by Yelena Black
‘Great,’ Zep said. ‘When you feel something trying to enter your mind, the trick isn’t to fight, but to focus your entire being on something else – the talisman.’
Vanessa closed her eyes and envisioned her sister’s old pointe shoes where they had lain in her suitcase, the well-worn, tangled ribbons, the sweat-darkened insoles, the pale satin smudged from wear. ‘OK.’
‘Once that object is vivid in your mind, you drop your defences. Your talisman will fill your mind so there is no room for anything else but you and the emotions you feel about that object.’
She saw the shoes in her mind’s eye, but the feelings that accompanied it were complicated. They contradicted one another, part sadness, part joy, part anger. ‘What kind of emotion?’
‘Some big feeling you associate with that talisman,’ Zep continued. ‘Such powerful emotion that you can barely remember where you were or what was going on.’
Vanessa closed her eyes and tried to forget where she was. Forget that she was standing in a snowy cemetery with Zep, forget what he had just told her. Margaret was as integral to her being as her heart. She couldn’t lose something like that without dying herself.
‘Now – a memory associated with your talisman. The strongest memory you can think of.’
Sitting on the green couch in her family’s living room in Massachusetts, a quilt over her legs, reading. A muffled melody drifted down from upstairs, an aria Margaret had been playing all spring, the soprano’s voice pure and perfect. Vanessa had heard it so often that she knew it by heart. She rested the book on her legs and listened, only to be disturbed by a clatter of mail sliding through the slot in the front door.
Her sister burst out of her room and ran downstairs, her ponytail bouncing behind her. ‘This is it,’ she said, kneeling on the floor. She held up a cream-coloured envelope. ‘What do you think it says?’
‘It says, “We lurve you,”’ Vanessa told her sister, laughing. ‘Just open it already.’
Margaret tore open the envelope and slid out the letter. She scanned the page.
‘Well?’ Vanessa asked. ‘Did you get in?’
Margaret’s hands trembled. ‘I got in.’ A smile spread across her face, and she squealed with joy. ‘I got in!’
‘Vanessa!’
She opened her eyes to find Zep standing in front of her on the snow-covered path. He was staring at her, his disappointment obvious.
‘What?’ Vanessa said. The chill of the night had set in, and her teeth began to chatter. ‘I was doing what you told me to do.’
‘Not good enough,’ Zep said, shaking his head. ‘Not if I can simply call your name and bring you out of it. Get lost in the memory. Relive it all over again. That is your only armour.’
Vanessa stared down at her feet and remembered her last night in New York, when she’d slipped her feet into her sister’s shoes and seen a flash of Margaret’s legs tracing a message in the ground. I’m still here.
Growing up, Margaret had always been the one to help Vanessa get herself out of the messes she’d got herself in. She was ever elegant, the model older sister. Now Margaret was the one in trouble, and she had reached through time and space to ask Vanessa to find her. And Vanessa was determined to answer.
She closed her eyes and focused on that memory of the shoes: the insoles holding the shape of Margaret’s feet, the lamb’s wool still crushed inside the toe box, the stitching on the ribbons so neat she could envision her sister sitting cross-legged on the floor of her dressing room sewing them on.
Ballet shoes are like puppies, Margaret had told her. Or boys. Treat them the way you want to be treated. Take good care of them, and they’ll take good care of you.
Vanessa had been only eleven, but she could see that day like it was yesterday: sitting in her sister’s bedroom, watching Margaret break in her new pointe shoes to get ready for NYBA. It was late August, and Margaret was about to leave.
Margaret came over and gave Vanessa a kiss on the forehead. ‘I’ll be home for Thanksgiving. It’s only three months!’ She took out a needle and thread and began to adorn the first shoe. ‘These are going to be my favourite shoes, Ness. I can tell.’
‘How?’ Vanessa asked. ‘You’ve never even danced in them.’
Margaret thought about this. ‘True. But sometimes? You just know . . .’
When Vanessa’s eyes finally fluttered open, she was standing in the centre of the pathway, Zep beside her.
‘Thank God,’ Zep said. ‘I thought I wasn’t going to be able to get you back.’
