Date: 1995-01-02 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Young Adult; Horror
Description: Is there something sinister about Madame Leona’s dance troupe?When Melanie Clark’s best friend, Pauline, dies in a car crash, the police write it off as an accident, but Melanie isn’t so sure. Pauline was acting strange in the weeks before she died, and Melanie believes Pauline’s dance teacher, Madame Leona, may have had something to do with that. In order to learn more about the mysterious hold Madame Leona has on her students, Melanie joins the teacher’s prestigious dance group. She’s determined to find out the truth behind Pauline’s death—no matter what it takes. But as she becomes more inv
Publisher: Open Road Media Teen Tween
Rights: All rights are reserved.

The Dance

The Dark Chronicles

Barbara Steiner

For good friends,

Susan Lynds and Ashley Godeaux

This from Lamiaza I have derived: The maidens of the chosen, whose number is in accordance with Lamia, who is also called Lilith, is to be seven. For at the mark of five hundred years, the cycle is again accomplished.

—The Book of Rosalynn

A.D. 1480

They are seven, they are seven. In the valley of the abyss to where the fallen angels fell, they are seven. In the numberless stars of heaven, they are seven. In the abyss, in the depths, they grow in power. They are not male, they are not female; they have taken from the moistness of the waves. They are seven from the sea mist. Conjure these evil spirits in form for their time is now. They are evil, they are evil … They are seven of the form of Lilith. Like the beasts to man they are seven in their form. For their time is now. They who have revolted cause the gods to tremble.…

—Chaldean Text 1100 B.C.

prologue

PAULINE MCMASTERS STRETCHED and let out a big sigh as she got in her car and waved good-bye to her grandmother. The weekend had been great—just what she’d needed.

She loved to drive—it was a quiet time when she could be alone and think. She loved her grandmother. Grannie was so loving and so sensible. They’d had a long talk about what Paulie could do besides dance. Well, dance professionally.

There were other dance schools, other teachers. But right now there was still the fear, the unreasonable fear, every time she tied her toe shoes, every time she stepped onto the dance floor with that woman watching her.

No. She had vowed to put that behind her. To stop thinking about Leona Turva.

She tried to make her mind go blank, to enjoy the feel of the powerful machine under her. And for a few minutes she succeeded. Fields blurred as she sped by. It was a lovely fall day. She was eager to get home and call Melanie. She had decided to tell Mel everything, the truth as she saw it. The truth about Leona Turva.

It was hard to stop thinking about pure evil. That was how she had started to think of Leona.

Maybe Mel could help her decide what to do. A part of her felt she owed it to the other dancers to break the spell Madame Leona had on them.

Suddenly, the fear came over her again. The smell of sulfur and sweet incense filled the car and threatened to smother her. She coughed, choked, realizing this could not be her imagination.

She glanced in the rearview mirror, then quickly over her right shoulder. The back seat filled with a vaporous fog.

Automatically, she placed her foot on the brakes. She wasn’t going to be able to see. Nothing happened. Her eyes flew to the speedometer. Seventy—seventy-five—eighty—eighty—

Panic started deep in her gut and funneled upwards to her chest, her throat.

Eighty-five—ninety—

She wasn’t doing this! Her foot wasn’t even on the accelerator.

She jammed her foot down as hard as possible on the brake. The car skidded. Up and down, up and down she pumped the brake, stomping, putting her whole weight into her right foot.

A scream escaped her lips as the steering wheel was yanked from her grasp and twisted to start the car in a trajectory off the highway.

Rolling, twisting, spinning it took flight, spun end over end, then came to earth with a thundering crash. Immediately it burst into flames.

A sulfurous fog rose along with the smoke that spiraled upward from the burning vehicle.

And barely conscious, Paulie heard laughter, hellish, joyful, demonic laughter.

one

THE LAFAYETTE THEATER on Eighteenth Street was a turn-of-the-century relic that crouched like a sulking stone dinosaur at the end of a row of gift shops and art galleries.

At one time some enterprising citizen of Bellponte had decided to save it by renaming it the Blue Princess Theater and converting it into an entertainment mecca. It featured plays, art movies, live bands, and some dinner theater.

Inside, centered on the main floor, was a bar. At the front, a small dance floor huddled in the shadow of the stage. The stage was surrounded by tables and chairs on three levels. Just off the lobby the original, barely faded maroon carpet climbed a wide stairway to the balcony, which was pretty much like it had been in its early glory, dark and cozy.

Downstairs, occupying most of the basement rooms, was a ballet school. The presence of the new owner, Madame Leona Turva, lent to the old building a certain exotic flare that had been missing for many years.

Melanie Clark and Bryan Dorsey were a contrast to the flamboyant artists and actors often seen wandering the streets and at the theater and art show openings. They were laughing as Bryan maneuvered his bangedup green Camaro into a tight parking slot, jumped out, and made a ceremony of helping Melanie to the sidewalk.

“Welcome to the Holideck,” Bryan said, trying to throw off the bad case of nerves he felt coming over him. Melanie didn’t seem the least bit nervous, so why should he? “We have reproduced this authentic setting for a twenties musical. Note the art deco shops and the glittering theater marquee.”

Melanie glanced around. “Oh, yes. You’ll have to admit that this part of town has much more character than the mall, won’t you?”

“No argument about that.” Bryan made sure the car was locked, figuring there was about a fifty percent chance of its being painted pink and offered for sale in one of the funky art galleries.

“Hey, I park Mom’s car here lots of times when I come for my ballet lesson.” She laughed again. “Your precious car is safe.”

“But is your mom’s car an antique? You promise my car won’t have a papier-mâché woman with long red fingernails sitting in it when we come back?”

“Promise.” She laughed and skipped away.

The Arbuthnot, an antique and curio store, clung snugly to the theater like a child to its mother. It was the antique store, not Melanie’s school, that was their destination.

Up the street to the left for a block and a half were more shops: a famous celebrities secondhand clothing store, an upscale pawn shop, an espresso bar, and a Hard Rock Café.

“You hungry?” Bryan was willing to stall for a few minutes.

“No, but you can probably get a burger down there for only twelve dollars, fries extra.” Melanie shivered and Bryan felt it. She was nervous. No matter how much she pretended she wasn’t, he could sense her fear.

He hooked his arm through hers and steered her in the direction of the old theater. “Mel, it’s not too late to back out. Even if this works, I’m not real sure I want you to do it.”

“It’s a good idea, Bryan, and I’m determined to prove that Paulie was murdered. Don’t try to stop me.”

Whirling away, pretending again, she turned her mouth up and stuck out her tongue to taste the snow falling from the hard winter sky in soft, feather flakes. Bryan thought he’d never seen anything as beautiful as her face surrounded by her fuzzy yellow hat.

“You’re wonderful, do you know that?” he whispered, pressing warm lips to her cool cheek.

She took a deep breath and looked away from him for a minute. “So are you, Bryan. Thanks for coming here with me.”

“Thanks for going to the wrestling match this morning. Not many girls would sit through all that just to see me pin my opponent in thirty seconds flat.”

“Are you kidding?” Melanie teased. “I saw more male flesh in those two hours than I’ve seen in my whole life.”

“Hummm, I didn’t think of that. I’ve changed my mind. You can’t go anymore.”

Melanie pushed him and danced, spun, furry angora mittens reaching for the sky. She was trying to act normal, but Bryan sensed she was putting off going into the shop.

Two old men, shuffling along the sidewalk, blowing out steam and scrunching far down into their coat collars, stopped to look at Melanie. Bryan felt like saying, “She’s my girl. Isn’t she beautiful?” But he didn’t need to say it. He could see that they’d stopped because they thought so, too.

“You have competition,” she teased.

“They know a beautiful woman when they see one.”

On the corner of Eighteenth and Main, a small group of singers huddled around a kettle and a bell ringer. Melanie stopped to listen. Bryan stepped up beside her and hugged her close. She responded by circling his waist with her arm.

Ten lords a’leaping

Nine ladies dancing,

Eight maids a’milking

Seven swans a’swimming,

Six geese a’laying,

“Five go-old rings,” Melanie sang along with the choir.

Bryan looked at her, and she smiled at him, her green eyes sparkling. “I would like to give you a million gold rings,” he said, “all on the third finger of your left hand.”

“What about college?” she asked, not taking him seriously.

“Forget four tough years of college. I’ll take you and we’ll hide in some tiny town in Iowa. I’ll run a filling station. I’ll hurry home every day, greasy and grimy.”

“But I won’t care.” She took up the fantasy. “I’ll run to open the door, laugh, and say, ‘I love you. How was your day?’”

“What about your being a famous ballerina?”

“This will be after I retire. Ballerinas retire early. You can learn mechanics while I’m being famous and making lots of money. I’ll buy you your own garage.” She giggled, loving the game. He hugged her again, and they finished listening to the chorus of the old song:

Four calling birds,

Three French hens,

Two turtle doves,

And a partridge in a pear tree.

Melanie spun away from Bryan, then leaped gracefully, even in her fur-lined boots. “Nine dancers leaping.”

“That’s lords.” He corrected her.

“Sorry, my lord.” She bowed gracefully, pretending to spread the bottom of her quilted down jacket.

Both of them dropped some change into the red kettle as the singers started singing, “Oh, Come All Ye Faithful.” They moved on down the sidewalk towards the antique shop.

“Mel, get serious. I know you’re scared. I know this means a lot to you. Let’s talk again. What if you can’t get Madame Leona’s attention, or get in her troupe? You didn’t get in it the first time you tried out.”

Melanie took a deep breath. “Then I’ll think of something else. I’ll investigate from outside. But Laurie Roberts says Leona needs another dancer. And snooping around from the inside would be easier. I know it would. I know I can find out what happened to Paulie.”

“Paulie was driving too fast. She wrecked her car. I don’t know how you’ve come up with this idea that Leona Turva had anything to do with it. But, Melanie,” Bryan took her arm in a firm grasp. “If you’re right, and she did have something to do with Paulie’s death, this is too risky. One person has already gotten killed.”

“If I’m wrong, we’ll all feel better about Paulie’s death, won’t we?” Melanie pulled away from Bryan.

The Arbuthnot Shop wasn’t much to look at. The smudged window and cluttered, dusty display suggested they could get a bargain here easily. Bryan reached for the doorknob.

“Stop,” Melanie commanded, going into the act she’d planned for when they got in the store. “I’ll bet you a cup of hot chocolate there’s a bell.”

“No fair.” Bryan went along with it. “You’ve been in here before.”

“I’ll swear I haven’t. Unless I can get Mom’s car, I swing off the bus in front of the theater, go in, come out, catch the bus back home in the same place. I’ve peeked in the windows, but I’ve never been inside.”

“All right. I’ll trust you.” Bryan accepted the wager.

He could feel the ribs on the cold doorknob through his gloves. Pushing the heavy door open, they had taken only two steps into the shop when a tiny jangling sound from over their heads announced them.

“I win!” Melanie laughed. Only Bryan would know that her merriment wasn’t real.

“You knew you would. You cheated.”

Warm air, smelling of hot radiators and fresh incense, brushed Bryan’s nose. After he closed the door it settled all around him, heavy and slightly musty. He took off his gloves and unbuttoned his jacket.

The shop was poorly lit, and little light came from outside since thick clouds and the snow had dimmed the afternoon. It was larger than he had anticipated, with part of the shop branching off to the right.

A painted plaster dragon crouched over the front door. It breathed incense from the snout. Its black marble eyes stared down on them contemptuously. Melanie giggled and clutched Bryan’s arm, pretending to be frightened.

They gazed at a shelf of books, old and collectable. But the titles weren’t what he would have expected: The Truth, Judas Underground, Devils Past and Present, Guide to Herbal Healing, Magic and the Maya. Not your run-of-the-mill library fare.

“Oh, I’ve read them all,” Bryan said, acting disappointed and turning away, enjoying Melanie’s laughter, even though he heard the nervous catch in it. “All right.” He turned a corner. “Mother will love these.” That was their story. They were shopping for a Christmas gift for Bryan’s mother.

Where the shop doglegged to the right there was another room, different from the rest of the shop. Long and short swords shared a wall on the right with overlapping tapestries. Framed oil paintings and sketches were spread across the center wall. Shelves of colored candles lined the wall opposite the swords.

“Bryan, look.” Melanie pointed at a stuffed owl in flight, going nowhere on an elevated platform. In the corner below the owl sat a tilted, convex mirror, the kind used to watch customers.

Melanie had meant for him to see the owl, but he was more aware of the mirror. He had the creepy feeling that someone was watching them explore.

The walls of the room had been designed to simulate grainy, unfinished stone. Bryan rapped twice on the sword wall and found it was plaster board. A curvy, snake-like dagger clinked, vibrating at his knock.

One painting in particular caught Bryan’s eye, initially because of the ornate frame. It went so perfectly with the painting, Bryan could easily believe that the painting and the frame had grown old together over the years, or perhaps centuries.

#ARTH-37: ORIGINALLY FROM THE VILLEFORT COLLECTION, PARIS, 1874. THIS IS MADAME DE BECLIER, ALSO SISTER JEANNE DES ANGES, SAID TO HAVE BEEN POSSESSED BY DEVILS IN 1633 IN THE URSULINE CONVENT AT LOUDON, FRANCE. IT IS PROBABLY THE FIRST COMMISSIONED WORK OF BATISTE D’ALGORET, PAINTED IN 1621.

The picture was a study in blue. The nondescript background behind the young, pretty face was a very dark shade of blue, the plain garment and cap a clean, grayish-blue. The eyes were a blue so light and vulnerable as to give the whole face an ephemeral quality, making Bryan imagine she might vanish if he reached out and touched her cheek. Without meaning to, surprising himself, he started to do so.

