able to see it if it happened a second time.

“It must have been your accomplice then. The Persian.”

“I think you’ll find he doesn’t approve of shenanigans. You could probably find an ally in him, honestly.” She could easily see Daroga teaming up with Jonathan and scolding her for not paying attention to her work. He was always quick to praise anything she mentioned completing and she wondered if he was was truly invested or if he wanted her to have things to do besides talk to Erik. She felt like she had proved she could do both.

Now that she was thinking of him, Elodie hadn’t seen Daroga in a while, either. She didn’t have any opportunities to speak to him but she hadn’t seen him just around a corner like she used to. Hopefully he was keeping Erik company.

“I’d rather not get him more involved. He was part of the incident last year, you know. We don’t want Roland getting any more ideas. Beyond keeping you around I’d like to avoid any other incidents.”

“You think he could do anything to,” she stumbled, “the Persian?” Nobody else called him Daroga as far as she knew. No need to confuse the man further.

“The managers wouldn’t need much convincing to investigate him whether he’s done something or not. He’s already been found sneaking around the lower levels plenty of times. They’re waiting for another excuse to interrogate him and finally convince him to stop coming here.”

She let it sink in for a moment.

“I guess you’re right,” she said. The more she spoke to Erik and Daroga the more likely it was they would get caught. Her distance was probably for the best. She just wished it hadn’t happened as abruptly. She sighed and quietly read over the paperwork Jonathan had drafted earlier.

The next day she surprised Jonathan by asking him to go to lunch with her.

“Is someone else accompanying us?”

“No.” She frowned and quickly added “Don’t tell Roland.”

“That’s what I’m worried about. Somebody else should be with us.”

“We’ve eaten lunch together plenty of times.” She understood his reluctance. Even though nothing technically wrong was going on they would probably get some raised eyebrows from anybody that knew their relationship or lack of. “Do you want me to fetch my mother to chaperone? I know I look young but I don’t technically need a chaperone.”

“It’s not your looks that make me question your maturity,” she made a face at him, “See?” He put his pen and papers neatly in their places and made a show of lining them all up perfectly. “Alright. I just don’t understand why we can’t eat here.”

“A change of scenery will be nice. Trust me,” she said as she led him out the door.

“We’ll see,” he said.

Once they were a few streets away from the Palais Garnier Elodie felt it was safe to speak freely.

“You said a bit ago you weren’t afraid of speaking about the events of last year.”

She wanted to get the story from Erik (or more likely Daroga) eventually but she needed to know what the external view was. What did people think happened that made Roland so sure she was in danger? Was there no way for Erik to eventually freely interact with the opera? Her questioning of everyone when she first got to the opera had produced a mishmash of information that she wasn’t sure how much of was exaggerated. Jonathan was level headed enough she trusted his judgment.

“We didn’t have to leave the opera to speak of that,” he said bemused.

“We did,” Elodie said firmly. “Please, tell me everything.”

Chapter Text

Would Elodie have cared if Roland had been dead at the bottom of those stairs?

It was a question that didn’t haunt her so much as it nagged her ever since that day. It was currently rattling against every thought she had as she added another page to her journal. There was always an undercurrent of fear at the opera at any bump or noise and confirmed injuries but now she had confirmation that the deaths that occurred hadn’t been the creation of panicked imaginations.

The death of a box attendant that had been hired to replace the current box 5 attendant (Meg’s mother, she learned) seemed a little drastic. Phillipe de Chagny’s death was even harder to understand. His brother was the more obvious choice. He was the one that had intended and succeeded in marrying Christine.

Christine herself was the real mystery. Jonathan said she was well liked and an alright chorus member until one night she surprised everybody by becoming a star and soon disappearing. She had come back but never explained where she had gone. Instincts, and Daroga’s fussing during the fallen tree incident, pointed to Erik as the culprit.

Why had he taken Christine and why hadn’t he taken Elodie? Maybe her awful singing voice was the only thing that saved her from being his next victim. Christine had returned and hadn’t even left the opera until after her second disappearance. Elodie couldn’t understand why she hadn’t left after her first disappearance or what Erik had done with her for those two weeks.

She was an accomplished soprano at that point so there would be no use trying to improve her. Unless he had been teaching her beforehand as well. Elodie began writing to the journal. Erik reading to her had apparently been to teach her Occitan. He was an amazing vocalist as well. There was no reason he couldn’t have been teaching Christine.

