THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

PART TW0

At first she removed the one labeled 1853 which began with the seer’s prophecy. Upon taking the book into the main room, she lit a few more candles and settled down on the sofa and began to read from the journal.

Before attending to business, Erik had the cab stop at the Persian’s house. On this cold, damp winter’s eve, the fog swirled around the cab while it waited for his return. The Phantom hurried to the door and rang the bell. After a moment or so, Darius, the Persian’s manservant peered through the peephole in the front door. When he saw Erik, he opened it.

Darius hailed from Persia like his master. He wore his jet-black hair straight and combed back from his rugged face and he stood just an inch shy of his master’s height and he had an olive colored complexion. Because he had worked for the Persian for a number of years, he knew Erik from his less than frequent visits.

The Phantom rarely came to visit the Persian or Daroga as he called him. He did so only when the spirit moved or when he faced death, again, that he would make such a call.

“M. Erik, please come in,” smiled Darius. Erik nodded a greeting.

“Who is it, Darius?” called the Persian from another room.

“M. Erik, master.” In a moment, Daroga appeared as Erik stepped through the doorway.

“Erik. It’s good to see you. Come, sit down,” he attempted to hug him, according to the fashion of France between good friends, but the Phantom backed away. Daroga understood and bowed instead. Erik gave a faint smile and then followed his host to the living room where a rather large fire blazed in the fireplace. The room seemed cramped, but cozy. Some rugs from the Orient lay on the floor and hung on the wall away from the fireplace. The old furniture had some scars, but still showed its Victorian elegance.

Erik found a seat on the sofa opposite his host, who sat in a large overstuffed chair. Darius brought a tray of tea and sweets and set it on the coffee table before them. He poured each a cup of steaming tea and added cream and sugar to the taste of each man. Darius had a remarkable memory for things like this.

When he left the room, Daroga turned to his guest. “What brings you here at this late hour? Are you not getting along with your bride?”

“Nothing like that. I must attend to business,” Erik sipped his tea.

“Are you in trouble?”

“Perhaps. I fear all that you have prophesied, and what I may have to do.”

“I prophesied nothing. It was Mitra , the Seer who showed you many things in the mystic pool,” Daroga sipped his tea and took some sweets to his lips.

“Never the less, the prophesies were because of you. You sent me to her.”

“Remember, we cannot change history.”

“Mitra said that! Whose history? Ours or Mae’s?” Daroga ignored the question.

“The Seer said that I have two separate yet intertwining destinies running parallel to each other. You know the meaning? And the book has not changed. Explain!” The Phantom sat down the cup and saucer and stared at the Persian. It felt a bit unnerving to see the Opera Ghost in his black death’s head. One could not decipher his facial expressions or clearly see his eyes. Only the brilliant yellow glint danced behind the hollows of the mask.

“Has Mae taken Raoul to the mirror in Christine’s dressing room?” asked the Persian, ignoring the main concerns.

“Yes.” The Phantom became more irritated when he received no answers.

“And?”

“And what? They spoke to the mirror guide. They spoke to Mae’s friends and that was all,” his tone grew irritated and harsh. Then he let out a long sigh.

“Perhaps it was not the time. Were all of her friends present?”

“Daroga, you are maddening. All questions and no answers. Mae is right; you are more cryptic than I. I do not know who of her friends were on the other side of the mirror.”

The Persian fell silent, yet continued to sip his tea and eat sweets. Erik sighed a long, drawn out sigh to show his displeasure.

At last, the Angel broke the silence. “I must go. My visit with you has been wasted.” He arose in a huff, but the Persian sat down his cup and saucer and grabbed Erik’s arm.

“Wait! All I can tell you is that she must return to the mirror with Raoul. Something should happen. I cannot tell you anymore. Please. Trust me,” Daroga pleaded. Erik pulled away from him, but not in anger, more in haste.

“All right. I shall tell her that. I thank you for you kindness and refreshments, but I must meet with someone. Should I need your assistance, may I call upon you?” Erik stared him in the eye.

“Of course. I am at your service,” Daroga bowed and Erik swept out of the room.

Darius opened the door, and in a moment the Phantom flew past him and vanished into the cab, which melted into the night almost instantly. As Darius closed the door behind him, his master bade him to lock it.

“Make sure the lock is secure. I feel evil in the air,” he shuddered and returned to the blazing fireplace.

Very very good!!

This just gets more and more interesting! I wonder what Mae will think of what the Seer said...

Thanks for the two chapters,

Please do continue quickly,

D

(sorry i came in so late this time)


this as good as always, once again i`m sitting on the edge of my seat, wanting more, lol.

slitherliggie thank you for the lovely comments on chapter twenty-two.

silver moon thank you for the lovely comments. So happy you both enjoyed.

Here is the next chapter. Please R&R. Thank you.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Streets of Paris 2006

Brianna, Snow White’s step-mother/witch, bore down on Doone with flame and fire from those cold steely eyes. Doone jumped up in time to dodge the painting, which flew off the wall. At the crash of the splintering frame behind him, he just kept running without looking back. He could almost feel the witch’s hot angry breath on this neck.

Brianna knew that if anyone had knowledge of her true identity, they had to know she had passed through the looking glass. She had vowed never to be bound in a fairytale dimension again. Menacingly, she turned to her two handsome escorts who where now at her side. The ash blonde model-type she called Landru and the dark-haired pinup-boy she called Etienne.

“I have been discovered. We must destroy him,” the beautiful witch, headed for the doors to the lobby with her boy-toys in tow.

Twanda and Kimee munched on the sweets Micha had treated them to in the lobby. Micha himself enjoyed some wine, while Tommy and Christine milled about. She marveled at how closely it looked like it did in her time.

Suddenly, the theatre doors burst open as Doone flew into the lobby, heading for the doors that led outside. Tommy grabbed him.

“Wait up! What’s goin’ down, dude?”

Doone broke free. “Run for your life, man! The witch is on to us. Run!” As he disappeared through the doors leading outside, Brianna and her escorts burst into the lobby. They stared around them, looking for the gawky man who had accosted her. The witch had no idea that the young people and Doone knew each other, so she and her men pushed past them and went outside.

“Doone is Doone again,” Kimee realized.

“Fine time for him to change. Now what?” Tommy looked to Micha and Christine.

“Follow them?” Christine questioned, her lips quivered as she spoke.

At this and on the heels of Brianna and her men, the five bolted for the door simultaneously, scrambling and pushing each other like the Three Stooges.

Outside the Opera House, Doone ducked behind a lamp pole across the street. Too much light shown on him, so he hunched over and moved to the shadows of some cars. Dodging a woman with scorn was no easy task. Panting, nearly out of breath, he crept into the dimness of an ally of some shop a ways from the Opera House.
A million things raced through his mind as he slipped behind some refuse piled up in bags. Going to the Phantom’s lair had triggered something in his mind, but what? Without the confidence and knowledge of the Opera Ghost, Doone could end up a dead duck. He knew how he had felt when the memories poured into his head. The knowledge of magick, the priest and the gypsies all seemed real at the time, but had since become a bit hazy.

Footsteps; more than one set. Could the lovely Brianna have found him and perhaps lay in wait, ready to dash him to pieces with the wave of her hand?

Footsteps separated and went in different directions. Afraid to breath, Doone didn’t move, and crouched as quiet as possible. His heart pounded so loudly that he feared someone would hear it.

Footsteps moved around him quickly and quietly. A rustle of scattered debris noised pass the pile of refuse behind which he hid.

Strange, but the footsteps never left the alley, they just stopped moving, when another group of footsteps moved in. Quiet whispers floated on the air. These footsteps also separated and moved in search of him. Times like this made him wish that he could turn himself into a mouse and scurry away from the danger a foot.

The whispers continued and so did the footsteps. Then a blast sounded and something splat against the wall. The screams of the girls he recognized as it cracked open the silent night. Really, he wanted to help them, but sheer terror paralyzed his body, and he covered his head with his hands.

Micha, who had made the ‘splat’ against the building, now rested on the ground, his back against the wall he had slid down. Brains rattled from the blast, he shook his head rigorously in an effort to recover.

“Do something Micha!” screamed Christine who ducked fireballs behind a dumpster.

“Trying to,” Micha answered shaking his head again. Fireballs popped and exploded all around them.

