by Colette Gale
Miss Daaé was gone.
“Miss Daaé! Where has she gone?”
“It’s the Phantom! He has taken her.”
At that moment, an ominous rumble sounded from above and all of the gendarmes raised their lights at the same time to show the great chandelier, its lights still extinguished, swaying and tipping angrily.
Firmin and Armand looked at each other in horror, recalling the ghost’s joke about bringing down the chandelier. “The chandelier,” Firmin shouted. “Run!”
“We are ruined,” cried Armand again, stumbling backward, his eyes still on the clinking, clattering, swaying lamp above.
A great tearing noise sounded, and the heavy lamp pulled loose from its moorings as if in a dream, as if every second slowed to more than a minute…and then it crashed onto the stage in a great bursting clatter. Explosions from oil leaking onto the gas lamps, shards of shooting glass, and billows of smoke filled the theater.
The audience screamed and panicked, pushing and shoving to get out of their seats. The cast and orchestra—those who had not been injured by the falling chandelier—stumbled and cried as they made their way toward the back of the stage, to get away from the mess.
“We are ruined! We are ruined! How can such a misfortune befall us?” cried Armand as Firmin dragged him away from the wreckage and away from the tearing fire.
In the back, where the dressing rooms were emptying and the dancers were rushing screaming from the building, they turned to see the Chagny brothers standing there, unruffled and unharmed.
“It is the Phantom, the ghost who has done this,” cried the comte. “Just as he threatened before—he has brought down the chandelier and destroyed the theater. We must stop him. Send the men after him!”
“He has taken Miss Daaé. We must find him!”
“I know where he has gone,” the vicomte announced passionately. “Through Miss Daaé’s old dressing room. Come, we will stop them. Send the men after us with their guns and torches. We will catch him, and make him pay!”
“We will hunt him down,” the comte said. “Collect the others and bring them.”
Maude Giry came rushing around the corner. Her hair straggled from its tight bun in a manner that reminded Armand of the times she’d let it fall loose. Armand would venture to guess that this was one moment that the woman did not have sex on her mind.
“This way! They are hunting for the Ghost. This way!” Armand called, waving the gendarmes over to him. The fire raged out in the auditorium, and the smoke was beginning to seep into the high ceilings back where they stood, but there was still time to find their way back through the dressing rooms.
“But no, he has not done this! He would not!” Maude was crying, her face soot-streaked, a scratch of red along one cheek. “He would not!”
“But he has, madame, and we will not rest until he has paid for this. It is long past time the Opera Ghost should be stopped.” The Comte de Chagny looked at her with dark, glittering eyes, then turned and rushed away after his brother.
SIXTEEN
* * *
The lovers walked hand in hand through the darkness.
“Where will we go?” Christine asked, noticing that the corridor had become lighter.
They rounded a corner and found Cesar, the white horse, and a torch. This was not the same place she had been taken before; at least, she did not think it was. The stone hallways looked so much alike.
“I have made plans for our safe trip and refuge,” Erik told her. He had retrieved his mask but, in a show of trust, had not donned it. His twisted, angry skin shone tight and brittle, horrible in the low light next to the dark, handsome half she had come to know. “We will leave here tonight and be far away from here…and from the Chagnys. They will not be pleased you have slipped away.”
It was only a short ride on Cesar before they reached Erik’s cottage by the underground lake. Erik pulled her off, and she landed lightly on the ground, following him inside.
The house was just the same as she had remembered.
Except that the moment he closed the door behind them, they were face-to-face with the Chagny brothers.
“You must have taken the longer route,” Philippe said pleasantly. He was holding a gun, and before Christine or Erik could react, something whipped through the air and settled around Erik’s neck. “The Punjab lasso. Isn’t the Opera Ghost famous for his technique with the lasso? Or, at least, that is what the legend says."
He tightened the rope and Erik coughed, jerking off-balance as he tried to pull it away.
