Phoenix

Meg had been gone for far too long.

Erik had watched her run off, shortly followed by Martine. Logic told him what might be delaying Meg's return. Logic also told him to let the couple enjoy their time together in private. But as the minutes ticked by, a sinking feeling crept into his gut that he could not dismiss as jealousy. Making up his mind, he parted his way through the crowd.

To his frustration, an older gentleman stepped into his path just as he neared the exit. “Ah, you must be Monsieur... erm, Sorro... Soru... Sorrish?” The man bumbled.

“Soroush!” Erik snapped, trying to cut past him; but the man did not budge.

“Yes, right. Well I am Martine Beaudet Senior. I see you have already met my son. I hope he was well behaved.”

Erik glanced at him with half-interested curiosity. “Should I expect any different?”

“No no, I simply worry sometimes. He can be a bit impetuous, and I wouldn't want him making a poor impression.”

Martine Senior prattled on, despite the fact that Erik was hardly listening. “Although I must say, my son's attendance tonight should be proof of the wonders of your establishment. When you re-opened the opera, I nearly had to force him into the carriage to attend opening night. He was dead set against it. Takes after his mother, you see. She never liked the arts. But I insisted that he show an interest in our best clients. And now it seems your theatre has stolen his heart. I can hardly tear him away!”

“How interesting.” Erik drawled, though quite obviously uninterested. “Yes, well your patronage is greatly appreciated. Now if you will excuse me, I am due for the Americas tomorrow and must prepare.”

With a sigh of relief, Erik was finally able to cut past Martine Senior. “Good evening, Monsieur!” He yelled over his shoulder as the double doors closed behind him.

Once away from prying eyes, Erik ducked into one of his many secret passages. He raced through the narrow tunnels, tearing off his guise as he went. False whiskers and stuffing littered his path as he went in search of his dancing angel. The cumbersome golden mask was the last thing to fall as he replaced it with familiar white porcelain.