When she presented the second black rose to the Phantom, his cerulean eyes flashed.
"Joseph should have focused solely on his responsibilities as a stage hand. Instead, he chose to hunt the Opera Ghost, a decision that would prove to be a fatal error in his judgment. My tolerance spent, the Punjab lasso found its way around the meddling man's wretched neck."
Aveline's hand flew to her own neck, picturing the grisly murder and the corpse that was left behind.
As her lips parted to speak, a small explosion flared underneath the long mirror. The Phantom stood calmly, unconcerned by the fire that erupted below. Aveline fled the room. Her sense of self-preservation over-rid her curiosity to question her abductor.
But, as quickly as the flames had appeared, they subsided. She cautiously peeked into to the orchestra pit, expecting to see a raging fire, but there was nothing. No fire, no sound...and no Phantom. The mirror was empty; she stepped closer to it and saw only her own bewildered reflection. The bottom of the mirror was charred, and a strange mixture of powder and ash lay in a pile on the floor.
Is he a magician, as well as a murderer?
Examining the pile further, she barely made out a steel key that was nestled among the grey. She picked it up and took it straight to the only locked item in the basement: the padlock on the elevator. A sigh of relief escaped her lips when she heard the familiar click, and she pulled the chain off the door.
The elevator was frightening, in appearance. It was rather like a large, rickety, wooden crate. On the right wall, a colorful poster promoted a showing of Hannibal. The prima donna featured was none other than Christine Daae.
Aveline was shocked. She had always assumed that her mother was a featured singer, from her father's compliments, but not the star. Her jealousy surged, seeing her mother's maiden name on the advertisement. She would never have that. If she had the voice, she would never leave the stage.
But she didn't. That talent had not been passed down to her.
She bravely stepped into the lift and pulled the lever. As it noisily ascended to ground level, she picked up a scrap of paper from the floor. It was addressed to an unfamiliar name and detailed the order of a small cast of characters: the villain, the hero, the heroine, the seductive sister, and the matron. The elevator stopped and automatically opened its door. She let the note fall back to the floor and walked into a new part of the Opera House.
Looks like a bunch of dressing rooms... I must be backstage.
The first thing she examined was her immediate surroundings. The elevator had opened into a rather large room. It was comfortable, if a little cluttered, with a couch that had seen many performers lounging upon it. She passed a large mirror that, thankfully, only showed her own reflection as she passed by.
In the next room, bolts of fabric leaned against corners, spools of thread lay unraveled on the floor, and sewing machines rusted on damaged tabletops. On a pile of fabric, Aveline found another note. The five characters that had been mentioned on the previous scrap of paper were given costume direction: the villain in the predictable black, the hero in blue, the heroine wearing white, her sister dressed in sultry red, and the delicate matron in fair pink.
Aveline abandoned the note and walked through the doorway to her left. She had barely taken in her settings, when the electric lights flickered and dimmed. Her eyes automatically darted toward the mirror in the room; smoke appeared to swirl behind it, within it. And, eventually, the Phantom showed himself.
"You have come so far. But do you have the courage to see this through to the very end? Bring me another black rose, and I shall have no reason to doubt your devotion!"
She was tempted to retort, but she pursed her lips shut and nodded curtly. The lights returned to their normal setting, but the smoke continued to billow around both the Phantom and the mirror. She was in a ladies' changing room. The mirror that contained the mysterious Phantom was, in fact, a very wide vanity mirror...complete with a frame of light bulbs, for optimum makeup application. Opposite the vanity station was a ceiling-high set of shelving that housed wigs, makeup items, accessories, and other miscellaneous odds and ends.
What caught her eye was something that was quite out of place: a black knight chess piece. She still had the third sitting in her pocket, so she added the fourth. She hadn't yet ventured back to the study, but she had a feeling that she would be adding the two new chess pieces to the board quite soon.
Leaving the Phantom and the changing room behind, she walked to another doorway at the opposite end of the sewing hall. The doors' handles were beautifully ornate; Aveline hesitated to touch them, afraid that her fingers would mar the gold and pearl inlay. She finally pushed them open and walked into a woman's private dressing room.
