Dance of Fire

by Yelena Black

  ‘We were looking for something,’ Justin said.

  ‘Us too,’ Nicholas admitted. ‘We’ve been in London for about a week, tracking potential necrodancers. We followed this bunch here, hoping they’d lead us to –’ He gestured and Nicola picked up something from the floor.

  ‘This,’ she said.

  She held out the heavy volume Vanessa had seen in her dream. Thick, arcane letters embossed on its faded leather cover read: ARS DEMONICA.

  Vanessa stared at it. ‘That book. Yes.’

  Nicola raised a thick eyebrow. ‘How did you know it was here?’

  Nicolas turned to his sister. ‘That doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘Anyway, good luck reading it,’ he told Vanessa. ‘It’s in Latin.’

  ‘Latin?’ Vanessa whispered, her heart sinking.

  ‘That’s no problem for us, because we happen to know Latin,’ Nicola said. ‘Our parents were big on classical education.’ She cracked open the book and added, ‘These pages, for example, detail a ritual used to entrap and banish a demon.’

  ‘The key to any entrapment is that your demon has to be invited into a vessel,’ Nicholas explained.

  ‘Which is me,’ Vanessa said softly. ‘So I just let it have me?’ She could still remember how it felt the first time she’d summoned it: the way its breath coiled up her throat, the way her chest heaved and her sight went red. The way she had lost ­herself.

  ‘No!’ Nicola said. ‘There’s a way to do it with a vessel that’s not a person.’

  ‘You can do what’s called a binding initiation,’ Nicholas explained, ‘which means that the demon doesn’t have any choice in the matter. It just gets dragged into your body. The binding initiation is supposed to force the demon to do your bidding, but that doesn’t usually end so well.’ He gestured at the bodies around them.

  ‘The demon gets really angry, so it eats your soul,’ Nicola continued. ‘Only arrogant people try the binding initiation.’

  Vanessa looked at the mound of ash on the floor. If that man could read the Ars Demonica, then he knew what he was getting into. He’d been thirsty for power.

  ‘And then there’s what’s called the lesser invite,’ Nicholas said. ‘You welcome the demon into yourself – or into that other vessel, really – but it doesn’t have to accept. If it wants you, it joins you, and you work in more of a partnership.’

  ‘At least, in theory,’ his sister added. ‘I mean, it’s a demon, not your granny, and it could potentially eat your soul anyway, but it might be cool enough to hang out in your body without burning you to a crisp.’

  Justin coughed. ‘That’s reassuring.’

  ‘Which is where you come in, Vanessa,’ Nicola said with a tight-lipped smile.

  ‘As it happens,’ Nicholas said, furrowing his brow, ‘we’re not joking. With the lesser invite, it helps if the demon actually wants to be joined to a particular host. And that, my dear Vanessa, is why you’re so popular. You’ve proven that you can host the demon and survive.’

  ‘So when you do it again –’ Nicola said.

  ‘No way,’ Justin said, at the same time as Vanessa said, ‘If I do it again.’

  ‘Right,’ Nicola said. ‘Once the host – you – is possessed by the demon, you just have to send it back where it belongs.’

  ‘I just send it back where it belongs?’ Vanessa said in dis­belief. ‘How? Do I just ask it politely to leave?’

  Nicola sighed. ‘The only way is to destroy the vessel with the demon trapped inside.’

  ‘What?’ Justin said sharply.

  Vanessa’s words caught in her throat. ‘I – I don’t think I like this plan.’

  ‘There’s a way to trick it though,’ Nicholas said, ‘so that we get rid of the demon without having to kill anybody.’

  ‘It’s complicated but doable,’ his sister said. She thumped the book. ‘This will explain how. But we’re going to need your help, Vanessa.’ She put a hand in her pocket. ‘So what do you think?’ Nicola asked. ‘Are you in?’

  Vanessa walked over to the windows and looked out. The sky was brightening. The sun was rising over the city, its rays gilding the shadowy spokes of the London Eye. Somewhere out there was her sister.

  She could return to the competition and hope she won, and then . . . what? Join the Royal Court? Rely on Enzo to protect her?

