The Dance

by Barbara Steiner

  fourteen

  “I KNEW IT! I just knew it!” Seth said after they had eaten and were taking Hank back to pick up her car. “There’s something weird about those medallions.”

  “That’s crazy, Rubens.” Bryan wished he could believe the answer to Melanie’s behavior was so simple. She wasn’t doing this, something was making her do it. “Why aren’t you affected the same way?” Bryan turned to Hank.

  “I never wear mine except when I’m at the studio. To tell the truth, the thing gives me the creeps. But Melanie has been wearing hers all the time.” Hank rode squeezed in the front seat between the two guys. “This morning, after that scary dream, she took it off and had immediate withdrawal symptoms.”

  “As if she’d been taking drugs.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I refuse to believe that a piece of jewelry could have that kind of power,” Bryan argued.

  “That’s because you’ve become too civilized, Dorsey,” Seth pointed out. “Despite being brilliant and logical—not to mention charming—I have a streak of superstition a mile wide. Belief in the power of amulets and charms goes back thousands of years. Combine that medallion with Madame Leona’s hold on Melanie, and you have something she can’t fight.”

  “You think Leona Turva has Melanie hypnotized?”

  “I don’t know exactly. There might even be something in or on that necklace. Remember how all the dancers admitted to getting a rash? There are contact poisons. Why not contact drugs, mind-controlling drugs?” Seth’s mind was racing.

  “I don’t think we can figure out how this works. We just have to believe that it does.” Bryan worried out loud.

  “You’re the only one who doesn’t believe it, Bryan,” Hank said. “I didn’t until this morning. But Melanie was a mess until she put that thing back on.”

  “Then we have to get it off of her,” Bryan decided.

  “She’d need some time to recover. That was obvious. She was weak as a kitten.”

  Seth turned to Hank. “Have you got your necklace with you?”

  “In my dance bag.” She leaned towards the back seat. “You want it?”

  “Yes.” Seth waited till Hank rummaged along the bottom of her bag and pulled out the necklace. By the time she found it, they were parked in front of her house.

  Seth took the medallion with its lioness on the back and distorted animals surrounding the stone of lapis lazuli. He held it in front of them, lighted by the car’s dim overhead bulb.

  “Touch it,” he said. “Despite the fact that it sat in the car while we were at Suzanne’s, the metal is warm. And there’s—there’s just something about it that makes it seem—seem—alive.”

  “Stop it, Seth. You’re scaring me.” Hank tried to take the necklace back. Seth wouldn’t let her have it.

  “Good, I want you to be afraid of it,” Seth said. “Call it atavistic memory, call it a gut reaction, call it illogical and impossible, but I don’t even like holding it.”

  “I’ve heard of people who get readings off of people’s things, rings, necklaces, clothing, you know, all that psychic stuff.” Bryan had heard of it, which didn’t mean he believed it.

  “That’s the science of psychometry,” Seth said. “Let’s say you wore a ring for a long time and during that time you had a lot of sorrow in your life. The psychic could read the sorrow off the metal of your ring.”

  “You didn’t just think of this idea, did you, Seth?” Hank asked. “You know too much about it.”

  “I’ve been doing some research. The first time I held your necklace, Hank, it was warm and got hotter the longer I held it.” He slipped it back into her hands. “Right now I feel pain, great suffering. I can’t hold onto it for long. I didn’t realize I could do that.”

  “So someone who wore this before me was in pain?” Hank stared at the medallion.

  “It would seem that way. If you want to believe what I’m feeling.”

  “Do you believe it?” Bryan asked. He felt as if his best friend had gone round the bend. Seth was often full of surprises, but this was the first he knew about his being this superstitious.

  “I believe that people have always worn talismans to guard against evil, but that some talismans are used to do harm. You can get a talisman to wear in case you’re thrown in jail. If you have it on, you’ll get out on Sunday. There’s a talisman against sudden death, one if you desire a good memory—”

  “Can you get me one of those before semester exams?” Hank said, trying to joke them out of all these ideas. “My memory is terrible.” No one laughed.

  “Sure. My pleasure.” Seth continued, “The most common talismans are crosses, crucifixes, rosaries, coins, you’ve both seen that kind of thing.”

  “I’ve seen movies where someone held up a cross to ward off a vampire.” Hank laughed, but without much humor.

  “And it worked.” Seth smiled. “Maybe you didn’t notice, Bryan, but I wore a talisman during my bar mitzvah. It’s called Shaddai and has a Solomon’s seal at the top. You’ve seen a Solomon’s seal. It’s one of the most famous talismans of all times.”

  “Sure, the two interlaced triangles. I just never thought of it as a talisman.” Bryan shook his head. “What are you getting at, Seth?”

  “I’m not sure, but maybe Madame Leona is extra superstitious. She thinks these medallions will protect her dancers, or help them dance better.”

  “Do you think the jewelry could give her some control over those who wear them?” Hank asked.

  “Anything is possible. We could make a better guess if we knew why she gave them to you.”

  “I’ll just ask her.” Hank let out a breath she was holding.

  “Okay. When?” Seth put her on the spot.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “I have a better idea,” Seth said.

  “I’ll try anything to get Melanie back to who she was before she got into that troupe.” Bryan leaned on the steering wheel, trying to make sense of what Seth had said, of what was happening.

