Dance of Fire

by Yelena Black

  ‘Now what?’

  ‘Now we have you,’ Enzo said. ‘A secret weapon.’

  ‘I’m not a weapon,’ Vanessa said. ‘I’m a person.’

  ‘You misunderstand me,’ Enzo said. ‘If Josef told this dark group about you, they will do their utmost to have you win the Royal Court competition. Your ties to the demon will be . . . very attractive to them.’

  ‘Is that why you asked me to London?’ Vanessa asked. ‘So you can use me as bait with this dark faction and uncover its members?’

  ‘I would never do anything to compromise your safety, Vanessa. Or Justin’s. But by the same token, you must help us protect you. Be extremely wary. If you feel any . . . contact by the demon, let me know immediately.’

  ‘Why?’ She felt sick at the realisation that her dream hadn’t been a dream at all. ‘How can you possibly help?’

  He gave her a grim look. ‘There’s a book the Lyric Elite has heard rumours of called the Ars Demonica. It contains rituals and instructions that will help us control the demon.’

  ‘A book? You’re going to drive a demon away with a book?’

  ‘It’s not just any book, Vanessa, as you’ll see soon enough. But for now, let’s keep any discussion of the demon between the two of us.’ He handed her a slip of paper with a room number on it. ‘There is more to discuss, much more, but I’m saving some of it for our first practice. Until then, get some rest. You’re going to need it.’

  Enzo turned and walked down the hallway. She was about to call out to him, to tell him about her dream, when her phone buzzed.

  She slipped it out of her back pocket. It was a text from Justin. Meet me in the stairwell, 5th floor. 5 minutes.

  She thought about dropping off her toiletry bag in her room, but she didn’t feel up to seeing Svetya again. Vanessa scanned the hallway and located the stairwell door. Then she was off.

  Justin was waiting for her at the top of the stairs, on the landing. He said something to her, but she barely registered his words. She couldn’t shake her conversation with Enzo. What had she got herself into? she wondered, dread swelling within her.

  ‘Vanessa?’ Justin said, placing one hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, coming back to the present.

  ‘So . . . we’re finally alone.’ He grinned. ‘Sit.’ He looked as if he had just showered; his hair was wet and matted to the sides of his head. He was wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of green mesh shorts. His feet were bare.

  He dropped down on the landing and sat cross-legged, patting the space directly next to him. Vanessa sat down too and leaned against the white brick wall. The sight of him calmed her, made her feel safe. He reminded her of home, she realised.

  ‘How’s your roommate?’ Justin asked, his voice echoing in the quiet stairwell.

  ‘Terrible. Her name is Svetya.’

  ‘She sounds Russian.’

  ‘Maybe originally,’ Vanessa said. ‘But I think Russia expelled her or something.’

  Justin leaned back against the wall beside her, his smooth arms flexing beneath the cotton of his shirt as he ran a hand through his hair. Realising she was staring, Vanessa quickly looked away.

  ‘I’m rooming with this guy named Geo,’ Justin said, a glimmer in his eye. ‘He’s pretty nice, I guess; we didn’t talk much.’

  ‘He goes to the same school as Svetya.’

  ‘Oh?’ Justin said. ‘And you know that how?’

  ‘Enzo came to see me. Did you know he’s our coach? And they’re training with us – Geo and Svetya?’

  ‘I knew that Geo was,’ Justin said. ‘Enzo found me earlier and told me. But I didn’t know he had a friend.’

  ‘Well, they might train together,’ Vanessa said, ‘but I doubt she and Geo are friends.’

  Justin inched closer, pressing his leg against hers. ‘Why’s that?’

  Vanessa’s cheeks flushed with warmth. ‘Svetya isn’t the kind of girl who has many friends.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Justin shook his head lightly, and droplets of water fell on Vanessa’s shoulder.

  ‘Hey! Watch it,’ she said. ‘You’re like a dog after a bath.’

  ‘A dog, eh?’ Justin raised an eyebrow.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Vanessa said.

  ‘Sure.’

