Dance of Fire
For my readers, and for all those who love the dance
Contents
Prologue
Two And A Half Years Earlier
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Two And A Half Years Earlier
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Two And A Half Years Earlier
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Two And A Half Years Earlier
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Two And A Half Years Earlier
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Two And A Half Years Earlier
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Two And A Half Years Earlier
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Two And A Half Years Earlier
Read On For A Taste Of Dance Of Shadows, The Captivating Prequel To Dance Of Fire
Prologue
Prologue
For the first time since Margaret’s disappearance, Vanessa slipped on her older sister’s pointe shoes.
Carefully she raised one toe and then the next, steadying herself until she was en pointe. She raised her chin to the light as a flash of colour seared her mind. Thin red lips, trembling. A nude leotard clinging to a girl’s ribcage, and a slender, delicate foot.
‘Margaret,’ Vanessa whispered. She shut her eyes, holding on to the image.
Her sister extended her leg, pointing her foot as if positioning herself for the start of a dance. But it wasn’t a dance at all. With some difficulty, she dragged her toe along the floor, slowly, carefully, forming letters.
I’m still here.
It was a message from her sister, Vanessa realised. She was out there, somewhere. Margaret Adler was alive.
Two And A Half Years Earlier
From the Diary of Margaret Adler
February 27
Margaret Adler is dead.
That’s what Hal told me when he gave me my new identity papers.
‘The only way we can hide you is if you become somebody else,’ he said, blinking. ‘So that means Margaret is gone.’
‘Gone,’ I repeated. The freighter’s steel decking thrummed beneath my feet, putting watery miles between me and my old life, my family. Hal and Erik chose this means of escaping New York because it is so low-tech, so unglamorous.
Kind of like this cheap notebook I’m writing in. At least I know it can’t be hacked.
‘Erased,’ Hal said, as though gone hadn’t been clear enough. ‘You can’t contact anyone.’ I barely know Hal, though Erik swears he can get anything done. He looks like a comic-book nerd – or a cybercriminal. ‘It’s too risky. He might find you.’
By he, Hal means Josef, my old choreographer at the New York Ballet Academy. The one who almost destroyed me.
I nodded. ‘OK,’ I told Hal. The floor rocked as the boat shifted, and the light over our heads swayed gently.
‘Instead, you are …’ Hal opened the passport, and I read my new name under my photograph: Margot Adams.
‘Who’s this?’ I asked.
‘Now? It’s you. But before …’ He shrugged. ‘A girl who died in a tragic car wreck a few years ago. Her body was never found.’
Which is creepy enough that the hair on my arms stands at attention. ‘I’m pretending to be a dead girl?’
Another shrug. ‘Not pretending. You are this dead girl.’
The door to the hall banged shut as Erik sauntered in. He is lean, with a dancer’s body, young and handsome. And I think he likes me; I can see it in his eyes when he smiles. I find myself stealing glances at him when he’s not looking. He isn’t like other boys I’ve met. The way he carries himself, so confident, so serious.
I owe Erik so much. It is only thanks to him that I escaped Josef at all. Erik was visiting NYBA, and unlike everyone else, he had heard of dancers like Josef – who used the art of dance for evil. He believed me when I told him what was going on. And that I thought my life and soul were at risk.
He smuggled me out of NYBA, introduced me to his childhood friend Hal, and came up with the plan that got us on to this freighter bound for England. If it wasn’t for Erik, I would be dead. Or worse. I can almost still feel his hand on the small of my back as we waited by the dock that day, his body shielding me from the incoming fog.
Which is why I’m here. No more Josef. No more being forced to dance, to try to summon something deadly, dangerous …
I shake my head and close my eyes. Now it is time to get some sleep.
Next stop: London!
Chapter One
Hazy white light made the wooden floor of the studio glow with warmth. Vanessa stood en pointe, arms arched in allongé, muscles tense, straining to maintain position. Waiting. Until, with a whisper of breath at her neck . . .
