Dance of Fire (7 page)

Enzo was standing in the middle of the room.

‘Ah,' he said, waving for Vanessa to enter. ‘Finally.'

Cautiously Vanessa stepped inside. Some of the elements were familiar – a warm-up barre, walls covered with mirrors, a sprung wooden floor suitable for dancing.

But everything was old and rundown. The mirror on the far wall actually had a crack running down it like a vein, and the other mirrors were smudged with handprints and dust. The wooden floor was scuffed a dull brown and the floorboards squeaked under their weight.
We can't dance here
, Vanessa thought. This had to be a joke.

‘Welcome to your practice space at the Royal Court,' Enzo said. ‘Not glamorous, I know. But I requested this space. Nobody uses it any more, so it's perfect for us.'

At the word
us
, Vanessa realised that Justin, Svetya and another boy – Geo, she assumed – were already there, warming up. Justin was wearing black tights and a grey tank that exposed the muscles in his arms. Svetya was wearing a navy leotard, her right arm arched over her head in a deep stretch. Geo wore a white T-shirt and black tights, though he didn't fill them out the way Justin did. He was tall and skinny for a dancer, with a shock of orange hair that made him look like a human carrot.

‘Vanessa,' Enzo said, ‘you've met Svetya, and this is Geo.'

Geo stood up from the floor and stuck out his hand. ‘Hullo,' he said in an English accent. ‘Nice to meet you, Vanessa.'

Vanessa shook his hand, then dropped her bag and took out her pointe shoes. Justin wasn't looking at her. He was focused on Enzo. He must still be upset about their conversation in the stairwell. That was understandable, but she wondered how long he was going to be mad.

‘As I was saying before Vanessa arrived,' Enzo said, ‘you four are here for a special reason: we recruited you.'

Vanessa glanced at Geo, then Svetya. Did they have experience with demons as well?

‘There is a dark faction within the Royal Court,' Enzo said, ‘dancers who in the past have identified themselves as
necrodancers
, who use the power of dance to unlock evil forces. The Lyric Elite came into being to stop them from plying their evil craft. That is where you four come in. At least one of you needs to win the competition and then let yourself be recruited by this group. We need inside ­information.'

‘
Win
the competition?' Vanessa asked in disbelief. ‘That's practically impossible – there are so many good dancers here, and ninety-four of them are going to be losers. I –'

‘Speak for yourself,' Svetya said. ‘I am no loser.'

‘Why doesn't the Lyric Elite just go after these necro­dancers on their own?' Justin asked.

‘Because we don't actually know who in the Royal Court is part of the dark company and who isn't,' Enzo admitted. ‘We've had dancers try to infiltrate the group before, but they never got past the audition process.'

‘So after this, will we officially become part of the Lyric Elite?' Geo asked.

‘Let's not get ahead of ourselves. First comes your training,' Enzo said. ‘It is essential to the secrecy of our mission that you tell no one what we are here to accomplish. Vanessa and Justin, that means you are to tell people only that you represent the New York Ballet Academy; Svetya and Geo, as you know, you are representing the Royal School of Ballet. Should the name of the Lyric Elite ever come up in ­conversation, you must pretend ignorance for your sake as well as ours. I will be your coach for the duration of the ­competition.'

‘You couldn't book us one of the newer rooms?' Svetya asked, gazing up at the bare bulbs dangling from the ceiling, one of which flickered and burned out. ‘The Bavarian school team is working in a beautiful windowed studio on the first floor.'

‘We needed somewhere we could rehearse unobserved. The work we'll be doing is not exactly . . . conventional.' Enzo pointed to a corner of the studio, which was filled with old furniture. ‘Justin, Geo – can you stack those so they're out of our way?' He turned to Vanessa. ‘And can you or Svetya run that broom across the floor? And wipe down the mirrors, would you? You'll find hand towels in that duffel bag.'

Vanessa gaped at his sexist attitude, but no one else seemed bothered. The boys headed towards the furniture. Svetya leaned against the wall and began texting, barely acknowledging Enzo's request. Vanessa walked over to her
and placed her hands on her hips.
Don't make a scene
, she reminded herself.

But Svetya didn't pay her any attention whatsoever – not even when Vanessa tapped one foot against the floor.

‘Excuse me,' Vanessa said.

‘Hmm?' Svetya said without looking up.

‘What did you do with my sister's shoes?'

Svetya raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean?'

‘My sister's shoes,' Vanessa said. ‘They're missing.'

‘Girls!' Enzo called from across the room. ‘Is there a ­problem?'

‘No!' Vanessa called back. She picked up one of the brooms.

‘Honestly, I have no idea what you're talking about,' Svetya said. She locked her phone, then placed it in her bag and picked up a broom as well.

‘You admired them, and now they're missing, and I really –'

‘Vanessa,' Svetya said, cutting her off, ‘this conversation is over.'

Then she walked away, broom in hand. Vanessa was sure her roommate was lying, but she would have to prove it. Meanwhile, she had to get to work.

Cleaning.

When they had finished with the chores, they gathered at the centre of the room.

Enzo clapped his hands together. ‘Now we begin.'

He fiddled with the waistband of his sweatpants, then yanked them off. Underneath, he was wearing a pair of white tights that left nothing to the imagination.

‘
Rowr
,' Svetya muttered.

‘You are all here because you know what it feels like to dance perfectly,' Enzo said. He straightened his back, extended one arm and began a complicated step. It was a deliberate series of movements, each one slowed down as though he were moving underwater.

‘You all know that when you dance perfectly, it can sometimes make the room spin and fade.' He flitted across the room in a strange slow-motion cabriole, his ponytail gently whipping across his face. ‘It makes the floor seem to shift and the walls close in on you.'

