Dance of Fire (20 page)

‘Hello?' she called out.

She heard dishes clanking together; then the kitchen door opened and Coppelia swept out in a long skirt and sweater, her sleeves rolled up as if she'd been cleaning. ‘We're not open,' she said.

‘I'm not here to eat,' Vanessa said.

‘I remember you,' Coppelia said, brushing back a strand of hair. ‘You were looking for the girl from the photograph.'

Vanessa clutched her bag. ‘Yes. I was wondering if you could tell me more about Margar – I mean, Margot. Anything you can remember would be helpful.'

‘I remember her name,' Coppelia said drily, ‘because she leased a room from me and skipped out on the final month's rent.'

‘She lived here?' Vanessa blurted out, unable to contain her surprise.

Coppelia watched her. ‘For a few months, anyway. She and two young men. They were roommates. It's quite a small space to share, but you young people don't need much room, do you?'

Margaret had lived with two roommates? Men? ‘Oh,' Vanessa said. ‘I guess not. Did she, um . . . leave anything behind?'

Coppelia pursed her lips. ‘Indeed. She upped and vanished one day. I think she drove the two boys apart, because they left their things. Quite rude.' She paused. ‘It's all still upstairs. I use the room for storage now.'

‘May I look?' Vanessa asked. ‘Margot was . . . is . . . my ­sister.' She paused, unsure if she should be telling Coppelia, but . . . why not? ‘She ran away a few years ago, and I've been looking for her ever since.'

‘Sister?' Coppelia squinted at Vanessa. ‘Now you mention it, I do see the resemblance. It's the hair that throws you off at first.'

Vanessa felt a tiny smile form on her lips. ‘Everyone used to say that.'

Coppelia ran her fingers through her own grey-white hair and checked her watch. ‘I only have half an hour before ­opening.'

‘I promise I'll be fast,' Vanessa said.

Coppelia waved Vanessa further into the restaurant. ‘Come on then.'

She led Vanessa into a dim hallway and up four flights of stairs, her skirt sweeping through the dust. At the top was a worn, low wooden door.

‘I wish I could tell you more,' Coppelia said, picking through a crowded key ring. ‘Like I said . . . the boys split up after she left, and one of them trashed the place. He must have been very upset. He made such a ruckus that I had to call the police.'

She selected an old brass key and unlocked the door. Inside, the attic was hot and stuffy, stinking of woodchips and mothballs. Hazy light spilled through gaps in the window shades and reflected off the dust particles suspended in the air. Boxes littered the room, stacked on top of one another without labels or any recognisable method of organisation.

‘Feel free to look around. This is clean compared to what it looked like after that boy went on his rampage – he even broke the window.' She motioned to a small glass window with a large crack running through it. ‘I had to change the locks. He came back the next day, pleading with me to let him get his things, but I refused unless he paid for the damage.' Coppelia smirked. ‘Served him right.'

‘What happened to him?' Vanessa asked. ‘The boy . . . What was his name?'

Coppelia sighed. ‘I can't remember. Old age is a terrible thing, dear. Anyhow, I cleaned up a bit, and I've been meaning to dispose of all the boxes, but with one thing and another, it hasn't got done.' She cleared her throat. ‘I'll be downstairs if you need anything.'

Vanessa blew a wisp of hair from her face. ‘Thanks,' she said as Coppelia left.

She went clockwise through the room, opening boxes only to find stacks of plates and napkins, old menus and flyers from beer companies, painted porcelain dolls. Her phone buzzed twice –
Mom
– and Vanessa knew she had only a short time before her mother would really start to worry. Then she noticed a box of more recent vintage in the corner, its lid covered in a thin layer of dust. Inside was a pile of girl's clothes.

She dug deeper and found a pair of ballet shoes, their ribbons tangled together, their soles scuffed. Beneath them was a small change purse. Vanessa opened the clasp and spilled out a handful of coins, a compact mirror and a gym card in the name
Margot Adams.
A tiny photo decorated the front. She
raised it to the light and saw her sister's smiling eyes staring back at her.

