Calore Dance Academy// Red Queen AU

Chapter 24

A breeze ruffles my hair as I make my way down First Avenue. In the cover of night, ashen clouds blotting out the moon and the stars, I'm little more than a phantom in my hurried walk to Will's Deli and Grocery.

I pass by complex after complex of brick apartments, their windows tiny compared to the sleek creations of Midtown. Storefronts built into the apartments glow from the inside, sporting all variety of products: late-night hamburgers, auto repair, personal fitness . . . you name it. Though they're all the same when you compare them to one another, with their colorful awnings, electrifying lights, and fire escapes not so far above. The old buildings might as well have been cut from cookie cutters.

The sky's darker than I'd like it, and the store clocks I pass by reveal a time later than I'd like. I've always hated the five-block walk from the subway to my apartment, and being in the dark and shadows of the streets doesn't ease my dread. The boots I wear are atrocious, heels thudding on concrete the way my pointe shoes would. Too often, I pass through a stretch of sidewalk with no store lights.

On the other hand, the air is refreshingly open. It might not smell the best on some blocks, but I can look up and see the translucent clouds floating through it. Without craning or breaking my neck to see so far overhead, I feel strange being here. Liberated, in an ironic way. Evidently Midtown has changed me.

East Harlem isn't all bad, in spite of what I've said about it. There's a beautiful culture here, full of food and art forms from all over the globe. Every ethnicity of cuisine imagined exists somewhere in this part of town, and coruscant murals that you'd never find on the Upper East Side rest proudly on street corners. It's a beautiful thing, but a quiet thing . . . overshadowed by other things.

The traffic's much lighter than Time Square's constant jam, and I have no trouble crossing the street when the time comes. Shining in all its glory of yellowing lights and flickering neon signs, Will Whistle's shop looms right in front of me.

He's an old man with a clever mind and a big mouth. Will might have new . . . characteristics, but he's the same man I've bickered with since the age of seven. How he got into Farley's realm confounds me, when he's at least triple her age . . . it doesn't matter. Will's only ever been a middleman, and that hasn't changed with Farley. I just need a lead tonight.

Though I haven't begun to consider how to broach him on the subject, the stubborn old bastard. Part of me wonders if he'd rather take all of his secrets to the grave.

I stalled back in my room, taking great pain in choosing what to wear home. In the end, I settled on jeans, a T-shirt, a leather jacket, and a pair of boots, the sort of outfit I might've worn to school back in the day, and nothing imperious, nothing flaunting or arrogant. With two thoughts on my mind, one to prove to Mom and Dad that I haven't changed, and the other to show Will what a serious businesswoman I am, I chose something in between.

I'm not some crazy daughter who ran away home, nor am I the teenager Will bought wallets and jewelry from.

Though it's late, nobody will be asleep. Mom and Dad will be watching the news, Gisa will be in her room doing something artsy—sewing or embroidering if her wrist has gotten better—and my brothers could be out with their friends, now that everyone's off work. Or maybe they, too, have gotten new jobs.

Four stories above, the window leading out of Gee's beckons with more light. I swear I see Mom's silhouette in the one next to it. She must have gotten a late start on dishes.

Just a little while longer. Surely my exchange with Will can only take a few minutes. Whatever comes of it.

The metal bar of the door is cool beneath my palms as I press it forward, attempting not to inhale the blast of stale air that comes running my way.