  She could feel the warmth coming off his skin as, silently, he placed his hand on top of hers, interlacing their fingers. He cupped the other hand behind her neck, and Vanessa felt herself moving towards him, her lips closer to his. All she could think about was their first kiss, and now they were about to have their second . . .

  A vision burst into her mind like fireworks. Her dream, dancing with Justin, the demon taking over his eyes, his mouth, his body. Your kiss will bring me home again, my love, it had said. She tried to tell herself that it was just a nightmare. The demon had never entered Justin; it had never been interested in him. But what if there was some part of the demon still lurking within her, buried deep beneath her skin even after she’d forced it out? Sometimes she imagined she could still feel its tickle of heat within her. She had tried to ignore it, and yet she wasn’t completely convinced. In her dream, the demon had devoured Justin. It seemed so strange, such a premonition, that it frightened her. What if the demon had left a shard of itself inside her? And what if kissing Justin would somehow put him – and her – in danger?

  She yanked herself away as if she’d just touched a hot coal.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Justin’s eyes were wide, confused. He inched closer, but Vanessa pulled back. She looked around at the floor, the stairs, the door – anywhere except at him.

  ‘Please,’ she said, ‘don’t.’

  ‘Don’t what?’ Justin asked. ‘Touch you?’

  Vanessa nodded.

  ‘Why? What did I do wrong . . . ? I thought –’

  ‘It’s not you,’ Vanessa said. ‘It’s me.’

  Justin laughed. ‘What, are we filming a movie for MTV or something? Even you can come up with a better line than that.’ He paused, and she could tell he was trying to figure out her motives. ‘Do you . . . not like me?’

  Vanessa shook her head. ‘Justin, it has nothing to do –’

  ‘Because I thought you liked me. I mean, I thought we liked each other –’ he began to say, before cutting himself off. ‘Oh,’ he said, looking at Vanessa as though seeing something in her that he hadn’t before. ‘I understand now. You’re still stuck on Zep.’

  She trembled, remembering Zep’s nightmarish face melting into Justin’s, her heart racing to the beat of his name. ‘No,’ Vanessa said. ‘That’s not it at all. Just the thought of him frightens me. I promise you, it has nothing to do with him.’

  ‘Then what is it?’ Justin said, his voice cracking. ‘I’m not good enough for you?’

  ‘Of course you are,’ Vanessa said. ‘You’re a great guy. It’s just more complicated than that.’

  Justin frowned. ‘How?’

  She told him about her dream, about the demon’s promise. ‘If I kiss you, whatever part of it is still in me . . . it could hurt you. And I can’t be responsible for that.’

  There was a long pause as she watched him take in her words.

  And then he started to laugh.

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘This isn’t funny,’ Vanessa said. ‘I’m being honest with you.’

  ‘I know,’ Justin said. He took a deep breath and said, more calmly, ‘but Vanessa . . . that’s crazy talk.’

  ‘After everything we’ve been through, now you’re going to tell me that I’m crazy?’ She stood up, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. ‘You’re an ass, Justin Cooke.’

  She turned, about to press open the door, when Justin’s warm arms wrapped themselves around her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘You’re not crazy.’

  Vanessa could feel the muscles of his chest against her back, the sweet warmth of his breath on her neck. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘And you’re not . . . an ass.’

  He chuckled softl
y. ‘The demon is not going to hurt you. Not while I’m around.’

  She let out a long sigh. ‘But it’s so close –’

  ‘We don’t know where the demon is, Vanessa.’ Justin gave her a gentle squeeze. ‘And mark my words – at the first sign that it’s here, in London, well . . . I’ll make up some crazy excuse to your mom and we’ll hop on the first plane back to New York.’

  Vanessa froze. There was no way she could leave London – the Lyric Elite were here, and they were the only ones who could help her find her sister.

  ‘I don’t want to leave London,’ she said softly.

  ‘I’ll do whatever is necessary to protect you,’ Justin murmured, softly kissing her neck.

  ‘Justin!’ she said, spinning around in his arms. She wanted to tell him that the demon was in London, Enzo had said so, but she couldn’t. She wanted desperately to kiss him, but she couldn’t do that either. Not now. Not until the demon was destroyed.

