Dance of Fire

by Yelena Black

  Anyhoo, Vanessa for the win! Oh, and give Justin a big fat kiss for me. Wink wink.

  Kisses,

  Blaine

  There was only one email left, dated yesterday. She opened it.

  Dear Vanessa,

  Congratulations on making it through the second round! (Though I’m not surprised.) Your mom called to tell me all about it. I miss you both on this side of the ocean.

  Take special care of yourself, and know, always, how proud we are of you. Can’t wait to see you for Christmas! You gals can take me to high tea.

  Love,

  Dad

  She sat back, feeling a little guilty about not having written more often.

  Dear Dad,

  I still can’t believe I made the final twelve. It’s so exciting! Only one more round before we find out who the two winners are.

  She tapped her fingers against the desk, trying to figure out what to write next, when, out of nowhere, someone slammed her laptop shut.

  Vanessa jumped up, surprised.

  Svetya stood beside her, a mischievous glint in her eye. ‘You stare into a screen too much,’ she said. ‘It’s unhealthy, right?’

  ‘Um, right,’ Vanessa said. ‘Anyway, thanks for the coffee.’

  ‘And the banana,’ Svetya said.

  ‘You left me a banana?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Svetya pulled a banana out of her dance bag, which was slung over one shoulder. ‘I had to smuggle it out.’ When Vanessa didn’t move, she said, ‘What are you, a gaping monkey? Why aren’t you dressed? Practice is in twenty minutes – oh, and take a quick shower. You stink.’

  By the time they made it down to the studio, Enzo was already standing in the centre of the room with Geo and Justin.

  His face hardened when he saw Vanessa. ‘First you disappear from the dressing room, then you don’t reappear until the next day’s practice,’ he said, his eyebrows furrowed. ‘You are lucky. Other coaches might not be so forgiving.’

  Vanessa dropped her bag by the wall. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  Svetya went to stand beside Justin. He leaned over to whisper something to her, and she threw her head back and laughed. Was he flirting with Svetya just to annoy her . . . or had he really moved on?

  ‘Before we begin,’ Enzo said, ‘I would like to thank you all for working so diligently. I am the only coach who has four students in the final round of the competition.’ He gave them a slight bow, which had the strange effect of making Vanessa feel as though he were the one on display, rather than them. He looked up, his dark eyes softening, as though his words were meant only for Vanessa. Despite herself, she blushed. ‘You have made me very, very proud.’

  Vanessa clapped, and the others joined in. It was exciting to have got this far – there was no doubt about that.

  ‘Your work is not over, and the most difficult part is yet to come.’ Enzo said. ‘But before you rehearse for tomorrow’s final round, the contemporary solo, I will teach you another step.’ He looked around the room. ‘Or perhaps teach isn’t the correct word, as only a few dancers have ever been able to perform it.

  ‘The easiest way to think of it is as a refinement of the blur step,’ he went on, tucking his hair behind his ears. ‘As you know, in the blur, you’re here one moment –’ and with a blink he disappeared – ‘and in the next, you’re over here,’ he said from the opposite corner. ‘You don’t actually become invisible, but you move so quickly that you seem to disappear, and in your own head, it appears that way too.’

  ‘According to dance lore, there is a way to become aware of every moment,’ he continued, his words animating him with an infectious excitement. ‘To slow time to a crawl. The world around you freezes, and you will be able to move freely between each tick of the second hand.’

  ‘Then show us,’ Geo said. ‘I would like to know how to do this.’ He looked back at Vanessa, Svetya and Justin. ‘I mean, wouldn’t you guys like to know too?’

  ‘No one that I know personally can do it,’ Enzo admitted. ‘It means dancing so perfectly that your energy reaches the level of magic. Only the greatest of the Lyric Elite – Balan­chine, Nureyev, Martha Graham – could work at that level.’

  Beside him, Svetya put a hand on her hip. ‘But if you cannot do it, then how are you going to teach it to us?’

  ‘I will show you the steps,’ Enzo answered, his feet now in first position, heels pressed tightly together. ‘But memorising the steps isn’t the same as performing them. Still, who knows? Maybe one of you will some day reach this most rarefied level of our common art.’ Then, as if in slow motion, he began to walk through a sequence of steps.