  Or she could take matters into her own hands for once. Margaret had fled to London and started a completely new life, even changed her name. Couldn’t Vanessa become braver, stronger herself? Though she hadn’t meant to, she had brought the demon into this world. It was her responsibility to get rid of it.

  ‘I’m in,’ Vanessa said softly.

  Behind her, Justin sighed, as if he’d been hoping she’d refuse. ‘Is this what you really want, Vanessa? We can quit the competition and leave London. Your mom won’t care, and you’ll be safer at home.’

  But he was wrong, and not just about her mother. The demon was a part of her. Eventually it would either take ­control or destroy her trying. ‘Running away won’t stop it,’ she said. ‘It’ll just come after me until I give in. I’d rather do something about it instead of just waiting around.’

  Justin looked at her as though he finally understood. ‘I hear you,’ he said. ‘But you’re not doing this alone.’

  Just then, something vibrated in Vanessa’s pocket. Her phone’s alarm, reminding her that it was already seven thirty in the morning, and the first dancers went on at nine.

  ‘Crap,’ she said to Justin, flustered. ‘We’re going to be late for the competition!’

  Two And A Half Years Earlier

  From the Diary of Margaret Adler

  May 18

  I’m in the final twelve!

  I did it!

  Actually, we did it, because even though he was cut, Erik danced the duet from Giselle with me. He was there every beat, every step, and it is only thanks to his dedication that I have made it this far.

  A real dancer gets used to her partner’s hands on her body – on her hip, at her waist, splayed out against her stomach during a lift. Awareness of her partner’s touch is the last thing a dancer should be thinking of. Instead, her partner should almost be an instrument, something she relies on in order to perfectly execute a step.

  I know that. That’s how it has been all my life. Until now.

  My teachers always told me not to let my heart get in the way of my feet. But today my heart and head were both part of my dancing. And far from ruining things, it only made me better.

  Maybe this is the secret to becoming great. Not love of dance, as my mother says again and again. But plain and simple love.

  Erik, Hal and I celebrated in the back booth of Barre None. While we ate our salads and bread (all we could afford), a century’s worth of sour-faced old ballerinas glared down at us from the walls.

  ‘She was magnificent, Hal; you should have seen her,’ Erik kept saying, and then Hal would stuff a roll into his mouth and nod. That Erik could be so happy for me amazes me. If I was the one who’d been cut, I’m not sure I would have enough self-­confidence to cheer Erik on, let alone dance with him in the actual competition.

  But that’s one of the things I appreciate about Erik. Above all, he believes in ballet as an art form. And he believes I am good.

  It’s funny that he uses the word art, because to me, that’s exactly what he is. When he walks in the room, people can’t help but look at him. That’s how magnetic his presence is. And his eyes. God, his eyes. They’re so dark, and yet they seem to glitter onstage. When they meet mine, it feels like a spotlight focusing on me, and when he turns away, the whole world seems to go dark.

  Hal just sort of groaned and rolled his eyes when Erik complimented me, but I knew he was happy for me too. Everything went on like that until Erik said, ‘She was the best on that stage by far. No wonder Josef was so dead set on using her.’

  I couldn’t help myself, diary; I gasped.

  It’s so stupid. We never said we couldn’t
talk about Josef. So why did I find it hard to breathe at the sound of his name?

  Erik knew immediately what he’d done. His hand found mine on the table. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘There’s no way he’ll ever find you here. You’re safe.’

  I nodded.

  ‘I won’t let anyone use you, Marg – Margot,’ he said. ‘You’re not a puppet in some crazy occult mass. You’re a girl, and a great dancer, and I love you.’

  Hal coughed loudly and said, ‘Guys, I am sitting RIGHT HERE. Do you mind?’

  And I couldn’t help myself: I burst out laughing.

  So did Erik, and then Hal, and the three of us didn’t say another word about Josef or demons or love the whole rest of the night.

  I can’t remember when I’ve felt so happy.

  The next morning, though, was another story.

  Before Erik and I went off to the practice space, Hal turned and sat astride his desk chair and said, ‘I meant to tell you two something last night.’

