“We all have our own strengths,” I said, and shook my head, trying to switch into educational mode. “Have you ever seen a honeycomb?”
“Yes.”
“So think of our dimension as one cell in a really, really big honeycomb. It’s touching a bunch of other realities, all sort of parallel, all sort of not. What you get is determined by what direction you go—and don’t ask how you know what direction you’re going, I am not a dimensional traveler, and I don’t want to be. That’s my Grandma Alice’s job. Anyway, if you’re traveling on the horizontal,” I swept my hand flat through the air in front of me, “you get humanoids, things that look like life in this dimension, but aren’t necessarily the same. Cuckoos probably came from a horizontal dimension. If you’re traveling on the vertical, you get things that aren’t humanoid, but are statistically more likely to be like the people in this dimension—empathic, intelligent, friendly. And if you travel on the diagonal, you get weird shit. Frequently snakes. Like, three times out of four, snakes.”
“But why?”
“Hell if I know. Hell if anyone knows. The universe seems to really enjoy making snakes.” I pushed myself up off the floor, tucking my phone into my pocket. “Because there are so many snake dimensions, people have run into them at various points throughout history. And because humans are sometimes predictable in bad ways, there are always people who think summoning a giant snake from another dimension will help them get their heart’s desire. I’m not sure what that says about people. Probably nothing good.”
Pax stared at me. “That’s it, I’m going back to the ocean.”
“You’re like the little mermaid in reverse.” I flashed him a smile and offered him my hand. “Come on. Are you feeling less like eating people?”
“Yes, but we’re going to need more steak,” he said, taking my hand and letting me pull him to his feet.
“We can get more steak,” I said. “For right now, we need to get out there and pretend everything is normal. You up for it?”
“No,” he said dolefully.
“Good,” I said, and dragged him out the door. Yes, there was an element of fiddling while Rome burned in heading for a party when two of our fellow contestants had just died, but sometimes, keeping up appearances was all you could do. We’d avenge them later. Maybe I was being a little paranoid: I’d own it if that were the case. Hell, I’d even be grateful. But I didn’t think I was. When something like this begins, it doesn’t end until a lot more people are dead.
Eight
“Walking into danger with your eyes open and your mind clear is a sign of bravery, not foolishness. Well, sometimes foolishness. But as long as you walk back out again, you can pretend that part doesn’t matter.”
—Enid Healy
The Crier Apartments, privately owned by Crier Productions, sometime after midnight
THE PARTY WAS AS AWFUL as I expected. People kept asking if I’d seen Poppy or Chaz, then laughing and making snarky comments about sore losers when I said I hadn’t. It was triggering a weird sort of déjà vu; I was pretty sure I’d seen this scene play out over the course of the last few weeks, as people slipped away from us. I might even have been one of the ones asking where they’d gone.
Thinking about it made me want to grab and shake every single person I saw, and when I realized my hands had started balling into fists without my having consciously decided to hit somebody, I pleaded a headache and left. Lyra was still laughing, dancing on top of a picnic table with one of the contestants from season four. I decided to let her have her fun. She’d pay for it in the morning, and maybe the hangover would make the bad news feel a little less personal.
The front of the apartment was empty when I stepped inside and started toward my bedroom. It was time to take off my wig, shower, massage my scalp, and get ready for bed. Nothing was going to stop me from getting a few hours of much-needed sleep.
Nothing except for maybe Dominic, perched on the windowsill above my bed like some bizarre bird of prey. He was even wearing his leather duster, which he usually only broke out for monster hunting these days. I stopped in the doorway.
“Close the door,” he said.
I closed the door. Then, without being told, I grabbed a chair from the closer of the room’s two desks, and wedged it up under the doorknob. If Lyra came back, she could knock.
“Come over here,” he said.
Those were the words I needed to snap me out of my surprise. “What are you doing here?” I hissed, voice low. “You know you’re not supposed to be this close to the studio housing. They have a lot of security around this place. You could have been arrested. You could still be arrested. You’re supposed to text me and let me come to you!”
“Yes, there are a great many things we’re supposed to do, aren’t there?” Dominic stayed on the windowsill, eyes narrowed and jaw set in a hard line. “For example, when my wife discovers dead bodies in the place where she spends most of her time, I expect her to notify me. I certainly expect her to call me before she goes to a party, rather than leaving me to find out from an email CC.”
I paled. “Oh. Dad already got results?”
“You are the most insufferable, infuriating, insane woman I have ever—yes, he found some documentation of those runes you photographed. You remember, the ones carved into the corpses of your fellows.” He finally slid off the windowsill, striding toward me. “Verity, how could you?”
“Look, I know you’re mad, but I was never directly in danger,” I protested. “They were dead by the time I got down to the basement. I didn’t see the killer.”
