A Phantom Enchantment (5 page)

C
HAPTER
5

O
wen and Flynn were a little drunk. Well, Owen was a little drunk. Flynn was hammered.

“What are you guys doing here?” I asked.

“Our train got in a few hours ago, and we wanted to surprise you!” Owen said.

I looked at my watch. “A few hours ago?”

“Well,” Owen explained, “we decided to get some food first.”

“And some drinks, it would seem,” I said, smiling. “I am so happy to see you guys, you have no idea.”

Owen knit his brows in confusion, and I promised to explain later. Other than the furrowed brow, he looked exactly the same—sweet and comforting as a puppy dog. I threw my arms around him in an enormous, grateful hug. Then I hugged Flynn, who smelled of wine, smoke, and Froot Loops.

“What have you done to yourself?” I said, running my hand along Flynn's scalp. He had shorn all his gorgeous, raven-colored hair so he was nearly bald and a little scary-looking.

“What? You don't like it?” he said.

“It's . . . different,” I said, taking a few moments to assess his new look. “So what was your plan then? To scale the walls of the school and break into my dorm room?”

“Actually,” Owen said, “we were waiting at the gate for the last half hour, hoping someone would come along. But then Flynn had to . . .”

“Take a piss,” Flynn said.

“Thank you,” Owen said. “I was trying to be polite, but yes, we were looking for a place for Flynn to relieve himself with a little more dignity than this alley.”

Flynn's face looked pained. “We didn't find it.”

I laughed. “Okay. If I can find my keys, I can sneak you guys into my room. Wait till you see it; it's gorgeous!”

My keys had fallen to the very bottom of my purse, which I rarely carried. I'd have to find a better spot for them from now on, especially if I was going to make these late nights a habit. We tromped up the five flights of stairs, and Flynn was practically gasping by the time we reached my room. He quickly found his way to the bathroom.

“Wow, you weren't kidding,” Owen said, checking out my new digs. “This room is amazing!”

“And check out the view.” I walked him over to the window and pushed it open to reveal the night sky.

“Wow. This is ridiculous, Emma,” he said. “I feel like I should shout something over the rooftops. Bonjour, Pa-ree!”

I peered down at the street and saw what seemed to be a red scarf, tied around the gate. I clutched my neck and realized my scarf was missing. It must have fallen off while I'd made my crazed dash down the alley.

“What's wrong?” Owen asked, seeing my worried look.

“Nothing. Just . . . when I was coming home tonight, I thought someone was following me.” Then I explained about my scarf.

“Why were you on your own?” he asked. “Where's Elise?”

“Oh, you know Elise,” I said, trying to sound casual. I didn't want Owen getting jealous. “That girl loves the nightlife.”

“Who's she out with?” he said, his voice a little edgy.

“Just some friends,” I said.

“Guys or girls?”

“Both.”

He looked like he was about to say something but thought better of it. “I'm going to get your scarf,” he said, abruptly leaving before I could stop him.

A moment later, Flynn came out of the bathroom, sighing. “I feel like a new man.”

“Thrilled to hear it,” I said. “The old you needed some work.”

“Eff off,” he said. “I'm drunk and unable to defend myself properly.”

Flynn helped himself to my pillow and lay down on the bed with an arm thrown across his face. I sat on the settee by the vanity.

“So tell me about your tour,” I said, trying to distract myself from the episode in the alleyway. “Are you guys going to be the next Death Cab for Cutie?”

He snorted from the bed. It turned out their European tour had been a bust. While they'd played a few gigs in London, the venues weren't big enough to attract crowds or agents. And Berlin was even worse. A few of their gigs fell through, and at one place, the owner kicked them out after Flynn almost came to blows with a bartender.

“He cut me off,” Flynn said. “And I was barely drunk.”

“The nerve!” I said, laughing. “Do you have anything lined up here in Paris?”

