Dance of Shadows

by Yelana Black

  “Are you okay?” Vanessa said, jumping back, but Steffie only nodded.

  “It doesn’t hurt,” she said. “It just feels hot,” she added, gazing at her fingers. “Like bathwater that could be a few degrees cooler.”

  In the light of the flames, the book flickered to life. Ink leeched onto the page, forming lines, dots, patterns; letters swirling into each other; sketches materializing out of nowhere.

  “It’s beautiful,” Steffie murmured in awe.

  Vanessa studied the curling ink, watching as the words spread across the parchment. But something was wrong. She tilted her head, trying to read them, but she couldn’t.

  “It’s all in Russian!” she said.

  Steffie waved her hand slightly, casting shadows over the page, as if that would make a difference. But it was useless. “I didn’t know Justin spoke Russian,” Steffie said.

  Neither did Vanessa. “Great,” she said. “Do you know anyone else who can read this?”

  But Steffie didn’t respond. “Never mind that,” she said, gazing up around her. “Look at the walls.”

  Vanessa followed her gaze. As the light from the burning rosin flickered off the walls, words began to form, in a cramped scrawl that Vanessa knew so well it could have been her own. Almost reflexively, Vanessa grabbed Steffie’s arm and guided her burning hand upward, illuminating the ceiling, the walls, the doors. Words spilled out over them, jumbling together in corners, curling around the doorknobs.

  “What is it?” Steffie whispered.

  Vanessa shivered, feeling the warmth of the fire tickling her skin, as if it were her sister’s breath, whispering in her ear. “Margaret’s secret diary.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  They didn’t know where to start reading, but to Vanessa’s surprise, Margaret had anticipated that.

  “There,” Vanessa said, pointing Steffie’s arm to a line above Steffie’s bed. The text was cut off by a poster, which Vanessa quickly pulled off the wall.

  There is no beginning. Or if there is, I don’t know about it. Do I believe in black magic? In alternate worlds? In demons? I never used to, but now I can’t help but think that I’m wrong, that I’m trapped here, that I’ll never escape. I thought I knew what dance was, but I knew nothing.

  I know more now. All because of Josef. The necro-dancer who commands me.

  Josef is only the most recent. There were others before him; I read about them in books. Secret books. And if he fails, there will be others who come after him. And if I fail, he fails. I have bruises from him. They line the insides of my arms, my thighs, my hips, my ribs. At first it was from his rod, the one he uses to keep the beat. If I fell out of step, he would straighten me with it, and if I stepped out of line, he would push me back with it, and if I complained, he would silence me with it.

  It wasn’t my fault. I should have left earlier, but now I can’t. Josef knows where we live. He knows he can have her if he wants her. She is a better dancer than I am. If I fail, Josef will get her to do it instead. I can’t let that happen.

  I’ve heard whispers about the Lyric Elite. Who are they? Why have they kept silent? Can they help? How do I find them?

  It feels like Josef’s here with me all the time. Like he’s inside me, speaking to me, telling me what to think, where to step, when to breathe, and when to stop. He’s working with someone else, too, like a dark shadow behind him, everywhere he goes. I don’t know who. Today Josef brought me into his office. It was dark and smelled like burning wax. The rosin. He didn’t know I knew what it was for. He didn’t know that I snuck into his office and watched him.

  He said, I heard the other students are worried about you. They say you’re not well. That you wander the halls at night, whispering things about our meeting together.

  That you shout in your sleep and wake the other students. Is this true?

  I don’t know, I said.

  He slammed his hand on the table.

  You’re lying, he said. You’re going to destroy everything we’ve worked for.

  I can’t help it. I feel so weak. I want to go home. I need to rest.

  That is impossible.

  Why?

  I made a promise.

  To me?

  To the Guest. I promised your hand in marriage.

  Marriage? But I’m too young.

  That matters not.

  I don’t want to get married.

  It is a symbolic marriage. Like a marriage in a dance.

  I don’t understand.

  You don’t have to. Just follow your steps perfectly. The rest will unfold before you.

