Dance of Shadows (Dance of Shadows - Trilogy)

by Black, Yelena

  After she finished her early morning practice, Vanessa sat in the corner of the studio, stretching, her leotard damp with sweat. When the rest of the troupe filed in—the girls who would play the thirteen princesses—she wiped off her forehead and checked her makeup, hoping none of the other dancers would realize that she’d already been practicing for hours. They were all seniors, most from the group who’d been rehearsing with Josef since the first week of school.

  Even up close, they looked so similar that Vanessa had a hard time remembering who was who. Three Laurens, another two Lauras. Laurel. Lara. Tara. Tiffany. Leigh. Two Jessicas. Was that right? It didn’t matter, because none of them even graced her with a look, let alone a hello.

  Finally Anna Franko strutted through the door, the thirteenth princess, her skin a pearly white, her blond hair tied into a perfect little knot.

  She was laughing at something one of the girls was saying, her slender throat arching as she tilted her head back. As she passed, her eyes flitted to Vanessa. The mere sight of Vanessa’s flushed face seemed to startle her. The smile faded from Anna’s strawberry lips, and suddenly Vanessa felt incredibly small.

  She slipped off her headphones. “Hi,” she said timidly, gazing up at Anna’s beautiful face.

  But Anna said nothing. She merely walked by, leading the other girls to the opposite side of the room, where they resumed their chatter as if Vanessa weren’t there. Vanessa just sat there, a lump in her stomach, realizing that it didn’t matter how well she danced; she would never be one of them.

  The girls laughed, Anna’s voice high above the rest. Her eyes narrowed as they met Vanessa’s, taunting her.

  Vanessa broke her gaze and began to stuff her things into her bag, trying to pretend she was too busy to notice the other girls, waiting for Zep to stride through the door, but the only boy who entered the room was Justin. He gave her a nod before throwing his bag down by the barre. She leaned back against the mirror, deflated.

  When the clock struck nine, the doors burst open and Josef sauntered across the room in a gray T-shirt and tight pants, holding a long staff. Zep strode in behind him. Vanessa studied him, trying to catch his eye, but he didn’t seem to see her.

  “D’accord,” Josef said, his eyes brightening as he gazed out at the dancers. “Welcome to the first real rehearsal for Firebird. No more listening to the score or memorizing steps. It’s time to get to work, to dance. I trust you are all prepared. I have personally hand-picked each of you for your talent, dedication, and perseverance.” His eyes rested on Vanessa. “Every one of you has something that transcends the ordinary.”

  He took a step toward Vanessa and spoke softly. “There is a je ne sais quoi in each of you, as if you had reached out and touched me, and suddenly your coeur was beating with mine.”

  The room was silent. Vanessa felt herself blush, feeling Josef’s eyes lingering on her.

  “A quick reminder about our schedule: In the morning rehearsals, we will work on various dances from the Firebird suite. But in the afternoons, we will work on one dance in particular, called La Danse du Feu, or the Dance of Fire. In addition to your academic classes, of course.”

  The French rolled off his tongue in a hot breath, as if he were speaking the name of his lover. La Danse du Feu, Vanessa repeated in her head, but she couldn’t remember any dance in the Firebird with that name.

  She raised her hand. “What is the fire dance?” she asked Josef. “I’ve been watching the Firebird since I was a child, and I’ve never seen it.”

  Josef smiled. “I’m glad you asked,” he said, giving her a slight bow. “La Danse du Feu was once part of the original ballet, but it was quickly removed because it was too difficult. Ballerinas were falling, injuring themselves. They complained about the rhythm and how it did not match the rest of the dance. So the early choreographers struck it from the ballet, and it has rarely been performed since.”

  A murmur passed over the room. Josef held up a finger for silence. “It is a dance like no other. When I first saw it performed, I thought the life would leave me.”

  Taking slow steps, he began pacing. “I believe that you can perform this dance. That we can, together. Non, it will not be easy, but nothing worthwhile is ever easy.”

