Dance of Shadows (32 page)

Josef?
Steffie mouthed to her.

Vanessa didn’t wait to find out. She grabbed the book and slipped it back into place.
This way
, she mouthed to Steffie, pulling her behind a low shelf in the back of the library.

Footsteps sounded in the other room. They were slow, soft, and heading directly toward the library.

She heard the gate open.

The footsteps stopped, and Vanessa closed her eyes, suddenly realizing that they hadn’t locked it. Josef would know that someone had been there. But there was nothing they could do but wait. Vanessa could feel Steffie’s skin against hers, warm and moist with sweat, and smelling faintly of vanilla.

The footsteps continued into the library, sounding gritty against the dusty stone floor.

Vanessa held her breath as the person walked toward her, and then suddenly changed direction. In the faint lights, her eyes traveled up his leg, his waist, his collared shirt. They didn’t look like they belonged to Josef. They were too young, too preppy, and the footsteps were too quiet, as if whoever it was knew he shouldn’t be here either.

He scanned the shelves, moving quickly, until, to Vanessa’s surprise, he turned down the row where she and Steffie had just been. There, he bent down, reading the spines.

She swallowed a gasp and grabbed Steffie’s wrist. She looked at the ground, hoping he hadn’t seen her. To her relief, Justin inched to the left, absorbed in studying the books in front of him.

Finally, he found what he was looking for. He pulled out the same crimson-bound volume Vanessa and Steffie had just put back. Vanessa arched her neck, trying to see what he was doing.

Justin didn’t seem put off by the blank cover or spine. He opened it to the first pages, turning them delicately, as if they were dried leaves. Leaving the book open, he set it on a shelf. He reached into his pocket and took out a book of matches and a block of sticky rosin, wrapped in paper.

Slipping the amber rosin out of its casing, he rubbed it over his left hand, coating it in a thick, greasy layer.

And then, to Vanessa’s horror, he struck a match and lit his entire hand on fire.

Justin held up his burning hand, and for a moment Vanessa thought he was going to set the book on fire too.

She was about to stop him from setting the whole place ablaze, when Steffie grabbed her arm and put a finger to her lips.

Justin must have heard something, because he turned to them, his face lit a fiery red from the flame. They both froze. He extended his burning hand forward, shining the light in their direction, before passing over them. Vanessa’s shoulders slumped in relief as he turned back to the book.

They watched, barely breathing, while he took a voice recorder out of his pocket and turned it on. Illuminating the blank pages with the burning rosin, he began to read aloud. He spoke quickly, his voice too low for them to make out much.

“Must be thirteen dancers,” he murmured, turning the page. “Plus one more. With the conjunction of the planets.

“The series of calendars.” He squinted at the text. “Converging on the thirteenth of December, in the second decade of the second millennium.”

He paused, then read the date again. “The thirteenth of December.” He frowned.

Vanessa exchanged a baffled look with Steffie. That date—it wasn’t just any day in December. It was one that everyone at NYBA knew, including Justin. The opening night of
The Firebird
performance. But why was it in an ancient book?

Justin glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost five o’clock, which meant that Josef would be back any minute from rehearsal. Justin turned off the recorder. Slipping the book back onto the shelf, he waved his hand through the air in one brisk swish, extinguishing the flame. And just like that he was gone, leaving the girls in darkness.

When they heard his footsteps disappear through the office door, Vanessa and Steffie snuck out from behind the bookshelf and ran to the aisle with the blank book. A bitter smell hung in the air from the smoky rosin. Steffie grabbed the book and stuffed it in her bag, and they tiptoed out of the library, locking the gate behind them.

Vanessa did a quick sweep, making sure everything was in its right place—the key inside the brass trophy, the files tucked safely into the cabinet, the papers on Josef’s desk artfully messy. She picked up a sticky block of rosin. It felt warm in her hand, like a piece of melting caramel.

Taking a stray piece of paper from under Josef’s desk, she wrapped it up like a bar of soap and followed Steffie to the door. Making sure the lobby was clear, they slipped outside.