Twanda sailed past him to exit the ally. “Do it fast! She’s gonna kill us!” Twanda escaped with Christine doing a slow burn, but Landru, the blonde model-type, caught Kimee by her long blonde hair. She struggled in vain to free herself.

Brianna cackled like a crone as she gloated over her capture.

“I have your little blonde friend. All of you come out, or I will kill her slowly,” Brianna bellowed.

Since Twanda and Christine had vanished. Micha and Doone stood alone with the dangerous magical beings, wondering where Tommy had disappeared to.

Micha stood up back against the wall to brace himself. Doone arose from behind the bags of refuse. They all looked around for Tommy, but saw no sign of him.

Brianna approached Doone first. “So you know who I am, do you? What are you? A warlock? Witch? Wizard?”

As usual, Doone hunched over because of his height. He stammered in his Valley-boy way, “I…I ‘m like just me. Not a warlock or witch. Like, just an ordinary tourist.” He tried to smile.

The beautiful witch shot Micha a look.

“Amateur spellcaster,” Micha tried to grin, as he rubbed the back of head painfully.

“I know you. You brought me through the looking glass. For this I am grateful. I shall kill you last,” she cackled wickedly, and then she turned to Doone.

Narrowing her eyes at him, he began to gag and claw at the invisible hands around his throat. Micha attempted to move, but Etienne aimed a finger at him, bringing him to his knees in pain.

High up on an old fire escape overlooking the alley, Tommy watched in terror trying to figure out what to do. He had never been in trouble before, neither with the law or a gang. He didn’t know how to fight. If he called out, he would be another casualty. If he did nothing, he would witness the murder of his friends. His hands turned icy cold with fear. Doone strangled before his eyes and Kimee stood to be next and Micha could do nothing.

At the mouth of the alley, Tommy could see Twanda and Christine peeking around the corner, unbeknown to the witch. He caught their eye and motioned for them to be quiet. Someone had to cause a distraction. At least that would give the others a chance to escape.

As Twanda and Christine watched Tommy’s signals, they nodded that they understood, and Christine whispered her idea. Twanda nodded, and crossed her fingers.

They both reached into their backpacks and drew out something that could give off a reflection. Twanda had her compact and Christine found a case with double mirrors in Mae’s pack.

“Hey, you old witch. Let our friend go!” yelled out Twanda.

Brianna’s head jerked around in her direction. Her concentration broke and Doone dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Landru held Kimee tight. Etienne aimed a finger at Twanda. At that moment, Cerise and Twanda turned their mirrors toward Etienne. When his spell had hit the mirror and bounced back to him, he screamed in agony, and hit the ground with a sickening thud. He was down for the count.

Doone scrambled for freedom, tossing the bags of refuse at Brianna as he grabbed Micha’s arm and dragged him to Twanda and Christine. Brianna shrieked like a banshee and tossed a fireball their way. Doone jumped up just in time for the blazing ball to go under him.

“Like what’re we do to help Tommy and Kimee?” Doone panted. But before anyone could answer, they all had to run and run fast. The wicked stepmother turned herself into a crone and started after them.

As the crone disappeared around the corner in pursuit of them, Tommy realized that he remained alone overlooking Landru holding his struggling friend.

Imagining himself as a superhero, Tommy leapt from the fire escape and landed on top of the warlock, knocking him and Kimee to the ground. Landru scrambled to get up, but Tommy gave him an old fashioned punch to the jaw, rendering him unconscious.

Kimee jumped up, grabbed Tommy and embraced him like a long lost lover. Before he could say anything, she planted a huge kiss on his lips.

“My hero!” she exclaimed with a dewy-eyed expression.

“Later, babe! Like let’s bail before Heckle and Jeckle wake up,” and with that, they both escaped the alley like their shirttails were on fire.

Very good, once again,

So, Doone knows something got triggered in his mind in the Phantom's Lair? This is going to be interesting. I wonder if he'll figure it out...

Please do continue soon, I can't wait to see what happens.


D

slitherliggie yes Doone knows something happened to him, but he can't explain. Thank you for the kind words. So happy you enjoyed.

More will be coming soon. Don't go away!

Thank you to all who R & R'd. Here is the next chapter for your reading pleasure.

I have to split Chapter 24, so there will be a double post.

Please R&R. Enjoy!

**************************************
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Abandoned Porcelain Factory Outskirts of Paris 1879

A huge empty building once used as a porcelain factory,
stood empty on the outskirts of Paris and belonged to none other than Maurice D’Auberge. He and the remainder of his men brought the three caravans carrying the young girls and the opium into the back of the alley on the dark side of the building. Quietly they unloaded the cargo and ushered them into the deserted factory.

A dark figure lurked in the shadows of the alley where the
caravans stood, and followed the black of night into the factory. The shadow stood motionless as Derrell passed within inches of touching it.

D’Auberge’s office only had a scarred desk with a single
chair behind it and two other chairs in front of it. So, he lit a few candles and made himself comfortable with a glass of wine and some bread and cheese, which he had brought with him in a large basket. Derrell oversaw the men making the girls
comfortable in a room deep in the factory, currently used for storage. They placed the opium in the same room to
make it easier to guard.

Derrell reported back to the nobleman, who then checked his
pocket watch. Half past midnight told him his partner ran late, so he pulled another glass from the basket and poured some wine for Derrell, who happily accepted and sat in a chair opposite the desk.


As Derrell helped himself to some cheese and bread, a shadow
blocked the light. Both Derrell and his employer looked up and gasped. The Phantom hovered over them dressed in his black opera attire and cloak.

D’Auberge shook his head and caught his breath. “Mon Dieu!
You never enter a room like a normal man. You always scare us to death.”

“To death. Ah, yes. Clever choice of words, Maurice. I apologize for my tardiness,” Derrell tried to recover from his fright as the Phantom swept by him and found a seat on the other side of him opposite the nobleman.

“Where is Alain? I didn’t see him,” Erik accepted the glass of wine and sniffed it before tasting.

“He’s not here at the moment.”

Erik sipped his drink. “Good vintage. I know he that. Where is he?”

“He chose not to make this journey. Please have some cheese and bread.”

The Phantom refused. Something didn’t ring right. Alain would never miss an opportunity to earn money. Unbeknown to Anyone, he had stolen a look at the girls deep in the factory, as Maurice’s men kept guard.

“I haven’t much time tonight. May we get on with business?”
Erik sat down his empty wine glass.

“Of course,” the nobleman arose from his chair and led the
way into the factory carrying one of the candles for light.

The factory still had some dusty tables and over turned chairs scattered about in the darkness. The high ceilings made the building much colder than others. A foreboding wisp of cold air struck them and snuffed out the candle. D’Auberge had to
relight it. Derrell shivered in the semi-darkness, remembering the dead bodies of Arnou and Jacques lying in the cold, dark lonely woods.

The young girls drew back in fear as D’Auberge entered with
the candle, followed by the Phantom and Derrell. The sight of the tall man in black wearing a death’s head struck terror in their hearts. They feared he had come to torture them and
cringed when Erik passed each one, inspecting them carefully.

“These girls, how did you get them? This was not in the bargain,” Erik glared in disgust. His yellow eyes conveyed his
anger.

“Business is business. What does it matter? They will fetch a high price. Virgins always do. I’ve made sure that none of my men have touched them,” the nobleman reassured him.

“Have you no respect for womanhood?” Erik turned to the smallest girl, a pretty little one with soft green eyes and luscious red hair. She tried to keep herself covered with her
cape.

“What’s your name, little girl?” The Angel of Music questioned with concern.

“Margaret, sir,” she replied with a distinct English accent.

“She’s from England?” Erik shot a look to Maurice, who only shrugged, trying not to be afraid.

“Margaret, have you been hurt?”

“No sir.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirteen, sir. I am thirteen years old.”

“Thirteen years old? She’s but a child!” bellowed the Angel.
“Are you mad? How could you do this?” The Angel snarled at his partner.

“Erik, please. You are frightening the girls,” Maurice tried not to think what Erik could do to him.

“I am frightening them? YOU have kidnapped them. Ripped
them from their parents for what? So you can fetch a high price? Fools call me a monster, when the monster is YOU!” Erik turned on Maurice, but Derrell and several of the men trained their pistols on him.

D’Auberge felt more confident, so he took the opportunity to
needle him.

