He was so very blue. That was all my scattered mind could gather as he sailed past the window of Craven Street Theatre. Blue and sparkling under the glow of streetlamps that shone down the alley. I ended my three-point pirouette in demi-pointe with a soft landing in the quiet of the old abandoned room of the theater and stared again out the window, but he had vanished. Curiosity drove me to abandon my solitary practice as the second act carried on below, and I ran to the window for a better look.

Breeze from the broken window cooled my skin, rolling in pleasant waves over my too-warm body as I stepped out onto the balcony and looked down upon him, straining to see. He was a shining streak in the night, halfway down the alley, gauzy cape billowing behind him. A dancer, in full costume. How curious!

As the muffled music crescendoed below, several colossal ogres of men barreled around the corner of the Lamb and Flag Pub, jeers trailing them in the night. They cornered him with harsh, echoing laughter that vibrated off the walls. They meant to rob the man. I crouched out of sight behind the doorframe, hardly breathing. A man with one suspender holding up his dirty trousers smashed a gin bottle on the brick, advancing with playful thrusts like a sword. I shivered, anticipating the plunge of glass into flesh, but I could not look away.

Run!

But that dancer was trapped as a cornered pig, poor fool.

Why wasn’t anyone coming? Another dancer, a passerby, a confounded bobby, for pity’s sake? But everyone around was safely cocooned in the theater, and there was only me, way up here. The Almighty possessed a sense of humor, he did. Ella Blythe was not one for high places—especially approaching their edges.

I stepped out onto the balcony and forced myself to look down as I clung to the rail, my breath coming in thin gasps, prickly panic climbing my skin. I yanked off one beloved scarlet ballet slipper that had been my entire reason for sneaking in here tonight and held it up, but the men were too far away. Climbing upon the low brick railing, I poised myself and focused on the stair landing a little to the left and a few feet lower. One glance down and my vision blurred at the sides, the familiar panic cinching my ribs. Moisture tickled my skin.

Fear be hanged—it had to be done. I sprang and crouched into a soft landing, still gripping the precious red slipper.