  Vanessa gasped, lingering on Josef’s words, the same ones he had said to her. She could almost hear him whispering them in her ear during rehearsal. Margaret’s scrawl continued.

  Who is the Guest?

  The Guest of the dance. La Danse du Feu.

  Someone from the audience?

  Something like that.

  Is he handsome?

  Very handsome. But you can only have him if you dance perfectly. He will fill you. He will consummate all of your desires. He will free you from the trifles of this world.

  I don’t know what Josef means. He says it’s like love, the way the Guest will consume me, will fill me with a fiery heat. But I’ve never been in love before. Does it hurt? Everything Josef does to me hurts, but I can’t tell anyone.

  The only people who understand are the dancers who’ve gone before me. They visit me late at night, when I’m by myself in the studio. They come to me like part of a dream. They’re cloudy, luminous; they dance with me, hold me up when I’m too tired. They want me to help them, but I don’t know how, or if I’m strong enough. I’m going to be like them soon. I can feel it.

  And then who will help me? E.? Can I trust him?

  The rosin on Steffie’s hand burned out before they could read any more. And just as quickly as the slanted, maddening scrawl had appeared, it vanished, and the walls of Steffie’s room returned to normal.

  Vanessa stared at the white space above the bed, where her sister had written her name. Her diary had never been a book, boxed up to come home with the rest of Margaret’s things. It was here all along, and nobody had realized it. If I fail, Josef will get her to do it instead. Margaret had known what was going on, but she had stayed at school to protect her sister. Vanessa’s eyes darted across the chipped paint, Margaret’s words echoing in her head.

  “Justin wasn’t making things up,” Vanessa whispered. “Josef was training Margaret to call up a demon.”

  “Do you think it worked?” Steffie whispered.

  Vanessa shivered. The crazed handwriting on the walls was her sister’s; she recognized it, but then it wasn’t. It seemed delirious, obsessive, paranoid. Words had been written over other words, spiraling through paragraphs, as if by the end, Margaret could no longer control her hands. “No. I think she failed.”

  “Then what happened to her?” Steffie asked. “And to all of the other girls? Where did they go? And Elly. She wasn’t cast as a lead. What does she have to do with this?”

  Vanessa grabbed Elly’s note. “She didn’t have anything to do with it at first, until she discovered what Josef was doing,” she said, piecing everything together. “Elly knew about the rosin. She learned about it when she was sent to Josef’s office. And then he … he …” A sickening feeling made Vanessa sway. She steadied herself on the bedpost, unable to finish her thought.

  Vanessa stared at the empty walls, which seemed to mock Margaret’s disappearance with their blankness. Somehow, her sister had managed to find and use the strange invisible ink Justin had told her about. Ink from another dimension. If Justin was right, then Margaret had far more secrets than Vanessa could even fathom. “And the girls from the walls … I don’t know. All I’m certain of is that I’m next.”

  Steffie reached for the block of rosin, about to drag it across her hand again, when Vanessa stopped her.

  “We could spend days reading the rest of her journ
al,” Vanessa said. “We don’t have time for that. Josef could already have noticed that someone took some rosin. We’re not safe here. We have to get Blaine and TJ.”

  “Don’t you think we should tell someone? Like a teacher?”

  “Who can we trust? Josef is in on it; the others might be too.”

  “The police, then?” Steffie said.

  “And say what? That our choreographer is training us to channel a demon from another dimension?”

  Steffie went quiet.

  “We can’t take the chance,” Vanessa said. “Get Blaine and TJ and bring them downstairs. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Where are you going?” Steffie asked.

  Vanessa hesitated. There was only one other person she wanted to see, and it didn’t matter if she trusted him or not. “Upstairs.”

  Zep’s door looked the same as always—plain, unadorned wood. Beneath it, a light was on. Suddenly nervous, Vanessa raised her right hand, which was still sticky from rosin, and knocked.

  No one answered. She glanced over her shoulder, then knocked again. “Zep? Are you there?”

