Chapter 7

"Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday, dear Fakir,

Happy birthday to you!"

Duck and Rachel clapped their hands and cheered. Across the kitchen table, the birthday boy sat with his head leaning onto his hand, trying unsuccessfully to stay out of the center of attention.

"Can we please cut the cake now?" Fakir pleaded.

Rachel giggled. "Alright, but before we do, here's my early birthday present for you." The soprano took out a large neatly wrapped box, which Fakir—with a look of relief—accepted.

"Fakir said you have a performance coming up. Are you going to be really busy next month, Rachel?" Duck asked as Fakir undid the wrapping.

Rachel nodded, and with a touch of ruefulness in her voice she answered, "Very much so. The Met Opera is scheduled to have dress rehearsals for our production of Ruslan and Lyudmila starting next week, and my schedule is booked completely solid for the next two months after that. Rather than doing a very belated birthday celebration, I felt it was better to celebrate just a little bit early."

Hearing this, Duck nodded in agreement. Across from them, Fakir had finished undoing the wrapping and opened the paper box to reveal a dark gray wool coat. Watching Fakir pick up the folded garment from its box, Rachel said, "It's been unseasonably cold for this time of year, and you're often out late on cases, so I thought a light but warm coat would be useful for you to have."

The corners of Fakir's lips perked up slightly, and he said sincerely, "Thank you, Rachel."

Seeing Fakir pleased with her gift, Rachel also curled her red lips into a smile. "You're welcome, Fakir. Now," the brunette turned to Duck and clasped her hands together, "I think it's time for cake!"

While Rachel proceeded to distribute the set of dainty bone china dessert plates (courtesy of Duck, as Fakir's idea of a full dish cabinet was two unmatched plates, a bowl, and a single cracked mug), Duck busied herself with the coffee pot and began refilling the matching peony-painted teacups she had brought.

As the red-haired girl raised the pot over to Rachel's cup, the opera singer held out a hand. "Oh, no thank you, Duck. One cup is enough for me."

"Oh…" Duck glanced down at the coffee before looking back sheepishly at Rachel. "I'm sorry, I don't make coffee very often…did I get it wrong?"

Hearing this, Rachel shook her head before smiling apologetically, "Heavens, no! That wasn't what I meant, Duck. The thing is…"

Here the brunette paused and closed her eyes for a moment as both Fakir and Duck watched her inquisitively. When Rachel's violet eyes opened again, her smile grew and the bubble of joy she had been hiding finally rose to the surface. "…I'm pregnant!"

"Oh my gosh!" Duck exclaimed while Fakir blinked in surprise.

Hurriedly setting aside the coffee pot, Duck dashed around the table and gave Rachel a tight hug, which the older woman happily returned. "Congratulations, Rachel! Oh wow!" Duck clasped her hands to her mouth, before impulsively giving the singer another hug, for good measure.

Watching the excitement, Fakir smirked and said with a cocked brow at his cousin, "That explains why you were being so surreptitious over the phone the other day. How long have you known?"

Rachel laughed as a giddy Duck finally went back to her chair, the slices of chocolate cake on the table momentarily forgotten by all present. "A few weeks now. In fact, Hans and I had just come back from the doctor the day I called you."

"Have you thought about names for the baby yet?" Duck chimed in eagerly.

"Hans and I have a few names in mind," Rachel said, her fork hovering over her plate. "I really like the name Monica if the baby happens to be a girl. Hans, meanwhile, would like to name the child after his grandfather Carl if the baby turns out to be a boy."

"Do you have your own boy's name in mind?" Duck wondered aloud.

"I personally really like Robert. But honestly, there are so many names, it's very hard to choose just one!" the singer admitted with a laugh.

"If you end up having twins, then you will need more than one name. So why not keep one as a backup?" Fakir said matter-of-factly.

"That's a good point!" Duck echoed as she tucked into a bite of cake. After swallowing the sugary morsel, she piped up, "In fact, having three sets of names would be even better!"

Fakir grimaced at Duck. "Triplets? Now that's just being excessive, isn't it? After all, what are the odds?"

"It's not impossible, though!" Duck argued before taking another bite of cake. "Several years ago, Ma had a set of triplets in the beginner's class, all boys. I remember Ma said they were quite the handful."

Fakir rolled his eyes and reached for his coffee-filled bone china cup. "I'm sure there was never a dull moment in that household. Their poor mother must have been exhausted!"

"I know…I can barely imagine myself with one, much less three," Duck mused to herself before stabbing into the last piece of her cake.

"You seem to handle Zurab pretty well. I'm sure you'll be fine when you have—" Fakir began casually, but then snapped his mouth shut on the last word. But it was too late, and as he caught Duck's eyes from across the table, as if on cue, their faces began to blush in unison.

Duck noisily swallowed the cake in her mouth with an audible "gulp" and fixed her eyes down at the table, suddenly fascinated by the constellation of crumbs left on her plate. Fakir, meanwhile, seemed to have also found something exceptionally fascinating outside the kitchen window, and resolutely kept his eyes fixed on whatever it was he had found while sipping from his cup.

The sudden awkward silence confused Rachel, whose eyes flitted first to Duck, then to Fakir. When she noticed the pink tint in their cheeks, the singer had to push back down the surge of laughter that threatened to erupt forth.

Keeping her voice even and genial, Rachel asked lightly, "Who is Zurab?"

Duck's eyes darted up, her face still warm. "Oh, Zurab is a little boy who lives with Miss Edel! He's her nephew…or at least, I think that's how they're related. He's a really sweet child, and…"

As Duck launched into her stories about Zurab, Rachel glanced over towards Fakir, who was secretly peering at Duck over the rim of his painted porcelain cup.

Silly boy, the bemused soprano thought to herself with a knowing smile, savoring the chocolate cake on her plate and the equally sweet love-struck expression on her cousin's face.

