Dance of Shadows (23 page)

Vanessa dragged her hand over the figures on the wall, feeling the smooth paint where their faces would be and
trying to imagine their expressions. For a second the wall felt warm, as if she were touching not paint, but the cheek of a flesh-and-blood girl. But as quickly as it came, the feeling vanished. Vanessa recoiled, frightened. What was happening to her?

Soon she found herself just inches away from the burned circle in the center of the floor. It was fainter than it had been before
Firebird
rehearsals started. She slipped on her pointe shoes and traced the black mark with her toe. Vanessa knew the circle had to be nothing more than a place marker for the dancers, but as she bent down to touch it, it felt like real ash, as if there had actually been a fire here.

But no, that was impossible, Vanessa decided, and shook off the thought.

She unbuttoned her cardigan and tossed it aside. Standing next to the mark, she arranged herself in fourth position and tried to remember the odd rhythm of Josef’s clapping. But all she could hear was his voice, barking in her ear, the other girls gossiping, and Zep’s breathing, loud and frustrated, when she stumbled. She could almost smell the coffee on Josef’s breath as he circled her, raising her leg, straightening her spine, adjusting the angle of her arm. She could see the disappointment on Zep’s face when he turned away from her, leaving class without even saying good-bye.

Pressing her hands to her ears, Vanessa stepped back. Slowly, she opened her eyes, almost comforted by the white figures on the wall, watching over her.

Vanessa’s gaze rested on one that looked particularly
similar to her sister. The narrow crest of her nose, the thin, upward line of her neck, as if she were raising her face to the sun.

“You’re the one who’s supposed to be here,” Vanessa said to her, exasperated. “So why aren’t you?”

But the white figure said nothing; she just remained straight and still, balancing on one toe.

Copying the figure’s pose, Vanessa lofted herself upward, extending her chin toward the ceiling. Her shadow stretched across the wooden floor, an exact replica of the white dancer on the wall. Vanessa turned to the next girl, whose leg was arched into an
attitude en pointe
. Moving slowly, Vanessa copied her too, and when her shadow mimicked the second figure on the wall, she realized she knew these poses. They were the steps to
La Danse du Feu
. When there was a gap, she filled it in from memory, remembering the changing meter.

Soon she was dancing. She didn’t have to look at the figures or think about the rhythm. She didn’t have to think at all. Instead, she let her body go, allowing her legs to move through the air as if each step were fated, inevitable.

She glanced at the floor, at her shadow as she leaped across the room. Slowly, her surroundings faded away. The lights above her seemed to grow dim, the floor swaying beneath her feet, threatening to make her collapse once again.

But this time Vanessa didn’t fall. She caught herself just in time, and spread her arms wide, balancing on one delicate toe.

Breathless, she twirled her arms, turning in a fouetté, when something caught her attention.

The white figures on the walls around her had brightened, their outlines bursting with light, like thin seams. Dizzy and disoriented, Vanessa blinked. Still, she kept dancing as they began to move, detaching themselves from the wall, following her. They were transparent, glowing, as if written in hazy light.

Startled, Vanessa stopped, and the figures dissipated like a handful of settling dust.

She stood impossibly still, gazing at the air around her. Were they real? Or was she seeing things? She wiped her forehead and blew a wisp of hair out of her face. The room was empty, the figures frozen on the wall.

Placing her legs back in position, she lifted an arm above her head and started the dance where she had left off. Again the figures peeled themselves from the walls and circled her, copying her motions. This time, they were brighter, clearer, their hazy outlines hardening into arms, legs, fingers. Vanessa could see their eyes, their noses, their brows, their lips—all iridescent, yet clearly formed.

Enraptured, Vanessa watched them, their limbs moving in tandem with hers like a reflection. She studied their faces, trying to figure out who they were and why they were mimicking her, when she realized that their newly defined expressions were all the same.

Vanessa lifted herself into a pirouette, her gaze traveling from one figure to the next. Each of their lips were parted, as if in surprise, their eyes open wide with terror.

The dance was almost over. Unable to stop, Vanessa moved faster, twirling in a heat of ecstasy until the figures began to
fade away from her, blurring back into the wall, all except one. The slender girl with a narrow nose like Margaret’s glowed so brightly that Vanessa could barely look at her. All she could see was the outline of the girl’s legs, moving in pace with her own, the radiant trail that the girl’s arms left, her fingertips almost touching Vanessa’s.

She was so close that Vanessa could feel the heat emanating from the girl’s body. Or was it her own? She couldn’t tell anymore. The floor beneath her felt hot, but Vanessa couldn’t stop now. She was almost there, almost done. Her chest heaved.

The air grew hot, thick. Vanessa gasped. Her head began to spin, and her legs felt weak, until, unable to catch herself, Vanessa stumbled out of step. The figure beside her froze, her face twisted with terror. Vanessa watched, horrified, as the girl jerked left, then right, her body bending like rays of light refracting off a mirror. The glare engulfed the ceiling. Vanessa covered her face. The last thing she saw was the outline of the girl’s lips, pursed open as her figure ripped into a blinding curse of light, the rays streaming from her mouth like a scream.

Vanessa couldn’t remember what happened next.

Only that the door burst open, and suddenly she was swept up in two strong arms and carried outside, through the cool autumn night, across the plaza and into another building. Vanessa blinked, staring at the heavy, darkened chandeliers of the NYBA dining hall. Someone laid her gently on a table, and she saw a broad back disappearing into the shadows by the kitchen. Who was it? And what had happened to her? She had a vague recollection of dancing, of shapes and outlines of light.

A light was turned on in the distance. She lifted her head and tried to call out, but her mouth was as dry as cotton, her back stiff and sore, her hair matted to the base of her neck with sweat.