  It started like a tease, his legs inching forward, then withdrawing, as if he couldn’t decide which direction to go in. Even his arms worked in opposition: one moved in, towards his chest, while the other reached out towards the far wall.

  As she watched, studying Enzo’s every movement, Vanessa began to understand why the dance was so hard to perform. Enzo’s motions were unnatural; his body seemed to fight itself, one side trying to move forward while the other pulled back. With every turn he wavered, one leg bending straight through the air, the other lagging behind.

  Unlike most ballet, this dance wasn’t about passion or love or loss. It was about the oldest and most difficult human flaw: to be at odds with oneself.

  Vanessa knew that conflict intimately. Ever since Margaret had disappeared, she’d spent many days arguing with herself: pursue dance or quit it altogether? Go to New York or never leave home? Be with Justin or turn him away?

  Enzo raised an eyebrow when he’d finished the demonstration. ‘The steps are counterintuitive, but that’s the point,’ he said, panting slightly. ‘But you cannot expect to alter the laws of time and space without altering the laws of your own body. This dance is designed to do just that. It is called “widdershins”.’

  He relaxed his posture. ‘In ballet, you are taught to exert complete control over your body. But you cannot master widdershins by trying to force it. You have to empty your mind.’ Enzo clapped his hands. ‘Come. Let us begin.’

  A murmur rose from the four dancers. They’d barely had time to process what they were supposed to do, let alone memor­ise the steps.

  Enzo strode towards the mirror and, turning his back on it, stood in a stiff first position. ‘The easiest way to learn is without looking at yourself in the mirror,’ he said. ‘Now empty your mind of everything, and when you are ready . . . dance.’

  Vanessa pressed her heels together and tried to release all the thoughts that had been distracting her – Margaret, Zep, Justin, Svetya, the Fratelli twins – until her mind was bare, like a deserted dance studio.

  As if beginning a normal routine, she lifted a foot and stepped forward. The moment her toe touched the floor, she recoiled. As Enzo had done, she let herself fall into a twirl, one side of her body moving forward while the other tried to wind her back.

  She could hear the others gasping and thudding on either side of her, but she willed herself to shut them out, as, slowly, the movements of the dance began to sink in. Instead of trying to control herself, Vanessa let go of her body, closing her eyes. Her arms held at her sides, she rose en pointe and slowly extended her right leg into the air.

  Then she saw her: Margaret.

  Her brown hair was pulled into a tight bun, her slender body swathed in a leotard. She wove around the other ­dancers as if they were props on a stage, her gaze glued to Vanessa.

  Was she real? Vanessa reached out to touch her, but the vision only flitted away.

  She followed Margaret’s lead, listening to her whisper the next step. Bend left. Arch forward. Now spin, one half-turn. Stop. Left leg up. Higher. Higher.

  A rush of heat filled Vanessa’s limbs. Margaret’s face rippled like a reflection in a pool. Her hair began to curl and unravel into blackness, her eyes withering in their sockets. Her skin cracked and wrinkled until it was nothing but a swirl of black, two embers burning through it.
/>   You will lose her if you don’t let me in.

  Vanessa remembered Zep’s warning: It will find out the thing you care about most in the world and will use it to seduce you. She had to resist. She searched her mind, trying to bring back Margaret, but it was no use. ‘Get out!’ Vanessa shouted. ‘Get out!’

  Her voice broke the spell. With one final heave, she thrust the last vestiges of the demon from her head, then staggered and fell to the floor.

  When she came to, the room was silent. The others had stopped dancing.

  Svetya was gaping at her, and Geo looked worried. Enzo’s face had completely drained of colour. Justin was looking away.

  ‘Did I –’ she stammered. ‘Did it work?’

  Enzo’s lips parted, though no words escaped, and for a moment he didn’t look like a dancer, but like a boy. But he quickly regained his composure. ‘No.’

  ‘But she went invisible,’ Geo said.

  ‘Only for a moment,’ said Enzo. ‘It was a good first try, but you have a long way to go.’ He crouched down at her side. ‘Who were you telling to get out?’ When she didn’t answer, he helped her to her feet. ‘We need to talk, Vanessa.’