He said he had nothing to offer to make himself bearable. Was he trying to teach in order to gain friendship? Companionship? His unlimited knowledge and many talents would endear him to enough people. The mask might cause concern but it had already become a part of his face like a pair of glasses in her mind. She didn’t need to know what he looked like underneath to enjoy his company. She wouldn’t mind sating her curiosity either.

Even if everyone else was put off by him, she would–

Her absentminded doodling in the journal had paused and a small puddle of ink was forming. She hissed and scrambled to clean it before it bled through any more pages.

Beyond the core mystery was the absolute mystery of Joseph Buquet’s death. As far as she could tell the man hadn’t done anything besides be a good worker. He didn’t seem like somebody Erik would want to be rid of.

Likewise, he had complimented Roland’s dancing and the only reason she could see for Roland’s potential murder–something that stirred frustratingly little emotion–was that he was bothering her. The idea that Erik was trying to protect her from someone warmed her heart more than Roland’s concern ever did.

Roland said he was concerned for her because he was a good person. Her lack of feeling towards his safety must make her a horrible one, then, especially because she knew just how precarious that safety really was. One different choice and he would be gone already.

The thoughts rattled around her head as she put her journal away and continued to rattle for days. Roland watching her was bad enough and now Jonathan was keeping a wary eye on her ever since she had convinced him to tell her about the events surrounding Christine. She had no opportunities to talk to Erik or Daroga and there was plenty of time to think.

Every day dragged on yet the arrival of the ball still snuck up on her.

Elodie put on her dress and mask and looked at herself in the mirror. She hadn’t put the dress on since she had embroidered it. She should have but, turning slowly and admiring how her added flowers stood out, she didn’t think she did too badly. It wasn’t as fancy as something professionally completed but she liked the personal touch and hoped to find someone that appreciated it as well.

She met her mother downstairs and they left without much fanfare. Her father saw them off while giving a vague compliment on her appearance and not mentioning the agreement they had made. Finding a new suitor was her highest priority, she reminded herself, despite how much as she wanted to speak to Erik and Daroga. A quick carriage ride later (Elodie would have walked if she was going alone) and they were surrounded by the masked guests at the ball.

Her first several partners were lackluster.

“Are there any operas you’re looking forward to seeing performed?”

“Does it matter? I’ve enjoyed every one so far. I don’t need to be picky,” her current partner answered as they moved about the room.

She had asked the similar questions to each of her partners. He didn’t have the worst response. That was currently the answer from a man who, after thinking for a concerning amount of time about it, admitted he only attended the opera because it made him feel more sophisticated.

Elodie made her way back to the sidelines as soon as the music ended. She found her mother speaking to the Daroga.

“Someone’s been keeping an eye on you,” her mother said.

“He’s been doing an alright job,” Elodie agreed. She felt like Daroga had successfully kept her from getting herself in too deep early on.

Her mother’s head tilted to the side quizzically.

“So you know that man?” she subtly moved her head to the level overlooking the room. “Am I right to guess that’s Erik?”

“She knows?” Daroga exclaimed. He may have said more but Elodie was already focused on searching the spectators above. A man in an impossibly black costume turned and disappeared into the crowd as soon as she spotted him. The hunched shoulders and signature gait–whether he stalked on purpose or it was a side effect of his thin limbs she hadn’t figured out–gave him away.

“I think so,” she smiled. Then, turning her attention back to Daroga, said, “Don’t worry. I’ve mostly told her his name.”

“I’ve heard he’s very private,” her mother added. “But I’d like to meet him.”

Elodie and Daroga exchanged glances.

“We’ll see,” she said. She didn’t think anything bad would happen if they did meet but she didn’t want to give her mother any reason to question Erik. Him becoming annoyed by her questions seemed almost as bad as her finding out too much and becoming another person concerned for her safety.

More dances and more disappointing partners passed by. Now that she knew what to look for she spotted Erik on the upper balcony several more times. In between dances she made her way upstairs and found Erik missing. She weaved her way through the crowd and eventually settled against one of the walls. She gave it a knock. Hollow.

“No dancing tonight, Erik?” She rested her head against the wall.

“Perhaps later.” His voice said next to her. She wished the rest of him was there as well.

“The night is already half over,” she sighed. It wasn’t exactly private but tonight was the first opportunity for them to speak in a while. Did he not want to take advantage of that? “My mother wants to speak to you for some reason.”

