They took an early supper in his attic apartment the following evening before going to see the ballet. They had not seen much of each other in the course of the day, both being busy with their own things. The "meeting" Helen was supposed to have with Annabelle, the ballerina, actually turned out to be an extraction, as she was now explaining to Nikola.
"She is quite unique. In the wrong hands, so to speak, she could be fashioned into a powerful weapon. And she is concerned that such wrong hands would very much like to get hold of her soon. That's why she's asked for my help. She'd prefer to work for the Sanctuary network than be abused in that way."
"All right, put me out of the agony already and tell me what she is," Nikola ended her beating around the bush rather abruptly.
"Well, I suppose you could call her a siren…" Helen shrugged and earned a puzzled look from him.
"As in…?"
"It is a combination of intriguing properties that she possesses. You are familiar with legends of sirens who lured sailors into the depths of the ocean with their beautiful singing, no doubt. Annabelle is similar. When she sings, or when she dances, you can think of nothing else. It's quite like being under the influence of a drug. But the most interesting part is that her abilities are not aimed at causing harm – quite the opposite. She makes you feel elevated, and she possesses some healing powers as well."
"I can see how a girl like that can find herself in need of protection," Nikola nodded. "But altering her brain to turn her into a weapon would require some serious science."
"There have been theories… and experiments," said Helen darkly.
"So someone wants her to be able to sing their enemies to death?"
"Mock all you want, but there are certain frequencies of sound which might prove lethal to a human brain. And she is able to produce them, even now. All they need is to enhance those powers sufficiently."
"Tragic, really," Nikola replied with sympathy that was uncharacteristic of him.
"Yes, I suppose it is," she nodded. "Thank you for volunteering to help."
"Oh, no problem. It's not like it involves attending the longest ballet performance ever written," he grinned. She gave him a remorseless look.
"I know, I know, I asked to come," he raised his palms in defence.
Some time later and a short carriage ride away they found themselves in a box in the State Opera. Nikola could not really complain about his situation – he was, after all, sitting next to a lady he (and half of the other gentlemen in the theatre) had just evaluated as the most beautiful of the attendance that night, and he was facing a prospect of enjoying that position for the next three hours.
"The Lilac Fairy?" he turned to Helen after inspecting the cast in the programme and finding Annabelle's name next to the role. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"
Helen just smiled at that, and said nothing.
The ballet started shortly afterwards. When the Lilac Fairy started her solo, Nikola's jaw fell in awe. Helen was right - there was nothing else you wanted to see when this girl was dancing. Annabelle's step was light as a falling snow, however cliché that expression might have sounded in his mind. This was pure beauty – and it made him happy.
"She's amazing," he breathed out and his mouth formed a broad smile of a person completely charmed, not unlike a child seeing the lights of Christmas on a cool winter evening.
Helen nodded. She seemed slightly more composed, but amazed by Annabelle's performance none-the-less.
The fairy finished her dance, gave a slight bow to the audience and was just about to tiptoe to the background, when a sudden sound explosion tore through the theatre. A gunshot.
Nikola woke up with a start and glanced over to Helen: "I thought they wanted her alive?" he asked, raising his voice over the commotion which had broken out in the auditorium below.
"They weren't shooting to kill," Helen shook her head, and shot from her seat. Two men were climbing the stage, while the Lilac Fairy, so far unscathed, dashed to the side, disappearing between the wings.
Helen and Nikola stayed only to see the direction in which she was running, and immediately started after her. They ran down the narrow staircase in the closest proximity of the stage, where they literally bumped into Annabelle, as she was making her escape.
"Helen!" the girl recognised her from the description Helen had given her in their previous correspondence. The lady just nodded.
"Come on, quickly!" she urged both of her friends, and they ran towards the back exit.
"I'm Nikola Tesla, by the way," Nikola introduced himself in a hurry. Annabelle acknowledged that with a brief nod, not even pausing in her flight. "Nice to meet you," she gasped, nearly out of breath.
They could hear noise from behind them, suggesting their pursuers were closing in on them. Nikola forced the door of the hind exit and they fled into the night, the chilly spring air searing their lungs and raising the hair on the ladies' bare arms.
Footsteps behind them.
Another gunshot fired, and Nikola, caught in the run, collapsed onto the cobble stones, shot through the chest from behind.
Helen spun around.
"Nikola!"
A fragment of a second later, she too fell onto the street, blood already staining her frosted pink dress.
Annabelle watched the scene in horror, unable to move, but Nikola, who had recovered slightly, found enough presence of mind to shout: "Run, Annabelle! We'll find you! Run!"
Finally, she obeyed and only narrowly escaped another bullet.
The pursuers started after her, but by then Nikola was already on his feet, caught up with them, and ignoring more lead coming his way, he grabbed the two men by their throats, lifted them way above the ground.
"The girl," he growled quietly, overcome by rage and fear for Helen's life, "does not belong to you. And if my friend dies, there will be no place on this planet you could hide from me. I will hunt you down and kill you in the most agonising way you can imagine," he promised them, deliberately speaking slowly to prolong their suffering. Then, while the men were on the verge of death already, he threw them against the wall, hearing them land with a bloodcurdling thud.
Nikola turned around. "Helen!" he cried out and ran towards his friend, who was lying motionless on the cold paving stones, her dress soaked in blood. "Oh my God, Helen! Don't be dead, please, don't be dead!"
He checked for pulse and breath, finding both still there, but only just. His brain was overwhelmed with electricity, his synapses busy evaluating the situation and trying to figure out what to do. In the end, he lifted Helen into his arms, as gently and as quickly as he dared, and breaking into half-run, made back for the Ambassador.