Epilogue

I see it burning.

The opera house—in flames. The smoke is unbearable and I choke.

My husband pulls me out of my nightmare with a lullaby. I cannot say if I love or fear him more, but in these moments when the only sound is my heavy breath and his soft humming, I think I must know something of love.

Erik kisses me the moment I am fully awake, and though I know he hungers for more, there is work to be done.

"Maestro, did you hear the new soprano?"

He growls, whether for the change of mood, or distaste of the subject, I cannot tell. "She is a toad, and will make a mess of my opera."

I push him off with a naked foot and frown. "I believe a haunting is due."

Erik is a man of impressive strength and resolve. He is slender, but fearsome. Agile, cunning, and every bit the specter he plays. But there is one thing that he cannot stand against.

"Erik," I say sharply as he hovers. "It is my opera house."

His parting kiss is rough and affirming as he goes to do my will.

I have conquered the ghost.

I have acquired the opera house.

I have won the game.

Erik is the phantom, but I am the empress.