“Your mother?” The confusion in his voice was almost comical.

“I don’t know why. Probably just to see if I’ve been telling the truth about you.” The silence coming from the wall said enough. “She knows your name and that you liked the tarts.”

“There you are,” a voice emerged from the crowd. His face was covered almost fully but she easily identified him as Roland. “You missed the last dance,” he said as if she hadn’t heard the music from below, “Let’s not miss the next one.”

He held out his hand and Elodie took it after a moment of hesitation. There was no reason not to dance with him besides her desire to continue talking to Erik but there was no way to tell Roland that. With half of the night gone and no good partners she was ready to give up looking for someone else.

Erik had been right. Roland was a great dancer and she found herself actually smiling as they danced together. It was a polka, one of her favorites, and the energetic dancing made her briefly forget everything troubling her.

“I have to watch most operas from the wings,” Roland responded to her usual question. “But I guess I’d like to see something newer. Well known operas are good for securing donations but we could discover the next sensation.”

“That could be fun,” she agreed. It was the best answer she had gotten and would likely get. If she hadn’t already known him she would probably be trying to get a second dance from him.

“I thought you liked polkas,” he interrupted her thoughts. She stared at him blankly. “Your smile is gone.”

“It’s nothing. I’m just getting a little tired. I haven’t danced this much in a while.”

“You should change that. I’d try to bring you to work with me but I don’t think Jonathan would like me stealing you. Your paintings are too good. Ah, it’s back. That’s better.”

There were more dances with strangers. They all had disappointing answers. One had potential and suggested operas she hadn’t heard of before. She had soured on him when he changed the subject to brag about the business he owned. As nice as a large bank account was, she wasn’t particularly interested in hearing about his.

Halfway through the next dance she spotted Erik in the crowd again. This time he was on the main level speaking to her mother. It must have been a short conversation because he was gone before the dance ended and Elodie was able to make her way over to prevent any damage.

“Satisfied?” she asked.

“Mostly. Have you found anybody interesting?”

“No,” Elodie sighed.

“I was just speaking to someone interesting,” her mother said.

Elodie held her breath a moment to ground herself. There weren’t many dances left.

“That’s one way to describe him.” Interesting. Confusing. Loyal. Infuriating. He was a thoughtful, gentle man that liked to share his knowledge when he was in a good mood. In a bad mood he was petulant and dangerous. “I’ll be back.”

She didn’t see Erik anywhere as she moved through the main and adjacent rooms. She dodged Roland as she left the ball and wandered the hallways. There were still people scattered around and she could hear the distant music as she made her way to box 5. She leaned her back against the door as she closed it behind her.

“Do you want to dance?” she asked the empty air.

“I believe I’m supposed to ask,” he said.

“Well, you didn’t,” Elodie pouted.

“You can’t dance with a ghost.”

“I could if he would show himself,” she made her way into the main part of the box. He hadn’t said no earlier. And this response technically wasn’t a refusal, either. Did he want to dance or not? Where was he? She had already written off him climbing the outsides of boxes. There weren’t any mirrors, his usual doors, and the walls looked too solid.

He didn’t respond. The music in the distance had ended. She needed to find him before the next one began.

Could one of the seats move and reveal a trap door? There were no marks on the carpet. The support columns could hide something. She looked at the column closer. It wasn’t a support was it? It was decorative. She knocked on it like she had the wall.

A section of the pillar rotated to reveal Erik. His outfit was made of pure shadow with a cape that shrouded him and made the shadow stretch. She would have to ask him how he had gotten it so dark. His mask was new as well and also black. Only a small strip about his eyes was solid. The rest was a fabric similar to his costume.

“You finally figured it out,” he said. She could almost see his lips moving under the cloth.

“I’m embarrassed it took this long,” she admitted.

The distant music started again.

“May I have the honor?” he finally asked.

“Of course,” she grinned and pulled him from the pillar.

Erik stiffened as she placed one hand on his shoulder. He hesitantly held her other hand in his own.

“Erik,” she said his name as gently as possible, “we need to move to dance.”

They began to twirl about the box. Erik’s stilted movements suggested he may have exaggerated his dancing capabilities. She would have to tease him about it later. Saying anything now might drive him away.

“Are there any operas you want to see here?”