His touch.
He moved behind her, his fingers spread, his right hand cupping her waist. His left hand hovered, barely grazing her shoulder. She shuddered as something within her awakened, his warmth coaxing her limbs to life.
Together they danced across the worn yellow floorboards to the wall of mirrors, where she could see herself all in white, like a phantom – leotard and tutu and even a light dusting of ghostly make-up. Her stark-white pointe shoes drew an ashen line across the wood.
Her partner wore black. He pulled her closer until she felt his chest rise and fall against hers. Her fingers ran along the cut of his shoulders, his muscles damp with sweat.
He spun her away before she saw his face, his own steps echoing behind her with a quick scraping patter, their shadows entwined, dancing together and breaking apart in the gauzy light. His cheek pressed warmly against hers, and she could smell his cologne – like ocean and summer and sand. A fine film of sweat glued her leotard to her chest, and she could practically taste salt on her lips. He gently turned her towards him.
Justin.
He smiled.
She spun, again and again, glimpsing his face with each turn. His messy, sandy hair, his blue eyes. All the light in the room seemed to gather in his smile. With each spin, his lips grew brighter, taking on hints of yellow, then a searing orange.
A warm breath rose within her, propelling her faster, faster. Justin’s face began to change, becoming ashen, his eyes sharpening to a metallic grey. She felt her heartbeat, echoing his name. Zep. Zep. Zep. Something was wrong. She turned, unable to stop, as the colour continued to drain from his cheeks, and his eyes brightened with inhuman fire. He looked upwards, his motions strangely mechanical, as though possessed by something otherworldly.
She faltered and lost her balance, falling out of her turn and into his arms as he rasped, Your kiss will bring me home again, my love. And then he opened his jaws wide, revealing the flames that filled him and reached out to swallow them both.
Vanessa awoke to find someone attacking her face.
‘Sweetie, you drooled!’ Her mother was dabbing at her chin with a handkerchief.
‘Mom, stop.’ Vanessa swatted her mother’s hand away. ‘Seriously.’ She glanced around – no one else on the plane seemed to be paying attention, not even the businessman with the handlebar moustache on her other side. Like Vanessa, he’d fallen asleep on the long flight from New York to London. Only she was sure he hadn’t been dreaming of a cute boy filled with flames . . .
Vanessa craned her neck forward, pushing strands of red hair out of her eyes. Justin sat a few
rows ahead, on the other side of the aisle, reading. He looked entirely normal, not like there was a demon inside him. They hadn’t been able to get three seats together, and Vanessa’s mother wasn’t about to sit by herself.
‘What are you looking for, dear?’ her mother asked, a little too loudly.
‘Mom, please,’ Vanessa said, leaning back in her seat and unzipping her hoodie.
‘Please what?’ Vanessa’s mother said.
‘Please be quiet.’ Vanessa placed the sweatshirt on her lap. ‘You’re giving me a headache.’
For a moment her mother’s expression softened, and Vanessa was reminded of when her mother had been full of love and laughter, a former ballerina who’d stepped out of the spotlight to raise a family. Then her mother blinked and was herself again – worried, tense, ready to snap at any moment – the way she’d been ever since Vanessa’s sister Margaret had disappeared three years ago.
‘You know, some daughters would be nice to their mothers,’ her mom said, ‘because their mothers put their own lives on hold to travel halfway around the world so their daughters could take part in a ballet competition.’ She paused, staring at the small television screen embedded in the seat in front of her. ‘I wonder what it would be like to have a daughter like that.’
‘I’m sorry, Mom.’ As usual, even after a seven-hour flight, her mother was impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place, her make-up perfect and her clothes unwrinkled. She had the sort of flawless beauty that a ballerina was supposed to have. That Margaret had. And Vanessa did not.
Her mother placed a hand over Vanessa’s. ‘That’s all right, dear. You’re just nervous about the competition.’
