Dance of Fire (4 page)

‘And you are . . . ?' Pauline asked.

‘Oh! I'm Vanessa – Vanessa Adler.'

‘
Enchantée
.' Pauline smiled again. ‘You are excited, yes? It is such an honour to be here.'

Vanessa nodded and said, ‘Absolutely,' wondering what it felt like to be so happy, so grateful. Maybe that was why ­Pauline was so good. Because she truly loved what she did. Not that Vanessa didn't love to dance, but for her – especially now – it was complicated.

Each of the dancers around them had been scouted as the best in their school, the best in their country even. Watching them, Vanessa's chest tightened. She had felt this way before, years ago when she danced her first recital in front of her parents and Margaret. She could remember standing behind the curtain at her old dance school in Massachusetts, waiting for her cue, her heart pressing against her ribs as if her leotard were suddenly too small.

She focused on the stage again just as Palmer Carmichael clasped his hands together. ‘I would like to finish with a short film about the history of the Royal Court competition,' he said, stepping towards the edge of the stage.

The lights dimmed. The curtains parted.

Then someone in the audience screamed.

Vanessa sat up, her body instantly rigid. In the projector's flickering light she saw a corpse dangling from a noose in the centre of the stage. Pinned to the front of the body was an enormous sign, its words scrawled in blood-red ink:

break a leg!

Chapter Three

Frozen in fear, Vanessa stared at the body hanging above the stage, a sick feeling in her stomach. The dead girl's long black hair fluttered as her body swayed on the rope. Vanessa heard Justin say something, but his voice disappeared in the chaos erupting in the auditorium. She could sense his hand on hers, but all she could feel was her own heart, racing out of control.

The projector stopped and the house lights came on. Then she could see that the body was just a stuffed dummy in a tutu, a cartoonish lipsticked mouth on its white cloth face, its hair nothing more than a cheap wig.

A calm seemed to wash over the audience, followed by a wave of nervous laughter. A few seats ahead, two girls muttered furiously in a language Vanessa didn't understand,
while, to her right, she could hear a boy's high-pitched ­giggle.

Pauline turned back around to Vanessa and sighed. ‘They do this every year, I think. This prank. It's childish, no?'

‘Yes,' Vanessa said, her heart still thudding. ‘Childish.'

‘Especially for such a prestigious competition,' Pauline said.

Onstage, Palmer Carmichael smiled at the audience. ‘Scary, eh? We all know ballet is a competitive world – some of our students like to lighten the mood before the real work begins.'

‘I don't think it's all that funny,' Justin whispered.

Vanessa couldn't help but agree with him. She listened halfheartedly as Palmer ran through a list of rules and regulations for the coming week. But all she could really think was:
If that's their idea of a joke, what else do they have in store?

After the orientation, Vanessa and Justin wandered back into the lobby along with the rest of the dancers. Jennifer, the dorm manager they'd met earlier, sat behind a table next to a man whose nametag read
Wesley
– the boys' dorm manager.

‘Form two lines,' he was saying, ‘boys and girls. Please form two lines to get your room assignments.'

‘I guess I'll see you later?' Vanessa said to Justin, who fell in behind two Polish dancers. The lobby was a bit chaotic – dan­cers and their coaches pushing every which way, rolling bags behind them and calling to one another in various languages. Vanessa felt like she was back in the airport.

‘Text me,' Justin said with a blink of his blue eyes. Vanessa couldn't help but notice that even compared to all the other dancers, Justin was still one of the most handsome guys in the competition. ‘Let's meet up in an hour?'

A girl with wavy blonde hair bumped into Vanessa's shoulder. ‘Ow,' Vanessa said, whipping herself around. ‘Excuse me.'

‘You're excused,' the girl said, then pointed to the line. ‘In or out?'

Not wanting to lose her spot, Vanessa muttered, ‘In.'

Two minutes later, still waiting, she heard a familiar voice calling out her name. ‘Oh, darling! Vanessa!'

Her mother strolled in, arm in arm with a tall blonde woman who, like her, had the posture of a former ballerina – spine straight, shoulders back. The woman must have been trained as a dancer. Either that or she was a princess.

‘Dear! You will never
guess
who I ran into!' Vanessa's mother said. ‘An old friend of mine, Rebecca Mainer.'

