Chapter 3

The sky was clear, birds were chirping, the streets bustled with life, but Duck saw none of this as she dragged herself to work. By the time she had gotten home last night it was nearly two a.m. and her broken alarm clock had woken her up an hour earlier than it was suppose to. Now grouchy and drowsy, Duck slowly made her way to work.

It’s all because of that stupid gumshoe, making me stay all night in that office! Duck grumbled mentally and failed at suppressing a yawn. Just the thought of the police raised her ire. But that inevitably lead her to thoughts about the murder she had witnessed. Looking around at the people around her, all of them going about their own business, completely oblivious to her experience, Duck suddenly felt extraordinarily lonely. Charon had warned her to keep what she saw a secret for her own best interest, but he did not warn her about the hollowness that gnawed at you from the inside that made you feel like you were the perpetrator of the crime rather than its witness.

Clutching her hand bag, Duck turned a corner onto C Street and the familiar sign of “Kotin Pointe Shoe Shop” engraved in florid cursive appeared in view. Next door to the pointe shoe shop, a figure stood waiting by the door of the “Stein Jewelry Store” and Duck’s eyes lit up when she saw the person there. The red haired girl’s usual good cheer overcame her gloomy mood as she quickened her pace and waved in greeting.

“Good morning, Miss Edel!”

Edel Stein, a thin, pale woman, smiled a wee smile at the young woman as she approached. “Good morning, Duck,” Edel said in a serene but affectionate voice. When Duck came to a stop before her, Edel’s painted brows raised slightly at the dark bags under the girl’s usually sparkling eyes.

“Is something the matter?” The older woman asked in the same calm, even voice. “You do not look well.”

“Oh, uh…I had a hard time falling asleep last night, and my alarm clock woke me up earlier than it should've,” Duck said, mostly speaking the truth.

Edel studied Duck for a moment then smiled knowingly. “I see. Perhaps a cup of chamomile tea will help before you go to bed. It will help you sleep as well as relieve tension.”

“Tension?” Duck laughed sheepishly, realizing Edel was onto her uneasiness. “Well I’m not really tense, just tired, but being tired can make you tense and jumpy, I guess. In any case, thanks for the advice Miss Edel!”

Edel smiled at Duck’s babbling. “You’re welcome, Duck.” She looked into the jewelry store at the clock hanging on the wall. “Now, if you don’t hurry you will be late for work again; it’s almost half past nine.”

At this Duck’s head shot up and her eyes followed Edel’s to the clock, which confirmed the time. It seemed Duck’s dour mood and sluggish pace this morning had caused her to take longer than usual to walk to work, even if she left the apartment early thanks to the alarm clock. Now she was late. Again.

“Oh no!" Duck wailed. "I’ll see you later then, Miss Edel! Bye!”

Having said the quick farewell, Duck dashed into her workplace next door and without even looking to see who was around, yelled a hasty, “I’m sorry I’m late!”

Expecting a reprimand, instead Duck was assaulted by a cheerful, high pitched voice in her ears. “Oh Duck! Were you expecting Mr. Kotin to yell at you when you ran blindly into the shop? What if you had plowed into a customer? Then you’d get fired and end up destitute!”

“Lilie! Eh? Where’s Mr. Kotin?” Duck looked around in surprise, not to what Lilie said, but by the absence of her employer. Her two coworkers, who were also her close friends, had been stocking the shelves until she came in. Now Lilie, a blonde who bore a sweet smile, had her arms wrapped around Duck’s arm while they stood amidst pointe shoes, tissue paper, and boxes. Across from them Pique, a bright-eyed young woman who wore her hair in a tight bun, tilted her head to the back of the store.

“He’s in the storage room,” Pique answered, “checking the inventory.” Then leaning in, she and Lilie grinned mischievously, “Because the person who was supposed to do it was late again today.”

Duck’s eyes went wide. That’s right! I was supposed to do the inventory today! She clasped her hands to her cheek and groaned. “Ohh, I totally forgot!”

Pique shrugged. “Ah well, I wouldn’t want to do inventory either; it’s so stuffy in the backroom. Nobody would want to be in there if given a choice.”

“But I’m not late on purpose, Pique! It’s all because I couldn't get enough sleep last night!” Duck explained as she put away her coat, hat, and bag in the tall cabinet behind the front counter, and swung the door close with a loud “thump”.

Pique crossed her arms and raised a corner of her lips appraisingly. “You do seem a little moody today,” she commented. “I can even see some dark circles under your eyes. Was it because of what the boss said to you yesterday?”

“No, I’m used to him yelling at me for being late,” Duck sighed at the admission.