“Don’t touch it,” snapped Philippe, jabbing the pistol at Christine’s temple in an obvious threat. “Raoul,” he snapped with a flick of his wrist.
“Raoul!” Christine cried, ignoring the push of metal into her skin. “What are you doing?”
He yanked Erik to his feet and muscled his arms behind his back, tying his hands there as Erik stood stoic, coughing faintly, face dark and twisted on both halves now.
“What do you want?” Erik choked from behind the rope cutting into his throat.
“Christine, for one,” Philippe said, twisting her arms behind her back and dragging her toward him. He replaced the pistol in his pocket and reached around to squeeze her half-bare breast. She stiffened and tried to pull away, but he yanked her arms back harder, and she cried out. “Your final destruction, for the other.”
Raoul finished his job and walked over to stand next to Christine. Philippe thrust her toward him, and she stumbled before Raoul caught her arm. “Let me go,” she demanded, watching as Philippe coiled Erik’s rope onto the small lamp that hung from the ceiling. His neck strained upward, and his face was darkening red.
“Let you go back to the horrific Opera Ghost? Never,” Raoul told her. “We have come to rescue you.”
“Rescue me?” Christine’s fear eased out of her. It was a misunderstanding. “No, Raoul, I don’t need to be rescued. Let him go; he means no harm—”
“No harm?” Philippe stepped toward her, a little smile on his patrician face, the other end of the rope taut in his hand. “I beg to differ, Miss Daaé. In fact, at this very moment, the Opera House is engulfed in flames. Explosions have been heard from every corner of the stage, and the chandelier was rigged to crash down upon the stage. It has killed, I’m certain, at least one woman, and injured many others. Just as you threatened, dear Opera Ghost. I thank you, for not only putting the idea into my head, but also for setting yourself up as the scapegoat by your own words to those stupid managers.
“It was only because of luck, and our fast thinking, that Raoul and I were able to escape from the turmoil…and chase down the perpetrator of this disaster.” He jerked the rope and Erik’s head snapped helplessly as he struggled to breathe. “At least, that is how we shall explain it to the authorities…who will be only too pleased to listen to the Chagny brothers.”
Christine’s heart stopped—surely it did—for a long moment, as black flashes colored the edges of her vision. And then it began racing again, madly, as nausea pooled in her belly.
“He kidnapped you once, Christine,” Raoul said. “He’s done it again, but this time, he won’t get away with it. The mob is already forming…We sent them in the wrong direction, but they will be here soon enough. They are coming after him. And you. If you take his side, you will be torn apart…or worse. We are here to take you away to safety.”
She stared at him in horror. “How could you do this, Raoul? I thought you loved me!”
“I do love you, Christine. Beyond anything, I love you. I am doing this for you. I’ve done it all for you. I can’t allow you to spend the rest of your days with this…this monster.”
“The only monster in this room is him,” Christine spit, pointing at Philippe. “And you, Raoul. You both did this. All of this. And for what? What?”
Philippe stepped toward her, and she shrank back into Raoul, for angry and frightened as she was, he was still the better choice in this madness.
“For
this.” Philippe squeezed her breast. “And this.” He reached for her other, pinching the nipple. “And for this.” Holding her by the nipple, he reached down and crudely cupped her sex. “And to watch that.” He turned, pointing at Erik, whose bound arms were struggling tightly as he tried to twist his neck loose. His breaths were gasps of air, desperate…but not as desperate as the burning, horrified eyes he turned toward her.
Christine tried to break free of Raoul’s grip, but it was too strong. “No! You cannot. I won’t go with you. Leave me here. With Erik!”
To her surprise, Philippe loosened the rope enough that Erik was able to breathe easier. “Leave you here? Why, we could not do that to you, Miss Daaé. That would be most unchivalrous. You will want to be coming with us…although I must tell you that your arrangement has been altered. You see, my brother, the vicomte, cannot be marrying someone of your station…He simply cannot disappoint the Chagny family in that regard. So he will be wedding Celeste Le Rochet, a young woman who, although she does not have your considerable charms, does come from a great family and brings a fortune to ours. You will simply be…our guest… at Château de Chagny.”
