Dance of Fire (28 page)

Vanessa was about to respond when Ingrid pushed past, knocking Vanessa's shoulder as she stormed into the dressing room. She turned back, glaring at Vanessa with an expression so cold it was frightening. She hadn't even placed.

‘Vanessa!' Maisie said. She pushed through the other ­dancers
and ran towards her, a wad of tissues in one hand, a bouquet of flowers in the other. ‘I just wanted to congratulate you.' Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. ‘You almost won the whole thing.'

‘Thanks, Maisie,' Vanessa told her. Nobody liked sore ­losers. ‘I thought you were amazing. You should be so proud.'

‘Really?' Maisie said. ‘Thanks. That means a lot coming from you.'

Maisie gazed down at the flowers in her arms. Their pale yellow matched the colour of her hair. ‘I bought these to motivate myself, but I guess they should go to you.' With a nervous laugh, she held them out to Vanessa.

‘No,' Vanessa said. ‘You don't have to do that.'

‘I want to,' Maisie insisted, and thrust the bouquet into her arms. ‘Take them. I can't bear the sight of them any more.'

Maisie backed into the crowd, covering her face as she slipped through the door to the dressing room. Vanessa gazed down at the flowers, then followed her inside. She could hear her sobbing from the bathroom stall, her voice echoing off the stone walls. Vanessa sighed and left the bouquet by Maisie's locker, then changed out of her costume.

Backstage was bustling with parents and dancers and coaches when she emerged. ‘Darling!' called her mother, who was standing on tiptoe and waving. She scooped Vanessa into a hug. ‘You were wonderful!'

Vanessa wrapped her arms around her mother. ‘But I lost,' she said.
I lost Margaret
.

‘You were robbed,' her mother said, stepping back. ‘But it's not all about winning, dear. It's about doing the best you can do. And really, you were marvellous.' She lowered her voice and whispered into Vanessa's ear. ‘Besides, I hear that Pauline's father donates
beaucoup
to the Royal Court.'

Vanessa had to laugh. Leave it to her mother to comfort her while spreading gossip at the same time.

‘And Justin, winning the whole thing!' Her mother pulled back and smiled. ‘You must be very proud of him.' She paused, peering into the crowd. ‘Where
is
he?'

Vanessa turned around: a flurry of people surrounded ­Justin and Pauline, including several reporters. She
was
genuinely proud of him, even though she was disappointed she hadn't won herself. He caught her gaze and excused himself.

‘Vanessa,' he said. ‘Hey.'

‘Congratulations,' she told him. ‘You were wonderful.'

He blushed. ‘Thanks. So were you.'

‘You watched?' she asked.

‘Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss your dancing for the world.'

Vanessa felt herself blush. ‘Where's Enzo?' she said, scanning the area. ‘It's weird that he's not here to congratulate you. I'm sure he's thrilled you won.'

‘Maybe,' Justin said.

‘Of course he is! You're a Royal Court scholarship ­recipient.' She forced a smile.

‘I know you're disappointed,' Justin said softly. ‘But, please, Vanessa – don't do anything rash.'

‘Rash? What do you mean?'

He looked around and lowered his voice. ‘Don't go through with the Fratellis' plan. Your performance was . . . mesmerising, but how much of that was you? And how much was
it
?'

‘It was all me,' Vanessa said. ‘I said I would shut it out, and I did. Zep was right.'

Justin's face darkened. ‘What do you mean,
Zep
was right?'

‘Justin, there you are.' Palmer Carmichael placed a hand on Justin's shoulder, interrupting their conversation. ‘There's a reporter from
The
Times
who wants a picture of you and ­Pauline.' He noticed Vanessa and nodded. ‘Congratulations, Ms Adler. You danced beautifully. You made our final decision a very difficult one.'

‘Thank you,' Vanessa said.

‘Vanessa,' Justin started to say, ‘please –'

But Carmichael whisked him away before he could finish. Which was fine by her.

‘Mom,' Vanessa said, walking back over to her mother, who was on the phone, ‘I'm going to find Enzo and thank him for all his help.'

‘All right, dear,' her mother said, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. ‘I'll call you in a little while, and we can go out for dinner. Our last girls' night before your father arrives in the morning.'