“Is it because you had a fling?” Lilie piped up and brought both Duck and Pique’s thoughts to a screeching halt. Dreamily, Lilie continued, “It’s like in the novels! You met some dashingly handsome young officer but he’s been called to duty, leaving you behind heartbroken!”

At this Duck was both flabbergasted and speechless. Thankfully Pique shook her head and said, “There isn’t a war going on right now, Lilie. There aren’t any ‘dashing young officers’ running around New York City, or at least, not many, that's for sure.”

“Indeed!”

The sudden voice nearly made the three girls jump out of their stockings. Mr. Kotin, a lean man sporting a small mustache and wearing a green sweater, strolled into the room, holding an account book and pen in the hand behind his back. “Love is a sacred thing, Miss Lilie, not something to be taken lightly and played with as if a toy. So many of the young people these days do not understand that, or they no longer appreciate all that love is and can be, taking it for granted like the very air they breath.” In a dramatic fashion, Mr. Kotin placed his free hand over his heart, and pronounced, “After all, it is love that brings a man and a woman together, and from there holy matrimony is born!”

Correctly thinking the power of his speech had stunned the girls into silence, he turned to them and cleared his throat. “However,” he said in a less dramatic voice, “right now you young ladies should be working! Especially you, Miss Duck!”

Startled out of the daze induced by his earlier deluge of words, Duck bowed her head and apologized. “I’ll make sure to come in on time tomorrow, sir! I’m so sorry!”

Mr. Kotin sighed and handed her the account book. “If it’s because of that alarm clock again there’s a clock smith on Russell Boulevard. He’s been in business for thirty plus years and can fix anything made with gears and springs. Now, I have done half of the storage room so far, so I want you to finish the other half and do the display room. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir…” Duck answered weakly as her boss walked away to attend to other business. Thankful that she didn’t get yelled at (too much) this time, Duck was grateful for some work to take her mind off of everything. But as she glanced out the shop window on her way to the backroom, her mood clouded over again when she saw someone she wished to never see again standing across the street.

It was the young detective from the night before. He stood leaning against a lamp post, an open newspaper in his hands, but Duck could tell from the tilt of his gaze he wasn’t standing there to peruse the morning headlines. Duck wasn’t sure what made her more furious at that moment, the fact that he made her late for work, or that he was spying on her while she was at work. Dropping the account book on the front desk, Duck marched out of the store and into the street. From there she walked into mid-morning traffic, skittering around honking automobiles and clunking street cars, and more than once had to stop abruptly to avoid getting ran over.

Meanwhile, Fakir had given up his pretense of reading the paper when he saw her step outside. When Duck set foot on his side of the street he remained where he stood and met her anger head on.

“Why are you here?” Duck demanded through clinched teeth.

Fakir shook the newspaper he held before folding it along its creases. “Reading the morning news, isn’t it obvious?”

“And you just happened to be reading it right across the street from where I work?” Duck’s voice rose, making a few people turn their heads as they walked by.

Fakir tensed, and quickly scanned the area around them for eavesdroppers but found none. This girl really has no idea how much danger she’s in when informants for the mob could be anywhere, he thought to himself. “I would advise you to keep your voice down, unless you want them to find you,” he said quietly. This reminder checked Duck’s anger, but it did not stop her from glowering at him.

The detective tucked the folded newspaper under one arm and replied in an infuriatingly cool, dismissive voice, “As for your earlier question, this is a public street; it’s not a crime to stand here and read.” Leaning forward slightly, he said in a lowered voice, “And besides, if I’m not here nobody would be watching your back, and it’s clear from the way you ran across the road and started making a scene that you can’t do it yourself.”

Duck pulled back and yelled, “I can take care of myself! I don’t care if you think you’re protecting me, I don’t appreciate being stalked!”

The corner of Fakir's mouth flinched, evidently not liking Duck's choice of words, or her attitude. “It’s for your own good,” he repeated. “We don’t want you to get yourself into trouble simply because no one was there keeping an eye on you.”

“But of all people why does it have to be you?” Duck retorted. “There are plenty of cops in New York City, so why do you have to be one to watch me?!”

Fakir didn't flinch from Duck’s rage and answered her matter-of-factly. “This is my case, so the responsibility to maintain your safety falls to me,” he said. “But in case you're thinking about requesting a different guard, you're out of luck. The department can't spare anyone else for the task.”

Duck felt like pulling at her hair in the face of his patronizing attitude. “Don't you have other things you need to do? Like work or something?”

“This is my work.”

“Well I have my work to do too, and you are keeping me from that!”

