The Dance (15 page)

“We couldn't bring that necklace, Mr. Cohen,” Seth said. “Sorry. We have this one instead—lapis.” Seth took out the small white box and lifted the lid. Hank's medallion rested on a soft bed of cotton. “We know there are seven necklaces in all, each with a different animal on the back, each with a different stone. There is a dance teacher in Bellponte who has given each of her seven dancers a medallion. This woman also runs an antique shop, so she could have acquired the jewelry through that source.”

Cohen's hand shook as he reached for the piece. Was it palsy or excitement? Bryan wondered. Obviously he was fascinated. He studied the necklace carefully, used an eyepiece to look closer, turned it over and over, all the while mumbling to himself. “Hum, hum, yes, indeed,” and some other words Bryan either didn't hear right or didn't understand as they were in another language.

Seth glanced at Bryan, both trying to be patient. Finally he could wait no longer. “Well, what do you think?”

“I think, young man, that this is possibly the oldest piece of jewelry I have ever held in my hand. I think it is so old, I wonder how you could possibly have it.”

“How old?” Bryan wanted specifics.

“I'd have to spend more time.” Cohen shook his head, perhaps in disbelief. “Centuries.”

“Not years? Centuries?”

“Fifteen hundred, perhaps, perhaps older. You say there are seven medallions, all different? How I should like to see them all. But the fact that there are seven makes me worry.”

“About what?” Bryan took Cohen's bony arm. “Why?”

The old man stared at Bryan. “You say you have something else?” He turned his attention to the ballet bag.

“Yes, this was unexpected, and we have to get it and the medallion back to Bellponte as soon as possible,” Seth explained, lifting the bag onto Cohen's paper-littered desk.

Seth held the bottom of the bag while Bryan reached in and hefted the huge, musty-smelling book out.

“Oy vey!
” Cohen stared, then reached out a trembling hand to gently brush the cover.

Bryan and Seth stared at the book, which was larger than an unabridged dictionary but with fewer pages. The pages, when Cohen carefully opened the cover, were thick, bumpy, as if the paper was handmade. He turned them one by one, while all three stared at the hand-lettered script, some as dark as the day it was written, some faded to a pale, spidery scrawl.

“Say something, Mr. Cohen,” begged Bryan. “What is this?”

“Oh!
” Cohen shook his head, his cheeks even more pale and gaunt than when they'd first seen him. He ran one hand through his thick, gray hair. “I did not think it possible.”

“What? Please, talk to us.” Bryan was about to lose his patience. His insides felt squirmy, apprehensive. Maybe he didn't want to know what this was.

Finally Maurice Cohen chose to speak. “This book, if it is authentic, and it certainly looks real, is so old, it dates back to around 1480
A.D
., that experts have disagreed for years about its existence. Part of the book has been reproduced.” Cohen left them, but quickly returned with a much smaller book, one obviously old as well. “This is called
The Book of Rosalynn
.” He opened it and paged through it until he found the passage he seemed to be looking for, then read with a strong voice.

This from Lamiaza I have derived: The maidens of the chosen, whose number is in accordance with Lamia, who is also called Lilith, is to be seven. For at the mark of five hundred years, the cycle is again accomplished.

“What does that mean?” Bryan asked, totally confused now. “Lilith. Who is that?”

Seth explained. “Lilith, according to Jewish folklore, was the first wife of Adam.”

“First wife? What happened to her?”

“She wasn't very cooperative,” Maurice Cohen gave them a rare smile. “She was cast out of the garden, which did not make her happy, of course. She joined the fallen angels to become a female demon.”

“I think what Bryan and I both want to know, Mr. Cohen, is what you think this might have to do with our friends in Bellponte.”

“You may not believe—”

Bryan interrupted. “Tell us anyway.”

“There is an obscure legend—supported in part by the text I read you from Rosalynn—that every five hundred years seven of the fallen angels are allowed to return to earth for one night.”

“And?” Seth prompted.

“At this time they will dance the night through with seven beautiful young women. In order not to frighten these dancers, the demons will take the form of seven beautiful young men.”