“You think that’s why I’m angry? Please. Danger is a natural part of what you’ve chosen to do with your life. I hope you don’t get yourself killed while I’m not with you, but I accepted the possibility long before I asked you to marry me.” Dominic shook his head. “I’m angry because you didn’t call. Because I had to find out from someone else, as an afterthought, and I’ve rarely been so worried, or felt so helpless.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t think.” I’d followed procedure. I’d encountered a problem and notified the family. But I had more than my blood relatives now. I had Dominic, and he was here, and he’d needed me, and I hadn’t called him. I was a terrible wife. He was probably going to divorce me. It would be just what I deserved. It would be—
Dominic put his hands on the sides of my face, pulled me closer, and kissed me. I could feel the relief radiating off him, so clear and vibrant that for a moment I thought this must be what it was like to be an empath. Artie had tried to explain what it was like to feel other people’s emotions to me more than once: in that moment, in that kiss, I finally understood what I’d been missing.
Finally, Dominic pulled back, and said, “If you ever do that to me again, ever, I will lock you in the trunk of the nearest available vehicle and leave you there until I feel you’ve thought sufficiently about what you’ve done.”
“I’m sorry, did you just threaten to put me in time out?” I put a hand at the center of his chest and pushed lightly. “Nope. Not going to happen. But I’ll try to be better.”
“That’s all I’ve ever asked.”
“So if Dad found some info on these runes, does that mean you’re up to speed?”
“Yes, although not with whatever unreasonable plan you’ve concocted to deal with the situation.”
“I’m going to go back to the theater tomorrow, and wait to see whether Adrian shuts down the show,” I said. “If he does, we get the hell out of Dodge. If he doesn’t, I keep my eyes open and you start lurking around the theater more, in case you’re needed in a hurry. Dad thinks these may not have been the first bodies—just the first ones we’ve found. Someone may have gotten to the janitorial staff. I’m not sure yet. I need to wait and see.”
Dominic blinked. “That actually sounds reasonable. Who are you, and what have you done with my wif
e?”
“Ha, ha,” I said, before kissing him again. “Get out of here. The last thing we need right now is for you to get caught. I’ll come see you tomorrow night, and you need to clear your calendar for this weekend.”
“Why?”
I grinned. “Because we’re going to the flea market.”
After Dominic left and I’d taken my shower, I was able to manage almost five hours of uninterrupted sleep before the alarms went off and it was time to get moving again. Despite my corpse-and-intrigue–filled evening, I was still perkier than most of the other dancers as we lined up to wait for the town cars. Apparently, dead bodies aren’t as bad for you as wine coolers. Not a surprise, but still good to have it proven.
Malena wandered over to our waiting area, nodding genially to Anders and Lyra before asking me, “All good?”
“All good,” I said. “I’ll let you know if that changes.”
“Or you could not let me know,” she said. “That’s always an option. Catch you on the backbeat.” Then she was gone, heading for her own waiting zone, while Anders and Lyra turned to stare at me.
“Are you making friends?” gasped Lyra. “With people who aren’t us? Be still my heart, I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Quiet, you,” I said, before punching her on the arm. “I’m a friendly person. I know how to make friends.”
“Knowing how to do a thing and actually doing the thing are not the same thing,” said Anders. “You’ve never socialized with our competition.”
“I socialize with you,” I protested.
“I was your partner for the whole season. If you hadn’t been willing to socialize with me, you would have spent all your free time sitting in a corner looking sad,” said Anders. “It still took me two weeks to get more than five words out of you when the cameras weren’t on us.”
“You only started socializing with me and Pax after I got dropped on you during a group rehearsal,” said Lyra. “Ours is a friendship born of unstable footing and guilt.”
“Okay, so I’m mostly focused on my dancing,” I allowed. Lyra was wrong about why I’d started being friendly with her: the drop had been an excuse. I’d been trying to get closer to Pax, who was the first Ukupani I’d ever met. Scientific curiosity has always been a powerful motivator where I’m concerned. “That doesn’t mean I’m unfriendly. I can make friends.”
“Malena’s a nice girl,” said Pax. “If Val wants to make friends, I say we let her.”
“It’s just so beautiful,” said Lyra, miming wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Our little Valerie’s learning how to play nicely with the other children.”
“I will kill you all in your sleep,” I said.
Lyra was still laughing when the town car arrived.
The ride to the theater was harder than usual. I had to keep pretending nothing was wrong, even as the feeling of impending doom grew stronger. Soon, we’d find out how Adrian was planning to react to the bodies in his basement. In the meantime, I had to keep people from realizing I’d already known.
Worse yet was the possibility that Adrian wouldn’t say anything; that the bodies wouldn’t have been found, and I would have to decide how to play things from there. Not fun.
The cars let us out behind the theater, at what we all thought of as the stage door. We filed dutifully inside to learn what we’d be doing for the next week—or to find that the whole show had been canceled on account of the vicious murder of two of our own. I saw Malena through the crowd, casting worried glances at me and Pax. For once, I was the person with the least to lose. I was the only one of the three of us who was human, and while intense media scrutiny might result in my having to spend a few years hiding from the Covenant of St. George, I didn’t need to worry that I’d lose control, change forms, and eat a judge.
I found Pax’s hand and squeezed. He didn’t say anything, but he squeezed back.