‘Um, sure,’ Vanessa said, even though she wasn’t thinking about the competition at all.
‘They invited you at the last minute, without having passed any of the preliminaries,’ her mother said. ‘That means a lot. The Royal Court is one of the most prestigious European dance companies, and they don’t make mistakes.’
‘If you say so,’ Vanessa mumbled.
‘I’m just glad you have an opportunity to dance,’ her mother continued. ‘Dad and I were so looking forward to seeing you in The Firebird. I despise how your choreographer ran off with his assistant like that. What a scandal!’
Vanessa winced. The truth was that Josef, head choreographer at the New York Ballet Academy, and Hilda, his mentor, were both dead, casualties of the demon they had raised – with Vanessa’s unwitting help. Now the demon was still out there in some form, and Vanessa could hardly begin to guess what havoc it might wreak. She and Justin were on their way to London in an attempt to track down the evil entity and stop it. And she also hoped to find Margaret along the way.
‘It’s a shame your father is going to miss the competition,’ her mother said with a sigh, ‘but he’ll be there in time for the holiday.’ She forced a smile. ‘Christmas in London. It will be so nice to be away.’
Since Margaret’s disappearance, it had been impossible to enjoy the holidays without bittersweet memories: building snowmen, watching A Christmas Story and drinking hot cocoa, opening presents, Margaret flitting around in new pointe shoes and tights.
‘Tell me more about that boy,’ her mother said, changing the subject.
For a second, Vanessa’s heart raced. Zep, she thought. He’d been her first boyfriend and a fellow New York Ballet Academy student – and he’d turned out to be a monster. But her mother didn’t know about Zep.
‘That Justin. He’s tall and handsome,’ Vanessa’s mother said, ‘but who is he? What is his family like? Why is he travelling alone?’
‘He’s not alone,’ Vanessa said. ‘He’s with us.’
When it came down to it though, Vanessa didn’t know all that much about Justin. He was older than she was, a senior. He had tried to help her back at school, warning her away from Zep. But she hadn’t listened. She’d loved Zep, and he had betrayed her. It was only after the truth came out that she realised Justin was actually a good guy. Not just good, great. He and Vanessa had kissed once in the snow in front of Lincoln Center, but then Justin had got all stiff and strange. It was as if the kiss had transformed Vanessa into a different person, one with the capacity to hurt him.
And now Vanessa felt the same way about him. She thought of her dream, of the demon’s words. Your kiss will bring me home again, my love. Even though she was no longer its host, were she and the demon somehow linked? Could it inhabit someone else, or use that person to get close to her? Was her dream just a dream or was it something more – a vision?
‘Is he a good dancer?’ her mother asked.
‘I guess so,’ Vanessa said. Truth be told, she had never thought Justin was particularly talented. He’d even dropped her once in a rehearsal, though he claimed he did it only to keep her safe. But now they were going to partner in the pas de deux on the second day of the competition, and Vanessa would see what he was really made of.
‘You guess?’ Her mother shook her head. ‘Not just anyone can compete at London’s Royal Court. Your other friends weren’t asked to compete, Vanessa – just you and Justin. That must mean something.
‘Are you two . . . ?’ her mother went on, looking uncomfortable. ‘You know.’
Vanessa raised an eyebrow. ‘Are we what?’
‘Don’t make me say it,’ her mother said. ‘An . . . item.’
Vanessa laughed. ‘No. We’re not.’ At least, I don’t think so . . . she thought.
‘Good. What is he, eighteen? You’re only fifteen, Vanessa. You don’t need a boyfriend. Focus on dance.’
‘Right.’ This was safer ground, and her mother seemed to relax.
She took out the invitation Vanessa had received, which was folded crisply and tucked inside her purse.
The Royal Court Ballet Company
1 Theatre Square
London, England
Dear Ms Adler,
Congratulations!