‘Absolutely,' Vanessa said, kissing her mother's cheek. ‘Sounds great.'

She turned on her heels, leaving the backstage area. Only instead of going to her dormitory, she headed straight for the coaches' residence.

Chapter Twenty

The lawn behind the White Lodge was bustling with people. Vanessa kept her head down and walked quickly. Under different circumstances, she might have been proud of her runner-up status. She was only fifteen, and she'd nearly won one of the most competitive ballet competitions in Europe, if not the world.

But none of that mattered. She'd lost everything: the scholarship, a spot in the Royal Court and the possibility of finding the people who'd driven Margaret into taking her own life. She'd even lost Justin, she thought. He'd be here for the next two years, while she'd be back in New York. She tried to convince herself that it was for the best – after all, they hadn't exactly been getting along these past few days – but the thought only made her feel lonely.

Behind the White Lodge was another, smaller, more modern building – the faculty residence. In a moment she was in the foyer, reading the room assignment directory.

She climbed the stairs to the second floor. It was no ­surprise to find that the coaches' dorm was nicer than the students', the walls filled with framed black-and-white pictures of various ballets the Royal Court had staged over the years.

Vanessa walked down the quiet hallway, her footsteps muffled by the plush beige runner, until she reached room 202 at the end of the hall.

She knocked gently. ‘Enzo?'

No answer. Vanessa knocked again. ‘Enzo? Hello?' She rapped on the door again, harder this time, then tried the doorknob.

It turned easily and the door swung open.

‘Enzo?' She had no idea what she was expecting his room to look like, but it was surprisingly bare. A bed with a white duvet, still rumpled from the previous night; a small suitcase in the corner; and in the open closet, a few clothes on wire ­hangers. Piled in a corner on the floor were a bunch of dirty leotards, T-shirts and tights. The air smelled stale.

Vanessa pushed the door open a bit wider, then stepped inside. Next to the bed was a wooden desk. Vanessa walked towards it; she knew she shouldn't be snooping, but . . . what the heck.

Inside the desk were a few pens, some writing paper and a photograph of her sister.

Margaret's face smiled back at her – her sister looked carefree, happy, resting her head on Enzo's shoulder. Another boy
was with them in the picture, with dirty-blond hair and wide, eager eyes.
That must be Hal
, she thought. Below the picture were a few folded papers. Vanessa picked them up and recog­nised the handwriting immediately: the missing pages from Margaret's journal. Clearly Enzo had torn them out.

Enzo had lied. What had Margaret written that he didn't want her to see? Vanessa pocketed the papers and the photo. She had to get out of here.

She took one more quick look around the room, and her eye caught something pink in the mound of dirty laundry, under one of Enzo's T-shirts. Using her little finger, she moved aside the shirt. What she saw took her breath away.

A pointe shoe.

And not just
any
pointe shoe – Margaret's. She'd know it anywhere. She pushed the T-shirt away completely and saw the other shoe. When they'd gone missing from her room the day she arrived in London, Vanessa had accused Svetya of stealing them. Only the culprit hadn't been Svetya at all.

It had been Enzo.

Or Erik. Who was he, really? Could she trust anything he'd told her?

Vanessa picked up the shoes and slipped them into her dance bag. She was just about to leave when Enzo burst into the room.

‘Vanessa,' he said, staring at her strangely. He looked stylish in a simple black suit, white dress shirt and a thin red tie. ‘What are you doing here?'

‘Oh, um . . . I came looking for you.'

‘I'd imagine that's why you're in my room.' He stepped inside, leaving the door open behind him. ‘What's going on?'

Vanessa tucked her hands behind her back so Enzo couldn't tell they were shaking. Would he know she'd gone through his things?

‘I wanted to say that I'm sorry.'

‘Sorry?' Enzo scrunched up his forehead. ‘For what?'

‘For not winning,' Vanessa said. ‘I was dancing for Margaret, like you said I should. And I tried my hardest, really I did –' she thought back to the competition, how much she had wanted to win – ‘but I failed. I disappointed us both. I'm sorry.'

Enzo placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘There is nothing to apologise for, Vanessa. You danced incredibly well.'