  ‘Unless it’s about how you’ve hacked the Royal Court roster and can change the scores for the dancers,’ Erik said, ‘I don’t want to know.’ He hefted his backpack, full of toe tape and towels and rosin.

  ‘Funny you should say that,’ Hal said. ‘Because I have, actually, hacked into the Royal Court servers.’

  ‘Brilliant, Hal,’ I said, dropping cross-legged on to the floor. We have only the one chair.

  ‘No computer is safe from his wily ways,’ Erik said.

  ‘Stop, you two – this is serious.’ Hal rubbed a hand through his dishwater-blond hair, and I could see that he was really concerned. He wouldn’t meet my gaze.

  ‘OK,’ Erik said. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘See, cracking their server took forever.’ Hal shot us a cryptic smirk. ‘It was easier getting all of us on the dole via the government’s network.’

  ‘Maybe they’re really protective of our identities?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t think this is about protecting students,’ Hal said. ‘But I wasn’t sure, so I just kept digging. It wasn’t easy, but –’

  ‘We get it, Hal,’ Erik said. ‘You worked hard to find something out. You always do. But can you just tell us what you found?’

  ‘Fine.’ Hal licked his lips. ‘I am certain there are dancers like your friend Josef in the Royal Court.’

  I froze. ‘That can’t be,’ I said.

  ‘What evidence do you have?’ Erik asked.

  ‘I hacked into some of their emails.’ Hal shrugged.

  ‘And?’ Erik said, but it was as if he already knew the answer.

  ‘There are exchanges with Josef at NYBA.’ Hal looked at me. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean anything,’ Erik said. ‘It makes sense that they would be in contact with Josef. He’s the lead choreographer at one of the pre-eminent ballet academies in the world.’

  ‘Sure,’ Hal said. ‘But why all the security? I couldn’t even read the emails; it was all I could do to verify the sender and recipient. Why such hard-core, military-level encryption? What are they hiding?’

  ‘Maybe they’re just careful,’ Erik said.

  ‘Careful is one thing. This . . . This is something else.’ Hal drummed his fingers on the chair back. ‘I think you guys should drop out. I’ve got a really bad feeling about this.’ He leaned ­forward, pressing his hands to his temples. I’d never seen him so distraught.

  Erik’s laugh startled me. ‘Drop out? Are you kidding? After how beautifully Margaret – Margot – ­performed yesterday? I don’t think so.’

  ‘But, Erik,’ I said, ‘if they are working with Josef – I should leave the competition, go into hiding.’

  ‘If they’re working with Josef, they still don’t know who you are. To everyone in the world but us, you are Margot Adams. Even if that Palmer Carmichael idiot is Josef’s best friend, he has no reason to suspect that you’re Josef’s missing protégée.’

  Hal gaped at him. ‘You think they’re dumber than they are, Erik.’ It was strange seeing them spar like this. The way Hal was looking at Erik – it was as if he was suddenly staring at a stranger.

  ‘They don’t know,’ Erik insisted. ‘And if they are working with Josef, and you manage to infiltrate their ranks, we will have the upper hand. They won’t know that we know who they are. And we can destroy them from within.’

  I swallowed. ‘By “we”, you mean me, right?’

  He laughed again, though he sounded nervous. ‘No, I mean we. I am never going to let you out of my sight – I promise you. I will make sure no one ever hurts you. I give you my word.’

  My stomach quivered, and my heart thumped heavily in my chest. I’m so torn. I want to leave the competition, right now. To go far away from anyone who knows Josef.

  But I believe Erik. He’d do anything to protect me. He loves me.

  So I am staying. At least for now.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Vanessa?’ Justin called out from backstage. ‘Come on. We’re up soon.’

  In the dressing room, Vanessa hastily pulled on her ­leotard and pointe shoes, then pinned her hair in a tight ­chignon. She checked her phone; there were two text messages: one from her mom – Orchestra row 6 centre. You are amazing! xoMom, and one from her father, which read: Good luck, sweetie. I love you.

  Vanessa placed her phone inside her purse, which she left on the chair of her dressing station. As she approached the side of the main stage, the music softened. The theatre was hushed and dim, save for the spotlight hovering over the stage. From the wings, she could just make out the audience – the competition days were open to the public as well as to parents and coaches. The three judges were sitting up front. Different day, same smug attitudes.

