Dance of Fire (13 page)

‘Honey,
really
– you were divine!' Her mother beamed, looking radiant. ‘Your
jetés
were so full of life, and, oh, I am so proud of you.'

Vanessa forced a smile. Her mother was so enthusiastic and happy that she didn't have the heart to mention Margaret.

‘Thanks, Mom,' Vanessa said. ‘But I won't know until later if I'm moving on to the next round.'

‘
Of course
you're moving on, dear. Don't worry about that. You were wonderful! Do you want to come out for a ­celebratory tea?' she asked, fixing the neckline of her lavender dress.

‘Sure, Mom,' Vanessa said. ‘That would be nice.'

‘Mother–daughter time! Wonderful!' Her mother took out her guidebook and said, ‘There's a funky old dancer's hang-out nearby called Barre None. We could go there.'

All the joy Vanessa had been feeling drained away. She couldn't let her mother anywhere near that photograph of ­Margaret and the Royal Court Company.

‘Can we go somewhere fancier?' Vanessa said. ‘I really want the whole British experience. I haven't even had a crumpet yet.'

Her mother's eyes widened with joy. ‘I know just the place. You're going to love it!'

Inwardly Vanessa sighed with relief. ‘I bet I will,' she said.

Chapter Eight

Dusk had fallen, and a narrow cone of light shone down from Vanessa's desk lamp. On any other evening its warmth might have felt nice; now it only reminded her of the demon's fiery presence during her performance.

Dancing seemed to make it easier for the demon to contact her. But why? She couldn't trust what it told her about Margaret, and until she found her sister, she'd need to find a way to block it out. She wished more than anything that she could talk to Justin about what was going on, but if she did, he might try to get her to leave the competition. And she couldn't do that, not now that she knew her sister was so close.

Vanessa shivered and looked over at Svetya, who was ­sitting on her bed, putting on make-up while reading a magazine.
They were supposed to meet Geo and Justin in an hour to ­celebrate, since all four of them had made the cut.

Diverted from Barre None, her mother had taken her to a fancy tea at a hotel called the Berkeley. They rode there in a roomy black taxi, while her mother went on and on about ­Vanessa's performance. At the hotel, the maître d' gave them a prominent table looking out on a wealthy street called Wilton Crescent.

‘Why look, Vanessa,' her mother said as they sat down, ‘it's begun to snow. It rarely snows in London, I'm told.'

White flakes slowly sifted out of the afternoon sky, filling the air.

‘It's pretty,' Vanessa said, and meant it. And she realised that she was happy to be here with her mother, watching the snow fall in London, about to have tea and scones with clotted cream. ‘Thanks for bringing me here, Mom.'

Her mother smiled a warm, easy smile. ‘There's no place I'd rather be,' she said, and reached over to squeeze Vanessa's hand.

Despite herself, Vanessa felt at ease.

But now she was back at the dorm, and the memory of the demon made it hard to keep hold of her earlier festive mood.

Vanessa turned back to the eerie blue glow from her ­laptop.

Dear Dad,

There was too much to say, and Vanessa knew her mother had spoken with him, like, constantly.

How are you? Everything here is great. London is beautiful, though I haven't had a chance to see much of it. There's so much to learn, and I spend most of my time in the studio, rehearsing. So far my work has paid off, because I made the first cut in the competition.

Vanessa paused, rereading the last sentence. Something was missing – excitement. She added a couple of exclamation points.

Two-thirds of the dancers were sent home after today's solo competition. I can't believe I'm still in the running. There's so much talent around me that I sometimes wonder how I got here. I wish you could have been in the audience.

Vanessa imagined her father reading the email in his home office, squinting through his reading glasses. The house would smell of warm apple crisp, her father's winter speciality.

I miss you, and I'm even a little homesick. I can't wait to see you.

Love, Ness

PS Stop worrying. I'm fine.

She clicked
send
, and was about to start a new email to her friends at NYBA when her roommate noisily threw her magazine across the room.

