A few days later, after George and Nora left, Grace came down the stairs to find the theatre in a frenzy. Véronique called Grace to her dressing room.

    Véronique wore a very revealing number, and Grace blushed just at the sight of so much skin. She averted her eyes when all of Véronique's... prominent features were turned upon her. Never had she seen a dress so low cut, nor a hem cut so high. And she must have laced her waist down to seventeen inches. Who was she trying to seduce?

   "Ah! Mais non !  Ma chère, est-ce que tu porte ? "

  "I'm wearing my normal clothes," Grace replied, confused.

   "Yes! Exactement ! That is the problem! You do not display or look prettier than normal. Are you not interested?"

    "Interested in what? Je ne comprende pas."

  "Erik! Erik is here. How could you not know?" Véronique's painted mouth dropped. "You did not know. For an hour, he has been here, giving orders and putting everyone up on their toes. We must go find Guy to rehearse. If we rehearse, we see Erik."

   "But why the fancy -"

    "Because. And you should be interested, as I and the other little girls are. He is rich. He does not have a mistress, as far as anyone knows. And he is rich."

    Véronique looped her arm through Grace's - probably realizing Grace's plain attire would accentuate her own - and walked with her through the door. "He has never been interested in anyone, so we try - I especially, as I want him - to make him propose offers to us. So far, it has not worked. But no one can resist Véronique for long. And you do not care?"

   "I'm... not the mistress type. I prefer to focus on other things besides love, but I'm sure you'll... do well." Grace tried being as nice as possible about the subject. Her friend had a great pride, and an ego taller than the Eiffel Tower.

   "Merci."

   Everyone was bustling around, careless about any department that was not their own, each one searching for attention. Grace thought it a bit absurd that everyone should run like chickens with their heads off for a man who didn't bother to care enough to drop by his theatrical company more than every so often. He couldn't have very high standards, could he?

   They were just passing the stage when Véronique pointed Erik out. He was standing in the middle of a circle of carpenters, making wide, sweeping gestures with his arms, talking. He was describing the set pieces he wanted.

   Grace could only see him from behind but it was enough to know he was not what she expected. She expected an older man with an unclean suit and a very staggered, unseemly disposition. What Erik really was, was a tall man with deep black hair, a thin but certain body clothed in an extremely well tailored - and expensive - suit, and something about him radiated power and quickness of all the traits that can be considered to be quick: tongue, mind, wit, and movement. He had charisma.

    They passed him and moved over to where Guy waited. He was not at all happy. Grace guessed it was because the girls were paying less attention to him than usual.

   "What is Erik like? Personality wise and -"

   "He's creative and strict. Very severe. Mean. A little cruel, I've heard. I don't know, everyone says something different. But very rich. So rich he could buy me a house on the coast with twenty rooms and still give me five hundred francs a week without receiving a dent in his bank account. I do not know how he looks. He wears a face covering," Véronique claimed.

   "I heard he was scarred in a knife fight in Vienna... well, Vienna or Portugal, Spain. His sardonic sense of humor and the mockery with which he sustains himself - is his food and water - made him take the classic mask of the theatre... er... I believe it's called Tragedy, the frowning mask... and cut it in half to hide his scars. He was in Spain when the idea struck. I just am not sure though... did he cut up the crying mask or the laughing one?" Guy mused for a moment. "Knowing him it's Tragedy. He doesn't like happiness."

   "Everything you say is supposedly! But who cares? He's rich!" Véronique exclaimed.

   Grace shook her head. Véronique had a one track mind. But she felt her eyes drifting towards Erik again. She had seen him elsewhere before... as to where, that specific, annoying detail eluded her.

   "Stop drooling, Véronique," Guy scolded.

   "Oh. Va joue. Go play your piano. I shall sing. Grace will dance. Erik will see and come over. Maintenant ! " Her voice was high, commanding, and whiny.