“You were the one who crossed the street to come yell at me. I didn't make you do anything.”

“Well that's because I can't work knowing there's someone staring at me all the time!”

There was a pause in their verbal volley as Fakir considered this. “Fine. I will keep an eye on you on your way to and from work but not while you're at the store. However!” Fakir interjected sharply before Duck could say anything. “You swear you will not leave the store during the day by yourself. If you plan to travel anywhere outside of your work place you will inform me ahead of time.”

Duck heaved a huge sigh, before she gasped, “Oh, all right then! Fine, have it your way! But if I see you during work, I'll-I'll...call the captain and tell him you're bothering me!” She threatened weakly, but that seemingly pale threat made Fakir shift a little and glance away, as if the thought of tattling to the captain bothered him just a little bit. Seizing on his momentary distraction from her, she continued, “Now if you'll please leave me alone, I'll be going back to work!” And with that, Duck turned around and left, but not before sticking her tongue out at him as a last jab.

Fakir scowled and watched her as she thread her way back through traffic before vanishing into the store. His green eyes carefully scanned the area, and when he saw nothing out of the ordinary, took his leave of the lookout with a “Humph!”

Inside the store, Pique and Lilie watched as Duck stomped back in, causing the bells on the door to clink loudly.

“So…who’s he?” Pique ventured, her interest roused by the stranger and his relationship to Duck.

Duck grabbed the account book she had left behind and growled, “He’s a prick, that’s what he is!”

At this Lilie cooed, “Oh, so he’s the source of Duck’s depression I see!”

While Pique joined Lilie in a fit of girlish giggles, Duck decided to escape their further probing by retreating to the storage room. Despite the cramped space and stuffy air, Duck was thankful to be away from prying eyes and perked ears. But one thing still would not leave her mind: the shadowed image of the man she has seen the night before. I wonder what color his eyes are…Duck wondered to herself while her hands worked, scribbling down numbers and flipped a page in the thick account book. While she couldn’t deny the thought of him frightened her still, she also felt a growing sense of fascination with that man.

Prince…Captain Sideros had explained that that was the meaning of the foreign word she had heard the victim utter. Despite the brutal crime this man had carried out, Duck could imagine him as a prince. Not perhaps one on a noble white steed like in fairytales, but the way he dressed, the way he carried himself…there was something refined about him.

Absorbed in her thoughts, Duck’s reverie was broken only when Pique knocked on the storage room door. “Duck, are you going to have lunch with us? Lilie and I want to check out this new Italian café that opened last week. They even have gelatos there.”

“But that’s all the way on M Street. Is Mr. Kotin going to let you take such a long lunch break?”

“He went to a customer’s place for an appointment. He just left and won’t be back for at least an hour.” Pique winked.

Duck considered her friend’s offer but thought better of it. She had already lost the groceries she bought yesterday; she couldn’t afford to squander the money she had left by eating out at a fancy cafe. “It’s alright, thanks. I’ll stay and watch the shop,” she answered.

“Are you sure? I hear the waiters there are cute.” Pique enticed, but the red haired girl grimaced.

“I’m going to be over my budget if I do. Maybe next time?”

Pique’s shoulders drooped, genuinely disappointed. “Okay then. I’ll see you in an hour!”

“See you in a bit!” Duck smiled as she followed her friend out of the storage room and waved them good bye.

On the other side of town, Rue walked past the hanging boughs of magenta bougainvillea framing the front gate of her mansion under the bright noon sun, and took a seat in the back of a black Chrysler. Dressed in a burgundy Chanel dress, her black hair carefully done and hidden underneath a bejeweled dark-purple cloche hat, Rue was the epitome of the fashionable young woman of her age. Taking out a compact from her purse, she quickly examined her make up before snapping it shut and looked up to the reflection of the uniformed chauffeur in the rear view mirror.

“I have a meeting at 1:30 at the Jefferson Building. You know where the place is?”

The driver nodded, “Yes, Miss Legnani.”

Rue sat back against the plush leather seat, contemplating the sound of her stage name. She began using the name of Odile Legnani when she debuted in the film industry two years ago. “Rue” was not grand enough of a name for an actress, especially not an accomplished actress, which Rue had full intention of becoming. “Odile” was a far more appropriate name; it called to mind the image of the Black Swan: elegant, majestic, and strong, three qualities she emulated and exuded.

As the car was ready to pull out of the driveway a maid hurried up to the car and waved to the driver for him to stop. Rue rolled down her window and rather irritated by this last minute delay, demanded, “What is it?”