Vanessa's breath caught. All this time she'd thought
she
was the only one who experienced strange things when she danced. Apparently that wasn't the case. Had this happened to Justin too? Why had he never told her?

‘It makes your chest swell with heat,' Enzo continued. ‘Your veins pulse with fire, your eyes burn with light.'

When he said those final words, Vanessa could have sworn Enzo's eyes met hers. But he was moving so rapidly that his entire body became a blur, and then he disappeared.

A collective gasp filled the studio.

Vanessa spun round, as did the others, searching for him.

‘But none of you knows how to
harness
that power,' Enzo said from the furthest corner of the studio, bringing his arms to his sides.

Vanessa blinked. Had she just seen what she thought she had? He had travelled across the room so quickly it was almost as if he'd been moving invisibly. But that couldn't be possible. Could it?

‘We call that step
le flou
, “the blur,”' said Enzo, walking towards them, ‘when you move so quickly, with steps so perfect that you become virtually invisible.'

‘Perfection is not enough,' he said, slipping across the room in a slow
glissé
. ‘To elevate yourselves above the mere level of motion, you need to
master
the dance. Harness its power and use it to bend the light around your bodies, to mould the room around your shape, to make the floor shift at your direction!'

He twirled once, twice, his body swaying as if he were about to fall, and disappeared again, reappearing behind them, mid-pirouette. ‘When you are able to do that,' he said, ‘anything is possible.' He traced his left toe up the inside of his right leg, and leaped into a
petit jeté
. There was a tiny blur in the air, and again he was gone.

The only trace of him was a soft patter of footsteps across the wooden floor. Vanessa turned to follow them, but the sound seemed to bounce throughout the room, echoing off the walls in a dissonant jumble.

Then Enzo reappeared right in front of her, landing in first position, his ponytail slightly loosened, his heels tucked together as if he had never left. It was impressive – magical even – but would a fancy dance step really save Vanessa once the demon caught up with her?

As if sensing her unease, Enzo said, ‘Trust me, mastering this will help you.' He looked around the room. ‘But for now, we will work on your solo dances for Monday.'

The rest of the afternoon was gruelling. Not even Josef had worked them this hard, Vanessa thought. Svetya and Geo were brilliant dancers, better than anyone she'd seen back at NYBA. Their form was incredible and, best of all, they looked as if they enjoyed dancing. Svetya actually came to life – her eyes brightened, and her smile seemed to take up half her face. ­Vanessa could imagine being friends with the girl who danced like that.

Plus, she needed a friend right now. Aside from a few passing gestures – an accidental glance in the mirror, a nod as they caught their breath on a water break – Justin barely acknow­ledged her existence. Vanessa couldn't help but notice how he averted his eyes every time she tried to make contact with him, how he positioned himself as far away from her as possible.

There was a time limit of two minutes and forty-five seconds for the first round of solo competitions, and they had all chosen dances that would showcase their individual strengths and increase their odds of advancing to the next round. Enzo already had their musical selections on his iPod, which he hooked up to a small set of speakers, working with each of them in turn.

Vanessa had chosen one of the routines that Margaret had done before she'd gone to NYBA; she'd picked it as soon as
she'd seen Tchaikovsky's
The Sleeping Beauty
on the approved repertoire list. If Vanessa could pull off even a
tenth
of what Margaret had been able to do that time, there was no way the judges wouldn't pass her to the second round.

Just after six, Enzo let them go. ‘Our next rehearsal will be tomorrow morning at nine o'clock sharp.' he said. ‘I strongly suggest you spend some time this evening practising. Goodnight,' he added, as they all filed out; then he locked the room and disappeared down the hallway.

‘And you?' the waitress said. ‘What do you want?'

What
do
I want?
Vanessa wondered. If only she knew.

She turned her attention to the menu, but she was distracted by Justin, who was sitting across the booth, talking to Svetya, his voice soft, as though the rest of the table didn't exist. It didn't help that every time Vanessa looked at her roommate, she was struck anew by how beautiful she was. Vanessa watched Justin whisper something to Svetya, then laugh, and she suddenly wondered if she had made an incredible mistake.

After rehearsal, the four of them had joined a group that was heading off for dinner at a nearby restaurant in the Richmond neighbourhood, a place called Barre None. Geo said it had been a favourite of local dancers for decades. Vanessa wasn't sure she wanted to go, but her only other prospect was dinner with her mother or in the cafeteria, alone.

‘It's delicious,' Geo promised. ‘Everyone at our school loves to go there after classes and not eat.'

Vanessa laughed and decided to tag along.

On the walk over, Svetya and Geo had chattered on about school and rehearsal, while Justin and Vanessa walked together through a light drizzle, not saying much of anything. Between the overnight flight and the long practice, Vanessa was exhaus­ted, and she wasn't sure what to say to Justin. It was awkward walking beside him as if he were a stranger. But what could she say? She'd told him the truth and either he didn't believe her or he was punishing her for pushing him away.

No, better to say nothing.

Barre None, at least, was warm and inviting, its walls crowded with framed programmes and posters and even worn pointe shoes that had belonged to famous dancers. A black-and-white photograph of Margot Fonteyn in an arabesque hung beside a photograph of Rudolf Nureyev suspended mid-leap, the light reflecting off his bare chest. Facing it was a huge print of Mikhail Baryshnikov soaring so high he looked as if he was flying.

Beneath Baryshnikov sat Justin, pushing his hair out of his eyes and grinning as he said something to Svetya.

Vanessa shifted in her seat. She hadn't come here to fall in love with Justin, and yet now that she saw him laughing with stupid Svetya, his eyes so wide, so eager, she was consumed with jealousy.