“You can’t have her.” Melanie jerked his hand back. “I’d be jealous all the time.”

“I—” Bryan felt his face heat up. He felt silly.

“She is a witch. Look at how she captivated you in seconds.”

Bryan laughed, knowing he was blushing. He stepped back, inadvertently brushing the wall with the painting. To his surprise, the surface was cold and damp, real stone.

“Anyway, did you see the price?” asked Melanie, still talking about the painting. “You can’t afford that picture. Let’s go back and look at the jewelry. Your mom would rather have jewelry.”

Bryan felt a shiver run over him, probably from the shock of the wall’s surface. This place was spooky. And didn’t anyone work here? He followed Melanie back into the main room.

Somewhere, violins were playing on a radio. The melody sounded like a Strauss waltz, but as Bryan was about to place it, the music was shut off. Thick maroon drapes covered a wide doorway behind the cash register. They parted in the middle, revealing an old woman in a black dress. She stood motionless and stared at them, her square face in a frown, as if they had disturbed her. Didn’t she welcome customers?

“Frau Voska,” Melanie said. “I didn’t know you worked here. Is this your shop?”

“You know this woman?” Bryan whispered. “She looks like a refugee from ancient Russia.” Even at Melanie’s greeting, the woman didn’t smile. And she said nothing.

“We came into the shop to look for a Christmas present—for Bryan’s mother. Something unusual.” Melanie spoke as if she were apologizing for disturbing the woman. As if she had to explain that a shop usually expected customers. Especially during the holidays.

“Look, look.” Frau Voska waved at them. “I get you help. Do not take down the swords.” She looked right at Bryan. “I have to get the ladder to put back the hooks.”

“I won’t touch anything, I promise.” Bryan held up both hands and whispered again to Melanie when they were alone. “Who is that, anyway? Mother Russia?”

Melanie punched Bryan, holding a finger to her lips. “Mother Germany.” She whispered, too. “She’s the dance master at the ballet school. I guess she works here as well.”

“She’s a dancer?” Bryan raised his eyebrows.

“She was once. A very famous ballerina in Germany before the war.”

“What war? World War One? You won’t look like that someday, will you, Mel? Promise me. Otherwise I may have to curtail a lot of daydreams I’m having about us.”

“I can’t promise anything. Serves you right for thinking those kinds of thoughts.”

“I can’t help myself.” Bryan pulled Melanie into his arms and for a moment held her green eyes captive. She twisted away.

“If Leona isn’t here, my plan isn’t going to work,” Melanie whispered when Bryan joined her, staring into the glass cases of antique jewelry.

“Good,” he whispered back. “Let’s leave.”

The music, now a piano sonata, began again, the volume muted.

Bryan rubbed the chin of a huge gray pouf pillow curled on the counter in front of him. The cat looked at Bryan, squinting blue eyes, and started to purr. But she leaped to life, jumped off the glass case, and disappeared at the sound of a voice behind them.

“Yes, may I help you?”

“Oh!” Melanie stepped backward into Bryan, making him catch his balance to support her. “Madame Leona.”

“Do I know you?” the woman asked, her words formed with a slight accent.

She was tall, an inch or so taller than Melanie, but she had the same slim dancer’s body, even though she was older—forty maybe. Her eyes were dark, intense, and captured Bryan’s for longer than he felt comfortable. He felt partly drawn in, fascinated, by her. But another part felt as if he was trespassing, that he was violating Leona’s personal space by entering the shop.

Despite his feeling, Bryan continued to stare. Leona’s hair was drawn severely back into a bun on the back of her long neck. Her face reminded Bryan of Egyptian or Greek beauties he’d seen in paintings. Perfectly oval, it framed high cheek bones, a Roman nose, a strong chin, and full lips. An aura of confidence surrounded her, confidence in her beauty, herself, secure in the knowledge that she was in charge here.

“I—I’m in your dance school,” Melanie stuttered. Bryan had never seen her so ill at ease.

“Of course,” Madame Leona said, but Bryan felt sure Leona didn’t recognize Melanie. “You are in the advanced class.” The woman had perfect posture, perfect poise.

Melanie nodded and focused her attention on the case before her. “We need some jewelry for a special gift. Oh, look.” She pointed, relaxing again, her attention on a necklace. “That, Bryan, how about that? It’s lovely.”

Madame Leona brought out a medallion on a silver chain, holding it gracefully in hands with incredibly long fingers.

The center of the medallion, a brilliant red stone, was circled by seven silver gargoyle-like figures. Bryan thought them rather grotesque, even though delicately carved. On the back of the disc was a panther, its head held proudly.

“I love it,” Melanie said softly, obviously captivated by the piece now that she’d gotten a closer look.

“Then I’ll buy it for you for Christmas. I don’t think my mom would like it.”

“I’m sorry, it’s not for sale.” Madame Leona took the necklace away swiftly and set it back into the case.

Bryan pretended anger. “Then why did you show it to us?”

Madame Leona shrugged, unaffected by his reaction. “Why didn’t you try out for my class, Melanie, and the ballet?”

“I did.” Melanie said, and Bryan could feel her tense up. This was why they were here. “I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t make it.”

“I might have been mistaken. And I need another dancer.” Madame Leona studied Melanie, tilting her head down, as if looking over half glasses. “I remember you now. You were very talented. It was a hard choice. I’ll expect you Monday at four.”

The woman turned and left the shop through the maroon curtain. Even if Melanie and Bryan were really shopping, the meeting with Leona was over. But it didn’t matter. Melanie’s goal was accomplished. Leona needed another student to replace Paulie. Melanie was going to be that dancer.

“Let’s get out of here.” Bryan took Melanie’s arm and pulled her to the front door. The ding-a-ling-ling of the bell was no longer cheery.

“Oh, Bryan—” Melanie spun across the sidewalk, her fear forgotten, elated by her success. “I did it! I’m sure I’m in the troupe. And, Bryan, that was Paulie’s necklace.”

Bryan shook his head. “You don’t know that for sure. There could be more than one. And I don’t like this idea, Mel, I don’t like it at all. I didn’t like it before I met that woman. Now I like it even less. I don’t think you should be in Madame Leona’s dance troupe.”

“I don’t care, Bryan. The only way I can really investigate Paulie’s death is if I take her place. I’m a good actress. You saw me. Leona will never suspect me, and if I find out we’re wrong, that Paulie’s death was an accident, well—well—then I’ll be on the next step toward my dance career. I can’t lose.”

“I couldn’t stand to lose you, Melanie.” Bryan took her in his arms again.

“You won’t, Bryan. I promise I’ll be careful. No way are you going to get rid of me that easily.”

Melanie could make all the promises she wanted. But now that Bryan had met Madame Leona, the woman behind all this mystery, he wasn’t sure Melanie could keep her promise.

two

And the demon Tamiel sheathed his claws and gentled before her.

IT WAS MONDAY, after what Melanie thought was the longest weekend of her life. She hurried along the sidewalk up Eighteenth Street, past shops that were only a blur out of the corners of her eyes.

She peeked at her watch. I’ll be early, she worried. It wasn’t even three-thirty, and Madame Leona had said four. She slowed her pace and transferred her dance bag from one hand to another. She guessed it would be all right to be early, but then it might be more professional to be exactly on time. She needed to act professional, and to dance her heart out—whatever it took to get in this troupe.

The sidewalk was dangerously slick with packed snow. That’s all I need, she thought. The headline would read: MELANIE CLARK FOUND SPRAWLED ON EIGHTEENTH STREET SIDEWALK WITH ALL BONES BROKEN. She laughed at the thought, but it wasn’t nearly as scary as what she might be getting herself into. If she was right, and Leona had something to do with Paulie’s death, a broken bone might look good compared to what else could happen to her.

The heavy snow that fell Saturday night was melting in the streets. Cars sloshed along, throwing water from the curbs, which caused her to stop and go, dodging the spray.

When she finally stood in front of the theater, she set her dance stuff beside her. She forced herself to wait until she regained her composure.

Once inside the Lafayette, which is what she called it though it was now properly the Blue Princess, she walked towards the down stairway on the other side of the stairs to the balcony. It was cordoned off.

“Hello, Miss.” The theater custodian was coming down the stairs. He stopped his broom long enough to greet her and check why she was there. “Dance troupe?”

“Hi, Mr. Brandish. I hope so.” Melanie navigated around the nearest brass post with its thick maroon rope. After descending two flights of groaning wooden stairs, she stood on the concrete floor of the old basement. There was junk everywhere: boxes, play props, a rack of moth-eaten tailcoats and once-glittery costumes, more boxes, lumber, an old upright piano, and a huge mound of shipping excelsior.

The door to the studio was beside her to the right. She took a deep breath, opened it with a confident thrust, and stepped inside.

“Miss Clark. You are early.”

Frau Voska was standing right inside the door, like a guard. Melanie felt as though someone had knocked her aside with a battering ram. Her heart was beating a hundred miles an hour.

All she could think of to say was, “Thank you, Frau Voska.”

Terrific, she thought. I don’t know if being early is good or bad. And there was certainly no way to tell by the tone of Frau Voska’s voice.

At the bars were Laurie Roberts and Jean Whitney, who were also in her advanced class. They paused just long enough to give her a quick hello wave. Madame Leona stood at the far side of the studio with three girls that Melanie didn’t know. She seemed not to have noticed her yet. Until now, Melanie didn’t realize how weak her legs felt.

“Melanie Clark …” Madame Leona turned and greeted her. “Thank you for being on time. Change please. I’ll expect you back in five minutes.”

When Melanie entered the dressing room, she let loose an enormous sigh. As she was changing into her leotards, someone dropped a shoe behind her. Turning, she saw a friendly face with rouged cheeks. The face, framed with tumbling, curly brown hair, was cocked to one side, dark eyes gleaming.

“Hi, stranger,” the girl said, taking Melanie in with a quick once-over glance. “I’ll bet you’re the new dancer.”

Melanie nodded. “Maybe. I’m Melanie Clark.”

“Happy to meet you. I’m Hannah Brooks, but call me Hank. Everyone else does. Comes from having three older brothers.”

Melanie liked Hank immediately. Her smile took away most of the knot in Melanie’s stomach. “Right now you can call me Nervous.”

“Wonderful! Finally—someone around here with a sense of humor.” Hank clapped her hands together in prayer fashion. “Granola bar?” She tore open a two-pack and offered one to Melanie.

“Thanks, Hank, but I couldn’t.” Melanie fumbled with her yellow ankle warmers.

Hank moved closer to Melanie. She slid into a chair, seat turned towards her so her crossed arms rested on the back.

“Hey, look—relax. I saw your first tryout.”

Melanie glanced at Hank, a bit puzzled. She didn’t think she knew this girl, yet Hank seemed to know her. “I’m sorry, Hank—I haven’t—I don’t think I’ve seen you before. You saw me audition for Madame Leona’s troupe?”

“I sure did,” Hank replied. She crunched on her granola bar. “Unlike you, I’m not in her dance school. I got into Madame’s exclusive club through Laurie Roberts. She and I were best friends before I transferred to North Point High School.”

Melanie felt better knowing that Hank wasn’t in her school, even though it was so big she didn’t know everyone.

Hank leaned forward a bit and plopped her head down onto her crossed arms, her hair tumbling all around her face. “You go with Bryan Dorsey, the wrestler, don’t you? Laurie catches me up on gossip occasionally. I fell in love with him at a wrestling match. Laurie says half the girls in Bellponte High are envious of you.” Hank smiled.

“I—I had no idea, but thanks.” Warming to the spirit of Hank’s humor, Melanie sternly put her hands on her hips. “Watch yourself. Bryan does have my name tattooed on his chest.”

“Hey, I can see that. Don’t worry about me.” Hank laughed and Melanie joined her. “I’m a loner. But, Mel—is Mel okay?”

“Fine.”

“Mel, your first tryout for the troupe was great, wonderful. Incredible! I thought you’d get picked hands down.”

Melanie marveled at how good Hank made her feel. Then, like a slap, she remembered the time. She rushed to a large, bulb-bordered mirror hung above a row of makeup stations and quickly pinned up her light brown hair.

There came suddenly three loud, rapid bangs against the outside of the dressing room door. Melanie felt the blood drain from her face. She froze and looked at Hank. Before Hank could say anything the door opened, and Frau Voska stood there, looking at Melanie with what Melanie deemed murder in her eyes.

“Move, girl. Madame is ready for you.” Frau Voska shook a willowy director’s stick at Melanie, then left, closing the door behind her.

“Oh, great …” Melanie started to shake.

“Relax.” Hank stood up. “Frau Vodka is strictly an acquired taste.”

Bless you, Hank, Melanie thought, with a nervous giggle. She was about to ask if she looked okay, but Hank spoke first.

“Ever since Pauline McMasters died there’s been more tension around here than you could cut with a knife. Just work around it, Mel. Reeelaxxx—”

Melanie felt a chill race across her shoulders and neck and down her arms. If she pretended she didn’t know about Paulie, she could find out what else Hank knew about her. “Hank, I’m auditioning for a gap created by someone who died?”

Hank clapped her hands over her mouth for an instant. “You didn’t know? Oh, I’m sorry, Mel. Pauline was in an auto accident. Sorry.” She touched Melanie’s shoulder. “Don’t let yourself think about it. It’ll still be you who gets you into the troupe.”