“You’ve been asking everyone that question,” he laughed. The tension in the shoulder she was holding lessened.

“And they’ve given me good answers. What’s yours?”

“I want to see Mireille, of course. I want to know if they’ve fixed it and how you like the adaptation.”

It was a more mundane answer than she expected.

“I don’t think my opinion is that important.”

“It is.”

Her face grew hot. She mentally blamed it on the dancing. Erik had become more comfortable leading her around the small space and they were actually keeping time with the music now.

“How did you find a dress to match your handkerchief?”

Finally someone noticed.

“I didn’t. I found a similar color in my wardrobe. I had to add the flowers myself. Did they turn out all right?”

“Beautiful,” he breathed.

The heat in her face wasn’t from the dancing. The music had already stopped but they were still moving about the box.

She didn’t want it to end.

She didn’t want any of it to end. Not her work at the opera or the strange friendship she had formed with Erik.

His mismatched eyes bored into hers as their dancing slowed until they were standing in the middle of the box. The hand on her back flexed and she could see his lips moving beneath the fabric of his mask but he didn’t say anything.

It would be so easy to lean up. So she did.

Erik pulled away just as she felt the fabric of the mask brush her lips.

Oh.

He continued to stare at her, his eyes wide and a little wild.

She pulled her hand from his and took a tentative step back while he remained frozen in place.

“I–” she swallowed. “Sorry.”

She fled from the box.

Elodie saw Daroga as she searched for her mother. He tried to say something to her but she didn’t catch anything as she walked straight past him. She needed out.

Roland tried to ask her to dance again saying it was the last dance of the night. She gave him some excuse about her feet being sore and he escorted her to the last place he had seen her mother. She couldn’t remember exactly what she had said. He tried to lead her with a hand on her arm but immediately let her go as she flinched from his touch.

Her mother didn’t question her at all on the way home. She knew it would come later but she was thankful she had time to prepare.

She undressed stiltedly and stared at the playing card that fluttered to the ground as her dress came off. She had finally protected the three of hearts from Erik by keeping it safely underneath the spider on her dress. Her eyes stung as she finished getting ready for bed, crawling under the thin sheet as soon as she pulled on her nightgown and curling into a tight ball as her body began to shake.

Chapter Text

She didn’t have to go back to work, Elodie told herself as she lie in bed. She had been there all day besides a short trip to the kitchen to ease her growling stomach. She was passing the time alternating between staring at her embroidered handkerchief and keeping it out of her sight. It was currently on the floor after she dropped it over the edge of the bed. She’d gotten tired of getting up every couple on minutes to open the drawer she was hiding it in.

The guilt of leaving a gift discarded like a crumpled paper spurred her to retrieve it sooner than she wanted. She ran her fingers over the spider. It was gradually becoming more visible as dirt collected on the white threads. Even the regular washing of it couldn’t stop the developing color. If she wasn’t busy feeling sorry for herself she may have tried to think of a meaning to it.

Instead she moved her focus to the butterfly. She didn’t think it meant anything by itself. It was a small blue, a common butterfly she had seen before, and about as tiny as the real thing. The little things didn’t stand a chance if they got caught in a web. She wasn’t sure if she was the butterfly or the spider anymore.

Before Erik had even spoken to her she was afraid the ghost was haunting her heart. She had felt a vague affection for the lonely spectre she pretended she was making friends with. Erik had briefly accused her of being the spider and she couldn’t deny the small part of her that had wanted to lure him out and figure out just who he was. She still barely knew anything about his past.

But she knew who he was now and it compelled her to keep going back to see to him. Reading Mirèio had started as an excuse to keep Erik talking to her. Now, she was missing everything that came with it. The new translation, the random facts and tangents he would tell her, hearing his voice almost every day. She buried her face in her pillow.

Then Roland had gotten overprotective. Maybe Erik had probably killed people but he kicked his legs like a child while sitting on tables and flinched if she glared at him too hard. It was hard to dislike him. He always seemed happy to see her. He was bad at dancing but he tried anyway (for her?) and she had ruined it.

Elodie blamed it on getting caught up in the moment. The realization she would have to marry Roland had gotten to her and with the music playing she got carried away. That was all. So why was she still thinking about kissing him?

Oh, God. Was this what love was like? It was awful. She couldn’t believe other people enjoyed this. She rolled back over to stare at the ceiling and nervously scrunched the handkerchief between her fingers. There wasn’t a moment she could pinpoint when it had happened. She hadn’t even noticed she felt any differently until the moment she tried to kiss him.