She frowned. ‘At least you have Justin.'

‘Hmm?' Enzo said. ‘What do you mean?'

‘He can go undercover for you and the Lyric Elite,' Vanessa said. ‘In the Royal Court.'

Enzo nodded. ‘Yes. He can – if he wants to. But he hasn't been touched by the dark arts personally, like we have.' He sat down at the desk. ‘Vanessa, you may not have won a spot in the Royal Court, but there is still a way you can avenge your sister's death.'

‘There is?' Vanessa asked.

‘Your connection to the demon is strong,' Enzo said. ‘Stronger than anything I've ever seen or even read about. If you call it to you and offer yourself as a host . . .' He looked at her, his eyes wild, unfocused. ‘I know it sounds crazy, but if you were
its willing consort – or partner, let's say – you would have an otherworldly power at your disposal.' His voice trembled, his hands curling at his sides. He leaned closer. ‘You could wreak havoc – stop the evil dancers once and for all.'

Vanessa stepped back. ‘I'm not sure I want to do that.'

‘Not yet you're not,' Enzo said with a small smile. ‘But you'll come around – I just know it. You'll see that this is the best way. You've been given an opportunity no one else has ever had. Aren't you upset about what happened to Margaret?'

‘Of course I am.' She had to get out of there. ‘I'll have to think about it and get back to you.' Vanessa tried not to let her voice quiver and betray her.

Without speaking, Enzo reached into her dance bag and pulled out one of Margaret's shoes. ‘Ah,' he said, ‘so I see you found Margaret's pointe shoes.' He sighed. ‘Aren't you going to ask why I took them from you?'

Vanessa shook her head. ‘Um, no! I mean, I'm sure you had a reason.' She turned and headed for the door. ‘I really have to go now, so –'

Suddenly there was a rustle in the air and Enzo was on the other side of her, blocking the door. ‘It's just that I miss her so much. When I saw her shoes in your bag, they reminded me of her, and I just – well, I took them without thinking. I'm sorry.'

Vanessa had never thought of Enzo as being particularly large before, but he was quick on his feet and all muscle. There was nothing she could do to him. And if she screamed, no one would hear her.

‘Vanessa,' he said, reaching out for her, ‘I –'

She didn't stay to hear him finish his sentence. She sidestepped and then leaped into a twirl – blurring through the door and into the hallway. She slammed into the far wall, and turned just long enough to see Enzo, his face a mask of rage.

And then she ran.

Vanessa had never run this fast or for this long in her life.

Adrenalin pumped through her as she sprinted down the long driveway of the White Lodge and across the park to the city streets. She ran without looking, without thinking, until her breath came in painful gasps and she reached a familiar building.

Barre None.

She stopped, heaving in gulps of air. A warm glow shone through the frosted windows of the restaurant.

Inside, the dining room was quietly busy, with a few families and couples cosied up in the corners, sipping drinks and talking softly. The smell of mulled cider warmed the air.

Vanessa's phone buzzed as she spotted Coppelia. The older woman was near the front, sharing a joke with one of the ­waiters.

See you at the hotel at 8.30
, her mom had texted.
So proud.

When Coppelia saw Vanessa walking towards her, she beamed. ‘If it isn't the princess!' Her long hair was in a single braid over one shoulder, and the bangles on her arms clinked together. ‘Congratulations, dear. You placed very well in the competition.'

‘How did you know?' Vanessa asked.

Coppelia motioned to one of the televisions on the wall. ‘It was on the news!'

Vanessa blushed. ‘Thanks,' she said. ‘But it's not really that exciting. There's not much to tell.'

Coppelia put her hands on her hips. ‘
Not that exciting?
But OK, no big deal. I get it.'

‘It's just . . . I have something more urgent on my mind.' She leaned forward as a waitress walked by. ‘Could we find a more private place to talk?'

‘Only if I can join you.'

Vanessa swung around to see Justin standing behind her. He'd changed out of his dance clothes and was wearing an emerald-green sweater and tight blue jeans. The sight of him startled her, and for reasons she couldn't explain she suddenly wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him. ­‘Justin, what are you doing here?'