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Black Angels	By : Provocateur Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 12725 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 3: Everyone has a Price
A/N: I’m taking some artistic liberties in this chapter. Raoul’s brother, Philippe, is not dead. Since this fic is based on the movie, Erik never owned a siren. He’s also hot and sexy like Gerard Butler, with a slight facial abnormality (only one side though!) hehe.

He looked around him at his former home. The word home had such warm connotations; it carried with it feelings of peace, comfort, and solace. When one was home they had a place to secure their body and mind, a confine in which to contain themselves and their possessions. Everything from the furniture, to the clothing, to the bedding spoke of one intimately. By touching the chosen trinkets of another you touched a part of their soul, as it was their wants and desires that led them to obtain the object and display it prominently in their quarters.
Erik had longed to posses objects of an almost ethereal quality. He had been denied beauty from the moment of his wretched birth when he was spat out of his unwilling mothers womb only to meet with cries of horror and tears of disbelief. Complete and utter contempt plagued him before he was even able to speak, walk, or think. It was naught but a cruel irony that his savior should be a place of garish splendor, a tomb of precious gems and sparkling grandeur. He loved to caress the beautiful golden statues and rich oak furnishings, relishing in their beauty while crying inwardly at their aesthetic fortune when they were nothing but mere objects devoid of any kind of warmth or life. His clothing was always of the highest quality, he knew that it was madness that drove him to care for his appearance when he did not wish to be seen. He just longed to feel as though he was apart of the Olympus-like extravagance that surrounded him.
He had made his home in a sewer, which he felt befit him wonderfully. Yet he created something awe-inspiring still. Deep red velvets adorned his golden bed; candelabras lit his path, black fur pelts rested upon his stone floors like a silk dress upon an elegant lady. His grand organ was his most glorious possession though, and it moaned beneath his musician’s hands. It screamed for him to touch it, to stroke it, to press himself into it with abandon. It longed to be passionately caressed and loved within an inch of its life, and he was all too happy to comply with its wishes. When he made his second great love create those hauntingly surreal melodies he felt beautiful and worthy of love and devotion.
Now his great opera was tattered and torn like an old and weathered beggar. Its glorious skin had become wrinkled, the smoothness fading into hard lines of misery. The rich colors were replaced by a charred blackness that gave the building a gray hue. It looked like death, and it smelled of death. His home was now no more then a grave, a grave containing only his hatred and his heart. He could smell his own rotting corpse when he opened the doors to his former palace. He had a purpose this night though, he had someone whom he had to see, someone whose help he was desperate for.
***
La Sorelli hated the smell of the dormitories. They still smelled of smoke, and the rot of the wood was becoming more poignant with each passing moment. Soon this place would collapse, the majesty of it gone forever, and in 100 years, no one would look twice at it. She had spent most of her life here, and in her mind it was a haven for her. Now that it was destroyed, she could not help but mourn for it as though it was as dear to her as her own mother. In fact, she thought bitterly to herself, it was as dear as her own mother, it was probably much dearer. She threw her tattered garments into her bag, her movements swift and angry. She looked upon her costumes, smiling at the memories they contained, and frowning at the pain of those memories. Her life as she knew it was gone in one instant simply because one man could not control his emotions. She thought back to all of the times the gentlemen in the opera would laugh at the weakness of women, but she saw weakness in them too. Her home, life, and career were ruined by one very weak man. An ugly man at that, one with a facial affliction that was quite displeasing to the eye.
She sat upon her sunken mattress and let out a harsh sigh before catching a swift movement in the corner of her eye. It passed almost instantly, the movement quicker than that of a swift feline. The figure was no longer there, but a shadow remained, darkening the carpet outside of her doorway.
‘Bonjour?’ She called out with uncertainty. She cursed her stupidity for speaking, as some strange visitor in the dormitories could only promise certain danger, and she had just carelessly revealed herself. She then realized that if he was standing outside her doorway, he knew she was there anyways.
‘If you are looking for the managers or the patron they have long since left this place.’ She spoke loudly, hoping to keep her voice sounding confident and unafraid. Her heart was now beating frantically in her chest and she felt a hot perspiration break out on her forehead. Her skin felt hot, and she felt trapped, like a mouse. Her ears started to feel as they were turning forward like a dogs would, trying to hear the sounds of the intruder, trying to measure his distance.
‘Mademoiselle, may I interest you in a little conversation?’ A deep voice came into the room long before a body did. The voice was smooth, cunning, yet laced with a viciousness that caused her to tremble. Her hands shook with fear and her lower back began to ache from the tremors of her lithe body.
‘Leave now, before I call for the police.’ She could no longer hide the fear in her tone as she looked around frantically for an object with which to defend herself. She grasped a candlestick off of the blackened nightstand and gripped it in her right hand. She felt the cool metal slide downwards in her soaking wet hands.