She assumed she felt different, at least. Erik was her friend–as he had reminded her many times–but she had also gained Daroga as a friend. Her feelings towards the both of them were almost identical. She just wouldn’t mind kissing Erik. Thinking of actually marrying him didn’t upset her either. After that she might even enjoy–

She covered her reddening face with her hands. There was no point in thinking of a future that would never happen. He clearly didn’t feel the same way.

Elodie made her first full venture from her room since the ball to attend dinner that night. It was a quiet dinner, as usual, despite her father trying to ask her questions about the ball. Her mother ended up speaking more than her for once and Elodie was glad of it. She had plenty of time to inspect the food she didn’t feel like eating.

“I know it isn’t how you wanted things to turn out but you said you would accept it,” her father said after one too many hums and grunts in response to his questions.

“I do accept it,” she said.

“There was a potential new suitor but it didn’t work out,” her mother said. “Though I have no idea why.”

Elodie let out a long exhale. There was no way of telling if it was a good lie or if her mother somehow knew what happened with Erik until she could talk to her in private. She wasn’t asking in front of her father.

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not. I’m sorry you’re upset about it but I’m glad we don’t have to break things off with the Cochets and cause any embarrassment.”

“It’s for the best,” Elodie said, though she didn’t quite believe it. It was easier than it was better. She was going to have a normal life and hope she could make it an interesting one.

She didn’t miss the look her mother gave her. She would want to talk after dinner, when her father left for his study, and Elodie did have one last canvas to paint.

As expected, Elodie found herself in the drawing room with her mother. She set up her canvas even though she had no intention of painting anything at the moment. Their talk might trigger some inspiration in her.

“Why did we leave so abruptly?”

Elodie didn’t usually like beating around the bush but she wouldn’t have minded it at this moment. She would have rather eased herself into this conversation.

“It was made clear to me,” she said slowly, “that I made a very embarrassing mistake.”

“What could you have done? I know you didn’t make a fool of yourself with bad dancing.” Like Elodie, she had her project on her lap but didn’t move to make any stitches.

“I didn’t do anything I want to talk about,” Elodie grimaced. “I found Erik after I left you and I’m sure he doesn’t,” she waved her hand, struggling with what to say. She didn’t have any experience talking about this. It was mortifying.

“He seemed fond of you when we spoke,” her mother said.

“What did he say?” she tried not to seem too eager. Even if she wasn’t in love with him–it was surreal to think of him like that–she would be interested in what he said. She only knew of one other person he spoke to verbally and she was curious what her mother had interpreted as fond.

“I think that’s for him to tell you.” Damn Erik and his ability to have other people keep his secrets. He probably didn’t even have to ask her to keep this one. “Besides, Monsieur Khan agreed with me about that as well.”

“Who?” Elodie asked.

“Monsieur Khan? You seemed familiar with him.”

Elodie stared at her uncomprehending for a moment.

“Daroga? The Persian?” she heard her voice go up an octave. “He told you his name?”

“He looked to be from Persia, yes.”

“I’ve been talking to him for months and he’s never told me his name. Did you get his first name, too?”

“No. He almost didn’t give me any name at all.”

Elodie was going to give him a piece of her mind the next time she saw him. He had never given her even a hint about his name. Maybe if she acted upset enough he would tell her the rest.

“Wait,” she paused her own thoughts. The other part was more important. “He agrees with you?”

“I spoke to him again after you left. He agreed that Erik had taken an interest in you.” Elodie noted the different phrasing. “But he left soon after I said you went looking for him.”

So running into him during her escape wasn’t an unfortunate coincidence. She should have listened to what he was trying to tell her but she was so upset at the time she couldn’t focus on anything besides leaving. She couldn’t imagine what he would need to find her for besides to stop her from doing what she did.

“I ran into him on the way out,” she confirmed. “I was moving too fast to hear what he was trying to say.”

“That’s a shame. He’s very insightful.”

“I’m guessing he spoke about me as well?”

“Of course. You’re the reason we spoke at all.” True. She didn’t imagine Daroga speaking to anybody that wasn’t necessary. Now that she thought of it, she was surprised he was at the ball at all. He probably went to keep an eye on Erik and maybe even her to a lesser degree.

