Dance of Fire (17 page)

In a charred circle at the centre of the room lay four ­heat-blackened bodies in poses that suggested agony – arms shielding their faces, legs knotted together.

‘Oh my God,' Justin whispered. ‘You've been
dreaming
about this?'

‘Not this exactly,' Vanessa said, wondering what had happened here after she'd woken up. In the centre of the burned bodies stood a man's figure, his body arched as if in pain, arms outflung, his skin and clothes entirely grey, as if he had been cast in cement. His features were contorted in an agonised expression. She gazed around the room, paralysed with fear, wondering if the demon was lurking somewhere beyond the cold concrete.

Justin inched forward. ‘This is the guy? Looks like a statue.' He reached out and touched the man's shoulder.

The figure seemed to shiver, then disintegrated into a pile of ash. Justin jumped back, waving the dust from his face. ‘Gross!'

‘That used to be a person,' Vanessa said, feeling a wave of nausea.

‘Do you think the demon is still here?' Justin asked.

Vanessa closed her eyes and tried to sense any hint of its presence, but there was nothing. ‘I don't feel it,' she said.

‘You don't
feel
it? You can feel when it's nearby? How long has this been going on?'

‘It's complicated,' she said. ‘Let's just find the
Ars Demonica
and get out of here.' She scanned the floor, trying to avoid the inert bodies, until her eyes rested on the spot where she had seen the book in her dream.

It wasn't there.

‘It's gone,' she said. But who could have taken it? The only survivor had been – ‘The demon,' she whispered. ‘But he couldn't have taken it.' She looked to Justin. ‘Right?'

‘I have no clue.' Justin shook his head. ‘If that guy was the host, it doesn't look like the demon got all that far using his body.' He leaned in, and then whispered so quietly she could barely hear it, ‘Someone else is here.'

Then he whipped around and kicked, his leg slicing through the air so quickly that it was a blur, connecting with something: a figure that crumpled to the ground at Vanessa's feet.

Before she could look down, she felt an arm wrap around her neck.

Chapter Twelve

Vanessa tried to free herself, but the person behind her was too large, too strong.

A strangely familiar voice sounded. ‘What'd you go and do that for?'

The figure at their feet rolled away and stood up, Justin's light reflecting off her face. Round, full cheeks dotted with a single freckle just below her left eye: Nicola Fratelli. She shook the dust out of her thick brown hair. A red mark on her forehead revealed where Justin's foot had connected.

The arm around Vanessa's neck slid away. ‘Is that any way to welcome old friends?' a voice said from behind her.

‘Nicholas?' Vanessa said, turning. She wrapped him in a hug, her arms barely reaching around him. ‘You idiots!' His chest was hot and sweaty against her cheek, but it didn't
matter. Just knowing he and his twin sister were here, that she and Justin weren't alone, made everything more bearable. ‘What are you guys doing here?' Then it dawned on her. ‘Are you part of the Lyric Elite now?'

Nicholas and Nicola Fratelli were seniors at NYBA and friends of Justin's. They'd been the ones who'd tried to contact the Lyric Elite to stop Josef and Hilda, which eventually resulted in Enzo showing up at NYBA – though too late to do much of anything. The Fratellis joked around a lot, but they were deadly serious about fighting the dark dancers.

Nicholas exchanged a look with his sister. ‘The Lyric Elite?' he said. ‘Never mind them.'

Vanessa frowned. ‘So . . . they didn't want you as members?'

‘Apparently,' Nicholas continued, ‘we aren't good enough dancers for them. Or so that Enzo guy told us –'

‘When did you meet
him
?' Vanessa asked.

‘When he was at NYBA, remember?' Nicholas, like his twin, wore a black long-sleeved T-shirt and black jeans. Even his sneakers were black. ‘We asked to audition for the Lyric Elite.' He let out a sigh. ‘But he never even let us try out. He blamed us for the mess at school, which is ridiculous.'

‘They only wanted you, Vanessa. And pretty boy here.' Nicola flicked her wrist towards Justin. ‘You, we understand. After all, you were
possessed
by a
demon
. No one else who's alive shares a connection to it. But Justin?' She turned to him. ‘What's so special about you?'

Vanessa studied Justin, the light from his phone casting his face in shadow. There were so many things about Justin that she
didn't know. Their conversations always focused on ­
Vanessa
– on her problems and her goals. How incredibly selfish.

Nicholas rolled his eyes. ‘Never mind that for now,' he said. ‘We've got news.'

‘
Big
news,' Nicola chimed in. ‘Zep is here.'

‘We know,' Vanessa said. ‘We've already seen him.'

‘What?' the twins said nearly in unison, looking shocked. They turned to Justin, who nodded in confirmation.

‘You've
seen
him?' Nicola said.

‘Once,' Justin said. ‘I chased after him but couldn't keep up.'

Twice
, Vanessa wanted to say, thinking about Zep's message to her in the snow. But she still hadn't told Justin about that, and now – in front of the Fratellis – didn't seem like the right time to bring it up.

Nicola continued, ‘We think there are some shady dancers like Josef in the Royal Court Company. We think that's why Zep is here. He's working with them.'

‘Or trying to,' Nicholas said.

‘That's what I was thinking too,' Justin said, though that was news to Vanessa.

‘Or,' Vanessa suggested, ‘he's here for the same reason we're all here tonight: the demon.'

‘So,' Nicola said, tracing a question mark into the soot on the floor with the toe of her shoe, ‘that's why you came here – the demon?' She didn't seem fazed by the twisted, blackened bodies in front of them. ‘You guys must have a pretty tight competition schedule. Don't tell us you were just out for a 5 a.m. stroll.'

‘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.