  Something within thumped, like a shoe falling on the floor. Vanessa shifted her weight. Why wasn’t he answering? In any other situation, she might have left, but she didn’t have time to waste. She turned the knob and let the door swing open.

  Zep was sitting on his bed, typing on a laptop. A stray wave of hair fell across his face. It took him a moment to notice Vanessa, but when he did, he sat up and ripped off his headphones. Tinny music sounded from the earpieces.

  “Vanessa,” he said, lowering his hands. He looked impossibly tall, as if he could never fit into the narrow dormitory bed. “You surprised me.”

  “Why didn’t you answer when I knocked?” Vanessa asked.

  “I was listening to music.” His eyes glinted in the light as they darted to his headphones. “I didn’t hear you.”

  His room had the same oak furniture as Vanessa’s, yet something about the way it was arranged, austere and neat, gave it a musty feeling, as if Vanessa had just entered a mahogany library. Two dark leather boots had been kicked off near the bed.

  “I was just thinking about you,” he said with a smile.

  Vanessa searched his face. Did he sound nervous? For a moment, Vanessa thought he did, but it might have been her imagination.

  The smile faded from his face. “Is everything okay? You look upset.”

  She tried to find the right words, but she didn’t know where to start.

  “Vanessa?” he said, touching her arm, his hand warm and rough. Slowly, he pulled her toward the window. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  She sat on the windowsill beside him. Outside, the sun was setting, bands of light filtering in through the window shades. “What I’m about to tell you is going to sound insane,” she said. “But it’s not. Just promise you’ll hear me out.”

  Zep looked confused, but he nodded. “I promise.”

  Vanessa took a breath and told him everything, from the luminous figures on the walls and the chilling phone call with Elly’s mother to Josef’s private library, Justin and the burning rosin, and Margaret’s secret diary. When she had finished, she couldn’t look Zep in the eye. She half expected him to laugh at her. But to her surprise, he didn’t.

  Zep lowered his hand to his cheek, rubbing the stubble on his chin. His gaze was faraway, troubled. He didn’t say anything for a long time.

  “Do you believe me?” Vanessa said, trying to read his expression.

  As if emerging from under a spell, he turned to her. “Of course I do,” he said. His eyes met her gaze, and suddenly she was in his arms, his salty scent wrapping itself around her, making her feel safe. “Don’t worry,” he whispered into her hair. “We’re together now. Everything’s going to be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

  Vanessa let herself collapse into his embrace, relieved. “What do we do?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” he said thoughtfully. “Justin told you all of this?”

  “Not all of it. But some.”

  Zep gripped the edge of the windowsill, deep in thought. “I don’t trust him.”

  “He read about this in a book in Josef’s library. I saw it for myself, it exists.”

  “But did you read it yourself?” Zep said.

  “No,” Vanessa said softly. “It was in Russian.”

  “Exactly. He could have told you anything. Justin obviously reads Russian, and so does Josef. They could be working together.”

  “So you think he made up the whole thing?” she asked, trying to rearrange the pieces. “That my sister also made it up? What about all the girls who went missing?”

  “No,” Zep said, lowering his voice. “Only that Justin might have altered bits of it to make you trust him. It makes sense: Justin knows Russian, he says he doesn’t want to be a better dancer, so he must have some other reason for wanting to be here. Maybe he’s involved with Josef. I know he’s been following you and Anna around, spreading rumors. Don’t you think he’s trying to figure out how much you know?”

  “I—I’m not sure,” Vanessa said.

  “Did Justin tell you anything else? About the dance or what Josef is planning to do?”

  “I think he told me everything he knew. The rest we learned from Margaret’s diary.”

  “Justin doesn’t know about that, does he?” Zep said, narrowing his eyes.

  Vanessa shook her head as Zep let out a sigh of relief. “Good. Can you show it to me?”

  Vanessa hesitated. “Do you think we have time? I mean, we took some of the rosin from Josef’s office. He might know by now that someone was there.”