So much for that. If Hank knew anything else, she wasn’t saying. Melanie made a mental note to question Hank more, if she could do so without raising suspicion. She had no idea who she could trust around here. Until she did, she’d trust no one.

Melanie worked to regain the composure that Hank’s ready jokes had given her. She put all other thoughts aside, stretching her back, then tugging at her leg warmers. “See you later, I hope. I’d better go before Voska raps her death knell again.”

“I would say break a leg, but I think that belongs to the theater. Hey look, I’m supposed to be heading home, but I’ll stay—keep you company—if you don’t mind my watching your audition.”

“I’d love it, Hank. Thanks.” Melanie couldn’t want anything more than just that—a friendly face, someone like Hank who would help restore her self-confidence.

Madame Leona wasn’t in sight when Melanie stepped onto the studio floor with Hank beside her. This worried her, until she saw Frau Voska walk into Madame Leona’s office. She heard a conversation, one voice clearly Madame Leona’s. Hank put a hand on Melanie’s shoulder.

“You know, we’ve been rehearsing Swan Lake so intensely the past few weeks I’m starting to grow feathers. Do you have an audition number? If not, you can expect the Tchaikovsky.”

“Yes, Pau—Laurie told me the ballet you’re doing is Swan Lake.” Melanie watched the three girls she hadn’t met. They stood close together in the far corner across the floor from Madame Leona’s office, and each had her eyes on Melanie. She stared back at them until they looked away and started a conversation, pretending she no longer held any interest for them.

Just then Melanie was tapped on her left shoulder. She and Hank turned to find Laurie Roberts and Jean Whitney behind them.

“We’re done for today, Melanie,” Laurie said.

“But we both want to wish you good luck with your audition.” Jean finished the sentence.

“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow. I hope.” Melanie watched them head for the dressing room.

“You’re on,” Hank cut in. She nodded toward Madame Leona’s office.

Frau Voska was outside, fiddling with the tape deck by the office door. Madame Leona stood beyond her, unmoving, her arms folded. She looked directly at Melanie. Melanie thought she might easily be an incarnation of a Greek goddess. The air around her sculptured face seemed alive with an indefinable vibrancy. She wanted to give Madame Leona her best effort and knew that this audition was very, very special. Yesterday with Bryan, getting this chance, was step one. This was step two of her plan.

The music of the first dance set from Swan Lake began. Melanie had danced it two years ago, and she had watched Paulie practice. She hoped she remembered it well enough. If not, she’d improvise.

She was still looking eye-to-eye with Madame Leona when Hank put a hand on her back and gave her a push. “Get out there, Mel.”

Melanie looked over her shoulder at Hank and gave her a finger wave. Hank waved back.

Melanie began. She let the music lead; she followed. She thought of nothing but a swan. With each second she felt herself being drawn deeper into the dance, bit by bit accepting herself as a swan, letting the music gently push aside all doubt and fear. Every few minutes, though, she did break concentration to follow Madame Leona’s movements. She could feel her slowly and methodically moving around the studio, watching her from every angle. Frau Voska moved with her. She carried the wooden baton, striking it like a metronome against her heavy skirt.

“That’s good, Melanie.”

Madame Leona smiled and walked toward her. Frau Voska walked directly toward the tape deck, almost brushing against Melanie, but did not give her so much as a brief glance. The music was shut off.

Melanie stood, breathing heavily, with a hip cocked to one side and her hand resting there. Whatever happened, she felt good about the audition, her performance. She glanced toward Hank sitting on the floor beside the dressing room door. Hank threw Melanie a “Not bad, not bad at all” look, accompanied by a reassuring Hank smile.

“Surely you didn’t dance that well in the tryouts, Melanie,” Madame Leona said. “Or I wouldn’t have made a mistake selecting—passing you over. I believe you have charmed the muse.”

Melanie felt a blush coming, but could do nothing to stop it. She looked into Madame Leona’s eyes and for a moment felt that she and Leona were having a stare-down. This woman was incredibly strong. She would be a formidable enemy. Leona won when Melanie glanced toward Hank again.

Madame Leona shot a quick glance at Hank, then turned toward the three other troupe members still clustered in the far corner of the theater.

“Ladies—we are done. Thank you.” The trio left, but Hank remained sitting on the floor.

Melanie knew she was in when Leona, in a quiet voice, asked, “Melanie, do you prefer to be addressed as Melanie or Miss Clark?”

“Melanie’s fine.” Melanie tried to keep from smiling—or more than that, shouting. She had done it. She could get on to step three—whatever that was. She hadn’t thought this all out.

“That’s a lovely name. It’s Greek, you know.” Leona stepped forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Welcome to my troupe. Please relax, but don’t leave. I’ll be right back.” She walked away toward her office, then stopped and looked at Hank. “Hannah, why haven’t you left?”

“Mel and I are friends in show choir,” Hank replied casually. “We’re going to grab a bite after she changes.”

Madame Leona frowned but continued to her office. She was gone only an instant and returned carrying a black, velvet-covered box. From it she took a chain and a medallion. “This is for you.”

She placed the necklace over Melanie’s head, paused, and gazed into Melanie’s eyes, searching, inquisitive. Melanie glanced down, partly to break Leona’s spell.

It was, she realized suddenly, the same necklace and medallion from the Arbuthnot. The one Madame Leona refused to sell to Bryan. The one Paulie had worn until—until …

Tears formed in her eyes and threatened to spill over, gathered in her throat until she felt she would choke. She swallowed once, twice, pushing back the grief that was still so raw.

Leona smiled. She relaxed, her arms crossed, and stepped back from Melanie. “It’s lovely, Melanie, and it’s yours. All my girls have one.”

My girls. Melanie wiped her face, hoping Leona would think the tears came from joy. She shot a quick glance at Hank, who seemed to have anticipated the moment. She was swinging an identical necklace, which she had pulled from beneath her sweater. The only difference was that the stone in the center of Hank’s medallion was blue.

Melanie held the medallion in the palm of her hand. It felt warm. She was startled to see that the stone, which had just moments ago been green, was now a deep red.

“It’s alexandrite,” Madame Leona said. “Exposed to artificial light it turns from green to red. Wear it. Tomorrow in daylight it will be green—to match your eyes.”

“Oh, thank you, Madame Leona. This means so much to me. I’m—I’m really honored.” And she was. It had taken talent and guts on her part to get into this select group. If she was wrong about Leona—and she hoped she was—no harm was done. She had furthered her dance career by taking this step.

Melanie saw Hank stand and put on her long, blue woolen coat. It was time to leave.

“Three forty-five tomorrow afternoon.” Madame Leona looked at Melanie with her head slightly lowered, her dark eyes framed in shadow. “Hannah, same time tomorrow. And please wear your medallion under your sweater. I don’t want them lost.”

Melanie watched as Hank, without smiling, did as Madame Leona asked. Madame Leona left for her office, and once there, closed the door quietly behind her. Melanie saw with a glance around the studio that Frau Voska had vanished. She was not the least bit disappointed.

“Melanie, I didn’t mean to invite myself to go with you earlier. When Leona asked why I was hanging around, it was the first thing that popped into my mind.”

“No problem, Hank. I appreciated your support. Do go to dinner with us. We have an extra guy.” Melanie needed to know whether or not she could trust Hank. If she found she could, it would be another person on their side.

She dashed into the dressing room, changed into her street clothes, and was glad to find Hank still in the lobby. That must mean she’d go with them.

“Too bad. You just missed saying good night to Madame MacBeth’s three witches. You didn’t get introduced, did you?”

“I saw them. I couldn’t tell if they were for or against me. So I ignored them. Why do you call them that?”

“I don’t know. There’s something about them that makes my skin crawl. They’re good dancers, but—call it female intuition. I guess—I don’t really like them.”

“I’ve found that a lot of dancers are a word that rhymes with witches. They’ll stab anyone in the back to get a lead.”

Melanie listened to Hank chatter as she watched for Bryan. It was snowing again, which, along with holiday and going-home-from-work traffic might make them late.

“Their names are Nicol, Anne, and Janell. That’s it,” Hank continued. “Period. I’ve been rehearsing with them for three months, and so far as I can find out, they don’t have last names.”

Melanie laughed. Her mind drifted back to her audition, her acceptance, and Leona’s gift. She touched the medallion, a warm lump under her sweater. She wondered how Bryan was going to react to her making the troupe. They’d argued off and on all day today.

Her mother was going to be ecstatic. Melanie couldn’t tell her the truth, and Mom was going to see this as a big step forward career-wise. When Melanie hadn’t made Leona’s troupe and class when Leona took over the school, her mother had mourned for weeks. But it had given Melanie a chance to reconsider the idea of making dance a career. She realized that, as hard as she’d worked, she had been losing interest. And fewer rehearsals had given her time to pursue other interests—like show choir and Bryan. This was the first time she’d ever taken time to date seriously. Here went that free time. But dancing for Leona today, remembering the magic, had made her wonder why she ever thought of quitting. Dancing was her life.

“Hello,” Hank announced, looking through the window. “If I’m not mistaken your friend has arrived.”

Melanie ran to let him in. “Where’s Seth?”

“Circling the block. Come on.” Bryan stomped his brown leather dress boots and shook snow off his down jacket. He glanced at Hank, acknowledged Mel’s introduction, then smiled broadly at Melanie.

Melanie smiled back. She knew he would have kissed her had they been alone.

“So what’s the verdict?”

Melanie feigned an expression of gloom for just a second. “I’m in!” She jumped once to her toes, then threw her arms around Bryan. “I was good, Bryan. I was really good. And I remembered how much I love to dance.”

“She was terrific.” Hank’s smile was the one Melanie recognized as the Hank Special. “Hey, I’ll be right back. I’m forgetting to call my mom. She’ll worry.” Hank disappeared into the back of the lobby.

“I asked Hank to join us, Bryan. Is that okay? She’s in the troupe. She’s really friendly, and I think Seth might like her. Also, if I decide I can trust her, there will be two of us on the inside.”

“I don’t think you should trust anyone,” Bryan warned.

“Let me be the judge of that. I’m really intuitive to people most of the time.” She pulled the necklace from under her coat. “Look familiar? It was Paulie’s.”

“That’s the necklace from the Arbuthnot shop,” Bryan said. “How come you have it?”

“It’s mine. Madame Leona gave it to me. She’s given one to each of her dancers.”

Bryan stared at her for a minute. “Melanie, get out. Before it’s too late. Please don’t do this. We’ll just go to the police with our suspicions.”

“Bryan.” Melanie took both his hands. “You’re being unreasonable. The police already ruled Paulie’s death an accident. And they would never listen to what little evidence we have. In fact, we have no evidence, just suspicion.”

“I don’t like that woman, that Madame what’s-her-name. I don’t want you—”

“Heads up,” Hank said. “If Seth drives a banged-up green Camaro, then he’s double parked, waiting for us.”

Hank had finished her phone call and now stood in front of the theater’s large front windows. She drew patterns on the glass after having breathed on it. Melanie realized she was politely trying to ignore her talk with Bryan.

Melanie was relieved to go outside and get a breath of fresh air. Bryan was really upset, and that bothered her. But in addition to worrying about him, she couldn’t stop thinking about the troupe. She didn’t know whether to be excited or scared.

three

BRYAN SLID HIS hand away when Melanie reached for it. He couldn’t explain why, but the closeness he had anticipated at seeing her had vanished. He knew if he looked at her, he’d see hurt in her eyes. A part of him wouldn’t hurt her for the world, but he needed a minute to think about this.

Cold, he was so cold. He shivered, even though Seth had the car’s heater going full blast. Glancing out the window at the snow closing them in, he felt smothered, trapped, not in control. He felt afraid. Fear—that was it, he was intensely afraid. Not for himself, but for Melanie.

Seth maneuvered them out of traffic before he spoke. “It is much too quiet in the back seat, don’t you think, mystery lady? My name’s Seth Rubens. I won’t ask what they’re doing, but if we had more polite friends, they would have introduced us before they got so involved.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Seth,” Melanie apologized, leaning forward between the bucket seats. “This is Hank Brooks. She’s in the ballet troupe I auditioned for. The troupe I got into, Seth. I haven’t even told you I made it!”

“I’m easily ignored, I know,” Seth said, looking in the rearview mirror at Melanie. “I’ve accepted that. Don’t worry about hurting my feelings. I have none. You can call me Mr. Spock.” Seth ran a hand through his dark curly hair and sat up straighter. He looked at his new passenger. “Hank?”

Hank laughed. “My real name is Hannah, but no one except Madame Leona and my mother calls me that. I have three older brothers who would only include me in the family if they could pretend I was another male.”

“Have they taken a good look at you lately?” Seth didn’t usually pay much attention to girls, but Bryan could see that he was quickly warming toward Hank. He forced himself to pay attention to the present. Melanie was here, right beside him, and perfectly safe.

Hank laughed again. “I’d say you’re off to a good start, Mr. Rubens. And I’ll take that as a compliment. Oh, turn left at the next light. If you don’t have anyplace special in mind, I’ll introduce you to the best pizza in the state of New York.” Not shy at all, Hank took charge of the party.

“I’m game. I was tired of Dino’s.” Seth glanced around. “So you made the troupe, Mel? Congratulations—I guess.” Seth almost gave away their secret.

“Hank helped me relax.” Melanie said quickly. “I’ve never danced better.”

“Eating pizza makes me very nervous, Hank. Can I count on you to help me relax when we get into a booth?”

Hank considered his request for a minute. “I don’t know why not. I’m glad to have found my mission in life. Maybe I’ll start some classes and—”

“I think you’d do better with private lessons.” Seth pulled into the parking lot where Hank pointed.