‘So, how did you do it?' Svetya asked. Her blonde hair was tied up with a silk scarf.

‘Do what?'

Svetya raised an eyebrow. ‘Your solo. I have never seen you dance like that. Normally you dance like a Christmas pudding, but today you were a sugarplum.'

Just a few hours earlier the judges had posted the list of dancers who'd made it to the next round. Pauline Maillard had placed first among the girls, and Evelyn Giles was second. Vanessa had come in number three, and Svetya was fourth. ‘You're just sore because I did better than you.'

‘Sore?' Svetya said with a bitter laugh. ‘Yes, my feet are sore – but not because of you, right? Besides, I don't want to be number one – not yet.'

‘Oh? Why not?'

‘Because that makes you a target. It's like that movie
The Hunger Games
. You must hide some of your strength until the final round.'

Vanessa cocked her head at Svetya, who was now standing in the middle of the room with her arms crossed. ‘So, you're saying you could have done better but held back?'

Svetya bit her bottom lip. ‘That's exactly what I'm ­saying.'

There were lots of ways Vanessa could have responded to Svetya. ‘OK then,' she said finally.

Vanessa had been comforted by seeing Justin's name at number three on the boys' list. To her distress, Ingrid had made the cut too, at number five among the girls. She turned
back to her computer, to compose an email to Steffie, Blaine, TJ and – she'd typed
Elly
too. Her finger hovered over the
delete
key, not wanting to press it. But of course she had to.

She scrolled down and began to type.

Hi guys,

I'm here in London, safe and sound – at least for now. It's night-time here, but it's still light out where you are. I'm rooming with this girl who just compared me to a Christmas pudding – seriously!! – and I'm not entirely sure, but I think she has the hots for Justin. Rooming with her makes me miss you guys even more. Can you believe that I actually miss the dining hall at NYBA? Pathetic.

On Sunday night, Justin and I saw Zep in a crowd. Justin chased him through the streets, but he ended up getting away. Honestly, I can't even begin to tell you how freaked out I was. I have no idea why he's here, what he's doing, what he wants. After what happened back at school, I swore to myself if I ever saw Zep again I would hurt him for what he did to Elly. What he did to all of us. But now that he's here, I'm just . . . scared. I think he and the demon might be connected in some way, though I don't know how.

And if that isn't enough, the real shock was that I saw a photo of the Royal Court Ballet Company from a couple of years ago and Margaret was in it! Can you believe that?

Which brings me to you three. I need to ask a favour.

I need to find out more about the Royal Court. If you can find any old rosters or recruiting brochures among Josef's things or in the library, that would be great.

Margaret is alive. I'm sure of it. She might even be here, in London. I'm going to win this competition and get to the bottom of this, and I don't care what I have to do or who I have to step on to find her.

Vanessa was surprised by the intensity of the words she'd just typed. When had she become so determined? So ruthless? She felt that familiar heat in her head, but this time it wasn't because of the demon.

Love, Ness
, she wrote, then clicked
send
and closed her ­laptop, noticing a small brown gift box that she hadn't seen earlier.

She glanced at Svetya, who was busy fixing her hair, then picked up the box and turned it over in her hands. The contents shifted.

Wondering if Ingrid or some other dancer had left it for her as a warning, she eased the lid off with a pen.

Inside was a glossy photograph of Lincoln Center at night, the spray from its fountain glittering in the lights. A postcard. Beneath the picture, the caption read:
The New York Ballet and The Metropolitan Opera House, New York, New York
.

Vanessa traced the card with her finger, imagining herself strolling there with Steffie, TJ and Blaine, laughing, their faces pink from the cold. She flipped the postcard over.

Scrawled on the back in blue ink, the colour of Justin's eyes, was:
Thought you might need a taste of home
.
Congratulations! xx Justin

Vanessa could almost hear him speak the words aloud as she read them. Beneath the postcard was a Hershey's chocolate bar, a can of Diet Coke and a straw. She smiled to herself and popped open the can. She rarely drank soda, but she could make an exception tonight.

