Dancers in the Dark and Layla Steps Up

by Charlaine Harris

  “Don’t worry, darling. You’re right as rain.”

  But Layla didn’t feel “right as rain.” To regain control she recited her mother’s mantra: Head up, chest out, shoulders square, big smile, pretty hands. Her mother had whispered those words in Layla’s ears every time she’d taken the stage at a pageant.

  And, smiling brightly, Layla got through the rest of the session.

  The minute that practice was over, Layla pulled on her coat and boots, hoping that Sean would follow suit. But Sean was clearly determined to confront Thompson, and he waited for all the other dancers to leave.

  Julie was waiting for her partner. Thompson glanced at Sean and said, “Julie, can you walk home by yourself tonight?”

  “No, I’m staying,” the blonde said. She glared at Layla as if she’d been the offender.

  Sean stepped up Thompson, got right in his face. “Talk to Layla like that again and I’ll punch you bloody,” Sean said. There was no doubting his sincerity.

  Thompson was no coward. “Your wife is not worthy of being a vampire,” he said. “She’s had a year to become strong. When the parting comes, she’ll flounder and die. You shouldn’t coddle her. You’ll lose your opportunity.”

  “Parting?” Layla could hardly decide what question to ask first. “What opportunity?” She looked to Sean for an explanation, but he was glaring at Thompson.

  “You and Sean will split up soon,” Thompson told her. At least he didn’t sound happy about it.

  Layla would not have believed him if Sean hadn’t stood there silently.

  “No vampire couple stays together for long, if one has turned the other. That’s the way it works.” Thompson shrugged.

  “Not always,” Sean said, at Layla’s side and with his arm around her. “And not us.” No one said anything else for a long moment. Then Sean turned his back on Thompson. “Sweetheart, will you be braiding my hair?”

  Layla, who felt as if she was wandering through a bad dream, picked up a brush and began to work on his long hair, bright and silky and flaming red. She made her back stiff and her face still. She would not break down, not in front of Thompson, not in front of Julie, who was looking at Layla as though she pitied her. That bit worst of all.

  After the door slammed shut behind the two, Layla said in a very quiet voice, “Is that true? Will you leave me? You do think I’m too weak to make it on my own, though I don’t know why. And what exactly am I keeping you from?”

  She’d tied off his braid. She gripped his shoulders and forced him to turn to her.

  Sean met her eyes. “At first, I didn’t realize you didn’t know the tradition. A maker and his child can’t maintain a marital relationship for very long, and a year is the normal … honeymoon period.” He looked down, breaking their connection. “I hoped the time would pass, and we would still be together. I couldn’t bear to tell you such a terrible thing.”

  “You hoped my ignorance would leave me happy? That it would be okay if I didn’t know something every other vampire around me knew? Something directly affecting my life?” She trembled with rage.

  “Layla LaRue LeMay,” he said sharply.

  “Am I supposed to leap to attention because you used my whole name?” Something vast and cold stirred inside her. “Do you have any respect for me at all?” She felt the hairs on her arms stand on end as she went on full alert.

  Sean was clearly shocked. “Can I talk to you for a moment without you snapping at me?”

  “Speak,” she snapped.

  “I didn’t want you worrying about something that might never happen. I thought you’d pick over every little thing, wondering if it meant the beginning of the end.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m doing now. Tell me the truth.”

  “It’s true that if a vampire turns a human and the two are lovers, often the relationship doesn’t last more than a year, maybe two.”

  For the first time since she’d woken up dead, Layla wanted to pulverize something, anything.

  “But we can be the exception,” he said. “I love you more than I’ve loved anything or anyone in my life.”

  How can I argue with that? Layla thought. But she didn’t melt against him. She put her hand on his shoulder to keep him away. “Sean, I managed to live through a lot when I was human. I’m proud of that. I got away from a terrible situation. I recovered from terrible injuries. I was educating myself, supporting myself. Whatever I am, it isn’t weak.”

  “I know, darling,” Sean said, suspiciously eager to close the subject. “Don’t worry about what Thompson said. He’s never had a lover who lasted longer than two months, right?”