Vanessa shook her head, realising she was covered in snow. ‘Sorry!’
‘Don’t apologise,’ Zep said gently. ‘That memory, whatever it is, is the shield you need to protect yourself. As long as you can tap into that, you’ll be safe.’
Vanessa smacked her hands together to warm them. ‘Zep, I don’t think I can master that before the last part of the competition! It’s too soon – tomorrow.’
His eyes were as lustrous as the light-filled clouds covering the moon. ‘I know what you’re capable of,’ he said, his voice soft.
The wind seemed to push him towards her. He leaned in, but Vanessa turned away.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
She averted her eyes, pressing herself against the outer wall of the mausoleum, the marble cold against her back. ‘This was a mistake. I shouldn’t be alone with you.’
Zep nodded as though he’d been expecting her to say something like that. ‘Just promise me that you’ll be as careful with other people as you are with me.’
Vanessa’s face hardened. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The Fratellis, Justin, that shady character who’s been training you . . . They’re no more deserving of your good faith than I am.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Vanessa said, realising Zep had no idea Enzo was part of the Lyric Elite. ‘They’re looking out for me, trying to protect me from people like you.’
Zep let out a bitter laugh. ‘I’m the only one looking out for you. The Fratellis are idiots. And that coach of yours . . . I haven’t been able to find much information about him. That troubles me. People who leave no trail always have something to hide.’
Of course Enzo had something to hide – he was part of the Lyric Elite. But she wasn’t going to tell Zep that. The wind kicked up and made her eyes sting with tears. ‘I have to go,’ Vanessa said. ‘I’m going to be late for curfew.’
She turned and started back down the path to the front gate, waiting for Zep to say something, anything. But all she could hear was the crunch and squeak of her boots in the snow, the wind in the branches of the barren trees around her.
She looked back, but he was gone, the flashlight wedged on the lip of a stone pedestal, its beam illuminating a message scrawled in the snow:
I’m on your side
Chapter Seventeen
The wind was bitterly cold.
From this end, the Millennium Bridge was a long, narrow line of lights suspended over the River Thames. Vanessa paid the cab driver, pulled her coat tighter and set off to meet the Fratellis.
With every step she took, Zep’s warnings echoed in her mind: why were the Fratelli twins going so far out of their way to help? Did they even care about Vanessa’s safety, or were they only using her to gain admission to the Lyric Elite?
The bridge was a peculiar place to choose for a meeting – empty save for a few pedestrians, their faces tucked into their coat collars, shielding themselves from the wind.
Soon enough she saw three figures huddled at the centre of the bridge. For a moment she remembered back to when she had thought the twins were scary, when she’d seen them and Justin together outside Lincoln Center and thought they were stalking her. But the Fratellis had turned out to be far from scary. Her feelings for Justin were more complicated, but she wasn’t looking forward to seeing him. Not now.
As soon as Nicholas spotted Vanessa he stopped talking and waved. Beside him, Nicola and Justin turned, their cheeks red
from the cold.
‘The guest of honour appears!’ Nicholas said.
Justin stood against the railing, his arms crossed. ‘Where have you been?’ he asked.
‘I had something to take care of,’ Vanessa said.
‘Take care of?’ Justin repeated. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t see how that’s any of your business.’ She looked to the side, at the waters of the Thames down below, at the twinkle of lights that was the London skyline. ‘Why does it matter to you, anyway? Svetya not keeping you busy enough?’
‘Busy? Is that what you think makes a good relationship? Rushing around all the time, never making a commitment?’
Vanessa stepped back, insulted. ‘I have made a commitment.’
Before she could continue, Nicola said, ‘Lovers’ quarrel?’
‘We’d have to be lovers first,’ Vanessa said. ‘Which we most definitely are not.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ Justin said.
Nicola turned to her brother. ‘Let’s get this started before my toes freeze off.’
Nicholas lowered the backpack from his shoulder and held it open just wide enough for Vanessa to see the leather-bound Ars Demonica.
‘While you two were bickering,’ Nicholas said, ‘we’ve been studying the exact ritual required to banish the demon. It’s a good thing we got our hands on this book, because it has turned out to be slightly more complicated than we imagined.’