“You would.” Hank laughed and hopped out of the car before Seth could come around and help her.

“Bryan, are you all right?” Melanie asked. Hank had hooked her arm through Seth’s and steered him toward the small neighborhood restaurant, leaving them alone.

Bryan took a deep breath and pushed aside his feelings. Telling Melanie he was scared for her seemed ridiculous. “I’m fine, Mel. I was just thinking about something.”

“About me?” she teased.

“Yes, if you have to know. I was thinking I didn’t get a hello kiss back there. Now that Hank has so cleverly left us alone, I’ll take advantage. I think I like that girl.”

“Whoa, should I be jealous?” Mel turned her face up for Bryan’s kiss.

Bryan held her for an extra minute, then said, “We probably shouldn’t keep them waiting.” He tucked a strand of Melanie’s hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek lightly with his fingers.

“I think they’ll understand,” Melanie said, but she whirled away and skidded toward the neon-lighted doorway. The C in Calloni’s popped and fizzed as if it were on the verge of self-destructing.

A blast of warm air hit them when they entered the restaurant, along with the buzz of voices and the clink of glasses. The front of the restaurant was a bar, but it stepped down into two dim rooms of booths and tables. Bryan could have predicted the red-checkered tablecloths, the candles in straw-covered bottles, and the plastic roses. But if the decor left nothing to the imagination, the smell coming from the kitchen made up for it.

“Bella, bella,” Seth called to Melanie from the booth he and Hank had found. “Room for one more beautiful woman here.”

“How about Bryan?” Melanie pretended to look sad.

“He can find his own bevy of beauties. I don’t know what he did to deserve you, anyway.” Seth jumped up and pretended to seat Melanie.

I don’t know either, Bryan reminded himself. Half the senior guys in Bellponte would jump at the chance to date her. A lot of them had told him so.

“Go stick your head in the tomato sauce, Rubens.” Bryan pushed Seth gently aside and slid in beside Melanie. “Just because no woman will look at you—”

“Hey, they look, they look. They just know they wouldn’t meet my high standards.”

“How high are they?” Hank grabbed four menus from behind the napkin holder and passed them around.

Seth stared at Hank and squinted his dark eyes. He folded his arms and pretended he was calculating. “Ummm, about five feet five—maybe six.”

“Six.” Hank flipped open the laminated menu. “The pizza is molto bene. I can recommend it highly. But for an even greater pasta experience, their cannelloni al Giogio are incredible.” She leaned forward with a serious look on her face and whispered. “Someone told me the Mafia bosses all leave requests in their burial orders that an order of George’s cannelloni be included in their coffins.”

“With tux shirts and bow ties? Sounds kind of messy, if you ask me.” Seth ran his finger over the menu.

The foursome laughed, then quieted to the task of ordering dinner, deciding to get both the pizza and the cannelloni and share.

“There goes my girlish figure,” Hank moaned. “Frau Vodka will have to let out my costume again.

“Frau Vodka?” Bryan asked.

“Voska—Mother Germany,” Mel explained. “You remember. Your favorite shopkeeper, the one who wouldn’t let you play with her swords and knives.”

“Oh, her. I wondered what her purpose in life was.” Bryan leaned back, pulling Melanie with him. He circled her shoulders with his arm, willing her to forgive him for hurting her feelings when she’d been so excited. The way she snuggled closer made him think she had.

“If she points that stick at me one more time, I’m going to ask for police protection.” Hank tried to square her jaw to imitate Frau Voska’s stern demeanor.

“You make me feel I’m missing something by not meeting this woman.” Seth exaggerated a sad look.

“To know her is to luff her.” Bryan imitated Voska’s accent badly. “Picture a German tank dressed in a black dress and brogans.”

“Gotcha.” Seth saluted and squared his shoulders.

“They’d made a cute couple, don’t you think, Mel? Rubens and Voska?” Hank grinned at Seth’s foolishness.

“There’ll be no more double dates.” Bryan looked at Melanie and smiled. He squeezed her arm, then pushed her forward. “Show Seth that badge of honor you won.”

“You mean my necklace?” Melanie pulled it from under her sweater. “Madame Leona gave it to me, Seth. She said all her girls wear one—the girls in the ballet, I assume she meant.”

“She did.” Hank pulled hers from her purse. “I only wear mine when I go to rehearsal. It’s too heavy.”

Seth took a medallion into each hand. His face was suddenly serious. Pulling his bottom lip into his teeth, he studied them.

“This is quite a piece of hardware, Mel. Yours too, Hank. They look old. You say each girl in the troupe has one?”

“I haven’t seen them on the other dancers.” Melanie turned the silver disc over.

Hank flipped hers over. “I have. The back of each one is different. A different animal. Melanie has a panther, while I’m a lioness.” Hank growled. She seemed to be trying to lighten the conversation again.

“You think there’s any relationship to the girl and the animal?” Bryan asked, half serious.

“Of course not, Bryan.” Melanie shrugged. “Remember that this was Paulie’s. It was the only one left.”

“These are old.” Seth kept turning the necklaces over and over. “And I’d say valuable. Your stone is alexandrite, Mel. That’s very expensive if it’s real. And my guess is that it is. Where would she get—how many?”

“Seven.” Hank supplied the number.

“Seven of these that are alike, or matching?”

“Who knows?” Melanie pulled her medallion back and ran her hands over it. “But she owns that antique store. She came across them someplace, then liked the idea of giving them to the troupe. She’ll want them back after the recital.”

“I’m just realizing Leona must have asked for Pauline’s back after she—after the accident.” Hank slipped her necklace back into her tote bag.

“Or when Paulie fought with her and quit,” Melanie said.

The subject had finally come up. It was as if they’d done everything to avoid it, but now it lay before them, heavy and unavoidable.

Melanie looked at Bryan with an unspoken question. He understood what she meant and nodded. He liked Hank, and maybe she could be of some help. She glanced at Seth. His vote was yes.

Melanie took Hank’s hand. “Hank, I hope I can trust you. I think I can.”

Hank stared at Melanie, then Bryan, and Seth, a question on her face. “Hey, this sounds serious. What’s going on, guys?”

“I didn’t try out for the troupe today just to further my dance career.” Melanie started to explain. “In fact, when Paulie said she was quitting, I’d decided to do the same. I hadn’t gotten up the nerve to tell my mother.”

Seth continued. “Mel’s mother is ambitious to the max.”

Melanie ignored Seth’s remark about her mother, since it was right on target. “I lied to you at the studio, Hank. I did know I was taking Paulie’s place. Pauline McMasters was my best friend.”

“And to make a long story short,” Seth said, “Mel doesn’t think Paulie’s fatal car crash was an accident.”

For a moment, the bubbly Hank seemed speechless. “You—you mean, she—you all think Paulie was—was—”

“Mel has convinced us that someone tampered with her car.” Bryan said the word that hung over them unspoken. “We all think Paulie was murdered.”

four

“MURDERED?” HANK GASPED. Her face got as white as the sugar on their table and freckles stood out like specks of cinnamon. “How—how do you know that?”

“We don’t know anything,” Melanie said. She didn’t blame Hank for being so shocked. She still hadn’t gotten over the idea herself. A murder was something that happened on television or in the movies—occasionally in the newspaper, but it never involved anyone you knew. She did notice that Bryan had said “we.” It helped that he was coming over to her way of thinking.

“Mel just thinks there are too many things that don’t add up, that don’t seem like things Paulie would do.” Seth played with his silver. He had a lot of nervous habits that Melanie had to ignore or she’d start feeling the same way.

“Are you saying you think Madame Leona had something to do with Paulie’s death?” Hank shook her head.

“They had a fight. It’s the only idea we do have.”

“But why, Mel, why would Madame Leona want to kill Pauline McMasters? Because she quit the dance troupe?” Hank kept shaking her head.

“It does sound ridiculous when you put it that way.” How could Melanie explain any of this to Hank? She shrugged. “It’s just a feeling we have.”

“What are you going to do?” Hank asked. “What can I do?”

“We don’t have much of a plan. And I can’t think of anything specific, Hank.” Melanie reached for a slice of the pizza the waiter set in front of her. “All I can do is keep my eyes and ears open. Once I get a clue that seems promising, I’ll follow up on it.”

“You could drop Paulie’s name into the conversation every chance you get,” Seth suggested. “Watch how people react.”

“I think you should find out anything you can about this Madame Leona’s background,” Bryan said. “Where did she come from? Where did she teach before this? And it makes sense to find out where Ilene Greenway—is that her name, the woman who sold the school abruptly?—is now and talk to her. There are things that Seth and I can do while you’re on the inside.”

“Yeah, Bryan, we can’t let the female spies outdo us,” Seth quipped. “Maybe Bryan and I can read the police report on Paulie’s accident. Let’s get every detail they have. We might even talk to the officers and see if there’s anything they’ll say off the cuff.”

After a few more ideas, they had some plans. Talking and making an agenda helped everyone calm down. They settled to eating everything in sight, including spumoni for dessert.

Hank pushed her dish away. “Promise me we won’t have too many meetings over dinner. I’ll probably be moved to the hippo ballet sequence now.” She seemed to have gotten over her shock of hearing their idea that Paulie might have been murdered. Or, what was more likely, Hank wasn’t one to stay serious for very long.

Melanie took her hand as they headed for the car, letting the guys settle the food bill. “You don’t have to believe all this, Hank—I’m still not sure I do. But promise me you’ll help me if you can.”

“I will, Melanie, believe me, I will. Just tell me what you want me to do. I’ll listen, too. And nothing can stop me from looking on Madame L. or the troupe through different eyes.”

“I hope I haven’t spoiled the dancing for you.”

“No way. Just spiced it up a bit.” Hank turned to Seth and Bryan who hurried up behind them. “I live near here, guys. Can you drop me at home?”

“I’d planned to let you find a dog sled,” Seth teased, “but if you insist. Then you’ll be in my debt.”

“I’ll risk it.” Hank continued her easy bantering with Seth, getting into the front seat again.

“Hey, Seth, have you forgotten this is my car? I say drive our new spy home.” Bryan put his arm around Melanie.

Melanie was content to listen and snuggle close to Bryan in the back seat. She didn’t feel quite so alone now.

After delivering Hank, Seth headed for his house. Then Bryan and Melanie got in the front seat of the old Camaro, and Bryan took her home. He walked her to the door, but they didn’t linger in the cold and blowing snow. His kiss was warm, though, and he held her that extra minute that said if they were together, not much else mattered.

She stood just inside the door for a few seconds, enjoying the memory of Bryan’s lips on hers. She knew he loved her. She knew he would stick by her if she got herself into a mess, looking into Paulie’s death. Knowing that gave her the strength to do it.

She wanted to go straight to her room, to savor the warmth she felt inside. To remember the tryouts and the joy she felt at getting a part in the ballet. She felt she didn’t really have anything to lose. If she discovered that Madame Leona was on the up and up, that Paulie’s death really had been an accident, then she’d have the fun of being in the ballet. How could she have thought of quitting? She loved her dancing. She’d wanted to be in the ballet all along.

“Melanie, is that you? Come in here. Why are you standing in the hall? Did you get the part? Did you get into Madame Leona’s class? Tell me about it.”

Melanie sighed and walked slowly into the small, comfortable living room. Her mother lay on the couch, an afghan pulled over her legs. A stack of romance novels spilled on the rug beside her. Katherine Clark sat up, her long red hair tousled, as if she’d alternately read and slept the evening away.

Melanie’s mother had also been an aspiring dancer, just like her best friend, Ilene Greenway. Ilene had danced until she injured an ankle, then opened the school in Bellponte. But Mom had given up her career early on for marriage and a family, a sacrifice she didn’t often let Melanie forget, even though that had been her mom’s choice.

“Hi, Mom.” Melanie bent to kiss her mother lightly. Then she flopped into an overstuffed chair, pulling her feet from her boots and curling her legs up underneath her.

“You got it, didn’t you?” Katherine’s face was eager for the news. Just as she lived a part of her life vicariously through her romances, she lived her abandoned dance career through Melanie. “I knew you could.”

Melanie prayed her mother would never have to find out she had two reasons for getting into Madame Leona’s exclusive troupe.

“Yes, Mom. I was wonderful. I’ve never danced so well. I was nervous at first, but I met a girl who helped me relax and get over my jitters. I think we’re going to be friends.” Melanie thought about Hank. She liked her friendly, carefree attitude. She did think she’d made a new friend. And—she hoped she’d made the right decision to trust Hank.

“That’s fine, but remember you don’t have much time for friends and socializing with everyone who comes along.”

“She’s not just someone who came along.” Melanie jumped to defend Hank. “She’s a dancer. She’s serious about her career, too. I need a girl friend, Mom. I—I’ve been lonely.” Melanie didn’t know that until she said it.

She missed Paulie terribly. She and Paulie had been friends for a long time. They had started dance together. Taking dance, seeing all the dance movies over and over, and living their dreams had taken up most of their lives. School was just something they did because it was expected of them.

Melanie didn’t know why she’d shared the confidence about needing friends with her mother. She told her mother only what she had to, not her real feelings, as a rule. It was a way of defending herself. Sometimes Melanie felt Katherine would gobble her up, take over her life if she could.

Melanie knew her greatest weakness was a lack of confidence in herself. Knowing it, acknowledging it, had helped her work on improving her self-image. Bryan didn’t have any idea how tough it had been to decide to look into Paulie’s death. It was certainly something she wanted to do, something she felt she had to do, but it had taken all the strength she could muster to say “I’ll do this.”