The timid maid stuttered, “M-Master Mytho called, miss. He said he won’t be able to come by this evening, and that he’s sorry he’ll have to break off the engagement for tonight’s party.”

Rue’s eyes narrowed. “Did he say why?”

“No, just that some business came up that he had to attend to.”

“I see.” Rue inhaled a deep breath. “Phone him back and tell him it will be fine. We can go to another party together some other time.”

When the tinted window was rolled up again and the car on its way, Rue’s mind lingered on her absent beau. She knew perfectly well what a “job” meant to Mytho and that the business he was called away on today most likely had to do with the aftermath of that hit from last night. She wondered who the victim was, but she mentally shook her head. No, that mattered little, and that was not what was bothering her. It was Mytho she was concerned about, and the repercussions of his profession haunted her.

As the daughter of Don Corvo, Rue was like a star: bright and beautiful but born and surrounded by darkness. As such, her family’s business bothered her very little. She had met other henchmen of her father before, and had never been overly concerned about their fates. But with Mytho it was different. The fear that one day he would get caught nagged at her, and like the moon sways the rise and fall of the tides, the feeling rose and fell with each job he carried out. This time was no different, but besides concerns about the police, something about Mytho himself was worrying Rue. One reason she adored him was because he, unlike many of the other men she had dated, was sincere and honest. His smiles were true, his actions pure. But that was changing now. On the outside he was still as charming as he had always been, but his words were edgier, like a knife’s edge that grows sharper the longer it’s polished against a stone.

As the streets outside passed by like a never-ending parade of fleeting shapes and colors, Rue remembered the time of their first meeting. She was sixteen and was infatuated with dance. Before the motion pictures took off every little girl dreamed of being the prima donna in a ballet or opera. Rue was no different and had practiced classical ballet since girlhood. She had been going to a boarding school in Upstate New York for the last four years and had studied ballet there. Without notice her father sent word that she was to return to New York City. Rue had no choice but to quit the school, as it was unwise to challenge her father’s order. Once back home she learned it was because some upheaval had occurred within the family and Don Corvo wanted his daughter close by, in case someone should attempt to harm her while she was away.

For weeks Rue spent her days cooped up inside the house, waiting for the tension within the family to die down. Finally unable to stand the boredom any longer, Rue had appealed to her father to let her practice ballet in a dance studio nearby, citing that her technique would deteriorate if she did not practice regularly. In the end her father had agreed to let her go only if two bodyguards went with her and stood guard outside the building. It was under those conditions that Rue found herself practicing alone in the empty studio with only the crackling music from the phonograph as her companion.

The scene surfaced clearly in Rue’s mind. She was performing grand jetés, her shadow mirroring her jumps as the warm glow of twilight filtered into the room through the dusty windows. She had been so absorbed in her leaps that she did not notice the young man slip into the room. The door latch clicked and the sound broke Rue’s concentration for a split second, right as she was about to land from a jump.

Rue did not remember what exactly happened right after that, only the aftermath. She was lying on the floor, expecting a painfully twisted ankle as she opened her eyes. Instead she felt a warm body move beneath her and found herself in the arms of a boy with pale hair and amber colored eyes.

“Are you all right, miss?” he asked in a gravely concerned voice.

Rue stared at him, then realized he had dove in and caught her from her fall. “I-I’m fine. Who are you and what are you doing here? This studio is closed.” She added, though it occurred to her she was not actually upset by this stranger’s intrusion on her practice session.

The boy smiled and Rue was arrested by his ethereal appearance. The fading light made the old cotton shirt he wore glow with a soft creamy color. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow and she could see and feel the warm, smooth skin of his arm against her own. A slow blush crept over Rue’s cheeks but she hid it by looking away from the boy as they stood up from the floor. In the background the phonograph continued to play, adding a sweet melody to this already surreal encounter.

“My name is Mytho. I’m an apprentice here but I lodge upstairs. I was told by the instructor not to come down here after five because someone had booked the studio for the evening. However, I realized I had left my shoes here after afternoon practice. I thought I would be able to pick it up before you came. I’m really sorry for interrupting you and causing you to fall. It’s good that you’re not hurt.”

Rue was intrigued. She had never met someone like him, someone who possessed an angelic appearance and a gentle, intelligent voice. Mytho walked over to a corner and retrieved the ballet shoes she had not noticed were there before. Rue watched him, and asked, “Those shoes are barely holding together. You should get a pair of new ones.”

The boy however, shook his head. “There’s no need to.”

“But you can’t keep dancing in those; they’re on the verge of falling apart! No matter how good you are as a dancer, you can’t perform at your peak unless you have good shoes.”