She gasped.
Everything around her was lovely. This solitary room seemed untouched by the fire that had wreaked havoc on the Opera House. Unlike the rest of what she had seen, the dressing chamber was bathed in luxury. A soft purple glow stretched over the room, from what looked like black candles. Upon closer examination, Aveline realized that the candles were actually light fixtures with violet hued bulbs. Fresh red rose petals were strewn about the floor, but ended just before a strange wall.
Her eyes swept the room from left to right. A richly dressed mannequin stood in front of an étagère full of memorabilia and gifts. A vanity with several undisturbed items stood their right; of the bits and pieces occupying the tabletop, a music box without its topper awaited attention. She would have to keep an eye out for its missing part. The vanity's mirror was, mercifully, vacant. She supposed that the Phantom was still in the ladies' dressing room, where she had left him.
On the right side of the room, a fancy armoire complimented the vanity. To its right stood a curtained doorway, which, when pushed aside, revealed many gorgeous gowns and costumes. Lastly, a dressing screen stood ready to preserve a lady's modesty...if the need ever arose, again. More shelving with perfumes and makeup were affixed to the wall just behind it.
The centerpiece of the room was a rather large slab of mahogany that appeared to be fastened to the back wall. It had strange carvings that gave it a hard, yet elegant presence. At eye-level was a triangular recess...
Wonderful...something else to look for...
Five hearts encircled the bottom of the crest that the triangle was featured upon, with four skeletal hands holding the crest in place on the wall. The whole thing was bizarre to behold. Aveline stepped back.
Having examined the room in a general fashion, she focused on what was useful. The only thing that stood out was a pair of opera glasses that sat on the vanity's stool. She carried them out of the room, hoping that they would help her in her quest.
Aveline continued walking through the backstage area; although she would never admit it, she secretly relished being able to glimpse a world that she had always been enamored with.
When she was five years old, her mother hired a private piano teacher. Christine recognized the same love for music that she once had. Her daughter's passion eclipsed her own, and she wished to indulge her only child.
Aveline had been an apt pupil, wishing to impress her musically-gifted mother. On occasion, she would let it slip that she coveted her mother's angelic voice, but her mother would rush to soothe her. Christine would always state the same truism: "If every songbird in the heavens was a robin, think of the beautiful music that we would be missing."
Subconsciously, Aveline's free hand stretched its fingers, longing to stroke ivory keys. The occupied hand still dutifully held onto the opera glasses that she had rescued from the previous room.
She peeked into the next doorway she came to, but did not venture inside. There were many large pipes mounted in the walls, with a large boiler in the far back of the room. The heat spread throughout the entire backstage area, and Aveline realized that this was the only part of the Opera that had not given her goosebumps. Aside from its warmth, there was nothing else that the room could offer.
At the end of the backstage hall was a winding staircase. Curious to see where it would lead, she warily climbed the wrought iron steps. She emerged on the rooftop.
Snow was still falling, but now it softly floated down to the earth. She held her hands and the binoculars to her chest, trying to keep them as guarded from the cold as possible. She suddenly missed the fire of the boiler room.
Slowly, she made her way to the edge of the roof. She was higher from the ground than she had thought. And when had night fallen on Paris? Was Madam Durand concerned for her? Or did she suspect that her new pupil had forfeited her chance to study with a highly sought-after instructor? Aveline's jaw clenched in frustration. She had worked so hard to secure her spot. Would she still be able to learn from the world-famous musician, once she was free?
If I am freed...she reminded herself.
There was no one below. The Paris Opera was surrounded by businesses that were all closed for the evening. Scattered in the distance were lights of various residences, but not a soul dared to be out in the cold at such a late hour. She thought about calling out, anyway, but the Phantom's voice rang out over her.
"It was here that you broke my heart!"
The words seemed closer, this time. The proximity of his voice was unnerving, and she rushed back downstairs to the warmth and security of the backstage area. How had he known she was up there? How was his voice following her throughout the Opera House?
