The next morning, Naomi started calling everyone she knew: her students' parents, their schools, the university office, a couple other community centers. She recruited Miranda's help too, but even together, it took them half the day. All in vain. Nobody had a performance space available at such a short notice. At the holiday season, only days before Christmas, every more or less suitable place was already booked. Everyone promised to ask around, but Naomi didn't hold much hope. If she didn't find a place by tomorrow afternoon, she would have to call everyone again and cancel the show until some future, unspecified date. After the holidays.

Miranda sulked at the possibility, and Naomi shared her sentiments. They had a desultory, mostly silent lunch.

"I'm going to practice," Naomi said after they cleaned up. Practicing always restored her equilibrium.

"What is the point," Miranda muttered. "I'm going to the library."

She left home ten minutes later, bundled up in her warmest coat and rabbit fur bonnet, but Naomi didn't go to her studio. She stood in front of the empty kitchen counter and stared out the window. The snow had almost stopped falling. Only an occasional fat snowflake drifted down from the dark, low sky, gray and heavy.

In her telephone activities this morning, she had left out only a few people. She didn't call the elves, because they didn't use phones. She would have to visit their enclaves beyond the Rim, and she winced at the prospect. Her elven students wouldn't be happy, if the recital was canceled. They seemed as excited as the children were to dance in it.

Marigold and Target, her best waltzing elven couple—he a potter, she a laedin soldier—were rehearsing an elaborate number to a Strauss' waltz. Ivy Tangle and Canary, both sekasha beholden to Windwolf, also planned to participate, if they came to town, which wasn't certain yet. Her boyfriend Falcon, another sekasha, and herself were going to perform two numbers: the energetic tango La Cumparsita and a song from Legrand's The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, which they danced with the third partner, Colin Maynard.

She hadn't called Colin's father either. Even though she had talked to Derek Maynard a couple weeks ago, as his son's teacher, she couldn't imagine asking for his help in finding a stage for their recital. In the context of Pittsburgh, it would be akin to asking the President of the United States. At least, Colin came to rehearsals regularly. He had obviously reached an agreement with his father, no matter if the recital happened or not. One thing to be grateful for, she thought glumly.

A couple minutes later, a phone call interrupted her blue contemplations. "Naomi," one of her flamenco students, Verity, said brightly. "I might know something for you. There is an abandoned movie theater in McKees Rocks. My friend drove past it a couple days ago and saw light inside. Maybe it is not abandoned anymore. Maybe you should check it out."

Naomi's hopes roared. A movie theatre would be perfect. She wrote down the directions, thanked Verity, and dressed in a hurry. She wanted to be there before the darkness fell, so she could see everything in daylight. She left a short note to Miranda, checked her purse, making sure her Mace and Falcon's dagger were there, and rushed out of the house. She never left home unarmed anymore.

It took her some time to navigate her yellow Beetle along the snow-chocked roads. The snowplows labored on the central avenues, but the narrow local streets were suffering. Nobody had cleaned the snow from the little wooden bridge over a frozen creek, and the old boards groaned under the combined weight of wet snow and her car. If it was a bigger vehicle, not her tiny Beetle, the bridge might not hold, she thought in consternation and not a little fear. Pittsburgh didn't have the resources to maintain all its bridges nowadays, and some of the older ones, leading to the abandoned neighborhoods, had collapsed since the first Startup. She hoped this particular bridge would hold until after she drove back.

After the bridge, all the streets were truly deserted. She made only one wrong turn before she founds the movie theatre. It was relatively small, smaller than the community center in Oakland, and surrounded by snow. Except a path stomped by feet through the ankle-high snowdrifts from the street to the front door. Naomi could see no cars on the street and no people, but the road had been traveled, and recently, the snow churned by wheels.

She didn't like the feeling that slithered down her spine. The theatre didn't look like a place for community entertainment. While most of the public buildings in the populated areas sported at least some Christmas lights and decorations, this little theatre didn't. It felt like a place where someone would hide something. She executed a U-turn in the empty street, to point her car towards the way back, but hesitated. Should she leave now? She didn't want to abandon the deceptive warmth and safety of her car for the chilly gray uncertainty beneath the menacing clouds. She doubted she wanted to bring her girls to dance in this place.

On the other hand, she was already here. Might as well check it out. Maybe her misgivings were misplaced. She fingered the Mace and the dagger in her purse, hitched the strap across her shoulder, and plodded towards the entrance.

The front door was unlocked. Cautiously, she stuck her head in. The lights were off in the small foyer, empty of furniture or any signs of occupancy. The curtain-less windows, narrow and grimy, gave some illumination, but the day was gray and already turning towards evening.