“Well, my dear Erik, looks like we will have to settle our
business in the other room. I see you are displeased with tonight’s cargo. Perhaps I shouldn’t even mention the opium.” One of the men shined some candlelight over the crates in the corner.

“Opium? What happened to the silks, rugs and spices?” growled Erik.

“They don’t bring as much money as tonight’s cargo,” laughed
Maurice, as he handed the Phantom the list of merchandise for him to sign.

Erik stared at the paper before him, itching to use the Punjab lasso. He had a feeling that such a night like this would come.

The paper listed the name of each girl, her age and state of
health, as well as the weight and quality of the opium. Erik looked up from the paper and glanced back at the girls. The list said eight, but he counted only seven.

“There’s a girl missing. The list says eight. Where is the
other one?” roared the Angel from Hell. D’Auberge cowered in spite of the pistols.

“She got lost,” came the lame excuse. Erik knew that Alain must have her so he said nothing more on the subject.

“I will buy all of the girls from you. Name your price,” The golden eyes blazed from within the hollows of the mask.

“Don’t be ridiculous! You could never afford to pay what they would be worth on the black market. Sign the papers and you will get your share of the profits when the merchandise is sold,” the evil leader tried to laugh through his fear. Crossing the Phantom signed his own death warrant, but he couldn’t pass up the money.

Erik eyed each pistol pointed at him. Fury made him think of nothing but using his signature weapon on each one, but would he be quick enough before a bullet could catch him? ? The thought of never seeing his precious wife again became unbearable, so he gave in and signed the papers.

Before they left the room, Erik looked back one last time at
the poor, frightened little girls. The oldest didn’t look much younger than his own dear wife. He prayed for the gods to give him strength to endure. Before knowing how it felt to
love again, he would have welcomed death on many a night. So many a dark, lonely night he had tried to seduce Death into taking him with her, to allow him that sweet rest in eternal
peace. But tonight, he didn’t want to go, he needed her as an ally instead.

Maurice led the way back to his office through the factory
the way they had come, only this time, Derrell and three other men, each held a lit candle and pistols pointed at the Phantoms heart. They stood too close to miss. But just like before, a puff of icy air snuffed out the candles. Three pistols
fired. In a moment, there one sickening thud after another echoed in the dark, empty room. Fumbling Maurice finally lit his candle. His partner had vanished, but three of his men lay dead at his feet.

Ten of his men rushed to his aid brandishing pistols, swords
and lit candles. Maurice assured them he had no injuries, but they stared in horror at their dead comrades.

Derrell remembered how the Opera Ghost worked, so he had
held up his gun as if ready for a duel, yes, held his hand at the level of his eyes, which stopped the Ghost from making him his next victim.

Both Derrell and D’Auberge shuddered in the wake of Erik’s
vengeance and they knew he had just started. D’Auberge motioned for the others to follow him, as they raced back to
those who watched over the girls. Perhaps they would find safety in numbers, at least for now.

As the Phantom made his escape from the old factory, he
melted into the empty void of night, and crept through the shadows until he saw a cab, which he hailed.

Inside the carriage, Erik closed his eyes from the horrors of
the night. For security purposes, he instinctively felt for the Punjab lasso inside his coat pocket. His breathing became
heavy and laborious and a sharp pain stabbed his right side. He examined himself. Blood! A bullet from one of the pistols fired. He sank back in his seat and closed his eyes.

His mind wandered to the events he’d left behind him, of the
frightened kidnapped girls and his partner’s betrayal. Again, society forced him to take a life. In the past, vengeance had made him kill as it did tonight. Taking a life replaced the act of making love. It used to give him euphoria, an adrenaline rush, but not tonight. After knowing the ecstasy of loving his sweet bride, death gave him no pleasure.

Maurice D’Auberge had become a very powerful nobleman who
employed many men to do his biding, not just as servants. Since he could not keep the girls in the factory, he’d have no choice but to hide them at his château, which spread out
for about a mile or so from there. To rescue the girls would be no easy task, as could dispose of just so many men before they’d overpower him.

He knew he had to act quickly, or his partner would sell the
girls, making their retrieval even more difficult. First, he’d have to find Alain and the missing child and then decide how to accomplish the rest later.

At the stroke of two, the carriage stopped near Le Rue Scribe. Erik got out and paid the driver. After glancing about in the dark to make sure no one followed, he hurried to the mouth of the lake and his boat. He winced only once from the pain in his
side.

Upon reaching the boat, he jumped in, untied it, and rowed
like the devil himself chased him.

Mae finished reading all she had wanted of the journals and
had since replaced them in the bookshelf. By now, she had bathed and lay in bed, half asleep, trying to wait up for her husband. She had prayed all night for God to keep him safe.

Her life with the Phantom, living in the cellars of the Opera House, giving several performances a week, and trying to get back home still seemed surreal to her. She felt like Dorothy in Oz; like any moment she would wake up and find herself
home. Maybe she should click her heels together and say, “There’s no place like home”, as the mirror guide had suggested.

Wrapping her husband’s ruffled shirt around her, she savored
the lingering essence of sandalwood, the oil he liked to use after bathing and shaving. Since it could overpower the
senses, he used very little of it. As usual, he dabbed on just enough to create a cloud of heaven to which his wife could cling.

Mae turned over to face the door when suddenly her love
appeared. He still had his stealth, for she had not heard him enter.

“Did I awaken you, my sweet?” Her husband tossed his cloak
on the chair in the corner. Then he sat on the bed and reached for her, while leaning over for a kiss. As she reached for him, he could see that she wore nothing but his shirt. His heart began to race, and his temperature rose with passion. As he pulled her to him, she exposed her creamy, bare thighs. He
ran his hands over them. How soft and smooth they felt. He claimed her lips hungrily, like a ravenous beast devouring its only meal of the day.

He could see that the mask annoyed her, so Erik removed it,
and continued kissing and fondling his lovely wife.

Mae enjoyed her lover’s touch and the sweet taste of his
lips But he reeked with the smell of death.
Not a physical scent, but one sensed by a discerning spirit.

CONTINUED IN NEXT POST

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

PART II

She broke the kiss gently, and whispered, “Are you hurt?”

“No. I am well,” he lied. His side bled, but he didn’t want
to alarm her.

“What happened tonight? Something went wrong, didn’t it?”

“I kiss you and something went wrong? How can this be?” he tried to smile, but his wife saw right through him.

Something about his journals had given her insight to who he
was and what he had become. She knew that he had been obsessed with death before his visions of her in the Mystic
Pool of Mazenderan as presented to him by Mitra, the Seer. A more distinct change took place in him when Daroga helped him escape from the Shah with the vile.

Curiously enough, Erik did not drink of the vile until a month before her arrival through the looking glass. If anyone thought that an elixir would completely cure them, wouldn’t they have taken it immediately? Perhaps being “death” itself held a morbid
fascination and he clung to it as he now did his bride.

“Erik, what happened tonight? You have a sadness about you and you reek of death.”

Her words struck him like a ton of bricks. His hands smelled of death. Would this incident destroy his marriage to the one woman in the world who truly loved him? If he lost Mae, he would surely die. How could he tell her? What would he tell her?

“Nothing happened,” he lied. “I only attended a business meeting with my partner. We import and export.”

“Import and export what?”

“A beautiful woman should not worry about man’s business,”
he tried to kiss her again, but she gently, held him at bay, and insisted he tell her the truth.

“You don’t lie very well, my husband. Did you use the lasso tonight?” She made him look at her and he knew he couldn’t lie anymore. For meddling in a man’s business he should scream at her as he had before and frighten her enough to cease her questions, but could he do what needed to alone, without her?

Life became good with this woman, but also complicated. Up until now, he had only concerns for himself, and at selected times, he longed for that eternal sleep. But now, he wanted to live and be like a normal man, in love with his wife. He wished he didn’t have to plot the rescue of eight helpless girls against a ruthless, power hungry nobleman who employed maybe a hundred men or so to do his biding.

Mae noticed the dark wet spot on his vest. When she touched it he winced. Blood!

“My God, Erik, you’re hurt!” she quickly crawled across him. He tried to stop her, but she pulled away to get something to clean and dress the wound.

“Where are the bandages and medicine?” Mae asked from the
other room.

“Cabinet, in the kitchen.”

