The Dance (17 page)

The weeks had been filled with hard work, making time fly. During every pause to catch her breath, she thought of what Bryan and Seth had discovered on their trip to the city, of their idea that sometime, in the future, Madame Leona had a secret performance planned. Every day Bryan asked her if she was all right. His hovering over her, her mother hovering over her, was getting old.

When they weren't dancing, Melanie watched Leona Turva. She watched Frau Voska. They seemed perfectly normal, worrying only about form, about perfection, about the recital.

Once, she and Hank had discussed the legend in whispers after rehearsal, trying to laugh at the story the guys had tried to get them to buy. Demons, witchcraft, talismans with power, Leona with super powers—all of it was ridiculous to think about in this century. In any century. Melanie smiled again while she dressed for the big night. Granted, the medallions did have some kind of power, or Leona did, when they were wearing them. She hadn't forgotten the night—the week, actually—of withdrawal, but since she had no logical explanation for it, she put it behind her.

Laurie Roberts insisted on picking her up every day and again tonight. Melanie saw no harm in that, and certainly tonight she didn't want her mother, or even Bryan and Seth, hanging around for a couple of hours before the performance. Katherine was nervous enough. Since Monday, her lapse of energy, the night of dark dreams, her mother had almost driven her crazy with her worrying.

“This is it, guys,” Melanie said, getting into the car. And then she didn't try to visit with Laurie and Jean on the way over to the studio. Both seemed subdued, probably as nervous as she was. She skipped out as soon as they found a parking space near the theater. The last storm had passed. The week had been fair, warming up enough so they weren't always frozen by the time they got to the studio. “Thanks for the ride, Laurie. No way did I want my mom here early.”

Laurie laughed. “I know what you mean. My parents are both being impossible. And my dad doesn't understand my complete dedication to tonight's performance.”

“My mom does, but that still doesn't help.”

There was a holiday atmosphere at the studio. Everyone was excited, full of energy, smiling nervously or warming up alone.

Melanie was a mixture of all that. But as soon as they were dressed, Frau Voska rapped on the lockers with her stick.

“All right, ladies. Madame Leona wants you in her studio for warm-ups as soon as you have your makeup on. Hurry now. No dawdling.”

“Is it possible,” whispered Hank, radiant in her ice-blue dress, “that Vodka is a bit excited herself?”

“Anything is possible tonight,” Melanie whispered back. “Anything,” she repeated to herself. As long as she stopped shaking like a willow in the winter wind.

Bryan picked up Seth an hour before the performance.

“What are we going to do with all this spare time?” Seth asked.

“By the time we get there, park, walk inside, there won't be much left. We want to sit close.” Bryan found he was shivering, and it wasn't very cold tonight.

He wanted this night over with, he realized. Seeing Melanie in the ballet would be special, but nothing mattered except making sure she was all right, that she stayed safe. He knew he was being irrational, but he didn't care.

“Think we can talk Mel and Hank into letting us take them home?” Bryan asked.

“I have no idea. I've hardly talked to Hank all week except for picking her up and taking her home.”

“Melanie's acting like a high-strung race horse.”

“They're ar-teests.” Seth tried to calm their nerves.

“Yeah, who wants to go out with a couple of guys preaching demons and bad luck? I don't blame either of them for not talking to us.” Bryan tried to laugh at himself at the ideas they brought back from the city.

“But I think if—if there is going to be another performance after this one, it'll be tonight, don't you?” Seth said. “It would seem logical. Leona will have her dancers here and ready.” Bryan didn't respond, but Seth sensed an unspoken agreement.

After driving almost to downtown in silence, Seth spoke one more time. “Are you as scared as I am, Dorsey?”

“Yes. I know it's crazy, but I just want this night over with.” Bryan didn't even want Seth to know how scared he was. He hadn't been able to eat and now his stomach rumbled. His hands sweated on the steering wheel.

“Tomorrow we'll be laughing at ourselves,” Seth added.

Leona Turva had rented the rest of the theater building for the dance night, so the recital was being held in the theater proper. Seth and Bryan were early enough to get a table near the stage, but the place was starting to buzz with parents and friends wanting a good seat.

