Black Frost Winter: The Black Seasons Book Two

by Lenai Despins

  “You’re the American, right?”

  “That’s me,” Alexia replied, finding her voice easier.

  Chloe eyed her for another moment, something shifting behind the veil of her delicate features.

  “Do you have any plans tonight?”

  Alexia swayed, losing her balance in disbelief that Chloe was asking about her evening agenda.

  “I’ll probably be meeting my friends somewhere.”

  Chloe’s eyebrows arched a little higher. In an effort to keep her cool, Alexia hid her smile with a quick twist back to her locker. She knew her response had unintentionally awarded her with another stamp of status. She was busy. Too busy for Chloe. Take that.

  As expected, Chloe’s voice rose again, drifting over Alexia’s shoulder as she donned her heavy winter coat. “Well, my boyfriend’s hosting a little get together this evening, if you and your friends want to come…”

  Needing another minute to compose herself, Alexia took her time turning around.

  Stay cool, you got this.

  “What time?”

  “People will be dropping by around eight.”

  Alexia smoothed a fallen strand of hair behind her ear. “Sounds fun. I’ll try to make it. Text me the address?”

  “Your number’s in the registry?”

  Alexia nodded.

  “Great,” Chloe replied. “See you there.”

  A cough snapped Alexia back from la la land. Kelly shifted, appearing bored. Chloe jerked her head as if noticing a fly in the room.

  “Oh, you can come too,” she said as a careless afterthought.

  Kelly replied in a fashion only her iron composure could attain. “Thanks, but I’m going out for dinner with some of the other dancers.” And never forgetting her politeness, added, “Everyone is invited if you want to swing by before your soirée. We’re going to a restaurant called Parfait. It’s right next to the hotel.”

  The French name rolled off her tongue with such flawless enunciation that Alexia did a double take.

  “You speak French?”

  Kelly laughed, “It is Canada’s second language. Learned it growing up. It’s rusty, but enough to get by.”

  Alexia looked back at Chloe, as if seeking her validation. However, the principal dancer’s nose was buried in her phone. Their time in the limelight was over. Without bothering to look up, Chloe exited the room.

  When the door closed, Kelly released a pent-up scoff.

  Alexia regarded her curiously. “What?”

  “Oh, nothing. You ready?”

  The two girls strolled down the lavish hallway of the opera house toward the streets of Paris in silence. Alexia knew she should let it go, but she couldn’t. All she wanted to talk about was Chloe. Get the opinion of another dancer. Chloe may have had a bad reputation in her family, but Alexia wanted to know the thoughts of someone who could appreciate the principal dancer’s level of otherworldly talent. Someone who lived and breathed the challenging art of ballet. Someone like Kelly. So she steered the conversation in that direction.

  “Chloe really is all she’s cracked up to be. I’ve never seen anyone dance the way she does.”

  The comment was left hanging in silence. Alexia cast a sidelong glance at Kelly. Her jaw was clenched, as though biting back words.

  “What do you think of her?”

  Unable to escape the question, Kelly cringed, as if forced to say something that went against her moral code.

  “Seems to me like she’s lacking in the humility department.”

  Her tone wasn’t catty, but matter-of-fact, which irked Alexia all the more. The words bit as hard as the wind that blew them down the front steps of the Opéra Magique. She couldn’t let it slide. She needed an explanation.

  “What do you mean?”

  Kelly arched an eyebrow, asking if Alexia was serious without the use of words. Alexia kept the sincerity cemented in her expression to serve as a response.

  “I’m just saying, humility is a virtue most dancers possess. It’s what keeps us sharp. Knowing that there is always someone willing to work harder, someone more skilled, someone more dedicated, someone to threaten every part we audition for. It makes us strive to be better—to be the best.”

  Alexia nodded. She, more than anyone, understood the demonic workings of the imposter syndrome, a resolute but absurd belief that she was unworthy of the opportunities granted to her. It was hard for her to come to terms with the fact that she alone had been invited to represent the American Ballet Company for Le Réveillon de la Saint-Sylvestre. Ever since she received the invitation from Mrs. Beaumont, she’d been waiting for the director to call and tell her there’d been a mistake—that she was too young, too inexperienced. The only positive that came from the self-destructive attitude was that it made her work ten times harder. With her perseverance and drive, it hadn’t taken long for Alexia to become the most watched up-and-coming dancer in her company. There were still times when doubt flashed its ugly face in her mind, but she had gotten better at living with it—accepting the impossibility of ever fully evicting it. Besides, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Doubt drove her to continually improve.