  He turned to the other dancers. ‘Everyone, practice is adjourned. Use the rest of your day to rehearse your contempor­ary solos for tomorrow.’

  Justin caught Vanessa’s eye. She could tell he’d guessed what had happened, and he clearly wasn’t happy about it. He and Svetya left the room together, their heads down, with Geo following a moment later. She wondered idly which other dancers had made the final round – and realised she’d never found out.

  When everyone was gone, Enzo turned to Vanessa. He flipped his ponytail over his shoulder and crossed his arms. ‘What happened back there? And no lying this time.’

  ‘It was the demon,’ she said. ‘It got into my head. It helped me with the steps –’

  ‘Has this happened before?’

  ‘This was the first time,’ Vanessa lied.

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ Enzo said. He studied her. ‘This is very complicated.’

  ‘Should we tell the Lyric Elite?’ Vanessa asked. ‘I mean, the rest of them?’

  Enzo studied her curiously. ‘No, not until we know what it wants.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Vanessa asked.

  ‘This demon could destroy you in a second if it wanted to,’ Enzo said. ‘But it hasn’t. Which means –’ he bit his bottom lip – ‘that it wants you for something.’

  Vanessa knew what it wanted, and she suspected Enzo did as well. ‘What do you suggest I do?’

  ‘Wait,’ Enzo said. ‘Be careful, as I told you before. Don’t leave the lodge without protection. If anything strange happens, call me. And . . .’

  ‘And what?’

  Enzo grinned. His teeth were a brilliant white and perfectly straight. Vanessa had always thought of him as her coach, but for a moment she could see how handsome he was, how another girl might fall for him – and fall hard.

  ‘Practise,’ he said.

  ‘Practise?’ Vanessa asked. That was his best advice?

  ‘Your final solo.’ He tilted his head, staring at her as if he knew something she didn’t. ‘This is a competition, after all.’

  Beyond the double doors, Justin and Svetya lingered in the corridor.

  ‘Why are we waiting?’ Svetya was asking, but fell silent when she saw Vanessa.

  ‘Hey, Vanessa,’ Justin said. ‘Can we talk?’

  Svetya pointed at Vanessa. ‘She’s why we’re waiting? You pick me only when you can’t have her?’

  Vanessa turned to him, realising that she also wanted to hear his answer.

  Justin glanced between the two of them, looking anxious. ‘No, that’s not what this is about,’ he said. ‘I like you, Svetya, I do –’

  At his admission, Vanessa felt her face grew stony. ‘Oh?’ she said.

  ‘If you would just let me finish my sentence –’ Justin began to say, but Vanessa cut him off.

  ‘What makes you think that I should wait around to hear it?’ she said, suddenly furious.

  Justin faltered, his eyes growing cold. ‘Maybe I don’t want you to hear it any more.’

  ‘Then I’ll leave you two together,’ Vanessa said, and spun around.

  Justin called out to her, but Vanessa closed her eyes and blurred. For a moment it almost felt as if her body were being crushed in a vice – then there was a woosh of air and she was upstairs, outside the door to her room.

  She was getting better at these strange dance moves, she thought, just as her phone buzzed. She slipped it out of her pocket, intending to tell Justin to leave her alone. But a different name flashed across the screen. Zep. He’d texted two words: Meet me.

  And much to her surprise, Vanessa decided she would.

  Two And A Half Years Earlier

  From the Diary of Margaret Adler

  May 19

  I thought we were through talking about the necrodancers. All I wanted to do was to perfect my contemporary solo – from ­Balanchine’s Concerto Barocco – before tomorrow’s competition. Erik guided me as he always has, with a quick eye for where I waver and endless patience. When I fell out of step just before a break, he caught me and stretched me into a low dip, as though we were dancing together in a sloppy dive bar. He smiled as he swept me to my feet, holding me close for an instant.

  ‘See, I knew there was something off about that step,’ I said, and he laughed.

  ‘OK,’ he said, trying to regain his gravity. ‘Again from the beginning.’