“I’m glad you liked him.” Both of them, even.

“I did,” her mother nodded. She finally started working on her project. The baby clothes she was making for Angeline were done and she had moved onto something else. Exactly what, Elodie wasn’t sure, but she wouldn’t be surprised if it was more baby clothing.

Elodie turned to her canvas. It had remained blank for too long. She finished the blackbird painting almost a month ago and she still hadn’t started the final canvas. Instead, she had been adding more details to her first two paintings. It was mostly shading and fixing colors that had dried a different hue than she wanted but she was satisfied with the state they were in now.

She put random colors on the canvas trying to match her mood while listening to her mother speak of her conversation with Daroga. She was amused by Elodie’s habit of taking tea from the kitchen and offered to find a good container to carry her own tea leaves in. Elodie declined the offer. Part of the fun was taking the leaves, not that the staff would care if they ever saw her taking the small amount she used.

Elodie worked up the canvas as she listened, applying whichever color felt right but trying to go from dark to light. The very bottom began with a dark blue that was almost black. As her mother began trailing off more often Elodie let her mind wander.

Daroga might have wanted to stop her from seeing Erik. Was it because he knew Erik didn’t feel the same or was he back to worrying about her for some reason? There was the possibility she could be taken like Christine was. Did that happen because he was in love with her? She didn’t want the answer to be yes but the pit in her gut convinced her it was.

She added dark purples and reds. The bottom third of the canvas resembled her sunset painting if she had washed black over it.

If Erik was intending to do anything to her he had plenty of opportunities already. Daroga must have been worried about something else, she reasoned. He must have known that Erik wouldn’t reciprocate her feelings. But hadn’t Daroga warned her not to break his heart? He had quickly clarified even losing a friend would be just as likely to do it but he may have been obscuring the more obvious meaning.

The painting continued into lighter blue and green as well. They didn’t mix as well with the section below but they felt right. She added a red spot on one half of where the sections met. It stood out in an oddly satisfying way.

Daroga could have been worried about Erik instead. Did he think the rejecting was going to be done the other way around? It was possible but it didn’t explain why Erik had pulled away. She could still see the look in his eyes when he had done so, a result of playing the moment over and over in her head after it had happened.

She finished the top of the painting in muted pinks and yellows. Some of the transitions had turned muddy and grey.

Thinking about it with her new assumptions, Erik hadn’t looked disgusted or upset. He was surprised. Did he not know what she was trying to do? Based on what she knew of him she wouldn’t be surprised to learn he had never been kissed before but he had to know what it looked like.

“Interesting,” her mother said over her shoulder. “Is it done?”

“I’ll paint something over it eventually.” With her luck she was going to turn it into a wild mix of colors and nobody would give it a second glance at the gallery. Needing to let the paint dry, she excused herself to her bedroom. She had spent almost all day in it but now she was eager to lie in bed to bring the next day.

She was optimistic that she had misunderstood Erik’s reaction. She would feel silly if she had, but it was better than being embarrassed about it for the rest of her life. If Erik confirmed that she had misjudged she would grab his face–

That was the answer. Even the half mask covered part of his lips. He must have been afraid she would get an idea of what that part of him looked like. She had to convince herself that it didn’t matter what she saw underneath, despite the whispers she had heard, and then she had to convince Erik of it as well.

Chapter Text

The first obstacle to speaking to Erik was finding the time to do so. The first performance of Mireille was only two days away and she was running around for so many misplaced props she wondered if there really was somebody sabotaging the performance. Luckily for her, most items were forgotten in dressing or storage rooms and were easy to find.

A quick diversion to box 5 while being sent to find a misplaced shoe revealed the second obstacle. Erik didn’t respond when she tried to talk to him. He may not have been in that area of the opera house, but it was rare that he didn’t respond in box 5. Especially when she made sure to speak to a couple people she passed in the halls leading there. She had experienced how noise moved through the passageways and knew he should have heard her.

Elodie couldn’t decide if he was also busy with the opening of the opera or if her initial assessment had been correct and he didn’t return her feelings. Only time would tell. She continued running around the opera and made several more attempts to speak to Erik.

By the end of the day she hadn’t seen any signs of him. Right before she was going to leave someone noticed a part of the backdrop that had a mark on it. Unless the audience was extremely perceptive they would never notice it, but Jonathan insisted that it be fixed and Elodie was more than happy to fetch the needed paints (all browns) and write a quick message when passing the office.