You have been selected to audition for the Royal Court Ballet Company. All expenses will be paid for you to attend the Eighty-Sixth Annual Scholarship Competition.
A world-renowned dance troupe based in London, the Royal Court is one of the most prestigious dance companies in a country famed for its contribution to ballet. The scholarship allows dancers of exceptional promise to train with the company for two years, launching them on a career the upper bounds of which can only be imagined.
The letter went on to describe how the competition worked: one intense week in which ninety-six students from all over the world vied against one another in a series of three auditions, two days apart. At the end of the week, only two dancers would remain – the winners.
‘Just imagine,’ Vanessa’s mother said with wide eyes. ‘You could win!’
‘Maybe,’ Vanessa said. ‘I doubt it though.’
‘Don’t think like that, dear.’ Her mother clicked her tongue. ‘If the other competitors see you as weak, they will dance right over you. If you think you’re a winner, then you’ll be a winner.’
‘Easy for you to say.’ Vanessa was a good dancer, maybe even a great one, but she hadn’t inherited her mother’s passion for dance.
Margaret had.
Margaret. All Vanessa knew was that her sister was alive – probably – and on the run. No doubt she’d fled NYBA because Josef had been using her to attempt to summon a demon – Margaret must have been terrified. Now Josef was dead, but his trail led back to other dancers in London. Vanessa’s hope was that once she found them, they would somehow lead her to her sister.
A few months ago, Vanessa would have laughed. A demon? Raised through dance? But she had seen it, felt it; it had inhabited her, tried to consume her from within. Almost destroyed her.
There was a ding! followed by an announcement that they were beginning the descent into Heathrow Airport. Up ahead, Justin turned and locked eyes with Vanessa. His sandy-coloured hair was sticking up at the back, and he looked tired – like he’d woken up not long ago. But so
mething about his expression made Vanessa’s stomach flutter, and she thought again about the dream she’d just had.
Your kiss will bring me home again.
What did that mean? Could kissing Justin endanger him?
‘Seat belts, please,’ the flight attendant said as she moved down the aisle, blocking Vanessa’s view.
Vanessa leaned back and slipped her earbuds in, though she kept the volume on mute. Beside her, moustache man awoke from his nap. He rubbed his eyes and took out a copy of The Times.
Vanessa skimmed the headlines over his shoulder. Man United Loses in Late Rally seemed to be about soccer, and Cameron Coalition Falls Apart was clearly about politics.
‘Dear, it’s rude to read someone else’s newspaper.’
Vanessa sighed. ‘Fine, Mom.’
Never mind the demon. She wondered if having her mother by her side all week might be the most challenging part of the competition.
‘There he is!’ Vanessa’s mother said as passengers rushed past them towards customs. ‘Oh, Justin!’
Justin was standing in front of the boarding gate, his backpack slung casually over one shoulder. He was wearing a grey sweater that was loose around the neck, a snug pair of jeans and crisp-looking white sneakers.
Vanessa had to admit he looked good.
Her mother drifted ahead, pulling out her phone to call Vanessa’s dad, as Vanessa and Justin fell in behind her. ‘How was your flight?’ she asked.
‘Fine,’ Justin said. ‘Yours?’
‘Oh, fine.’ Vanessa wasn’t sure what else to say. Was Justin nervous about the competition? Had he been in touch with Enzo? They hadn’t exactly spoken since the end of the semester. Even though they’d been in touch to make arrangements for the trip and choose their pas de deux, it had all been by text, short and sweet and businesslike. There’d been nothing personal, nothing about their kiss in the snow.
‘Being in England already makes me want tea,’ Justin said, eyeing a restaurant in the terminal. ‘And, like, a crumpet.’ He smiled at her suddenly, his blue eyes warm and friendly.
‘Crumpet,’ Vanessa repeated. She’d never actually had a crumpet. She didn’t even know what one was. Why had she just repeated the word crumpet? Oh, God.