  Layla managed to relax, but it felt like stepping back from a high drop. Her fists were clenched so tightly that her palms were bleeding. She’d almost hit Sean. She would have enjoyed doing so. With some effort, she subdued the expanding chill of rage inside her.

  The shadows in the corner of the room moved. Layla was surprised to see Feodor was there. The Russian was so ancient that he could be almost invisible, something she’d never seen or imagined. Feodor said, “Someone as beautiful as your wife deserves the truth. I believe she can defend herself.”

  “Thank you, Feodor,” Layla said, startled at Feodor’s presence. Why did the Russian care about her relationship problems? She was surprised he even had an opinion about her ability.

  Sean was even angrier at a second intrusion. “My woman is my concern, Feodor. Layla was a delicate woman, and she is a fragile vampire. But she has great heart.”

  Feodor didn’t respond, but faded away in a disconcerting fashion.

  The long walk home was thick with unspoken words. They were silent until they turned onto their street. Sean said, “You are just as beautiful as you were the night I met you.”

  No matter how frustrated Layla was, she had to smile at Sean. She thought his mouth was delightful. When he smiled, the corners came up in a way that made her heart ache, like a letter M. She knew she loved Sean, but she also suspected he didn’t really respect her. She was turning that suspicion over in her head.

  “You were pretty skeptical about me when we met,” she said. “You didn’t want to be my partner.” She was watching her footing. The pavement was still dotted with patches of snow.

  “Ah, I didn’t know you, sweetheart.” They walked for a moment in silence, passing a phalanx of cars parked at the curb. Parking was a premium in the older neighborhoods. Though all these vehicles were cold and silent, somewhere nearby Layla heard an idling car. Nothing moved on the streets. It was after 2 a.m.

  “It’s true I’ve never had to deal with the fear of being exposed,” Layla said. All the vampires born before the past few years had feared being found in the daylight more than anything else.

  “The effort to conceal your true nature is very … suspenseful. I had no advice or help at all when I came over. It was a terrible time.” Sean’s expression was bleak. Sean’s maker had drained him for a jolt of energy, and literally fled the scene to avoid being staked by suspicious townspeople. He visibly banished his bad memories and looked at Layla with determination. “You don’t need to be killing and ripping and having territory fights, Layla. Not with us being together.”

  For once, the Irish accent didn’t make his words charming. Layla couldn’t unhear the subtext. “You won’t be hurt. Not as long as I’m protecting you.” When had he decided she was “delicate”? That was what he’d told Feodor.

  A long black limo passed them and coasted to a halt at the light at the next corner. Someone coming home from a fancy club, or maybe a show and dinner? They hardly lived in an upscale neighborhood. Somehow, on the lonesome night street, the darkened windows of the limo seemed sinister. When the light changed, it passed on slowly.

  Though she noted the limo and thought it was out of place, Layla was preoccupied. She faced a new reality. She’d been walking through her life blindfolded, content with the status quo after the terrible years of living in fear of her stalker. She and Sean danc
ed together, rehearsed together, had friends in common. They called donors. And they fed from each other during sex, which was incredible.

  At least to me. Before she’d met Sean, the only sexual experience she’d had was a brutal rape. What she had with Sean was deeply satisfying. She knew Sean had had centuries to develop a sophisticated taste, and he’d certainly been excited by Abilene’s little trick. But for the first time, Layla thought, Am I boring? The idea bit at her.

  “We’ll be grand.” Sean had obviously been following his own train of thought. He sounded as if he were convincing himself. “And if Thompson says anything of that nature to you again, I’ll take him apart.” He nodded sharply as if to say, There, that’s settled.

  A black limo passed by them again. Layla thought it was odd they’d seen two similar cars so late at night, but she’d had another new thought as she reinterpreted Feodor’s words. Feodor was hinting she should have taken Thompson apart herself.

  That was how vampires proved their strength; they didn’t wait for someone to defend them. Layla had not been identifying herself as a vampire; she’d been sleeping during the day, awake at night and drinking blood, but she hadn’t truly come to terms with her new state of being. Inside, she’d still been Layla LaRue LeMay, pageant queen from Tennessee. She hadn’t tapped into the power of her transformation.