  I can’t explain how great it makes me feel to make him happy. It happens so infrequently these days, with all the ­pressure from the competition. I have to savour the small moments. And even at that instant, I could tell he was ­preoccupied. When we broke for lunch, he said suddenly, ‘It’s a bit alarming, isn’t it? The way these evil dancers have ­infiltrated the ballet world?’

  ‘I really don’t want to talk about it,’ I said.

  ‘I understand that, Margaret – really I do. But if these people have wormed their way so deeply into the companies of Europe, then we’re going to keep coming across them no matter where we go.’

  I stared at the wooden floor in our practice room.

  ‘The only alternative I can see for you is to leave the world of dance entirely.’

  At that I looked up. ‘No,’ I told him.

  ‘Then you have to be prepared.’ He ran his fingers through my hair. ‘You can never be surprised by the dark dancers ever again. Your life depends on it. It’s not going to be like it was with Josef, I promise you.’

  ‘OK,’ I murmur.

  ‘After you win the competition –’ he continued.

  I snorted.

  ‘You are going to win the competition,’ he said. ‘Trust me. You have a mix of coiled strength and . . . and self-assured grace. There are famous ballerinas twice your age who haven’t half the poise you show onstage. It’s amazing really.’

  ‘Stop,’ I said, exasperated.

  ‘After you win, we will work until you’ve mastered La Danse du Feu,’ he went on.

  ‘No,’ I protested.

  ‘The necrodancers within the Royal Court will not be able to resist trying to recruit you,’ he said. ‘They’ll be like your Josef – looking for that one dancer who can raise a demon for them to control.’

  ‘Please stop,’ I said again.

  His face softened. ‘Of course,’ he said, and inched his hand towards mine. Leaning towards me, he ran his fingers down the strap of my leotard, straightening it. His touch distracted me, made me forget where we were or why I was angry. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. And before I knew what was happening, I was in his arms as he warmed me with a kiss.

  ‘OK,’ he whispered, his nose touching mine. ‘Let’s finish lunch and get back to work.’

  Which we did, but I found it hard to focus. I worry that behind his smile, behind the loving looks, Erik is ­becoming more and more interested in the dark arts, ju
st like the person I fear most.

  Josef.

  Tonight, after dinner, it came up again.

  ‘We can do this,’ Erik said. ‘We can defeat the necrodancers at their own game.’

  Hal didn’t say anything, just blushed fiercely.

  ‘That’s easy for you to say, Erik,’ I said angrily. ‘You’re not the one who has to have your soul devoured by a demon if something goes wrong.’

  He waved my objection away. ‘It doesn’t have to be like that. I’ve read up on ritualistic dance and demon raising, and –’

  ‘WHAT?’ I said, and sat down hard on the edge of my bed.

  ‘Calm down,’ Erik said, holding up a hand. ‘I wanted to know what you’d been mixed up in. Not because I thought we should do what Josef was doing, but because I figured it was better to understand what I was up against.’

  ‘Don’t tell me to calm down,’ I snapped.

  ‘Josef was on to something,’ he said at last. ‘And if we want to make sure you are protected against him and his kind, then the thing to do is take control.’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  At his desk across the room, Hal nodded vigorously. ‘Margaret is totally right,’ he said. ‘We don’t want to get mixed up in black magic. Raising a demon is hard, Erik. Dancers typically die while trying to do this. You don’t know what you’re getting into.’

  Erik blinked and said, ‘You haven’t read what I’ve read, Hal, so stop butting in on what doesn’t concern you.’

  Hal snapped his mouth closed.

  ‘There is an ancient guidebook of sorts called the Ars Demonica, which Josef didn’t have. If I could get my hands on a copy, then we could iron out the kinks in Josef’s methods and not only raise a demon but ­control it.’

  ‘The kinks?’ I repeated. Could Erik hear himself ? Just the mention of Josef’s name frightened me, even without the thrill in Erik’s voice. It was as if he had forgotten what he had been trying to save me from in the first place.

  Erik must have sensed my unease for he softened his tone. ‘I just think we shouldn’t dismiss an idea because it came from Josef. If we work together, Margaret, we can be more powerful than anyone on earth.’ He touched my hand, as I tried not to cringe.