by Ioana Visan
“He gets cranky when he doesn’t get enough sleep.” Spinner winked. His hand moved out of her vision range, reaching for something. “Sleep well, sweetheart. We’ll wake you up again once we fashion you a smooth closing panel. You won’t even know it’s there.”
“It’s Miss Semenova to you,” Anya said in a clipped voice before lead filled her veins and her eyes closed.
Somewhere in the background, Rake chuckled.
* * *
And one … and two … and three… Anya’s leg swung high in the air, her toes pointed straight in the ballet shoes while her hands held tight on the barre in front of the mirror. She repeated the exercise again and again to strengthen her legs so they could carry the extra weight of her chest with ease.
Six weeks into her rehabilitation program and she could already do nine out of ten spins without losing her balance. Not good enough to perform on a big theatre stage, but a huge improvement compared to the first days after the procedure when a simple walk across the room used to be a challenge. It would get better. She had to believe that. She had to re-learn everything she’d trained for years to do, but now she had time.
She grabbed the towel from the barre and wiped the sweat off her face and neck. She still sweated when she trained hard but never flushed anymore, and she missed the loud thumps of her heart when she got excited. If the human condition had been defined by the presence of a heartbeat, she would have been declared dead by now.
Avoiding the mirror, Anya turned towards the middle of the room. No need to rest since her lungs didn’t get tired and her muscles received all the oxygen they needed. They still hurt, but it was a good burn. A grand plié and an arabesque followed by an attitude brought a smile on her face. Soon, she would be good enough, if not even better than her previous persona. And then the world would see…
She danced across the empty room on the ground floor of her villa in St. Petersburg, listening to the music sounding only in her head, and imagined herself on the Moscow stage, amazing the audience. The dream lasted until her phone beeped. She ran to the bench where she’d left her things and picked it up.
Dear Anastasia Anatolievna Semenova,
We regret to inform you that your health record doesn’t qualify you for a position in our ballet company…
The third rejection letter received this week. Not only did the local companies not want to hear from her, neither did the foreign ones. She was beginning to see a trend.
Anya tossed the phone across the room and winced, imagining Masha being alerted by the noise and not wanting the maid to fuss over her. Wishing they had removed her tear ducts along with her lungs, she continued her routine.
* * *
It felt strange to sit in a box rather than be on stage, but Anya couldn't stay away, no matter how much it hurt. She had to feel the music, drink in the lights, and pretend she was flying up there with the rest of the dancers. After a whole year, she’d come to terms with the idea that she wouldn’t dance again, not professionally anyway. It didn’t mean she couldn’t watch and gloat internally that she was better than anyone on the stage. A boost of pride got her through the day. But artists needed an audience, and sometimes she couldn’t help getting depressed. This was one of those nights. So when she spotted a familiar face in a box across the hall, she saw red.
Sitting through the end of the act was torture, and when the intermission started, she stormed out of the box and bumped right into Big Dino in the corridor. He looked bigger than she remembered, but the wicked grin was still in place.
“You tricked me!” She poked his wide chest with her index finger. “You knew no one would hire me after—”
“I didn’t trick you,” Big Dino said. “I promised you’d live and still be able to dance.”
“Dance where?” Anya’s voice became a shout that turned the heads of several people in the corridor.
“Ah, that…” An elusive smile spread over Big Dino’s round face. “Finding you a job wasn’t part of the deal … but I can offer you one.”
“A job?” Anya stared at him then her eyes narrowed. “At the circus?”
“Yes, at The Nightingale Circus.”
“That’s insane.” What could she do at the circus? They toured cities all over Europe and part of Asia, too, but it was the wrong type of audience. She’d seen a couple of shows during her brief recovery. There was nothing for her to do there.
“Maybe … but you’ll have the floor all to yourself in front of thousands of people. Isn’t that what you want?”
Was it? Anya shook her head. “Not like this. They won’t appreciate it.”
“If you’re this good, make them.”
Anya’s back stiffened. Was this a challenge? What did she have to lose? “What are you offering?”
“Two numbers per show, one of your choice and one designed in collaboration with me. A fair share of the profits. Second headline right after The Nightingale.”
“I would require a whole train car. I’m not sharing.” Anya pointed her chin up.
Big Dino hesitated, but his eyes gleamed with amusement. “That can be arranged.”
“And my expenses covered for new costumes at my own convenience.”
“Done.” Big Dino held out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Anya couldn’t decide which one of them was crazier, him for offering or her for slipping her hand into his large palm. “Deal.”
Big Dino grinned, showing strong yellow teeth behind his dark lips. “Welcome aboard, Miss Semenova.”
Anya’s shoulders dropped, defeated, and she muttered with a sigh, “I guess you can call me Anya…”
* * *
At the end of the week, when The Nightingale Circus left St. Petersburg, Anya dragged Serioja into her brand new car and didn’t let him leave until the train stopped again in another town. If she couldn’t be happy, she could at least make him happy. Serioja didn’t mind.