   Guy shrugged and sat down at a piano. To Grace's shock, Véronique adjusted herself before standing next to Guy, ready to sing and turn sheet music for him. She had adjusted her tight bodice to more fully expose her assets... in front of the entire opera house. Grace blushed at the thought.

   Véronique pointedly glared at Grace until she began to dance.

   Part of her, a deep, undiscovered part of her wished to sing too, but she fought that wish away. She was accustomed to fighting back thoughts and feelings or converting them to energy for her dancing, which did, in fact require a lot of energy. Something needed to fuel her outlet for unpleasantness after all.

  The trio continued for several minutes, and just as their third song ended, Grace felt a hand roughly grab her shoulder, shoving her arm, pulling her off balance. She turned, half expecting to see Erik glaring furiously at her, but found only a disgruntled Madame Chausir. "So now you ruin the curve of your arm in your position, but you also lose your balance and fall over with the slightest touch? Ma chère, c'est ne bien pas. This is not good."

  "What is not good, Madame? My eye has not caught anything troubling or life threatening, nor a single imperfection," said a melodic, cold voice.

   Catching Véronique's inviting grin and Guy's grin, Grace looked around and came face to face with Erik. He was a good foot taller than her, and his copper brown eyes - flecked, she now realized, with green and gray - were not smoldering with hatred, but indeed, appeared rather amused. But deadly nonetheless.

"I-I-I-I d-do not -"

   "I suggest you go Madame. There are others among the present company who actually need your help." Madame Chausir fled with a pink face.

   Grace had to put her hand over her mouth to hide her smile, but even then, she could not cover her laughter. Guy stared at her, eyes widening in surprise.

   "What?" She said to him. "She deserved that. I'm sure she's really a darling woman but she... she can't just go around telling people they are wrong when they are right simply due to her own prejudices. Don't tell me politics are not a major part of our work. Sadly they are."

   "Grace, people get hired or fired all the time, regardless of popularity. It's the way of the opera."

  "But it shouldn't be." Erik says exactly what she is thinking. She peers up again at the masked man beside her.

   "I believe you sent a note down, during my audition, monsieur. Thank you."

   Erik nodded. "Certainly. It would be a pity not to take advantage of talent - especially when it walks right into my hands. But why are you dancing? Why aren't you singing?"

   "I don't sing. I have no idea why I did at the time."

  "Well, I recommend you figure it out. As a dancer, you are good, an exceptional chorus girl, and I already have twelve of those. As a singer, your voice is... well, that is the reason I hired you."

     Véronique interjects then, sashaying over to Erik, who looked grimly down at her, though he certainly did not have to look as far down as Grace. Véronique was a good five inches taller.

   "I was wondering," she said in a low tone, crawling her fingers up his shoulder, "if you could give me a few tips for my... voice. So that I might be as good as Grace?"

   Erik removed her hands from his body. "The gift of music is something you are born with. Even a muse could not teach you to sing, Véronique."

   His cool gaze drifted back to Grace. She had to take a step back from him because of the intensity of his metallic eyes... eyes that she felt she had seen before but could not fully recall. Like a dream she wanted to remember on a lazy morning but couldn't. Realizing she was staring - with her mouth open, on top of it all - she quickly drew her eyes back to her feet.

    "It would be more prudent for you to look at the floor instead of me, smart girl. As for the position you have just attempted by yourself, you were correct. However, with a partner, your arm would go higher. Care to demonstrate?"

    She looked at him in shock. Could he dance? The visible corner of his mouth went up in a smirk. "I thought we just agreed that I am not interesting enough to look at. Come child. Into position."

   Before she knew what he was doing or why, his hand was on her waist and his arm was drawing hers up. "En pointe!" He snapped.

   Grace was not about to be made a fool. She completed her steps, now pluralized thanks to her partner, and ended the action perfectly. From a dancer's view, she admired his gracefulness. He was much better than those ridiculous boys she had to dance with in school. Erik was secretly impressed that she kept her head and remained perfect.

   "Good. Now excuse me, but I must be on my way. I have a theatre to run."