At this, Mytho turned around and Rue was taken aback by the sadness in his eyes. “That is true, but I won’t be dancing any longer,” he said and looked at the still room with its wooden barre and polished mirrors lining the wall. “I’ve run out of money and will have to move out of the studio next week. I’m trying to find work, but haven’t had any luck so far.”

“You can come work for my father.”

Mytho’s eyes widened in surprise at this unexpected offer. As for Rue, she had become captivated by this pale haired boy and desperately wanted to get to know him better. She was also desperately lonely, for she had no friends here in New York City, and craved the company of someone her own age. But since he was leaving the only way to keep him around was if he went to work for her father. Father’s always looking for new people, and this boy looks smart and sharp, she reasoned. And if Father liked him he will keep him around longer, and the thought of that prompted Rue to continue to say, “And once you get enough money you can come back here, or go to another place, to study and dance. That way you don’t have to worry about not having a place to go.”

She walked closer to him, her long shadow melting into his as the last rays of day began to fade. Though this was not her true intention, Rue felt it would get him to agree, and indeed, Mytho’s spirit brightened and his smile returned. “That would be wonderful! Oh!” he seemed to realize something belatedly. “How rude of me, I haven’t asked for your name yet.”

“My name is Rue,” the raven haired young woman responded.

“Rue,” Mytho repeated, letting the syllable roll off his tongue softly. And just when Rue thought his smile couldn’t get any warmer, she was proven wrong. “I’m very glad to have met you, Rue!”

Rue blinked her eyes and the memory faded back to the recess of her mind as the gray streets of New York came back into focus. Everything had gone according to plan: her father agreed to employ Mytho, and in the beginning he was a delivery boy, carrying goods the family dealt in from one associate to another. Gradually the errands became more important and riskier and it did not take long before Mytho realized just what kind of “business” her family was involved in. And yet, he never left her. Rue told herself it was because he was in love with her, just as she was in love with him; why else would he be willing to stay in the darkness when he could be shining, under the brilliant spot lights of the stage he had yearned for? Perhaps he had abandoned his hopes for ballet, content in the comfortable dark nest he had found. She had outgrown her childish dreams over the years as well. Movies have replaced more traditional performing arts in popularity, and Rue recognized that to become the prima donna she had always dreams of she would have to trade in practice rooms for movie sets, grand jeté in a dance studio for takes in front of the camera.

But even as ballet remained no more than a footnote in the present, its influence on her past could not be easily, or willingly, erased. And it was so that as the car drove past the pointe shoe store, a pair of toe shoes advertised on a poster in the window caught her attention. For a split second in her mind, Rue remembered herself in pointe shoes, back in that time before her anxieties, and a pure and pristine Mytho held her in his arms. The shop passed by as fast as the flash of memory. Not willing to let it go, Rue leaned forward and said to the chauffeur, “Turn back around and drop me off in front of that pointe shoes shop back there.”

“But the meeting Miss Legnani—”

“It will be fine. I’ll tell them I got lost and it took me longer than expected.”

With that the driver dutifully made his way around the block and came to a stop in front of the Kotin Pointe Shoe Shop. He opened the door for Rue, who instructed him to come back in half an hour and gave him a few dollars to pass the time before he drove off, leaving her alone in front of the store.

Duck looked up when the door opened and the bell on the doorknob twinkled. Getting up from behind the counter, she brushed her dress and greeted Rue with a smile. “Hello, do you have an appointment with us today?”

Rue scanned her eyes over Duck, taking in the girl’s simple clothes and old-fashioned hairstyle, and shook her head briefly. “No, I’m just looking.”

“Oh! Okay, please take your time then.” While Duck went back to her chair behind the counter Rue walked around the shop. On the left side of the shop were short shelves stocked with newly made pointe shoes, all separated according to size. On the back wall photographs of famous ballerinas past and present watched over a barre installed into the wall. A floor-length mirror framed in bronze shared the floor with a plush Louis XIV chair in the space between the barre and the front counter. The walls were painted a soft rose color and the vase of fresh flowers by the oak counter lent a peaceful, elegant quality to the store. All in all, Rue assessed to herself, for a place in this part of the city, this store was quite impressive, though she couldn’t imagine there being too many dancers who would come to the Bronx for their pointe shoes when they could order their shoes from Paris or London, and she voiced those thoughts to the lone shop girl present.

“Quite honestly, I’m surprised to find a pointe shoe store here. Upper West Side would be a more appropriate location for a place like this.”

“Mr. Vaslav Kotin said it was too expensive to open a store in that part of town, and he likes it here just fine.”