The bleeding Angel could hear his beloved rummaging in the
kitchen. Finally, she ran back to him with bandages, medicine and a bowl of water with a towel floating in it.

Carefully, Mae unbuttoned and removed his vest. Then she did the same for his shirt.

“If I wasn’t bleeding, this would be most pleasurable,” Erik
tried to smile.

Mae returned the smiled. “Looks like a clean shot. The
bullet went straight through. We need to stop the bleeding,” she said as she cleaned and examined the wound.

“In the kitchen. Lower shelf of the cupboard. I have some special powder in a very small bottle which I picked it up in Asia,” came the reply.

Mae ran back to the kitchen and opened the cupboard. A bottle displaying Chinese characters met her eyes. Quickly, she grabbed it and returned to her bleeding husband.

“Is this it?” she held up the bottle.

“Yes.”

“Do I put it in the wound?”

“Yes. Both sides. Then bandage.”

Mae obeyed. After she made him comfortable in bed, she went back to the kitchen to get him something to drink and eat. The blood loss left him weak.

When she returned to Erik, his breathing had returned to
normal and he actually ate and drank without an argument. She left his plate and the half full glass of water on the end table at his bedside.

“I can’t believe you are really here,” he admired his loving
wife.

“I love you, Erik. You don’t think I’d let you die?” she reached over and hugged him. He winced a little.

“Sorry,” she released him.

“Don’t stop. Just don’t squeeze too hard. Be gentle with me,” he laughed and she laughed with him.

“Do you want to tell me what happened? Who shot you?” his wife laid at his left, pulling the blankets over them. Then she
wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his chest.

“I’m not going to get out of this, am I?”

“No. Not when you have bullet hole in you. The ones who
shot you, are they the ones lassoed?”

“Yes.”

For a moment no one spoke. Emma listened to her husband’s heart beating and the rhythm of his breathing. All seemed normal.

“Are you going to explain?” Mae persisted, as she tenderly
caressed his bare chest. He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips and kissed it lovingly.

“I have a partner, a very wealthy nobleman named Maurice
D’Auberge. He’s a good sailor and has an excellent crew. I bought a ship I call the Lady Phantom. Maurice and I became
partners to import goods from the Orient. Our contract requires my signature to approve the sale of the cargo,” he paused, and kissed his wife’s hand again and then returned it to his bare chest.

“I assume you didn’t approve of tonight’s cargo?”

“Opium and little girls ripped from the bosom of their mothers to be sold to the highest bidder replaced the usual cargo. I protested, but he has too many men for me to handle alone. So I signed the papers,” he paused again, and took a deep breath. “I saw seven little girls, but the papers declared eight. One girl is missing and so is Alain, D’Auberge’s nephew.”

“You think Alain has the little girl?”

“I am certain of it. I must find him and the child, then I must devise a way to rescue the other seven, but how? D’Auberge employs around a hundred men, not counting servants.
Besides the crew, the other men do things for him not fit for a lady to hear,” tears glistened in his eyes. “The youngest girl is thirteen years old. A baby. The eldest is only a little younger than you.”

“Erik, that’s horrible! We’ve got to help them.”

“Not we. Me only. I will not put you in danger.”

“You can’t do this alone. I know you’re the “big scary” around here, but you can be out numbered like in Persia and Constantinople.”

“The “big scary”? What does that mean?”

“Means you are the chief of making people afraid.”

“More phrases from your time?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm. The “big scary”. Interesting! Correct! I am out numbered.”

“But I can help. We can think of something together.”

“Together? What a delightful thought, but no. I will not
lose you.”

“Erik…”

“No! Listen to me. You have no idea what Maurice D’Auberge
can do. He was a pirate before he became part of society as a nobleman. He has killed as many as I. But I have never killed a woman and I have never been a part of anything like white slavery.

Fear keeps him at bay. I killed six of his men who acted on his orders when they tried to seize the Lady Phantom. He had never seen the Punjab lasso in action until then. And only then did he ever see my hideous face. My mask had been knocked off in the commotion. Six of his best men lay dead at his feet and he fainted straight away at the sight of my ugliness,” the
Phantom paused to take a swallow of water.

“Why don’t you rest a while and then we can go after Alain.”

“You insist on going with me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to take the broadsword?”

“Oh, yes.”

“If you have to draw blood, would you do it?”

"In defense of myself and some one I love, yes.”

“If you have to take a life, would you do it?”

“Same answer. In defense of myself and some one I love, yes.”

Erik released a long and weary sigh. He closed his eyes and hugged his wife with one arm. Sleep overcame him. After a few minutes of silence, Mae checked his breathing. He had fallen asleep and the bleeding had stopped. She kissed him tenderly and nestled herself in his arms.

So, now Erik is wounded and his wife says she will kill to defend herself and him... Very interesting, indeed.

I suppose when they find Alain and the eighth girl, they will, at least, have one more ally?


Please do continue soon, I can't wait to see what happens next.


D

Thank you slitherliggie. Glad to see you. So delighted you enjoyed this chapter. Got you on the edge of your seat, huh? Never read a Phan Phic like this one, have you?

More coming soon. Don't go away. Things are just warming up.

Excelent chapter Fay.... Reallly liked this one.
I awaite more of this phantastic story.

Devine_Muse delighted to see you and my thanks for your kind words. So pleased you enjoyed this chapter.

More coming soon, so don't touch that dial. I'll be right back!

Lovely chapters. I know I've been away, but what a treat to return to. Only Erik makes the brink of death and sustaining injury sexy and seductive, lol.

Thank you Chica de Nueva York. So good to see you. Happy you enjoyed a sexy albeit wounded Erik.

Thank you to all who have read and reviewed. Now for your reading pleasure, here is the next chapter.

Please R&R. Enjoy!

*********************************************************

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Paris 2006

As Tommy and Kimee rounded the corner out of the alley, they could see the crone throwing fireballs and small bolts of lightening at their friends, who dodged the mystic ammunition all the way down the deserted street. Had it not been so terrifying it would have looked comical.

Doone’s long legs lent him speed and soon he passed up Micha, then Christine and finally Twanda.

“Doone, do something!” screamed Twanda.

“Like I am,” he replied as he passed her on the fly, dodging a fireball.

“We can’t keep running. She’s gaining,” Twanda panted, continuing her pace.

“Open for suggestions,” Micha said catching up to her.

They both glanced behind them. The old crone had nearly caught up to them as she tossed mini lightening bolts from her withered fingertips.

“Cast a stinkin’ spell, gypsy boy,” she retorted as they ran neck and neck, while dodging blue streaks.

A light bulb went on in Micha’s head, so he ducked between a couple of cars. Twanda kept running. Christine grew tired with the crone breathing down her neck. Wrinkled, claw-like hands reached out for her delicate throat.

“Help! Help! Need help here!” screamed Christine, ducking the hands grabbing for her.

Micha closed his eyes for a moment and mumbled an incantation he remembered. All of a sudden, a portal opened over the crone’s head, just as her hands grazed the back of Christine’s head. The crone stopped and looked up as a load of manure dumped out of the portal, covering her completely. Then it closed as quickly and mysteriously as it came.

Muffled curses sounded from the pile of smelly manure. Everybody stopped running. Micha stood up from between the cars.

“Good going, Micha!” yelled Tommy as he and Kimee halted a few feet from the stinky pile.

“Let’s get out of here before she frees herself,” Micha grabbed Christine and Twanda and took off. Tommy and Kimee followed. As they faded from sight, Etienne and Landru reached the smelly heap. Wrinkling their noses they backed away as the muffled curses continued to emanate from the manure.

“Brianna? Are you in there?” asked Landru, covering his nose with his hand.

“Get me out of here!” muttered the stinking pile. “Get me out of here, now, you idiots!”

The two escorts looked at each other and shrugged. They knew they had to get her out, but no one wanted to dig with their bare hands.

Meanwhile, the five terrified allies found themselves back at the hotel. They shot up the elevator and back to the girls’ room.

Micha closed and locked the door behind him. Panting, he leaned against it. Doone stretched out on one of the three beds. Tommy flopped down in a chair by the table. Christine dove straight into one of the beds. Twanda, head down, supported herself with one hand against the wall near the beds. Kimee sat near Tommy at the table. All breathless kids shuddered, afraid to think of what to do next.