  In the wings, the rest of the dancers waited in silence, stretching or watching the performances through the ­backstage curtain. There were fewer of them now, and the backstage area was less chaotic, but it was still brimming with leotards and tutus, girls applying last-minute blush and boys gelling back their hair so it wouldn’t fall in their faces.

  Onstage, all Vanessa could see were two shadows stretching across the floor. She knew those steps immediately; they were so wistful and tender that they could only belong to one ballet: the bedroom pas de deux from L’histoire de Manon. Music spilled out from the speakers, lush and intimate.

  She could hear the soft scratching of ballet shoes against the wood, the light panting of the ballerina as she tiptoed across the stage towards her lover, his arm running down her leg in a longing embrace, extending it until she was balancing in a perfect arabesque.

  Vanessa inched forward to see a pointed foot swathed in satin, an arm so slender it seemed to belong to a child, a chignon tied back with pink ribbon. She recognised the light brown hair, the colour of flat dusty roads and tumbleweeds blowing across the plains: Maisie.

  Vanessa had nearly forgotten about her. She hadn’t seen her in the dormitory or the cafeteria, and while she knew Maisie had moved into the second round, with everything going on . . . well, Vanessa simply hadn’t given her much thought.

  Watching her now, however, Vanessa could see what a brilliant talent Maisie actually was, this slight, apparently naive girl who danced with so much power and emotion. There was no longer anything childish and mousy about her. Maisie’s legs fluttered gracefully, her pale arms enveloping her dance partner – an American boy with pink skin and a shaved head – as if she were tangling with him between the sheets.

  This was one of the things Vanessa loved most about dance – how a dancer could be transformed onstage. All it took was a costume, some make-up, and a bit of talent – a girl could become a woman. For a moment, Vanessa forgot everything that had happened in the dilapidated room in the shadow of the London Eye. This was beauty, she thought. This was why she loved ballet.

  A voice spoke softly over her shoulder. ‘I could dance that well too, if I’d never gone through puberty.’

  Vanessa turned to find Ingrid beside her, her
lips painted a glossy red.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ Vanessa said.

  A cruel sneer spread across Ingrid’s face. ‘Oh, I didn’t know Mother Teresa was a dancer,’ she said. ‘You think you’re so nice and sweet and everyone is going to love you. You sneak out in the middle of the night with your boyfriend, and no one punishes you.’

  Vanessa froze. ‘How did you know that I snuck out in the night?’

  Ingrid snorted. ‘I know everything about you.’

  Maisie was just coming offstage, beaming from the applause. Without saying anything more, Ingrid sauntered forward, knocking Maisie aside with her shoulder.

  ‘Hey!’ Maisie cried, falling to the floor.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Vanessa asked, kneeling beside her.

  Maisie rubbed her thigh, where the fall had torn a hole through the back of her tights. ‘I guess so,’ she said, her voice glum.

  ‘I have a spare set,’ Vanessa said.

  Maisie seemed to cheer up a little. ‘You don’t need them?’

  ‘No,’ Vanessa said, and fished through her dance bag until she found them, still rolled in their package. ‘You were ­exquisite out there,’ she added. ‘That was just beautiful.’

  ‘Really? You really think so?’ Maisie asked. ‘Because that’s the only thing in the whole world that I want. To be an amazing dancer. Well, and to be in love.’

  Vanessa grinned. ‘But you already are an amazing dancer.’

  Maisie looked up at Vanessa, her eyes wide. ‘Am I?’

  ‘Of course you are.’ On the far side of the room, she spotted Justin stretching. ‘I have to warm up now, but I’ll see you later, OK?’

  ‘Great!’ Maisie said. ‘I can’t wait to see you perform. I just know you’ll be incredible.’

  ‘What was that about?’ Justin said when Vanessa joined him. A few paces away, Svetya and Geo were stretching. Geo waved, but Svetya simply looked at her quizzically – surely her roommate had woken up, found Vanessa’s bed empty and wondered where she’d gone.