Dance of Fire (11 page)

She, Justin, and the others walked to the cafeteria in the main hall, but lunch was long over.

‘We could go to Barre None,' Geo said to Vanessa and Justin. ‘You guys wanna come?'

Svetya patted her stomach. ‘Make up your minds quickly.'

Justin frowned at Vanessa. She could tell he was worried about what had happened to her in rehearsal.

‘Come on,' Svetya said. ‘You need to eat something before tomorrow. It's not good to dance on an empty stomach.'

‘Vanessa,' Justin said, ‘maybe we should just stay here and talk.'

But Justin was the last person she could talk to about the demon. If she let it in, it might help her find her sister, but at what cost? How did she know that the demon wouldn't destroy her, as it had those men who'd tried to summon it? And Hilda. And Josef. Would it destroy Justin as it had in her dream?

‘I don't want to stay here,' Vanessa said, avoiding Justin's eager gaze. ‘Food is exactly what I need. Let's go.'

Two And A Half Years Earlier

From the Diary of Margaret Adler

May 16

Hal has proven to be a talented hacker – he snuck our names on to the audition rolls for the Royal Court scholarship ­competition.

This is what I've been working towards my whole life: dancing with the best on an international stage. That I could cross the ocean to another country, take up a new identity and still have the opportunity to dance? How many people get two shots at making their dream come true?

But even though the Royal Court competition should be dream-like, in real life it's more like a nightmare. All because of the lead choreographer, Palmer ­Carmichael.

It's not just that he sort of looks like Josef. (He's got the same smoky mix of European swagger and overly precise English.) That's not reason enough to find him scary, and yet I do.

‘What is it?' Erik whispered during the orientation.

But I only shook my head.

Outside, my anger kept me from opening my mouth during registration, which was probably for the best. Erik handled ­everything perfectly.

‘Our school encourages self-actuation,' he explained to the registrar.

‘Self- . . . ?' the woman asked, cocking an eyebrow.

‘The training at the–' Erik glanced at the name Hal had created – ‘Mass Arts Center relies heavily on the dancer learning to self-coach, so that he or she has a fuller understanding of the decision points involved in any piece of choreography. For ­example, consider the mad scene in
Giselle
. The pointe work demands . . .'

He went on like that for a while, saying crazy things about footwork and concentration and even throwing in weird bits of math, parabola this and secant that. It would have been funny if so much hadn't been riding on the registrar's letting us move on without a coach. The woman's eyes glazed over. Erik spoke so well and easily that he distracted me from my dislike of Palmer, and I found myself smiling.

Erik rescued me, maybe even saved my life. He has cared for me, looked out for me, made sure that Josef can't find me. And now he's found a way for me to continue as a dancer.

‘Enough!' the woman said, raising her hands. ‘Yours is an unconventional education, I gather. Please don't tell me any more about it. Ever.' She signed our forms and said, ‘I'll be curious to see you perform on Monday. Good luck.'

We left the White Lodge and trudged over the muddy grounds of the park, back towards our room above Barre None. Grey mist hung in the air, like rain that couldn't make up its mind to fall.

‘I knew this would work out,' Erik said as he grabbed my hand and squeezed.

‘What now?' I asked, feeling weirdly giddy.

‘We rehearse,' he said.

‘Where?'

‘Leave it to Hal,' he said, shaking his head, so drops of water flew from his hair. ‘If anyone can find a place for us to practise, it will be Hal.'

We had only two days to rehearse once we got into the Royal Court competition, but we made them count: ten hours each day, with breaks for stretching and what Erik calls ‘focused rest'
.

We rehearsed in a small space at the back of a local gym, just down the street from Barre None, but a different world.

A lot of the men there speak other languages, and the place smells funky. If my mother could see it, she'd flip out. I can't imagine what the muscle-bound guys there think when Erik and I glide through their workouts and into the empty room past the boxing ring, his arm through mine as though we're high-school
students sneaking beneath the bleachers at night. No one says anything, though. They just watch until Erik has unlocked the doors and we've gone inside.