A class had just emerged from one of the studios. Vanessa and Steffie let the crowd swallow them up until they looked like any other students, sweaty from a long workout. “I have matches in my room,” Steffie muttered. The chatter around them drowned out her voice.

“I’ll meet you there,” Vanessa muttered back. “I’m going to the dining hall first.”

Steffie gave her an inquisitive look.

“The waffle machines,” Vanessa said cryptically. A handful of fire extinguishers were stacked beneath the waffle makers. “If we burn down your room, they’ll definitely be onto us.”

“Good idea,” Steffie said. Vanessa could see the outline of the book through her bag.

“See you then,” Vanessa said.

“See you.”

While the rest of the dancers walked through the double doors, their laughter fading into the November dusk, Vanessa snuck down the empty hall. But when she turned the corner, she bumped, headfirst, into someone.

“Watch where you’re going,” she said, when she felt a hand close around hers.

Justin pulled her toward him, pressing her against his chest. He squinted at the amber residue on her fingers, his dark eyes flickering as he understood. His nose flared slightly at the bitter scent of grease and smoke. Vanessa tried to wriggle out of
his grip, but he was strong. That much she remembered from dancing with him.

With a swift movement, he pried the block of rosin from her hand.

“I thought I heard someone in there,” Justin said. Like Vanessa and Steffie, he too was dressed entirely in black. “I’ll admit, I’m relieved. I thought it was someone … else.”

“Let me go,” Vanessa said defiantly, glancing up at him over her shoulder.

“No,” Justin whispered in her ear, his hair tickling her neck. “It’s time to let you in on what’s going on.”

“I’m not going anywhere—” Vanessa began to shout, but Justin clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling her voice. Her eyes darted around the building, hoping someone would see her, but the hallways were empty and the studio doors were shut. She tried to will her body to stop shaking. How could she have been so stupid?

Justin tightened his grip on her mouth until she could taste the salt on his skin. “I’m sorry I can’t be more gentle. But you’re giving me no choice. I don’t care if you don’t trust me or don’t want to believe me. This time, you’re going to hear me out.”

He pulled her down the hall and into a coat closet, shutting the door behind them. Once there, he removed his hand from her mouth.

“What are you doing?” Vanessa cried. “What do you want from me?”

A lone lightbulb hung in the middle of the room. Justin turned it on and stood in front of the door, blocking her way.

“Let me out!” she cried. “Let me out or I’ll scream!”

But Justin ignored her protests. “Josef isn’t training you to dance
The Firebird
. He’s training you in a ritualistic dance. A dance of the occult.”

Vanessa went quiet. “What?”

“
The Firebird
is just a foil.
La Danse du Feu
that you rehearse every afternoon? That’s not an extra scene. It’s a ritual dance that opens up a portal to another world. That’s why it was never performed in the original productions, or any production since. Because it’s more than just a finale. It’s a final dance.”

Vanessa let out a nervous laugh. “A portal?”

Justin’s expression was steady, grave. “I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true. I’ve been following Josef for a long time.” He held up the rosin he had pried from Vanessa’s fist. “Earlier this year I did exactly what you did. I hid in his office and watched him use this bizarre rosin to read an ancient book about ritualistic dance. Since then, I’ve been going back as much as I can. The books in his library are written in some sort of ancient invisible ink. The only way they can be read is through the light of a rosin torch. I don’t know what the ink is or where it came from—no one does, and no one has been able to re-create it for centuries. Possibly it involves an extradimensional element.”

Vanessa pressed her hand to her head, trying to understand everything Justin was telling her. Ancient books about occult dancing, mystic invisible ink protecting their secrets.
Thirteen dancers
, Justin had read into the recorder.
Plus one more. The conjunction of the planets. The thirteenth of December
. After Zep’s
role ended halfway through
La Danse du Feu
, there were thirteen ballerinas plus one more.

Vanessa.

It was true that Josef had been making them practice the strange dance far more frequently than the other scenes from
The Firebird
. She thought back to her encounter with Helen at the entrance to Central Park.
The right steps with the right dancer can wreak havoc
, Helen had warned. Could Justin be telling her the truth?

