Grace was wandering down to the market, a few days before Christmas, hoping to pick up some chocolates for Nora, Christina - who had given Grace the address of her apartment with Pierre, but not Erik - and Fleur. Chocolate was a great stocking stuffer, after all, and since she found she had suddenly a surplus of money, she thought spending a bit of it was not a terrible idea. She had already picked out a pair of earrings for Véronique, a new reticule for Nora, who collected them, drawing supplies for Christina, a dress for Fleur, and many other little, usefule things for the Ladies, who Erik still said he'd take her to see. Soon too, for the week was almost out. As for the three men in her life, she'd picked out a watch for George, and a box of macarons for Rodger... but she wasn't sure what to get Erik, and not because he could afford whatever he needed, and did not really need anything, but because she knew he'd appreciate something sentimental and sweet. And she was not about to give him cake for Christmas. She had been working on something... but she doubted he'd really like it. She was horrible at sewing after all.

   Feeling very depressed, she moved on, with three boxes of candy tucked under her arm.

      She decided to stroll down Grande Street, one last time to say her farewells to her past. The ladies were gone after all, and she had no reason to go back, so she might as well bury the past once and for all. Forget Celine and devote herself to being Grace. Fate, as always, had other plans though and was not about to let Grace go through a day without events.

   Grace had started to turn back and walk once more through the market on her way back home, but a hand shot out, closing around her arm.
 
    "Perhaps you do not know me, Miss, but a friend of mine, who you know of as the Monsieur, told me you hang around here," a greasy voice whispered into her ear. A ragged man with dirt caked hair and black and white teeth grinned down at her.

   "I bet your pardon?" She cockily sniffed, putting on her 'lady act.'

    "Allow me to introduce myself," he bowed low, not letting go of her arm. "Août Marquiez, at your service."

   "Hello." She tried yanking herself free, to no avail.

   Why did she never take Leo with her on days she needed him most?

    "You do not know me, but you do know my cousin, who I learned of your relations from our mutual friend, the Monsieur."

   "Ah. Your cousin is?"

   "Red De la Brûne."

     Holy cow pies.

     "Yes, I knew him."

     Août's smile widened. "So you remember. Then you will also understand the great pleasure I shall take in allowing you to meet the same end. You see, I once lived richly with him, in a grand house with nice clothes and delicacies to eat and drink. Now all I have is squalor. I have long since looked forward to revenge - oh!"

    She swung her candy and reticule at him with her free arm and ran.

   Through the busy marketplace she sprinted, looking for a quick exit. She ran down side streets and alleys, but nearly had a heart attack when she turned down a road and saw her attacker in a broken down carriage, chasing after her, his plan to run her down clear.

   Grace knew she could do nothing on foot and searched for an available horse. A block over was a cabbie smoking a pipe next to his horses.

    Grace's reticule hit him in the face as she grabbed the reins and shouted, "You'll find your horses at the theatre, trois dix-sept, on Rue Avenue!"

  She barely got the horses running in time. Moments after they moved, her pursuer raved over the ground they'd been standing. Bracing herself on the footboard, she gave the horses their heads and tried not to fall off, heart pounding at the thought of being on a carriage more than at the knowledge that someone was trying to kill her. Again.

   She wove in and out of traffic, trying her best not to run over people or into buildings, and not succeeding seeing as the back wheels took out a table of fruit as she made a particularly sharp turn.

   At last the theatre came into sight, and she hurled herself off the driver's seat before the carriage had come to a complete stop. She bolted inside the threatre, screaming "Erik!" at the top of her lungs. She heard Août close behind her.

   She moved towards the stairs but crashed head first, full speed into none other than the man she'd been screeching for. "Erik!" She gasped as they toppled over.

   "Do get off me, Grace, we are in public," he said.

    Grace leapt to her feet, wildly looking around, hyperventilating.

      "What on earth is going on? I looked out a window, right in the middle of instructing the ensemble and see you driving like a madman, with another dirty  fellow right behind you - re you alright?"

   She was gasping for breath as if she'd just had another run in with his punjab lasso.

   "Chased. Help. Room. Revenge, Red's cousin."

  That was all she needed to say, for Erik's expression - the half she could see - had darkened. "Come with me then."

   "Sir!" Août staggered into the theatre, making Grace scream. She really was not herself after being in a carriage and getting chased by an enemy concerned with her childhood.

    "Yes?" Asked Erik, his voice taking on its velvety tone, the same tone it took when someone had done something that would end up fatal for them and pleasurable for him. Like a sly snake coaxing its prey towards its venemous fangs with pretty scales or bright color.

    "I have business with that young lady." A few stagehands glanced around at the dirty man making a scene. They were used to Grace being weird and Erik's tantrums, but this new fellow was interesting.

    "I know you have business with her, but can we not discuss it publicly in my theatre? Allow me to take you somewhere more private."

   Like all stupid, evil men, he agreed. Erik led them up the stairs, digging his fist into Grace's skirts and shoving her in front of him, away from Août.

   Silently, he brought them to the passage inside Grace's room. And all at once Erik's lasso was around his throat, and he was clawing at the barely visible string around his neck.

   "Erik! Don't you dare kill him!" Grace scolded. Did he not remember the discussion thry had very recently?

   Erik loosened his grasp slightly. "I'll only knock him out and screw up his vocal chords, does that make you feel better?"

   Grace frowned but saw no other way around it. The man went limp within a minute.

   "Now, what to do about the body?" Erik mused aloud.

   Grace scowled. "He's not dead yet. We can... dump him on the banks of the seine? The sun is setting, so it's not like we'll be carrying him out in broad daylight."

    Erik smiled. "Good idea."

   "Great. You get one end, and I'll get the other," she said, reaching for Août's arms.

   Erik, with a look of disgust picked up his legs. "He is so dusty that I shall never be able to wear this suit again. Please find someone cleaner to chase you next time?"

   "Shut up, Erik."

A/N

  There really was no purpose to this and it was poorly written. However, I shall issue a warning. The next chapter is sentimental and sad and feel free to cry with me. Dedicated to Lady Erik Destler, also known as A_heart_of_Marble. She's a great writer and a fun person.

   Alexa