Wild Keepers

by Dee Bridgnorth

  They looked smart and very, very wealthy. Her mother wore her usual diamonds around her neck, with matching earrings. Now they were speaking to each other, staring down at the audience. Maya knew exactly what they would be talking about. Gossiping about all the people—grading them on the wealth and position scale. Status was a fluid, ever-changing thing in high society, and her parents were king and queen of it all, ruling their empire with disdain.

  Maya felt her chest tightening. It was such a narrow, closed world. She thought briefly of the down-to-earth fun she had with Evan at the basketball game, and for a moment longed for it so intensely that it was all that she could do not to rip off her costume and flee into the night. Find him and take his hand. Run far, far away from all this.

  She took a deep breath. She just had to be patient. Soon she would have the freedom to reinvent her life with him. If she could just get through this.

  Everyone was seated. The lights dimmed, and the conductor tapped his baton on the edge of the music stand. The theatre hushed. He raised it again, and suddenly music soared into the air.

  It was time.

  Maya took another deep breath. She hadn’t spotted Evan, but he had assured her he would be watching.

  Then she glided onto the stage, and everything else slid out of her mind.

  She was Giselle, and she had a job to do.

  ***

  Evan watched Maya dancing from a hidden spot behind a theatre box. He found it hard to believe that it was truly her up on that stage.

  She didn’t look like herself anymore. She had been completely transformed by the costume and the makeup. But it was even more than that—she seemed to be a different person.

  It wasn’t just that she was dancing. It was the complete act. He understood, suddenly, the hard work and dedication that went into a performance such as this. She was no longer Maya Roberts, the woman that he loved who had messily eaten a hot dog and cheered at the basketball game. She was the character of Giselle, a woman who was head-over-heels in love, and about to be betrayed.

  He understood, now, why it had been so important to her to do this. To not run away. This was her job, but it was even more than that. This was what she was—an artist. The desire to create was her life’s calling.

  Evan had never understood the arts before and hadn’t been interested in them. It just wasn’t his thing, and if he were being honest with himself, he would probably never be passionate about ballet. But he finally understood why it meant so much to her, and how gifted she was.

  He stared at the audience. He could see that they were captivated, completely swept up in the ballet. Their eyes were wide as they watched the unfolding story on the stage, and Maya, in particular. She was the centre of the whole story, and he could see the spell she was casting over everyone in this theatre.

  The first act was nearing its end. Giselle had discovered who Albrecht really was, and Maya was performing the character’s dance in response to it. He could feel her sadness and confusion in the dance; the fact that her heart was forever broken, and she would never recover from it. The dance became more erratic and wild as Giselle expressed her sorrow and bewilderment.

  Suddenly, on cue, Maya collapsed. Nathaniel, the dancer playing her lover Albrecht, caught her in his arms, and the character of Giselle died. Albrecht turned to Giselle’s other suitor in rage, before fleeing the stage in misery. The dancer playing Giselle’s mother wept over her daughter’s body.

  The curtain dropped. Act One was over.

  The audience exploded in applause, clapping wildly. Evan couldn’t help a wide smile splitting over his face, and his chest swelled with pride.

  Maya was magnificent. He knew all the applause was for her.

  It was intermission. The audience stood up, milling out into the foyer. Perhaps he could sneak backstage and tell her how proud he was of her. Just for a minute.

  He threaded through the crowd, getting backstage. It was chaos, but everyone was excited. He could see Freddie, the director, beaming. And Vera, the choreographer, was ecstatic. It seemed that the show was going very well.

  He looked around, frowning. Where was she?

  He couldn’t see her anywhere. She was probably back in the dressing room, having a well-deserved rest. And now, he hesitated. He had been caught up in the excitement of the performance, but he remembered that he shouldn’t be here. He was supposed to be keeping his distance, and not alert Leonie and the others that he was watching over Maya.

  He left, going back to the position behind the theatre box, for the start of the second act.

  The audience were all seated again, and the conductor rose his baton. The curtain rose, and the ballet began.

  Evan watched as the dancers playing the Wilis, led by Leonie, roused the spirit of Giselle from her forest grave. And then, Albrecht came and wept over the grave, causing Giselle’s spirit to reappear. Evan watched her dancing, a frown coming to his face. She seemed different, somehow. Lacklustre. As if she had poured all her energy into the first act and was just going through the motions now.

  He could see that the audience sensed it, as well. They were murmuring quietly, not as spellbound as they had been.

  Evan felt a cold shiver go through him. Where were his binoculars?

  He picked them up and peered at the stage, focusing on Maya. His heart started to thud violently. It couldn’t be true. He took away the binoculars, wiping them, then peered through them again.

  He froze, almost dropping them completely.

  The woman playing Giselle wasn’t Maya. She was dressed the same, but it wasn’t her face.

  A cold shiver went through him. Where was she? Why wasn’t she on that stage? Had something happened to her?

  He cursed under his breath and rushed out.

  He had to find her. Before it was too late.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Maya opened her eyes slowly. Something hurt. No, scratch that. Everything hurt. Her whole body was aching, and she felt so slow and sluggish that she could barely lift a finger.