“Not yet,” he said. “We might just lay low for a while. See what Zee Citee of Luvvv has to offer.”

“You mean, be ugly Americans?”

“Bah,” Flynn said, sitting up and holding his head like it was a ticking time bomb. “I happen to be a stunningly good-looking American.” He smiled, then narrowed his eyes as they landed on something behind me. “What's with the purple sheet?”

“What?” I said, playing dumb.

“That purple curtain behind you. What's it hiding?”

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

“Clearly, it's something,” Flynn said.

“It's just an old mirror that creeps me out.”

“Why?”

“Because I saw something in it.”

Flynn raised an eyebrow. “What'd you see?”

“You're going to think I'm crazy.”

“Too late.”

I told him about the ghostly reflection and the moving candlelight.

Flynn's eyes lit up. “Oooh, a haunted mirror. Can I see it?” He popped up from the bed and ran toward the mirror, flinging off the drape with a dramatic flourish and examining it from all angles. “Yep, it's a creepy old mirror.”

“So you agree it's creepy?” I said, thankful to have my fears validated.

The first thing he did was try to pry it off the wall, finding just as I had that it didn't budge. “That's weird,” he said. “It's like someone bolted it to the wall. Maybe it's a two-way mirror, and there's some pervert who lives on the other side.”

“Thanks a lot,” I said. “You're really helping.” I stood up and grabbed the drape from him, throwing it back over the mirror.

“I'm just kidding,” he said. “You're really freaked out about this, aren't you?”

I felt foolish, close to tears for some reason. Owen came in a few seconds later holding my scarf and delivered it to me like he'd just found my lost kitten.

“Thanks,” I said. “Did you see the guy who left it?”

“No, there was no one there. But he tied your scarf to the gates. That doesn't sound like something a serial killer would do. Why are you so spooked?”

“Because she has a ghost in her mirror,” Flynn explained.

“Flynn!” I shouted.

“What? Owen should know about this. He can exorcise evil with one flash of those dimples.”

“Dude!” Owen said, embarrassed.

But his dimples were so cute they should have been registered as weapons.

Feeling rather foolish, I debriefed Owen on the mirror's supernatural status. He came and sat next to me on the bench, tossing an arm over my shoulder. And then Elise came barging through the bathroom door and into my room.

“Emma, you'd better be on your deathbed or I'll—” Her mouth froze in place when she saw Owen. “Oh my God, you're here!” she yelled, throwing herself at him as if she hadn't just been grinding with Jean-Claude a half hour ago.

“Surprise!” Owen mumbled into her shoulder.

“You little shit! Why didn't you tell me you were coming?” she said, punching him in the chest.

“It's great to see you, too,” he said, laughing.

Elise's face melted and she hugged him again, treating us to an unnervingly intimate kiss on his lips. Flynn glanced at me and rolled his eyes.

Once they had finished their smoochfest, Elise gave Flynn her requisite disdainful greeting. “Hey, Flynn,” she said. “Nice haircut.”

“Don't I get a kiss, too?” he asked.

“In your dreams.”

“You don't have to pretend you're not thrilled to see me,” he said.

“And so, the banter begins,” I said, and Owen laughed.

We sat around for about an hour, catching up on our summers apart and making plans for the next few weeks in Paris. And then came the awkward moment when I looked over and saw Flynn asleep on my bed.

I was pretty sure Owen was going to spend the night with Elise, but I hadn't counted on sharing my bed with Flynn.

Owen glanced at me forlornly. “Are you okay with this? I'd be more than happy to wake him up and kick him to the floor.”

“It's no big deal,” I said. “He can crash here.” I was a grown-up. I could share my bed with a male friend and not have it mean anything. Of course I could.

Owen and Elise left my room tangled in each other's arms, and I hoped that the walls were thick. I changed into my pajamas and then went to the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I came back in the room, I walked to the other side of the bed and gingerly crawled in, hoping not to wake Flynn. It was actually nice not to be alone in the room. I curled up about as far from Flynn's body as I could without falling off the bed.