Mom didn’t know how much surrounding herself with strong people like Seth and Bryan helped. Her mother had made the big decisions for her all her life. Bryan was strong. She’d seen that the minute she met him. It was one of the things that had drawn her to him. Melanie usually followed his lead. He really didn’t want her to get into the ballet troupe. She realized that this was the first time she’d gone against his wishes since she’d met him.

Hank had confidence to burn. She’d certainly given some of it to Melanie today. Melanie felt she could gain by taking Madame Leona as a role model, too. Well, only if she discovered the woman was innocent of any wrongdoing in Paulie’s death. Leona had obviously given her whole life to dance.

“I don’t know how you’ve had time to be lonely, Melanie.” Katherine cut into Melanie’s soul searching. “You spend a lot of time with that boy—against my better judgement. You should listen to me. I don’t want you making the same mistake I did.”

“Falling in love couldn’t be too big a mistake, Mom.” Sometimes Melanie tried to reason with her mother. But she knew better. Katherine had an answer or an excuse for everything Melanie said.

“I just thought I was in love. I was so young. I didn’t have good sense. And my mother didn’t care what I did.”

Melanie had a fleeting thought that it would be a relief to have a mother who didn’t care what she did, who didn’t have to share every moment of her life.

“If you hadn’t gotten married, you wouldn’t have a daughter.” Melanie teased softly, even though her mother had assured her she never considered having an abortion.

“You’re the only good thing that came from that disastrous relationship. And, and …”

Melanie knew her mother didn’t think having a baby was a mistake, too, but she did harbor a lot of regrets about not continuing to dance. She couldn’t forget them, put them behind her. Her mother loved her, almost too much, Melanie felt. It was difficult being a person’s only source of happiness.

“Hey, what are we doing talking about me?” Her mom returned to the present. “I want to know every detail of the tryouts. Dance it for me. Right now.”

“Oh, Mom, I’m tired. I don’t want to dance. It was the Tchaikovsky. You know it. Swan Lake. Everyone knows it. It’s almost a cliché for ballet dancers.”

Quickly she detailed the afternoon for her mother, telling her about Frau Voska, making her mother laugh. About Madame Leona, how beautiful she was, how warm, once she’d accepted Melanie. “And she gave me this, Mother.” Melanie pulled the medallion from under her sweater and showed it to her mother.

“How—how unusual. What a strange thing to do. But exotic. Madame Leona is so exotic.” Mom laughed. “She gave it to you to keep? It looks expensive.”

“I don’t think she means for us to keep them. All seven of the girls in the ballet have them. We’re just wearing them while we’re in the troupe.”

“I never heard of such a thing. But it’s a nice idea. Girls in a troupe bond together. I guess this is a symbol of your being Madame Leona’s girls. That has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it, Melanie? Madame Leona’s dancers. Oh, it’s what I’ve dreamed of.

“When I first put you in Ilene Greenway’s class, I didn’t think there could be a better mentor for you in all of New York. I couldn’t believe it when she sold out to Madame Leona. I was so angry with her, and I’m even more perturbed that she left without telling me. But now I realize it was a stroke of luck. Leona Turva is ten times the teacher Ilene was. Forgive me, Ilene, wherever you are. But it’s the truth. I’m so relieved that you get to study under her. Just don’t forget you have a mother here who cares about you, too.” Melanie’s mother reached for the necklace and looked at it more closely.

“Oh, Mom. I’m not going to forget you.” Was her mother going to be jealous of her now? If she lived to be a hundred, she’d never understand her mother. She said she wanted the best for Melanie, then she worried when Melanie achieved something. She begged Mel to do something—her mother had been bugging Melanie to give the exclusive troupe another try for some time—and now it seemed she was going to be jealous of Melanie’s time. Wouldn’t her mother flip out if she knew Melanie’s primary motivation for getting in the ballet troupe wasn’t to dance?

Melanie unclasped the necklace and handed it to her mother so she could see it better. She curled tighter in the chair and let her mind wander through the day. Suddenly she felt very tired, drained of all energy. She hadn’t realized it until now.

“I’m tired, Mom. It’s been a big day. I’m going up to bed.”

“Go get some orange juice and take some vitamin C, Melanie. You can’t let yourself get run down. Dancing in the troupe may be too much if you don’t give up something else. You can give up show choir. You don’t need to do that. And in my opinion, you can give up that boy. Or at least not see him so much. He’ll understand. If he cares about you at all, he’ll want you to have your activities. I’ll bet he has his.”

“He does, Mother. He’s a wrestler, and he’s in show choir. He’s a very nice guy. I’m not going to give up going with him. Don’t ask me to.” Melanie made her voice firm as she stood and gathered enough energy to get to her room.

Placing the medallion on her dresser, she stared at it. It almost seemed alive, with the grotesque circle of beasts grasping the stone. Why had she kept wearing the ugly thing? The stone, red now, seemed to glow. The ugly gargoyle faces stared at her.

Almost in a trance, she stripped off her jeans and sweater, pulled on her nightgown, snuggled into the bed, and fell asleep instantly.

five

And the demon Ramuel taunted her but she ignored his taunts and danced.

WHETHER IT WAS the bug going around school or just dumb luck, Melanie felt terrible by Friday. Bryan had taken her home from school and deposited her on the sofa. Her throat was sore, she was coughing, and she felt hot, as if she had a fever.

“Stay right here,” Bryan had ordered. “Get some rest. I’ll cancel our reservations for tonight. And I know you don’t want my opinion on this, but forget tonight’s ballet class. They can dance without you for one rehearsal.”

“You’re probably right.” Melanie had taken the easy route, not wanting to argue with Bryan, but she knew she couldn’t miss rehearsal. Every minute she was at the studio there was the possibility of finding out something about Paulie.

And there was so little time until the recital and the show. She couldn’t think of their shortened version of two ballets as a recital. This was a performance. She was sure Madame Leona was doing it to show off her star dancers and perhaps to lure more pupils to her school. So she wanted it perfect. And as long as Melanie was a part of the troupe, she wanted to dance well, too.

Melanie sank back on the couch gratefully, glad her mother wasn’t home from work, then fell asleep. When she woke the light outside the windows was dim. What time was it? She glanced at her watch—three o’clock. Oh no! Quickly she called a cab. She didn’t feel much better, but if Madame Leona had enough confidence in her to make her part of the troupe, she should certainly not let a cold keep her from practice.

The taxi took forever to get to her house. When she got to the Lafayette, she paid the cabbie, then dashed into the theater. Once downstairs, she paused in front of the studio door. She sneezed, wiped her nose with a bunch of Kleenex, then opened the door. She hoped, prayed, that Leona’s watchdog wouldn’t be on duty. No Frau Voska. Thank you, heavenly stars, she thought.

Hank was at the bars with Laurie, Jean, Anne, and Janell, the last two girls still strangers to her, even though they’d been together for a week now. They hadn’t been friendly, left immediately after rehearsal. Melanie had made no overtures to get acquainted.

Jean Whitney, nearest the door, saw her first. “Well, the teacher’s pet, here at last.” Jean tossed the wisecrack over her left shoulder to Laurie, but Melanie had no trouble hearing it. She ignored the greeting.

Hank stopped stretching and hurried over to her.

“Hi, Hank.” Melanie started to cough. Just speaking irritated her throat.

“You don’t sound so hot.” Hank put her hand to Melanie’s forehead. It felt wonderfully cool. “You’ve got the crud, haven’t you?”

Before Melanie could answer, Madame Leona appeared beside Hank. Melanie hadn’t heard her approaching in her soft slippers.

She stood, tall, majestic, and beautiful, as usual. “You’re late, Melanie. But now that you’re here, change quickly.” As soon as she’d spoken to Melanie, smiling—Melanie had expected her to be angry—she frowned at Hank.

The unspoken reprimand that Hank had broken warm-ups to speak to Melanie didn’t stop Hank from speaking. “Melanie’s sick, Madame Leona. She probably shouldn’t be here.”

“Sorry, Madame Leona.” Melanie apologized for being late, not for being sick. She wished Hank hadn’t mentioned it. She didn’t need Hank taking up for her. “It’s just a cold. I went home from school and fell asleep. I called a cab, but it was slow picking me up and even slower getting here. It’s still snowing and the streets are awful. But I can dance. I want to dance.”

Madame Leona put a hand to Melanie’s cheek, softly brushing aside her hair. “You do feel hot. Go and change. I’ll have something for you that I think will help.”

Melanie headed for the dressing room. On the way she looked back at Hank. She didn’t want Hank to think she didn’t appreciate her concern, but now that she was here, she was certainly going to rehearse. Hank had gone back to the bar without a wave. Melanie could smooth over any bad feelings later.

Frau Voska sat “guarding” the dressing room instead of the front door. In her beefy arms she held Murmur, the house cat, creating an incongruous picture. Melanie smiled, but Voska’s eyes held a stern “you’re late” echo of Madame Leona’s words.

She changed quickly, sneezed twice, then walked back onto the varnished wood floor of the studio. How was she going to dance with a Kleenex to her nose?

She was startled to find Hank and Madame Leona by the tape deck in the middle of an argument. Melanie joined the loose circle of girls around the two. The audience included all but Nicol. Nicol stood beside Leona as if taking her side. Glancing around, Melanie spotted Frau Voska standing expressionless by the office door. She was still holding Murmur in her arms. The cat cuddled, and Melanie could imagine its contented purrs.

“Actually, Madame Leona, my body does what I want it to do, jewelry or not.” Hank’s hands, balled into fists, were placed on her hips. “Tchaikovsky won’t turn in his grave if I rehearse without the neck armor.”

Melanie was frozen on the spot. This was new. This was scary. The others seemed also suspended in space. Was this the first time anyone had dared defy Madame Leona?

“Hannah … Hannah.” Madame Leona sighed, but seemed not the least bit angry or tossed off-balance. “Is it so much?”

Melanie shot a glance at Hank. There was a painful pause before Hank returned it, looking quickly at Melanie with no expression that might say, “help” or “my fight” or “I’m doing fine.” Just a quick, nervous glance.

“It’s not that it’s much of anything,” Hank said. Her voice had significantly dropped a decibel or two. “It’s a matter of my knowing that I’m good. If we were performing, of course I’d understand wearing it—part of our costume, or our image, all that stuff.”

“Ah … but, Hannah. You are performing. For yourself, for the others here. For me. For … Melanie.” Madame Leona turned toward Melanie.

Suddenly all eyes were on Melanie. She hated the feeling. To make it worse, she felt dizzy—the cold, the fever, she guessed. What she said next surprised her, though. She had never intended mentioning it.

“Well—I don’t know if it’s something else, or the necklace, but I’m getting a painful rash when I wear mine.”

This was true. She had developed a rash earlier in the day that itched and burned like crazy. It had popped out along a line beneath the necklace.

“I thought it might be this cold—a fever-whatever.” Her voice trailed off.

Madame Leona walked slowly, gracefully, perfectly, Melanie thought, around the circle of girls. In front of each, she slid her fingers beneath the medallions. Silently, she presented each for Hank to see.

“You are special, Hannah. We are all special.”

Melanie knew the look Madame Leona was giving Hank. Though her teacher’s back was to her, she felt just by seeing Hank that Madame Leona was drilling her unnerving dark stare into Hank. It amounted to the exact opposite of Hank’s now-absent smile.

All in a rush, Hank took her necklace, which she had held dangling in her left hand, and pulled it over her hair, into place around her neck. She cast Melanie a weary “oh, well” look.

Madame Leona and Hank stood eye-to-eye for a moment longer. Melanie lapsed into a serious coughing spell, not planned to take the pressure off Hank. But it did so anyway.

“Melanie,” Madame Leona said, turning from Hank. She seemed free of any hostility or aggravation. Smiling what to Melanie seemed like a true, warm smile, Madame Leona handed her a bottle, about half-pint size, which contained a dark, translucent, golden-colored liquid.

“Don’t feel self-conscious,” she said. “I don’t have a spoon. Just take a sip—take two sips. You’ll feel better right away. Have a seat and let it start to work. And, oh,” she continued, seeming to have been struck with an afterthought, “the rash is normal, I’m afraid. As far as I know, it might be the particular silver in the necklace. The others have had the same. Hannah had the reaction also. It should be gone by tomorrow. Do you like the piece? It’s the most valuable of the group, so you must match its qualities with those of your own.”

“I’ll do my best, Madame.”

Melanie didn’t feel good about Madame Leona’s confrontation with Hank, but for the moment she went to one of the dark wooden benches, got comfortable, and drank from the bottle. Two swigs, she said to herself. The taste was sweet, spicy, not unpleasant. After recapping it, she set the bottle aside and let herself relax and drift very pleasantly.

Madame Leona returned to the far end of the studio. Again she and Hank seemed to disagree. Melanie felt she was hearing bits of their conversation piped to her through a mailing tube.

“Hannah, I want you to do the ‘Delibes.’ If you can master the entrechat you’ll be that much ahead.” She turned to Frau Voska. “The ‘Delibes’—”

“No gripe intended, Madame Leona, but I’ve done the ‘Delibes’ before. I know it inside out, upside down, and backward.” Hank’s mood—from Melanie’s viewpoint—seemed affable enough, all things considered.

“Hannah—please?” Madame Leona coaxed with what Melanie deemed an edge to her voice. “Let’s show the ladies how it’s done.”

The “Delibes” began, from the ballet Coppelia. Melanie had tried the dance herself but wasn’t far enough along to do it justice. It was a very difficult piece.