“Seven …” Bryan tried not to feel he was hearing some kind of supernatural, B-movie plot. He looked at Seth.

“Is that all of the legend, Mr. Cohen?” Seth asked.

“A beautiful woman organizes and leads the evening of dancing. She is believed to be either a descendent or a reincarnation of Lilith.”

“Madame Leona Turva,” Bryan whispered. “It's not possible. I don't believe this.”

Seth stared at Maurice Cohen. “Do you believe this, Mr. Cohen? Is this possible?”

“When you have lived as long as I have, Seth Rubens, you know that anything is possible. It has nothing to do with whether or not I believe it or you believe it.”

“I need to say this out loud.” Bryan swallowed. “You think that Leona Turva is preparing the seven dancers in her ballet to dance with these seven demons when they—This is ridiculous! I don't believe this. Come on, Seth. Nothing like this happens in real life.”

“A talisman like this”—Mr. Cohen held out Hank's medallion—“combined with the mind power of a strong woman—”

“Melanie certainly seems to be under some kind of spell, Bryan. You said it first. Think about Hank's story about when Mel took off the medallion. She's not herself.”

“There are cults in this country. There are pockets of demonology, of witchcraft at work.” Maurice Cohen closed
The Book of Rosalynn
. He returned his attention to
The Book of Raziel
. “This woman you speak of—how did she obtain this book? It is not the type of thing that circulates through antique stores. It is one of a kind—it belongs in a museum.”

“We have to return it.” Seth picked up the book and placed it back into the ballet bag, which Cohen held open reluctantly.

Bryan fought an irrational hysteria. He clutched the front of Maurice Cohen's suit coat. “Do
you
believe this, Mr. Cohen? You have to tell me the truth.”

Cohen pulled back, uncomfortable with being put on the spot. “There is one more thing for you to believe or not believe, young man.”

“What?” Brad demanded. “What else could there possibly be?”

Cohen peeled Bryan's fingers off his coat and stepped back before he spoke. “The legend also says that this evening of dancing usually comes to a climax with the sacrifice of one of the women dancers.”

sixteen

N
EITHER
S
ETH NOR
Bryan spoke, except to tell the cabbie their destination, until they were on the train back to Bellponte.

Bryan first tried to laugh off their experience now that they were back in the sunshine, which did little to warm the day. “Well, that was some story, wasn't it? You wanted some facts, some concrete evidence. What do you think now?”

Seth, usually the joker, was not in a laughing mood. “Maurice Cohen taught ancient history at the university for years before he retired and opened this shop. He's a scholar, Bryan.”

“That doesn't mean he's without superstitions. He can't really believe all that stuff he told us.”

“But he did, Bryan, and I—I do, too.”

“That's ridiculous. There are no witches or demons—that's just mythology.”

“But you believe there were back in some remote piece of history?”

“I doubt it. Witches were just poor women who happened to hold beliefs that were a little different. If I didn't like someone, I could call her a witch. Then a crowd would get hysterical and burn her just in case such a thing existed.”

They both stared out the window for a few miles. “Then you aren't going to tell Melanie what we found out?” Seth asked.

“I'll tell her, sure. If I get a chance. I'm sure she'll laugh about it, too. This doesn't mean I'm on Leona's side now. I do think she has some kind of hold on those seven women. Maybe she has them hypnotized, or drugged, or just brain washed. I'll still ask Melanie to get out of the troupe, but I know she won't do it this close to the recital and performance.”

“Where did Leona get this book?” Seth asked, indicating the heavy bag he'd set between his feet.

“How should I know. Maybe it was passed down in her family from generation to generation, even for five hundred years. That kind of thing happens.”

Seth stopped arguing. Bryan stopped thinking. Tried to, that is. What he'd been given to think about was so farfetched, so unreasonable, it was hard not to think about it. But it was harder still to believe.

It was a little after three o'clock when they got to Bellponte and hurried through the darkening afternoon to Bryan's car. The sky was the color of pewter, turning piles of old snow gray and dirty blue. Clouds were heavy with new moisture. Bryan felt heavy, unreasonably tired, weighed down with something he didn't understand.