By the time Rachel shrugged on her coat and reached for her hat hanging by the door, stars had appeared in the darkening sky outside Fakir's window. Fakir, having insisted on walking Rachel to the trolley station, had ducked into his room to retrieve his jacket, briefly leaving the brunette to bid farewell to Duck.

"Thank you again for lending us your dishware, Duck," the opera singer said to the red-head, who was standing with a pile of cleaned plates and cups in her hands. "And thank you for joining us today. It was so wonderful to catch up with you!"

"You're welcome! Thank you for the cake, and for washing these," Duck looked down at the assorted china cradled in her arms, which clattered lightly as she shifted on her feet. "If you ever need anything, just let me know!"

"You as well, Duck. Call if you need anything, or if you just want to get together and chat over tea and cakes," Rachel smiled, then touched her lips as she remembered something. "Come to think of it, I don't think I have your number. Let's exchange numbers before I go."

"Oh…" Duck set the dishes back on the table as Rachel took out a pen and pulled out an old department store receipt from her purse. "I don't have a telephone installed in my apartment," the red-haired girl admitted. "Can I give you the number for the pointe shoe shop where I work instead?"

"Certainly! And here is my number," Rachel said, tearing the scrap of paper in half and jotting her phone number down while Duck did so likewise on the other half.

By the time Fakir walked back into the kitchen area with jacket and hat in hand, Duck had just tucked the note into a pocket on her sweater. To Rachel, Fakir said, "Are you ready? I'll walk you to the tram station."

"Fakir, I've told you, I can find my way there," Rachel began, but when she saw the concerned expression on Fakir's face, she sighed softly and acquiesced. "Oh, very well, then. Thank you, Fakir."

After bidding Duck farewell, the Romeiras cousins made their way out into the cool night air and headed for the station.

Once a group of boisterous students had passed them by, Rachel remarked, "You and Duck are getting along quite well with one another."

Fakir's brows twitched at the seemingly innocuous comment and Rachel thought her younger cousin was going to play dumb. But to her surprise, he said, "Duck and I…we're seeing each other."

A wide smile erupted on Rachel's face. "Really? Good on you, Fakir! She's a lovely girl! Ah…"

The singer exhaled contently and looked up at the sky. Above them, the bright gibbous moon hung in the cloudless starry night, its silver glow reflected in Rachel's violet eyes.

"To be honest, I was worried you'd never find someone…either because your personality was too strong, or because love was simply something you wouldn't make time for in your life. But I see I needn't have worried. Things always work out somehow…" Turning back to Fakir, Rachel added with a twinkle in her eyes, "…and sometimes things work out for the better."

Shifting uneasily, Fakir turned the topic back to Rachel as they came to a crosswalk and paused for the light. "What about you? The show is opening soon. Are you sure you will be all right?"

Rachel looked down and gently touched her stomach. "You know the saying, 'the show must go on'. Some mornings have been a little rough, but it hasn't been unbearable. In fact, my voice has felt stronger after I became pregnant, and my vocal coach commented that my arias have sounded richer lately. Perhaps it's thanks to the baby,"* she said, grinning playfully.

"But you haven't told the Met about your pregnancy yet, have you? What will you do after you have the child?"

Ahead of them, the red crosswalk light turned green and the pedestrians' footsteps resumed their onward march. Facing Rachel, Fakir asked solemnly, "Singing for a large company like the Met Opera was your dream growing up. You've invested so much time and effort to get to where you are now…but, it could all end if the Met decides to drop you once they know you're expecting."

Walking side-by-side with her cousin, Rachel nodded somberly. "That has crossed my mind. I will have to tell Gatti* about my pregnancy before long, certainly before I start to show. But no matter if the company wants me to stay or go, once this season's show is over, I will have to take a break from performing. The doctor warned me that pregnancy will affect my breathing and make singing long passages difficult."

Rachel looked out ahead, her spirits high despite the deepening cold in the air. "But what I do know is that both Hans and I have decided it was time for us to start a family of our own." Patting her belly, the soprano smiled. "Whatever may come in the future, I will not regret our decision to have this child."

Looking now to Fakir, the mischievous gleam returned to Rachel's eyes and she grinned. "What about you and Duck? Have you begun planning your proposal to her yet?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake—!" Fakir exclaimed in exasperation while his cousin concealed a chuckle behind a gloved hand. "We've been seeing each other for barely a month! It's far too early to be thinking about marriage!"

"Perhaps," Rachel said lightly as they stopped in front of the station, the approaching toll of a tram car ringing in the air. "But it's never too early to start planning." She pulled Fakir in for a tight hug, which Fakir silently returned.

Pulling away, the singer tenderly touched Fakir's face, her fingertips brushing past his shorn locks. "I can tell she's the one for you, Fakir. There's been so much more joy in your life since you met her. Hold onto this happiness that you've found; nurture it, but also enjoy it. I know you don't like me harping on this, but do something nice for yourself on your birthday this year instead of burying yourself in work, you hear?"

As the tram pulled up to the station, Fakir clasped Rachel's lingering hand and gave it a brief squeeze. "I know," he answered quietly before letting go.

Once onboard the streetcar, Rachel gave Fakir one last wave before disappearing inside the tram. Fakir stood and watched for a few moments longer as the car continued on its way and faded into the busy street.

Lifting his gaze to the waning moon in the sky, Fakir wondered idly what it would be like to have a family of his own. Might be something like that day at the zoo, he thought, recalling the excited chatter from Zurab and the patient smile on Duck's face.

The memory of Duck and Zurab dredged up a hazy memory from many years ago, the details having eroded with time. He was a young boy, only a few years older than Zurab back then. Though he could no longer recall the exact setting, Fakir remembered the feeling of glee and anticipation he'd felt as his parents presented him with his birthday gift. Small hands hurriedly unwrapped the parcel, revealing a paperback detective novel as his father placed a paternal hand on his head.

"Happy birthday, Fakir!"

The ghostly murmur in Fakir's ears was displaced by the blare of a speeding car, impatiently honking its horn at the pedestrians blocking its path.

