Dance of Fire

by Yelena Black

  A man strode into the centre of the circle, his bare chest gleaming in the torchlight. His bronze skin was streaked with paint and sweat, his head shaved except for a thick braid that hung down the centre of his back. He held the single torch in front of him.

  ‘We need a volunteer,’ he said. ‘Are there any dancers in the audience?’

  Before Vanessa realised what was happening, Justin had raised her hand into the air. ‘No,’ she told him, pulling away. ‘I don’t want to –’

  But it was too late. The bare-chested man had already whisked her into the circle, his hand closing around her wrist.

  ‘You’ll have fun!’ Justin called. ‘I promise!’

  All around her, Vanessa heard drumming, chanting, the sound of the dancers’ bracelets clinking together as they circled her. The pungent smell of their sweat filled the air. A part of her wanted to leave, to run back to Justin, but another part suddenly felt free.

  ‘Just follow me,’ the man whispered over the music. ‘You’ll be fine.’

  The thump of the drums grew louder, taunting, coaxing her to keep up. She straightened her spine and watched as the dancers tossed the torch over her head, their voices calling out for her to catch it.

  She let her feet take over, allowing herself to be carried away by the rhythm.

  With every flash of firelight overhead, she spun, following the torch, her feet propelling her around the other ­dancers, her hair whipping across her face. Her moves were wild, unchoreographed. There were no steps to learn, no positions to hold – only the stamping of the dancers around her, and the drums reverberating through the ground like a ­heartbeat.

  Her body moved almost without her knowing, and she found herself leaping up just as the torch passed over her head, the flames flickering like glowing locks of hair. Her fingers wrapped around the handle.

  The crowd roared its approval. Someone screamed, ‘Nice catch!’

  Landing, she swung the torch and tossed it to one of the dancers.

  The crowd applauded again, and she laughed and swung herself back into the dance. She was actually having fun.

  As she did, she met Justin’s gaze. Flushed with exertion, she threw her jacket to the ground, letting the cold breeze hit her skin.

  ‘Come on,’ she called to him. ‘Dance with me!’

  Justin stepped forward and grasped at the thin fabric of her shirt, his hands circling around her back. She let her body soften into his, letting his hand guide her back into a low arch. The crowd sounded watery, as if echoing from a parallel world. The night around her melted into light and faces, the expressions of those around her hollow and foreign.

  All except one. Justin’s.

  There were more cheers. Vanessa laughed and looked up at the sky. Her heart was racing, life pulsing through her veins. She felt free and joyous. This was what it should be like to dance. This was what she loved. The dancers flitted on all sides like sparks around a flame. She let the wind carry her, her long hair tangled around her face, her feet finding their way back to Justin while the crowd whistled and whooped.

  She leaped up and caught the torch again, then waved it in a circle, illuminating the faces of the other dancers. As she spun, faces in the crowd came into focus: a young bearded guy in a porkpie hat; a mother and father with kids on their shoulders; two teenage girls linking arms and –

  She dropped the torch. The crowd went silent. The dancers around her slowed.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Justin asked, taking her hand.

  One of the other dancers, her face streaked with paint, picked up the torch and approached Vanessa. ‘Are you OK?’

  But Vanessa barely noticed, for in the flicker of the torchlight, someone else had caught her attention: a pair of familiar metallic-grey eyes.

  Across the circle, he still looked just as beautiful as he had in New York. And just as dangerous. He could be here for only one reason: the demon.

  ‘Zep,’ she said to Justin. ‘He’s here.’

  ‘Where?’ Justin followed her gaze just in time to see Zep turn away, fading into the crowd. Without another word, ­Justin ran after him.

  Vanessa grabbed her jacket and followed, dodging well-wishers in the audience. Far away, she could see Zep fleeing up the steps, Justin close on his heels, horns honking as they dived in and out of traffic. One car swerved, its tyres squealing.

  She bolted after them. The cold bit at her lungs, each breath seeming to whisper, Zep. Zep. Zep.

  Justin had almost caught up to him when a double-decker bus pulled away from the kerb, its headlights casting yellow cones of light across the road. Zep leaped and pulled himself up on to the back.