“Mrs. Clark,” called Bryan. He wasn't sure he wanted Melanie's mother to sit with them, but she was alone and looked nervous. “Find a chair and sit with us.”

Katherine Clark stared at Bryan as if she didn't know who he was. Finally she flashed a very artificial smile and shook her head. “I need to sit alone. Thanks.”

Seth smiled. “You tried, Dorsey. Good guys always lose with jealous mothers. Didn't you know that?”

“Guess not. Melanie says her mother's obsessed with her making a career of dance. Sounds like a classic case of living your life through your kid.”

“Yeah, we're lucky no one else wants to live our lives.” Seth sipped a Coke he'd gotten at the bar, which had converted to soft drinks and coffee for family night.

In no time at all they were wishing they could place a large
RESERVED
sign on their table and go walk the streets.

“I forgot we'd have to sit through the recitals for all these little kids,” Bryan complained. He'd been to the bathroom three times and left once just to pace the hall.

“They're kind of cute.” Seth seemed more relaxed than he was, or maybe he hid it better.

Leona Turva herself announced her elite dance troupe. Seth whispered, “She hasn't grown any horns yet—that I can see from here.”

Bryan had trouble laughing. Seeing the dance master again reminded him of her poise, her control.

The ballet was worth their wait, though. A hush fell over the large crowd when the music started for the “Snow Queen.” The curtain squeaked and rattled open to reveal a sparse set, but one that suggested winter—ice, snow, a duplicate of the last month in Bellponte.

As six women floated on in ice blue dresses, Bryan had to remind himself to breathe. Then he sat transfixed for the rest of the program. He realized he'd never seen Melanie dance. He began to understand her dedication to this art.

She floated, whirled, leaped as if possessed by some magic dust that had turned her into a winged creature. There seemed to be no effort in any movement that she initiated. She was as delicate as a snowflake, and she melted onto the floor at the last note.

For seconds, the audience sat mesmerized. Then thunderous applause echoed from the walls and ceiling. Bryan jumped to his feet and pounded his hands together. “Bravo!” he shouted spontaneously, and the crowd took it up. They knew the dance, they knew the hours a dancer spent working to get to Melanie's level of expertise.

“She was magnificent, Bryan,” Seth said. “And so was Hank. I never realized …”

Bryan hadn't seen Hank once after her entrance. It didn't matter. Melanie was perfect.

The curtain reopened. The spell was broken. People swarmed onto the stage and backstage to congratulate dancers, Madame Turva, anyone who'd had a part in this night.

Bryan and Seth hung back. Then they joined the dwindling crowd to find Hank and Melanie.

Melanie stood, her arms full of roses and baby's breath accented by wispy green ferns. Bryan had no flowers, no gift, nothing to give her. Why hadn't he thought of flowers?

“Melanie, you were unbelievable.” He hugged her, feeling her damp shoulders, her trembling body, then pushed her back to see her winning smile. “I never knew.”

“I felt good,” she whispered. “I hope—”

“You were. Perfect. I don't think you could have been better.” He couldn't keep from staring at her, even while everyone who came by distracted her, speaking to her, congratulating her. He continued to hold her hand. She didn't pull away. There was a link between them that had been missing ever since she joined the troupe.

Katherine Clark surfaced. “What next, Melanie?” she asked after hugging her daughter. “Is there a party? A reception? Or should I wait to take you home?”

“I—we thought we'd take Melanie and Hank home,” Bryan said, asking Melanie at the same time he told Katherine.

“I'm sorry, Bryan.” Nicol walked up in time to hear Bryan's request. She smiled at him with her cold blue eyes. “Leona is having a party just for the troupe. Melanie must go. She can talk to you tomorrow.” Anne took Melanie's other arm.

Melanie shrugged, smiled at Bryan, but turned and walked away from all of them. Hank waved and followed, Janell at her side.

Bryan panicked. “Mrs. Clark, talk Melanie into going home with you right now. Please. It's important.”