  No wonder they all thought she was weak.

  She was still turning this new idea over when she climbed into bed. While Sean was absorbed in his latest book purchase, a thriller, Layla turned on her side away from him, and pondered. She could hear and smell and taste things that she hadn’t when she was breathing. She knew that, at least theoretically, she was incredibly strong, incredibly powerful. But she’d never had to call on her strength and cunning in the hunt, she’d never had to call on her senses to hide, and she’d never had to disguise what she was. Layla wondered if those were the stressors that triggered the true vampire nature. She remembered the feeling that had flooded through her earlier, when Thompson had insulted her. She’d felt a hint of the power she hadn’t tapped.

  Her last thought before the sun rose was I really am a wimp.

  The next night, Sean and Layla had to hurry to the auditorium for the dress rehearsal. All the patrons, ­students from the university dance classes, and a few other people had been invited to attend.

  Layla wanted to talk to Sean as they walked, but she wasn’t sure what to say. The revelation that she must seize her new role or forego any respect from her peers left her stymied. She didn’t want to jump on some innocent human and drain him dry, just to prove herself qualified to be a vampire. But her lack of gumption was not only reflecting poorly on her, but also on Sean, apparently. Sean, who’d been on the phone while she dressed, seemed just as lost in his thoughts as she was. They entered the stage door in an uneasy silence. Layla felt relieved that she’d have to focus on the mechanics of the duet.

  Just inside the door, Sean stopped dead. He even pulled on Layla’s arm to get her to backpedal.

  A woman she’d never seen before was talking to Sylvia just inside the door. Since Sylvia normally didn’t let outsiders backstage before a performance, the tall woman was likely to be a very generous patron.

  Before they could leave (if that was what Sean intended), Sylvia noticed them and beckoned them forward. “Hi, you two!” Sylvia said cheerfully. “Got a minute?”

  Under Layla’s hand, Sean’s arm was as hard as a stick of firewood, and she could feel the tension vibrating through him.

  “Layla, this is Margo DeCordova, one of our platinum contributors,” Sylvia told them. “She’s just returned from a long stay in Europe. Sean, you remember Margo, of course?”

  Sean stood silent. Layla had to take the lead. “Thanks so much for your generosity,” she said to the woman, with her best pageant smile. “We’re having so much fun with this event, and you’ve made it possible.”

  Margo DeCordova gave Layla the most minimal upturn of the lips. Her attention was fixed on Sean. “Oh, Sean and I know each other,” Margo said.

  “Mrs. DeCordova,” he said, with a miniscule dip of the head.

  “It’s been a long time.” From the way Margo said those words, Layla knew the woman had had sex with Sean.

  This was horribly unpleasant, though inevitable, since Sean had led a long life before meeting Layla. But Layla had learned to conceal her emotions in a tough school. Her gleaming pageant smile remained fixed on her face. She glanced sideways at her partner, hoping he would break his silence, but Sean seemed frozen. This woman had him spooked.

  At first glance, Layla couldn’t see the danger. Margo was middle-aged, very groomed and toned. Her hair was an unobtrusive and well-bred blonde, her suit was expensive without being extravagant, and her makeup and jewelry were understated. Margo gave the impression of being a civilized woman. But when Layla reached Margo’s eyes, she understood. If Margo could have dug a spoon into Sean and eaten him, she would have.

  Later, Layla could not recall any of the conversation after that. Sean remained stubbornly silent. Finally, Layla said, “Nice to talk to you two, but we have to get ready, and we’re running late.” After a long moment, Margo and Sylvia stepped aside so they could pass. Sean led Layla past them with almost offensive haste. The confrontation—if it had been that—was over.

  Layla felt a rush of relief as they reached the safety of the dressing room. Perhaps, while they changed into their practice clothes, Sean might explain his reaction to Margo DeCordova.

  He looked as though he’d seen the Devil, and maybe that was explanation enough.