We arrived on the stage in a mob. Adrian and Lindy were already at the judges’ table. Cameras were set up around the edge of the stage, filming everything.
“Morning, all,” said Adrian. “We have a few announcements before you pull your choreography assignments.”
This was it. They’d found the bodies, and the show was going to continue as a memorial. The other four eliminated contestants were fine. Everyone would know to be much more careful, and we’d dance to honor the dead. Maybe it said something bad about my priorities, but I was relieved to know that we wouldn’t be going home just yet.
“Remember that as of this week, America will be voting on whether or not to mix up your partnerships. If you want to keep your partners, you’ll all need to work on your connection to one another, and on seeming like you actually enjoy what you’re doing. If you feel like a new partner would be a good thing, then by all means keep smiling at the audience when you’re supposed to be having a romantic moment.”
Lindy chose that moment to speak up. “We still have a lot of excellent ballroom dancers here, but we’re already down two. I’d rather not lose one of you every week. So get your shoulders down and ground your feet like you actually remember what your choreographers taught you. Got it?”
“Yes, Lindy,” chorused the remaining ballroom dancers dutifully, me among them. It was no secret that Lindy favored the ballroom dancers—or that she’d come down on us like a ton of bricks if she felt we’d given her a reason.
(I never really had to give her a reason. My friendship with Brenna was enough to label me as a bad girl in her eyes. Lindy was professional enough that she’d never used it as an excuse to throw me under the bus, but during my season I’d been praised less than the other ballroom girls, a trend which was continuing into the present day. Oh, well. It wasn’t like I needed her validation when I had all of America picking up their phones to vote for me.)
“Brenna will be here in a moment, and then you’ll draw your routine for the week. We’ll do it twice, to make sure you have a style that works for you; once that’s done, you’ll go and meet with your choreographers.” Adrian looked around the group. “Any questions?”
I had one. Why aren’t you saying anything about the murders? But I couldn’t ask that without betraying that I knew more than I should have, and so I kept my mouth shut and stared at him, willing him to say something.
He didn’t say anything.
Brenna appeared with the hat from which we’d draw our “random” dance assignments. Someone hit the theater lights, recreating the diffuse theatrical lighting that accompanied the shows, and it was time to get back to work, no matter how much I didn’t want to. If I was going to find out what was going on, I was going to have to play by their rules.
Anders and I drew the quickstep, which meant a lot of hopping and running and incredibly rapid footwork, all performed while trying to recall Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse in their heyday. We were going to be dancing to “Candyman” by Christina Aguilera, doing a Tarzan-and-Jane concept routine, and since it was a dance built on energy and precision rather than complicated tricks or lift sequences, our choreographer didn’t need to modify it much to accommodate our skill levels. We spent the first two hours of the day warming up, learning the basic steps, and getting a feel for the piece. It was pleasantly non-hectic—something I knew wouldn’t last when we hit lunch and got our group routine assignments.
“Anyone mind if I duck out to powder my nose?” I asked.
Anders, who was currently flat on his back on the studio floor, breathing heavily, waved me off. Our choreographer flashed me a grin.
“Just hurry back, we’re about to start learning the fast part,” he said.
“Can’t wait,” I said, and slipped out of the room.
As soon as the door was shut behind me, my posture changed. Valerie was a dancer. She was graceful and loose and always ready to turn a simple motion into something profound. Verity—the real me—was all those things,
but first and foremost, Verity was a hunter. Where Valerie walked like the whole room was hers to claim and conquer, Verity slunk, compact and poised to strike. Valerie posed. Verity attacked.
Sliding from one identity into the other was more difficult than usual, because I was on Valerie’s territory. The back halls of the Crier Theater belonged to her, especially in the middle of the day. Anyone could come out of a room and catch me outside my rehearsal and walking oddly. I couldn’t think about that right now. All my attention was on stripping myself back down to my training, and finding out what the hell was going on.
There was no smell of decay wafting up from the basement. I hesitated for a moment before I flicked on the light and started down the stairs. Halfway down, I froze.
The bodies were gone.
The floor was clean, all traces of blood washed away. The place would probably have lit up like Christmas morning under a black light, but the naked eye found nothing wrong. There was a scuff from behind me, like someone coming to a stop. I whipped around, falling into a combat stance, and relaxed as I saw who it was.
“Pax,” I said. “You scared me.”
“I scared you?” he demanded. “You just looked at me like you were going to rip my larynx out with your bare hands. I need my larynx. Those things take forever to grow back.” He looked past me to the floor, expression going from surprised to grim. “I figured you’d come here eventually. I’ve been checking every ten minutes or so.”
“That must be making Lyra super happy,” I said.
“Between the so-called vomiting last night and now this, she thinks I have food poisoning. I’m a ‘trooper.’” He grimaced. “The door was cracked when I passed it to start rehearsal, and I realized I couldn’t smell any blood. I checked the room as soon as I could get away, and found it like this.”
“No blood?” I turned back to the empty basement. “They can’t have cleaned it that completely.”
Chaos Choreography Page 13