“Never! I will not,” Christine shouted, struggling anew. “Raoul, you deceived me!”
“Christine, it will be for the best,” he told her gently. “You will be very comfortable at Château de Chagny, and I will visit you often. Every day, at least.” He smiled, but there was a glint in his eyes that belied his tenderness. “I will be your protector.”
“You cannot return to the Opera House,” Philippe told her. “For there is no Opera House…or there will be none by the morning. And you have already been identified as an accomplice of the Opera Ghost—all of your talk about the Angel of Music has done it for you. You are trapped, Christine. Trapped unless you accept our offer of succor.”
“I will not! I will stay here with Erik!” Tears streamed down her face.
“Let her go.” Erik’s voice, rough and raw, drew their attention. “It is me you want, Chagny. She has nothing to do with this.”
“Au contraire, mon ami,” Philippe told him smugly. “She is in the very center of this, for she is everything to you. And the best, most painful way to destroy you is to destroy that which you love…for you have never loved anything before…and have never been loved in return. Most especially by our father.”
“Father?” Christine gasped, and her attention flew among the three men.
“Ah, yes…that is the one secret I am most determined to keep, Miss Daaé. The identity of my bastard half brother…the deformed monster that he is, we Chagnys cannot allow him to claim his position with the family. Never have. Never will.”
He paused…looked consideringly at Christine. “Although, I might…might perhaps be convinced toward leniency…for a price.”
She knew immediately what he meant. His lewd gaze, his lascivious smile, the bulge in his trousers.
“Raoul has had the opportunity to test the wares, of course, but I have not…because of your interference. Perhaps we might come to an arrangement of our own, Miss Daaé?”
“No,” Erik snarled, fighting anew. “Christine, no!”
“You won’t find it so very difficult, will you, Miss Daaé? After all, from our brief interlude at the masquerade ball, you seemed to find me…not so very distasteful. Not so distasteful as you might have pretended. It must be the Chagny blood. We all have it. All three of us.” He laughed softly, his eyesfastened on hers.
Christine’s heart thudded in her chest. “Would…would you leave, and let us go free?”
“If I found your performance convincing enough…I’m sure we could come to a satisfactory arrangement.” His mouth curled and he watched her, waiting. Waiting.
“Christine, nooo…” Erik was sobbing now, twisting and turning, trying to break free.
“Tell him to shut up, or I will shut him up,” Philippe told her quietly, never moving his attention from her.
“Erik…please. You will make it worse.” Her words came out rusty, but they seemed to have an effect, for he stopped calling…subsiding into heavy, rough breathing behind them.
Ignoring Raoul, who had released her during the exchange with Philippe, Christine drew in a deep breath. Philippe blinked easily, but his attention remained avid and steady. She stepped toward him and lifted her face, pressing her lips to his.
He did not move and she drew back, looking up at him.
“Surely you can do better than that,” he told her. “I said the performance must be convincing.”
Refusing to look at Erik, she stepped forward again. Pulling in a deep breath, she lifted her arms, and felt her breasts rise from behind the corset as she slid her fingers around the back of Philippe’s neck. Bringing his head down, she rose on her toes to kiss him, moving her lips over his in sensual, sleek strokes. From the shift of his breath, she knew she had been successful, yet he did not move.
She kissed more frantically, thrusting her tongue into his mouth to taste his tobacco and wine-scented tongue, and bringing her hips forward into his, where his erection told her she’d had an effect.
Christine stepped away again, breathing heavily, and his hand lashed out to grab her wrist. “That was an adequate beginning, Miss Daaé.” He yanked her back up against him. He looked down at her, forcing her wrist straight down along his thigh, and sliding his other hand between them to fondle her breast. “Why stop now?”
“I thought…I thought we could move somewhere more comfortable,” she said, trying to make her voice and expression coy. She did not want to do this in front of Erik. “To the boudoir.”