  He stopped walking and gave the cast a level gaze. “We will start now, using this rehearsal to practice the fire dance, as the afternoon rehearsal will not take place today. I will be observing the student body to choose the understudies for the Firebird and the thirteen princesses. Starting tomorrow morning, normal practice will resume, and we will get to work on the rest of the ballet.”

  Vanessa gazed around the room, wondering if the others were as nervous as she was. But it wasn’t just anxiety she felt; it was excitement. This was a chance for Vanessa to prove herself. From the corner of the room, she could feel Zep’s eyes sweeping over her. She shivered but didn’t dare meet his gaze, for fear that something inside her would melt.

  “Vous êtes prêt?” Josef asked, and clasped his hands together. “Bon. Let’s get to work.”

  He arranged them about the room, Vanessa and Zep in the middle, the thirteen girls around them. On the side of the room, Vanessa could feel Justin watching her. She looked away, checking her posture in the mirror until Josef began to clap an odd, erratic beat. He dictated directions. “No music,” he said. “Just feel the beat deep within your body. Now, fourth position!

  “One and two and three and four! And right leg back, and brace arms out!”

  It started off easy, Vanessa’s legs moving to Josef’s commands as if they were natural, as if he didn’t need to speak at all. Around her, the other ballerinas followed her pace, their steps simpler versions of Vanessa’s.

  She felt Zep’s hands on her waist as they moved together, the steps becoming harder to follow, the thirteen other girls swooping around them. She shivered beneath his touch, his breath against her neck as he lifted her into a leap. Her body arched above him, coming to life. When she landed, she rolled her neck and lifted her leg into an arabesque. She could feel herself losing control, the room darkening as she extended her hand to Zep.

  Shadows played across his face, warping it into something vacant and terrible. She gasped as he stepped toward her, his eyes black and hollow. She wobbled, about to fall.

  “Steady,” Josef warned somewhere in the distance.

  Vanessa blinked and the world returned to normal. Zep was in front of her, his expression concerned.

  Josef paced around them, still clapping the rhythm. “Now down,” he said, and Vanessa allowed her foot to slide across the floor. “So stiff,” he said, as if it pained him.

  Heat flushed Vanessa’s face. She wanted to please him; she wanted to perform, to look beautiful in front of him, but she couldn’t get it right. She heard one of the other girls let out a bitter laugh. They were happy to see her fail. They wanted her to lose everything. And even more confusing, they all seemed to feel more comfortable with the strange dance than she was. They didn’t fumble their steps or flinch at the change of rhythm.

  It was as if they had practiced it before.

  Vanessa faltered, barely catching herself, and suddenly Josef was right there next to her, so close his cool skin tickled her arm. With strong hands, he took hold of her thigh, grasping it as if they were lovers. And sliding down, he lifted her leg.

  She winced as a sharp pain shot up her thigh, but quickly muffled it.

  “Hold it,” he said, his fingers pressing into her leg until she was sure they would leave bruises.

  “Like this.” His voice was a low growl, his breath hot against her ear; he pressed her knee down, the inside of her leg burning. Just when she thought she couldn’t hold the position any longer, he let go, and she stumbled back.

  “Now again,” he said, tapping his staff on the floor.

  Vanessa tried to follow his directions, but her mind was overwhelmed with claps and commands. Zep’s eyes hardened as she fumbled, her body exhausted from her early morning
practice.

  “You’re never going to fill your sister’s shoes,” Josef said into her ear while gripping her arm tightly in position. “You’re inadequate to the role.” He jerked her body into the proper form as if she were a marionette. “You’re trying to destroy everything we’ve worked for.

  “Straighten your leg,” he snarled. “Arch your spine!” They continued for a few more beats until finally he stopped them with a grunt. “Enough!” he shouted. “Enough.”

  Zep fell back, clearly frustrated, avoiding Vanessa’s eyes. She felt something inside her crumble as he walked away from her. But her attention quickly shifted back to Josef. “Qu’est-ce que c’est?” he demanded, his voice echoing through the studio. “Why can you not get it right? It is very simple. Just follow your steps perfectly. The rest will unfold before you.”

  She wiped the sweat from her forehead, trying to hold back her tears. “I’m sorry,” she said. She could feel the rest of the dancers staring at her. “I just—I don’t know this dance. I haven’t practiced it yet.”