She pulled one of the large doors leading to the auditorium. It creaked open reluctantly, the hinges complaining of disuse. Nobody had opened these doors in a while. Inside, all was pitch dark and smelled stale. Naomi didn't see the condition of the seats or the floor, but she didn't think they could be made ready for a crowd in two days.

The stage in front was all but invisible. Only the pale rectangle of the screen distinguished it from the darkness. There might not be enough space there, behind the screen, for dancing, and she wouldn't trust the wellbeing of her girls to the ancient floorboards anyway. The whole structure felt like a disaster waiting to happen.

She waved a hand in front of her nose to disperse the dust disturbed by her entrance and stepped back hastily. The floor of the foyer was universally dirty, but the dirtiest path led from the front door to the stairs in the corner. Someone had walked that way. Repeatedly.

Naomi already knew this theater wasn't what she needed. It wouldn't solve her recital problem, but something pushed her towards the stairs. Her prior experience with unoccupied buildings in Pittsburgh suggested there might be someone in need of help there. She sighed and began climbing.

Her supposition was correct. The lounge on the second floor was occupied. A girl in a gray sweat suit sat on a sofa. Earbuds in her ears, her eyes closed, she swayed softly to the music Naomi couldn't hear. The girl's dreadlocks, wild and long enough to reach her shoulders, swayed with her. A remainder of a takeout Chinese meal littered a low coffee table in front of her.

Naomi crossed the small room and tapped the girl lightly on the shoulder. "Hello?" she said.

The girl's eyes flew open, and she hastily pulled the buds out of her ears. He plump lips twisted in distaste. "I told them, men only," she said. "I don't do women."

Naomi parsed the sentence twice, but it sounded even worse the second time. "They?" she echoed quietly. "Someone's been pimping you?" Her eyes traveled over the girl, from her dreadlocks to her round dark face, down past a sturdy body to her feet in thick socks. A metal cuff circled one sock. A chain attached to it ran toward a corner of the room and disappeared onto the closed door to the washroom.

"They chained you?" Naomi gasped.

The girl jumped to her feet. She breathed heavily. Her eyes widened with a mix of hope and despair. "They didn't send you? Could you free me? They promised, but... I don't believe they ever would. Please."

"I should call the police." Naomi fumbled in her purse for her phone.

"No!" The girl grabbed her arm. "I'm... illegal. They helped me get here, but then... They promised, but..." She was trembling and almost crying, spasms flashing across her features. "The police would deport me. I have nowhere else to go."

Slowly, Naomi took her hand out of her purse, phoneless. "Do you have anywhere to go here?"

"I can turn tricks," the girl said. "For myself. I heard housing is free in Pittsburgh. I'll do fine. I can't go back. But I can't free myself. They lied to me, the bastards! Could you, I don't know, get some tools for the chain?"

"Fine." Naomi sighed and pulled out her dagger. Falcon had said it would cut anything. She would just test his statement and see if it would cut the stainless steel of the chain.

"Put your foot on the table," she directed. "I need a hard surface. I can't cut on the carpet."

"You can't cut the chain with a knife," the girl objected, but she obediently lifted her foot to the table.

"We'll see, Naomi said. She selected the second fragment off the cuff, the first one that lay on the table, took a deep breath, and started sawing with her dagger. Falcon could probably hack it in one blow, but she didn't have his upper body strength. And the darn elf didn't have a phone, so she couldn't call him for help.

The girl whimpered. "It works. It cuts," she whispered.

"Mmm. Slowly," Naomi said. "What is your name? I'm Naomi."

"I'm Willie," the girl said. "It really cuts. Do you live here."

"Yes. I teach dancing." Naomi was almost half-way through the steel. Amazing how an ironwood blade would cut metal, but her hand was getting tired. She switched hands.

"Do you want me to try? I'm strong," Willie said.

"I don't know you," Naomi replied absently. "I'm not about to hand you a knife that cuts through steel. Besides, it is a gift."

Willie giggled. "Suit yourself."

At last, the severed chain fragment fell with a faint clang.

"Wow!" Willie said.

"Let's go." Naomi straightened and examined the blade. Not a notch. What an astonishing material. She sheathed it and dropped it back into her purse. "I have a car. Where are your shoes?"

"They took them," Willie said glumly. "Scumbags! They took my money and my computer too. I don't care. I'll run barefoot if I have to." She pulled a red rucksack from beneath the table and scampered to the stairs, her one remaining chain link tinkling against the cuff.

Naomi glanced out the window before following. It was already getting dark, but she could see a large pickup truck pulling up to the curb in front of the theatre. Two men got out, glanced at her Beetle, circled it, then turned to wade through the snow to the front door of the theater.

"Drat!" Naomi rushed to the stairs. "Down, Willie, and into the theater. Some guys are coming."

Willie squealed and flew down the stairs, her remaining chain link ringing madly. Naomi pushed the girl into the darkness of the theater proper and squeezed in herself. She didn't even have time to close the door all the way before the front door banged open. She was afraid the men would hear their frightened breathing.