  Vanessa caught up to Justin, and together they watched as the old-fashioned tourist bus sped away down the street, Zep hanging off the outside and looking their way with haunted eyes as he was carried away into the night.

  Chapter Six

  By firelight, three men huddled over a tarnished lamp, swirls of black tattoos on their arms, a heavy book written in a foreign language open between them. Its cover was cracked brown leather, its yellowed pages covered in strange symbols.

  The three men chanted, their voices a low rumble.

  We invite you in. Enter our vessel. Take our offering. Make the stars fall until the night is black and bitter. We are yours. Enter our vessel. Take our offering.

  The lamp on the floor was familiar somehow. She watched it tremble as its metal handles began to glow. The lamp shimmered, the air around it warping with heat, the glow reflecting off the men’s faces until, with a metallic shriek, it burst.

  An unbearable white-hot radiance swept over the three men, instantly incinerating them. A burning figure rose from the ruins of the lamp, too bright to look at directly, as if it were made of molten metal.

  It had no face, but Vanessa could feel it studying her. She felt naked under its gaze.

  You belong to me, it said, smiling, as I belong to you. And soon we will be one again.

  Vanessa opened her eyes and sat up.

  Outside, the first signs of dawn reflected off heavy grey clouds.

  She raised her hand to her mouth, remembering. She could still see its eyes like coal, relishing her presence.

  Across the room, Svetya murmured something.

  ‘What did you say?’ Vanessa asked her roommate.

  ‘I asked if you had a nightmare.’

  ‘Sort of,’ Vanessa said. She could still see the lamp rattling on the ground, could hear the men shrieking as they were burned, could feel in her bones the demon’s threat: that they would soon become one.

  Svetya threw off her covers and slid out of bed. Wearing nothing but a tight pair of shorts and a camisole, she sat on the wood floor and spread her legs wide.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Vanessa asked, turning on her bedside lamp.

  Svetya bent down towards the floor until her cheek was touching the wood. ‘Stretching,’ she said, sitting up. ‘We have practice in a few hours.’

  ‘Oh,’ Vanessa said, surprised. ‘Do you get up this early every morning?’

  ‘Yes,’ Svetya said. ‘Every morning for at least two hours before class. Which is why I looked ace in the studio yesterday and you looked like you couldn’t tell your arse from your elbow.’

  ‘What?’ Vanessa fired back. ‘I didn’t look . . . like whatever you said. I was jet-lagged.’ She watched in silence as her roommate leaned forward over one leg, then the other.

  ‘I know about you,’ Svetya said, reaching her arms forward. ‘You don’t get pleasure from dance. I can tell.’

  Vanessa wanted to be offended, but Svetya had a point. She’d been so distracted by thoughts of the demon that she hadn’t thought much about what she needed to be doing: practising so she could win the competition.

  Svetya’s voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘Is Justin your boyfriend?’

  ‘What?’ Vanessa said, flustered. ‘I – I don’t – no.’ Not yet, she thought to herself.

  ‘He makes me laugh,’
Svetya said. ‘I like that.’

  Vanessa fidgeted with her sleeve, remembering how Justin had laced his fingers through hers, the feeling of his voice against her neck, the way he’d pushed her out into the ring of street ­performers without asking, because he knew she’d have fun.

  ‘I know what you mean,’ she said softly. Last night, with the street performers, Justin had reminded her why she had fallen in love with dance in the first place. She held on to that feeling as she slipped out of bed.

  It was time to get to work.

  An hour later, armed with their bags of gear, Vanessa and Svetya walked to breakfast. Both wore leotards beneath their clothes, Vanessa in tights and leg warmers, while Svetya had opted for tight black jeans that hung low on her hips, her blonde hair coiled into a tight bun.

  ‘You should cut your hair,’ Svetya said as they crossed the marble floor of the lobby.

  Vanessa looked at the end of her loose braid. ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s too long. It makes you look young.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Vanessa sighed. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

  They pushed through the doors into the bright chatter of the dining hall. It was a vast room with exposed wood beams in the ceiling and a wall of long windows. The tables were crowded with colourfully dressed students. Dancers on the larger teams wore matching jackets printed with their school name, and everyone wore leotards and leggings in browns, blacks, pinks and blues. The boys leaned back in their chairs and scoped out the competition. The girls spoke in nervous whispers, their eyes darting around the room. All of them were wondering who could leap the highest or spin the fastest, who would be cut first.

