Dance of Fire
Authors: Yelena Black
For my readers, and for all those who love the dance
Contents
Read On For A Taste Of Dance Of Shadows, The Captivating Prequel To Dance Of Fire
For the first time since Margaret's disappearance, Vanessa slipped on her older sister's pointe shoes.
Carefully she raised one toe and then the next, steadying herself until she was
en pointe
. She raised her chin to the light as a flash of colour seared her mind. Thin red lips, trembling. A nude leotard clinging to a girl's ribcage, and a slender, delicate foot.
âMargaret,' Vanessa whispered. She shut her eyes, holding on to the image.
Her sister extended her leg, pointing her foot as if positioning herself for the start of a dance. But it wasn't a dance at all. With some difficulty, she dragged her toe along the floor, slowly, carefully, forming letters.
I
'm still here.
It was a message from her sister, Vanessa realised. She was out there, somewhere. Margaret Adler was alive.
From the Diary of Margaret Adler
February 27
Margaret Adler is dead.
That's what Hal told me when he gave me my new identity papers.
âThe only way we can hide you is if you become somebody else,' he said, blinking. âSo that means ÂMargaret is gone.'
âGone,' I repeated. The freighter's steel decking thrummed beneath my feet, putting watery miles between me and my old life, my family. Hal and Erik chose this means of escaping New York because it is so low-tech, so unglamorous.
Kind of like this cheap notebook I'm writing in. At least I know it can't be hacked.
âErased,' Hal said, as though
gone
hadn't been clear enough. âYou can't contact anyone.' I barely know Hal, though Erik swears he can get anything done. He looks like a comic-book nerd â or a cybercriminal. âIt's too risky.
He
might find you.'
By
he
, Hal means Josef, my old choreographer at the New York Ballet Academy. The one who almost destroyed me.
I nodded. âOK,' I told Hal. The floor rocked as the boat shifted, and the light over our heads swayed gently.
âInstead, you are â¦' Hal opened the passport, and I read my new name under my photograph:
Margot Adams
.
âWho's this?' I asked.
âNow? It's you. But before â¦' He shrugged. âA girl who died in a tragic car wreck a few years ago. Her body was never found.'
Which is creepy enough that the hair on my arms stands at attention. âI'm pretending to be a dead girl?'
Another shrug. âNot
pretending
. You
are
this dead girl.'
The door to the hall banged shut as Erik sauntered in. He is lean, with a dancer's body, young and handsome. And I
think
he likes me; I can see it in his eyes when he smiles. I find myself stealing glances at him when he's not looking. He isn't like other boys I've met. The way he carries himself, so confident, so serious.
I owe Erik so much. It is only thanks to him that I escaped Josef at all. Erik was visiting NYBA, and unlike everyone else, he had heard of dancers like Josef â who used the art of dance for evil. He believed me when I told him what was going on. And that I thought my life and soul were at risk.
He smuggled me out of NYBA, introduced me to his childhood friend Hal, and came up with the plan that got us on to this
freighter bound for England. If it wasn't for Erik, I would be dead. Or worse. I can almost still feel his hand on the small of my back as we waited by the dock that day, his body shielding me from the Âincoming fog.
Which is why I'm here. No more Josef. No more being forced to dance, to try to summon something deadly, Âdangerous â¦
I shake my head and close my eyes. Now it is time to get some sleep.
Next stop: London!
Hazy white light made the wooden floor of the studio glow with warmth. Vanessa stood
en pointe,
arms arched in
allongé
, muscles tense, straining to maintain position. Waiting. Until, with a whisper of breath at her neck . . .
His touch.
He moved behind her, his fingers spread, his right hand cupping her waist. His left hand hovered, barely grazing her shoulder. She shuddered as something within her awakened, his warmth coaxing her limbs to life.
Together they danced across the worn yellow floorboards to the wall of mirrors, where she could see herself all in white, like a phantom â leotard and tutu and even a light dusting of ghostly make-up. Her stark-white pointe shoes drew an ashen line across the wood.
Her partner wore black. He pulled her closer until she felt his chest rise and fall against hers. Her fingers ran along the cut of his shoulders, his muscles damp with sweat.
He spun her away before she saw his face, his own steps echoing behind her with a quick scraping patter, their shadows entwined, dancing together and breaking apart in the gauzy light. His cheek pressed warmly against hers, and she could smell his cologne â like ocean and summer and sand. A fine film of sweat glued her leotard to her chest, and she could practically taste salt on her lips. He gently turned her towards him.