The girls thinned out to form a broad circle around Hank. For a moment, Melanie imagined that Madame’s syrup was doing its job too well. Light in the studio was fading.

“Down to blue, Frau Voska,” she heard Madame Leona say.

The studio was in semi-darkness. Where Hank and the others were, the floor and troupe were bathed in blue light from the gelled spots below the ceiling.

Hank began to move with the music of Coppelia. Melanie realized that this would be the first time she had seen Hank dance a solo.

What she was soon seeing was not the Hank of the wisecracks, the jokes, the easy, loose approach to things, which seemed her trademark. Hank turned beneath the blue light, swept into musical movement as a feather in a warm breeze. Dressed in a blue leotard, even with blue leg warmers, and in the blue light, Hank was a study in azure. Melanie couldn’t stop watching her. She felt as captivated watching her as Hank seemed to be by the music. The name “Hank” was suddenly wrong, Melanie thought. This is Hannah Brooks I’m watching.

Madame Leona walked slowly around the other girls, touching them lightly on the shoulder, which signaled each to join the dance and move as Hank did. Before stopping behind Nicol, she waved to Melanie.

There was no mistaking the gesture. Melanie hurried to join in. She picked up the dance suite from Coppelia as far as her memory would allow, improvising where it failed her.

Hank kept her place in the center, while Melanie and the others remained in a circle. Frau Voska directed them counterclockwise.

Melanie had never, never felt so free. She and Hank made eye contact once, but Melanie neither expected nor received a smile, nor did she feel that she needed the reassurance from Hank anymore. She felt caught up in a second skin, the music encasing them all, bringing them together as one.

When Madame Leona walked into the group and took Hank by the hand, it was over. The music stopped and the light cross-faded to the normal studio lighting.

“Thank you, Hannah,” Madame Leona said.

Melanie felt like a dancer for the first time in her life. She smiled at Hank and Hank smiled at her.

“We’re approaching our public performance quickly, ladies. I’ll want you for an additional hour on Tuesdays and Saturdays. If there’s a problem, please talk to me later.”

Melanie stepped up beside Hank. For a moment she felt uneasy, remembering Hank’s confrontation with Madame Leona. Hank, however, seemed to have danced away the tension and was—Melanie hoped—the Hank she had come to know.

“You were wonderful!” Melanie said.

Hank touched her medallion with its blue stone, and then, surprising Melanie, reached out and touched the red alexandrite stone. “So were you. Where did you learn the ‘Delibes’?”

“When I was in junior high I stumbled through it. And I do mean stumbled.”

Hank pulled her leotard down and her leg warmers up. With the back of a hand she wiped perspiration off her brow. “Mel, you just danced the toughest set from Coppelia like it was written only for you.”

“I did feel … wonderful.”

“Well, madame, you were. I dropped concentration toward the last two phrases and watched you. You were the best.”

Madame Leona walked from her office to Melanie and Hank. From there, she turned to the others.

“Here’s how I want things at this point, ladies,” she said. “Laurie and Jean, I want you both to remain in Julie Pedigren’s class. The extra work will be of benefit. You can trust her, she’s first rate. Madame Greenway left a very competent teacher in Miss Pedigren.”

“Who’s Madame Greenway?” Hank leaned close to Melanie and whispered.

“She used to run this school before Madame Leona came here. She was really good. We were all sorry when she left.”

“And Melanie,” Madame Leona said, turning toward her. “You don’t need the advanced class. I’ll tell Miss Pedigren. You can spend the extra time with me on Tuesdays and Saturdays.”

Madame Leona paused as Murmur tiptoed across the floor.. Then she walked toward the tape player. The big, gray tabby dashed off toward Frau Voska, who picked her up immediately.

“Look, Voska’s smiling.” Hank whispered again. “That’s one of the few times I’ve seen Voska smile.”

“It’s Murmur,” Melanie replied. “Maybe she’s human after all. Only the cat realizes it.”

Both girls smothered a giggle. Melanie glanced up in time to see Jean give her a very dirty look. Was it because of her friendship with Hank or because Leona said Melanie didn’t need the advanced class and Jean did? Melanie had usually been able to ignore petty jealousy from other dancers. It was common when there was competition. But she was sorry. She would like to become close to everyone in the troupe.

Melanie was amazed at how relaxed she felt, and Hank seemed normal again. “Oh, I feel so much better. No more sore throat and I’ve stopped coughing and sneezing.”

Hank laughed. “You sound like a television commercial, Mel. A miracle cure? ‘Delibes’ is that potent?”

“No, it was something Madame Leona gave me. Cinnamon-flavored syrup. I was sailing for a couple of moments, but it did the trick. In fact, I feel marvelous.”

Hank stepped back from Melanie and pretended to look her over. “You seem marvelous—you look and sound marvelous. You must be marvelous.”

Melanie grinned, then jumped at the sound of Frau Voska rapping her dance baton on the wall. Madame Leona loaded the cassette player.

“We’ve little enough time left today, ladies. Let’s use it.”

The Tchaikovsky began, and Madame Leona positioned each girl as she wanted her while they listened. She lifted chins, propped hands on hips, and raised their arms into graceful arcs above their heads. Melanie relaxed. She felt the confrontation between Hank and Leona was ancient history, not worth thinking about.

Standing between Hank and Janell, Melanie saw Hank finger her medallion with its blue lapis lazuli. She adjusted the necklace so it fell perfectly across her breast. Following suit, Melanie did the same with hers.

To her surprise, she could feel that the rash the necklace had caused was gone. Her cold, sore throat—whatever the bug—had disappeared. Was it the medicine or the music? Was it magic or a miracle? She cocked her head and smiled at her thinking. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was a dancer. She had no doubts about that now. And she was a part of this special troupe of dancers. Nothing could take that away from her.

The Tchaikovsky started again from the beginning. The troupe was in motion. Swan-like, Melanie floated across the room, performing once more for the audience of two—and for herself.

six

And the demon Azael showed her his dwelling place, and she was intrigued.

IN THE LOCKER room, changing, Melanie slipped off the heavy medallion and stuffed it into her bag.

A thought came to her. “Hank, does this sound strange?” she whispered. “For a few minutes out there today, I forgot all about why I’m here. All I could think about was dancing—being wonderful in the show.”

Hank rubbed her neck and hairline with a towel. “No problem with that. You can do both. In fact, you’d better dance well or Leona will put you back on the street.”

“No, I get the idea that she feels she has to have seven dancers. And there’s so little time left, she needs me. Are you going to the party?”

To Melanie’s surprise, as they were leaving class, Anne, Nicol, and Janell had invited the whole troupe to their place for a party. To get better acquainted, Anne had told them.

“I guess so. Are you?”

“I was supposed to have a special date with Bryan, but this is such a good chance to talk to people. I haven’t had time to ask one question about Paulie.”

“Maybe he’ll think you’re still home sick.”

“No, I’d better call him.” Melanie let Bryan’s phone ring a dozen times. Just when she was about to give up, he answered.

“Melanie. Your mom said you were at the school. I was on my way out the door to pick you up. I’m glad you feel better. I was able to get our reservations back.”

“Oh, Bryan, the troupe is having a party. It’s too good a chance to snoop around a little, ask some questions.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. Finally Bryan said, “But this is a special anniversary for us, Mel.”

Melanie made a face at Hank. “I’ll make it up to you, Bryan, I promise I will. I have to do this.” Why? Why was she doing this to Bryan? There was nothing weird going on with Leona’s dance troupe. Leona and Paulie had just not gotten along. Paulie was hard to get along with. Melanie had certainly known her long enough to know that. It was all coincidence that Paulie had wrecked her car right after she had had a fight with Leona and quit the troupe.

“Okay, Mel.” Bryan hung up, but she heard the disappointment in his voice.

“Oh, dear.” Melanie replaced the phone.

“He doesn’t like it,” Hank guessed. Melanie nodded. “Mel, do you think he believes this stuff about Paulie being murdered?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I don’t believe it. But before I got in the troupe I was so convinced that Paulie didn’t wreck her own car, I made us all believe it.”

“Well, come on. You’ll have to deal with Bryan’s feelings tomorrow. I’m eager to see where the three witches live.”

The Seaton Arms was one of several exclusive apartment buildings in Bellponte.

“It’s the one I thought it was,” Melanie said, as Hank parallel parked between two cars at the curb. All resident parking seemed to be underground, and the large metal doors appeared to be signal controlled. Hank’s ’74 Volvo slid on a patch of ice and came to a stop against the curb.

“Easy enough to get into,” Hank joked. “We’ll worry about getting out later. So that’s the Seaton Arms.”

The complex was six stories high, and from the air would look like an H. Two wings—one facing north, the other south—were joined by a connecting building, probably housing the office, recreation rooms, an indoor pool, and a sauna. Melanie watched a large plume of steam rising from a vent on the roof. That was, she guessed, the pool or sauna.

The outside was an off-white stucco, and the roof was made from tiles interrupted by long rows of high, white chimneys with tile-clapped tops. Wrought-iron railed stairs were visible throughout, and tall, cut-glass windows rose from the ground up at the end of each wing fronting the street.

“I’m hungry,” said Hank. “And I’m cold. Let’s go.”

“In a minute.” Melanie needed to gather her thoughts. “How well did you know Pauline McMasters, Hank?”

Hank shrugged. “Not well at all. I met her when I got in the troupe. She was fiery, though, I’ll give her that. She and Leona had some bang-up fights. You thought you saw a fight between me and Leona today. You ain’t seen nothing till you see—” Hank realized what she was about to say. “I’m sorry. It’s so easy to forget.”

“What do you think happened between her and Leona, Hank? Why do you think she quit the troupe?”

“She decided it wasn’t worth the work and putting up with Leona, I guess. But you know, Mel, there was one thing funny about that situation.”

“What?”

“We got to where we could almost count on a fight every rehearsal, or at least a severe disagreement. But the last two days Paulie came to rehearsals, she seemed different.”

“How different? Describe her.”

“Well, she seemed distant, fuzzy, not really there. Pauline didn’t do drugs, did she?”

“Of course not, Hank. Did she act like she was on drugs?”

“I sure wouldn’t say she was herself. Leona took Paulie into her office a couple of times, and Paulie would come out looking subdued. It was like Leona had found the magic words to make Paulie behave. Until that last day.”

“What happened then? None of us knows. Paulie was going to tell me about it, but she didn’t get a chance.”

“I’m sorry. I liked her.” Hank looked out the window for a minute. “Paulie stormed into the school, and before Leona could talk to her, do anything, Paulie backed Leona into a corner. Can you imagine backing the dragon-lady into a corner?”

“I can’t. I wouldn’t have the nerve.”

“Well, Paulie did. I guess that was the source of their problems. Anyway, none of us could hear what Paulie said to Leona. Believe me, we wanted to, but for once they kept their voices down. Whatever was discussed must have gotten out of hand. Paulie shrieked, jerked off her necklace, and threw it at Leona. Then she marched out, past Vodka, past all of us, not looking at anyone, out the door, slamming it behind her. It was a good show, but I wished we’d heard all the lines.” Hank laughed.

“So do I.” Melanie said. “So do I.” She grabbed a grocery bag with two loaves of French bread, jumped out of the car, and slammed her door. Suddenly she was starving, but at least she finally had some food for thought.

seven

WHEN THEY WENT through the dark wood doors in the center of the building, they found a security door and a wall of buzzers for each apartment.

“Which one do we want?” Hank asked.

“Number C–6.” Melanie shifted the bag so she could see.

Hank pushed the button for C–6, then spoke into the two-way wall speaker. “Hello the house.”

It was Anne who answered. “Come on up. Elevator’s on the left, up six floors, the third door on the left.” The security door hummed for a second, then clicked open.

On the elevator, Melanie said, “I wish we had some kind of plan, Hank. If you get a chance to mention Paulie’s name, do so. Stuff like, ‘Too bad about Paulie, wasn’t it.’ Then watch people’s faces.”

“I wonder, Mel, if anyone knows anything about what happened to her except for Madame Leona?”

“Maybe not. And now that I’ve been around her, I realize she’s a fanatic about dance, but I can’t believe she’d kill anyone.”

“Especially for no more reason than dropping out of the troupe.”

Melanie stepped between the doors as they whooshed open, keeping the elevator stopped but not getting out. “That sounds crazy, doesn’t it? And I’m sure it is, but we just need to know. None of us feels good about all of this, and maybe we’re grasping at the proverbial straw, but we’re grasping.”

“You’d never feel right about a friend dying, Mel. But to think someone killed her, well, that’s pretty serious business.”

“I realize that. Maybe I shouldn’t have burdened you with this, but I need help. I’m not asking you to get involved, but will you keep your eyes open tonight, Hank? Look around for anything, even the slightest thing, that looks out of place, suspicious, out of the ordinary.”

“Listen, Mel, the Madame herself is way out of the ordinary.”

“Hank—” Melanie put her hand on Hank’s arm. She realized Hank was really disturbed by all this. “Listen, forget I told you this. You’re right, Leona may be strange, but she’s not a killer. I’ve about decided that myself. I—”

“Melanie, thanks for trusting me. You took a big chance doing that. You don’t know me. I think you’re absolutely off balance here, nutty as last year’s peanut brittle, but I’ll look around. I’m good at that. In fact, I’m a terrific snoop. What harm can it do? It might liven up tonight’s little shindig so much that I’ll enjoy it.”

Melanie relaxed. “You’re special, Hank. Thanks. We’d better go before one of the witches comes after us.”

“We can always tell her someone cast a spell on her elevator.”

Hank was going to take this in fun. Melanie was pretty sure of it. But that was all right. Four eyes and ears did double the work of two.