  Her vision was cloudy. She squinted, trying to clear it, blinking rapidly. A room came into focus, but zig-zagged so wildly that she was forced to close her eyes again. She suddenly had a desperate urge to throw up.

  She leaned over to the side, with difficulty, every muscle resisting the movement. Yes, she was going to be sick.

  She wiped her mouth, trembling, then rolled back onto her back. Her eyes opened again. Her vision was clearer this time, but still not perfect. And it was in that moment that she realised that her hands and feet were bound.

  Terror overtook her. Where was she? Why was she tied up?

  “Hello,” she called, but the word exited her mouth like a croak.

  What had happened?

  She frowned, trying desperately to remember. She had been dancing on the stage as Giselle. It had been going beautifully. She had felt like she was owning every movement; that she had become Giselle, and was inhabiting the character’s skin. She had known that the audience were with her. She could hear every gasp. It was as if she had been enveloped in their love and approval.

  The curtain had fallen on the first act. She heard the applause, wild and unfettered. And then…what had happened then?

  Her frown deepened, trying to piece it together in her mind. Nathaniel, as Albrecht, had been holding her. The dancer who played her mother had been mourning her…but she had no memory of leaving the stage. None at all. Her final memory had been of the curtain falling, and hearing applause.

  Or was it?

  Something else was vaguely forming in her mind. Being off stage, panting. Someone had handed her a drink, and she had accepted it gratefully, pouring it down her throat. And then…nothing.

  Who had passed her the drink?

  It hadn’t been Leonie, or any other of those girls. She was sure of it. She was sure that she wouldn’t have taken it if it had been, although in that moment, her guard had probably been down. She wasn’t thinking about any risk from
them at all. She was in the middle of a performance, extremely focused, surrounded by people. It would never have occurred to her that she would be vulnerable in that time.

  But it seemed like she had been. There was simply no other explanation for it. They must have put something in the drink, a sedative of some kind. And then somehow carried her out of that theatre, without anyone noticing. How that could have happened was beyond her—surely someone would have noticed that the star ballerina was unconscious, and questioned them?

  But then, she had no idea of what had happened after that. Had the performance continued, with her understudy stepping in? Or had it been cancelled in a flurry of panic?

  “Hello,” she called out, again. Her voice was louder this time but still croaky. Her mind spun again, forcing her to close her eyes.

  There was no answer.

  Desperately, she pushed at the rope binding her hands, trying to free herself. But there was no use. Whoever had bound her had known what they were doing.

  She stared around, trying to adjust herself to her surroundings. Where was she?

  It was a small space with very little in it. She had been placed on her back on the ground. She cast her eyes around, trying to find anything that might tell her where she was. There were a few brooms and mops resting against a wall, but that was it. Spiderwebs interlaced the ceiling, dropping dramatically. The room was dark and cold.

  She didn’t recognise it. Not that she had been expecting to. They wouldn’t take her anywhere familiar. But now it dawned on her that she had no idea what their intention with her was. Why had they abducted her halfway through a performance? Or rather, why abduction, as opposed to killing her? None of it made any sense.

  The gravity of her situation suddenly gripped her. She was bound in a room somewhere. No one knew where she was. She couldn’t untie the ropes that bound her and even attempt to escape. She had no way of alerting anyone to her situation.

  Evan. Where was he? Had he realised by now that something was very wrong, and she wasn’t there?

  She choked back a sob. This was all her fault. She was the one that had insisted on fulfilling her obligations to the production. She was the one who had insisted that he not deal with those girls so that the show could continue smoothly. She had known the danger she was in, and yet she had blithely continued as if Leonie and her gang of vengeful demons were a minor setback rather than psychopathic killers.

  Evan had wanted her to leave the city, entirely. When she had insisted on staying, he had then wanted to deal with the demons, and keep her safe that way. He had bitterly regretted that he hadn’t killed Leonie the night that he had fought with her. He had been watching her almost twenty-four hours a day, and paying for a grand hotel so that they wouldn’t know where she was. He had done everything he could to keep her safe. But she hadn’t taken it seriously enough.

  It was all her fault. Whatever happened to her now was her responsibility.

  Her mind flittered randomly as the tears streamed down her face. The tenderness between them. They had grown so close to each other in the time that she had been staying in the hotel room. He had been caring for her as tenderly as if she were a precious object. He had not once tried to make love to her again, even though she knew he wanted to. Even though she wanted to, and thought often about inviting him into her bed when he slept on the sofa.

  He had known that if they gave into what was between them that he would not be as alert as he had to be. He was a professional, after all. A professional shapeshifter who battled these evil monsters on a daily basis. He knew his stuff. And she had overrode his opinion, and so caused all this to happen.

  If she thought she had loved him before, she knew now that her love was so vast that it could fill an entire ocean. He had proven himself. He was an amazing man; his character was good, to the core. The physical attraction had overpowered her at first, but the time alone with him in the hotel had shown her that this was not merely infatuation.