  On the periphery, she could see Zep take off his shoes and stuff them into his bag.

  “So start learning,” said Josef. “You’re the only one who cannot keep up.”

  Vanessa’s eyes flitted across the room. “I—I’m sorry,” she said again, her glance resting on Zep. “I’ll do better next time.”

  “Next time?” Josef roared. “Are you going to say that on the night of the performance? Is that how you’re going to treat your audience? Your colleagues?”

  “N-no,” Vanessa said, biting her lip. Tears stung her eyes.

  “And stop saying you’re sorry,” Josef said. “Because I am the one who is sorry. For choosing you.”

  Vanessa swallowed a sob as he turned away from her and walked to the center of the room. The other dancers were bending over their bags, pulling on their sweats and sipping water bottles. She gazed at them, searching for a friendly face, but none of them would look at her.

  “I must add that starting tomorrow,” Josef continued, addressing the entire ensemble, “we will have our afternoon rehearsals in the basement practice room in Lincoln Center, which shares the same dimensions as the main stage.”

  The burned room, Vanessa thought, rubbing her fingers together absently as if she could still feel the ashy walls.

  “We will issue all of you passes, so you can practice on your own”—Josef’s gaze turned to Vanessa—“if you wish.”

  Wiping her cheeks, Vanessa glanced around, hoping to find comfort from Zep, but sometime during Josef’s speech he had left, and she didn’t see him for the rest of the day. The only eyes she could feel on her were Justin’s. She thought he was laughing at her, pleased with her utter failure of a rehearsal, but when she finally allowed her gaze to meet his, she was startled by his soft expression. He didn’t mock her or laugh, or even look at her with pity. His eyes seemed sympathetic, as if he understood what she was going through.

  “Of course she hates you,” TJ said, later that afternoon. “You’re the lead role. And you have Zep.”

  “Correction,” Blaine said. “You took Zep from her.”

  “I didn’t take him,” Vanessa said, feeling worse. During rehearsal he hadn’t spoken to her, and he’d left without saying good-bye.

  “Why don’t you try talking to them?” Steffie said. “They’re probably nicer than you think. I mean, wouldn’t you be a little put off if a freshman took the lead role?”

  So that evening in the dining hall, when Steffie, TJ, and Blaine sat down at a table by the far window, Vanessa hesitated.

  A loud laugh sounded through the room. Vanessa immediately recognized it as Anna’s. She turned and saw her sweep of blond hair at a table in the center of the dining hall. The other twelve princesses sat around her. Even at dinner, they all looked the same—their clothes in shades of pink and heather gray, their hair hanging loose around their shoulders in casual waves. They were even eating matching salads—greens with olives, oranges, and cherry tomatoes.

  Vanessa glanced over at her friends. Steffie had turned, still holding her tray, and was giving her a quizzical look. Vanessa shrugged, and without saying anything, she lifted her head high and walked over to the table of princesses.

  Vanessa cleared her throat. “May I sit with you?” she said, trying to look friendly.

  At first, no one seemed to hear her. They were busy listening to Anna. “I heard there have been a half-dozen disappearances in the past,” Anna said. She leaned over the table and lowered her voice. “Every single time, the lead dancer went insane. Some even disappeared.”

  Vanessa was about to try to get their attention again, but when she heard Anna’s words, she gripped her tray and froze.

  “Every single lead dancer?” a girl asked.

  “Not all, but most,” Anna said softly. “Just like Chloë.”

  Laurel, a sultry brunette with big lips and a penchant for dark eyeliner, spoke up. “And not just crazy, but like mad as a hatter with mercury poisoning and off her rocker,” she emphasized. “Maybe the annual production is cursed!”

  “What?” Vanessa blurted out, forgetting she was listening in on their conversation.

  The conversation halted, and Anna Franko looked up, surprised to see Vanessa. “What do you want?” she asked.

  Vanessa swallowed, her tray suddenly heavy. The table went quiet. “I—I’m sorry,” she said, her voice trembling. “I guess I’ll just sit somewhere else then.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be eating,” Anna said with finality. “Maybe you should be practicing.”