“You were wonderful, Micha,” Christine mumbled face down in the bed.

“Yeah, you were terrif!” Twanda panted.

“You gave me the idea. I wasn’t sure I could do it,” Micha took a deep breath.

“Way cool, man. Manure!” Tommy laughed.

“Twanda told me to cast a stinking spell,” Micha laughed too.

The others caught on and pretty soon they all burst out laughing. Suddenly, Twanda realized how loud they had gotten and put a finger to her lips and the laughter faded.

“We all nearly died out there. Now what?” Kimee wanted to know.

Everyone turned to Doone.

What?”

“You need to do something,” Kimee glared.

“Me? Why me?”

“You were the Phantom.”

“Look guys, like I know I said and did some trippy things, but like I’m no Phantom.”
Christine turned over and supported her head with her hand. “What made you change? I don’t understand?”

“You don’t understand? Like dude I’m clueless. One minute I find myself in the Phantom’s lair. Then I meet up with you guys and “BAM” I like have all these memories and know stuff…”

“Like can you remember any of that stuff?” Tommy playfully punched him.

“Like no. I only remember I felt like I was Erik. Did I look like him?” he shot a look to Christine.

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him,” she gave a blank stare.

“That’s right. You haven’t seen him yet. Crap! Micha?” Kimee looked to the gypsy boy.

He didn’t answer. What were they going to do? Obviously finding Brianna had become part of the answer, good or not. They really hadn’t thought about how they would approach her. Everything had been left to Doone. Something at the moment he approached the witch had broken the Phantom’s spell, but what?

“The Phantom was a clever dude. He not only sang like an angel and composed music, he was also an illusionist, magician, ventriloquist, architect, and builder of automatons. He mastered the Punjab lasso and became an accomplished musician,” Tommy thought out loud.

“So what?” Micha finally spoke.

“Dude, if we could recreate some of those skills, maybe we could beat the old witch at her own game,” Tommy suggested.

They all exchanged looks. Maybe he had something. Things had not changed as far as human, or in this case, non-human nature, and all the above-mentioned knowledge and skills existed in today’s world. Mix in a little magick and they’d have it. This could beat the crone, but how do they make her want to return to a ‘fairytale’ dimension?

Micha thought to try something. After all, a very powerful spellcaster had raised him. He had magick in him. So, he mustered up the courage to march over to the full-length mirror attached to the closet and as he stared into it, he chanted these words, “Mirror, mirror tell me how, to make Brianna want to leave now.”

They all waited, but nothing happened. Micha tried again. He really didn’t want to return to Sacré Coeur. “Mirror, mirror, hear me now, answer the question and tell me how.”
Again they waited. Nothing happened. Micha gave a long sigh. Christine got up and went to the mirror. At first she began singing softly, and then increased the sweet melodious volume. The mirror formed roiling, churning clouds as they had in her dressing room at the Opera House as she continued singing. Everyone’s attention now turned to the mirror.

“Who summons me?” asked the mirror guide.

Doone puzzled, as he had not been present in the dressing room when the mirror guide had spoken to them the first time.

“I said, who summons me?” roared the mirror guide.

“It’s us, the goofy American’s in the 21st Century,” Twanda retorted.

“Oh, yeah. You again. Now what?”

“We need a hint on how to get Brianna back through the mirror,” Micha spoke, his voice quavered.

“Brianna? You’re up against Brianna? You have my condolences,” the guide snickered sarcastically.

“Can you help us or not?” Twanda snapped.

“You don’t need me. You have all of the answers.”

“What does that mean?”

“You have the book and the man. What else do you need?”

“The book and the man? Huh?”

“You guys! Do I have to tell you everything? He’s lying on the bed and the book is in your possession. Go figure! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am being summoned by someone who really needs me.”

“Wait! Please, do you mean Doone and Leroux’s novel?” Twanda asked more politely.

“You got it, sweetheart! Gotta run! Tootles!” and with that, the clouds dispersed and the mirror returned to normal.

“Why can’t I ever get the mirrors to talk?” Micha looked at Christine.

Suddenly, the roiling, churning clouds reappeared in the mirror. “Your rhyme sucks, spellcaster. Besides, the babe is prettier than you and sings like an angel,” the mirror guide antagonized. Once again the clouds dispersed and vanished.

“Wise cracking mirror guide,” Micha huffed and turned away.

Christine smiled at the guide’s compliment. “I’m a pretty babe and I sing like an angel.”

A hush fell over the room as they pondered the guide’s true response, trying to ignore its sarcasm. Tommy was right. Now, they had to devise a plan, a real plan. They couldn’t just depend on Doone or Micha alone. They would all have to work together. United we stand, divided we fall became their motto.

Sleep and rest became a real need. This had not turned out like the vacation they had planned. Doone and Tommy retired to their room, dragging Micha with them. Because of the late hour, he didn’t want to return home and disturb his grandmother. Sure, the other day they had run around Sacré Coeur in the wee hours of the morning, but they didn’t have a crazed witch after them then.

Brava girl.
I always love your phics. You are such a skilled writer, and it's nice to know i can always have a great phic to read.
"That Phantom was a clever dude."
hahaha loved that line.

Cool, seems like we're making progress! Now I just wish I could figure out what they are supposed to do with Doone, the book and Brianna...


Congrats on another great chapter, my friend, I sure hope you continue again soon!!!!



D

Slitherliggie, thank you for a lovely review. So happy you enjoyed.

Devine_Muse thank you for the kind words. You like that sentence, "That Phantom was a clever dude", huh? There is more coming just like that.

Now for the next chapter which I will have do double post because of the length.

Please R&R. Enjoy!

***********************************************************
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Phantom’s Lair 1879

When Mae awoke to find Erik clutching her like he’d never let her go. She rubbed her hand across his muscular chest and leaned up toward his face for a kiss. He graciously obliged. Waking up to each other gave indescribable ecstasy. The kiss filled them with the same burning passion, which had drawn them together across space and time.

“We must go,” Erik whispered as he broke the kiss. “It will take most of the day to reach the woods. Dress quickly my sweet.”

“How’s your wound?” his wife moved his arm to examine his side.

“It is well. The bleeding has stopped. You are an excellent nurse,” he gently licked her lips and then kissed her.

Gently, his wife broke the kiss. “Thank you my husband.” Reluctantly, they separated from each other to dress.

Before leaving, Erik packed some provisions since they’d be gone overnight, at least. Mae snatched the broadsword from the wall, along with its sheath. Her husband smiled when he saw her dragging the sword into the kitchen and then he broke into uproarious laughter. She looked so cute, dressed in men’s apparel, dragging the broadsword behind her.

“What?” she puzzled at his laughter.

“You! You are a sight with that sword,” he exclaimed as he roared with laughter. She looked down at the sword. Now they both laughed. Indeed, she brought out the best in him. She couldn’t believe that this was the same man who had written the journals she’d read or the creature described in Leroux’s novel.

In a distant corner of the labyrinth stood a corral and barn, which Erik had built to keep César, the white horse he’d stolen from the stables of the Opera House and another horse he’d acquired.

Erik and Mae took the boat to the corral and docked it at the shoreline. From there they packed the provisions on the horses and walked them through a narrow path leading to La Rue Scribe. They didn’t notice the figures, which lurked in the shadows watching their every move.

“I didn’t know this path was here,” Mae remarked as they mounted the horses.

“I know,” smiled her husband.

They rode the back streets of Paris with the shadow riders doing a slow burn, careful not to give themselves away. In the stillness of the early morn, the city had not quite awakened. The soft stir of merchants preparing to open their shops hummed throughout the sleepy, frosty morn. The unpolluted air filled their lungs. It smelled clear and clean except for the occasional stench from certain alleys.

Soon they found themselves on the road leading out of Paris. Mae had no idea where they headed, but since Erik did, that’s all that mattered. As they rode, he pointed out choice sections, which had significant meaning to him. At the moment, he seemed happy and in a particularly good mood in spite of what he’d been through a few hours ago.

Wide-eyed Mae took in all her surroundings. She’d always wanted to see Paris, but not quite like this. It still seemed surreal, even dream-like.

“Do you still have questions of me?” asked the Angel of Music, who wore his black cape draped across his shoulders and the Black Death’s head.

“You won’t get mad?”