Fakir turned his gaze away from the soft moonlight. Despite his resolve to stop living in the past, the fact remained that there were some things he held dear that were lost forever. With the crunch of fallen leaves under his feet, the detective began his lonely trek back towards home.

The day after Rachel's visit, Duck exited her apartment to see Fakir already waiting for her. "You're not wearing the new coat, Fakir?" the shop girl asked as she locked her door.

"It's not quite cold enough for that just yet," Fakir answered, accompanying Duck as they made their way downstairs. "Besides, the places police work takes me are rarely pleasant. It's better to save it for the weekend, or for a day when I'm off duty."

Making their way down the familiar street, Duck looked at Fakir, her mouth wrinkled into a thoughtful frown. "I know we talked about this before, but I still think we should do something to celebrate on your birthday, Fakir. I know you don't want anything complicated, but…"

As Duck felt a hand on her arm, she went silent and glimpsed a forlorn shadow in Fakir's eyes before he shrugged. "It's…just an unnecessary bother. Don't worry yourself over it."

Fakir's hand fell away from Duck's arm, leaving a lingering vacuum of warmth in its place. Changing the topic deliberately, he said, "Though, speaking of a gift, I want to get something for Rachel and the baby. It's a bit early, but maybe you can help me with some ideas?"

"Um, sure…" Duck muttered. She knew better than to push the subject of his birthday when Fakir clearly did not want to talk about it.

Yet, even after they had parted ways at Ebine's bakery, thoughts of presents and Fakir's birthday lingered in Duck's mind.

Even if Fakir doesn't want a party or anything, I still should get a present for him, she thought, her hand subconsciously clasping the carnelian pendant below her collar. But what should I get him?

A blur of color from the corner of Duck's eyes stilled her feet, and she found herself in front of the travel agency again. The sight of the rainbow over Niagara Falls brought a smile to her face, and she allowed herself a moment to enjoy the poster. Inside the travel agency, a figure caught sight of her from the window and a smartly dressed young man stepped out.

"Good morning, miss!" the friendly young man held out his hand to Duck, who—taken by surprise—hurriedly returned the gesture and shook his hand. "Anything I can help you with?" he asked.

"Ah…" Duck gave the man an awkward smile and glanced at the poster behind him. "I-I was just looking at the poster of Niagara Falls…"

"Oh yes! That has been a popular destination this year! We actually have a promotion right now—hold on just a second and let me get a brochure for you!"

Duck nodded mutely as the spry travel agent hopped back inside before reappearing moments later with a brochure for Niagara Falls and a flyer printed with train schedules.

"Here you are, miss." Opening up the brochure, the agent explained, "We currently have a two-days, one-night special package to Niagara Falls. You'll stay at the Converse Hotel, and breakfast is included with your stay. The brochure also lists the sights and attractions you'll see there, and you can pick from any of the trains on this schedule sheet."

"I see," Duck quickly glanced through the brochure, which advertised not only the eponymous waterfall, but also local restaurants and various places of interest for tourists. The more Duck looked at the colorful advertisements with its promises of fun and beautiful vistas, the more tempting the prospect of visiting became.

This would make a great present for Fakir! He could take a break from police work and do some sightseeing!

Looking up, the red-haired girl asked, "How much is the package?"

"That'll depend. Will the trip be for a party of one or more?" the travel agent inquired.

"Eh…" Duck hesitated. As much as she'd like to go, she reminded herself she was asking for Fakir's sake. But if the package was cheap enough, she would love to see Niagara Falls for herself. "How much would it cost for one person? And how much would it cost for two?" she asked tentatively.

"For one, the discounted rate for train and lodging is $35. But for two people the package will be $40,"* the young man said proudly, and failed to notice the color drain out of Duck's face at those prices.

There's no way I can afford that! Duck mentally groaned.

With the travel agent watching her expectantly, Duck hurriedly tucked the brochure and train schedule away into her purse and began to turn away. "I-I see…um, thank for you this. I'll think about it!"

"Of course! But just so you know, this offer ends in three weeks. If you any questions, come by any time we're open!" the cheerful young man said with a wave, which Duck weakly returned before turning onto C Street.

Exhaling a deep sigh, Duck directed her mind to other options for Fakir's birthday. I remember Pique mentioned enjoying a good meal as an idea for my birthday, Duck thought as she approached the pointe shoe shop. That might not be such a bad idea…but, what kind of food does Fakir like?

Duck grimaced. Though they'd known each other for a while now, she'd only seen Fakir eat a handful of times. In all those instances, he ate whatever was quick to eat and readily available, and she never heard him make a fuss about his food.

He has to have a favorite food, right? I mean, most people do—well, then again, Fakir isn't exactly like most people.

As Duck pondered this question, Rachel's friendly face appeared in her mind. "Hey, that's right!" Duck said to herself. "I can ask Rachel!"

Patting her sweater pockets, Duck found the scrap of paper Rachel had given her the day before still tucked within her pocket. But with Rachel's number in hand, Duck came to another question: how would she make the call?

Mr. Kotin's phone would be the easiest option. But with Lillie and Pique around, chances are they'll overhear me. Then they'd surely ask me lots of questions about why I made the call, and to whom! Duck shuddered, not wanting to add more proverbial fuel to stoke the burning interest her friends seemed to have in her private life.

Touching her freckled nose thoughtfully, the red-head considered other options available to her. Let's see…I remember there was a payphone on 14th Street, between the hardware store and the bookstore. Maybe I can go there instead?

Before Duck could come to a decision, the sight of a familiar figure by the Stein Jewelry Store interrupted her thoughts. Smiling benevolently, Edel watched as Duck picked up her pace and came up to greet her.

"Good morning, Miss Edel!"

"Good morning to you as well, Duck. How are you today?"

"I'm well. And you?" Duck smiled.

"I am well as well. But I was wondering, could you do me a great favor?"

At this unexpected request, Duck's brow furrowed in worry. Without hesitation, she responded, "Of course! Is everything alright?"