Katherine Clark stared at Bryan as if he was a speck to be brushed off her coat. “You have no idea what's important, young man.
You
are not important to my daughter, and you never will be if I have any say about it. Professional dancers have no other life. Believe me, I know. Melanie will never have time for you.” She turned and hurried toward the back of the theater.

Bryan watched her go. “So, young man, what should we do now?” Seth asked. Before Bryan could answer, Seth answered his own question. “There's a big party at my house. Let's go to your place and sulk.
We
are not important.”

They followed Seth's suggestion. They seemed to have no choice unless they made a scene.

It was about one o'clock when Katherine Clark decided Bryan was important after all.

Bryan and Seth had finished their third game of chess and were thinking of calling it a night when the phone rang. Bryan looked at Seth, whispered, “Melanie,” then caught it on the second ring, hoping it hadn't wakened his parents.

“Mel, is that you?” He couldn't help it. He was so sure.

“Was she going to call you? Is she there?” The frantic voice belonged to Katherine Clark.

“No, Mrs. Clark,” Bryan said to tell Seth, who was on the other end of the line. “She said she'd call me tomorrow. But I was hoping—”

“I'm worried. I didn't know who else to call.” The voice held a note of apology. “I thought you might know—know—”

“Melanie's not home then?” Bryan asked, gripping the phone till it bruised his hand.

“I probably shouldn't worry, but I called the studio and there was no answer. I found some other numbers in Melanie's room and called those. One was for Nicol's apartment. Before I could call Hank, her mother called me. Hank isn't home either, and Mrs. Brooks is worried. She said she had called Laurie Roberts's parents and also Jean Whitney's. They were worried. I guess it rubbed off.” She laughed nervously. “But we're all sure a party should be over.”

“Maybe they went out someplace—to a restaurant,” Bryan suggested.

“Melanie said the reception was in Leona Turva's studio. Why would they go someplace else?”

“The troupe might have, after they left Leona.” Bryan wanted to think of something logical.

“Bryan, I got in the car and drove to the theater. Everything is dark, like it was empty.”

“The studio may not have any windows.” He had an answer for everything.

“I—I guess they could still be there. But why won't someone answer the phone? This is not like Melanie. She's always so exhausted after a recital. She usually doesn't even want to socialize.” Katherine sounded as if she thought Melanie was still at the theater.

“Listen, I'll go down there, Mrs. Clark. I'll find her and bring her home.”

“Thank you, Bryan. Thank you.” Katherine hung up.

“You're going back to the studio tonight, Dorsey?” Seth asked. “You think this is it?”

“We're both going. Hank isn't home either. We may look foolish, but I'm willing to break in there if we have to. I'm going to find Melanie.”

eighteen

M
ELANIE, WRAPPED IN
an aura of success, felt warmer, more contented than she ever had in her whole life. She took one of the lovely silver goblets from the tray Frau Voska offered each dancer and sipped the golden liquid it contained. The drink was hot, spicy, smelling of cloves and cinnamon, mulled to a sweet perfection.

The drink warmed her even more, filling every tiny compartment of her body, zinging across every pore of her skin, making her tingle with anticipation. Anticipation?

A memory surfaced. The drink—the drink tasted the same as the cough syrup Madame Leona had given her when she came to rehearsal sick. This was not cough syrup.

She looked around, caught Hank's eye, saw the panic there. A scream started deep in her bowels, rose, gained strength. But before she could open her mouth to let it escape, before she could call for Bryan—Seth—to help her—how could they? She had let them leave so casually—before she could run, pound on the door, demand to leave, Nicol and Janell walked up on either side of her.

“To your health, Melanie,” Nicol raised her glass. “To your magnificent talent.” Nicol waited for Melanie to drink. She coughed, swallowed the scream, gulped the spicy mixture to keep from choking.

Another sip calmed her stomach, blocked the rising apprehension. Panic lulled, she glanced around, wondering if she could beg off, say she needed to leave after all.

Al Brandish stood at the door as if guarding it. He was dressed in some sort of costume, not his usual overalls. He no longer looked like a custodian, a janitor. The door—the door was locked. Melanie knew that. She knew Brandish was guarding.