“Vaslav Kotin? Is he Russian?” Rue inquired disinterestedly as she continued to browse.

Duck nodded, but Rue did not see, as only three quarter of her head was visible above the tall counter. “He came here about seven years ago because of the revolution. The photographs in the back are all pictures of his former clients.”

Rue paused in her walk around the store at this revelation. “Is that so?” She arched her brows and recalled the faces of famous ballerinas she had seen. While she did not fully believe this secondhand story about the store owner’s history (By her count half the prima donnas in Imperial Russia would’ve been his customer at one time or another, if one were to judge by the photos. Either the man was greatly exaggerating or else he really was an extraordinary cobbler), nevertheless, Rue’s curiosity was piqued and she looked more closely at the shoes around her.

Almost immediately she noticed a pair of red toe shoes, so different in color from the others that she didn’t know how she could have missed them when she first surveyed the store. Rue walked back to the red shoes and traced a manicured finger over the smooth satin. The shoes were indeed very well made, constructed from high quality fabric and leather, stitched and glued together seamlessly. If ballet as a whole was considered high art, then toe shoes like this would be the bases for ballet itself; for the shoes were an object of artful beauty by themselves. Thinking this, Rue mused if perhaps the owner was not exaggerating his credentials after all.

Picking up the red satin shoes, Rue turned to Duck. “I want to try these on.”

Duck hesitated when she saw which pair of shoes Rue was holding. The shop girl looked at Rue uneasily. “Those belong to someone who special ordered them, I don’t think—”

But Rue cut her off and took a seat in the chair by the mirror. “Nonsense, I’m only trying them on for a little bit; no one will know anyone has worn these.”

Duck could do little but accept Rue’s request as the raven haired actress handed the shop girl her coat and hat. Stepping into the shoes, Rue stood and examined her feet in the mirror, then at herself. From the outside the shoes look to be a good fit but Rue could feel the shank was too hard for her foot and the cut on the heel too high. This was no surprise, since the shoes weren’t made for her. Nevertheless, she wanted to indulge a little. Lifting her arm, Rue laid one hand on the barre, brought her feet into fifth position, stretched her arm out, and performed a port de bras.

Duck watched from the side. She marveled at the precise movements that told her this dark haired young woman had been training professionally for a long time. In the simple turn of her foot, the curve of an arm, one could see Rue's natural grace shining through. Her expression was dreamy as she moved through her routine, her eyes half lidded as if absorbed in a world all her own. Seeing this, Duck was reminded of the pictures in the back of the shop, of the ballerinas dressed in their delicate costumes. Rue wore no tulle skirt, and because ribbons had not been sewn into the shoes, she could not go en pointe. But the silk of her shimmering dress and her lithe figure were just as enchanting as any classical dancer.

She’s so beautiful…she must be a professional dancer! Shyly, Duck ventured, “Mm. So what company are you with?”

Rue lowered her arms and turned her back to the mirror. With the end of the exercise the dreaminess had disappeared from her eyes, and she looked at Duck now with a clear, alert gaze. She shrugged lightly. “I don’t do ballet any more.”

That wasn’t the answer Duck had been expecting and her voice echoed her surprise. “But why? Your technique and balance are really good—”

“Have you ever heard of the story of the girl in the red shoes?” The actress said as she sat back down in the chair, crossed her legs and reached down to caress her borrowed shoes, savoring the touch of the satin against her skin.

Duck combed through her memory of tales her grandfather had told her but could not recall any involving red shoes. Taking Duck's bewildered expression as her answer, Rue explained, “It’s about a girl who was to keep dancing forever in her red shoes. I was like that once, wanting to keep dancing my days away, wanting to become the prima donna in the center of the stage.”

Duck frowned. “What changed?”

Rue smiled wistfully and pulled one shoe off her feet. “I grew up, and realized no one can go on dancing forever. Now instead of dancing I have found another way to be in the spot light.”

Duck was silent as Rue took off the other toe shoe. Then the shop girl said quietly, “My mother used to dance as well, but stopped after having me. She taught ballet and worked in this shop part-time after we moved here from the old country. Even though Mother stopped dancing I believe she never forgot her love for dance.” Azure eyes met ruby ones as Duck smiled at the former ballerina. “Even though you’ve moved on, when I saw the way you moved and how happy you looked while wearing those shoes, I don’t think you have forgotten your love for ballet either.”

At this Rue was surprised to find herself speechless. She was naturally a quick-witted girl, and rarely found herself caught off guard by other people's words. But now, instead of words, her lips curved and she found herself returning Duck's smile. It seemed the shop owner’s origin was not the only surprise she would find here. Intrigued by this seemingly unassuming girl, Rue inquired, “What’s your name?”