  Kelly’s voice drifted back to focus.

  “But in Chloe’s case, there’s no one to threaten her. She knows she’s the best, and I’m not so sure that’s a good thing. She’s very blasé about the performance. It doesn’t mean as much to her as it does to the rest of us.”

  At a loss for words, Alexia’s gaze drifted over her shoulder, taking in the glamorous sight of the opera house for the last time that day. The city’s meager layer of snow had melted in the midday sun, but frost still decorated the edges of the Opéra Magique’s windows. Alexia’s eye was drawn to the largest pane of glass on the highest floor of the building. The intricate lattice of frozen water accentuated the fine detail of the stonework surrounding it, and Alexia thought of the law of attraction with a smile.

  Beauty attracts beauty, whether it’s made by man or nature.

  A sudden movement from beyond the glass startled her. A person had been standing in the shadows. As they moved closer to the window, their face was illuminated by the last of the fading sun. It was a face Alexia recognized even from a distance. The stunning curvature of its diamond shape, the thick mane that framed it, styled with an elegance even darkness couldn’t eclipse, and the piercing eyes that protruded like two gemstones, scanning the world for something worthy of hovering over.

  Chloe Monet.

  Alexia was taken aback, having thought the principal dancer had left the opera house before them. Then a chill curled down her back as she realized Chloe’s presence wasn’t what really surprised her. It was the fact she was watching them, staring down at them in a way that made Alexia shiver.

  No, it’s just the cold getting to you.

  Alexia shook her head and lifted her hand to wave. Her fingers didn’t get the chance to open before she froze. The frost that outlined the window was changing, morphing into a deadly color. The blackness began at the bottom corners of the glass, spreading upward to consume the pure white ice like an unstoppable plague. Soon, the entire window was painted black, and Chloe’s image, powerless to penetrate the dark screen, disappeared. Reason countered that it was only a shift of the light, the sun dipping behind a building in the distance. But Alexia didn’t have to turn to know that wasn’t the case. The intensity of the light painting the rest of the building was unchanged. The black frost was no illusion. It was real.

  A hand fell on her shoulder. Alexia twitched, her startled eyes meeting Kelly’s.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I think I just saw—”

  Words failed her when Alexia twisted back to the window. The black frost was gone, as was Chloe. Only a hollow void could be seen beyond the glass, its cover of white restored.

  “Saw what?” Kelly probed.

  Lost in thought, Alexia barely heard.

  Were hallucinations a symptom of jet lag?

  She must have b
een more tired than she thought.

  “Nothing,” she replied after a time, dismissing the opera house from sight.

  But the vision stayed with her as they passed through the historic streets back to the hotel. It was a stubborn thorn in her subconscious…pricking her with the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

  CHAPTER 3

  A loud knock awoke Alexia from a comatose state. Confusion arrested her before her memory stirred to life and the shadowy outline of the hotel room took form. She squinted into the glow of the digital clock beside her bed. 5:55 p.m. She still had five minutes until her alarm was set to go off.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  The knocking sounded again, followed by a muffled yell.

  “Alexia, wake up! Paris awaits!”

  With a groan, she slipped out of bed.

  Forgetting the convenience of the push-to-operate-blinds button right above the nightstand, Alexia stumbled through the dark to the door. Carrie, Amy, and Deborah were on the other side. Without invitation, they barged in the second Alexia unlatched the deadbolt.

  Deborah slammed on the lights. “This place is sick. I knew the rooms would be killer judging from the restaurant downstairs.”

  “What are you talking about? We haven’t seen the restaurant,” Amy said, scrunching the ivory skin across her forehead.

  Deborah sprawled across the chaise lounge, kicking off her boots like she was returning home after a long day in the fields. “Correction, you haven’t seen the restaurant. I saw it this morning.”