“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Philippe smiled down at her, twitching his finger over her nipple in a rough rhythm that sent little sparks to her belly. Christine swallowed, shocked that her body would respond so quickly…so easily…in such a situation. “But we wouldn’t want my brother to miss the show, would we?” He glanced back over his shoulder to where Erik stood, then smiled back down at Christine.
Her throat dried. “You are evil,” she whispered into his face, even as the languid stroking over her nipple caused her quim to swell and burn with arousal.
“Not evil,” he told her, “merely obsessed with beauty. And determined to get what I want. Now, off with your clothes. You are wasting time.”
Christine cast a glance at Raoul, who appeared to be little affected by his brother's orders, despite his pronouncements of affection for her. In fact, his eyesseemed to glitter a bit brighter.
She did not dare look at Erik. If she did, she couldn’t go through with this. But she would do this for him, for them. It was only sex. She could do it.
“Now, Christine,” Philippe said sharply. He tautened the rope around his wrist, giving a threatening yank. Erik gasped and coughed, and Christine spared him a brief look.
“I will…Please…let him breathe,” she begged. She met Philippe’s eyes and drew in another deep breath, then placed her hands over the top of her corset and pulled it down suddenly.
Philippe moved slightly, and Erik’s horrible choking stopped. But his tortured breathing rasped in the air, and she could not look at him.
Her breasts were bare, and Philippe smiled as he looked at them. He sat back in his chair and waited, and Christine felt Raoul behind her. Before she could react, Raoul gripped the back of her neck, holding her in place under the long curls of hair, tight enough that she hardly dared breathe. With a swift, rough motion, he pulled at the laces Madame Giry had done up only hours before and yanked the corset down and off, whipping it away. Her skirts and crinolines dropped to the floor, leaving her bare to everyone.
Raoul hissed in a deep breath, and positioned her wrists behind her so that he could cover her lips with a harsh, passionate kiss. Christine closed her eyes, kissing him back, feeling the shameful way her nipples tightened and moisture pooled between her legs as she was held prisoner.
As Raoul kissed her, his fingers tight on her jaw and her hands clasped behind her back,
trapped between her ass and his bulging erection, she felt a movement in front of her. Philippe’s teeth closed over one of her breasts, tight enough to hurt, but not hard enough to break the skin. Pinching and fondling her other breast, he teased her nipple with his teeth, nibbling over the very front of the sensitive part, then using his tongue to slide over it.
She twitched and jerked as the pleasure-pain caused her body to tighten and moisten and swell. Raoul’s hand—at least, she thought it was Raoul’s hand—slipped down between her legs, sliding through the growing wetness there as she trembled inside. Her breathing was raspier, and her eyes closed…She couldn’t think about what was happening. She just had to get through it.
Philippe moved to her other breast and sucked gently, as though to contrast with his rough attention to her first nipple, and she reacted to that by arching her back, pushing into his face. Raoul had finished kissing her, leaving her mouth to open and gasp when he bit at her shoulder.
Erik was still half-hanging by his neck, his arms still pinioned behind him. His eyes were closed, one with dark lashes marking his cheek, and the other with the lashless lid hanging awkwardly to one side, drawn into an obscene shape. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his nostrils flaring as though to drag in as much air as possible.
Christine jerked her attention away, relieved that Erik was not watching…although he could hear. He could hear every sigh, every lick and suck, and the moist sounds of fingers sliding through her sex, the shifting of skin against clothing.
“You! Open your eyes!” Philippe shouted, and Christine realized he was talking to Erik. “Open them and watch…Watch everything, or I’ll cut her throat when I’m done with her.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Erik managed to growl, his eyes bloodshot red and burning with deep fury.
Christine braced herself for Philippe’s response, expecting violence, but he merely laughed. “Ah, you still have some spirit. It must be getting difficult for you, Erik. Well, just wait. It’ll only get worse.” He pushed Christine down onto her knees before him.