The Firebird
Strange crowd in the club tonight. Riella arched her body and swung around the pole in time with the music. Lights flashed, making her tiny costume glitter in the hazy atmosphere. She was used to clients staring at her with drool hanging from the corners of their mouths. After all, that was what she was here for, to entertain their wildest fantasies. But this group was different.
The two bulky men covered in scars kept grinning at her. Still, they ordered more drinks each time they raised their hands instead of trying to initiate a dialogue over the loud music. The dark-haired man seated next to them, wearing gloves and a tailcoat, stared into his glass, running his finger along the rim. The blue flames dancing around his hand had to be a reflection of the lights. Only the fourth guy, with sandy blond hair and packing more muscles than the man in the coat, watched her with bovine eyes.
Riella wrinkled her nose and leaned back. The quartet from hell scared everyone off. No other customer dared approach the edge of her round stage. So no big tips for her tonight. She didn’t mind a quiet night when all she had to do was dance, but she did miss the money. If it continued like this, she would be stuck in this hellhole forever and never enter Sofia’s upper circles.
Her colleague, also a redhead, but with shorter, darker hair, danced on a nearby platform. She already had her bra stuffed with bills, and it wasn't even midnight yet. Riella glared at her picky admirers, her hands not leaving the shiny pole. She climbed on it with the sheer force of her arms, legs wrapped around the cold metal as if it were a lover, then let herself slide upside down fast until the top of her head came close to the platform.
A cough came from the back while the men in the front row gave her appreciative glances, but that was all. No claps, no whistles, no nothing. They hadn’t come for the show she put on. Her languorous, sexy moves didn’t affect them at all. Then why were they here?
Her boss frowned at her from behind the curtain and shook his head. This was a respectable club—okay, a sex club, but still a respectable one—not a circus. Risking injury to herself was not
supposed to be part of the act. There would be repercussions for sure, even though Riella never fell. He pointed somewhere in front and quickly back, signaling her to get off the stage.
Riella turned to look ahead, and her foot slipped. Pain shot through her ankle. Damn. She’d been fine for almost a week and hoped the injury left by her nightly activity had healed. No such luck. But the ankle bothered her less than the sight of the wire thin man advancing between the tables. Despite him not granting her a second glance, a block of ice settled inside Riella’s stomach.
His reputation as one of Tena's clients preceded him. He paid well but left the girls unable to dance for several days after each session. Riella could do without the money, but she needed the job. If she refused to join the brute in the back room, the boss would most likely fire her. She bit her lip. There was no escape.
Faking a big smile, she did a twirl, blew out a couple of kisses, and left the platform, trying not to limp. She failed.
* * *
“Damn these riots,” Spinner said and downed his drink. It was his fifth. Or sixth? He couldn’t remember.
“We should have returned through the north,” Rake said with a shrug.
“Right!” Spinner bounced in his seat. “Did you notice only the poor countries are big on peace demonstrations lately? We would have been safe two countries higher up the map.”
“Eh, north, south, same shit all over.” Nicholas ran his fingers through his dark hair. “All roads lead to Rome.”
Spinner grinned. Watching the magician getting tipsy was probably the highlight of his week. Nicholas didn’t drink, so things had to be bad. “Who rained on your parade?”
“Parade? Yes, there will probably be a parade.” Nicholas bobbed his head thoughtfully. “You see, my brother is getting married, and I can’t go to the wedding … because I’ve got creditors chasing after me.” He made a bleak face and waved at the waitress for a refill.
The creditor story was a cover designed to fool the outside world, but everyone at the circus knew he was running away from the draft committee. At least he wasn’t drunk enough to mix his stories yet. Spinner sympathized with him. As a telecharger on the run, Nicholas could never go home, not until the war ended. If he had had a family, Spinner would have missed it too.
He patted Nicholas on the back and ordered another round. Oblivion always helped.
“I mean I don’t mind a night off,” he said as if the rest of the conversation never happened, “but they can barely pay when we do work. We had to cut the ticket prices by half lately.”
“Tell me about it.” Nicholas pulled on the collar of his jacket. “My clothes are threadbare. I used to wear silk.”
Rake scratched, distracted, at a scar on his left hand. His eyes kept darting to the curtain where the redhead had disappeared.
“At least there’s still something to eat, eh?” Spinner elbowed Serioja, who hadn’t said a word.
The tall aerialist started from his stupor as he mournfully watched the blonde with generous curves dancing on the platform in front of them.
“She’s late,” he said.
“Who’s late?” Spinner asked.
“The dancer,” Serioja said with a straight face, but he wasn’t looking at the one spreading her legs on the platform.
“Eh, she’s probably busy doing private dances backstage,” Spinner said.
“No, he’s right,” Rake said. “It shouldn’t take this long. This place doesn’t rent girls for the night.”
“And you know this because…?” Spinner narrowed his eyes at him.
“You want to check the prices?” Nicholas pulled a pamphlet out of his breast pocket and handed it over. Confronted with their raised eyebrows, he smiled sheepishly. “A waiter slipped it to me when I walked in. He must have thought I could afford it.”