Fortunately, the men didn't. They didn't hurry either and didn't look around. They ambled towards the stairs. As soon as they were out of sight, Naomi sprinted to the front door and out, with Willie on her heels. They had a few seconds at the most, and she didn't want to find out what those men would do when they realized their captive had flown.

She rummaged in her purse for the car key. "Start the Beetle, Willie." She tossed the key to the girl.

"What about you?" Willie panted. "They have guns. Come on!"

"I'll try to slow them down. One moment. Start the car." Naomi pulled her dagger out of its sheath again. "Don't disappoint me, fellow," she whispered to the blade and plunged it into the front tire of the men's pickup. It went in without a hitch. Wonderful! She pulled it out and hit the tire the second time. Then another front tire. After that she sloshed through the sludge on the road towards her Beetle.

Willie already flung the driver door open for her. "Come on! They are out. They'll shoot."

Naomi dived in, shifted into Drive, and hit the gas without even bothering with the safety belt.

"Buckle me in, Willie," she said tersely. "And yourself."

The men shouted and ran towards the road, but they couldn't run very fast through the messy snow.

Willie fumbled with the seatbelts, while Naomi gripped the wheel, trying to keep steady on the slippery slush of the road. She couldn't, not entirely. The car swerved randomly, and that was probably what saved them, when the men started shooting. At least Naomi didn't run into a light post before she turned a corner, out of sight of the men with the guns, and speeded towards the flimsy bridge.

She kept glancing in the rearview mirror, but no big truck appeared on the road behind them. She crossed the bridge into the more populated streets, her heart pounding. She suspected her hands would be shaky, if she didn't clutch the wheel so tightly. Trying to relax her hold on the wheel, she slowed down. Turned. Turned again. She didn't care where she drove, just away from the cursed theater. Beside her, Willie kept silent.

Thirty minutes and some miles after her foray into the theater, Naomi parked the car near a random pharmacy and turned to her passenger.

Willie sat hugging her rucksack and staring straight ahead, into the darkness illuminated by streetlights.

"So what is the plan?" Naomi asked quietly. Her adrenaline rush was receding, leaving empty giddiness in its wake.

"I should go," Willie said. She turned to Naomi. "Thank you." But she didn't unbuckle her seatbelt. "Where should I go?"

Naomi sighed. "You said you're illegal. How did you get here? And when?"

"A couple weeks ago. They smuggled me in. Made lots of shiny promises." Her lips curved unpleasantly. "Of course, I didn't believe any of their shit, but I didn't think they would chain me. Stupid, huh?"

"And then, they pimped you."

Willie nodded.

"In fact, you don't have anywhere to go. Do you know anyone?"

A tiny headshake was her answer.

"Fine," Naomi said. "I'll tell you what. I live in a large house with another girl. We have a couple empty bedrooms. You could stay in one of them, but no tricks, no men. I make enough money to feed you for a while, and then we'll figure out what you should do. Perhaps, I could find you a job. Not officially, as you're illegal, but maybe under the table. Then we'll figure something out. Together. How old are you?"

"Seventeen," Willie said. "I'll be eighteen in March."

"Have you graduated high school?"

A headshake again, accompanied by snort.

"Where are you from?"

"Philly. Look. I was in trouble. That's why I hooked up with those pigs, but... I don't want you to get into my troubles too."

"Did you prostitute in Philly?"

"What do you think?" Willie said contemptuously. "I ran away from a foster home. I lived on the streets for the past year. I can take care of myself."

"But you got into trouble you couldn't handle, did you?"

"Yes," Willie said softly. "I thought I would come here, get pregnant with an elven kid, and stay. That's how a girl could stay here, right? That's what I heard. Nobody would find me here."

"Is someone looking?"

"Maybe," Willie said quietly.

Naomi liked the situation less and less the more she learned of it. Whatever Willie didn't say, Naomi could fill in the blanks. She didn't want to risk her well-organized life here, but she couldn't leave Willie on the streets alone.

"I live with the girl who is half elf," she said. "Her mom did what you want to do. Got pregnant with an elven baby. Then she decided it is too hard and went back to the States. She left Miranda here alone."

"I wouldn't leave my baby," Willie said indignantly.

"Elves mature very slowly," Naomi said. "Miranda is seventeen, but she looks and behaves like she is ten. She would be a child for a long time, decades maybe. If you want an elven baby, you should be prepared for a long haul. All your life, in fact. Pureblood elves are considered adults at one hundred. Half-blood—maybe fifty or sixty."

"Oh," Willie said. "Sixty years a child? That sucks."

Naomi chuckled at the girl's dumbfounded expression. "Well, you have time to think about it. I'll help. Let's go home." She restarted the car.