The blonde woman smiled, her blue eyes wide. ‘I've been hearing so much about you, Vanessa. My daughter Emilie is here competing as well!'

‘What a small world!' Vanessa's mother trilled. ‘Rebecca and I danced together at the San Francisco Ballet about a million years ago. Doesn't it feel that way?'

Rebecca nodded, then tilted her head. ‘I tell Emilie all the time – enjoy it while it lasts. Because before you know it, your knees will creak and you'll have babies, and dancing will seem like some faraway dream.'

‘That's . . . encouraging,' Vanessa managed to say as the line kept moving.

‘That's life,' her mother said. ‘Anyway, Rebecca, I am so glad you're here. Stephen can't join us until the end of the competition – he couldn't get off work, you know – so I am thrilled, absolutely thrilled, to have a friend with me.' She shifted her attention to Vanessa. ‘Dear, we're going to head back to the hotel and catch up. I'll call you later and we'll get dinner, yes?'

‘OK,' Vanessa said. ‘Have fun!'

Rebecca gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. ‘I can't wait for you to meet Emilie. I hope you two will be fast friends. Or fast enemies!' She laughed. ‘You know how we dancers can be.'

‘Do I ever!' Vanessa's mother said. ‘Goodbye, dear.'

Vanessa watched as the two of them glided across the lobby and out of the front entrance. She glanced back, trying to spot Justin, but she couldn't make him out – there were so many fewer boys than girls, and that line was moving a lot faster.

Finally she reached Jennifer, who looked exhausted but was trying to keep a positive expression on her face.

Jennifer handed Vanessa a thin packet with the name
Adler
written in black marker on the front. ‘There's a map of the school in there in case you get lost,' Jennifer said, ‘as well as your meal tickets and a schedule. Oh, and here's your key. Room 321.' She handed Vanessa a grey plastic rectangle the size of a credit card. ‘You'll be sharing a room with one other dancer, and bathrooms are on each floor.'

Great
, Vanessa thought.
A roommate
.

‘Have fun,' Jennifer said in a fake-cheery voice. ‘And good luck!'

The hallway on the girls' floor had crisp white walls, blond wood floors and warm incandescent lighting that made it feel like an extension of a dance studio. When she reached room 321, Vanessa slipped her grey key card into the lock.

Inside, the room had tall rectangular windows that looked out on to a panoramic view of the park. There were twin beds, two dressers, two desks and two closets, each equipped with a full-length mirror. Bland, but at least there was a nice view.

She closed the door behind her, seeing her suitcase resting at the foot of one of the beds. On the other side of the room sat a pile of patent leather luggage, enough for months of travel. What kind of person needed that much stuff for a seven-day trip?

Vanessa could hear voices in the hallway, girls chatting as they unpacked. She wandered across the room and quickly checked out the luggage tags.
Svetlana Chernovski.
The name was Russian, but the address was somewhere in England.

Suddenly the door opened with a bang.

‘May I help you?'

Vanessa stood up and quickly stepped away from the luggage. She turned around to see a tall girl whose features were severe, her face possessed of a timeless beauty that would have looked right at home in some old 1930s movie. Her skin was as
pale as milk, her cheekbones sharp and high, her lips a deep crimson. And then there was her hair, long piles of it – a rich, sensuous, wavy blonde.

It was the same girl who'd bumped into her in the lobby.

‘Um, no – sorry,' Vanessa said. ‘I was just trying to see who my roommate was.'

Svetlana sauntered over to her luggage and lifted one of the suitcases on to the bed. ‘Well, I trust that now you have seen your fill. Please keep your hands to yourself.' Her voice had a tinge of a Russian accent, but her English was otherwise impeccable. ‘I do not want you to steal my things.'

‘I'm not going to –' Vanessa stopped herself and decided to try a different tactic. ‘Hi. I'm Vanessa Adler. From the New York Ballet Academy.' She extended her hand. ‘I guess we're roommates.'

Svetlana studied Vanessa's hand like it was a dead fish. She didn't shake it.

‘That is nice. I hear New York is very fast-paced.'

‘Um, I suppose . . .' Vanessa said.

‘My friends call me Svetya,' the girl said. ‘But you may call me Svetlana.' Her eyes travelled over Vanessa with a glint of amusement, taking in her worn sneakers and crumpled T-shirt. Suddenly Vanessa wished she had a piece of gum or a breath mint – the roof of her mouth felt sticky and sour, and she hadn't washed her face since yesterday. Her skin felt slick and oily.