Edel did not reply. Instead, she gave Duck a wan smile, which only made Duck more concerned. "I will visit Zurab's mother, Josefine, at the Trudeau Sanitorium in a week's time.* I will be away for about two weeks, plus travel time. Unfortunately, I cannot bring Zurab with me. He is young, and I do not wish to expose him to the maladies that patients there are recovering from. Could you look after Zurab during this time?" Edel asked.

She continued, "He can accompany you in the pointe shoe shop during the day. I have already spoken with Vaslov on this matter and he has given me permission to let Zurab sit in the store. I have books and puzzles to keep Zurab occupied while I am away, and have impressed upon him that he must remain quiet and not distract you from your tasks while he stays in the store. If you would be willing to take him home with you after hours, I would be deeply grateful to you."

"Yes! Of course!" Duck answered immediately. Glancing inside the jewelry shop, Duck did not see Zurab. To Edel, she asked, "Is Zurab's mother doing well? I hope she's alright…"

Edel sighed and a look of worry entered the shopkeeper's sapphire blue eyes as she said, "She has been recovering slowly but surely, but the illness has left her physically very weak. As you can imagine, she misses Zurab terribly, but in her current state it would be impossible for Josefine to care for Zurab. I plan to speak with her and her physician to see what can be done about her situation. After all, a sanitorium—no matter how pleasant—is not a place to spend the rest of one's life."

Duck nodded. Feeling a pang of pity and kinship for the little boy, knowing that he must be missing his mother very much as well, she said reassuringly, "I'll take good care of Zurab while you're away, Miss Edel. Leave it to me!"

"Thank you, Duck," Edel closed her eyes momentarily and exhaled a breath of pure relief. "Let us talk later today or tomorrow to arrange things."

With another firm nod of her head, Duck bid Edel farewell, and at last made her way to the pointe shoe shop. With the tinkle of the doorbell, Duck saw that Pique had already arrived.

"Duck! Mr. Kotin left another note for us," Pique said and held out a sheet of stationary to Duck.

Accepting the note, Duck saw it was nearly identical to the last one he'd left, that he would be away for the day and was leaving the shop in their care. "How odd," Duck commented, her eyebrows scrunched together.

When Lillie stepped into the shop shortly after, Duck passed the note to her blonde friend. "I wonder what kind of urgent business he's away on," Duck said. "In the past, he'd always tell us where he was going at least a day in advance, but he hasn't mentioned anything recently."

However, Lillie, in her typical fashion, had a far more ostentatious explanation in mind. Beneath what seemed like bright stage lights, Lillie dramatically exclaimed, "For Mr. Kotin to be away so much, I'm sure he must be planning something! Something secretive, something that he must not tell anyone! Maybe he's planning a surprise proposal to Miss Belyky? Or better yet, maybe she's actually a Soviet spy! A vamp* who's entrapped him with her beauty and feminine charms, and has bent his mind to her cause!"

"Um…" Duck looked askance at her friend's fanciful and preposterous idea, but Pique snorted and let out a hearty laugh.

"Honestly, Lillie, you should be working as a screenwriter in Hollywood instead of lounging here with us!"

At this, Lillie sighed, and the lights that seemed to beam down from above her dimmed as her melodramatic voice returned to its normal tone. "Oh, believe me, if anyone ever offered me the job, I would take it in a heartbeat! But I'm afraid my mother would make me join a convent before she'd let me move to California!"

"Why not try writing something and sending it to a few magazines here in New York? There are so many serials sold on the newsstands, I'm sure they're constantly looking for new material! And you can always send your work in under a pseudonym. Your mother would be none the wiser!"

"Hmm," Lillie considered this as they sat down in a row behind the counter while the clock quietly ticked away. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to give it a try? After all, we have so much free time right now, what with business being so slow and Mr. Kotin nowhere to be seen."

As Lillie and Pique continued to discuss possible story ideas to pitch to magazines, Duck looked down at her small hands and her lips creased into a frown. Both Lillie and Pique have found their interests, things they're good at…but what about me? What can I do?

Looking around her, Duck knew every nook and cranny of the pointe shoe shop, from which cabinet door squeaked the loudest to where Mr. Kotin kept his best fountain pen. But unlike her friends, Duck had no idea what she would do outside of this small cocoon she'd known nearly her entire life. The thought of going out into the world and seeing what she could make of herself was overwhelming.

Ack! I'm thinking too much again, Duck told herself resolutely, trying to ignore the prick of unease gnawing at the edge of her mind, a feeling to which she could not give a name, but also refused to go away.

Outside the shop window, two sparrows took off into the air from the tree by the door. Their flight caught Duck's eyes and she watched as the birds flapped their wings toward a ledge out of view. As they took flight, a stray red autumn leaf was set adrift from its old perch, carried this way and that on the breeze, with no control over its path or destination.

"Hey, Duck."

At the sound of her name, Duck snapped out of her trance and saw Pique and Lillie looking expectantly at her. "We're going to take an early lunch. We brought food from home. Did you bring anything today?"

Unaware how much time had passed while lost in her uneasy reveries, Duck glanced at the clock and shook her head. "Oh! Um, no, I was actually planning to go buy something quick for lunch."

So speaking, Duck scraped back her chair and retrieved her purse from the cabinet behind the counter. Remembering her earlier idea about the payphone, Duck added, "I also need to run some errands, so I might be back a little bit later."

"Oh, okay…" Pique answered, but by then Duck was already out the door.

Once outside, Duck made a beeline for 14th Street where she found the wooden phone booth next to the bookstore. Stepping into the narrow booth, Duck inserted a coin into the slot and dialed the string of numbers Rachel had given her.

With the receiver cradled to her ear, Duck waited for the ringing to stop. Luckily for her, after a few rings, the singer's melodious voice could be heard on the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Rachel! It's me! Duck!" the shop girl shouted into the receiver, trying to speak above the noise of the city around her.