I must have dozed off because, hours later, I nearly did fall off the bed when I woke to find Flynn's body curled against mine. I tried slipping out of bed without waking him, but his hand shot out and grabbed my arm before I could make my getaway.

“Emma?” he said groggily. “Where are you going?”

“I'm . . . going to take a shower,” I said.

He struggled to make sense of where he was, sitting up against the headboard and rubbing his eyes. He looked so boyish and confused I couldn't help but laugh. “What happened?” he asked.

“You don't remember?” I said. “Flynn, it was incredible. A revelation.”

His face looked panic-stricken. “Did we . . . ?” He was really buying it, and it was so absurd that I couldn't maintain the charade any longer.

“No, you idiot!” I said. “You passed out on my bed, and I had to sleep on the edge all night. You hogged the covers, too.”

“Holy shit, Emma,” he said. “Don't do that to me.”

“Is it really so believable that I would fall into bed with you on your first night in Paris?”

“Well, yeah,” he said. “I mean, look at this.” He gestured down at his presumably hot bod. To be honest, it didn't hurt to look.

“You're too much,” I said. “And now I really am going to take a shower.”

“Really?” he said, running a hand along his scalp. “Want some company?”

“You're the most sex-crazed guy I know.”

“No, I'm the only one who admits it,” he said.

I rummaged through my closet to find him some necessities. “Here's a toothbrush, Casanova,” I said, tossing it to him. “I'll be out of the bathroom in ten minutes.”

He grinned, like he knew something I didn't.

It took the four of us a while to get ready sharing only one bathroom, and then we went and got coffee and breakfast at a café across from Opéra Bastille. I had two buttery croissants, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and the strongest coffee I'd ever tasted.

“I'm moving here,” Flynn said as he inhaled a second croissant.

I tried to gauge the state of affairs between Elise and Owen, but they were being much more reserved this morning than they'd been last night.

“So is that
the
opera?” Owen asked, looking a little disappointed. I explained to him what Elise had told me about the two different opera houses.

“I suppose you two have already gone without me?” he said.

“Of course not,” I said. “We made a pinky swear. We should go for your birthday.”

“Yeah,” Elise said. “We could double date.”

“If you don't mind going with Mr. Clean over there,” Owen said.

“Hey, lay off the bald jokes,” Flynn said. “I'm a sensitive man.”

Now that I'd had a chance to get used to it, I kind of liked Flynn's hair. It made his pale blue eyes look even more ethereally beautiful. He flashed me a smoldering look, and I cracked up.

“Speaking of opera,” Elise said, “maybe you guys can help us with a school project we're working on.”

“Aw, man, I'd forgotten about school projects,” Flynn said.

Elise told them about the libretto contest and how the winning libretto would be developed into an opera to be performed at Opéra Bastille in the spring.

“We're going to write a modern retelling of
The Phantom of the Opera,
” I said.

“I think Andrew Lloyd Webber beat you to it,” Flynn said.

“No, I mean an updated version with a modern rock score. We're trying to think of a good premise.”

“I don't know much about the story,” Owen said. “Give me the basics.”

I told him about the Phantom who haunts the Opera House and how his love for aspiring singer Christine Daaé makes him rig a performance that displaces the lead, Carlotta, so Christine can make her triumphant debut. “But what the Phantom doesn't know is that Christine's childhood sweetheart, Raoul, was in the audience, and he's in love with Christine, too.”

“Ah, the ubiquitous love triangle,” Flynn said.

“Exactly,” I said. “But the Phantom isn't a phantom at all, just a man named Erik whose face is horribly disfigured. Since he's never been loved by a woman before, he feels he has to kidnap Christine and keep her trapped against her will until she falls in love with him and his music.”

“Hmm,” Owen said. “Maybe you could have your opera take place during a singing competition like
American Idol
or
The Voice
.”