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  She checked the entire house and found no sign of any real threat. That actually made her nervous in a completely different way. She didn't believe in ghosts in the first place, and what could a ghost do anyway? He couldn't seduce her. He couldn't even ask her out on a date. So what did it matter if the ghost of Erik really had “taken an interest” in her? Madame Moncharmin had said that Christine had touched something in him. She didn't see how she could have done that. She was all business and tough as nails at work. She certainly didn't have any charming feminine qualities that would shine out and grab any man's attention.

  When Christine finally settled down in her living room, she flipped around looking for a late movie to watch. She saw opening credits rolling on one channel, so she stopped there. The film starred Robert Englund, so she figured it would be a good creepy one. Then the title came up.

  The Phantom of the Opera.

  Christine laughed. It was just too much—why not enjoy it? She went into the kitchen and got down a bottle of wine, then settled on the couch to enjoy the movie and kid herself about the man she'd always known as Freddy Krueger chasing her around backstage at the theatre.

  Chapter 2

  Christine taped the three sketches to her wall, then stepped back to get a better look at them. She wanted to echo the style of the backdrop for the final scene to give the production unity, but she didn't really like the one that was the closest match. It had the same color scheme and the same columns, but she didn't like the sky behind it. She wanted it to look a little menacing and a little romantic, as Don Giovanni would be trying to seduce Zerlina away from her fiancé. She closed her eyes, trying to envision what she wanted, when she heard a knock at the door.

  She turned to see Madame Moncharmin standing there. “You wanted to see me?” the older woman asked.

  Christine sighed. “Yes. For two reasons.” She gestured to a chair. “Have a seat."

  Both women sat down, then Christine pointed up at the wall.

  "I'm having trouble communicating exactly what I want to the artists. Is there any chance any of the sketches from the original production here survived?"

  "I'm sure they are here. Such things are considered the property of the theatre. They will be somewhere in the library."

  Christine thought of the library, piled high with scores and posters and old folders. She held back a groan. “That's what I thought, but it's better than nothing. I want all this finished soon in case we need to do repairs during the runs of the other shows. I don't want people still working just to finish these."

  Madame Moncharmin nodded slowly, then looked at her, obviously having guessed the other reason Christine had wanted to see her.

  Christine finally broke the silence. “A few days ago, you were talking about the ghost.” She paused, almost losing her courage.

  "You want to know more?"

  Christine shook her head. “Not exactly. But I want to know if he can leave the theatre."

  Madame Moncharmin went very still. “May I know why you're asking?"

  "You said he was interested in me. Well, I think he followed me home."

  Madame Moncharmin rose quickly and shut the door before sitting down again. “Please tell me about it."

  "There isn't much to tell. I was taking a bath, and my cat began meowing at the door. Then I heard a sigh, or at least something like it. Then a man said my name, and there was another sigh. No one was in my house. Everything creaks, even when the cat walks around, so I would have heard a flesh-and-blood intruder. I either imagined it, or there's something you aren't telling me."

  The Frenchwoman shook her head, then looked down. “There is nothing I have not told you. This is something I have never heard of. You saw nothing? Felt nothing?"

  Christine shook her head. “Just the voice. I haven't heard it since, so I thought I had imagined it, but I'm not the type to imagine things. I never have been."

  Madame Moncharmin smiled and looked at Christine for a long moment, as if she knew she hadn't been told everything about Christine's sudden change in beliefs. “It is better to start believing in ghosts than to think you are imagining things?"

  "Yes. If I imagine something, there's something wrong with me. If there really is a ghost, then that just means I was wrong about something."

  "That's a very enlightened attitude. To tell you the honest truth, I do not know if Erik can leave this place. I have never seen a single sign of his presence outside of the theatre in all these years. If he could leave, why does he not go on and find peace?” She shook her head. “I am afraid I do not have the answers you seek."

  "I was afraid of that, but I can't ask anyone else. What if it happens again?"

  "Perhaps we should seek help? I know people who are very spiritual, and maybe I could find someone reputable to advise us."

  Christine thought for a second. She knew Madame Moncharmin cared about Erik and the truth, so she decided to trust her. “That would be nice. It might help."

  "The true cause of Erik's death remains a mystery. Perhaps it was an accident. Perhaps not."

  "You think he was murdered?"

  The other woman shrugged. “I have no proof, so I never told anyone, but I knew the men who worked here. My father hired many of them. They would never have been so neglectful. That row of lights should have been firmly secured. An accident did not bring it down."

  "Then perhaps we'll both find the answers we need, Madame."

  She smiled. “Perhaps we will. And do call me Madeleine. I would like that."

  "Thank you. I'd like that too."

  Christine looked back to the wall after the door had closed, then checked her watch. She might as well spend a little time in the library before going to lunch.

  * * * *

  Christine stood in the doorway, terrified to go any further. She looked at the desk that sat just inside the door, and the stacks of manila folders and layers of dust reassured her that no one had been in there for months. Books lined the perimeter of the room, and small, square windows at the very top of the far wall let in a little natural light, illuminating the dust floating through the air.