"Oh! Hello, Duck. How are you?"

Duck's blue eyes darted down to the floor of the payphone booth and she nervously edged closer to the transmitter and covered her hand over her mouth, "Um…good. Sorry for calling you out of the blue, but I was wondering—and this may sound like a strange question…do you know what Fakir's favorite food is?"

A chuckle reached Duck's ears and the fretfulness that had already been plaguing Duck morphed into panicked mortification.

"I-I'm sorry! That really was a strange question to ask! Sorry to bother you! Goodbye!" Duck exclaimed, and was about to hang up the receiver when Rachel's voice stopped her.

"Wait, Duck! It's not a strange question at all! Fakir's already told me about the two of you…"

"Eh?" Duck gaped and reluctantly drew herself close to the transmitter again. "H-He did?"

"Yes, and I am so, so happy for the both of you!" Rachel's voice responded with delight. The singer quickly continued, "About what you said earlier, are you planning to cook something for his birthday later this week?"

"Um, yes. I was hoping you could tell me what his favorite food is…" Duck answered. Scratching at her cheek, she admitted, "I-I'm not a great cook or anything, but I'd like to give it a try, if it's not something too difficult to make."

"Yes, of course! Fakir isn't a picky eater, but if I had to pick one thing he really likes…" there was a pause and a thoughtful hum before Rachel said, "…I would say it would be açorda."*

Duck blinked at the unfamiliar term, her mind drawing a blank. "Um…what's that?" the shop girl asked hesitantly.

"It's a type of bread soup. My mother made it for us when we were younger, and it's the only dish I can remember that Fakir would regularly ask for seconds for. And don't worry," Rachel added, sensing Duck's trepidation, "it's a very easy dish to make! First, you grind garlic and cilantro into a paste. Then you poach an egg or two in simmering water, add salt to the water, and use the poaching liquid to make a broth with the paste. You put in some torn up pieces of old sourdough bread, put the poached egg on top, and voilà—that's all there is to it!"

"Do you have a recipe, just so I'll know how much of each ingredient to use?" Duck asked hopefully.

"No, I'm afraid we don't have a written recipe," Rachel responded, and Duck's heart sank a little. "It's always been made by eye and to taste. I think if it tastes good to you, it will be fine."

"Oh, alright…" Duck sighed. Even if there wasn't a recipe to follow, the general directions do sound straightforward enough, the would-be chef consoled herself. At least, I hope that will be the case…

To the singer, Duck said, "Thank you, Rachel. I will try…"

"You're welcome, and thank you for taking the time to do this. I'm sure Fakir will say this isn't necessary, but I really appreciate your time and effort, and I'm sure he will too, even if he doesn't say so."

Duck smiled. After thanking Rachel one last time, they said their farewells and the red-head returned the receiver to its hook before stepping out with purpose back onto the street.

Let's see…I already have garlic and salt, Duck counted off on her fingers. There's still bread, but I should buy another loaf just for the soup. I'll also have to get eggs…Duck cringed at the thought of her least favorite food. But this is for Fakir, so if the recipe calls for poached eggs, then poached eggs there will be!

Scarcely having taken two steps from the phone booth, Duck's feet halted and she slapped her hands to her face. But wait! I've never made poached eggs before! Sliding her hands down her face, Duck cupped her chin, thinking furiously. Rachel said it was easy. Just cook the eggs in simmering water, right? Right! It's just eggs. How bad can it be?

Despite her positive mantra, Duck could vividly imagine herself making a giant mess in her kitchen, and having nothing to present to Fakir on his birthday except silent disappointment.

Even if I get the poached egg right, what if I mess up the rest of it? I might think the soup is fine, but it might not be to Fakir's taste! And since this is supposed to be his favorite dish, I'll end up ruining his birthday! I need a backup plan of some sort! Maybe I can buy a gift for him?

With her mind racing, Duck looked around her, trying to find a shop that might offer her an alternative gift option in case her plan went south. As Duck looked up, the blue bookstore sign next to the phone booth caught her eyes, and she smiled broadly in delight.

That's right! Fakir loves detective novels! Duck thought, recalling the box of old detective novels she'd come across in Fakir's bedroom many months ago.

With her hopes high, Duck strode into the bookstore. The shop owner looked up when she entered and greeted her warmly from his station behind the counter. "Hello, miss. Would you like help finding a book?"

Quickly glancing around the multitude of shelves in the store, each packed to the brim with tomes of varying sizes containing a kaleidoscope of subjects, Duck gulped and nodded feebly, "Yes, please."

Putting down the stack of books he was organizing, the shopkeeper smiled, "Are you looking for a specific title or author?"

"No," Duck twisted her hands, "but I would like to get a book as a present for someone. He likes detective stories…you know, like Sherlock Holmes and The Moonstone…and he's actually a police detective himself, and…" Duck trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

Seeing her lost and overwhelmed expression, the shop keeper smiled good-naturedly. "If that's the case, I think I have just the book for you. Please follow me," he said, walking around the counter and leading Duck to a shelf near the door.

Picking up a hardcopy book, the shopkeeper handed the volume to Duck, who saw the title was The Secret of Chimneys by Agatha Christie.

"The books by this author have been very popular. This book in particular also features a lost treasure. If your friend enjoyed The Moonstone, then I bargain he would also enjoy this story. Also, one of the main characters in this story is a police officer. All in all, I think this would be the perfect gift for him."

Hearing this, Duck nodded happily. "That would be wonderful! I'll take it!"

"Fantastic! Give me a moment to gift wrap this for you. Please feel free to browse in the meantime."

"Thank you," Duck said as the shopkeeper walked away back to the counter.

Just then, another thought occurred to Duck as she recalled Fakir's old detective novels. Calling out to the store keeper, she said, "Sorry, before you wrap it, could I borrow a pen?"

The floorboard creaked below Fakir's feet as he stepped in front of his apartment door. With no progress in the search for Worm Tongue after another long day, Fakir reached irritably into his pocket for his apartment key.