  Amy’s neck snapped to Alexia for clarification.

  “Don’t look at me. I didn’t invite her.”

  “Details, details,” Deborah piped in. “Now Alexia, hurry up and get dressed. Hot, foreign men are at our doorstep.”

  It was Alexia’s turn to shoot Amy and Carrie a worried glance, fearing Deborah had done something Deborah-ish, like arrange an extensive list of surprise suitors to accompany them that evening. It wouldn’t have been the first time…

  “Deborah, if you’ve rounded up a group of strangers for us to go out with, I swear…”

  But Deborah shot down the suspicion, “Not literally, silly. I just meant there’s a lot of potential out there. Who knows, we could all go back to New York with French lovers.”

  Alexia rubbed the sleep from her eyes with an annoyed twist of the fist as Carrie came to her rescue.

  “You’re so right, Debs. There must be throngs of men just waiting for you to find them. Why, I’m sure there’s at least a dozen in the lobby bar right now. How about you and Amy head down for a drink, and Alexia and I will catch up when she’s ready?”

  The suggestion was enticing enough for Deborah to stir. She propped herself upright, groping for her boots with a devilish grin.

  “And here I was thinking Amy was the brains of our group. That’s the best suggestion I’ve heard all day! Or at least it’s on par with the proposition I received from that gorgeous salesman on Avenue des Champs-Élysées.”

  “Don’t tell me you exchanged sexual favors for clothes,” Amy said, her complexion draining.

  Deborah cackled like the idea was preposterous. “Of course not! What do you take me for? He told me that if I purchased five dresses, he’d throw in the sixth one for free.”

  The statement restored pigment to Amy’s skin, but only for a second. It faded again when Deborah hooked her arm to sweep her out the door. The look of desperation she shot over her shoulder made it seem like she was being dragged off to jail instead of the hotel bar.

  “Guys? Help please!”

  Her pleading was drowned in Deborah’s squeal of excitement. “We’re going to have so much fun!”

  Carrie and Alexia were laughing before the door closed.

  “You fed her to the wolves.”

  “It’ll be good for her,” Carrie replied as she caught her breath. “But we probably shouldn’t leave them alone for too long.”

  Getting the hint, Alexia set to work, rummaging through her suitcase for a pair of jeans, and her nicest sweater. It wasn’t designer, but it was tight-fitting and black. To her, anything black was fancy.

  “Oooo, going all out tonight are we?” Carrie asked with a sarcastic grin.

  “Shut it,” Alexia replied as she made her way to the ensuite. She kept the sliding door open a crack so sound could travel through.

  “Hey, would you be interested in dropping by a small house party tonight?” Alexia tried in vain to keep the pleading from her tone. “If it’s lame, we can always head off to the bars after.”

  “You know I love a good house party as much as the next person…but I thought they weren’t your thing?”

  Alexia opened the door a tad wider so Carrie could see the roll of her eyes. Carrie never failed to bring up that one time in senior year when Alexia drank a little too much at some creep’s house party and ended up lost in the woods for half the night.

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m much more sophisticated now than I was back then.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” Carrie replied, voice as flat as a pancake.

  Alexia craned her neck around the door, eyes narrowed like she was about to fire laser beams from her pupils. Carrie’s voice might have been flat, but her lips weren’t. She was smiling her usual mischievous smile. Alexia sighed. Why did her friend have to be so sarcastic all the time? Even if it was a bit funny.

  “Hardy har har,” she snapped, buttoning up her jeans. “Besides, we’re not in America anymore. The French don’t binge drink, and I won’t be drinking at all. It’s just a casual get-together.”

  “Oh, yeah? And who’s hosting this casual get-together?” Carrie asked, preemptively fetching Alexia’s makeup bag from the top of her suitcase.

  “Chloe Monet’s boyfriend.”

  Carrie’s smugness was penetrating.

  “Don’t judge her until you’ve met her,” Alexia warned.

  “Well, you met her today, right? Why don’t you tell me what she’s like?”

  Alexia opened her mouth to reply, but shut it quickly. The first reply that had come to mind wasn’t even her own opinion—it was Kelly’s.

  She’s lacking in the humility department.