They knocked on C–6. Anne opened the door with what seemed to Melanie a bit of reluctance. She was expecting them, wasn’t she? The smells of fine food and wood smoke from a fireplace pulled her and Hank inside. With no ceremony, just a quick “hello,” Anne took their coats. “Make yourselves at home.” She disappeared around a corner.

Hank and Melanie walked down six carpeted steps with wrought-iron rails into what Melanie thought was the plushest apartment she’d ever seen. Where did these three young women get the kind of money to have this layout? Rich parents? Certainly, they didn’t earn this with teaching dance for Madame Leona.

The living room was tiered into three levels. In the middle of the lowest was a stone-island fireplace with screens and glass doors on four sides. The brick chimney climbed high above it to a cathedral ceiling. Jean, Laurie, and Janell sat between Melanie and the fire and she couldn’t tell one from the other.

Hank elbowed Melanie. “Did you scope out Anne’s outfit?”

Melanie nodded and drew a dollar sign in the air with her forefinger. She knew she owned nothing like the expensive gray jacket Anne was wearing, with its cluster of gold-colored buttons fastened to one side. It had slightly padded shoulders. The jacket went perfectly, she thought, with Anne’s skirt, a light cream color. Anne’s choice of clothes made her look taller than she seemed at the theater. Also, Melanie decided, her dark brown hair, which swirled down and was swept over one shoulder, added to the effect. Naturally, Anne wore her medallion with its clear purple amethyst.

Hank pulled Melanie closer to her. “Mel, do you suppose ‘strictly informal’ has two meanings, or are we in the wrong apartment?”

“Hey,” Melanie replied as she jabbed Hank in the ribs. “Think of us as modest and unassuming.”

“In other words, poor.”

Nicol left the others by the fire and greeted them. “Melanie, we haven’t formally met. Hannah seems always to have you to herself at the studio.”

“Oh, I’m such a hog.” Hank mimed dismay and shock. “Melanie Clark, this is Nicol, Nicol, meet Melanie Clark. I love your outfit, Nicol. Is it yours?”

Melanie cringed at Hank’s blatant remark. The black shoulder-to-shoulder wrap sweater and light blue knit skirt suited Nicol perfectly. Her medallion with its jet black stone seemed perfectly matched to the dress.

Melanie used the sudden, heavy silence that hung between Nicol and Hank to feign embarrassment at not having her medallion on the outside of her sweater. She pulled it out, let it drop between her breasts. “Hannah, love, you are quick. This is Madame Leona’s. Since we wear the same size, she let me have it for the evening.” Nicol turned to Melanie. “We’ve traveled a lot together, myself and Madame Leona. All over the world. We borrow from each other frequently. She lives in the opposite building, you know.”

“Oh, right,” Melanie said. “I knew that.” Melanie didn’t, but she was glad for the information. She wondered how she could get into Leona’s apartment and look around.

“Tonight, though, the party is just for us girls. I’m going to turn up the lights a bit so you two can see to get some snacks and something to drink. There’s hot mulled cider, fruit punch, or Perrier. Soft drinks are in the fridge. Come on, Melanie.” Nicol gestured as if to lead them to the fireplace. “Let’s join the others. Oh, you too, Hannah.”

Anne joined Nicol, letting Hank and Melanie hold back for a moment. Melanie whispered, “Hank, that was kind of a cheap shot.” Melanie felt a little embarrassed by Hank’s remark.

Hank tilted her head, looked Melanie right in the eyes, and smiled. “To know her is to love her, Mel.” Hank looked toward Nicol, who was brightening the lights in the living and dining room area with a dimmer switch on a wall by the closest hallway.

“She is awfully pretty,” Melanie said, searching her memory. Nicol looked familiar for some reason. And it wasn’t from seeing her at the studio.

Hank crossed her arms. “And she moves with such a natural rhythm.” She joked as she almost unconsciously pulled her medallion from under her navy blue, hooded sailor’s sweater.

Melanie gave her a friendly punch on the arm. “Don’t forget, your jeans are designer jeans. Let’s get some food.”

Nicol introduced Melanie to Janell. Janell was also expensively dressed, wearing a white jacket, matching vest, and white slacks. Her medallion had a dark, green stone. Probably jade, Melanie guessed.

Hank had plopped down in a leather chair with an ottoman on the second tier of the room. She balanced a cup of cider and a plate of sliced cheese, dark rye, and sliced fruit. Anne and Laurie joined her. The three seemed to Melanie to be laughing about something they were trying to keep discreet.

Melanie looked around on her own. With additional light, the living room was even more impressive. Expensive accent lamps were set in groupings with glass tables, creating intimate conversation nooks. Nothing out of the ordinary, though, unless expensive was considered unusual.

Melanie helped herself to food, then chose part of an immense, white sectional sofa that wrapped around the lowest level, nearly surrounding the fireplace. The entire living room was circled by tall, arched windows—about a dozen of them. Ferns and other potted plants hung from the ceiling or spread out and upward from large, decorative pots and clay urns. Multicolored throw pillows were everywhere. All the floor was covered with thick, beige carpet. Paintings, statuary, and nicknacks were scattered, carefully and perfectly, accenting the non-colors.

“Well, Mel, we’re certainly not in Kansas anymore.” Hank moved to sit by Melanie.

Melanie realized she was glad to have Hank next to her. She needed Hank as an anchor in reality. She nodded and sipped at a cup of hot chocolate that Nicol had made for her. “I guess this is the ‘lap of luxury’ we’ve heard so much about.”

Melanie heard music. The fire had been crackling but she hadn’t tuned in to it until now. “Nice background music.”

“Jazz with a slow sax. There’s a tidy fortune’s worth of stereo stuff over there by that lamp with the black shade.” Hank laughed softly. “Enjoy it, Mel, but don’t get too spoiled.”

Jean Whitney joined them. Nicol and Anne sat nearby, sipping cups of coffee. “I was hoping you’d both make it, what with the weather and all,” Jean said.

Melanie still felt a bit cool toward her, though she wasn’t sure her feelings were justified. She tried to be friendly. “What’s your stone?” she asked.

Hank coughed and sputtered, then hid a smile behind her cup.

“My medallion?” Jean replied. Jean patted the necklace, which looked equally as old and expensive as the one Melanie wore. But Jean was wearing a second necklace, the two detracting from each other, Melanie thought. She knew Hank’s cough said she thought so, too. Show-off, Hank would have said. Neither piece of jewelry was complemented by the red jumpsuit Jean wore.

Jean touched the stone in her medallion. “This is rose coral.” Then she lifted part of the other necklace. “And this is Egyptian gold and lapis.”

Hank and Melanie exchanged glances.

“It’s a gift from Madame Leona,” Jean said.

Hank set her cup on the table with a conspicuous clank. “Actually, Mel, it was originally a gift to Pauline McMasters. Right, Jean?”

Now it was Melanie’s turn to choke. They were supposed to be subtle about this. Maybe Hank didn’t know the meaning of the word.

Jean sent a dagger of hatred at Hank. “Well, yes, but that doesn’t matter.”

Melanie thought it strange that Madame Leona would take back gifts from a girl who had died and give them to another dancer. She knew, though, that Pauline had once had the medallion holding the alexandrite. That was different, since it was attached to the troupe mystique, but the lapis … of course, if it was terribly expensive, Madame Leona might have apologized and simply asked Pauline’s parents to return it. Maybe that was something to check out. She also wondered why Pauline had never showed her the second necklace.

“Would you like to see the rest of the apartment, Melanie?” Nicol interrupted them.

“Go ahead, Melanie.” Hank raised her eyebrows and stood up. Maybe she planned to look in another direction while Mel checked out the rest of the condo.

“You can come with us, Hannah,” Nicol added. Melanie gave Hank a look that said, “No, you go the opposite direction. We can cover more territory.”

“I need to find the ladies. I’ll join you later.”

Nicol led Melanie up two stairs then up two more to the third level of the condo. Melanie tried not to gawk like a child in a museum for the first time.

“Oh, these are incredible!” She forgot to stay unimpressed when she was confronted by three huge tapestries in the third-level room. They were hung with track lights above them. “They look—they look, medieval.” Melanie gingerly reached out and lightly stroked the material. Each tapestry depicted a garden with fountains, trees, and graceful lords and ladies enjoying each other’s company.

“Look in here.” Nicol motioned Melanie through a door that she pulled open slightly. “It’s Madame Leona’s loom.”

Melanie noticed a touch of pride in the way Nicol said “loom.” For a moment she was speechless. She took a few steps back and looked again at the tapestries. “Do you mean that Madame Leona did these? These are her work?”

Nicol nodded and smiled. Melanie warmed immediately without meaning to. She needed to stay neutral to everything. But why had she been thinking of Nicol as hard, brittle, and insensitive? Hank had given her a wrong impression.

“Why is her loom and her work here and not in her own apartment?” Melanie asked. “If I’m not prying.”

“Oh, no. Leona’s apartment is brimming over. She asked us to keep some things in our spare room.”

“Oh—Hank—she must see these.” Melanie wanted Hank’s opinion of how much the tapestries were worth. There was money here someplace. Of course, having a dance school didn’t automatically mean you were poverty stricken, but it was usually the norm. Her mom had told her once that Ilene was struggling to keep the school going. That might have been why she sold it; it was going under anyway.

Nicol grabbed Melanie’s arm when she would have gone after Hank. “I know Hannah is your friend, Melanie, but—”

Suddenly, for some reason, Melanie felt awkward alone with Nicol. She turned and headed down the stairs and Nicol followed. Hank leaned against a counter in the kitchen, sipping a Diet Pepsi.

“Hank, you missed some gorgeous tapestries.”

Hank didn’t appear impressed. She waited, then watched as Nicol hugged Melanie. “Think warm thoughts,” Nicol said. “And always think of the dance.”

Melanie felt as though she was being dismissed. She followed Hank toward the entryway, assuming they’d find their coats, but she was disappointed that the party was already breaking up. “Say you have to go to the bathroom,” whispered Hank.

Anne was holding the coats. Melanie took hers. “Oh, Anne, do you mind if I use the bathroom? It’s a long drive to my house.”

“Thanks, Anne.” Hank took her coat. “Go back to the party. We’ll let ourselves out.”

Anne hesitated but turned and disappeared. The second she had, Hank grabbed Melanie’s arm. “Come on.” She tugged Melanie down the hall and into the bathroom quickly.

Melanie couldn’t help but giggle. “I hope no one saw us. They’ll think we’re some kind of weirdos.”

“Somebody here is. Look at this, Melanie.” Hank pulled open a drawer under the counter where two light green sinks sparkled. There was a book in the drawer. “Doesn’t this look like a cross between the great book at Judgement Day and Lady MacBeth’s sketchpad?” Hank lifted out the book. “It weighs about a ton, and here, take a sniff.”

Melanie did, wrinkling her nose. “Smells like Carlsbad Caverns.”

“Does this qualify as something out of the ordinary or doesn’t it? I can’t read a word of it, either.”

Hank flipped the book open. The printing looked hand lettered, but it wasn’t any language Melanie had ever seen.

“Maybe it’s a theater prop. Remember Leona remodeled part of the theater for that antique store. She might have found it then.” Melanie hugged herself, feeling suddenly cold. She slipped on her coat. “Considering everything else Madame Leona collects, she probably collects old books, too.” Melanie remembered the old books in the antique shop, and Bryan’s teasing that he’d read them. “Yeah, that’s it. There were old books in the shop.”

“I never saw anything like this before—in a theater or an antique store. The Book of Raziel.” Hank read the title. “At least the title is in English.”

“Maybe it was their recipe book. I didn’t like any of the hors d’oeuvres they were serving. I’m still hungry. Let’s get out of here. Want to stop and get something to eat before we go home?”

Suddenly Melanie needed to escape the posh apartment. She wanted to go back to her normal little house with its worn furniture, even to her mother’s questions.

“Do you think Bryan would forgive me if I called him? Confess that we got kicked out of the party early. Asked him to eat with us?”

“Maybe he’d bring Seth,” Hank suggested. “If we all went together, you and Bryan couldn’t fight.”

“Is that your only reason for inviting Seth?” Melanie teased.

“Sure. Look for a place to stop and let’s call him.”

Melanie laughed while she peered out the window. “Let’s have a normal break. I need it. And, in the words of my favorite tough female heroine, Fiddle-dee-dee, we’ll think about all this tomorrow.”

eight

“HE’S NOT HOME.” Melanie leaned against the phone in the booth outside a self-service gas station. “I know, he probably headed for Seth’s house after I broke our date.”

“Yeah, at this very moment, he and Seth are commiserating about how unreliable women are,” Hank agreed.

“Bryan hangs out at Seth’s a lot. Seth’s parents were killed in a plane crash when Seth was seven. He lives with his aunt and uncle who are both lots older than his parents would have been. They pretty much leave him on his own.”

“Wow, he seems to be a pretty well-adjusted person for having gone through all that. I like him,” Hank admitted.

“He’s super smart and super independent. You’re the first female I’ve seen him take a liking to.”

Melanie dialed Seth’s number while she filled Hank in on Seth’s background. Then she leaned on the wall of the phone booth, more tired than she realized. But maybe some food, not of the gourmet type, would make her feel better. So would seeing Bryan. She’d been more worried about breaking her date with Bryan than she’d let herself admit at the time.

“Seth? Melanie. No, we’re not in trouble. Bryan there?”

“Sure is. Want to speak to him?”

“Not particularly. You’ll do.”

“I’m glad to hear that. It was time you had sense enough to drop that boring guy and go out with me.”