Erik,

I would like to apologize for how I left at the ball. I hope your absence is due to preparations for Mireille (which I am looking forward to!) and not my behavior. It’s a shame we weren’t able to finish reading together but I’m sure our discussion of the opera itself will be enjoyable all the same.

Your friend,

Elodie

She made a stop in box 5 once again to drop off the letter and scurried back to the stage before she spent a suspicious amount of time retrieving paints. The repair took only several minutes but almost everyone else had cleared out by the time she was done. She wouldn’t have to remind them not to touch that particular area.

Elodie’s letter was still in box 5 the next morning. She gripped the back of the chair her letter sat on and tried to control her breathing. There were a million reasons Erik may not have taken the letter but the twisting in her stomach was telling her it wasn’t a good one. Even if he didn’t respond, the letter would be gone or moved if he had seen it. He might have left it in several pieces if he was angry at her but it was in front of her just as she had left it.

After pocketing the letter she stepped out of the box for a moment, heard Jonathan’s voice down the hall, and without thinking retreated back into the box. If she was seen she wouldn’t have any time to figure out why Erik was gone. She fumbled around the pillar searching for some kind of mechanism to trigger the door. The smooth surface gave no hints. Was it up high again? That would stop most people from accidentally finding it while Erik could easily activate it.

Craning her neck, Elodie peered at the upper sections of the pillar and wall. There was a crack in the wallpaper an inch away from the pillar. It could easily be passed off as regular damage. She stood on the tips of her toes and stretched her fingers as high as she could. She couldn’t see what she was doing as she fumbled her fingers against the wall above her head but she eventually caught the opening with her index finger and hooked her finger into what she felt inside.

The pillar swung open. Elodie stepped inside and eyed the system attached to the door. She pulled ropes until one swung the door shut behind her. The cool darkness calmed her racing mind. What did she think she was doing? There was still time to open the door and go about her day normally. Mireille was premiering the next day. She should make herself available for last minute set adjustments.

When her eyes adjusted Elodie turned towards the passageways and walked cautiously through the dark. She moved far slower than she had when Erik was there to guide her. She didn’t know exactly what she was looking for as she made her way lower.

“She’s just running late,” Jonathan’s voice drifted down the passage.

“She’s never been this late.” Roland, of course.

“I understand you’re worried, but we’re too busy to mount a search for someone who’s not even missing.”

The voices trailed off behind her as she neared what she hoped was the ballerina dressing rooms. Erik had been dedicated to their improvement and may have been too focused to check the box. Her sense of direction was correct and she found herself watching the ballerinas getting ready for the day. Meg and Cécile giggled to each other about something while putting their shoes on.

Not wanting to linger too long, Elodie began wandering the passages. She knew the next best place to check was around the stage, but she didn’t know how to get there. The general direction was easy, but the passages were more winding than the regular halls and there were likely hidden doors she was walking past.

She made her way down several levels over what she thought to be an hour. She paused to listen to conversations and watched several people who thought they were alone. One conversation she listened to turned more personal than she would have liked–a woman talking about a severely ill grandchild–and Elodie felt guilty about stumbling into it.

Was this a common occurance for Erik? She doubted he felt guilty about it. He was probably used to it by now. She imagined he was more affected by conversations he wanted to join. The thought of him fuming behind a wall while being unable to correct translations from Mirèio like he had for her made her have to suppress a laugh.

Elodie continued on. Below the main stage she could faintly hear the rehearsal taking place above. As she paused to listen to the music she began hearing footsteps as well. She began to walk toward the source to see who she could find. Despite wishing she hadn’t heard some of the things she had, the thrill of spying was addictive. She would have to do this more often.

The footsteps got closer. They also got less muffled and with a jolt as her heart began racing she understood they were echoing down the passages and not coming from outside of them. There was nowhere for her to hide besides around a corner or finding a way back to the light.

She retraced her steps until she came to an offshoot that she ducked into. It was a dead end that probably led to an exit she couldn’t afford to search for at the moment. If she failed to find it they would likely hear her scrambling and find her. Instead, she pressed her back against the wall and pulled her skirt as close as she could.

Instead of trying to control her breath, she simply held it as the footsteps walked past the opening and she saw–

“Daroga,” she exclaimed with her released breath. Then, remembering what she had learned, added, “Monsieur Khan.”