  With a sharp exhale, Alexia shot down the thought, focusing on what she had intended to say. “She’s the best dancer in the world.”

  Carrie cocked an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Sounds to me like you’re beating around the bush. But hey, you’re right, I won’t judge her until I’ve met her.”

  “Then you’re in?” Alexia asked, smearing the lipstick she was applying as her mouth widened in a smile.

  “Sure.”

  “Great. You think Amy and Debs will be down too?”

  “Yeah. Amy will probably think of it as a cultural experience, and we’ll just tell Deborah that there will be a slew of hot men.”

  Alexia reached for a tissue to wipe away the red smudge above her lip. “Did I tell you that I love you today?”

  Carrie blew her a kiss. “Skye will be so jealous.”

  “Have you spoken to him yet? I’m surprised he didn’t put up more of a fight when you told him you were coming with us.”

  Alexia got along well with Carrie’s boyfriend. He was breezy, funny, grounded…essentially the male version of Carrie.

  “Not on the phone. It’s hard with the time difference. But that’s okay, I won’t miss him until New Year’s Eve. That’s all boyfriends are really good for anyway, right?” she grinned. “A kiss at midnight once a year.”

  “Well, with the magic of technology, maybe you two can share a virtual kiss.”

  Carrie nodded absently before raising her hands to inspect her black nails, a style she’d adopted last year. Alexia thought they suited her well. Carrie might have looked like a snow angel on the outside with her fair hair and innocent blue eyes, but the hint of black was a fitting contrast to her appearance. A subtle clue to the darker edge in her personality. Watching her lounge surrounded by her typical bubble of self-assur
ance, Alexia was suddenly reminded of Kelly.

  “I met someone you’d like today,” she said, thinking aloud.

  “Oh, yeah? Does her name start with a C?”

  The corners of Carrie’s lips raised in a teasing smirk. Alexia turned, faking ignorance at her friend’s jeer.

  “No, it starts with a K. K for Kelly. She’s the dancer from Canada.”

  “Ooooo, Canada, eh? Is she as nice as they’re made out to be?”

  Alexia gave the question serious thought, rolling Kelly’s judgement of Chloe over in her mind.

  “I think “polite” is the word I would use. She’s very cool though.”

  Carrie’s bubblegum-pink lips stretched wider. “Is that why you think we’d get along? Because we’re both so cool?”

  Leaving the bathroom, Alexia grabbed the closest cushion to toss at Carrie’s head.

  “Alright, alright!” Carrie laughed, catching the pillow before it wreaked havoc on her hair. “But really, will she be there? Because I’m not in the mood to pass up a night on this beautiful town for a party with subaverage people.”

  With reluctance, Alexia admitted Kelly had other plans, but hurried on to state she was certain Chloe and her boyfriend would only associate with fabulous, interesting people.

  Carrie scrunched her button nose, only straightening it when Alexia shot her a death glare.

  “Fine, fine!,” Carrie surrendered. “But get a move on, would you? We won’t be going anywhere tonight at this rate.”

  * * *

  When Alexia and Carrie finally waltzed into the lobby bar, they found exactly what they had expected to find—Deborah in a booth surrounded by three men all fighting for her attention. Amy sat on the opposite side of the bench, leaning so far away from the group that she looked to be in danger of toppling onto the floor. Exasperation was embedded in the lines of her face, which softened in relief when she noticed Carrie and Alexia. She waved at them like someone lost at sea would wave to a passing boat.

  “Finally!”

  Anyone else might have wondered why the pretty Japanese girl was being overlooked by the men at her table, but the scene wasn’t unfamiliar to Alexia. There was no debate that Amy was just as beautiful as Deborah, with black locks that were as smooth as glass and creamy skin that molded around refined features. But it wasn’t Amy’s appearance that deterred potential suitors; it was her demeanor. Her eyes might have held the mystic quality that men could have lost themselves in for hours, but she never gave them the chance. In case her death glare failed to deliver the message, she took the additional precaution of cementing her body in a “don’t take one step closer” stance, deterring anyone with a shred of emotional intelligence. The only thing that seemed effective at breaking down her wall of hostility was alcohol. Alexia looked at the untouched glass of wine in front of her, then shrugged.