Dance of Shadows (22 page)

Zep’s eyes seemed dull as he stared down at her.

“I was. Until last night, I mean. They sent me back after dinner.”

“Now lift,” Josef said to Vanessa. “Slowly, as if you’re a coil of smoke.”

Zep had been in his room?

“Higher!” Josef said. “And release, two-three, one-two-three.”

Vanessa struggled to keep up with Josef’s counting. She knew the steps, but today it was as if the beat were at odds with her body, trying to shake her from completing the dance. Still, she pressed on, Zep gliding smoothly beside her.

“Did you hear me knock on the door?” she breathed when he lowered himself over her.

He hesitated, his hair dangling over her forehead. “No.”

Vanessa let her body sink backward into a languid dip.

“Yes!” Josef said. “Beautiful! You are nothing. You are a wisp of smoke curling into oblivion!”

For a moment, it felt true.

“What about my text from the other day? Did you get it?”

Zep gave her a guilty look. “Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t respond. I should have tried to get in touch with you earlier,” he said. “I was just really distracted.”

Vanessa felt his hand slide up her leg as she extended it into an arabesque.

“Too stiff!” Josef said. “Too slow! The rhythm is changing. You must change with it.”

Vanessa’s body grew tight. “Distracted? By what? I thought you said you were sick.”

She waited for Zep to answer, but he only looked surprised to have been caught in a lie.

Horrified, she pushed away from Zep. She was off the beat, but she couldn’t help it. Her eyes stung and her face felt hot, so hot that it might burn up.

“Keep in line!” Josef shouted, circling her. “Control your body! Straighten your legs. Count with me. One-two, one-two, two-three-four, two-three-four …”

Vanessa resumed her position, but the rhythm kept confusing her legs, making them go faster, then incredibly slowly, in a switch so abrupt that it felt as if her body were being thrown about the room by a blustery wind.
The dance doesn’t want to be performed
, she thought. It wanted to be unconquered.

“Non!”
Josef said, shaking his head. “Stop thinking and let your body take over!”

Her muscles burned. She wanted to please Josef, but it was useless. She lifted herself up and balanced
en pointe
, her weight pressing down through her bones until her legs trembled and her feet ached. She could feel Zep behind her, could smell the sweet fragrance of his sweat.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I want to make it right.”

She closed her eyes, feeling his fingers graze her back, and went rigid.

“Non!”
Josef’s voice was so loud that it halted everything in the room.
“Non, non, non.”

He strode toward Vanessa, who stepped out of position, her feet throbbing in pain. Without warning, he rapped his staff against the back of her thighs, shocking them into position. “Straight!” he shouted, and pressed his hand to her back, pushing it erect.
“Comme ça,”
he said coldly, and positioned her arms above her head.

She must have cringed, because he seemed to see the fear in her eyes and released her, his expression softening.

“Something is bothering you,” Josef said, studying her face.

Unable to help herself, Vanessa gazed up at the figures on the wall.

“You are distracted by the decorations? They are for another performance. Don’t worry about them.”

Vanessa shook her head.

“Then tell me,” Josef demanded.

She looked up at Josef. “Why do you think I can perform this dance when no one else could?” Even her sister ran away before she had to perform it, she wanted to say, but didn’t.

Josef stepped back, surprised. “Is that what you are worried about?” He laughed. “Vanessa, I chose you to be the Firebird because I’ve never seen anyone dance like you do.” He walked around her, his eyes traveling over her legs, her arms, her neck, as if she were a statue carved out of marble. “I gaze at you,” he said, his voice so intimate it made Vanessa tremble, “and the rest of the world melts away.”

With a swift motion, he pulled her close to him. “Let me show you.”

He placed his hand on her ribs and guided her across the room, away from Zep. Her skin quivered, his body warm and hard against her back. “Shh,” he told her. “Not so stiff.”

She swallowed and tried to make her body relax.

“You are trying to count the beat. To memorize it,” he said. “But that won’t work. Let the time push you forward. Let it weigh you down, feel its tedious thumping in your chest.” With that, he let go of her arms and watched as she danced, the color filling her cheeks until she felt the heat pulse through her veins.
Alive
, she thought.
I am alive
.

Josef paused, studying her. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Should we try again, then?”

Vanessa gave him a timid smile. Maybe Josef was right. Maybe she could do it.

“Bon,”
he said, and turned to the rest of the dancers. “From the beginning.”

Raising her head high, she walked toward Zep, who put his hand on her waist. “Let’s start over,” he whispered. And then the dance began again.

Another week passed, and while Vanessa improved, she was not able to duplicate her one early success with
La Danse du Feu
. Josef would shout, and all of his kind words melted away, his compliments replaced by counting, always counting, the rhythm fighting her, trying to get her to quit. Day after day, she barely managed to finish the steps, her feet stumbling over Zep’s in a confused jumble, her legs still tender from the day before. The princesses sneered, their own steps simpler versions of hers.

Josef lashed at out at Zep, too, his narrow eyes scouring Vanessa and him while he made them repeat their steps over and over. Every so often, he would lurch in and correct the angle of Vanessa’s leg, the position of her waist beneath Zep’s hands, the crest of her neck. Vanessa was so involved in her own dancing that she never noticed the mistakes Zep had made. Was it her fault? Were her errors making Zep stumble too?