They found a parking place near the theater and hurried into the Blue Princess, Bryan lugging the heavy book, Hank's medallion tucked into Seth's inside coat pocket. Bryan knew that no matter where this book came from, Leona would not be pleased that they had taken it out of the studio. He hoped for good luck with getting it back into Madame Turva's office.

Almost at the door of the ballet studio Albert Brandish stopped them. “You boys got business in there?”

Bryan was startled, his concentration on their task. “Our—we're picking up two friends. Surely they're through rehearsing by now.”

“We got tired of waiting out front,” Seth added. “It's getting ready to drop a ton of snow again.”

“I've got orders to keep everyone out except dancers.” The man was the Incredible Hulk in overalls. If he wanted to keep them out, he could.

“Can we wait in the lobby of the theater?” Bryan asked. This must be the custodian that Melanie mentioned. Surely he couldn't keep them out of the theater, even though there was no show scheduled for tonight.

“I guess so.” Brandish spotted the ballet bag. “Want me to take something into the studio for you?”

“No. No.” Bryan hugged the bag tighter. “My friend will come and get it when she's finished.”

Hank, still in her leotard, was the one who came looking for them. “There you are. Finally,” she whispered, looking back down the stairs. “I got a thousand demerits and a lecture for forgetting my medallion. I think if Leona finds this book gone, she might explode. She's been the very devil to work with today.”

“Don't say that.” Seth hugged Hank and lifted the book into her arms. “What can we do to help you put this back? Yell fire from out here? Get everyone's attention?”

“Something. Why don't you go back downstairs with me? I've noticed that Leona hates it when anyone comes in the school who's not a dancer. If she comes to throw you out, I'll have a few seconds to slip this book back into the drawer where I found it.”

“The custodian was standing guard.” Seth looked around. “But I don't see him right now. Come on.”

The three pounded down the steps and into the heated air of the ballet school. All the classes were getting out, so there was enough confusion for Hank to accomplish her job, they hoped.

Bryan made sure. He and Seth stepped inside Leona's domain. “Melanie, there you are!” He acted as if he'd been looking for her for a long time. And he was glad to see her, even though Nicol was with her and shot blue steel daggers his way.

“Bryan? What are you doing here?” Melanie was clearly surprised to see them.

“Ignore him, Melanie.” Nicol took her arm.

“I need to talk to you, Mel.” Bryan walked closer.

“She doesn't want to talk to you, Bryan,” Nicol said, tugging Melanie toward the dressing rooms.

“Would you let her make her own decisions, Nicol? Maybe she'd like to talk to me. You've interfered enough.”

Someone must have gone for Madame Leona. She hurried into the scene, walking between two dancers, each incredibly beautiful and older looking than Hank and Melanie. These must be the other two “witches” that Hank and Melanie had mentioned. Leona's helpers.

“No one belongs in here except dancers.” Leona Turva stared at Bryan, making him feel more than slightly intimidated. Her dark eyes pierced him like a pin through a captured insect. He felt her power, the aura of someone used to having her way. “I asked Brandish to keep visitors out.”

“I came to pick up Melanie.” Bryan found his voice. “It's going to storm.”

“We'll get her home.” Nicol stepped in front of Melanie.

Bryan saw Melanie hesitate just enough. He pushed Nicol slightly and took Melanie's arm.

Hank ran to them, mission accomplished. “I'll get our coats. Meet you in the lobby, guys.”

Seth stepped up and took Melanie's other arm. Bryan actually felt they were kidnapping her as they practically dragged her up the steps and into the lobby.

As soon as she was over her surprise, Melanie started to protest. “I need to shower. I'm not sure I want to go with you.”

“Please don't make a fuss, Melanie. No matter how you feel. I
must
talk to you.” Bryan's voice was as firm as he could make it.

Melanie shook her head to clear it. She had come straight from the spell of the dance to the confrontation with Bryan. She was tired, so tired. Grasping the medallion that had escaped the front of her leotard, she held it as if it would give her strength, or help her think. It pulsed, warm in her fist, and she did feel better clutching it tightly.