A bell rang, commanding quiet from the crowd. A hush claimed the concert hall and slowly the velvet curtain parted to reveal a short woman. She was dark-skinned and heavy, with glossy coils of raven black hair styled high on top of her head. A long gown of silvery fabric cascaded in folds and plaits off her shoulders, shimmering, as if it was woven of sun-lit water.

Aivisha looked at the audience, her dark eyes bottomless, and took a tiny step forward, the cascade of silver moving all around her. She opened her mouth and let her voice pour forth.

Her voice was incredible. Startling in its clarity and beauty, it rose, gaining strength, building on itself, and power streamed from her, permeating the concert hall and the astonished crowd. I forgot about Crest, about Olathe, about my work, and listened, lost in the harmony of the enchanting voice.

Aivisha raised her hands. Thin slivers of ice grew from her fingers, spiraling, twisting, in perfect accord with her song. Like impossibly complex crystal lace, the ice stretched across the stage to climb up the side columns, blossoming into bundles of needle-thin feathers. It hugged the folds of Aivisha’s gown, a dutiful pet, happy to please, and I couldn’t tell where the silver of the fabric began and the crystal purity of ice ended.

Aivisha sang and sang, and ice danced for her, obeying her every whim. She commanded us, and mesmerized, we held our breath until her voice climbed to an overpowering crescendo. A burst of blue light pulsed from her, saturating the ice in an instant. The crystal lace burst, evaporating into the air. The curtain fell, hiding Aivisha from the audience. For a moment we sat stunned. And then the concert hall erupted in applause.

Crest squeezed my hand and I squeezed back.

Forty-five minutes later we pulled into the parking lot before my apartment building.

“Can I walk you to the door?” Crest asked.

“Not tonight,” I murmured. “I’m sorry. I just wouldn’t be good company.”

“Are you sure?” Crest asked, hope dying in his eyes. I felt bad, but I couldn’t do it. Something told me I should just stop this right here.

“Yes,” I said. “Thank you for the dinner and company.”

“I was hoping the evening wouldn’t end this soon,” he said.

I touched his hand with my fingertips. “I’m sorry. Perhaps some other time.”

“Oh, well,” he said. “There is always tomorrow night.”

I opened the door and let myself out of his car. He lingered for a moment and then sped off. Too late I realized that he had expected a good night kiss.

MY HIP HURT MORE AND MORE AND BY THE TIME I crossed the parking lot, the ache had graduated to a full pain, spiced with sharp spasms.

“Just great.” I slipped off my shoes. Barefoot, with heels in hand, I headed toward the door.