| The Wedding Thief ~ Chapter 7 |
| Erik haunted the Paris rues until late that night. He had tried unsuccessfully to follow Carlos and his crew, but the Spaniard kept to very public places, thus keeping out of the Phantom’s reach. In frustration, Erik finally returned to Nadir’s flat, where he related the evening’s events to his friend. “He is toying with me, Daroga,” the Phantom seethed. “But to what end?” Nadir shrugged helplessly, keeping his fears to himself. “And why did he take Christine?” Erik asked fervently, holding tight to the lace handkerchief that had been the first clue. “Perhaps he seeks a ransom,” Nadir offered. “I had heard at the Opera that he’s considered ‘new money.’ But he doesn’t appear to have married into wealth, as he is without a wedding ring…Perhaps he seeks his fortune by more criminal means.” “Possibly, but I don’t think ransom is his game,” Erik replied. “The Vicomte had asked me if I had come to demand a ransom, which leads me to believe that the Spaniard has not yet asked for one.” Nadir sighed in agreement. “There must be more to this than meets the eye. If the managers have hired him to catch you, perhaps he’s going to use Miss Daae as bait.” Erik growled and paced the floor. “But how could he know of her? How could he know what she means to me? Nadir shook his head. “Perhaps an article in L’Epoque led him to that assumption?” “Oh, that blasted newspaper!” Erik snarled. “I swear it will be the death of me!” Nadir made a sign to ward off the evil eye, and was about to reprimand Erik when he heard a soft knock at the door. The Phantom must have heard it as well, for he immediately stopped his tirade and pulled back into the shadows. Nadir looked at the clock and saw that it was well past 4 in the morning. He made his way to the door as another knock fell, this time a little louder. The Daroga straightened his jacket and prepared to face what he assumed was the police. However, as he opened the door, he saw that a young woman was waiting on his doorstep. She was dressed in a gown of garish red and had thrown a black shawl over her shoulders to ward off the chill. Her garments and face paint clearly marked her as a lady of the evening. “M-m-mademoiselle?” Nadir stammered in embarrassment. “Monsieur…Kahn?” she asked carefully, surveying him with a sideways glance. The Daroga tried to hide his shock and stupidly nodded his head. “I have a message for your friend…Erik,” she whispered conspiratorially. Nadir caught his breath and cast a hasty glance over his shoulder. He could not see the Phantom, but he knew that he was there. “Tell him that Marie is here,” the girl persisted, growing a bit impatient. Nadir looked nervously out into the street, and then hurriedly ushered the girl into his flat. He locked the door behind them and turned to Erik for assistance. The Phantom seemed to materialize out of the shadows themselves as he stepped into the light. “Marie!” he exclaimed. His beautiful voice was exuberant at her appearance. He gave her a formal bow, and graciously introduced her to Nadir. “Messieurs,” the girl said shyly, casting her eyes to the floor as she offered a brief curtsey. “You have some news for me?” Erik asked anxiously. “Yes,” Marie replied, looking up at the Phantom with a forthright gaze. “Your Spanish friend came to see us again.” “I knew it!” Erik said, slamming his fist into the palm of his hand. “He met with Monique, one of the girls I work with,” Marie explained. “He conducted his business with her, and then asked to buy one of her gowns. Isn’t that odd? Well, of course, Monique thought it was a bit strange, but your friend offered her a considerable sum, so she gave him one of her dresses. Then the Spaniard took his leave - out the back door, as has become his custom. I took the liberty of following him, but could not get very far. His path was a dangerous one, you see.” Erik sighed in frustration and began to pace a bit. “I hope you will understand,” Marie said in her defense, “that there are some parts of Paris that are hazardous to a woman…even if she is accustomed to walking the streets at night.” “Of course, of course,” Erik sighed impatiently. He looked to Nadir, hoping the Persian would come forward with some prudent questions. Instead, Nadir played the gracious host. “Would you care to take a seat, Mam’selle?” he asked politely. “Perhaps you would you like a cup of tea?” “If it’s no trouble,” Marie answered. She gave her wrap to the Persian and tentatively moved into the room as graciously as she could. She had had men pay attention to her before, but not in such a proper fashion, and it made her feel a bit uneasy. She carefully seated herself by the fire and took Nadir’s proffered cup of tea. Once the girl was settled, Erik continued to question her. “So Carlos bought a dress from your friend…. Did he say what he might need it for?” “No,” Marie said, sipping the tea as daintily as she could. “But Monique said he probably took it for a lady friend….” “And what made her suspect that?” “He seemed particular about the size of the garment,” Marie said thoughtfully. Erik sighed and continued to pace. “Did he make any mention of having a woman in his life?” “No,” Marie confessed. “But I warrant he’s a man near matrimony, or something of the like. He’s too…ferocious in his appetites, as if he can’t sate them elsewhere.” Erik steadied himself near the fireplace and tried to calm the beating of his heart. His blood was rushing too quickly through his veins, and he could not seem to think clearly. “When does he pay his visits?” Nadir prompted. “He’s been inconsistent so far,” the girl explained. “Usually men will set up a pattern of sorts, but the Spaniard's only pattern has been his exit.” “Marie,” Erik said suddenly. “Would you be able to show me the road he traveled into the darker parts of Paris?” The girl set the teacup down, and nodded her head with fearful resolve. “Yes.” ~ Chapter 8 ~ |