Our room is small – maybe twelve feet square – but it's enough. We move around the space as though our bodies are an extension of one another's, his always daring mine to get closer, move faster, jump higher. And when I finish my steps, breathless, he wipes the sweat from my lip, his touch so tender I can't help but believe that he loves me.

Erik hadn't mentioned
Giselle
by chance: he's intent on my mastering a solo from it for the first round of the competition, and the duet for the second. For the third, my contemporary solo piece, he proposed Balanchine's
Concerto Barocco
.

As hard a taskmaster as Josef was, I think Erik may be even tougher.

Erik pushes me, and when I fail
,
it almost seems to
hurt
him, to disappoint him
personally
. The glint in his eye fades, and suddenly the room feels cold and empty. Even the lights seem dimmer, as though the shadow of my poor performance has cast us both into the darkness. I can tell he feels it too.

So I try harder.

I don't want to fail him.

When we returned to the room the night before the competition, we were surprised to see Hal still there. His bags were packed and waiting by the door, but he didn't seem to be going anywhere.

‘What's going on?' Erik asked. ‘Worried you'll miss us?' He went over and ruffled Hal's hair.

Hal pushed him away. ‘Don't worry, I'll be out of here soon enough. But . . . I found out some information you guys might want to know.' He frowned.

Erik flopped on to the bed he shares with Hal. He looked so exhausted that I worried about how he'll perform tomorrow. We've been pushing ourselves hard. Maybe too hard.

‘I was trying to tie up loose ends before I go,' Hal began, ‘looking into some of the folks at the Royal Court to make sure I leave you in good hands and all, and . . .' He paused and stared at me before shifting his gaze to the floor.

‘What is it?' I said. ‘Just spit it out.'

‘Josef wasn't the only one of his kind,' Hal said.

I winced at the mention of my old choreographer.

‘Dark dancers like him have infiltrated
all
the great troupes of Europe. The Ballets Russes, the Royal Swedish Ballet, the Bolshoi, the Paris Opera.'

‘Did you find any proof ?' Erik asked. ‘Anything to let us know for sure that we're in danger.'

Hal shook his head. ‘No. It's just a hunch. And I feel like I should stay here until –'

‘We'll be fine, Hal,' Erik said. ‘London is my home turf. You can stick around if you want, but no more of this crazy talk. Especially not before a big day like tomorrow.' Standing up, Erik came over and rested a hand on my shoulder, and I felt some of the tension inside me dissipate.

Hal looked as if he was about to say something, but instead he shut down his computers and wished us both good luck for tomorrow morning. ‘Not like you'll need it,' he added.

Erik smiled. ‘Thanks.'

As I got ready for bed, I couldn't seem to shake Hal's concern. What if he's right?

The next morning, just before our audition, Erik came over, bent down, tipped my chin up and gave me something I didn't know I needed.

A kiss.

I was so surprised that I didn't have time to be nervous, though my lips somehow knew what to do. They melted into his, and I could no longer tell if it was his hands or mine that were trembling.

‘Are you OK?' he asked me afterwards, his face inches away from mine.

The sweet taste of coffee and sweat still lingered on my tongue.

I shook my head no but said, ‘Yes,' and then, ‘Do it again.'

And he did.

Then he broke away and stepped back and said, ‘I'm sorry. I guess I shouldn't have done that. You don't look so happy now.'

‘No,' I told him. ‘It was nice! I'm just
. . .
I have to be thinking of my solo.'

‘Of course,' he said, and he rushed away to the boys' changing room as the first audition began.

What a day this is. It was only a kiss, but now I know: I love Erik.

I can only hope he loves me.

Chapter Seven

Where r u?

Vanessa read the text message on her phone.