Svetya – no way was she calling her Svetlana – couldn't be much older than she was, and yet something about the way she carried herself made Vanessa feel like a child.

Vanessa suddenly missed her old roommate, TJ, more than ever. ‘OK then.' She lowered her hand and turned to her suitcase. She heard Svetya let off a quiet ‘Hmmph!' as she began fussing with her own luggage.

Everything inside Vanessa's case was a mess. Her clothes were rumpled and strewn about, but even more distressing was what was nestled on top of them: her sister's pointe shoes, their pink satin worn around the edges.

They were all she had left of her sister really – besides memories and a partial journal she'd found back in New York. When she'd put the ballet slippers on after Josef and Hilda died, almost of their own volition they'd traced out the message
I'm still here
. Which is why Vanessa had agreed to come to London in the first place. Margaret was out there somewhere, and these shoes were Vanessa's only link to her.

Before she'd left, Vanessa had carefully packed them in a silk travel bag, tucked deep within her suitcase. Who had gone through her things and left them on top? Airport security?

Vanessa picked up one shoe, the inside sole imprinted with a faded indentation in the delicate shape of her sister's foot. She traced her thumb around the stitching, remembering all the times she'd watched Margaret tie the ribbons around her ankles.

‘Those are nice,' Svetya said, craning her neck to see them.

‘Oh, thanks,' Vanessa said. ‘They were my sister's.'

‘Pretty,' Svetya said softly, as if she were surprised that Vanessa had nice things. Before Vanessa could respond, there was a knock on the door. Was it her mother? Justin?

‘Will you get that?' Svetya said. ‘I have my hands full.'

Her hands were actually empty, but Vanessa chose not to say anything. Instead she walked over to the door and opened it.

There, standing in front of her, was Enzo.

‘Hello,' he said, sweeping his black hair away from his forehead. ‘Are you unpacked yet?' His looks were exotic and his voice had a strange lilt; unlike Justin or Zep, he was clearly not an American.

Vanessa thought of her still-full suitcase. ‘Not exactly.'

‘How about you, Svetya?'

Vanessa looked from Enzo back to Svetya, who was perched on her bed. They knew each other?

‘Not yet,' Svetya said. She motioned to Vanessa. ‘I have been a bit distracted.'

‘Um, hold on a minute,' Vanessa said. ‘How do you –'

‘I'm also coaching Svetya for the competition,' Enzo said. ‘So we'll all be practising together.'

‘Great,' Vanessa said, hoping she sounded more enthusiastic than she felt. She was going to have to spend
more
time with this diva? ‘I'm glad to know Justin and I aren't on our own.'

‘Enzo was supposed to be coaching just me and Geo,' Svetya said. ‘But then he added you and your American friend at the last moment. I'm not exactly pleased.'

‘Svetya,' Enzo said in a stern voice, ‘remember what I told you – focus on your own dancing and you'll be fine.' He paused. ‘Vanessa, can we talk for a moment? Outside?'

‘Sure,' Vanessa said, placing her sister's ballet slippers back inside her suitcase and grabbing her toiletry bag, with her toothbrush inside. ‘Just give me a moment – I need to brush my teeth.'

‘Thank God,' Svetya said from across the room. ‘I could smell your breath from here.'

Five minutes later and her breath smelling – she hoped – fresher, Vanessa stepped into the hallway just outside the door to her room. Enzo was leaning against the wall, his hands stuffed into his pockets. His eyes were closed, as if he was in deep meditation. He was handsome in a dark, brooding way, Vanessa decided. The sort of looks her sister used to get moony about.

Vanessa cleared her throat. Enzo's eyelids fluttered open and he stared at her, his irises almost black.

‘All clean?' he said.

‘Something like that,' Vanessa replied.

He slipped one of his hands out of his front pocket, and with it a thin box of green Tic Tacs. ‘That's why I always keep these with me.' He popped a few into his mouth. ‘But enough oral hygiene.' He peered down the hallway – it had mostly emptied out from a few minutes earlier. Vanessa supposed all the girls were inside their rooms, unpacking, getting to know their roommates, who were probably much friendlier than Svetya.