  “It’ll just take a minute. And I’ll be with you, so don’t worry about Josef. He’ll have to get past me first,” Zep said, squeezing her hand. “Let me just get my things together. I’ll meet you down at Steffie’s room in five.”

  Vanessa gave him a faint smile. “Okay,” she said, and made for the hallway. As she closed the door behind her, she stole one last glance into his room.

  Zep was standing by his bed, his back turned as he picked up his phone. Someone must have answered, because Zep said, “It’s me.” A long pause. “It’s time. I’ll need your help.” Another pause. “We can’t wait. The situation is delicate. It has to happen now, or we’ll lose our chance.”

  Who was he talking to? But there was no time to think. As Zep hung up, he leaned back on the bed to put on his boots, so the top of the laptop was visible on the covers beside him.

  When Vanessa saw it, she gasped.

  Zep must have heard her, because he turned around. “Vanessa,” he said. “You’re still here?”

  But she barely heard him. All of her attention was focused on the big pink heart sticker that adorned the lid of the laptop.

  “That’s just like Elly’s laptop,” she said, letting the door creak open as she studied its familiar design.

  Zep followed her gaze to the computer. “What do you know,” he said, smiling. “It is like Elly’s laptop.”

  Vanessa gripped the door frame, her eyes wandering from the pink heart to Zep. “It’s kind of weird how similar they are.” The heart was even ripped slightly on the left side, just like Elly’s.

  Zep laughed and stood up, inching toward her. “Okay, you caught me. It actually is Elly’s laptop.”

  “What?” Vanessa said, her back going rigid.

  Zep stepped closer. The soft grin lingering on his face confused Vanessa. Was he joking? “But the only reason I have it is because she doesn’t need it anymore.”

  “What do you mean? Did Elly give it to you?” As the words left her mouth, Vanessa realized she already knew the answer. It was the answer she and her friends had been avoiding for two months. The answer that Vanessa still tried to deny, even after the phone call to Elly’s mother.

  She backed into the hall, her heart skipping in her chest.

  Suddenly Zep was in front of her, his frame filling the narrow corridor. “You see, som
eone needed to write to her parents after I handed her over to Josef.” He grabbed her wrist.

  “No,” she whispered.

  His hand closed around her mouth.

  She felt a sharp tug as he pulled her into the deserted stairwell, his body pressing against hers until their legs were tangled. She tried to scream, but her voice was muffled by his hand.

  With deliberate steps, he walked her backward, their limbs moving together in a long, intimate dance. She half expected him to narrate their tragic love story again, to tell her how she wanted him but could never have him; about their violent love and how the dance wasn’t over. Except now he said, “That crazy story you just told me? It’s all true.”

  Slowly, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, his voice low, like the trembling notes that sound just before the curtain rises for the final act. “I know. Because I’m part of it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A single spotlight shone onto the basement practice studio, illuminating the scorched spot in the center of the floor. Beyond that, all was dark.

  Vanessa could feel the muscles in Zep’s chest shifting against her back; his arms tightening as he pushed her toward the spotlight, the door slamming behind them.

  Were they alone? She blinked into the darkness, waiting for her eyes to adjust. She couldn’t see anyone, but she could hear a strange gurgling sound from the corner of the room. The squeal of a sneaker dragged over the floor. Silence.

  Zep loosened his grip. Twisting away, she tried to free herself from his arms, but to her surprise, just before he let her loose, he leaned toward her. “Vanessa, I’m sorry,” he said, so quietly she wasn’t sure if she had imagined it. “It was never about you. All I’ve ever wanted was to learn to dance so magnificently that the world stopped. Don’t you understand?”

  “No,” Vanessa said.

  “I tried to warn you that we could never be together,” he said. “Fate is against us.”

  “It’s not fate,” she said firmly. “It’s your decision.”

  “Just wait,” he said. “You’ll understand.” He released her arm and nodded toward the spotlight. Vanessa spun around just as he stepped back, disappearing into the shadows. Her eyes darted around the room as shapes began to appear out of the darkness—a flash of pale skin, a glint of an eye, a white hand poised above a head.