Justin.
He smiled.
She spun, again and again, glimpsing his face with each turn. His messy, sandy hair, his blue eyes. All the light in the room seemed to gather in his smile. With each spin, his lips grew brighter, taking on hints of yellow, then a searing orange.
A warm breath rose within her, propelling her faster, faster. Justin's face began to change, becoming ashen, his eyes sharpening to a metallic grey. She felt her heartbeat, echoing his name.
Zep
.
Zep
.
Zep
. Something was wrong. She turned, unable to stop, as the colour continued to drain from his cheeks, and his eyes brightened with inhuman fire. He looked upwards, his motions strangely mechanical, as though possessed by something otherworldly.
She faltered and lost her balance, falling out of her turn and into his arms as he rasped,
Your kiss will bring me home again,
my love
. And then he opened his jaws wide, revealing the flames that filled him and reached out to swallow them both.
Vanessa awoke to find someone attacking her face.
âSweetie, you drooled!' Her mother was dabbing at her chin with a handkerchief.
âMom, stop.' Vanessa swatted her mother's hand away. âSeriously.' She glanced around â no one else on the plane seemed to be paying attention, not even the businessman with the handlebar moustache on her other side. Like Vanessa, he'd fallen asleep on the long flight from New York to London. Only she was sure
he
hadn't been dreaming of a cute boy filled with flames . . .
Vanessa craned her neck forward, pushing strands of red hair out of her eyes. Justin sat a few rows ahead, on the other side of the aisle, reading. He looked entirely normal, not like there was a demon inside him. They hadn't been able to get three seats together, and Vanessa's mother wasn't about to sit by herself.
âWhat are you looking for, dear?' her mother asked, a little too loudly.
âMom, please,' Vanessa said, leaning back in her seat and unzipping her hoodie.
âPlease
what
?' Vanessa's mother said.
âPlease be quiet.' Vanessa placed the sweatshirt on her lap. âYou're giving me a headache.'
For a moment her mother's expression softened, and ÂVanessa was reminded of when her mother had been full of love and
laughter, a former ballerina who'd stepped out of the spotlight to raise a family. Then her mother blinked and was Âherself again â worried, tense, ready to snap at any moment â the way she'd been ever since Vanessa's sister Margaret had disappeared three years ago.
âYou know, some daughters would be nice to their mothers,' her mom said, âbecause their mothers put their own lives on hold to travel halfway around the world so their daughters could take part in a ballet competition.' She paused, staring at the small television screen embedded in the seat in front of her. âI wonder what it would be like to have a daughter like that.'
âI'm sorry, Mom.' As usual, even after a seven-hour flight, her mother was impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place, her make-up perfect and her clothes unwrinkled. She had the sort of flawless beauty that a ballerina was supposed to have. That Margaret had. And Vanessa did not.
Her mother placed a hand over Vanessa's. âThat's all right, dear. You're just nervous about the competition.'
âUm, sure,' Vanessa said, even though she wasn't thinking about the competition at all.
âThey invited you at the last minute, without having passed any of the preliminaries,' her mother said. âThat means a lot. The Royal Court is one of the most prestigious European dance companies, and they don't make mistakes.'
âIf you say so,' Vanessa mumbled.
âI'm just glad you have an opportunity to dance,' her mother continued. âDad and I were so looking forward to seeing you in
The Firebird
. I despise how your choreographer ran off with his assistant like that. What a scandal!'
Vanessa winced. The
truth
was that Josef, head choreogÂrapher at the New York Ballet Academy, and Hilda, his Âmentor, were both dead, casualties of the demon they had raised â with Vanessa's unwitting help. Now the demon was still out there in some form, and Vanessa could hardly begin to guess what havoc it might wreak. She and Justin were on their way to London in an attempt to track down the evil entity and stop it. And she also hoped to find Margaret along the way.
âIt's a shame your father is going to miss the competition,' her mother said with a sigh, âbut he'll be there in time for the holiday.' She forced a smile. âChristmas in London. It will be so nice to be away.'
Since Margaret's disappearance, it had been impossible to enjoy the holidays without bittersweet memories: building snowmen, watching
A Christmas Story
and drinking hot cocoa, opening presents, Margaret flitting around in new pointe shoes and tights.
âTell me more about that boy,' her mother said, changing the subject.
For a second, Vanessa's heart raced.
Zep
, she thought. He'd been her first boyfriend and a fellow New York Ballet Academy student â and he'd turned out to be a monster. But her mother didn't know about Zep.