  ‘The demon possessed me, and I survived,’ Vanessa said stiffly, breaking away from Justin’s arms. ‘There is some sort of . . . link between us. I can feel it. And I can’t risk putting anyone I care about in danger.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’ Justin asked.

  She stared into the clear blue eyes of this boy who clearly liked her. And who – if she was going to be honest – she liked back. ‘I’m saying . . . we need to be just friends for now. OK?’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ Justin said. ‘I don’t understand –’

  ‘Please,’ Vanessa said. ‘If you care about me at all, you won’t question me on this.’

  Justin still looked as if he didn’t quite believe her, and it made Vanessa sick that she was hurting him this way. ‘OK?’ she whispered.

  Justin looked away. ‘I guess.’

  The silence between them was deafening. Vanessa pushed the bar on the door leading back into the hall. ‘I’ll see you at rehearsal.’

  He nodded. ‘Later.’

  And with that, Vanessa climbed down the stairs, along the hallway to her room. Alone.

  Back inside room 321, Svetya was nowhere to be found. Which was probably a good thing, because Vanessa still hadn’t unpacked, and her chat with Justin had unnerved her. She pressed her back against the closed door. She had wanted Justin to kiss her, more than anything, but she had to be careful. She couldn’t let anyone else be hurt because of her, especially not Justin. She was trying to protect him . . . even though, right now, it didn’t feel that way.

  One of Svetya’s shoes was lying in the middle of the floor. Frustrated, Vanessa kicked it and it hit the wall with a satisfying thud. She sighed, then picked up the shoe and set it back where it was. Piece by piece, the demon was taking her life away from her.

  With new resolve, she set her toiletry bag on her bed and unzipped her suitcase. There, staring back at her, should have been Margaret’s ballet shoes.

  Only they were gone.

  Two And A Half Years Earlier

  From the Diary of Margaret Adler

  March 2

  It was just after four in the morning when I woke up, startled.

  The engines had fallen quiet. After six days of that steady vibration in my bones, its sudden absence was like the loudest alarm clock.

  Erik’s voice came from the upper bunk. ‘We’ve stopped.’

  ‘Is that OK?’ I asked. I pictured us adrift somewhere in the North Atlantic, bearing down on an iceberg, about to pull a Titanic.

  I had only gone up on deck once since we’d departed from Trenton, New Jersey, and I hadn’t enjoyed it. The sea hadn’t been romantic at all – just a cold, never-ending plain of white-capped grey – and all of the sailors were running around or shouting at each other in Portuguese, smears of motor grease ground into their overalls.

  ‘Of course it’s OK,’ Hal said with a yawn from his bunk. ‘It means we’ve arrived. Lady and gentleman, welcome to dear old Blighty.’

  ‘Blighty?’ I asked. ‘Is that the city we’re in?’

  Erik laughed. ‘No, we should be in Southampton.“Blighty” means “England.”’

  Hal switched on the overhead light. ‘It’s what British soldiers in World War Two called England when they got homesick.’

  Homesick. I had to blink away tears. Maybe it was Hal telling me earlier that I could never contact Vanessa or Mom and Dad, but at that moment home seemed further away than ever.

  I swore to myself then – and I repeat my vow here, on paper – that I will find a way to talk to Vanessa again. Somehow I will get word to my family that I’m OK.

  I owe them that much.

  It was surprisingly simple to leave the boat. We just had to dodge some of the sailors and head down a railed gangplank to the dock, a wide road made of cement and asphalt. Street lights led the way to a bright, low building.

  ‘We have to pass through customs,’ Hal explained. ‘Everyone, be cool.’

  That early in the morning, no one was in a rush to help us, and it was only after the third time Hal explained that we were students who had booked a cheap passage to England aboard a freighter that someone took our papers.

  The customs agent looked a bit like my grandma if my gran were built like a sofa. She raised her eyebrows. ‘You’re eighteen?’ she asked me.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ I said, trying to stand taller. It was obvious that no matter what Hal had put on my fake passport, I still looked fifteen. I needed to find some way to come across as older than my years. ‘You going to take all day with that?’ I went on. ‘I’m dying for a cigarette.’