She heard footsteps returning, and someone placed a mug
next to her cheek, the smell of warm chamomile tea shaking her alert. She looked up to see a pair of kind, familiar eyes.

“Zep?”

He brushed the hair away from her face, and placed a wet cloth on her forehead. “Vanessa.” His deep voice soothed her.

“What? You? How?” Vanessa fumbled, overwhelmed.

“You collapsed in the practice room.” His dark hair fell over his forehead as he bent over her, removing her toe shoes. He gave her a curious look. “What happened?”

Vanessa curled her toes under his touch. Had Zep actually found her and carried her here? It was so surreal that she couldn’t believe it. Just hours before, he’d left the studio without saying a word to her. Why had he come to the basement dance studio? Had he followed her there to apologize? Suddenly, she saw a flash of light in her mind, and the memories came tumbling back.

“They came to life,” she said, thinking of the white figures. “The dancers on the walls. I was dancing when they started to glow, then they peeled themselves off the walls and copied me. And—”

Vanessa closed her eyes and thought of the girl who had stayed with her, the girl who looked like Margaret. Thinking of the terror in her eyes, Vanessa shivered.

She opened her eyes. “I need to go back. I need to find out who those girls were.”

Zep put his hand on hers. “Can’t that wait?” he asked, his face concerned. “I think you need to rest.”

Vanessa shook her head. “I never finished the dance, which
is probably why …” She paused, trying to find the right words to describe what she had seen. “Why she burst into a ray of light. She was following me for a reason. I need to know.”

“A girl? Bursting into a ray of light?” Zep said. He clearly didn’t believe her.

“I saw her,” Vanessa insisted. “It was real.”

“I don’t doubt that you saw something, but maybe it was just a trick of the light. You’ve been working so hard these past few weeks. You were exhausted, maybe dehydrated.”

Vanessa swallowed, her mouth still dry. She had to admit that he was right, but she also knew what she had seen, and it was real.

“All I’m asking is that you wait. If you want to be the best dancer you can be, you have to know when to let yourself rest. Whatever it was that you saw will probably still be there tomorrow.”

Vanessa felt herself blush as he curled his fingers around hers. “Right,” she said softly, her heart melting as he played with the thin strap of her leotard. The soft light from the kitchen revealed the stubble on his cheek, the bridge of his nose, the arch of his eyebrow, the hollow of this throat. All so perfect.

He handed her the cup of tea. “Drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”

She sat up and sipped, letting the liquid warm her. “How did you find me?”

Zep hesitated, then gave her an embarrassed smile. “This may sound strange,” he said, his fingers tracing the inside of her forearm, “but after I got out of my meeting with Josef, I
came looking for you. I saw you heading there, and followed. I’m sorry we haven’t had a chance to talk all week. It’s Josef. He barely leaves me alone.”

His gaze was so intent that Vanessa found herself unable to meet it.

“Why are you so distant?”

“It’s this dance.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “This whole place. I’m under so much pressure. You have no idea.”

“It’s hard for me too—”

But Zep cut her off. “No, you don’t understand,” he said softly.

His words hurt her, but she resisted the urge to pull away. “So help me understand.”

Zep shook his head and looked up at her. “I—I can’t.”

“Why?” Vanessa said. “If you’re worried about me thinking less of you, or telling someone your secrets, you don’t have to. If anything, I’m the one with the past.”

Zep waited for her to continue, but she didn’t know what else to say. Should she tell him about seeing Margaret’s figure in the basement practice room, about her suspicions that something stranger was going on than girls just dropping out? Or would he think she was crazy?

“It doesn’t matter,” she finally said. “The reality is that I’m here now, just like you. Right?” She looked at Zep, hoping he would open up to her, but he remained silent. “I feel like we never get a chance to see each other,” Vanessa said. “Josef keeps pulling you aside after class … and then you just vanish. Are you trying to avoid me?”

“Is that what you think?” Zep grazed his hand down the side of her cheek, his touch making something come alive within her. “Of course I’m not trying to avoid you.”

“Then why does it feel like you don’t want to see me?”

Zep touched a strand of her hair, letting it fall from his fingers. “It’s not you. I’m just preoccupied …” He let his voice trail off. “Remember when I asked you if you trusted me?”

Vanessa nodded.

“Do you trust me now?”

“Yes.”

“Then trust me on this. It’s my problem and no one else’s.”

“Does it have anything to do with what Justin said in the library? Something about the kind of dancer you were, and how you should tell me yourself?”

“Justin?” Zep said. “I can’t remember what he was talking about that day, but I’m sure it was something he invented. He loves to hear the sound of his own voice.”

“That’s true,” Vanessa said with a laugh.

Zep traced shapes on her palm. “Still, I think you should stay away from him.”

“Why?”

Zep hesitated. “He likes you.”

Vanessa laughed. “Justin? He doesn’t like me. We’re practically enemies.”

But Zep didn’t smile. “Haven’t you noticed the way he looks at you? I don’t want anyone making eyes at my girl.”

“Making eyes at your girl?” Vanessa teased, but really she could barely believe it. Zep nodded, closing his hand around
hers, and they sat like that, whispering to each other into the early morning hours, until her eyelids grew heavy and she fell asleep on his shoulder.

When she woke, he was carrying her up the stairs to her dorm room, cradling her head against his chest.

“Vanessa,” he said when they reached her door. He set her down, guiding her toward him.

“Zep,” she said, savoring the taste of his name. “Zep.”

His lips were soft and warm when they touched hers. She fell into him, feeling him bury his hands in her hair, lingering as if he didn’t want to let go. “I wish I didn’t have to say goodbye.” He ran his hand down her back.

Vanessa wanted to collapse in his arms, to let him scoop her up and carry her off. But instead she pulled away. “So don’t,” she said, smiling. “Just say good night.”