  Vanessa knew because she was wondering the same thing.

  Svetya didn’t seem bothered by the people staring at her. She picked up a plate as if no one were watching and began spooning up scrambled eggs, bacon and hash browns, plus some items that Vanessa had never seen before.

  ‘What’s that?’ Vanessa asked, pointing to something that looked like a burnt piece of sausage.

  ‘Black pudding,’ Svetya said.

  ‘Like chocolate pudding?’ Vanessa asked.

  Svetya laughed. ‘Definitely not. It’s made of congealed blood. Want to try some?’ She used tongs to pick up a piece and held it out towards Vanessa.

  ‘Um, I’m going to get some fruit,’ Vanessa said. ‘I can never dance on a full stomach.’

  Svetya just shrugged and put it on her own plate.

  Vanessa wandered over to a table stacked with large bowls of fresh fruit and yogurt on ice. A lone banana rested at the top of the pile. She reached for it, but a hand smacked hers out of the way.

  Vanessa spun around to find a girl standing before her. She had short caramel-coloured hair, red lips – and her understated designer clothing fitted perfectly.

  ‘Sorry! Last one!’ the girl said in a posh accent. She gave Vanessa a fake smile, peeling the banana as she walked away.

  Vanessa stood there for a moment dumbstruck, watching the back of the girl’s jacket: The Royal School of Ballet. She was English. This was her home turf.

  ‘I cannot believe that,’ Vanessa said to no one in particular, when she felt a hand touch her arm. She turned, half expecting to see the girl again, but instead found herself face to face with Maisie Teller.

  ‘Vanessa?’ Maisie said in her cheery Midwestern tones. Her light brown hair was pulled into an upbeat ponytail and tied with a ribbon. She looked bright-eyed and well rested. ‘I just saw the Banana Incident. She’s my roommate, Ingrid. She’s not . . . nice. Here,’ she said, and handed Vanessa the banana from her own tray.

  ‘Oh, no – you don’t have to do that,’ Vanessa said.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Maisie said. ‘I had two already.’

  Vanessa raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re sure?’

  Maisie nodded. ‘I’m like a bottomless banana pit.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Vanessa said, and made her way towards the tables. Maisie scurried beside her. ‘She’s a fierce dancer,’ Maisie said. ‘Ingrid, I mean. She has a tattoo of Margot Fonteyn on her butt. I saw it.’

  Vanessa saw Ingrid lean over a table and whisper something to another girl. ‘Exactly how amazing is she?’ Vanessa asked Maisie.

  ‘I found one of her recitals on YouTube. She’s super-­amazing,’ Maisie said. ‘Like, if she wasn’t so mean I’d totally ask her for some tips. She’s one of the better dancers here –’ Maisie stopped for a second, then lowered her voice – ‘though Evelyn Giles, who also goes to RSB, is supposed to be the best.’ Maisie looked down and sighed.

  ‘Evelyn?’ Vanessa repeated. ‘Which one is she?’

  ‘The one sitting next to Ingrid. With the mole above her lip.’

  Evelyn Giles was lovely, her skin flawless, the mole ­somehow adding to her beauty. Vanessa watched as Ingrid whispered in Evelyn’s ear, and the girl’s perfect lips curled into a smug grin.

  ‘So where are you guys rehearsing today?’ Maisie asked, interrupting Vanessa’s thoughts. ‘And who are your coaches? I didn’t see them at orientation.’

  ‘Just in one of the studios,’ Vanessa said. ‘And, um – we have one coach,’ she added, ‘named Enzo.’

  ‘Which studio?’ Maisie asked with what seemed like genuine interest. ‘I would love to see you practise one day. Maybe we could practise our solos together?’ Maisie blinked rapidly. ‘I would love your input –’

  ‘Oh, um, yeah. Maybe . . .’ Vanessa said. She spotted Svetya sitting by a window, picking at her breakfast. ‘Well, I – I have to go. But I’ll see you later, OK?’