  “You lend us your medallion, Hank. Bryan and I will make a trip into New York City tomorrow. I’d like to show this to the man I talked to about these earlier—you know he said they should be in a museum. He runs an antique shop.”

  “Listen, I almost forgot about something else I meant to tell you,” Hank said. “Mel’s calling me this morning made me forget about it. You remember that book I told you I found in the three witches’ apartment—the one that smelled old? Well, I was snooping around in Leona’s office the other day before rehearsal, and someone has brought it over to the dance school. If I could get it for you, would you want to take that to your expert, too? Just out of curiosity. I know it’s old. No book is going to get on the New York Times best seller list today if it smells of dead mushrooms.”

  “Terrific, Hank. You’re a gem.” Seth hugged her.

  She looked at the necklace she was supposed to be wearing all the time. “A lapis lazuli lioness. Wonder what kind of talisman that might be.”

  “It keeps you growling at guys who get up close and personal,” Bryan teased. “Take her to the door, Seth. Remember she has a terrible memory. She might forget you by the time she gets there.”

  “Good idea. Be right back, Dorsey.”

  Bryan wished he could just joke about all the things they’d talked about tonight. But none of this was funny. He thought about everything Seth had said to keep his mind off not having Melanie to see safely home. All this talk of medallions with power and talismans for warding off evil made this situation even more confusing. And the way Hank said Melanie had acted this morning scared him. At least going to New York was something to do.

  They picked up Hank and took her to the studio Monday morning. She left her medallion with Seth, safely inside a small white cardboard box at his request.

  “What if Madame Leona asks you where it is?” Seth asked.

  “I’ll just say I have a bad memory and I left it at home. All she can do is kill me,” Hank joked.


  Bryan didn’t think Hank’s remark was funny. She probably didn’t either. She was joking to cover how scared she was. He tapped on the steering wheel while she went inside to try to get The Book of Raziel, or whatever it was called.

  Seth couldn’t even sit in the car. He paced the sidewalk outside. When he saw Hank running toward them, he swung open the door and pulled his seat forward so Hank could toss the book into the back.

  “Boy, did I have a close call. And pray Leona doesn’t need this today. But I don’t know what for. It must weigh about forty pounds.” Hank groaned and heaved the book into the Camaro. She had hidden it inside her dance bag, so neither Seth nor Bryan could get a look at it.

  “Did you see Melanie?” Bryan had to ask.

  “She’s the one that saved me by stopping Leona. But I don’t think she knew I was in the dragon lady’s office. Should I tell her what you’re doing?”

  “Maybe not. Thanks, Hank. If you get a chance, tell her I said hi.” Bryan pulled away from the curb as soon as Seth was seated.

  Their plan was to leave the car and take the train into the city. Parking was the first problem, but Bryan squeezed into one last space at the end of the lot.

  Seth pulled his seat back and reached for Hank’s bag. “Ugh, she wasn’t kidding. What kind of tome is this?”

  “Come on. We don’t have time to look at it. If we don’t catch the next train we’ll be late for our appointment.”

  “Did you call Mr. Cohen back?” asked Bryan.

  “Yes, he’s eager to meet with us. He’s a real expert, Bryan. All the museums call on him when they have something they’re in doubt about. If there’s anything weird about this necklace or that book, Cohen will be able to tell us about it.”

  The train was nearly full. They found seats opposite a woman and her three children.

  The oldest child must have been about six. “Are you going to your ballet class in the city?” she asked, huge brown eyes staring at the yellow ballet bag.

  Bryan felt his face heat up. “My friend is. I have a karate lesson.”

  Seth went along with the teasing. “Yeah, I’m playing the wolf in Peter and the Wolf.”

  “Really?” asked Brown Eyes. Her hair curled round her face naturally and when she smiled her eyes flirted.

  “Cecilia, don’t bother the boys,” her mother said.

  Cecilia stopped asking questions but kept staring at Seth until he growled at her. Then she giggled and stood at the window, hanging onto her mother’s knee.

  “I never realized you were such a ladies’ man, Rubens,” said Bryan quietly.

  “Me either. But when Hank came along, it must have wakened some slumbering giant inside me. I feel ten feet tall around her.”

  Bryan knew what Seth meant. Melanie had made him feel the same way, until this week. Today he felt small and empty and cold all over. And he didn’t know whether to be eager or scared about what they might discover in the city.

  fifteen

  FROM PENN STATION, Bryan and Seth took a cab to the street address that Seth had written down. This section of Manhattan was old, the buildings dark from years of accumulation of dirt, exhaust, and weathering. There were small, neighborhood groceries nestled between antique and second-hand stores, thrift shops, and walk-up apartment buildings.

  Maurice Cohen was a small man, stooped by age. In fact, Bryan thought he looked as old as all the objects around him, maybe older than most. He studied them over tiny, wire-rimmed half glasses, his blue eyes faded and watery.

  “So, Mr. Rubens, you have come with some puzzle for me to solve?” He spoke with a slight accent, but seemed eager, almost to the point of rubbing his hands together in anticipation, to see what they had brought for him to identify. “The alexandrite? I see so little of it.”

  “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—supp
orted 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.