All she knew was that Josef was deeply dissatisfied, and not just with her. That much was clear at the end of every rehearsal, when he called Zep to stay late and practice. Every night, Zep threw a towel over his shoulder and gazed back at her, his shirt damp with sweat, his eyes exhausted and vulnerable.
Stay with me
, they seemed to say, but Vanessa couldn’t. Why was Josef so upset with Zep, and why hadn’t he asked her to rehearse after hours too?

The regular
Firebird
rehearsals were going fine; it was the afternoon sessions—when they practiced the strange dance—that she struggled with. She wanted to talk to Zep, but every afternoon Josef called him over as the dancers were filing out, before Vanessa could even say good-bye. Finally, on Friday afternoon, she worked up the courage to ask him out. “Would you want to get dinner with me tonight?” she whispered in the middle of the dance.

Zep gripped her waist. “I would love that.”

Vanessa smiled to herself, and they finished the sequence in silence.

At the end of rehearsal, Vanessa gathered her things and waited for Zep by the door. But before he approached, Josef’s voice rang out over the studio. “Zeppelin. Wait for me in my office. We have work to do.”

Vanessa felt something inside her collapse. Zep’s gaze met hers in what seemed like an apology, as Josef came up behind her and swept her into the hall. “I want to talk to you about your practice schedule,” he said, pulling her into the shadows.

Vanessa tried not to wince as he grasped the inside of her arm, where a collection of yellowing bruises still lingered. “Okay,” she said, gripping her bag.

“The performance is upon us soon, and I want to make sure you’re taking it as seriously as the rest of us.”

Vanessa frowned. “Of course I am.”

Josef examined her, looking concerned. “Yes, but you are not getting better. Are you practicing after classes?”

Vanessa shifted her weight. “Well, sort of.”

Josef’s face hardened. “That is not enough. If you want to be a professional ballerina, you must act like one. By Monday, if you haven’t improved, I will be forced to make changes.”

Vanessa felt the color leave her face. Before she could respond, the door opened and the rest of the dancers spilled out into the hallway. Josef backed into the crowd and gave her a solemn look.

“I’ll do better,” she called after him, and then turned back to the studio to look for Zep. But to her dismay, he was already gone.

Lincoln Center Plaza was lonely when she stepped outside, the chilly night air biting into her cardigan. Across the plaza, she could hear Anna and the other princesses, their laughter echoing off the tall buildings. Without thinking, she turned and headed toward Broadway.

The night air blew in a brittle swirl, stirring the leaves on the sidewalk around Vanessa’s ankles. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she needed to be alone, if only for a moment. Across the street, the long glass panes of Lincoln Center glowed a buttery yellow. She saw silhouettes against the glass—two people kissing, a mother and child licking ice-cream cones, an elderly couple sitting on the edge of the fountain, holding hands. The traffic light turned red. Vanessa waited beneath a streetlamp and watched the figures move as if part of a gentle, meandering dance.

And then, out of the corner of her eye, something else moved. Vanessa glanced over her shoulder, but there was no one else around, only a tall stone building swallowed by
darkness. Ignoring it, she turned back to the street when she saw it again—something shifting in the night. This time she was sure it was real. She pretended to check her bag and glanced behind her, only to see a shadow detach itself from the building.

The figure came up quickly, its looming shape stalking directly toward her. It looked like a man, but she couldn’t tell, and she didn’t want to find out.

She didn’t wait for the light to change; after making sure no cars were coming, she hurried across the street. For a moment she thought she was wrong, that no one was actually following her, that it was just the darkness acting upon her imagination. She stopped at the edge of the plaza, catching her breath, when she heard a car horn. Then footsteps.

A second later and she wouldn’t have seen him. The shadow that had terrified her was Justin, passing beneath a streetlamp, the Fratelli twins on his heels. Vanessa tucked herself into a crevice on the side of a building and waited.

They walked toward her, stopping just feet away from her hiding spot. Why were they following her? As if sensing her thoughts, Justin turned. His face was furrowed in a scowl, his lids heavy and dark, as he and the twins moved away.

Vanessa pressed herself closer to the wall and held her breath. She glanced across Lincoln Center Plaza, hoping that if he did find her, someone would hear her scream. But all the people seemed to have left. The sidewalk was, for the moment, deserted.

Not sure why she was so frightened, she ran along the
border of Lincoln Center, staying close to the buildings, until she reached the glass doors of the New York City Ballet. A security guard stood inside. Taking one last look over her shoulder, she flashed him her pass.

“Has anyone else come in tonight?” she asked.

“No, ma’am,” he said.

Vanessa let out a breath, relieved that Justin and the twins didn’t seem to know where she was heading.

The guard asked, “Is everything all right, miss?”

She met his gaze. His kind, droopy eyes seemed safe, and for a moment, she wanted to tell him. But what? That three of her classmates had followed her? She didn’t even know why she’d hidden from Justin and the twins, or why the look on Justin’s face had frightened her so much.

“Miss?”

“I’m fine,” she said, trying to sound normal. Her hands were trembling, and she stuffed them into her pockets.

“How late are you here?” she asked.

“All night.” He paused. “Are you sure everything is okay?”

Vanessa nodded.

The guard tipped his hat and waved her through.

The basement studio was dark and still, almost peaceful. It was hard to believe that it was the same room she had rehearsed in, morning and afternoon, every day this week.