“Get mad? Mad as insane?”

“No. Mad as angry.”

“More speech from your century?”

“Yes. Sorry!”

“No, no, that’s quite all right. I won’t be angry. Ask your questions. I am prepared to answer them.”

His wife puzzled at the change in mood. Carefully she thought, as she surely wanted to take advantage of this rare opportunity.

“From where did you learn to sing so beautifully?” she finally asked.

“It’s a gift from the gods,” came the answer.

“No formal training?”

“No. None.”

“How did you learn ventriloquism?”

“From here and there. When I was in Nizhni Novgorod I traveled with a band of gypsies who were well versed in magic, illusions and throwing their voices.

While in India, there was quite a distinguished gentleman who helped me to perfect the art, enabling me to completely confuse the very best of soldiers. It caused quite a commotion.

It seems a particular small army thought they were being seized by thousands,” the Phantom chuckled at the thought. And this thought gave him an idea for part of his plan to rescue the kidnapped girls.

“You are so smart. You know a lot of stuff. I wish I knew as much as you.”

“You know a lot of…stuff, as well. You’ve mastered the broadsword and the art of entertaining a theatre of wealthy mongrels hungry to end their boredom.”

“Wealthy mongrels? Is that what you think of the people who attend the opera?”

“Yes. They are beneath me.”

“But you like the opera, don’t you?”

“I love the music, the genius of the composers, the skill mastered by the artist, not the mongrels who come to watch.”

“Okay, moving on. What kind of automatons did you make?”

“You know about the automatons? Mmm. I made several in the likeness of the sultan in Constantinople. He delighted in fooling his friends, but better to fool his enemies. Do you know what an automaton is? Of course you do or you would have asked what they were. Do they have automatons in your time?” the Angel not only showed his good humor, but his unique characteristic of rambling as described by Leroux. Mae marveled at how true to life the novel really seemed.

“Yes we do, but we don’t call them automatons. If they’re toys we call them animated. If it’s science it could be bionics or a type of robotics. Some are very sophisticated.”

“Interesting! Bionics. Robotics. Mmm. Ask me something else.” Talk of the automatons had given him another idea in his plan of rescue. Conversation with his young bride had stimulated the old brain and he wondered how he had ever gotten along without her.

“You’re in a good mood. Why are you so happy to answer my questions?”

“Because you love me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. To love and be loved. Isn’t that what all creatures want? You’ve nursed me back to health and now Erik is in a good mood. A good mood to answer any and all questions.”

“Ramble much,” his wife mumbled under her breath with a smile.

“Huh?”

“Tell me about Alain. DeBarge’s nephew.”

“DeBarge? You mean D’Auberge don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah, D’Auberge. DeBarge was a singer in the 80’s. Sorry!”

“Singer in the 80’s?”

“I’ll explain later. Tell me about Alain. Have you known him long?”

“Since he was eighteen years old. He had just begun to work for his uncle,” Erik cast a loving glance to his wife. “Even at that age he showed his eagerness to learn everything. He was so easy to teach, to mold. He enjoyed my company and I taught him how to survive in the woods, especially at night. Neither his father nor his uncle cared to spend such time with him.

I’ll never forget when I showed him how to melt into the forest and move as swift as deer. Oh how he loved trying to fool me by hiding, hoping I’d never find him. He was much like a child, even at that age. But then, he had to grow up fast after the death of his mother. Poor lad…” Erik paused and turned to his wife, as they continued to ride at a quick and steady pace.

“You’re so quiet. Have I bored you to tears, my sweet?” he asked.

“No, not at all. I’ve never heard you talk so much. It’s…it’s nice,” his wife looked him in the eye. His masked stopped her from seeing his facial expressions, but his eyes told her everything.

Some of the old Erik still existed, the one who had written all of the journals, experienced all of the travels and acquired all of the skills, even the kind that kills, but the sweet loving Erik whom she adored had also surfaced. How strange to see the two together. It seemed like nothing she could have ever imagined.

“Please continue my husband. I love to hear your voice,” she smiled shyly and looked away.

“You love me, don’t you? Yes, I can see it. I knew it when I first saw the vision of you in the Mystic Pool.”

“Ramble much,” she again mumbled to herself.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I do love you. Please continue.”


CONTINUED IN NEXT POST

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CONCLUSION

“Ah, yes, Alain. He’s in his late thirties by now. He still loves the house we found in the woods some years ago. Someone abandoned it. Why? We never knew. We cleaned it and often spent time there, talking and me teaching him magic, and how to find food…”

“I see boy scout stuff.”

“Boy scout stuff? What is boy scout stuff?”

“What you taught Alain. Survival in nature. You make a good father,” she again smiled shyly and looked away, hoping she hadn’t said something wrong.

“A good father? Me? I had often thought of that. But then I had abandoned the idea, until…until lately. Do you really think I’d make a good father?”

“Erik, are you smiling? With that death’s head I can’t tell.”

“I am smiling. I’m in a rather good mood.”

“Do you think Alain will give us any trouble when we find him?”

“No. There is no trouble that he can give me that I cannot handle. So, it won’t be any trouble at all.”

“You know you’re rambling, don’t you? I love you, but you’re rambling,” his wife grew curious to see his reactions.

“Rambling? Me? I hadn’t noticed. Depending on the mood and the circumstance, I suppose I can ramble. Does it trouble you, my sweet?” he pulled his horse toward her so he could catch her hand and put it to his lips.

“How could anything you do trouble me?” she smiled, but turned in time to notice something out of the corner of her eye.

The Phantom sensed it, too and they both turned to look behind them. Four men on horseback labored to catching up.

“Friends of yours, my husband?”

“Perhaps. I should greet them with the lasso,” he reached inside his coat pocket.

“Shouldn’t we ask them what they want first?”

“Ask if you wish,” Erik ducked a flying bullet fired by one of the riders.

The Phantom and Mae kicked their horses to a gallop as their pursuers increased their speed, firing an occasional shot. A vast amount of open space lay before them with no trees or shrubbery to take cover in. At this point, they could only stay ahead of the shooters and sway from side to side making the target more difficult to hit.

This chase went on until a patch of trees loomed ahead. If they could get there first, they’d have a chance to retaliate.

Again, they urged their horses to go even faster. They could almost feel the hot fetid breath of their would-be-assassins.

The Phantom signaled his wife to grab a tree branch and let the horses go. She obeyed and together they grabbed a branch and swung a leg over to sit upright for a better hold. The horses continued without their riders.

The shooters halted a little ways from the trees and dismounted with weapons at the ready. Slowly, cautiously, they crept toward the tree into which they saw the Phantom and Mae disappear.

“Try to keep one alive to question,” whispered the Phantom to his wife. She nodded her agreement.

Actually Mae had become terrified. She would have worried to death had she let her husband go alone, but now; coming face to face with the devil’s disciples came near to gut-wrenching horror. She knew she’d have to draw blood, and even take a life. The thought sickened her.

Again and again she went through the steps of her training as she readied the broadsword. First, disarm if they have weapons. Second, disable by taking out an arm, a leg, anything to weaken them. Third, go in for the kill. Aim for a vital spot and give it all you’ve got.

Erik cast a glance at his beloved He worried that she may hesitate and that would get them both killed. But they couldn’t turn back. The four assassins separated to encircle the tree. Erik focused on the two he’d targeted, his Punjab lasso at the ready.

As soon as one strode directly below him, he jumped down on the man as the lasso lashed out over the man’s head and with one swift, deadly yank, he fell dead. Erik then turned on the other man, knocking him to the ground and kicking away his gun. With lightening speed he removed the lasso from the dead man and tossed it with amazing agility and accuracy over the head of the man trying to get up. With another swift, deadly yank this one fell dead as well.

At the same time, Mae brought down her sword on the gun hand of her first target, sending the gun flying and the man screaming and cursing. Quickly she swung the sword at the other man, splitting his head open. She tried not to look or think about it, as the dead man hit the ground.

Then she jumped down on the one she had disarmed, sending him sprawling into the dirt. Without hesitation, she rolled over and jumped to her feet, slicing his leg open with one graceful movement. He grabbed his leg and let out a curse. By now, Erik moved to his wife and marveled at her skill. She stood shaking with the sword poised over her head ready to strike again.