  She knew most of the sketches would be in leather folders or shoved away in filing cabinets, but there were at least ten filing cabinets in the large room and every one of the seven tables was stacked high with books, folders, and even loose papers. Most of it didn't seem to be in any kind of order.

  Christine went down the hall to the bathroom and returned with a roll of paper towels. She began with the table the farthest from the door, as it seemed more likely to hold what she needed. She turned on the lamp and began wiping off folders and leafing through them.

  An hour later, she was about to call it quits and go wash up for lunch when a noise caught her attention.

  It came from the very top of the bookshelves, somewhere high over her head. She looked all around her, but she saw nothing. She stood and pushed her chair in. As she gathered up the paper towels, she heard the noise again, but this time she hardly had time to look up.

  The top of the bookcase had broken from the wall, and the entire section came crashing toward her.

  Strong hands grabbed her and pushed her down. She felt a hard male body on top of hers, as well as the impact many falling books had on her rescuer. As the dust cleared, she turned to look into his face.

  Pale, with startling blue eyes and a scar across the right side of his face, he stared at her for a startled moment.

  Christine knew this man couldn't be a ghost. The warmth of his breath and the solidity of his body confirmed that, yet when she found her voice, she said, “Erik?"

  To her astonishment, he replied, “I won't let her hurt you."

  "What? No one is trying to hurt me."

  He shook his head. “I won't let her stop me.” He reached out and touched her face. “You will be mine."

  Christine's heart thudded. She was sure he was going to kiss her, but then he pulled away. Without another word, he jumped up, throwing books
everywhere, and ran from the room as though he'd done something wrong.

  "Wait! Erik!"

  Christine tried to follow him, but her knee gave way when she tried to stand. A group of men appeared in the doorway.

  "Oh, hell! What happened? Are you okay, Christine?” Andy asked.

  She nodded vaguely at the head of security. “Tell Simon no one should come in here. It isn't safe."

  Several of the stage workers were inspecting the rubble as Andy helped her up.

  "Come on, boys. We'll get someone who knows what he's doing in here to look at it. Don't need anyone else getting hurt."

  Everyone exited the room, leaving Andy and Christine in the hall.

  "We should call someone. You need to go home,” he said.

  She shook her head. “I'm going to my office. Just get Madame Moncharmin. She'll take care of me."

  He hesitated, then headed backstage.

  Madeleine met Christine at the door to her office.

  "What happened?” Anxiety covered her face as she ushered Christine to a chair.

  "An entire bookcase fell over on me, and Erik saved me."

  Madeleine looked astonished, then shook it off and asked, “How did he do that?"

  Christine took a deep breath. “He pushed me out of the way. I saw him and felt him. He pushed me to the ground and covered my body with his. He spoke to me. He said, ‘I won't let her hurt you.’ And then he said, ‘I won't let her stop me. You will be mine.’”

  "Her?” Madeleine's eyes went icy.

  "Unless I have an enemy I don't know about, he must mean his ex-girlfriend, the one who attacked him. Who else would want to stop him from being with me? She must be hanging around the theatre. She probably heard us talking."

  "She is dead. She killed herself after the accident."

  Christine's blood turned cold. “She did?"

  "Yes,” Madeleine said bitterly. “Because she was a coward."

  Christine thought she knew what was coming, but she let Madeleine take her time.

  "I told you I didn't think it was an accident. Now you know who I think was responsible."

  "But could she really attack me?"

  "If you can believe in Erik, why not in her?"

  "I don't even know what to believe about Erik. He was real. I touched him."

  "How do we know ghosts cannot be touched, cannot touch us? Who are we to say what he can or cannot do?"

  Christine shivered. “It's a little creepy having a ghost tell me that I will be his. I don't mean to sound offensive, but I don't know him at all."

  For a moment, Madeleine smiled. “Erik was always a bit melodramatic. It must have been the urgency of the moment."

  "Well, I'm grateful, but I need more than a few ghostly encounters to be swept off my feet."

  Madeleine smiled again. “Perhaps he will follow you home again tonight."

  Christine groaned, but then she giggled. “We sound like teenagers. This is serious.” She rubbed her knee. “I'll be hobbling for the next few days."

  Madeleine nodded. “You are right. You should leave here until I can find out more."

  "I can't just stay home from work."

  "Then I will meet you at the door tomorrow morning. I will not allow you to be alone."

  "You really believe this woman could hurt me?"

  "It took great strength for Erik to appear, if I am not mistaken. His manifestation convinces me that we must get help soon."

  As Christine drove home, the word “manifestation” stuck in her head. She knew nothing of ghosts, yet she knew what she had seen and felt the past few days. She couldn't think of anything but Erik and how she longed to feel his body pressed against hers once more.

  * * * *

  Christine shifted in her sleep. Pleasure coursed through her body as a man kissed her neck and ran his hand between her legs. She sighed at his touch, reaching out to find him in the darkness. Her eyes snapped open as her covers slowly moved down her body. She tugged them back up, ready to throw a shoe at Mai Tai for waking her from such a lovely dream. Until she saw the figure standing by her bed.

  She pulled the covers back up and rolled over, as if she hadn't seen him. She let her hand fall over the side of the bed, where she kept the baton she'd won in the first grade. One end of it had been broken off, leaving a jagged metal edge. She grabbed it and leapt out of bed, swatting at the intruder's head.