Vanessa opened her eyes, still skeptical. “So this book says that the dance opens up a portal to another world? That’s why Josef is making us perform the supposedly missing dance from
The Firebird
?”

Justin relaxed, seemingly relieved that she was still listening. “Yes.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Why?”

“According to myth, if the dance is done correctly, with the right dancer, a spirit will pass through the portal.”

“What do you mean? Like—like a ghost? Of someone who died?” Was that why the white figures had come to life when Vanessa danced? Why the figure who looked so strikingly similar to Margaret had approached her? Had Vanessa summoned it?

“No,” Justin said. “Not a ghost. An evil spirit.” He hesitated, lowering his head, his eyes dark. “A demon.”

Vanessa went rigid. Could Justin really believe what he was telling her? “No,” she said. “Demons aren’t real. That’s just—they’re not.”

“But ghosts are?” Justin said. “You don’t have to believe me. Just look at the facts. There are a whole slew of choreographers who have dabbled with the occult over the years. Josef isn’t the first person to attempt this, only the most recent. It’s been tried, for the most part unsuccessfully, countless times throughout history. Josef is closer than anyone has come in a long time.”

“Unsuccessfully? So isn’t that just a dance, then? If nothing happens?”

“Not quite,” Justin said. “I think you’ve gotten a taste of what it feels like at first.”

Vanessa shook her head. “What do you mean?”

“When the right dancers achieve a sublime execution of the right dance, it thins the walls between worlds. It blurs reality. The walls start to spin. The ground tips until it’s no longer level. Light bends in odd ways, and colors seem to dull. Time slows until this world isn’t real anymore.”

He paused, watching Vanessa’s face. She thought of all those times when she had gotten the dance nearly perfect, remembered how her body felt when it moved in tandem with nature.

“I think you know what I’m talking about,” Justin repeated softly.

Vanessa swallowed, unable to meet his eye. The closet suddenly felt incredibly intimate.

“When that happens with all of the dancers, an opening is formed between this world and the next. The ring of thirteen dancers acts as the perimeter of the portal. And the final dancer—the principal ballerina—becomes the demon’s host. When it’s called forth, it pulses through her limbs, inhabiting
her body as she dances and devouring her soul. That’s how it comes to this world.”

Vanessa couldn’t speak. Only one word rang in her head.
Margaret
.

She had been the principal ballerina, the Firebird, the same role as Vanessa. Did that mean that Margaret was the fourteenth dancer? Had she tried to summon a demon? Had her soul been devoured? Is that why she disappeared?

As if reading her thoughts, Justin stepped closer. “But legend has it that a demon has only been called forth four times in history, all centuries ago. None of those times were by Josef.”

“How do you know?”

“According to lore, those four times, when the demons were released on the world, complete chaos ensued: massacres, plagues, widespread death and suffering. Reports of villages becoming possessed, of men losing their minds and destroying entire towns. None of that is happening now, is it?”

Vanessa shuddered at the cold edge in Justin’s voice. “If it’s so destructive, then why does Josef want to do it?”

“Because if it’s done with the right dancer, the demon can be controlled. Can you imagine harnessing that kind of power? Instead of destroying things, you could … command people. Lead armies. All that crazy business.”

“I don’t understand,” she said hesitantly. “What happens to the dancers if it’s unsuccessful? If the demon doesn’t pass through?”

“They become … stuck,” Justin said. “In between worlds. Not here, not there.”

The luminous white figures danced through Vanessa’s mind, and suddenly she realized that she already knew the answer. The white figures on the wall, the burned spots, the ashes in the center of the room, directly on top of where the principal ballerina was supposed to finish. She remembered what Helen had said: someone was trying to put her in the walls. Then she remembered the figure that looked like Margaret, her blood-curdling scream as she burst into flame. That was what had happened to her.

“So she’s still alive?” Vanessa said. “Margaret?”

Justin bowed his head. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Vanessa asked. “So where is she? What happened to her?”

“I don’t know,” Justin repeated. “All I know is that it wasn’t successful.” He looked suddenly somber. “None of Josef’s attempts were.”