Duck hesitated. She was used to people’s surprise at her name, but yesterday’s encounter with Fakir made her more wary than usual. It also didn’t help that, as much as she admired Rue’s beauty and talent, Duck felt a little intimidated by her, not the least of which was because of the other's commanding presence and piercing gaze. At last, Duck, with a notable measure of embarrassment, whispered, “It’s…Duck.”

“Duck?”

To her credit Rue didn’t laugh or scoff, just raised her thin dark brows at the name. But Duck interpreted the surprised tone in Rue’s voice as disbelief, and quickly explained with stumbling words, “It wasn’t my idea! I don't know why my grandpa named me that, though people say he was a bit strange and had an odd sense of humor so maybe that had something to do with it. Mother didn't object because she thought it sounded cute, like a duckling, but I think it makes people think I’m clumsy, and it’s all round not a very flattering name to have.” By the end of that long-winded explanation Duck inhaled and blushed deeply. “So, um, what’s your name?”

Rue wanted to laugh at the young woman’s sputtering behavior, but thought better. Her own given name—though not nearly as unconventional as Duck’s, to say the least—was not exactly memorable either, and was the precise reason why she now went by a stage name. Thus she could relate to Duck’s dilemma, and so, before Rue even realized it, she answered, “Call me Rue.”

At this moment Rue’s car pulled up outside the shop. The young actress looked at her watch and expelled an annoyed sigh. “Drat, I need to get going.” She handed the toe shoes to Duck who hurried to gather her hat and coat. As Rue stepped out of the shop, she stopped when Duck called to her from the doorway, “It was nice meeting you, Rue!” she said with sincerity and a smile that was as genuine as the sunlight illuminating her freckled cheeks.

In front of Rue the chauffeur held the door of the car open for her, waiting for her to return from this chance tangent and back to the path she should be taking. It was unlikely she will ever meet this girl with the unusual name ever again, just another face in the endless stream of people one meets in one’s lifetime. But Rue turned around, stopped, and returned the smile before stepping into the car.

The pointe shoe shop grew ever smaller from her view from the back windshield. Rue gave the corner it stood on one last lingering look before the car turned down a different street. Looking down at her pumps, the feeling of toes shoes still fresh in her mind, Rue felt the unease from earlier subsiding a little. Perhaps the girl named Duck was right: ballet still played a sizable role in her life even now. Perhaps there would always be some things that did not change with time, Rue pondered, and found comfort in those thoughts.

As Duck returned home that night she thought about Rue, of her relinquished dream of dancing, of a mobster dressed in white, of detectives and their smoke filled office. Duck locked the creaking wooden door to her apartment behind her and tugged on a switch somewhere in the dark. The single light bulb in the dining room flickered to life and cast deep shadows beneath the dining table and cabinets. It was a small, under-heated apartment, but the various knickknacks and homeliness of the furnishings gave the otherwise dank living space a feeling of comfort.

Making her way to the single bedroom, Duck walked up to a chest-high cabinet. A white lace tablecloth covered the top of the wooden cabinet, atop which sat two small photographs, a pair of worn toe shoes, and a small jewelry box. The larger of the two photos showed a woman with hair the same shade as Duck’s, her slender body clothed in the costume and headdress of Odette. She stood en pointe, her arms spread wide as if she was to take flight. On the lower left corner was sighed the name “Elsa” in an elegant script. In the second photograph the same woman, now dressed in normal clothing, sat beside a young girl who bore a striking resemblance to her and to Duck. The woman had her arm wrapped around the girl while the child rested her head on the woman’s lap. Both wore the same smile, and it was this happy photo Duck picked up and spoke to.

“I met someone very pretty today, Ma. Her name is Rue. She was a dancer, just like you. She came in and tried on a pair of shoes we have after that annoying detective from yesterday showed up again.” The thought of Fakir made Duck make a face in the dark but her annoyance soon faded and Duck looked down at the photograph of her mother and herself with confused and apprehensive eyes.

“I really wish I hadn't seen what I saw yesterday, but there’s nothing I can do to change that is there?” Duck paused, in thought. “‘Principe’, that's the nickname of the man I saw yesterday. I’m scared when I think about him but also, somehow, I can’t stop thinking about him. He seems like such a beautiful person, just like Rue today, but when I remember what he said to the man who was killed...it frightens me. The cops want me to identify him face-to-face, and I know it’s the right thing to bring criminals to justice, but the thought of seeing him again scares me so much.” Duck tightened her fingers around the gilded silver of the frame and felt tears welling up in her eyes. “I can’t tell anyone about all this, because it would be dangerous if the bad guys found out about me. Not even Lilie or Pique, or even Miss Edel is to know about it. But it’s hard…not being able to tell anyone.”

