Aunt Kathryn gasped. “He is haunting the theatre?”
“With a wolf by his side, apparently,” said Evan, staring at her.
“Well, well,” said Aunt Kathryn, leaning back in her chair. “That makes me think that it is indeed my grandfather. It is the only explanation, isn’t it?”
Evan shrugged. “I don’t know, Aunt Kathryn. Not yet, anyway. But I intend to find out.” He stared at her, closely. “I’m sorry to bring all this up. I know how painful it must be for you.”
Aunt Kathryn nodded. “It is very painful,” she said. “Our family has lost so many of our men at a young age. And you must realise that you live under the shadow of it as well, Evan.” She paused, staring at him. “How old are you now?”
Evan turned away, staring out the window. “Twenty-six, Aunt Kathryn. And my birthday is fast approaching.”
Aunt Kathryn leaned over and took his hand. “Evan, I am so sorry,” she said, her blue eyes veiled with tears. She took a deep breath. “You must find out if it was my grandfather who died in that theatre. Evan, don’t you see? If you find out why the curse happened, it might open up a chance to break it.”
Evan turned back, staring at the old lady. “I haven’t thought of that,” he said slowly. And it was true; he had been intent on discovering if it had been his ancestor that had died in that fire, but he hadn’t even contemplated that he might find a way to break the curse.
He felt a slow stirring of hope in his chest. Was it possible? That he might be able to break it and live?
“Nancy,” called Aunt Kathryn. The worker who had brought her in approached.
“Can you take me back to my unit?” the old lady asked. “I need to find a photo for my great nephew, and it can’t wait.”
Evan watched Aunt Kathryn walk out. He was glad that he had come here and spoken with her. She had given him something that he had never dreamed possible: hope.
He knew now that all the deaths that had happened in that theatre were somehow linked. Perhaps a group of demons who came in and out of the theatre over the years? There was the ill-wish object that he had discovered in the costume room; it told him that the demons were there, and they were active. Somehow, it was the centre of their power there. Could he simply remove it and lessen that power? He would have to speak to Thad about it.
Evan gazed out the window at the sea, thinking deeply. He had to find out if the man who had died was Horace, and why he had died. And the most important thing: who had killed him.
***
Maya walked slowly to the edge of the barre, sweeping her hand along it. She had stayed back, trying to perfect her dance. She was working hard on Giselle’s dance of death, the part when she has just discovered that her lover has betrayed her.
It was a dance of great emotion, and it was an integral part of the whole performance. The audience had to feel Giselle’s enormous pain; they had to be swept up in this girl’s heartbreak. Freddie and Vera had been telling her that she needed to become Giselle in that moment. Step completely into the character’s heart.
She had found it difficult, up until now. She hadn’t fully understood how Giselle felt. Maya smiled to herself. Well, she had never experienced heartbreak before. It was hard to convey something that had never happened to you. But now, it was completely different.
Freddie had noticed. He had come up to her, just this morning, and taken her aside.
“Maya,” he had said. “I just wanted to tell you that I am very pleased with how you are approaching your dance. You are starting to fully inhabit Giselle, and that is so exciting! If you keep practising at the rate that you have been, and keep tapping into that, the whole of Covenester will be giving you a standing ovation on opening night.”
Maya had thanked him then returned to her rehearsals. She had felt a warm glow at his praise; it meant a lot to her that the great Freddie Armstrong, one of the most gifted artistic directors in the ballet world, was so happy with her. She would not let him down. She would not let any of them down. Her job and her strong relationships with the girls in the company were everything to her now.
She swept out into the room, pouring all her pain into her movements. She understood how Giselle felt. To be betrayed by your lover. The person that you had trusted implicitly. It was devastating. In Giselle’s case, though, they had declared their love and wanted to marry. There had been no such declaration in her own. What might have flowered between her and Evan had been nipped in the bud before it had even really begun.
She shouldn’t be feeling such loss. They had made love once, and hadn’t even been going out together. He had not been the man that she had thought, obviously. It happened in life. Sometimes, you could be misled by someone and think that they were a different person to what they were. She just had to chalk it up to experience.
She kept dancing, ignoring the tears in her eyes. Something good had come out of it all, at least. It had improved her dance. She had finally tapped into her emotions.
But she was lonely. There was no denying that.
The girls had all been wonderful, rallying around her. Rachel had apologised to her for even speaking to Evan, saying that he had been the only person she had seen that day to help her, and that she was appalled at what he had done.
She had barely had any time alone; they had been dragging her out everywhere, saying that she shouldn’t brood. Restaurants. Movies. The latest art exhibition at the gallery. Between rehearsing and all her social activities, she had been able to put it to the back of her mind. Except when she saw him, of course.
Maya kept twirling around. She hadn’t seen him in a few days, actually. Usually she was keenly aware of where he was and what he was doing, even though he wasn’t her official bodyguard anymore. But he was still in the building, and her eyes always sought him out, like a sunflower seeks the sun.
She tried to stop herself doing it, but she couldn’t help it. It would have been so much easier if they didn’t work at the same place.
