Shadow Fall

A hand at Custo’s arm pulled him suddenly upward. His knees buckled so he ended up kneeling. A fight raged around him, a gun discharged, shouts. He caught Adam’s voice, shouting, “Here!” but to whom he spoke, Custo had no idea.

Custo peered into the bleary sky, blinking rapidly to focus.

Luca looked down at him. “I thought we lost you. Well, pull yourself together and get off your lazy ass.”

Custo was abruptly released as Luca dived into the fray. Custo stared, weak and stupid, at the street fight around him. Each movement was a strange rainbow arc of color in his vision. Each mundane shape was irregular and strange. He found Adam, expression fierce and joyful at the same time. That, too, was wrong; Adam was too perpetually worried to look that happy. Had Shadowman returned? Dead wraiths were stinking up the alley. The fetid smell made Custo’s eyes tear.

No, not Death. Others had joined the fight against the wraiths. Their faces weren’t familiar, but they were beautiful, skin perfect, eyes too deeply aware to be human. Custo knew them for what they were: angels. One held a wicked-looking short blade, its shaft subtly winging at its base like a trident. Custo could almost hear it singing though the air. The weapon was murder on wraiths.

Slowly the world solidified. The blurry colors collected in their rightful places. The shapes of building and body took on defined edges. And a blissful burn roared through his gut. He was healing at last.

Annabella.

Custo opened his consciousness to find her. He swept through the thousands in the audience, the bright specks congregated on the stage, the people waiting in the wings.

Custo searched for the glowing spirit that had brought him back to life, and found her flickering on the edge of hers.

Chapter Ten

A bell tolled the break of dawn. The music quieted, and the wilis delicately assumed listening poses, bodies leaning, heads cocked. The light on the stage shifted, yellowed, as the sun broke through the shadows of the trees. Giselle had seen her cursed Albrecht through darkest night. She clasped him one last time before returning to her grave.

Come. Now. Wolf pulled her toward a break in the trees, a deviation from the choreography of the ballet.

Yes, Annabella answered. All her dreams could and would be made real, and she didn’t even have to try. She’d be miserable for the rest of her life if she denied Faerie and didn’t embrace the magic with everything that she was.

Come, Wolf said again, this time with his sexy growl. The sound used to scare her, but now it excited. He knew her in ways that no other man could; he knew that her passions were hungry, just as he knew that nothing on Earth could satisfy them.

She belonged in the Shadowlands, dancing forever.

But…She glanced out into the audience—all the people were enthralled, spellbound, as if they collectively held their breath. The illumination of the stage lit their faces and had their eyes shining.

Just one more thing…one more moment, here…

Annabella wanted her applause. She’d worked hard enough for it. Seventeen years of breaking her body for ballet. She wanted the first bows with the company, then the curtain calls, the standing ovation, her arms full of roses. She wanted these people on their feet, shouting “brava.” If that made her a diva, so be it. If she were crossing to the Shadowlands, this was the only time her work would be recognized.

The orchestra sang the last strains of the love song. Al-brecht was supposed to collapse center stage as Giselle disappeared into her grave, but Wolf stood, holding out his hand to draw Annabella into his world in a strange reversal of the story.

A happily-ever-after would have them exiting together, bound for the Shadowlands, but Giselle was a tragedy.

And Annabella wanted to take her bows.

Come, he said a third time, angry.

The ballet doesn’t end that way. Annabella ignored his outstretched hand—she imagined the audience interpreted his reach as Albrecht’s last hope, his longing.

The curtain fell. The audience was utterly silent. Then they broke into thunderous applause and shouts, no single word intelligible in the sudden storm of approval. The stage floor vibrated with their calls, thrilling through her body. It was…beyond wonderful. Worth the delay.

Venroy strode onto the stage, tears streaming down his face. He gripped her hands, saying, “Sublime, Annabella! Jasper! Perfection!”

Exquisite pleasure filled Annabella’s chest, almost too much to bear. The Thomas Venroy. Crying. For her.

“Child,” Venroy continued. “A bravura performance. You have exceeded all my expect—”

“Get back!” Wolf snapped, wrenching Annabella away by her elbow.

Venroy faltered. He swallowed his outpouring of emotion as if slapped.

Annabella frowned at Wolf. There was no call for that. And besides, she really wanted Venroy to finish.

“Of course,” Venroy said, regrouping. “There will be time for this later. So much to do, to plan for…” He tapered off, waving for the corps of wilis to form a half circle upstage.

“I want my bows,” Annabella said to Wolf, obstinate. It had taken years of willpower to bring her to this point; she was not giving them up.

Wolf glowered, his discontent rumbling in his chest, but he stepped forward to clasp her hand. Tightly.

The curtain rose. The audience clamored with approbation.

Annabella shook off Wolf’s clasp and swept into a grande reverence, a prima ballerina’s thank-you to the audience. Every ballet class she’d ever taken had ended with a grande reverence, as was custom, but every performance until now she’d had to settle for the simple curtsey of the corps. Not anymore. She bowed deeply to the audience.

The applause was a gale wind through the Shadowlands. She could feel it caressing her skin, making her glow. The best of both worlds.

She rose and bowed again to the other side. How many times had she fantasized about this moment? Too many to count. She’d practiced in front of any mirror—studio, dressing room, bathroom, department store, even carnival fun house. Thank you, thank you…and all you over there, thanks to you as well. And how could I forget the ones in the balconies? Thank you. This was way better than she’d ever imagined. She could get used to this.

She glanced side to side to join the full company, and all together they bowed again. She gestured grandly to her partner to acknowledge his part; Wolf stared back at her, shadows a potent throb in his gaze.

Yeah, yeah. He’d just have to wait.

The curtain dropped again, but the shouts from the audience did not diminish. If anything the Shadow wind blew stronger. That meant curtain calls.

Sure enough, a stage tech signaled from side stage that he was about to stagger the curtains so that she and Wolf could step out and take another drink of the applause drug. Thank you. Flowers for me? A bouquet of two dozen long-stemmed roses, blood-scarlet against the wili white of her arm. Another deep dip. Thank you.

Annabella and Wolf backed up, and the curtain closed. She listened intently to the applause of the audience. Would there be another curtain call? And if so, how many? She’d bow all night if the audience would let her.

Annabella looked at the stage tech, waiting for a signal, ready, but Wolf grabbed her from behind, his hands digging into her shoulders. Those stupid Segue men rushed onto the stage. What did they possibly hope to do?