“Are you hurt, my sweet?” he moved to his wife’s side. He could see tears in her eyes, but she held that sword tight, ready to kill again, if necessary. At first she didn’t answer, but nodded to the man.

“Do you wish to question him?” Erik toyed with the lasso. The bleeding man grew more and more terrified.

“You ask him…”

Erik turned to the man. “Who are you? Who sent you?”

“I’m bleeding to death!” screamed the man. His chocolate colored mane looked tangled and dirty while his eyes showed so much anguished they couldn’t make out the color.

“I asked you two questions. Answer them!”

“I am Michel…Michel Yvon Diddier. I…I was hired by M. D’Auberge to kill the masked demon,” came the reply. Again the man wailed as he held his bleeding leg.

“You’re Maurice’s brother-in-law.”

“Oui monsieur. Please help me. I’m dying!”

“How much is he paying you?”

“Please, I need a doctor.”

“Answer the question.”

“20,000 francs.”

“20, 000 francs? That’s all? Hardly worth the effort.”

“Please, help me. I cannot go back. D’Auberge will kill me. I will join you and help you fight him. Please, please help me stop the bleeding. I am dying,” moaned Michel.

Erik moved to one of the dead men and picked up a gun. He was quick to check the chamber without being noticed, and saw that it was empty.

“Here,” he tossed the gun to Michel. “Join us then.”
Mae lowered the sword. Still trembling, she puzzled at the wailing man. Would he easily betray his benefactor? But if her husband believed him, she would, too. As she turned her back, she heard the gun click. Upon whipping around, she saw Michel pointing it at her. Without a second to lose, the lasso lashed out and dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Quickly Erik moved to his terrified wife and embraced her. The sword dropped and she buried her face in this chest. Her mournful sobs broke his heart. What could he say or do to comfort her?

“Erik, Erik I feel horrible. I killed a man! And almost got killed myself!” she sobbed and hugged him so tight he winced. “I’m sorry,” she loosened her grip. “I forgot your wound.”

“No, no. Think nothing of it. Come. We must go if we expect to reach the woods by nightfall,” quickly he pushed up the mask a bit so he could brush his lips against hers.

“What about them,” she nodded toward the dead men.

“Leave them. We have no shovel to bury them and we’re wasting time,” at this, the Angel of Music, or more appropriately, the Angel of Death, whistled for César and the other horse. They responded immediately. Quickly he checked to make sure none of the men lived and soon he and his wife returned to the road toward the woods.

“The first time is the most difficult. I remember my first. It was rather complicated. I had no weapon and had no knowledge of the lasso at the time…” but before he could finish, Mae cut him off.

“Comfort me another time. I get the picture. How did you know he’d try to kill us?”

“An assassin’s loyalty lies with money. We didn’t offer to pay him. Therefore, his loyalty still lay with D’Auberge. I recognized the one you killed. He has attended each of your performances. He probably knew you. That means D’Auberge does as well.”

“This is the worse thing I’ve ever been through,” his bride sighed and looked away.

“Are you sorry you came?”

“I’m not sorry to be with you, but sorry that terrible things have to happen,” tears rolled down her cheeks. “I saw you check to make sure they were dead. I couldn’t. I saw what I did to the first man. My God! It was awful!” Her tears flowed like a river. Erik drew a kerchief from his coat pocket and offered it to her, which she tearfully accepted. He rode as close to her as possible so he could put an arm around her. It felt good to have someone to love, to comfort and to need him.

“They would have killed us without a second thought; you know that, don’t you? Of course you do, that’s why you’re crying. I understand.”

“Did you know they would come? Is this what you tried to tell me about DeBarge?”

“DeBarge? You mean D’Auberge.”

“DeBarge, D’Auberge. Whatever.”

“I knew, but I didn’t think he’d try so soon. We must reach Alain before he does. Maurice will want the girl as soon as possible. I am proud of you, Mae. You held your own back there. I feared you would hesitate.”

“How could I hesitate when they were coming to kill you? I love you so much, Erik. You’re all I’d hoped you’d be. I don’t know how or why things happened like they did, but I am here and won’t let anyone take you from me,” she leaned over for a kiss. He leaned down to her and took her lips to his. Gently, he broke the kiss.

“I’m sorry you had to…you know, but it was self defense.”

“I know. I can deal.”

“Deal? I can deal? What does this mean?”

“It means I can cope with the situation.”

“Ah, yes. I understand. I can deal. Okay.”

Finally, she smiled. “You’re getting the hang of it. I mean…”

“I know. The hang of it. I understand. I can deal,” he smiled behind

Lol, I like Erik doing the modern lingo,

Shame, her first kill, poor girl.

Emma? What happened to Mae?

I know i haven`t been around as much as usual lately (shame on me)
But i still love this story to bits it`s keeping me on the edge of my seat every time

Slitherliggie thank you for a lovely review. I've written this story over four times. Thank you for pointing out the errors which I have now corrected.

silver moon thank you for your kind words. Hope to see you here more often. Miss you much.

Now for the next chapter. Please R&R. Enjoy!

***********************************************************
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Paris 2006

The next morning, Twanda and Kimee sidetracked the chaperones while the others put together a plan of attack on Brianna.

They did not know how much power she possessed, so they would have to anticipate anything, as long as she didn’t transmute them-transform them into something.

Micha and Doone took care of the magic and illusions. Tommy and Christine took care of the automatons and ventriloquism. Twanda and Kimee would just have to fall in line when they returned.

Tommy and Christine checked out some of the toy stores, which proved to be an adventure in itself. After all an automaton was an ancient wind-up toy. Nowadays we no longer have wind-ups, but we do have battery operated animated ones and even some that talk, move, walk and maybe other unmentionable things, in essences they all acted on their own.

Neither Tommy nor Christine knew the first thing about ventriloquism, but they could devise a way to get a voice to call out from where they wanted it. It didn’t have to say anything particular, just distract.

They rummaged through what seemed like a million dolls, stuffed animals, even robots and remote control cars and trucks.

After awhile they made their choices and ended up hauling out a couple of bags apiece. Then it occurred to them. A cassette recorder/player could do the trick. Tommy had to explain that one to Christine. How totally in awe of the inventions of the 21st Century she became. The toys, fantastic! And now a machine, which captured the voice.

Formidable !

Meanwhile, Micha and Doone returned to the gypsy shop. Grandma greeted them with fear and fury that Micha had not returned sooner or called. He tried to explain as he filled a bag with dried herbs, various sizes of mirrors and other items to create parlor tricks.

At the sight of Doone, the old gypsy woman shook her head, mumbled a prayer in French while she crossed herself. The old thing in the cage shuffled across the floor and rattled its chains, bringing a shiver to her shriveled body.

Her grandson tried to comfort her with the assurance that he would return alive. His efforts didn’t convince her, but she gave him a charm, which she wore around her neck. It resembled a hand. What it meant, she didn’t explain and her grandson didn’t ask. He just hugged his grandmother, kissed her cheek, and thanked her for the charm as he put it around his neck.

Doone tried to speak to her, but she kept backing away, eyes to the floor, mumbling the prayer and crossing herself.

As they left the shop, Doone had to question. “Micha, what’s up with grandma? Like she acted like she’d seen a ghost?”

“She has,” came the reply. “You.”

“What? Me?”

“You are the ghost, M. le Fantôme,” Micha grinned as they walked along the narrow sidewalks of Paris.

“Like, hey! Not Phantom. Only Doone here. Did I act like “him” the last time grandma saw me?”

“Yes. And the way she acted today was the same as when you were last here. She tells me that you do not belong, that you are from another time. Weird, huh?”

“I don’t belong? I’m from another time? W…what does that mean?”

“Don’t know. Does it matter? It’s just the ramblings of an old woman.”

“An old woman whose wisdom you highly respect or we wouldn’t have gone back there. Micha, was I like, talking and acting…?”

“Yes to both. You were completely not you. You spoke in a different manner and possessed knowledge and skill that I could only dream of.

You admitted to be Doone, but said you had become Erik, the Phantom. Do you know what that means? Grandmother said it was not past life regression or spirit possession. She claimed that you were Erik, the Phantom from the Opera House legend. You are he whom they called “le cadavre vivant”, the living corpse,” at this, Micha stopped and stared at Doone who stood a good half a head taller than he.