She stopped dancing, suddenly, and leaned over, trying to catch her breath. Where was he? Had he taken a few days off, or had he left entirely?
She tried to ignore the stab of pain that she felt at that thought.
She walked slowly to the door. She had rehearsed enough for tonight, and she was still wary of staying back when it got dark. Jack, the head of the security firm, had reassured her that they would keep an eye on her, but she still felt uncomfortable. It was time to leave.
Maya headed to the dressing room, changing quickly. She had to get home anyway. Leonie had told her that they were having a special girl’s night in and that she simply had to be there. She didn’t want to let her down, especially after what they had all done for her.
***
Maya opened the door, hearing the babble of excited voices from the living room.
She walked in, smiling. They were all there, lounging on the sofas, holding wine glasses in their hands. Leonie glanced up and saw her. She got up quickly, grabbing a bottle of wine from the side table.
“Will you have a drink, Maya?” she smiled.
Maya nodded. “Just one,” she said. “I don’t want to be cloudy for tomorrow.”
Leonie’s smile broadened. “You can have two, you silly thing,” she said, walking over and grabbing an empty wine glass sitting on the coffee table. She poured the drink then handed it to Maya. “You deserve it, and besides, tonight is special.”
Maya sipped the wine. “Is it? How come?”
“It’s the club bonding night,” replied Leonie, sipping her own drink. “Girl club, that is. We are going to be doing some special things.”
Maya laughed. “Drinking wine and watching a chick flick?”
Leonie shook her head slowly. “You will see. Come on, sit down and enjoy your drink, before it starts.”
Maya sat down. She was already starting to feel relaxed from the wine. She gazed at the other girls, thinking once again how lucky she was to have found friends as good as these women.
Evan walked slowly into the warehouse, throwing his briefcase in a chair. It felt good to be finally home.
He glanced around. Everyone was out; he had to gain access via the skylight. It was a pity. He had wanted to talk to Thad about the ill-wish and whether he should decide to remove it and see what happened.
He walked over to the chair where he had thrown his briefcase and opened it, taking out the photo that Aunt Kathryn had given him of her grandfather. He had studied it a few times, but he couldn’t help himself. He just had to look at it again.
It was a sepia-coloured print in a glass frame. A studio portrait, of Horace and his wife, Amy, on their wedding day. His great-great-grandparents. Amy was standing up, with her hand resting on the shoulder of the man in front of her. She was dressed in a high-necked white lace gown with a long veil.
His eyes hovered over her for a moment. She had been a beautiful woman. He could see why Horace had fallen in love with her. Aunt Kathryn had told him as she handed him the photo that Amy had gone on to become a college professor, one of the first women academics in the country, after Horace had disappeared.
“She poured herself into her work, apparently,” Aunt Kathryn had said. “My father didn’t see her very often. He thinks it was her way of coping with what happened.”
Evan’s eyes rested on the man. Horace. His great-great-grandfather who had disappeared without a trace at the age of twenty-seven. He still couldn’t quite believe it.
He had been a large man, but well built. In the photo, he wore a dark morning suit. He also had a handlebar moustache, which had been fashionable at that time. His dark hair was slicked back, and he was staring directly at the camera, not smiling.
Evan felt like he was looking into a mirror.
The family resemblance was obviously strong and had been passed down the line. His own father had looked a lot like him, as well. And he had seen photos of his grandfather who was similar, too.
He studied the photo for a moment longer then put it away. It seemed a bit farfetched and ridiculous to try to identify a man through a ghost sighting, but he could think of no other way. It would either yield something or not. He would take it to Ernie the caretaker first thing tomorrow.
He had printed off some old photos at the library before he had come home of the Covenester Ballet Company in 1902, as well. He took them out of his briefcase, now, and looked at them. Most were of dancers on the stage, but one in particular intrigued him. It was a formal group photo of all the dancers, staring at the camera, with their names written underneath in spidery copperplate writing.
He stood up and walked to a kitchen drawer, taking out a magnifying glass. He picked up the photo again and studied it underneath the glass carefully.
It was a sepia-tint photo, of course. The female dancers were all dressed in white tutus, with one of their feet thrust forward en pointe. He travelled over their faces, hovering over the photo. Which one had been the vengeful dancer, who had killed Horace in that fire?
Suddenly, he gripped the photo tighter. It couldn’t be true. And yet, it was.
He was staring at the face of Leonie Adams. He was almost a hundred percent sure of it.
She wasn’t smiling. Instead, she was staring at the camera with a gaze of such intensity it was a wonder it hadn’t broken the lens.
He quickly scanned the names written underneath.
The dancer was identified as Miss Leonora Adams.
Evan let the photo slowly flutter to the ground. Leonie was in a photograph that was taken over a hundred years ago. There was only one explanation.
She was a demon. And she was Horace’s killer.
Chapter Fourteen
Leonie picked up her wine glass, draining it. She felt mildly buzzed from the wine, and she could tell that the other girls were feeling the same way. They were all laughing raucously, telling stories, enjoying the night. Her eyes flickered to the sky outside the window. It was almost time.
