The theatre was busier than ever. The beautiful Swedish Soprano, Christina Nilsson had signed a two month contract to sing as the female lead in two Operas.

   Monsieur Lefay insisted operas were much harder to prepare for than plays. And to make matters worse, the man who ran it all, Erik the scrupulous, was a perfectionist. He didn't need to be pleased, no. He had to be pleased or he would make everyone who worked in his theatre feel like their lives would have been easier performing an opera in hell, with the devil as their maestro.

  Grace had not spoken to Erik since he did... or tried to do... whatever it was he tried to do to her. She stayed away from him when he came to check on rehearsals - which was no easy feat - and made excuses to leave the room when he focused his attention on the dancers.

   She wasn't afraid of him. She was merely concerned about him. Or rather, that was what she told herself.

  Currently, she had just finished tying long pieces of fabric from the high beams of the stage. She wanted to practice an old trick that she learned in America. Everyone else was busy fawning over a prima donna who had not yet arrived, so this was the most opportune time to keep herself from getting rusty.

Grace wrapped the material around her wrists and jumped off the catwalk. She swung expertly around the second piece of material, wrapping it around her leg. Contorting herself, she slowly unraveled and made her way down to the ground. But halfway there, she was startled and her dance with the air took a sour turn.

     "Mademoiselle Nilsson and Monsieur Monteguarde are here!" Shrieked a high pitched, squealing voice from the next room. Grace tumbled down her silky ropes and slipped from their grasp ten feet above the stage. She landed with a thud on her shoulder. Damn Mademoiselle Nilsson. Grace's blood ran cold and she gasped from the shock of a long-repressed memory, then again from the pain in her ankle and shoulder. Christina Nilsson. The world renowned singer who had sang at the Russian opera houses, who Leo Tolstoy briefly mentioned in Anna Karenina, when he himself hated opera? The beautiful, famous, wealthy Christina Nilsson? That girl whom Grace had lost her greatest friend to? It would make sense if Erin really were Erik. Even if changing his name never made sense. Christina Nilsson, who had the voice and heart of an angel. Well, she didn't have the heart of an angel with how she spoke to Grace all those years ago.

  Oh God, what if Christina remembered her?

   Grace stood, and tugged her material down. She was lost in thought, and had just finished rolling up her props when  Véronique waltzed in, grinning. "Grace! Come here and stop playing! Come and see Mademoiselle Nilsson! She's beautiful, and her fiance is a French Adonis!"

   Grace awkwardly shifted the large bundles in her arms, and trying not to roll her eyes,  followed Véronique out.

   It seemed as if the entire theatre were crammed into the lobby. Grace wanted to vomit from the claustrophobia. Then she saw Christina Nilsson and wanted to vomit for a completely different reason.

   She was the same person, the girl from Grace's memories. But mademoiselle would never recognize her. And Grace had her new name to cover who she was if she were ever asked. She  was grateful for once that Nora could not speak French.

   Christina was beautiful, her hair was the color of wheat in the summertime, golden, shining brightly in the sunlight. Her eyes were a dark, ocean blue. Grace had only seen the ocean twice, but her eyes could have counted as a third time. They were the exact shade of the water. She had a perfect figure, with soft curves and pale skin. She both looked and sounded angelic.

   Véronique and many of the other girls watched her with admiration. And her handsome fiance did in fact, resemble a Greek godlike deity. When the girls looked at him, they were green with envy. Grace knew better than to be jealous. Why change what you were designed to have?

   Because Grace was not as awed by Christina Nilsson as everyone else, she was better able to observe and find something amusing among her fellows. Particularly Erik. It was quite funny when he burst through a door with Monsieur Lefay and Madame  Chausir. He was acting oddly, and while his eyes shone with pride and inner plans, his gloved hands clenched and unclenched nervously. Grace immediately understood. Erik, cold and possessive, thought he was in love with Christina. And judging from the way her eyes warmed towards him - and widened a bit fearfully - she was familiar with him as well. However, not in the way he wanted. She did not cast the same adoring eyes upon his face as she did with her Pierre Monteguarde. It was her fiance who held her heart.

   Fortunately, they were only engaged, not yet married, so Erik still had a chance.

   Shooting daggers at Monsieur Monteguarde, Erik tenderly kissed Christina's hand and welcomed her to his theatre. She said it would be pleasant to work with old friends again.