  But they weren’t rid of the woman, not even when they came out in their black leotards and tights and began to warm up with the other dancers. As Layla and Sean stretched, Margo watched. She was clearly used to being the top dog (Or top bitch, Layla thought) in any room. Layla noticed there was a vampire following Margo everywhere she went; he wore a suit and tie, he was heavily muscled, and he looked extremely bored. Margo’s bodyguard.

  I’m not surprised she needs one, Layla thought. A cold tendril of anger wound through Layla’s heart. The more Margo watched Sean, the more the woman discarded the veneer of propriety. Her eyes were greedy, avid, as if Sean was hers for the taking. Layla thought, She’s stalking Sean just like Carver Hutton stalked me. I could kill her for this.

  And the thought of killing Margo didn’t seem strange at all.

  “Who is she?” she asked Sean, in a voice so low only another vampire could have heard it.

  “Margo DeCordova,” he said, his face blank.

  Layla had an impulse to knock Sean to the floor. “I know her damn name,” she hissed. “What was your connection to her?”

  “We fucked, is that what you want to know?” Sean’s unusual outburst made Layla jump. She gave Sean a very flat look.

  In a calmer voice, he said, “She is a woman with unusual tastes. I don’t want to remember it.” He avoided looking in Margo’s direction.

  Layla saw Sean actually shudder.

  I might not be a great vampire, but I’m not stupid, Layla thought, and Margo’s trouble. As the other dancers arrived, their reactions were oddly the same. They gave Margo a startled look, glanced at Sean, and then ignored Margo ostentatiously.

  On full alert, Layla listened with close attention to the conversations around her. “… back from Europe,” Julie was whispering in Thompson’s ear.

  The last to arrive, black-haired Abilene, stopped dead when she saw Margo DeCordova. And Abilene’s upper lip drew back in a snarl. She spun on her heel and left.

  This was a very bad portent, because Abilene cared for nothing and no one besides her partner in their sex performances for Black Moon, which took place in secret little clubs across the city. Her partner’s name was Mustafa, and he was very quiet. In fact, Layla had never been sure whether or not Mustafa could speak English.

  The room was fairly humming with tension when Margo DeCordova left to take her seat in the auditorium. After she
vanished, the fear drained out of the room. Sean sagged the wall, his eyes closed.

  * * *

  Sylvia Dayton called, “Everyone crowd around.”

  Feodor suddenly materialized (had he been avoiding Margo, too?) to give them notes on the previous rehearsal of “Sex, Love, and the Dance.” He’d moved Layla and Sean to the last slot, the closing duo.

  “Concentrate on each other,” Feodor said. “You’ll make everyone in the audience think about sex. This is good for Valentine’s Day.” There was a smattering of laughter.

  Layla was glad she had the length of the program to get into her own head, to prepare. While the other dancers went through their own pre-performance routines, she and Sean kept moving and stretching. In the second half of the program, Thompson and Julie’s tango was snappy and erotic, and Abilene’s technically perfect ballet with Feodor was a real achievement. Abilene’s short dark hair and small, slender body contrasted beautifully with Feodor’s sleek muscles and fair looks. There wasn’t sexual passion in the way the two interacted … but it was picture-book beautiful. Layla gave Abilene a quick kiss on the cheek as she left the stage, and Abilene looked startled, but pleased.

  Ten minutes before they were to go on, Sean put his arms around Layla, and he lay his head against hers. It was what they had done every time before they performed this duet. The ritual forced them to put aside all the other stimulations around them. Layla thought about the two of them becoming one: connection, reconnection, the bond of lovers.

  Layla’s sharpened senses and her awareness of her partner made the ten minutes magical. After days of uncertainty and surprise, she found peace in the knowledge that she was about to do something she did very well. No one could deny that.

  “Time,” said Sylvia quietly, and Layla was back in her body, her troubles temporarily banished. There was only Sean, and her, and what they would create together. They took their places on stage in the darkness, and the gusty voice of the Andean pipe began, eerie and wailing. The lights slowly came up. And they danced, twining and releasing, sinuous, two halves of one whole.