Hearing the shuffling noise coming from next door, Duck opened her door and peered out. "How were things at the precinct today?" she asked quietly.

Fakir shrugged as he put the key into the lock. "Could be better. Things are not coming together as quickly as I would like…but then, they very rarely come together at the pace I wish they would."

Back to Duck, Fakir asked hopefully, "Do you want to practice dancing for a bit tonight?"

To Fakir's secret disappointment, Duck shook her head. "No, you should get some rest. You look really tired." Smiling, she then said, "I'm going to make something special for your birthday this weekend. I'll bring it over for dinner on Sunday!"

"Make something 'special'?" Fakir echoed dubiously. "You're planning to cook something?"

"Yup!" Duck grinned. "It'll be a surprise. Now get some rest, okay? Goodnight!" With that, Duck retreated back into her apartment, leaving a bewildered Fakir standing in the hallway.

What on earth is she planning? Fakir wondered as he let himself into his apartment. He'd never known Duck to be much of a cook. That didn't necessarily mean she was a bad cook, but given how clumsy Duck seemed to be in everyday life, Fakir's confidence in her culinary aptitude did not run very high.

Still, Fakir was intrigued as he walked into his bedroom. The feeling of anticipation gave Fakir's hands pause as he took off his jacket.

How strange, Fakir thought, his lips curling into a wry smile. It's been so long since I've actually looked forward to my birthday…

When the evening of October 4th finally arrived a few days later, Fakir was working at his desk in his apartment when he heard Duck's voice at his door. As soon as the door opened, the scents of freshly crushed cilantro and pungent garlic drew Fakir's eyes down to the tray Duck held in her hands. On it were two large bowls, each filled with a green, steamy broth, as well as a small basket of sliced bread and a pair of spoons.

"Hi, Fakir! I wasn't sure if you wanted to have the bread already in the soup or if you preferred to put them in yourself, so I brought the bread over, too," Duck prattled excitedly as she set the tray down on his dining table and began laying out the bowls and other items. Once the items were set, Duck turned to see an incredulous Fakir staring back at her.

"You made açorda?"

"Well…I tried to," Duck scratched her head sheepishly. "I know you didn't want to do anything fancy, so I thought I'd try to make something you like to eat for your birthday. I-I've never made it before, but I asked Rachel and she said it was easy, so I gave it a try."

Pulling out a chair, Duck motioned for him to sit before she took a seat at the table. Fakir gave the soup a stir with the spoon Duck had brought over, and fished out a hard-boiled egg from the bottom of his bowl.

The sight of the hard-boiled egg in Fakir's spoon drew an embarrassed laugh from Duck. "Ah haha…um, I meant to make a poached egg, but I think I overcooked it in the end…" She looked down and absently stirred her own bowl.

When an egg failed to bob up to the surface on hers, Fakir gave Duck a puzzled look. "You didn't cook an egg for yourself?"

"Oh, I don't like eggs, so I, uh, just made one," Duck hurriedly explained.

What she didn't say was that her first two attempts at making poached eggs ended disastrously when the eggs broke open in the pot. By the time she was down to her third and last egg, Duck overcompensated for her previous mistakes by boiling the egg all the way through.

I should've asked Rachel about how to make a proper poached egg, Duck lamented, her teeth biting nervously on her spoon, as she watched Fakir bring a spoon full of broth to his lips.

To Duck's relief, Fakir's green eyes lit up when he took a sip of the light but flavorful soup. "It's good," he commented. The familiar taste on his tongue drew a smile to the detective's face and he said quietly, "My mother used to make this soup, and I remember she would also have trouble making poached eggs, so my father would make that part of the dish instead."

Duck's hand paused and her eyes darted up from her bowl. Fakir rarely spoke about his parents, and when he did there would invariably be a tinge of pain in his voice. But today, for the first time since she'd met him, that tinge was absent, and only warm reminiscence filled his voice.

Seeing his smile, and despite her failed attempts at poaching eggs, Duck couldn't help but feel a glowing rush of pride. "I'm glad you like it!" Duck grinned, and added excitedly, "The poached egg part is a little hard, but if I make the…‛ah-sorta' a couple more times, I'm sure I'll get it right eventually!"

Having just put the bread into his soup, Fakir couldn't help but let out a snort of laughter at Duck's mispronunciation.

"What's wrong?" Duck cocked her head slightly to one side in confusion.

"That's not how you say 'açorda', Duck. It's is pronounced 'uh-soar-duh'. There's a long vowel in the middle."

Duck tried to imitate Fakir and puckered her lips, making her look uncannily like her namesake animal. "You mean, like ah-swooore-dah?"

Fakir cringed while choking back another burst of laughter. "No, that's not quite it," he said, trying to remain composed.

"A-swirl-dog? All-sort-of?"

Not sure if he should laugh or cry at this point, Fakir waved his hand and went back to his soup, which Duck did a far better job of making than pronouncing. "It's…oh, never mind."

Duck pouted reproachfully, but her displeasure dissipated when Fakir smiled. "Thank you for making this."

"You're welcome," Duck responded and the two settled into a comfortable silence as they enjoyed the simple meal together.

As Duck reached the bottom of her bowl, Fakir had just finished his portion, wiping his mouth on a napkin.

"You take your time. I'll go ahead and wash these first," he said, and began to stand with the empty bowl in hand.

"Oh, wait!" Duck put down her spoon. "I have something else to give you! Hold on!"

Fakir sat back down as she hurried up from her chair and ran back to her apartment. Did she make something besides açorda? he wondered, but when Duck returned, instead of food, she presented him with a rectangular object wrapped in crisp yellow wrapping paper and tied off with a neat red ribbon.

Wondering what this could be, Fakir accepted the object while Duck, standing eagerly in front of him, watched.

Once the wrapping and ribbon finally came undone, Fakir's brows shot up when he saw the cover of the detective novel. "Why did you…?" his voice trailed off.