‘If you dare even attempt something so futile, I shall wring the life from your body and you will be dead before you hit the ground.’ The menace in his voice was familiar, she had heard it before. The ominous voice finally materialized before her, and its owner was just as frightening. A tall and powerful man stood before her, a sword held in front of his strong body, the point touching the floor, the glaring silver skull challenging her and her ridiculous excuse for a weapon. The eyes on the skull mocked her, laughing at her juvenile efforts. He stepped towards her, keeping the sword pointing downwards, using it as one would a gloriously bejeweled walking stick openly advertising their wealth. This advertised the power in his seemingly non-chalant pose. His body was still masked by the shadows, the dark hallway obscuring his face. He stood with his legs spread, one gloved fist gripping the handle of his instrument of death, the other placed arrogantly against his hip. His shoulders were broad and strong, and his posture was alarmingly straight. He filled the doorway with his presence, she could not see his eyes, but she could feel him staring at her with a lifeless expression. She felt ice run through her heated veins as he allowed her to take in his form, to fear his prowess, to cower at his greatness. The candlestick slipped further, she placed it between her knees and ran her hands down her dress, trying desperately to rid them of the sweat that kept her grip loose and her skin clammy with fright.
He continued to advance towards her, keeping the sword in front of him, dancing with it in a way that was so graceful she almost felt a certain amount of admiration for him. Perhaps she would have found his masculine appeal enticing had she not been fearing that he was about to ravish and murder her. He finally stepped into the light and she glanced up at his face, her mouth agape, her eyes wide. He wore a white porcelain mask over the right half of his face, covering him from his forehead down to his upper lip. He was sneering at her, his lip rising in an arrogant smirk, his dark blue-green eyes flashing. The flames of the candles created an eerie glow on his skin, leaving parts of it in shadow while shedding orange light around his eyes and mouth. He looked cruel, sadistic, like he was preparing to tear into a trapped creature, gladly spilling its blood. He barred his perfect teeth, but still his eyes remained calm, showing patience and victory rather then wild rage.
La Sorelli lost control of her better judgment and rose from the bed, preparing to tear from the room in horror, screaming out for help. The notorious Phantom would not allow such a thing though; he gently touched his blade to her throat when he saw her begin to rise.
‘Sit still Mademoiselle. I have much to discuss with you. If I may be so bold, and I shall be because I am not one for formality, I shall say that I have much to offer you. How would you feel about striking a most satisfying bargain with the feared opera ghost?’ He lifted her chin with the sword; her eyes shining with unshed tears, her lips quivering with fright. Her breathing was audible, it was harsh and ragged, the same way she breathed when she spread her legs for Philippe De Changy. He had watched them coupling many times, it had amused him, and it had excited him. An unwillingly celibate man needed to fulfill his desires somehow, did he not?
‘You can offer me nothing, I do not make bargains with murderers?’
‘Faulty logic my lovely trollop! You have made love to many a man who has killed. Yes, they have killed in the name of honor and patriotism, but kill they have done. You lie on your back and open your legs, and they promise you riches. That is a bargain, and they are murderers.’
‘You pig!’ She spat at him. ‘They do kill for honor, you kill for no reason at all other then the fact that the object of your affections chooses not to spread her legs for you!’ He looked upon her in shock, he felt his arm start to tremble, he longed to slap the insolence off of her pitifully pretty face, but he knew that smearing her pert nose across her flawless skin would make her less than willing to reason with him.
‘Do not speak of things that you know nothing about. I wanted much, much more from the woman you speak of then a fast fuck in the corridors.’ He never raised his voice, but she had still never heard something more dangerous.
‘I suppose you want one from me, since your first choice denied you.’
‘If I did I would have gotten it by now and been on my way. It would have happened before you even had a chance to scream or feel your skirts being ripped from your body.’
‘You try to frighten me.’
‘I do not need to try.’ She shook once again, a shudder coming straight from her rigged bones. The words he spoke were very true.
‘Why have you come back here? I could tell everyone that I saw you, and once they knew that you were not dead they would hunt you down like an animal and murder you like one too. No one would show you any mercy or restraint, they would shoot you like a rabid dog and hang your body with pleasure.’
‘Do I sense bloodlust in your tone my lady?’ He lifted her chin with his blade once more and chuckled silently. Only his mouth showed the slight laugh, his eyes remained icy and focused, burning into her soul. The muscles in his jaw were stiff and tight, the tension in them visible through his tanned skin. His clean-shaven face still looked gruff, the darkness of the hairs showing beneath his bronze complexion.
‘Yes you do. You deserve nothing but contempt and death for all of the lives that you have ruined.’ Her words bit into him like daggers. It was though she had run a rusty blade down his chest, leaving jagged lacerations in his flesh.
‘I ruined lives, yes. Have you ever given a thought as to why though? I know that you are not the most intelligent of women, but you must have looked at my face and knew at least one of the reasons.’ He stopped speaking; he did not wish to bemoan his fate any longer. He did not come here this night to cry about the past.
‘Your face does not concern me. Why have you come?’ The traitorous part of her heart felt a second of pity for his grave misfortune.
‘You do realize that at your age, it would almost impossible to find a position in another opera house. Dancers seldom live past the age of 25, career-wise of course. After they stop dancing their bodies soften and grow wide, their lovers grow disinterested, and they die slow and painful deaths. They are but spoiled fruits, bruised and rotten, and easily disposable.’