Taking a deep breath and exhaling with a sniff, Duck wiped away the moisture gathered at the edge of her eyes. Looking back down at the woman in the photograph she knew her mother wouldn’t be able to answer her, for she had died many years ago during the flu pandemic. Duck remembered how helpless she was at the time. She was only fourteen and had been stricken with a mild bout of the disease from which she made a full recovery. But the flu brought down her mother with a vengeance. The hospitals were already overflowing with patients and her mother, who had been strong and healthy all her life, grew so weak so quickly she couldn't get out of bed. Duck cared for her as best she could, never leaving her side except to fetch groceries and medicine.

Through it all, her mother never lost hope, never gave into despair at her condition, even though she knew full well how serious her illness was. A page of Duck’s memory turned at her recollection, and Duck remembered asking her mother a few days before she passed away what she would do if she were gone. She had been scared back then too. Her grandpa had passed away before they came to the states and her mother was her only remaining family and she would be all alone without her. Her mother, Elsa, had looked at her then, her skin as pale as the sheets that covered her. Weary but steady blue eyes met trembling blue eyes, and the steady blue eyes smiled.

It will be alright, Love. Even if I’m no longer here I know you will be able to manage by yourself, and there is Mr. Kotin and Miss Edel to look after you. And even if they weren’t there to help you, know this: you are never as alone as you believe yourself to be.

“‘You are never as alone as you believe yourself to be.’” Duck repeated the words to herself. Hugging the photo to her chest, a soothing feeling trickled through her body. Her mother’s words comforting her now as they did then.

It will be alright...

The next morning Duck was woken by the sound of heavy footsteps and loud noises. Rubbing her eyes, she looked at the alarm clock (which kept decent time, even if it didn’t live up to the “alarm” part of its name) on the nightstand by her bed and found the hands pointing at 7:52. It bewildered her why anyone would be making a ruckus this early in the morning, on a Saturday no less. There was no chance of her falling back asleep with the noise bouncing in through the thin walls. And so, irritably, Duck rose and wrapped herself in her bathrobe before stalking out to the hallway to see what the racket was about.

To her surprise she saw only a single person, not the army she had been expecting, walking down the corridor. The person held a stack of boxes but when he shifted them in his arms and turned his face sideways, Duck gasped in recognition.

“What are you doing here?!”

The person with the boxes was none other than Fakir, now dressed in a simple white shirt with its sleeves rolled up and dark trousers. At her exclamation, he put the boxes down on the scarred wooden floor and nodded his head towards the empty unit next to hers. “I’m moving into my new apartment. I finished all the paper works yesterday and the landlord gave me the keys this morning. Starting from today, this will be my new home,” he said casually, but there was a tone of unconcealed smugness in his voice.

Duck could only stand there and gap at him. She couldn’t believe this. He was moving in next door to her, this prick who insulted her name, stalked her at work, was now going to live right next to her! Her eye twitched at the thought. The dismay and anger in her swelled and bubbled, and like a kettle set to boiling, she bellowed out into a cry loud enough to wake the whole building.

“Aarrgggg! I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS!”

A/N: It’s time for a few notes! As one reviewer asked me in the last chapter, yes, “Corvo” is Italian for “crow”. I tried looking up “raven” but Google Translate wasn’t able to find a noun for me, so crows it is!

“Kot” in Russian means “cat”, and the “-in” ending is a common Russian ending to family names. Mr. Kotin’s first name of “Vaslav” is a tribute to the very famous Russian danseur, Vaslav Nijinsky.

Rue’s stage name of “Odile Legnani” is a combination of the Black Swan Odile from Swan Lake and the Italian ballerina, Pierina Legnani. Pierina Legnani was the first ballerina to perform the famous 32 fouettes en tournant, a series of turns first performed in a production of Cinderella but which would later become a signature routine of the Black Swan in productions of Swan Lake.

Edel’s last name of “Stein” means “stone” in German. If you were to string her first and last name into one word, you’d get “edelstein” which is German for “gemstone”, a name which I think is very fitting for a jewelry store owner.

The word “prick” in the context of describing an annoying individual didn’t come about until 1929. I’m using it here because it expresses what I want the characters to feel, and since I’m not going for 100% historical accuracy, I thought you guys would let me slide on this. XD;;

Lastly, thanks once again to HaleySings for betaing this story!