   Grace suddenly saw a path to fulfilling one of her reasons for coming to Paris much more quickly than she had originally expected.

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   After Nilsson and Monteguarde were settled, Grace tailed Erik down a hall she had never seen before. He turned into a room and she followed. Unfortunately, she was not following him as quietly as she thought, for he instantly made her aware of his knowledge regarding her whereabouts.

   "Mademoiselle, if you are planning on stalking someone, it would be beneficial for you not to let them hear your breathing or tripping over your own feet." He waved her to come closer as he sat down behind a desk. This was not the office she remembered being dragged to. It didn't seem dark enough for him either.

  "No, I'll not make the mistake of following you again. That's the only thing I need to learn. From now on, when I stalk it will be normal people - normal people who do not have bat-like hearing. And I didn't trip over my own feet," she said indignantly. "I tripped over a perfectly flat surface; I'm quite clumsy when I'm not dancing."

   He sighed, sitting ramrod straight in his chair. Grace tried to mimic his exquisite posture, holding her chin up and shoulders painfully back as he did. This earned her a frown from him, which made her smile and in turn, him shake his head. They were practically strangers - possibly - and she had run away from him during their last meeting, so where was this friendliness coming from? Erik was puzzled. Not many people had ever been friendly nor playful towards him. Erik smiled as he thought, a slow, menacing grin that made Grace unconsciously raise her guard. There was something different in his countenance now, in the white of his smile.

  "I thought you were afraid of me after that little trick I tried. Why do you risk yourself again?"

   Grace considered. "Hypnotism isn't something you see every day. Normal people don't do it. Which... well, I'm not normal myself, thankfully, but I just didn't expect you... I was stunned to find that you were not normal, nor as average as everyone else. It certainly is an interesting trick though. I'd like to learn."

   "It is a useful trick for getting people to do what I want without the caddishness of using threats. Speaking of wanting, why are you here? I doubt it is to ask me to teach you the art of hypnotism."

   Grace smiled. "You sound inconvenienced. Is that anyway to talk to your star ballet dancer? Oh don't raise your visible eyebrow at me. Madame Chausir appointed me this morning into a lead role." Grace paused. "Do stop looking shocked. She might hate me, but she knows talent when she sees it, and she'd rather give me something I want than give you mediocre talent and face your wrath."

  "I'm thrilled my wrath is something to fear. Now answer my question or get out, my darling star ballet dancer. I'll speak to you however I see fit."

    "Vous aimez Mademoiselle Nilsson, non? "

His eyes darted from the wall behind her to her, shocked.

   "Oh don't worry, no one else noticed."

   "I should kill you. I would like to. You are too much trouble." He opened one of the drawers of the desk and shuffled around.

  Grace walked up and perched on the corner of the desk. He wouldn't really kill her, she knew he was just trying to scare her. He probably thought she'd tease him. Not that many people would dare to tease him of all persons in the building. Just in case, she started talking.

  "I simply wish to help you. Christina Nilsson has had many gentleman after her. She and I have been... previously acquainted. Because of her I lost a home and found a better one. I merely want to return the favor and see her happy."

   Erik withdrew a gun, and he twisted it between his long, slender, gloved fingers. "You are a liar, Grace. So what if I do love Christina? How could you possibly help?"

   "You are a busy man. I could take on some of your work. Become a secretary, attend meetings in your stead... anything you need. Anything that pops into your head."

   "At what price?"

   "Pocket change. Whatever amount of change you have on you. A franc or two, it doesn't matter."

   "Am I not paying you enough? Your salary as prima ballerina is already generous, is it not?"

     "Yes but... there is a charity of sorts that I need to contribute to. I don't want to explain further."

    "I don't see how you could help me. My answer is no, and if you tell anyone of this conversation... I will kill you." He frowned. "I am making death threats and you are not afraid?"

   "I'll die sometime. Just not until I do what I came to do."

   "I admire your determination." Erik looked down at the pistol. "I never liked these things. They are not my choice weapon. Too quick, either too painful or not painful enough, and too inaccurate. They are not always fatal. I prefer ropes or catgut to be honest. Or my hands would suffice, of course."

     "Monsieur, you waste your breath. Véronique or Guy would be quaking in their costumes. I however, you underestimate. In my eyes you are not so scary as you would like to be, as scary as you think you are. Good day."