Shadow Fall

ghost, the wili, of Giselle.

The arabesque. A breath. And Jasper’s strong hands were at her waist to skim her body through the ether.

He set her gently on the forest floor, near her grave, then stepped forward to embrace her, to capture the spirit of his love. Too late, too late. The two-timing Prince Albrecht broke her weak heart and she died. Now he comes at midnight to grieve for her.

“Lightly! Don’t forget your arms!” Venroy called.

Annabella corrected the angle of her port de bras so her arms were tentative, the tilt of her head mournful.

She floated back, on tiptoe, stirred by an errant breeze through the darkened trees.

“Yes! Don’t let Jasper catch you!”

Jasper blurred in her vision as she took a light run upstage. If she looked at him, really looked at him, she’d lose the moment. The magical transport between here and the Otherworld. Her blood sparkled through her thrumming body, tingling at her fingertips in the sweep and twist of each extension. Darkness crowded the corners of the story, a forest of magic replacing the barrier of the studio walls.

“That’s it! Beautiful, Anna!” Venroy raised his cane. “Ladies, be ready!”

The music rose and her wili sisters poured from the tree line, circling her like a cauldron of mist before forming two straight lines at the edges of the clearing, arms crossed over their breasts, heads bowed, eyes hollow and downcast as in death.

The music hesitated, and then a single violin sang, the melody rising in tempo, yet still queer in tone. She sprung into a series of backward moving leaps, feet quick, body light, then prepared for her diagonal cross—

She brought her gaze up for her pique turn.

A pair of wide-set yellow eyes peered back at her from the murk of the imaginary trees. Feral eyes.

Her breath caught. She blinked hard and shook her head. She forcibly relaxed: Shoulders down. Concentrate.

The music rose—her cue—and she began her lightning-swift, traveling turns. Her feet were busy, fast with technique, while her upper body all but floated through the air. She was the ghost of a lovelorn girl; gravity had no power over her. She was as fluid as water, as dense as atmosphere. Magic and midnight alone could claim her.

A low growl rumbled through the wood…From the whip of her turn, her gaze found the yellow eyes again and now the hulking shadow of a wolf, crouched to spring.

Her balance shifted, faltered. Her foot slipped out from under her and…she fell with a body slap to the studio floor.

Wolf. Heart pounding, Annabella skittered away from the now-empty corner of the room. Her gaze darted around the studio, the lights suddenly bright and harsh. The wilis dropped their positions and shuffled out of line.

Anybody see that?

Their interest was fixed on her.

Just me then.

The thing was gone, as was the dark forest, evaporating into her imagination.

She finally brought her attention to Venroy, who was pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed.

Embarrassed heat swept over her. Maybe it was time to go home.

Mortal. Trespasser. Woman.

Bright like fire. Dancing like flame. A threat.

Her fecund scent burned in the hunter’s nose. Earthy, musky, sweet. Hunger curled in his belly. His teeth sharpened for flesh.

The mortal light flickered, then doused, but the smell of her lingered. Drew him. He stalked the boundary of Twilight, his paws silently picking through the layers of Shadow to search her out. He cocked his head to sniff.

This way. The hunt was on.

“Anna, I’d like a moment,” Venroy said. “The rest of you are done for the night.”

Annabella pushed herself to standing. Her hip and elbow finally registered the ache of the fall. Just great. She shot a quick glance to the corps, who were leaving in twos and threes. A couple months ago, she’d been one of them. When the lineup for the new season had been announced, she’d had every expectation of being in the long line of wilis for the classical component of the schedule. Certainly not in front of them, as the lead.

And it had all started with those fateful words, “Anna, I’d like a moment.”

This time she didn’t think it would be good news.

Chin up. Dress rehearsal was tomorrow—she was Giselle whether they liked it or not. She strode forward. She prayed Venroy would keep his voice low. Falling on her ass was humiliating enough. Having the whole studio hear his rebuke would be too much.

Venroy’s expression softened. “You are worrying me, Anna. I wonder if you were promoted too early. Too young. Your technique is strong, but others are equal, some better. You certainly work hard, but everyone else here does as well.”

Her stomach turned. She didn’t want to hear the rest.

“And you have talent. Undeniable talent.” He shook his head. “I am not talking about aptitude. I am talking about the gift. When you dance, the story comes alive. Do you know what I mean?”

“I know how I feel when I dance.” Her voice was thick.

His gaze sharpened. “How?”

“Different. Wonderful. But strange, too. Like the world loses its grip on me and I can fly. Does that sound crazy?”

“No,” Venroy said. “And yes. But that is ballet.” He grew serious. “We can cancel the Giselle portion of the opening gala and substitute it with something else. Serenade is ready.”

Her face burned. “I swear I can do this.”

“You’ve been pushing yourself too hard. There is no shame in saying you aren’t ready. We’ll simply make the change.” He stood and adjusted his pant legs. “But if you choose Giselle and become distracted like that during the performance, it will be your last as principal.”

The heat in Annabella’s face abruptly fell away. Her heart beat hard, once, registering his criticism and sending a fresh wave of mortification though her system. Her eyes pricked with tears. The very idea of Thomas Venroy disappointed in her made her chest horribly tight. She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked down at her shoes, concentrating on the worn peach satin so she wouldn’t cry. She was a grown woman, for Pete’s sake.

“What’s it going to be?”

There was only one answer. “Giselle.”

Venroy took her chin, raised her face to him, and gave her a little shake. “Anna, please. I believe in you. You shine so bright when you dance. Try to enjoy this moment.”

She was trying. She was giving this performance every scrap of talent and soul that she had. This was her dream.

Sighing, Venroy picked his folded gray-brown sport coat off the floor at his feet, gave it a dusting, and then shrugged it on. “Go home. Get a full night of sleep. Trust yourself that the performance will be wonderful. Once you are on the stage, in costume, you won’t be able to help yourself. Distractions will disappear. You will be Giselle, body and spirit.”

Will that wolf still be there? She bit her lip so the question wouldn’t slip out. She swallowed hard again and nodded. She couldn’t have Venroy thinking she was losing it.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he led her to the studio door, and then gave her butt a pat to nudge her toward the dressing room.