‘I have no interest in listening to your fear-mongering!’ His words expressed a truth that she went to sleep dreading each and every night.
‘I know of a place where you can gain steady employment. They will see in you only ripeness, and you can reward their good judgment by dancing away for them each night and riding their investors in the bedrooms of their vast estates.’
‘Fuck you.’
‘Touch’. You’ll want to after you see what I am about to do for you in exchange for a little bit of information.’ She nearly slapped him for his impudence.
The Populaire only kept you out of loyalty and laziness. Youï¿½ve been here too long to discard easily, and who wants to audition new dancers when itï¿½s not completely necessary? Madame Giry liked you enough, although she laughed at your simplicity whenever you opened your mouth. Now, long ago she wrote recommendations on each and every one of her dancers because she fell ill and feared that she would pass unexpectedly. As good fortune would have it, our saintly matriarch survived her illness and stored her papers away, never giving them a second thought. Now, I have your shining review on my person, and I will give it to you, along with one thousand francs, should you choose to comply with my request.’ He started at her, scanning her face for resignation and weakness.
She knew that at 28 years old, her career was in jeopardy. She favored the attentions of the Count De Changy, but did not feel like a proposal was imminent, or even probable. Perhaps it would be best to let her selfishness dictate her decisions, she had much to lose. Much more than anyone else at the moment, in her mind.
‘What do you plan on asking of me, Monsieur Opera Ghost? Or should I say, Monsieur Don Juan?’
‘Your insolence is beginning to annoy me.’ He raised one beautifully shaped dark brow at her, his eyes quickly flashing in anger at her ironic mockery.
‘Well, if you do not want to bargain with me, you do not have to.’ She crossed her arms over her chest defiantly; she had taken enough abuse from this man to last three lifetimes.
‘Your childish defiance does nothing.‘ He stood before her, her face was at the level of his abdomen. It was an obvious gesture of intimidation and dominance.
‘You still keep company with Philippe De Changy, no?‘
‘That is none of your concern.‘ In less than a second he had fisted her blonde hair through his gloved fingers and roughly dragged her head to meet his gaze.
‘It is very much my concern. You will tell me what I need to hear or I will butcher you like a pig.‘ He bit out the guttural threat with malice. He had such a powerful voice.
‘Yes, Yes I still see him from time to time.‘ She gripped his wrist and tried to pull his hand off of her, but he was much stronger than she.
‘Wonderful!‘ He released her hair, but remained a mere foot in front of her, he could still hear her breathing, he swore that he could almost hear the beat of her frantic heart.
‘Now,‘ he said softly, ‘tell me where he lives.‘
‘He has a townhouse in Paris, but I am not sure of the name of the street, I do not pay attention to such things.‘
‘I don‘t suppose that it matters, for I will not be the one entering his household. You will go to his home tomorrow, and you will engage him in some pleasant talk after your obligatory coital tumble. You will ask him where his brother now resides with his young bride. If he does not tell you, you will press on flirtatiously, do what you must to obtain the information. Once he informs you, you shall say that you must excuse yourself for whatever reason you see fit to choose, and you shall write down the information that was given to you. I do not trust your feeble mind to retain the facts. You will protect the note with your life, and you will bring it back here and leave it in this very room. If you return one day after you leave the note, you will find a large sum of money and your ticket to gainful employment. You give me what I ask of you, and I shall give you back your life. How is that for a bargain my lady? You did not even have to lift your skirts.‘ He rubbed his leather-clad hands together, his confidence growing with each graceful move of his body.
‘You try to purchase my assistance, do you think me a woman of no integrity?‘
‘You are mistaking morality for integrity. I am asking you to do something traitorous so that you may ensure your survival. One must possess integrity in order to thrive, and often times morals compromise integrity.‘
‘I am not a criminal, I will not aid one.‘
‘Oh, I think you will. You may love the Count, but you love yourself more.‘ His words hung in the air like the scent of cheap cologne. For a man who lived in solitude, he could read into the deepest recesses of the weak human mind with ease.
‘I will do this. I will do it only because I know of my future if I do not, you are not the only person with intricate knowledge of the unfairness of this world.‘
‘Ah, you are deceptively wise. However, if you decide to inform the authorities of our discussion this night I shall be forced to murder both you and the Count. I know this place better then any eunuch posing as law enforcer, if they come, I shall see them, and you will pay dearly for your betrayal.‘ His voice was calm when he spoke, the determination in his tone prominent. She stared up at him, she would not go to the authorities, she was too content with their bargain, and too fearful of his promises. He seemed to be a man who kept his word.
‘No one will ever know. I will keep my word, and you will keep yours.‘
‘Everyone has a price it would seem, I am glad to have been able to meet yours.‘
‘May God save your tortured soul.‘ She whispered silently as he turned from her and began to walk from the room.
‘Unnecessary my dear. There is no god, and I certainly have no soul.‘ His soul lived in the body of another person entirely, a person whom he would tear the world apart to find.
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Black Angels