Seeing his stunned expression, Duck quickly explained, "I-I wasn't sure if the soup would come out well, so I also got you this! R-Rachel told me you like detective stories, a-and I saw you have similar types of books in your room, so I—!"

As Duck realized she had just revealed she had been snooping around his bedroom, a fact that Duck had so far kept a secret from Fakir, her cheeks flushed cherry red. She stammered, "Ah! That is, I saw those at a glance the other day w-when we were d-dancing! Yeah, that's what it was!"

As Duck continued with her sputtering explanation, Fakir's eyes were instead glued to the book in his hands. Running his palm across the book jacket, he opened the front cover and saw two brief lines of text written across the cover page.

Happy birthday, Fakir.

Love, Duck.

The memory of his parents from days lost past resurfaced. His mother's warm smile and his father's gentle touch on his head. The now faded handwritten note on the cover pages of old detective novels kept in his room, bittersweet memories of people gone forever…

To our son, Fakir. Happy birthday.

Across from him, Duck ended her prattling abruptly when she felt a hand on her back. Fakir, still seated in his chair, pulled her toward him and buried his face into the front of her sweater.

"Fakir! What are you—?!" An abashed Duck exclaimed, but her voice cut off when she felt Fakir take a silent shuddering breath and felt his body tremble against hers when he exhaled.

"Thank you, Duck," Fakir whispered, his voice muffled by Duck's woolen sweater.

Fakir… Duck's blue eyes softened. Forgetting her nervous jitters from moments earlier, Duck smiled and wrapped her arms around Fakir's shoulders, cradling his head in her hands.

"Happy birthday, Fakir…" she whispered back, her voice soft as a lullaby.

After another shaky breath, Fakir slowly drew away from Duck. Gingerly placing the book on the table, the detective stood, and wiped quickly at his eyes. Clearing his throat, Fakir said, "Let me get the dishes," and reached for the used dishware.

But Duck pushed his hands out of the way. "It's your birthday today! You shouldn't be doing the dishes!"

"You cooked already. I should at least do the cleaning!" Fakir responded stubbornly, and turned toward the dishes again.

Duck however, was not about to give up so easily. Stepping between Fakir and the table, arms stretched wide, she declared, "But they're my dishes!"

"And it's my birthday!" Fakir shot back pointedly, eyes narrowed.

Duck opened her mouth but realized she didn't have a retort to that. Instead, she started laughing and soon Fakir was also chuckling and shaking his head as they both recognized the absurdity of their argument.

"Okay, fine. But only because it is your birthday," Duck giggled as she conceded "defeat".

While Fakir disappeared into the kitchen with the dishes, Duck's eyes wandered idly around his apartment before settling on the pile of paperwork and photos strewn over his desk from across the room. Curiosity propelled her into the room, and her eyes skimmed the various objects laid out on the tabletop.

She'd seen Fakir at work on the Corvo case before when she had come into his bedroom in search of her lost apartment key. The paperwork and documents had all been very abstruse to her then, as it still was now.

The only thing that she could decipher the meaning of at a glance was a black and white photo of a stocky man with a disproportionately small head, and the name "Anthony 'Worm Tongue' Vermi" written across the bottom.

"Say, Fakir," Duck began as the sound of running water ceased and the shop girl could hear the squeak of Fakir's feet on the floorboard behind her, "Why is this man called 'Worm Tongue'?"

Throwing a dish towel across the back of a chair, Fakir joined Duck next to the desk and he picked up the photo. "He's called that because he has a very noticeable lisp," Fakir answered solemnly.

"Did he…" Duck paused, then looked back at Fakir and in a low voice, said, "did this person kill someone?"

Fakir's lips tugged downward before he handed the photo to Duck. "We suspect he might be involved in a homicide case I'm working on. Another thing is that…" The detective paused, and Duck was puzzled when Fakir's hands clasped her shoulders. "I've also been working on a case where a supposed former associate of the Corvo gang made threats toward the witness and detective who brought down Principe and Domenico Corvo. We have reason to believe the suspect in both cases are the same person."

Watching Duck's eyes go wide, Fakir nodded somberly, answering the unspoken question on Duck's mind. "I wanted to let you know sooner, so that you could be on your guard, but with only rumors and hearsays, I didn't want to alarm you unnecessarily. Then, about two weeks ago, I found someone who heard this man make those threats firsthand, and just two days ago, we finally received copies of his old mug shot. We're out looking for Worm Tongue right now, even as I speak, and I am sure we will locate him eventually. But in the meantime, take a good look at this photo, Duck, and stay alert."

Duck nodded. Examining the mug shot in her hand for a long moment, putting it to memory, the shop girl then carefully placed the photo back on the desk.

Turning to Fakir, who stood with one hand still on her shoulder, Duck said, "I'll be careful. But I'm glad you told me instead of trying to follow me everywhere, like you used to do."

"Trust me, I was tempted," Fakir smirked. "But knowing you, it would've been like guarding a hornet's nest."

"Hey!" Duck huffed, puffing out her cheeks.

The sight of Duck puffed up like a blowfish nearly made Fakir laugh again. But after everything they'd gone through, Fakir knew the subject at hand was no laughing matter. Sobering, his hand tightened its grasp on Duck's shoulder and he said gravely, "Please do take this threat seriously, though, Duck. The Corvos employed a vast network of associates, and it's impossible to say what kind of repercussions would follow after their downfall. If something were to happen to you…" He trailed off.

…I would never forgive myself.

Fakir's fearful thoughts were interrupted when he felt the warm touch of Duck's hand on the side of his face. "You need to be careful, too, Fakir—even more so than me. After all, you face so many more dangers on a daily basis than I do." Standing on her tiptoes, she placed a light kiss on the corner of his lips and stroked his cheek reassuringly. "I'll keep my eyes peeled, so don't worry."