Margaret's lips were upturned in the beginning of a mischievous smile.

Vanessa smiled back, one step closer to finding her.

Just then, her cellphone vibrated again, interrupting her thoughts. She slipped it out of her pocket. ‘Hello?'

‘Dear, it's me. Your mother. Where are you?'

‘Oh,' Vanessa said, trying to think up something on the fly. ‘Um, I just ran out to get some . . . shampoo.'

‘Shampoo? Well, all right. Shall I meet you at your room in an hour?'

Vanessa blew a lock of hair from her face. Her mother had a unique talent for inserting herself at the exact wrong time.

‘Um, OK. Gotta go! See you soon!' Vanessa shut off her phone and took one more look around the attic room. ­
Margaret
, she thought,
what happened?

‘Darling, I am simply so proud of you.'

Vanessa stared into her mother's eyes. They were in a pub called the Harwood Arms, on the corner of Waltham Grove and Farm Lane. (‘Look!' her mother had said as they entered the restaurant. ‘Farm Lane! And in the middle of a city!')

‘Here you are, about to enter the final round of the Royal Court ballet competition!' Her mother, who rarely drank anything except wine, had an ale in a pint glass. Vanessa had ordered
a soda. ‘I texted your father right away,' her mother continued, ‘and he is so thrilled for you. He can't wait to join us.'

Vanessa studied her mother, who was dressed exquisitely in a robin's-egg-blue turtleneck and sleek black dress slacks with black pumps.

Vanessa felt slightly guilty not telling her mother that she had found proof that Margaret had come here, to London, and changed her name. It didn't seem fair to worry her though, or to give her false hope before she knew the whole story.

And the truth was, she didn't know much. Margaret had come to London, changed her name and rented a room with two roommates – both guys. She'd entered the Royal Court competition two and a half years ago – and had been a member of the company at some point. But why had she left? And where had she gone? Was she still in London?

‘Rebecca and poor Emilie went home this afternoon,' her mother said, chattering on about her friend. ‘They didn't want to stick around. A bit of an overreaction, don't you think? I know it's upsetting, but there is so much to do here in London.' Her mother took a sip of her ale. ‘I still haven't seen
Billy Elliot
!'

‘Maybe you can go with Dad when he gets here,' Vanessa said.

‘Good idea! I'll buy three tickets.' Her mother pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘Or should I get four? How is Justin?'

Good question
, Vanessa thought.

‘Because you two danced so marvellously together, it was almost as if – I don't know – as if you were made for each other.' Her mother took another sip.

Vanessa took a deep breath. ‘Things between us are complicated.'

Her mother gave her a sympathetic look. ‘Love always is.'

What was that supposed to mean? Vanessa didn't
love
­Justin, did she?

Startled, she didn't move away when her mother reached across the table and grabbed her hand. ‘Here's the thing about love, dear. It's always difficult.'

‘Even between you and Dad?' Vanessa asked.

Her mother chuckled. ‘Especially between your father and me. We've been married for nearly twenty years. But I love him, and I treasure our marriage. With you and Justin,' she said, ‘you simply have to decide if it's worth the fight.'

On the elegant main stage of a theatre, a lone girl performed beneath a spotlight. The seats before her were empty, the wings of the stage dark and quiet. Her white leotard clung to her, her blonde hair was plastered to her head with sweat.

Invite me in
. The hissing voice filled the theatre as Svetya continued dancing, unaware of the evil observing her.

For the first time in her dream, Vanessa answered.
You can get into my head, so why haven't you taken me over?

I can
force
my way in
, said the voice,
but unwilling hosts burn to ash. When I am invited by the right partner, however, we are invincible. And you are the right partner.

She thought of the man's brittle body collapsing in a heap of ash. Of the others who had perished.

I can't do it
, she said.

The air in the theatre grew black and heavy. It seemed to coalesce around Svetya, tightening like an invisible noose.

Leave her alone!
Vanessa screamed silently.

The black noose dissipated into shadow. The demon was gone.

And then she saw something else: a pale face watching from stage right. A face she knew well, his eyes lustrous like metal.