‘Complicated how?’ Justin asked. ‘Doesn’t sound good.’
‘Good is a relative term in this case,’ Nicholas said. ‘As we said before, usually you have to kill the possessed person to cast a demon back where it came from, but this book reveals a way to trick the demon into hiding itself in an object.’
‘Like a lamp?’ Vanessa asked, remembering the vision she’d had of the men huddling over an ancient Etruscan lamp in that chilly distant warehouse. Almost reflexively, she turned to Justin. He stood by the railing, his brow furrowed.
‘Exactly right!’ Nicholas said. ‘If we can just get our hands on one.’
‘Once it’s inside the object,’ Nicola continued, ‘you destroy the trap, sending the demon back where it came from.’ She grinned. ‘Easy, eh?’
Justin was speechless. ‘We’re going to put it into a lamp?’ he said. ‘That’s your big plan?’
For a moment the twins didn’t respond. ‘No,’ Nicola finally said. ‘Not just any lamp. It has to have certain characteristics. The Ars Demonica explains exactly what to look for – silver with a certain percentage of lead, former ritualised use, a particular shape, and so on. Luckily England is a very old place.’ She dug around in a pocket for her phone and opened it to a photograph. ‘We were able to locate an appropriate lamp in an antiques shop,’ she said. ‘We’ll pick it up tomorrow morning. What are friends for?’
The phone’s screen showed a picture of a pot-bellied metal lamp with a round handle and a spout. It looked kind of like the creamer Vanessa’s mom brought out for company. It stood on four crooked feet, its spout and lid overlaid with a faded ornate filigree.
‘It doesn’t look like much, but because it’s silver, it takes enchantment easily,’ Nicholas said. ‘The real challenge will be tricking the demon into entering it. The Ars Demonica details a dance ritual involving very precise steps. If we can perform them perfectly, we’ll be fine.’
‘Are you sure you two are the right ones to do this?’ Justin asked. ‘I don’t remember you being the most amazing dancers.’
‘First off, you’re wrong,’ Nicola said. ‘Secondly, we have the book. And thirdly . . . that’s why we need you.’
Vanessa stared at Justin, trying to gauge what he was thinking. After a moment he said, ‘Even if we do go through with this, the demon wants Vanessa. How are we going to trick him into thinking she is a lamp?’
Nicola said, ‘The demon can sense a person, but it can’t actually see you – not unless it is in someone else’s body. That’s its weakness.’
Nicholas glanced around to make sure no one was passing by. ‘Basically, Vanessa pricks her finger and drops a teeny smidge of her blood inside the lamp. The blood and the enchantment create just enough presence to confuse the demon as to where she is.’
‘So let’s review,’ Nicola said. ‘First, Vanessa invites the demon in. It will be unable to resist the invitation.’
That much, Vanessa thought, would certainly be true.
‘Second, just when it’s about to possess her,’ Nicola went on, ‘Vanessa blocks it out so that it can no longer sense her.’ She gave Vanessa an appraising look. ‘Can you do that? Block it out?’
She flashed on her lesson in the cemetery with Zep, thought about how badly she wanted to see Margaret, how she needed to get rid of the demon. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I can.’
‘Great,’ Nicholas said. ‘Which brings us to the third bit. The demon can’t sense Vanessa, but it will sense a touch of her essence inside the lamp, so it will mistake the lamp for her body. It won’t know that the lamp is chained with enchantments, ones we will have cast on it using the spells from the Ars Demonica.’
‘And once it’s there, it’s trapped,’ Nicola said. ‘Step four, we destroy the lamp. Done and done.’
The wind filled the silence around them.
‘Great,’ said Justin sarcastically, ‘so all Vanessa has to do is figure out how to block a demon from another dimension from entering her mind and convince it to go into a silver lamp instead.’ He let out an angry snort. ‘Really great plan.’
While they argued, Vanessa closed her eyes and concentrated on the directions Zep had given her: the talisman, the memory, the blocking of her mind.
‘I can block the demon out,’ she said again. ‘If you two think this plan will work, then I’m all for giving it a go.’