  The other girls stared down at their plates, ignoring Vanessa as if she didn’t exist. She searched the room, hoping to see Zep stand up for her, but no luck. Maybe this was how it started, she realized, taking a weary step backward. She didn’t want to go back to her friends and eat dinner and explain what had happened. Instead, she wanted to chuck her tray and run back to her darkened room until everyone forgot about her. Until she really did disappear.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Vanessa’s shoes tapped softly against the stairs. One, two, three flights, the voices of the girls from dinner still echoing in her head. She walked down the corridor until she reached the door at the far end of the hall. To her surprise, it was identical to her own, the dark wood smooth and worn.

  Vanessa touched the brass knob, imagining that the cool metal was Zep’s hand, but recoiled when she heard an echo of voices down the hall. A group of seniors piled into the corridor, barely noticing her as they filtered into their rooms, laughing. To Vanessa’s relief, none of them were from the table of princesses.

  When their voices faded, Vanessa held up her fist, letting her shirt sleeve fall back until she could see a purpling bruise shaped like Josef’s thumb on the inside of her arm. Taking a breath, she knocked.

  Nothing. She listened for movement within. “Zep?” She stared at the grain of the wood, waiting for his deep voice. “Are you there?”

  She took a step back and fished through her bag until she found her cell phone. Typing quickly, she wrote him a text.

  I’m sorry I let you down.

  She held her fingers over the keys, trying to decide if she should say anything more, when she heard Anna’s voice floating up from the stairwell. She pressed send, and slipped into the darkness of the back stairwell, hoping that no one except Zep would know she had ever been there in the first place.

  Vanessa waited for a response, but a day passed and she hadn’t heard from Zep. He didn’t come to her room or surprise her in the library. She’d seen him only briefly in the dining hall, his metallic eyes gazing at her through the crowd. They seemed to be apologizing, looking past her as if distracted, though before she could go to him, her friends surrounded her, chattering about class. She took out her cell phone only to see a text from him pop up.

  Sorry I’ve been distant. So busy. It’s not about you.

  She read it again, confused. Why hadn’t he just told her in person?


  His absence was the most pronounced in rehearsal.

  “I’m afraid Zeppelin is sick,” Josef announced on the second day, and turned to Justin, who had been warming up on the barre. “I trust you know the steps for the prince?”

  Sick? Vanessa’s face fell. Why hadn’t he told her?

  Justin wiped the sweat from his brow. “By heart,” he said, glancing at Vanessa.

  “Act one, then,” Josef said with a clap.

  Vanessa took her position, trying to avoid Justin’s eye, and on Josef’s count, they began to dance. To Vanessa’s dismay, Justin was actually good, his footwork bringing the prince to life before her eyes, as if, through some cruel twist of fate, he had always been meant to replace Zep.

  After two days passed with no other sign of Zep, though, Vanessa began to worry. She stopped by his room every night to see if he was okay, and when he didn’t answer, she texted him, asking how he was, but he never responded. Was he really sick, or was he just avoiding her? Maybe he was in the hospital.

  Those were the thoughts that tormented her during morning rehearsal, when the entire cast filed into the studio except Zep.

  At nine o’clock, Josef closed the door and clapped his hands. Justin was stretching by the barre with the other understudies. Realizing Zep wasn’t going to show, he stood and was about to take the place of the prince for the third day in a row, when Josef raised a hand.

  “Zeppelin will not be here again today, but instead of practicing the normal Firebird scenes, I would like to work on La Danse du Feu.”

  A few of the dancers groaned but then went quiet when Josef narrowed his eyes. “I know we normally only work on that in the afternoon rehearsals, but the scene needs far more practice than the others.”

  Vanessa’s chest seemed to cave in on itself. Just the thought of working on the strange dance twice in one day exhausted her.

  “Halfway through,” Josef continued, “the prince fades off-stage and the finale focuses on Vanessa, the Firebird.” He let his eyes rest on her. “And the thirteen princesses around her.” He turned to Justin. “We will not be needing you today, as we will be focusing on the second half of the dance. If you could just observe, that would be excellente.”