Phantom

Madeleine 1831-1840
Eric 1840-1843
Giovanni 1844-1846
Nadir 1850-1853
Eric 1856-1881
Counterpoint: Erik and Christine 1881
Raoul 1897

"COMPELLING… FIENDISH FANS OF THE PHANTOM MAY FROTH AND FOAM, BELIEVING THAT NO ADDITIONS TO GASTON LER-OUX'S CLANKY CLASSIC
THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA
NEED BE. BUT THIS LIVELY INVENTION… SHOULD TURN FOE INTO FRIEND… EVEN THE MOST UNWILLING READER WILL FIND HIS DEFENSES PULPED AND SUCKED INTO THE FLOW."

—
Kirkus Reviews

PHANTOM

SUSAN KAY

Legacy

"[KAY] ADDS A NEW DEPTH AND PERSPECTIVE, MOVING WELL BEYOND THE FAMILIAR BOUNDARIES OF THE STORY… THIS IS A BOOK TO BE SAVORED, A SENSUAL AND OFTEN POETIC EXPLORATION OF A MAN'S INTERNAL CONFLICT BETWEEN GOOD AND EVIL AND OF A SEARCH FOR LOVE AMIDST DARKNESS AND DESPAIR."

—Publishers Weekly

"A MOVING RE-CREATION OF THE BELOVED CLASSIC."

—The Republic
(Phoenix)

"A BOOK TO BE SAVORED OVER AND OVER AGAIN, BECAUSE IT IS SO MUCH MORE THAN MERE FICTION."

—Jessica Russel Gaper Newsletter

"DO WE REALLY NEED ANOTHER SPIN-OFF OF GASTON LEROUX'S HORROR TALE,
THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA
? IF ITS AS GOOD AS SUSAN KAY'S
PHANTOM
, YOU BET WE DO!"

—
The Times-Picayune
(New Orleans)

"A VICTORY! STAYS WITH YOU AFTER THE LAST PAGE IS TURNED… Susan Kay's writing is similar to that of popular novelist Anne Rice. It is at times light and witty… gripping… haunting."

—Palm Beach Post

"INTRIGUING… Kay's creation is intelligent and well-researched."

—The Buffalo News

"A MUST READ! Haunting and riveting."

—
Rave Reviews

"A STYLE OF WRITING ONE RARELY ENCOUNTERS… setting the stage for a literary classic requires a lot of courage. Ms. Kay exceeds her courage only with her execution."

—
Richardson News

ISLAND BOOKS

Published by Dell Publishing

a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.

Fifth Avenue New York, New York 10103

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

Copyright
©
1991 by Susan Kay

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. For information address: Delacorte Press, New York, New York.

The trademark Dell® is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.

ISBN: 0440-21169-7

Reprinted by arrangement with Delacorte Press

Printed in the United States of America

Published simultaneously in Canada

January 1993 10 987654321

For Norman and Judy, who believed
.

I would like to thank Judy Burns Jacobson for unearthing vital research material on the building of the Paris Opera House; and for giving so generously of her time and insight during the production of this book.

None of us can choose where we will love…

-Eric

It was a breech birth; and so, right up to the very last moment of innocent ignorance, I remained aware of the midwife's boisterous, bawdy encouragement.

"Just the head now, my dear… almost there… your son is almost born. But now we must take great care. Do exactly what I say—do you hear me, madame?—exactly!"

I nodded and drew a panting breath, clinging to the towel that had been hung on the wooden bedstead behind my head. The candlelight threw huge shadows up to the ceiling, strange, leering shapes that were oddly threatening to me in the mindless delirium of pain. In that last, lonely moment of thrusting anguish it seemed to me that there was no one left alive in the world but me; that I would be shut up for all eternity in this bleak prison of pain.

There was a great bursting, tearing sensation and then peace… and silence; the breathless hush of stunned disbelief. I opened my eyes to see the midwife's face—rosy with exertion only moments before—slowly draining of color; and my housemaid, Simonette, backing away from the bed, with one hand pressed against her mouth.

I remember thinking:
It must be dead
. But sensing even in that confused split second before I knew the truth that it was worse than that… much worse.

Struggling to sit up against the damp pillow, I looked down at the bloody sheets beneath me and saw what they had seen.

I did not scream; none of us screamed. Not even when we saw it make a feeble movement and we realized that it wasn't dead. The sight of the thing that lay upon the sheet was so unbelievable that it denied all power of movement to the vocal cords. We only stared, the three of us, as though we expected our combined dumbstruck horror to melt this harrowing abomination back into the realm of nightmare where it surely belonged.

The midwife was the first to recover from her paralysis, swooping forward to cut the cord with a hand that shook so badly, she could hardly hold the scissors.

"God have mercy!" she muttered, crossing herself instinctively. "Christ have mercy!"

I watched with numb detached calm as she rolled the creature in a shawl and dropped it into the cradle that lay beside the bed.

"Run and fetch Father Mansart," she told Simonette in a trembling voice. "Tell him he had better come here at once."

Simonette wrenched open the door and fled down the unlit staircase without a backward glance at me. She was the last servant to live under my roof. I never saw her again after that terrible night, for she never came back even to collect her belongings from the attic bedroom. When Father Mansart came, he came alone.

The midwife was waiting for him at the door. She had done all that her duty required of her and now she was impatient to be gone and forget the part she had played in this bad dream; impatient enough, I observed detachedly, to have overlooked the matter of payment.

"Where's the girl?" she demanded with immediate displeasure. "The maid, Father… is she not with you?"