Zeppelin Gray.

Vanessa snapped awake in her dorm room and clicked on the lamp on her nightstand.

When she'd returned after dinner, Svetya had been in a deep sleep. A note on her desk read,
Enzo looking for you. – S.
But now her bed was empty.

Vanessa threw off her covers and stood up. She slipped on a pair of black leggings and a matching sweater, twisting her hair into a bun as she quietly snuck down the hallway.

When she reached the theatre's rear entrance, she opened the door gently so it didn't make a sound. Inside, it was dark except for the spotlights shining over the stage, where Vanessa could hear the sound of Svetya rehearsing.

It was strange how the space – which earlier had been full of life – was now empty, as though none of the morning's events had ever happened.

Vanessa crept through the backstage hallway, sticking to the shadows. She could just glimpse Svetya's blonde hair as she
lifted herself into a series of
tours chaînés déboulés,
rapid turns that reminded Vanessa of the blur. Svetya's iPod was strapped around her arm, the tinny music from the earbuds insulating her from other sounds.

On the other side of the stage, standing in the shadows, was Zep.

At the sight of him, Vanessa felt her hands tremble with anger. Her feet tightened into third position, her toes curling in her shoes, readying themselves. She closed her eyes and focused, just as Enzo had taught them. Then she arched her arm towards Zep and blurred across the back of the stage, landing silently.

She was behind him now. If Zep had noticed Vanessa or seen her blur, he didn't let on – his eyes were completely focused on Svetya.

He was close enough to touch. Vanessa could just make out his shoulder blades through his thin cotton T-shirt. She could even smell him, the scent unleashing a flood of memories – New York at night, the autumn wind blowing leaves around their feet as they ran, hand in hand, beneath the bright lights of Lincoln Center, the fountain glimmering in the distance; his laughter as they snuck into the basement studio, their bodies damp and trembling when Zep pulled her towards him for a long, salty kiss.

That Zep was gone. Maybe he'd never existed.

And Vanessa had changed. She wasn't the same naive girl who'd fallen for him. She'd never forget the sight of Elly's laptop in his room, the look on his face when he realised she knew he'd been involved in Elly's disappearance.

If he tried to hurt Svetya, Vanessa would do something, only she wasn't sure what. Kick him maybe? Steadying herself with a hand on the wall, she drew her leg back.

At just that moment, Svetya finished her dance. Vanessa held her breath as her roommate padded softly over to her dance bag, threw on a sweatshirt, then sauntered down the centre aisle, disappearing through the far door. Vanessa waited until Svetya's footsteps faded before she snapped her foot against Zep's back.

The impact threw him forward on to his knees.

‘What are you doing here?' she said.

He groaned and sat on the floor facing her. ‘Vanessa?' he said, his voice strangely warm.

‘Yes,' she said. ‘Now start talking.'

‘I came to protect that girl onstage,' Zep said. ‘That was some kick. Ouch.'

‘To
protect
?' Vanessa repeated. ‘From who?'

‘From
what
. The demon was here. But it's gone now.'

‘Don't lie to me,' she said. ‘You brought that thing with you. I know you did.'

‘Are you kidding?' Zep said, sounding perplexed. ‘I'm not its master. No one is. That's why it's moving around so aimlessly. It's left a trail of bodies from New York to –'

‘Since when do you care about other people?' Vanessa said, trying to control the quaver in her voice. ‘Or did you grow a heart after killing Elly?'

She waited for Zep to deny it, but he only slumped back on to the floor.

‘I didn't murder Elly,' he said eventually, blinking his long lashes. ‘You have to believe me. Josef did.'

‘I don't have to believe you,' she said. ‘And I never will.'

‘I wasn't myself,' Zep insisted. ‘I can't even remember what happened.'

‘That's all you have to say?' Vanessa said, angry tears blurring her vision. ‘That you weren't yourself? That you can't remember? Elly was my friend. She had people who loved her, and now she's gone.'

‘I was Josef's puppet,' Zep said. ‘After I started working with him and Hilda, my head . . . it wasn't always my own.'