Spinner turned the pamphlet around and tilted his head. “Wow … the prices aren’t bad but … how can they do that? You’d think they were built by us.”
“Yep.” Nicholas nodded. “There are some things in there even I couldn’t make them do. These girls have skills.”
Spinner finished with the pamphlet and held it out, smiling with glee.
Rake glanced at it but made no gesture to pick it up. He frowned at the curtain covering the back wall.
Serioja ignored it altogether. “She’s late.”
“We know, we know…” Spinner sighed. “When she gets back, buy a dance and get her out of your system. We won’t tell Anya, eh, guys?”
The grunts he got in reply could have meant anything. But it was the second night in a row they had come to the club, having nothing better to do with the city on lockdown because of the riots, and it was getting boring. If one of them could find some excitement, why not?
Nicholas stumbled out of his seat and took a moment to regain his footing. “I’m going to the bathroom.” He strode to a side exit, moving with grace, only his glassy dark eyes hinting he might have drunk more than his usual.
Rake got up, too.
“Rake?” Spinner looked up.
“Something’s not right,” Rake said in his gruff voice. “The others have returned twice by now.”
“No, Rake … Big Dino doesn’t like it when we get in trouble.”
“I’m not getting in trouble.”
True, few people dared to stand up to the big knife thrower. On the other hand, if there was trouble already…
Spinner finished his drink. He’d paid for it, and he hated leaving it there. When he entered the corridor, Serioja walked two steps behind him.
* * *
The gag prevented Riella from screaming. If she had, she would have been hoarse by now. How much longer? How much longer until the man had enough of this torture? Client, not man. Regular people didn’t do these things to their own kind. She struggled weakly against the restraints. The leather bands bit into her wrists, adding another layer of blood to the cuts.
The client walked around her, adjusting ties and binds. He never said a word, and he wore the same inscrutable expression all along as if he didn’t see a woman in front of him but only a tool to relieve his frustrations.
Surprisingly, he didn’t get off on her being submissive. He enjoyed her rage. And she was enraged over the bruises he’d left on her creamy skin, and possibly a couple of broken bones, too. It was hard to tell as there was too much pain all around.
The struggle brought no relief. The machine he’d tied her to was designed in such a way she couldn’t break free by herself. There were too many restraints and odd angles that gave her no leverage. She shouldn’t waste her strength that way, but she couldn’t help it. Her body reacted outside of her control. But she wouldn’t give in. She refused to let this monster break her.
The client pulled on a lever. Her leg twisted unnaturally. Riella let out another soundless scream.
* * *
Nicholas finished washing his hands in the rusty sink and watched himself in the mirror. The past few years spent at the circus had added fine lines to the corners of his eyes. In other circumstances, he would have thought they made him look distinguished, but tonight they made him look old. He felt old, long past his thirties. He’d traveled the world, never staying too long in one place because the circus didn’t, and he’d seen too much. More pain and destruction than he could tolerate. The circus people handled it well, but he didn’t have the stomach for it.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, he pulled on the lapels of his coat—an old reminder of another life. A life when he used to be someone else. Sometimes it felt like yesterday he’d left his mother at the top of the Capitole stairs in Toulouse. The buzz of the alcohol clouded his judgment and let memories filter through. He shook his head. Too much wallowing. It didn’t help anyone, and it didn’t make him feel any better. Maybe another drink would.
A blast echoed down the corridor. Nicholas straightened his back. He was about to make another bad call.
* * *
The door flew open, and Spinner rushe
d inside one step behind Rake. The torture chamber reeked of blood, and faint whimpers came from the mangled body trapped in the metal contraption in the center of the room.
The man standing with a hand on a lever looked down his nose at them. “Get lost.”
“Not a chance.” Rake growled. “Release her.”
“If you come any closer, I’ll release this.” The man nodded at the lever. “Do you know what it will do to her?”
They didn’t, so Spinner and Rake paused in mid-stride. There was no point in risking hurting her even more.
“It’s okay. I’ve got this,” Nicholas said from the doorway.
Rake jumped, grabbed the man by the throat, and pinned him to the closest wall. His fist came down like a hammer. The grunts of pain faded fast as the man became as bloody as his victim. Sweat broke out on Nicholas’s forehead, but the lever stood still.
Knowing better than to try to stop Rake when he was in punishing mode, Spinner focused on the girl. Serioja was already wiping the blood off her face with a corner of his shirt, and together they detached her from the machine, wincing along with her each time another strap or bit of metal was removed. They laid her on the floor since there was nowhere else to put her, Serioja cradling her head in his lap. Lucky for her, the girl had passed out.
“Can you fix her?” Serioja looked up at Spinner with his blank, blue eyes.
Cuts, punctures, burns, at least four fractures, and who knew what else. Spinner shook his head. “She needs to go to a hospital.”
Nicholas stepped away from the door, careful not to touch anything and dirty his clothes. “What makes you think anyone working here can afford to pay for healthcare?” He was shaking slightly, but not from the booze.