Arriving downstairs, she rushed straight into the boiler room. She did not wish to check the ladies' dressing room for the Phantom. If he was there, he must be a ghost. If he wasn't, then he was flesh and blood and was stalking her. Both scenarios frightened her.
She soaked up the fire's glow, trying to stay as clean as possible amidst all the soot that had accumulated on the ground. However, when she looked down, she saw that her originally pristine gown was now stained with mud, ash, and only God knew what else. A little soot would only diversify the host of elements ruining her dress.
At the far end of the room, hidden in the shadows, was a metal grate that served as a door. The locking mechanism was similar to what she had already solved on the door to the library. She patiently repeated the trial-and-error process; her diligence saw yet another puzzle solved. Once opened, there was only darkness.
On the ground, near the furnace, a pile of unlit torches were ready for use. Aveline put the binoculars down and retrieved a torch from the heap. The fire easily lit the wadding on the end, and she held it well away from her flammable attire.
The light provided an impressive circumference of visibility around her; however, the fact that she was walking in what appeared to be a dried-up sewer was not cause for celebration. She heard squeaking and the sound of small rodents' paws scratching on the stone around her. She fought the urge to scream and hurried down the path. At the first chance she had, she exited the sewer canal.
Steps led her up to a strange room. It was pitch black, which made her pause and send a prayer in thanks for the light she had brought with her. She was only able to register parts of the room as she passed: rows of pews, a broken lantern on the floor, more steps that led up to an altar with...
Aveline let out a high-pitched scream. Five cloaked figures were stationed around the platform. She almost dropped the torch, as she leapt away from them. But they did not pursue her.
She let out a deep breath and confronted the statues. Their hooded heads showed no faces, but the skeletal hands that they held out were frightening enough. For each of the figures, one hand held a stone dagger with a cobra handle; the other hand was pierced by the dagger and a thick black substance exuded from it, collecting in a basin. It was the most macabre ornamentation that Aveline had ever seen.
Shaking her head, she looked to her right, where a stone door was barely ajar. She pushed it open, expecting to see another room, but she was once again outside. From the macabre to the truly morbid, Aveline was now walking through a snowy graveyard. She was thankful that the snowfall had stopped, but the cool night air actually made the climate around her seem colder.
Sculpted angels gestured to various burial plots around her, but she headed to the very back of the cemetery. Stone steps led her to the top of an honored plot. A mausoleum had been erected to someone of prestige, apparently. The door was inlaid with four gruesome skull masks, and an angel sang a silent song at the archway of the rooftop. Statues in the image of Death were mounted on either end of the door, holding scythes and standing guard.
Clasped in the angel's right hand was a black rose.
Aveline looked around the crypt, but she saw nothing that would help her obtain the rose. It was far above her reach. Her teeth chattered audibly, and she tested the sepulcher's doors. They parted and allowed her entrance.
Inside, she saw a single stone coffin. It truly was a significant burial, if the tomb only housed a single occupant. Both sides of the room were lined with candelabras, but no light emanated from their tapers. A beautiful angel with demonic wings held a dagger aloft, ready to plunge it into the sarcophagus that lay beneath it.
The only telling piece of information was found on a small placard on the casket.
Silently the senses abandon their defenses,
Helpless to resist the notes I write...
For I compose the music of the night.
Comprehension dawned on her.
This is the Phantom's tomb. Have I been at the mercy of a ghost, then? He seemed so real...
On top of the coffin were several recessed circle shapes. The circles were randomly dispersed upon and within five lines. The longer she looked at it, the more it looked like sheet music. The five lines represented a clef, either treble or base, and the holes were where the notes would fall.
...music of the night...
What did that mean? What was the music of the night? She did not know what went in the round spots, nor did she know how the makeshift sheet music was supposed to read.
She left the crypt and returned to her previous objective: the third rose.
There was nothing near the vault that would help her knock the rose out of the angel's hand, but searching around the graveyard yielded a most useful tool. Triumphant, she grabbed an iced-over shovel and returned to the crypt entrance.
The rose fell to the ground, and, as she picked it up, she counted a small blessing of being able to return to the warmer indoors...where the Phantom would indubitably be waiting.