“That’s real trippy. I don’t really remember much. It’s fuzzy. You and grandma are like creeping me out!” Doone shuddered at the thought of being something he couldn’t recall.

What happened? He had said that he wanted to be the Phantom, but did he really mean it No! He joked around a lot. It meant nothing. Had someone tapped into their thoughts? Mae had said she wanted to meet the Phantom and now she lived in his time and who knows what happened to her? Agonizing thoughts danced inside of Doone’s weary head. This trip to Paris should have brought fun, excitement and maybe romance if things had worked out between Mae and him. Certainly, he had planned to impress her.

After the two young men stared at each other for a moment, they moved on in silence. Micha had seen Doone as Erik. Inexplicable to say the least. Grandma should know what she talked about. Doone appeared to come from another space and time. Magick always proved unpredictable. This crossed his mind more than once as he looked down at the bags each of them carried. The creature caged in the gypsy’s shop proved that and so did he!

“Micha, your English is very good. You like sound American.”

“I lived in California and attended UCLA for three years. I planed to become a lawyer, but then my grandmother needed me here, so I returned.”

“She’s like all you have?”

“Yes, my parents were killed by supernatural means.”

“Huh? Like how? Were they like casting spells?”

“No. My mother’s gift was contacting the dead. One evening a customer asked her to contact a relative. My mother used a crystal ball to communicate. Something glowing from the crystal popped out bounced off of one of the mirrors and hit my mother. It killed her instantly,” tears came to Micha’s eyes as he recalled the incident.

“Oh, sorry dude. Didn’t mean to bring up sadness.”

“It’s okay. I can deal. When my mother died the customer freaked out and my father came running into the room. The same thing happened to him.”

“Like killed him?”

“Yes.”

“Is that the same crystal ball your grandmother uses?”

“No. She put it away. The one she uses is from a friend.”

“What killed your parents?”

“Don’t know. Grandmother said it was from the mirror. I don’t get it, but it had to do with the person my mother contacted.”

“Maybe Brianna?”

“Ridiculous! My mother was a medium, a profiler. Brianna is a fairytale witch.”

“But like with magic, anything is possible, right?”

“If that’s so, why would she kill my parents?”

“Who saw what happened? Your grandmother?”

“No. Only the customer and her story were fuzzy, incoherent. Huh! Maybe you’ve got something there. When Brianna came out of the mirror she seemed to know where she was and what she wanted to do. With a wave of her hand, she slammed me into the wall, and left me dazed and confused with the thing we now have chained up.”

“Why didn’t she kill you?”

“Good question. I never could figure that one. I have a book in one of these bags, which talks about witches. Maybe we can find out more about her.”

“Like Buffy and Giles in research mode!” Doone grinned.

“Buffy and Giles?”

“Yeah dude, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Hello! Pop culture reference.”

“Oh, yeah, Buffy,” Micha frowned trying to understand the reference.

In the meantime, Twanda and Kimee tried to escape the ever-watching eye of Mrs. Carlyle. Miss Peters decided to search for the others on her own and took off toward the Opera House, since things seemed to center around it.

Carlyle had cornered the girls in the hallway near the elevators giving them the third degree. She knew strange things had happened and the teens slipped out at all hours of the night, it’s just that she and Peters couldn’t catch them.

They had spent nearly two weeks in Paris and the past few days had been disastrous. Because the kids couldn’t be found at the time of scheduled tours or when parents called, the chaperones pulled out their hair and tried to deal with the situation.

How do you tell a parent you don’t know the whereabouts of their child? Granted the kids would start college in the fall, with the exception of Doone, but the parents had paid them to watch over their children and they had failed miserably.

“I know you kids are up to something. Ever since that visit to the Opera House all of you’ve been acting very strangely. And now Mae’s missing and that Christine-girl hangs around. I demand a straight answer.
Mae’s parents have called three times and each time I’ve had to lie. They are not going to believe me if I tell them a fourth time that she’s not around to talk to them. She doesn’t even answer her cell,” Carlyle had both pudgy hands on her more than pudgy hips, while tapping her toe impatiently.

“Well, like we just wanna see as much of Paris on our own. We don’t wanna be trapped in some stuffy museum or some boring tour. You and Miss Peters agreed we could sight see on our own,” Twanda whined.

“We agreed only if you’d let us know in advance. This is all subject to approval. And don’t give me wild stories about magic mirrors and men in black wearing capes. I don’t know if you’re talking about Batman or Zorro. Now, where is Mae? No lies!” Carlyle persisted.

“Mae will join us soon, I swear. She’s…she’s,” Twanda stammered and looked to Kimee for help.

“She met someone. A Frenchman and they got married…” Kimee babbled without thinking. Twanda elbowed her. “What?”

“She what?” Carlyle grabbed Kimee by the shoulders.

“She got married. Some guy named Erik. Nice guy,” Kimee rambled and glanced at her watch.

“How could she get married? How did she meet this man? Who is he?” questions spewed from the chaperone’s mouth. “Have we seen him? How…?”

“Stop with the questions! Man! She just met him when we went sightseeing. They fell in love and eloped. She’s nineteen. She can make her own decisions. Besides, Erik is a nice guy,” Twanda said hoping she wouldn’t have to eat her last words.

“Erik? Erik who? You guys have been so obsessed with Phantom of the Opera, it sounds like you’re making this up. Christine shows up in Mae’s clothes and Mae marries Erik. Come on ladies. How stupid do you think I am?”

“We know it sounds dumb, but it’s the truth. We swear!” Kimee whined and checked her watch.

“Why do you keep looking at your watch? Are you expecting someone or do you have to be some place? Out with it. I am really tired of your games,” Carlyle pointed to her room down the hall. “Let’s go to my room and talk. We need to get to the truth. Go! March!” She shooed them toward her room. Carlyle was not a mean person by nature, but she had no tolerance for mischievous children, especially ones who lied.
As a single parent she had raised two children. Both had married and had families of their own. Neither of them had given her any grandchildren yet, but you can be sure that none of them will be mischievous liars.

Suddenly, the elevator door opened and a couple came out. The girls saw their chance to escape; bolted for the elevator and made it just before the door closed. Carlyle screamed at them and tried to catch the elevator, but she didn’t get there in time.

Freedom!

Doors closed and the girls hit the button to keep them that way and then punched the one for the lobby.

“That was too close, again. We gotta to something to end this. My mind can’t stay ahead of Carlyle and Peters. They’re wiggin me out,” Twanda panted from the sudden break for freedom.

“Let’s hope we beat the old witch tonight. I can’t take much more of this, either. The whole thing is too weird,” Kimee leaned back and closed her eyes.

“We’ve all been through a lot together, but nothing like this. It’s totally unreal.”

“Maybe we wanted it to be real so much that we caused this.”

Twanda frowned at Kimee. “What?”

“We all wished for something Phantom related. Either aloud or in secret. Mae wanted to meet the Phantom. She said to talk to him and maybe a kiss or two. Now she’s married to him.

Doone wanted to be the Phantom and then he freaked us out by talking and acting like him. And us? All of us? We all wanted some kinda Phantom related experience. Didn’t we?” Kimee reasoned.

“Hey, I guess you’re right. Maybe it was us. Maybe we did cause all of this,” Twanda hung her head.

Just then the elevator doors opened and there stood Mrs. Carlyle with her hands on her hips and a look of disgust on her face.

“Thought you’d get pass me, didn’t you? Well I still have a trick or two up my sleeve,” she moved into the elevator with them. “Now we go back to my room and talk. And this time, I want the absolute truth.” The elevator doors closed.

Amazing as always girl.
I haven't read this in a while...I forgot how good it is. I agree with Slitherliggie.... Erik trying to get modern language was great.
Brava!

Devine_Muse thank you for coming by and for the beautiful review. You've made my day! So happy you like my story.

This is about half the book. There is a bit more to go. Please come back often and catch my updates.

Oh, dear. I wonder how the talk with Mrs. Carlyle is gonna go?

I sure hope they get the witch, but I wonder what will happen to Mae and Erik then...

Please continue soon, I can't wait to see what happens next.


D

Slytherliggie so happy to see you and that you enjoyed this chapter. Yes, Mrs. Carlyle is not happy with the girls, but they must hurry. Time is of the essence. Too many things have to happen in so little time.

Thank you for your kind words.

More to come. So don't go away!