  Maisie nodded enthusiastically. ‘Later? Great! I totally understand. You’re really busy. So am I. I’ll just find you after rehearsal.’

  Vanessa nodded. ‘That would be great,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘Thanks for the banana.’ And before Maisie could say anything more, she walked towards Svetya’s table.

  ‘Who was that girl?’ Svetya said. She had already wolfed down most of her breakfast. ‘She’s even more pathetic than you.’

  ‘She’s from Iowa,’ Vanessa said, as if that explained anything.

  Svetya nibbled on a piece of bacon. ‘What is Iowa?’

  ‘Never mind,’ Vanessa said. ‘I think I know who –’

  But Svetya cut her off. ‘Less talking, more eating, Adler,’ she said. ‘We’re already late.’

  Vanessa barely had a chance to gulp her milk and peel her banana before Svetya took her arm mid-bite and pulled her out of the dining hall, down the back staircase and through the dusty rear corridor.

  ‘Do you think anyone’s inside yet?’ Vanessa said, as they stood in front of the double doors of their studio.

  Svetya raised an eyebrow. ‘Let’s find out.’ She pushed hard on the doors and they swung open.

  The room wasn’t any more inviting than yesterday, though it was cleaner. The others were already inside; Enzo must have come by at some point and unlocked the doors for them. Geo was stretching at the barre. He nodded to Svetya and Vanessa. ‘Morning, guys.’

  Svetya strutted over to Justin, who was warming up by the mirror, and began to stretch. ‘Hello, Justin.’

  ‘Hey, Svetya.’ He gave her a tiny wave, then turned towards Vanessa. ‘How’d you sleep?’ he asked, but before she could answer, Enzo came into the room. The mirrors offered ­multiple views of his muscular body. His dark, handsome gaze drew everyone’s attention.

  Vanessa and the others waited silently.

  Enzo slipped off his sweater, his shoulders bulging beneath his leotard. He tugged on a pair of ballet shoes and walked to the centre of the room.

  ‘Let’s get started. We’ve got a lot to cover today.’ He clapped his hands. ‘First, I’m going to show you how to perform the blur step that you saw yesterday. Le flou. It requires a unique kind of choreography.’

  Enzo placed his feet in first position. ‘To the untrained eye, you seem to move invisibly. But in truth, you just dance blindingly fast from one point to another.’

  Enzo
disappeared, reappearing twelve feet away near the double doors. Despite having seen him perform the blur the previous day, Vanessa still gasped. Really, it was like magic.

  ‘The trick is to fix a point in the room in your mind,’ he explained. ‘You imagine going through the steps before you begin to move. If you’ve learned the steps to the point where you don’t need to think about them, then to see a place is to go there. You merely will it to be so.’

  Enzo set his gaze on the centre of the room and raised his hands. There was a flurry of footsteps like the patter of rain, and suddenly he was standing among them.

  Vanessa waited for him to explain more, but he only clapped. ‘What are you waiting for?’ he said. ‘Begin!’

  Vanessa watched as Geo set off across the room, his steps perfect but completely visible.

  ‘I can see you!’ Svetya told him in a teasing voice, but he only grumbled and tried again, going back the other way.

  Vanessa searched the room, choosing a spot to aim for, when she spied Justin in the corner. Seeing him there, practising his steps alone, put her mind at ease. She would go to him, she decided.

  She imagined her body moving towards his, the way her feet would sound against the wood in a piqué, how her arms would rise above her as she reached out for him. He would turn to her, surprised, arms ready to catch her if she stumbled. But she wouldn’t, and he’d rush to her, rapt, his hand brushing against hers in a flush of warmth. She smiled, and before the image left her head, she willed herself there.

  And time stopped.

  Or almost. Vanessa turned her head, spotting as she spun across the room, her feet falling into place without any effort. Everything around her had slowed. She could see the others, their movements ponderous and slow.

  And before she realised it, she was there beside Justin. The room rushed towards her in a roil of noise and light, as suddenly everything was crisp and precise and normal speed again.

  ‘Vanessa?’ Justin said, holding out an arm to steady her as she fell out of position. ‘But you were just –’ He stared across the room. ‘You did it.’