Fakir covered his hand over Duck's, absorbed in her sky-blue eyes. Something about the way she smiled at him, her mix of uncommon courage and endless kindness, the way she always thought of others before herself…Fakir would do anything to protect this girl, whose heart was so much bigger than her slender and diminutive stature.

In moments like these, just as on the day he quietly declared his love to her, his words always seemed to fail him. It both frustrated and amazed him how the brightness in her eyes and a simple smile, when directed at him, had the ability to turn him mute.

Without words to help him, Fakir did the only things he knew to convey his emotions to her. Reaching for the small of her back, Fakir pulled Duck close. The action drew a blush to Duck's cheeks and her small lips parted in surprise but she remained nestled in his embrace, palm resting against the center of his chest.

Tilting his head, Fakir's green eyes briefly met Duck's before his lips found hers and they closed their eyes against the amber glow of the desk lamp. Unlike their previous kisses, which were brief—almost chaste—tonight they lingered in each other's touch, lips only parting briefly for a quick breath of air.

Fakir pulled Duck flush against him with one hand, while the hand that had been on her shoulder caressed the curve of her neck before coming to rest on the back of her head.

Feeling Fakir's body firmly pressed against hers, a rush of heat traveled through Duck's body, and she could not stifle a small sharp gasp as her knees seemed to turn soft. To hold herself steady, the red-head slipped her arms across Fakir's back, the fabric of his shirt bunching in her closed fists as she leaned into him.

The notion of time seemed forgotten as they held each other, yet the growing heat between them at last forced them to part. By then, both of their faces were flushed and burning red as the heady first rush of passion left them breathless. With the fog in their brains beginning to clear, Fakir and Duck were at a loss for a moment before their hands reluctantly let go of one another, their eyes averted sheepishly towards the floor.

"Um…let me help you carry the dishes back," Fakir offered weakly.

When he began to turn, a light tug on his sleeve stilled his footsteps. Duck, whose face was the color of a ripe pomegranate and still averted, had one hand on a corner of Fakir's shirt cuff. She muttered faintly, "D-Do you think I can stay a little bit longer? W-We hadn't had a chance to practice dancing this week…that is, i-if you don't mind, of course!"

Mustering her courage, Duck glanced at Fakir, whose face was just as red as hers. When he didn't respond immediately, she let go of his sleeve, but her hand was quickly caught by Fakir, who laced his fingers through hers.

"Always," he responded simply and Duck found herself mirroring the smile on Fakir's face.

The familiar chime of the doorbell greeted Duck as she stepped inside the Kotin Pointe Shoe Shop. "Good morning, Pique and Lillie," Duck called out, expecting to see her friends already here. To Duck's surprise, Mr. Kotin was the one who returned her greeting instead.

"Good morning, Miss Duck," emerging from his office, the usually jovial shop owner spoke in an uncharacteristically subdued voice.

Duck gasped. "Mr. Kotin, you're here this morning?"

Before Mr. Kotin could answer, another "jing-a-ling" at the door saw Pique, followed by Lillie, enter the store. They too were taken by surprise by the appearance of their ever absent employer, with Pique blurting out, "Mr. Kotin! We thought we'd never see you again!"

Mr. Kotin sighed and nodded. "Yes, I have been away for some time these last few weeks. But I am back here today for something very important."

As Duck walked over to flip the "Closed" sign over, Mr. Kotin stopped her. "Not just yet, Miss Duck. Could you come here for a moment? You too, Miss Pique and Miss Lillie."

Perplexed, the girls gathered in front of Mr. Kotin, who took a deep breath. Clasping his hands in front of him, he said gravely, "You see, ladies, there is something I must tell you…"

A/N

*While it may seem far-fetched, there is anecdotal evidence (and at least one case study, titled: "The Impact of Pregnancy on the Singing Voice: A Case Study" published in the 2012 January/February edition of the Journal of Singing) that pregnancy changes the timbre and warmth in a singer's voice during the second trimester, likely due to increased levels of the hormone progesterone.

*The "Gatti" Rachel refers to is Giulio Gatti-Casazza, the general manager of the Metropolitan Opera from 1908 to 1935. While Gatti was said to be well-liked by those who worked with him, it was not uncommon for women to lose their jobs in the era this story is set in when they became pregnant or got married. It wasn't until 1978, when the Pregnancy Discrimination Act was passed, that it became illegal for an employer to fire an employee for being (or planning to be) pregnant.

*Regarding Zurab's mother, Josefine is the German variant of the name Josephine. The Italian variant of Josephine is Giuseppina, which is also the name of the Italian ballerina, Giuseppina Bozzacchi, who first performed the role of Coppélia in the ballet of the same name. Tragically, Giuseppina died on her 17th birthday due to illness after the onset of the War of 1870 between France and Prussia, 6 months after the ballet's premiere. As an aside, the Trudeau Sanitorium that Edel mentioned is located in Saranac Lake, New York. The sanitorium was founded by the physician Dr. Edward Livingston Trudeau in 1885. He also founded what is now the Trudeau Institute, the first laboratory in the United States dedicated to the study of tuberculosis.

*$35 in 1925 is worth about $511 dollars in 2020. The average salary in the 1920's was roughly around $1,200, and at that time most wage earners were men. Women typically earned less than half of men's wages. Thus, I'm estimating someone in Duck's situation, working retail in a small store, would have an annual income of only a few hundred dollars, probably less than $500. For her to spend roughly 7% of her annual income on a vacation would indeed not be a feasible option.

*In the 1920s, femme fatales were called "vamps", which is short for "vampires". The term was popularized by the 1913 silent film "The Vampire", staring Alice Hollister as the vampire Sybil who ruins the life of the main male character in the film.

*Açorda is a rustic bread soup originating from the coastal Alentejo region of Portugal. The fundamental ingredients are stale bread soaked in poaching broth mixed with a paste of olive oil, garlic, salt, and cilantro, and topped with the poached egg. Variations can include seafood, cured sausage, bacon, rabbit, and various herbs.

Thanks again to Tomoyo Ichijouji for proof reading!