  It was the real thing. The kind of forever love that might have frightened her in the past. And she had never told him.

  She choked back her tears. It was too late now. It was never meant to be, after all. They had been waiting until all this was over to fully explore what lay between them, but it had withered on the vine before blossoming.

  She was going to die.

  She knew it, in her deepest heart. They had taken her here to kill her. Perhaps they wanted to amuse themselves with her for a while first, but she had no doubt in her mind that they would eventually kill her. They were demons, with no human conscience. They thrived on evil and causing chaos. She could plead all she liked, but she knew it wouldn’t make a lick of difference.

  Maya slowly stopped crying. She glanced down at herself. She was still dressed in the costume of Giselle. They hadn’t even removed her ballet slippers. She could imagine what she looked like. A bedraggled doll, with makeup streaked down her face from her tears. A broken doll, whose time was just about over.

  Why had she thought it was so important? Why had she risked her life for a ballet performance? It was all just dust in her hands. It was illusion, play-acting on a stage. While real life had slipped by her.

  She could have had a real life, with a man she loved deeply. She still didn’t know if he cared about her the same way, but they could have found out, together.

  But it was all too late now.

  ***

  Evan blindly ran through the crowd backstage. He could still hear the music playing for the second act and the sound of feet thumping from the stage.

  Vera looked at him as if he was mad. “What are you doing? What’s wrong with you?”

  He forced himself to still and calm his breathing. “Maya,” he panted. He finally caught his breath. “Where is she?”

  Vera’s eyes widened dramatically. “What are you talking about, Evan? You know as well as I do that Maya is on the stage, dancing.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head vigorously. “It’s not her! I studied the dancer’s face through binoculars. It isn’t Maya up there dancing as Giselle. It’s someone else.”

  Vera stared at him as if he had suddenly sprouted two heads. “I don’t know what you are saying, Evan, but I have had no word that Maya isn’t dancing, or that her understudy had to step in.” She took a deep breath. “And I would have been one of the first to be informed, believe me! This is our opening night, and Maya is our prima ballerina. The whole theatre would be aware if she wasn’t on that stage.”

  Evan shook his head, frowning. “I don’t care what you believe or don’t believe, Vera. I am telling you that it isn’t Maya on that stage dancing as Giselle.”

  Suddenly, Freddie rushed through. He stopped short when he saw Vera and Evan. His face was pale.

  “What’s wrong with her?” he screeched. “She danced like a dream in the first act! She had the audience eating out of her hand! And now, she is dancing like a broken marionette. She’s all over the place! She’s even forgetting some of the dance!”

  Vera’s face drained of colour. “Maya? But…. she knows that dance like the back of her hand.” She frowned, her eyes troubled. “I don’t understand.”

  Evan’s face was grim. “I do. It’s like I told you, Vera. The woman who is on that stage dancing as Giselle isn’t Maya.”

  “What?” bellowed Freddie, his eyes like saucers. “It isn’t Maya out there? Why wasn’t I informed?”

  Vera’s mouth dropped open, gaping like a fish. “Freddie, I don’t know what’s going on! As far as I knew, Maya stepped onto that stage for the second act.” Her head swivelled wildly in Evan’s direction. “And now, he’s telling me that it isn’t her out there! That someone else is dancing in her place.”

  Freddie took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He turned to Evan.

  “What do you know about this?” he barked. “Where is Maya?”

  Evan had to swallow his frustration with difficulty. Panic was bubbling to the surface of his mind, and he was wasti
ng time here. Every second that he had to keep explaining that it wasn’t Maya out there and he didn’t know what was happening was time wasted in searching for her.

  Because it was obvious now that something had happened to her. She hadn’t just sprained her ankle or developed a sudden headache, forcing her understudy to step in. That wouldn’t be like Maya anyway. Evan thought that she would probably have gone back onto that stage to complete the show even after breaking a leg.

  And no one was aware that it wasn’t her out there. They all thought that Maya had gone back onto that stage. The Vilgath had abducted her, although how they could have done it in this situation with so many people around was totally beyond him. Surely someone would have seen her?

  “I have to find her,” he said, turning to leave. “Something’s wrong. Very wrong. I don’t know why she isn’t on that stage, but I intend to find out.”

  Freddie and Vera gaped at him, their faces pale.

  He walked quickly away, not even bothering to say good bye to them.

  The house. Had Leonie or one of the others brought her back there? It had to be the first place that he should look. Perhaps they had bundled her there for the time being while they thought what they were going to do with her.

  His blood ran cold. What were they intending to do with her?

  None of it made any sense. As he exited the theatre, running to find a cab, he tried to calm down and think it through properly. Panicking was not helping. He needed to logically think it through, exactly as he would if this were any other case. He had to take the personal element out of it, as hard as that was.

  The first thing was to ascertain their motivation. What was their intention? Had it been abduction, or had they already killed her?

  The blood drained from his face at that thought, but he steadied himself quickly. He had to face that possibility. Maya might no longer be alive. They might have killed her after they removed her from the theatre and dumped her body anywhere.