She turned to Maya, watching her carefully. This was the night that Maya would formally become one of them, and it appeared that she would be fine with it. Her eyes were gleaming, and she was enjoying being a part of this group of girls who had supported her so much since she had severed contact with Evan. Maya was ripe for the picking.
She had made sure that Maya had barely had a second alone since she had carefully led her to the foyer of the theatre that day, making sure that she was in prime position to see what was about to happen. Rachel had been carefully instructed as to what to do, and she had not let her down. It was almost perfect timing. Leonie sighed with satisfaction, remembering Maya’s eyes widening in horror when she saw Evan on the steps of the theatre locked in a passionate kiss with Rachel. She had fled back to the dressing room, and Leonie had consoled her.
The rest had been relatively easy. Maya was heartbroken, and she had seen the object of her love with not one, but two, other women. Maya was fiercely protective of herself, and slow to trust. Leonie knew that she had let herself be talked around by Evan once but wouldn’t do it twice. And she had always been doubtful that they were meant to be together, anyway. She had turned away from him immediately, and had fallen snugly into the group like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle.
Leonie sat back on the sofa, sighing. Maya would be the fifth, the integral last member that would empower them completely. She just had to be guided through this process; her natural fears allayed. Leonie was confident they could do it.
She glanced at the other girls, the members of the group. Rachel, who had been easily swayed and now enjoyed being a Vilgath so much it was as if she were born to it. Isabel, who had taken a lot longer to break, and still sometimes exhibited traces of her former human conscience. And Jessica, who had been the last to be converted, after the disappointment of Ariane.
Her group of three Vilgath demons, and they were about to initiate the fourth. She was their leader, of course. She had come back to this ballet company seeking to create havoc, once again. Just like it had been all those years ago.
Her mind cast back to when she had been human. Struggling and miserable. And so head-over-heels in love with a man who had betrayed her. It had been a Vilgath who had shown her the way then, who had led her down the true path…
***
She had been born Leonora Adams in Boston in 1878 and had loved to dance from the moment that she had been able to walk.
Her mother had encouraged that love, and she had gone to a prestigious ballet school. At the age of twenty-one she had been accepted into the Covenester Ballet Company. It had been the proudest moment of her life.
Leonora had been ambitious. She wanted to become prima ballerina one day. She worked hard and rarely socialised. As for love, well, she had no feelings on that subject at all. She had always thought that love would distract her from her calling, and that she didn’t have time for it. And if she fell in love and married she would be forced to leave the company. That was how it was in those days; married women were discouraged from working. Being a wife was a full time job, and the man was always the centre of the universe. She would be forced to wait on him hand and foot and forget all about her own ambitions. Who wanted that?
But she had already been four years with the company and still wasn’t prima ballerina. She had watched herself be passed over so many times that something started to harden in her heart. And then, at dinner one night when a few drinks had loosened his tongue, the director at the time had told her that she didn’t have the talent to be prima ballerina. She was a good dancer, and worked well in the corps, but she didn’t have that extra spark needed for the starring role.
Leonora had gone home and cried herself to sleep. She wanted to be prima ballerina so badly she could almost taste it, and now, it looked like it would never happen. She had wasted her life. She wasn’t good enough.
But she had nowhere else to go, for the moment. So, she had kept dancing, plastering a fake smile onto her face while she was slowly withering in
side. It was one of the hardest times in her life.
And that was when she had noticed him. The new conductor who led the orchestra. A tall man, with dark hair and a moustache. He was so handsome that he took her breath away. She took to sitting in on the orchestra’s rehearsals, just to watch him. He was magnificent; he led the orchestra with such passion, conducting as if he were born to it. Why had she never heard of him before?
His name was Horace Watts, and apparently, he had just moved to Covenester from Europe. Why he had chosen this city was beyond her; it was hardly New York or Chicago. There was little status in working in Covenester, something she should have realised years ago.
She was a small-time dancer in a small-time ballet company. She would never grace the great ballet stages of London or Paris as prima ballerina. She had worked so hard for nothing.
She started to follow him. And then she worked up the courage to talk to him. He was charming and always made her feel like she was the only woman in the world. Leonora started to fall in love, for the first time in her life.
She realised now why women gave up their ambitions for love. Could she still have a happy ending? She might never become prima ballerina, but if she could have love, what did it matter? She could ride away into the sunset with Horace, and never look back.
And strange things were happening at the ballet company. She had noticed it for a while. Lights flickering. Productions falling apart at the last minute. Almost as if something was going on beneath the surface…
Leonora was dizzy in love, but Horace didn’t seem to be responding to her, not in the way that she wanted. She asked him to accompany her home one night, and he had refused, saying that he was busy. Another night she became emboldened and tried to kiss him. He had stepped back quickly, telling her that she was a lovely woman, but that he couldn’t.
That had angered her. So much so, that she followed him home one night, just to watch him. Was he hiding something from her?
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