Stripping the paper from the straw, she slipped it into the can and took a sip, letting the fizz tickle her tongue. It reminded her of the past, of summer, Vanessa sipping on a Coke while her mother gardened and her father grilled burgers in the back yard, Margaret lounging in a lawn chair by the sprinkler, her long legs glistening with sunscreen. How had Justin known this was exactly what she'd needed?

Vanessa stared out the window into the London dusk. Outside, the lights from downstairs stretched over the snowy front lawn in long yellow bars.

Someone was standing in the snow.

At first she thought it was a trick of the light – just the shadow of a passer-by on the lawn – but as she stared into the dusk, the figure didn't move. Someone was there, staring back at her.

It was a young man, his body little more than a silhouette. Was he actually looking at her, or just facing the building? Vanessa pressed her hand to the glass. To her surprise, the boy lowered himself into a slight bow, gesturing to the white sprawl of the park. He looked back at her once, then strolled away into the dusk.

Vanessa sat back, unsure what to do. She stared at the open box on her desk, the sweet postcard.

Justin.

A ripple of excitement travelled up her skin as she reached for her coat.

‘Where are you going?' Svetya said. ‘We're not supposed to meet them for another thirty minutes.'

‘I have an errand to run,' Vanessa said, pulling on her boots. ‘I'll meet you all at the restaurant.' Before Svetya could ask any more questions, she was out in the hall.

The first thing Vanessa thought was that the lawn was so quiet she could hear birds rustling in the trees. The second thing she thought was,
Man, it's cold
.

Pulling up her collar, she ventured off the path and across the lawn, to where she had last seen the boy. The snow was ankle deep. Where did he go? And then she saw it. A message written in the snow just a few feet away:

Step into me

Leading out of the words was a trail of footsteps.

Vanessa shivered. The phrasing reminded her of the demon. But that was silly; Justin was just trying to be romantic and cute. Should she turn back? They couldn't be together right now because of the demon, and she couldn't risk kissing him, but couldn't she enjoy one moment of fun?

She lowered her foot into the first print, then stretched her other leg to reach the next. Justin's steps led through a thicket
of naked trees, ice crackling beneath her feet like strange music. The bridges and lamp posts of the park were frosted with snow. She eased down a short hill, her feet sliding, her toes numb from the cold.

At the slippery peak of a footbridge, the prints stopped.

She searched the snow on the bridge, first in front, then behind, but there were no other footsteps. Where had he gone?

Confused, she looked up. Beyond the bridge, the park was a pristine white, the stars in the sky like spilled glitter. She looked down again and saw a figure on the path below the bridge, his hair blowing in the wind, his eyes the colour of metal.

Her smile fled.

She was wrong – it wasn't Justin beckoning to her. Even though it was freezing, the boy stood with his jacket open, the tails of his scarf loose by his sides. The wind seemed to whistle his name.

Zeppelin Gray
.

At his feet a second message had been written in the snow:

Give me a second chance

Vanessa's throat tightened with anger. How could he even ask for such a thing?

She kicked away the snow in front of her. It was
his
footprints she'd been walking in, not Justin's. She'd been tricked. A chill ran up her spine, and it wasn't because of the cold – the last time she'd been with Zep, he had delivered her to Josef.

Zep was a killer. He wasn't to be trusted. And she was sure he was here because the demon was here in London.

So why was he asking her for a second chance?

Vanessa looked up from the snow, but Zep had already backed into the shadows and vanished.

She was alone.

Chapter Nine

After Vanessa had followed Zep into the park, she'd run back to the White Lodge, arriving just as her roommate and the others were leaving.

‘Where were you?' Justin had asked. ‘You look as if you've seen a ghost.'

She hadn't known what to say; she'd known only how happy she was to see him. ‘Thank you,' she'd said, trying to push the strange encounter out of her mind. ‘For the gift. It was . . . ­perfect.'