  The baton whizzed through the air, making contact with nothing.

  She gripped the baton with both hands. “Show yourself, or I'm calling the cops."

  "And what would you tell them?” a male voice asked.

  "Erik?"

  "Expecting someone else?"

  She threw the baton down. “What the hell? You're making jokes? Just tell me what you want."

  "You."

  She rolled her eyes. “You mentioned that. I'm turning the light on."

  "Allow me."

  A candle ignited in the middle of the room, and she soon saw that Erik was holding it.

  Christine tried to keep her face neutral. He looked good in the candlelight, despite his scar. His blue gaze swept over her body and made her feel hot all over. His dark hair framed his face nicely and he wore old-fashioned clothes, a ruffled shirt with a black velvet vest and extremely tight trousers, very likely the costume he'd been wearing the night ... he died. She sighed heavily, trying to push away a headache. “Very nice, but no seduction. What do you want?"

  "I want to explain what I need. Will you come for a walk with me?"

  "It's cold. We can talk in the living room."

  He held out his hand. “It won't be cold where we're going. Just trust me."

  She wanted to touch him again so much that she took his hand.

  Before she had time to speak, she realized they weren't in her bedroom anymore. They were standing backstage at the theatre in the middle of a production. Christine glanced back and forth between the stage and the man standing beside her.

  "That's you,” she whispered.

  "Yes. And no one can see us, so don't worry."

  She crossed her arms over her breasts anyway, glancing at the people moving around backstage. She saw Madeleine adjusting someone's costume. She looked much younger and happier. Madeleine walked right past her, glancing at the stage for a moment before disappearing on some errand.

  "I think your death was very hard on Madeleine. She's never looked as happy as she did just a moment ago,” Christine said quietly.

  "She knows it was no accident."

  Christine couldn't read his face. “Why are we here? If no one can see us, how can we stop this?"

  "That's not what we're here for."

  "What then?"

  He shrugged, almost looking embarrassed. “You can see the original production now. And me, of course, in all my glory."

  At that moment, the Erik on stage began singing “La ci darem la mano” to the actress playing Zerlina. The seduction song.

  He did have an amazing voice and a wonderful stage presence. Christine hadn't been paying much attention before she heard those words.

  She felt Erik slipping his hand into hers. “There you will take my hand, and you will tell me yes."

  She looked up at him. “What?"

  "That's what he's saying."

  She shook her head and tried not to smile. “I know the opera, but what do you want to show me?"

  "Her.” He pointed to a woman in the front row.

  Christine expected to see a young woman, but this one was very old. “Who is she?"

  "Anna. My savior. She's the one who made it possible for us to be together."

  She looked back at him. “But we aren't together, and you're dead. This is a lovely trick or dream or whatever, but it isn't real."

  The expression on his face didn't change at her harsh words, and she found it hard to continue staring up into his eyes. It would be so easy to become caught up in the moment with him, but she refused to let her guard down.

  "W
ho is she?"

  "She was a fan. She's been dead for many years now. She owned a large estate outside of town, and she let us have a fundraiser there once. We became friends after that night."

  "That doesn't tell me anything."

  "She was a witch."

  "A witch?"

  "Yes."

  She almost laughed. “I'm still working on ghosts, so I don't care to hear a definition of a real witch right now. Just tell me what she did. Why couldn't she save you?"

  "No one could have done that. No one knew Isabelle was really that crazy. But Anna knew all I wanted to do was find true love, and she made it possible."

  "How?"

  "My mother died just before this, and she gave me her wedding ring. I wasn't living in the best neighborhood at the time, so Anna kept it in her safe. It was something precious to me, something personal, and it was meant for my true love. It was exactly what she needed to cast the spell."

  "What happened?” Christine didn't believe what he was saying, but a part of her knew it explained everything. She wanted to believe that Erik really had been given the opportunity to find happiness, that magic and second chances were really possible.

  "I woke up here, on the stage. I thought I had only blacked out, but Anna was the only one here. She told me what had happened, and I knew it had been Isabelle. She gave me my mother's ring and told me I would be free when I found someone else to give it to."

  "Free? What do you mean?"

  He didn't answer her. He was looking up into the catwalk. Christine looked up and saw a woman with red hair doing something with a screwdriver.

  "We need to leave,” he said. He took her hand and pulled her away.

  "But can't we stop her?"

  "We aren't even really here. We're only seeing these things. And this is something I could do without seeing again."

  "I'm sorry,” Christine said when they stood in her bedroom again.

  "You have nothing to be sorry for. I only wanted to explain. Anna's spell made Isabelle feel all the pain she'd caused with her action. She took away my happiness and my life, but she got no satisfaction from it."

  "So she killed herself."

  He nodded. “Now she follows me everywhere I go. Or at least the hatred and bitterness from her evil heart do. She's never appeared to me or anyone else. She's like a poltergeist, nothing but destructive energy. But that was the price of the spell, the one that would give me a second chance to be happy. To rid myself of her evil and regain my life, I must find my true love, even as she tries to stop me."