‘And if it doesn’t work?’ Justin said, raising his voice. ‘Then the demon will just move right into your head, Vanessa, and we’ll have to kill you.’
Nicholas waved his hand in the air. ‘That won’t happen,’ he insisted. ‘You’ve got to trust us.’
Vanessa opened her eyes. ‘I do,’ she said, just as Justin blurted out, ‘I don’t.’
‘It’s my life,’ Vanessa said. ‘My choice. And I’ve made it.’
‘Good,’ Nicola said, before Justin could get another word in. ‘Let’s leave it at that.’
‘Meeting adjourned,’ Nicholas said.
‘Why did you have us meet you here, anyway?’ Justin said. ‘Out in the middle of this stupid bridge?’
Nicholas gestured around them. ‘We thought it would be more private; we can see anyone coming our way long before they get to us.’
‘But also,’ Nicola said, pointing to a lit-up building at the other end, ‘we’re going to an exhibit at the Tate Modern. It’s open until ten tonight.’
‘We’ll call you when we’re ready,’ Nicholas said, ‘but in the meantime, you need to get some sleep. Big competition tomorrow. You don’t want to be late.’
Vanessa’s stomach sank. The competition. Maybe she could get up early tomorrow morning and squeeze in an extra rehearsal.
All Vanessa remembered about the trip back was that it felt like the longest car ride she’d ever taken. Zep’s words were still burned into her mind: Margaret was dead. She had killed herself. And though Vanessa was certain he was wrong, she had no justification for feeling this way.
Meanwhile, Justin quietly seethed on the seat beside her, saying nothing. Vanessa missed Justin, missed having him as a friend, and she ached to tell him everything – especially that she was sorry. She imagined an alternate reality in which Margaret had never disappeared, and Vanessa had met Justin on a brisk autumm day in New York. In that life, they might’ve bantered and laughed nervously the way people do when they first realise they’ve met someone special. He’d ask if she’d want to get a cup of coffee, and she’d say yes.
But they weren’t living that life. They were living this one.
When the cab final
ly pulled over beneath the tree-lined drive leading to their dormitory, Vanessa ran inside, blurring down the hallway to get away from Justin.
She paused outside the door to her room, bracing herself to hear a sarcastic comment from Svetya about why Vanessa wasn’t rehearsing for tomorrow. But when she entered her room, Svetya wasn’t there.
Instead, facing her from her desk chair, was Enzo.
‘About time you got back,’ he said. ‘We need to talk.’
Chapter Eighteen
‘Sit,’ Enzo said.
Vanessa didn’t move.
‘Vanessa, sit down,’ Enzo repeated. He was perched casually on her desk chair, as if it weren’t completely bizarre that he’d basically broken into her room.
‘What are you doing in here?’ she asked. She took off her jacket and sat down on the edge of her bed. ‘Where’s Svetya?’
‘She and Geo are using the rehearsal space downstairs,’ Enzo said. ‘She let me in after I told her I needed to speak to you.’
Because he was their coach, it was easy to forget that Enzo wasn’t all that much older than Vanessa, maybe twenty-one. His long hair was pulled back, as usual, and he was wearing jeans and a black sweater. He seemed to draw the light towards him with an air of authority that was both magnetic and frightening.
‘I’m not even going to ask where you were,’ Enzo said to her, ‘even though you clearly left the lodge against my specific orders.’
‘Orders? You don’t give me orders. You suggested to me –’
‘It doesn’t matter, Vanessa,’ he said, leaning back. ‘That’s not why I’m here.’
‘So why are you here?’
Enzo’s eyelashes fluttered. ‘I haven’t been completely honest with you, Vanessa.’ He took a deep breath, as though forcing himself to continue. ‘I knew your sister.’
‘Knew?’ Vanessa echoed. Another person who thought Margaret was dead? ‘What does that mean?’
Enzo looked down at his hands. ‘I helped her get away from Josef and create a new identity under the name Margot Adams.’
‘You helped her get away from Josef. That’s great!’ She stood up again, wanting to throw her arms around him and thank him, waiting for him to tell her that Margaret was outside, about to come through the door.