‘What's that?' Svetya said as she slid into the booth. The four of them were at the front of Barre None, far from Margaret's photograph. Yet Vanessa could still make out her sister's pale outline across the room. ‘A message from your secret lover?'

‘If by secret lover you mean my mother,' Vanessa said, ‘then yes.'

Svetya stuck out her tongue. ‘Eww.'

Vanessa quickly texted her mom that she was out having a bite to eat, then put her phone away.

‘Want me to take your coat?' Justin said.

‘Thanks,' Vanessa said, and slid in beside him, glancing up at the stained-glass lamp that hung over the table.

Justin flashed her a tight-lipped smile, and Vanessa wondered what he was thinking. A memory of his hands on her body during the buskers' dance the night before made her flush – they had been so close, almost like boyfriend and girlfriend.

Until she'd seen Zep, which had reminded her of why they couldn't be together.

After they ordered, the four of them sat in uncomfortable silence. ‘So,' Svetya said, ‘are you nervous?'

‘I –' Vanessa started to say.

‘Because you should be.' Svetya took a sip of water. ‘There are a lot of talented dancers here. Especially girls.'

‘Vanessa is talented,' Justin said defensively. ‘Extraordinarily so.'

‘Perhaps,' Svetya said, tossing back her hair. ‘We shall see.'

For a second, Vanessa thought of all the different girls she'd seen just that morning – Ingrid, the rude dancer who had stolen her banana, and her friend Evelyn. Not that stealing a banana was a criminal offence, but still. And then there was wide-eyed Maisie Teller and the beautiful French girl, Pauline. How good were they?

‘I'm just surprised nobody has, like, smashed someone's toes or thrown poison in someone's face,' Geo said. ‘Ballerinas are mean. Thank God I'm not a girl.'

‘You couldn't handle being a girl,' Svetya said.

Geo smirked. ‘Probably true.'

‘Evelyn Giles will definitely advance,' Svetya continued. While she was speaking, a waitress with her hair in a braid
came to take their order. Vanessa was starving, but she didn't want to eat anything heavy the night before a competition. So she ordered a salad with grilled chicken.

‘And so will Pauline Maillard.' Svetya took another sip of water, then pursed her lips. ‘Ingrid too, I bet. And there's supposed to be an amazing Swedish dancer named Oola who's been flying under the radar.'

‘Is Ingrid always so mean?' Vanessa asked Geo and Svetya. ‘You guys go to school with her, right?'

‘She's horrid,' Geo said. ‘One time, during a rehearsal for
Romeo and Juliet
, she tried to trip Svetya.'

Svetya laughed. ‘She was dancing the nurse's role and was mad she wasn't cast as Juliet. But no one trips me. My eyes are very fast. Seriously. They move more rapidly than most ­people's, so I can see things coming.'

‘That's . . . odd,' Justin said.

‘Most gifts are,' Svetya said casually. ‘But yes, Ingrid will do anything to win. She's definitely one to watch.'

Geo listened quietly. His eyes lit up when the waitress brought their food, and he quickly dug into his chicken wrap. ‘The question we
should
be asking,' he said, ‘is which dancer is now best positioned to win the competition?'

‘So who is it?' Justin said. ‘Who's supposed to be the best dancer here now?'

Vanessa shrugged. ‘Who knows? There isn't an official ranking or anything.'

Svetya patted her lips with a napkin. In front of her was a burger half the size of her head.
She must have an amazing
metabolism
, Vanessa thought. ‘Not until tomorrow,' Svetya said. ‘Perhaps then it will be me.'

‘Not if you keep eating like that,' Geo said.

‘Touché,' Svetya said, then took another bite of her burger.

Later, after they'd finished eating and paid the bill, Justin and Vanessa hung back. ‘You guys go on,' he told the others. ‘We'll catch up with you later.'

Svetya's gaze lingered on them with an air of disapproval, but she said nothing. Once she and Geo had left, Vanessa led Justin to the back of the restaurant and showed him the ­photograph.