  The customs agent just scowled and stamped my ­passport. The machine made a satisfying thunk against the page, and I was officially Margot Adams.

  Handing it back, the woman said, ‘You kids look younger all the time, but you never get any smarter, do ya? Tobacco will kill you. Shift along now.’

  And just like that, we were outside on an empty street. Though it wouldn’t be empty for long. Already up and down the road, shutters were being raised with a rattle – businesses opening up for the day.

  ‘What was that all about, crazy girl?’ Hal asked. ‘Are you trying to get us arrested right off the boat?’

  Erik laughed. ‘No, that was smart. Just enough to bother her, but not enough to get us into trouble.’

  Hal’s shrugs must be contagious. I shrugged and said, ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Well, whatever it was you were doing, you got us past her,’ Hal said.

  And there on the street, Erik took my hand in his and gave it a gentle kiss. ‘Now we’re even,’ he said, as my fingers fell from his.

  ‘Who’s paying for all this?’ I asked as we took our seats on the train, facing each other across a table. Outside the window, the countryside passed by, neat rows of buildings glowing gold with the rising sun, burning off the morning mist.

  Hal shrugged and said, ‘Erik’s people.’

  Erik said, ‘It’s complicated and hard to explain, but I have access to money. Not a ton of it, but enough to get us over here and to pay for a few months’ rent on a flat.’

  ‘A flat?’ I asked. I admit it, diary: I had dreams of some cosy apartment like the ones I’d seen in movies.

  ‘It’s not much money, so it’s not much of a flat,’ Hal added. ‘A room, more like.’

  ‘A room?’ I repeated. Clearly they had discussed this without me. I wondered what other surprises they had in store. How much do I know about Hal and Erik, really?

  ‘More like a room with a cubbyhole,’ Hal said. ‘It was the best I could do. But it should be hard for the people you’re running from to trace us.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Erik said. ‘It will only be for a short time, until we’ve found some way of making money and blending in.’

  ‘And I’ll only be there for a few days,’ Hal said. ‘Just long enough to rest up before moving on.’

  Hal had told me he’d taken a year off to travel the world on the cheap, couch-surfing in the homes of hacker friends and getting around in the most th
rifty ways possible – which was how he knew to book the freighter.

  ‘The room we’re letting is above a pub called Barre None, not far from the Royal Court,’ he went on. ‘I wanted someplace where the two of you would blend in, and the woman who runs it is a former dancer. She calls herself Coppelia.’

  ‘Calls herself ?’ I asked.

  He shrugged and ran a hand through his dishwater-blond hair. ‘I don’t think it’s her real name. But it doesn’t matter. Everyone says good things about her. I trust the online community.’

  A former dancer. I don’t doubt that Hal’s online friends are trustworthy, but the dance world is small. Can we trust someone who doesn’t even give out her real name? Can I even trust Hal? Why is he so devoted to Erik?

  ‘At least you’ll always have a place where you can eat,’ Hal said.

  ‘Good,’ Erik said, ‘because I’m starving. I didn’t think I’d miss having breakfast on that merchant ship, but if we don’t get food soon, I’m going to have to eat one of you.’

  ‘Eat Hal,’ I said. ‘He’s got more meat on his bones. I’m pretty scrawny.’

  Erik’s smile was for me alone. ‘But you’re so much tastier-­looking.’

  I laughed and looked away, embarrassed but for some reason bursting with joy. He always seems to know how to make me blush.

  Flat is kind of an overstatement. Even room is pushing it. When we got there, Barre None wasn’t open yet, but this Coppelia woman met us at the door. She had that faded beauty of so many former ballerinas – perfect posture, with her white hair pulled back into a messy bun.

  She took in the three of us and said to Hal, ‘You must be Henry Greene.’

  ‘I prefer to be called Hal,’ he said, nervously ducking his head.

  ‘Henry it is,’ she said, not bothering to introduce herself to me and Erik. Then she turned and led us down a dim hallway and up four flights of stairs, her long skirt stirring up dust until it tickled my nose.

  At the top was a worn-looking wooden door. The woman unlocked it and started downstairs again, saying, ‘I’ll be sleeping until two, so see you don’t ring my bell until then.’