“Mademoiselle Allere,” he responded smoothly. “Why are you here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. I’m looking for Erik.”

“I was looking for you, and I’m glad I’ve found you here and not where I feared. I’ll show you the way out.” He motioned for her to follow.

“I need to speak to Erik. He didn’t take my letter.” She didn’t move.

“I’ll deliver it if you follow me.”

“You know where he is?”

“He’s in his home. He hasn’t left since you ran from him.” What did he think happened?

“I didn’t run from him. I,” it was still difficult for her to say exactly what happened. Would the embarrassment never lessen? “I did something foolish.”

“Please enlighten me. He barely spoke both times I visited him. I can only assume you were foolish enough to remove his mask.”

“No,” she said, almost offended that he thought she would do so. She didn’t think Erik would trust her again if she did. “I tried to,” again she faltered and resorted to pointing at her lips.

“You tried to what?” Daroga narrowed his eyes in confusion as she pointed at her lips more emphatically. “What do your lips . . . you tried to kiss him? Tried? He didn’t let you?”

Elodie shook her head, too mortified to speak.

“What is he doing?” Daroga muttered. “Alright, I’ll speak to him. Let’s get you out before they come looking for you.”

“They’re too busy to look for me. And I don’t want you talking to him for me.” They were both adults, not two teenagers that needed an argument mediated.

“Then we’re going to be here for a while.” He held up a hand when she opened her mouth.
“Don’t ask me to take you to him.”

“Why not? Is his home that dangerous? Where is it?” It was difficult to keep her volume in check. She needed to press him for information.

“It’s not his home, it’s the path. The passages you’ve been in are nothing compared to where you’re trying to go.” He crossed his arms as she got closer. He may have been more intimidating if he was able to look down at her, but they were almost the same height.

“So it’s connected to here?” There wasn’t anywhere in the building to hide a home unless it was scattered throughout the levels. “I need to go down further, don’t I?”

“There are people down there you don’t want to run into,” Daroga said as she pushed past him. He halfheartedly grabbed at her arm but let go without much of a fight when she shook him off.

“If only there was someone that could guide me. I suppose I’ll just try not to get caught all by myself,” she said over her shoulder.

He sighed and followed after her, soon passing and leading her to a trapdoor that led them down.

The path through the cellars was darker and colder and had more obstacles including someone that had apparently ejected Daroga from the tunnels several times before. There seemed to be a main path that Daroga was taking her down and the distant sounds of other people happened rarely and down a path that branched off of their route. They only had to shutter their lantern, which they had picked up before fully entering the cellars, once when the rat catcher approached.

Music was drifting from the lake as they approached. She listened as Daroga pulled in a small row boat that had drifted away from the shore. Her heart ached from the melancholic violin that sang. It drifted into a more upbeat melody, the waltz that had played when she and Erik finally danced.

“He’s been doing this for days,” Daroga said as he helped her into the boat. “If he stops playing be prepared for a swim.”

“Oh?”

“He likes to pull intruders over,” he huffed. That explained the drowned Phillipe de Chagny.

The violin slowed the waltz down, distorting it and becoming dreamlike. It stopped suddenly with a twang. She shared a glance with Daroga, who looked resigned. How many times had he gone over the edge of the rowboat?

Then the discordant sounds of an organ echoed violently off the walls. Daroga let out a sigh of relief as he continued rowing. Elodie could make out a similar melody to the melancholic violin in the new song. The boat bumped against the shore on the other side of the lake and rocked as Daroga stood on the thin shore. He felt along the wall after tying the boat to a post, the only hint there was someone that used the area.

“He loves secret doors, doesn’t he,” she laughed hollowly. The music was getting to her.

“He likes showing off his designs,” Daroga agreed. A click later a door swung in. The organ came through clearly, becoming sweet and echoing the journey of the violin.

“Wait,” Elodie said as he moved to step through. “Can I go alone?”

His brows furrowed and she was sure he would refuse before he finally said, “I’ll wait for you here. Be careful.”

“You think he would hurt me?”

“Normally no. But the way he’s acting makes me uneasy.”

“I’ll be careful.”

She pulled the door closed as she stepped into a perfectly normal drawing room. It was illuminated so well she could almost forget she was far underground. She took the room in. There were bookcases, shelves, several comfortable looking chairs and a sofa, and in the corner, facing away from her, was Erik playing the organ.