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Well, I’d just jump in and hope for the best.

By now, there was almost nobody in the lobby except a group of East Side fairies and the guardian spirit taking tickets by the stairs. The fairies headed for the stairs in a clump. I slid in behind them.

A muscular arm in a dark blue jacket barred my way. “Ticket, please.”

“Oh, dear.” I looked up at the uniformed guardian. “Didn’t Prince Hyacinthe give you my ticket just now? Maybe you dropped it. Will you check?”

The guardian spirit didn’t take his eyes off me. They were a cold, clear blue, like sunlight through thick ice. “One person, one ticket,” he said. “If you have no ticket, you go away.”

His hair was ice white, hanging in two long braids over the shoulders of his jacket. I guessed he was from Finland or Norway.

I opened my mouth to explain about Danskin and the promised tickets, shut it when I realized he probably wouldn’t believe me, not after the lie about “Prince Hyacinthe.”

“I have to see the ballet. I’m on a quest. See?” I pulled the quest pass from the neck of my dress. “Here’s my pass.”

The guardian bent to examine the medal. “Nice metal-work. Pure gold. Very pretty. Not a ticket, though.”

“A quest pass is like a ticket,” I said. “It gets you into places the quest leads you to. Like the Ballet Theater. It’s very important.”

The guardian chuckled. “You are funny person. Very entertaining. You might should go to Broadway. But not to ballet. Here is high art, not low joking.”

“This isn’t a joke. You’re a guardian spirit, right?”

He proudly tugged his jacket straight. “Ovenvartija,” he said. “Door Warden in the Old Country. I come over with my family. Family go west, I stay New York. Now I am Usher at Ballet. Is good job.”

“Well, Usher . . .”

“Fred,” he corrected me.

“Fred?”

“New country, new job, new name.” He leaned down a little. “We talk about you see ballet with no ticket, better you talk to Fred.”

“Okay then. Fred. I really have to see this ballet.”

The ice-blue eyes narrowed. “You such big fan, why I never see you before?”

“I’m not a fan.” Fred frowned. “I told you, I’m on a quest. My Neighborhood is in danger and I’m the only one who can save it.”

“Swan Lake is ballet,” Fred pointed out. “Ballet is beautiful only. I think you are telling mortal thing. What you call it? When story is not true?”

“You mean a lie. And no, I’m not. I really do need to see Swan Lake. I’m looking for a swan maiden, you see, and—”

“Swan Lake has plenty swan maidens.” Fred thought for a moment. “Is impossible, what you ask. My job is to make sure nobody sees ballet who does not pay.”

I pulled the strip of silver moon-cloth out of my hair. “This is silver. Also magic. Will it do?”

Fred made it disappear into his pocket. “Come. I hear overture begin.”

He led me up a wide flight of marble stairs to a glass and marble hall you could have fit all of Belvedere Castle into with room to spare. He headed for another, narrower stair, which led to another and another and another. I climbed grimly, thankful I’d held out for my sneakers, getting slower and slower. Fred grabbed a handful of my cloak, dragged me up the last flight of steps, across a carpeted hall, and through a bronze door into a darkness full of beautiful, swoony music.

We stood inside the door while I got my breath back and my eyes adjusted to the dark. We were up by the ceiling of a gigantic cavern filled with rows and rows of well-dressed Folk. About ten miles below was a dazzling stage. On it, a bunch of dancers, tiny as mice, moved in patterns like the figures of a fairy reel, but much more complicated.

I didn’t see any swans.

Fred guided me to a velvet-covered rail. “Stand here,” he whispered, and slipped away.

Figuring the swans would show up later, I settled down to watch. I knew the dancers had to be Folk—ballet was high art, after all—but they seemed to be pretending to be mortals. Nobody flew, although they jumped around a lot, and there was lots of bowing and touching each other, which isn’t usual Folk behavior at all. They