Melanie heard a scuffle in the background. She knew exactly what was happening. When Bryan realized Seth was talking to her, he’d tried to grab the phone. She started to giggle, wondering who would win.

Bryan’s voice came on. “Melanie, is that you? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, Bryan. Just hungry. Have you and Seth eaten? I have a blind date here for Seth if he wants to go with us to Eddie’s.”

“He says warn her he knows Braille.”

Hank was listening. She and Melanie made faces at each other. “Bad joke,” Hank whispered.

“We raided Seth’s refrigerator,” Bryan said. “You know what that means.”

Seth’s aunt and uncle were vegetarians. They didn’t make Seth do without meat, but on the other hand, he had to eat what was prepared for the family or cook his own.

“Yeah, tofu delights.”

Melanie was glad Bryan was in a good mood. She realized that both these guys were her good friends.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Bye, we’re freezing. Whoever gets to Eddie’s first get a booth.” She hung up and they ran back to where Hank had risked leaving the car running so she didn’t have to turn off the heater.

Melanie and Hank had a head start, so they were heating their insides with big cups of cafe au lait when Bryan and Seth found them.

“So, they didn’t feed you at that posh party?” Bryan teased. He smiled at Melanie, and she knew he wasn’t really angry with her.

“Try gourmet hors d’oeuvres.” Hank moved over so Seth could slip into the booth beside her. “Let’s see, I remember you,” she teased him. “You’re the computer whiz that speaks fluent Hebrew. Right?”

“What have you been telling this girl?” asked Seth, looking at Melanie.

“I’ll swear, Scouts’ Honor, I didn’t say a word, Seth. You know your reputation precedes you.”

“I got it through the grapevine,” Hank sang. “But, hey, it’s okay. I’m not prejudiced against geniuses. Just don’t ask me to compete. I’m a mental dweeb.” Hank grinned. “But I’m a good cook.”

“Do you like tofu?” asked Seth, casually slipping his arm behind Hank on the plastic seat back.

“Tofu? You have to be kidding. Are you into healthy eating? You know, Mel, I’ve never had a successful blind date. I don’t know why I said I’d do this.” Hank giggled as she scanned the menu.

They all did the same, then got quiet—too quiet. All their teasing and bantering had been a cover for what they really needed to talk about.

“What did you find out at that party?” Bryan glanced at Hank, then at Melanie.

“We found out that someone has a lot of money,” Hank volunteered. “Those girls don’t live in Seaton Arms on a dance teacher’s salary.”

“Bryan, you should have seen the tapestries that Madame Leona has made. They look just like the ones I’ve seen in medieval museums and Shakespeare movies.”

“That doesn’t tell you anything, except that she’s talented, does it?”

“No, I guess not, but it surprised me. I mean, there were dozens. You don’t weave those things overnight. It would take me a hundred years to do one. But they were gorgeous.”

“Tell him about that tome, Melanie. The book of the dead.”

They stopped to order combination plates of burritos, tacos, and chili rellenos, and since they’d scarfed up the salsa and chips while they were talking, a replenishment of the appetizer.

“Book of the dead?” Seth raised his eyebrows and ran his hand through his thick, curly hair.

“Well, it smelled dead. So you could call it that.”

“It was strange, Bryan. It was huge, bigger than a family Bible, maybe like the Bible a preacher uses on a pulpit. What was it called, Hank?”

“The Book of Ra—Raziel, is that right?”

“Raziel? What was in it?” asked Seth.

“Who knows? The text looked like Arabic or Sanskrit, lots of wiggles and squiggles. We didn’t have time to look at the whole thing, but it has to be an antique, maybe worth a lot of money.”

“Madame Leona probably bought it through her store connections.” Bryan shrugged.

“Maybe so; it looked like something that would be worth a lot.” Melanie sipped the last of her coffee. “What I’d really like to know is what it was doing in those three girls’ apartment stuffed in a drawer in the bathroom.”

“A lot of people keep reading material in the bathroom.” Seth grinned. “I used to practice my Hebrew while I showered.”

“That figures. I’ll bet you’re a time efficiency expert.” Hank smiled at Seth. She would be good for him, Melanie thought. Despite his continuous banter, he was much too serious.

“So all you really know so far, Mel,” Bryan said, “is that Madame Leona is independently wealthy, weaves beautiful tapestries, collects old books and jewelry, and is a very strong dance teacher. See how hard playing detective is?” He hugged her close. “And you have to give up being with friends to do it. Maybe it’s time to quit.”

Hank looked at Melanie, serious for a second. Melanie shrugged. “We’ll see. I knew this would be a fishing expedition. Maybe I’ll hook the big one yet.”

“Well, Seth learned a little bit tonight,” Bryan said. “You tell them, Seth.”

“I called a friend of my uncle. An antique dealer. Just out of curiosity. I thought if those medallions are real, they belong in a museum.”

“What did he say?” Melanie agreed with Seth.

“Alexandrite is expensive. Hard to get. Not commonly used in jewelry any more. A really big piece belongs in a museum. And when I described your two necklaces, he was fascinated, wanted to see them.”

“I don’t know how we’d do that.” Hank fingered her medallion, then looped it over her head and put it in her purse. “Madame L. has a heart attack if we aren’t wearing them.”

“How would she know? We’d get them back to you in time for rehearsal.”

“Let me think about it.” Melanie took off her own necklace and looked at it again. Then, quickly, she put it back on; afraid not to wear it, afraid she’d lose it. What the guys wanted to do was risky. Leona would have a heart attack if they lost one.

They spent an hour eating and trading smart remarks. Hank and Seth kept Melanie and Bryan laughing so much they could hardly eat. But the evening did its work on Melanie. She was able to relax and put aside her thoughts about Paulie and murder and dancing and Madame Leona. Doing so made her realize how tense she’d been when she and Hank left “the three witches’” party.

“What will you do now, Melanie? Have you hit a dead end?” Bryan said as he took Melanie home. Hank had agreed to drop Seth off, winking at Melanie.

“No, I’ve thought of one person I need to talk to. I don’t know how much she knows, but she might supply a few more pieces for the puzzle. Let’s pick up Seth and Hank tomorrow and talk to Julie Pedigren. She may have noticed something we’ve missed.”

Bryan agreed as he took Melanie to her door. He continued the thought. “I missed you tonight, Mel. I’m glad you called us. And Seth likes Hank.”

“They’re good for each other,” Melanie agreed. “Let’s double date often.”

“Just so I can take you home last.” Bryan pulled Melanie close and kissed her. “You’re my favorite detective.”

“Thanks for forgiving me for breaking our date tonight.” Melanie returned his kiss.

“Who said I’d forgiven you? Your punishment is to date me the rest of the year.”

“I can handle that.” Melanie laughed softly.

They had one more day of school, the choir show Friday night, and then the holidays. She could hardly wait.

A part of her wished she could forget Madame Leona, the dance school, this whole puzzle. Spend the whole vacation with Bryan. But the part loyal to Paulie, dedicated to finding out the truth about her death, reminded her it wasn’t possible. She knew if she herself had died under suspicious circumstances, she’d want someone to find out the truth.

nine

ON SATURDAY MORNING, Bryan woke slowly. He lay in bed thinking of the night before. The choir show had gone well, and a crowd had gone out to celebrate together. Melanie had been so happy he hadn’t even minded taking her home early. She had rehearsal at ten this morning. For him and everyone else it was officially winter vacation.

Before he could force himself to get up, the phone rang.

“For you, Bryan. You up?” His mother pushed open his door. “That figures.” She shook her head. “It’s Melanie.” She handed Bryan a cordless phone.

“I don’t know why I go out with such a lazy guy,” Melanie teased. Then before he could respond, “I enjoyed last night.”

“Me, too, Mel. How’s rehearsal going?”

“I’ve never worked so hard. Or felt so great. I only had a sec to call you. I did get us an appointment with Julie Pedigren today. She has classes in rehearsal for the recital, too, but she made time to see us. And listen to this—only after I said we wanted to talk to her about Ilene Greenway. She looked really distressed when I mentioned Ilene’s name. I think she knows something and it’s bothering her.”

Melanie was practically whispering, but Bryan could hear the excitement in her voice. “Can Hank come home with you like we’d planned?”

“Yes. She’s eager to talk to Julie, too. I think we’re going to make some progress today, Bryan. Really I do. Have to run. Bye.” There was a click, and Melanie was gone.

Bryan stared at the phone, then slowly jammed the aerial down and switched it off. He had never been involved in any situation where he felt so helpless. He was an action man. He carried his wrestling skills over to his life—to problems—whatever needed to be done. But as he sat on the edge of the bed, still hazy with sleep, he realized he’d never had any problems before. No real problems. And he’d never worried about anyone before like he worried about Melanie.

He hadn’t realized his mom had returned and was staring at him. “Are you all right, Bryan? Is Melanie okay?”

“Yeah, sure, Mom.” Bryan handed her the phone.

“You’ve seemed preoccupied lately, worried. I can’t remember ever seeing you worry about anything for very long. You have a fight?”

“No, just the opposite.” Bryan grinned at his mother. He used to talk to her a lot, but he’d stopped a couple of years ago. Now he wished he was about ten and could unload on her.

“Caring for someone means worrying about her.” His mother was perceptive enough to guess part of his problem.

“I’m learning that. Can I borrow the van? And did I miss breakfast?”

“Shower. I’ll fix you a big lunch and we’ll talk about it.”

She disappeared, not pressing him further.

At one o’clock he started his pick-up service. The sun had finally come out, but it was still cold. Seth blew airy clouds of ice crystals into the air as he opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.

“Get this thing warm, can’t you?” Seth complained, hugging his shoulders and shivering.

“Engines at full blast, Spock. Five more minutes.”

“Let’s go to college in Miami next year. Or Hawaii. Yeah, that’s better. You can get a Sumo scholarship.”

“If I gain about two hundred pounds.”

“And are willing to wear those diapers for competition.”

“What are you two laughing about?” asked Hank when she and Melanie piled into the car. Seth had quickly jumped out so he and Hank could sit in the back. Melanie slid in beside Bryan.

“Dorsey’s going to wear diapers to wrestle in Hawaii next year,” Seth gave her a partial answer.

Melanie caught on. “What happened to Iowa and the gas station?”

“Not warm enough there.” Bryan looked at the familiar fuzzy yellow hat and gloves, the familiar smile, and felt warmer already.

“Did I come in halfway through this movie?” Hank asked Seth. “Hawaii? Iowa? If you’re talking about getting warm, I’ll bet we could drive to Florida in about twelve hours.”

“Don’t let her behind the wheel, Dorsey.” Seth stopped being shy and pulled Hank close. “There are other methods of getting warm.”

“Let’s try all of them.” Hank giggled. Then she immediately turned serious. “Mel, while we’re driving, tell me more about Paulie away from the dance studio.”

“There was almost no such thing.” Melanie paused to gather her thoughts. Bryan felt it would be good for her to talk about Paulie.

“Pauline was obsessed with being a great dancer. Even before Leona came on the scene. Then Paulie went beyond obsession.”

“What do you mean?” Bryan glanced at Melanie. He hadn’t heard her say this before. “How can you go beyond obsession?”

Melanie continued the story. “Once she got into that exclusive club that Leona formed, Paulie started living at the dance studio. I hardly saw her out of school. She went to classes or rehearsal every day. All she could talk about was the troupe, the troupe, the troupe.”

“That’s all Laurie talks about any more,” Hank said. “That was why I was glad you came along, Mel.”

“And now look what we’re talking about.” Seth grimaced.

“Sorry. I know. I got sick of hearing about it. If Paulie and I hadn’t been good friends forever, I’d have dropped her. But to tell the truth, I was worried about her.”

“How come?” Hank leaned toward the front seat.

“She let her grades drop. Paulie and I had competed—on a friendly basis—ever since grade school. We figured as long as we had to go to school, we’d do well. But Paulie was a lot smarter than me. She was making straight A’s until she got in the troupe. Then, she stopped studying, got by in every way she could without literally flunking out.”

“Did she wear that necklace all the time?” Seth asked, looking at Melanie.

Melanie put her hand around the medallion she wore all the time now. “She sure did. I teased her about it at first. Told her it was like a ball and chain. I thought then it was terribly ugly. And the metal made Paulie break out in a rash all over her chest, just like it did to me. But it went away in a few days.”

“You never told me that,” Bryan said.

“That’s one reason I took it off immediately,” Hank said.

“Paulie changed so radically, she and I started fighting. We’d never fought before.” Melanie looked distressed. “Paulie started being on the defensive a lot, and she was so intense.

“Soon she started feeling tired all the time,” Melanie continued. “I was working hard in my class, too, but Paulie lost weight. She had never eaten right. A lot of dancers are victims of anorexia, obsessed by staying thin.”

“That’s not my problem.” Hank smiled at Seth.

“I’ve noticed.”

Hank elbowed Seth. “Did all this lead up to Paulie’s accident, Mel? Tell me exactly why you think the car wreck wasn’t an accident.”

Melanie stared at her fingernails for a few seconds. Then she took a deep breath. “Well, you know that a week before, she had that huge fight with Leona.”

“And no one knows why,” Hank said. “Now we’re up to what I know. She never got a chance to talk to you about it?”

“No, I do know she told Leona she was thinking of quitting the troupe. And Madame Leona told her she couldn’t. There wasn’t time to get another dancer before the recital ballet.”

Hank continued the story. “That’s when she gave back the necklace and walked out. Leona was furious.”

“I remember Paulie was sick for a couple of days,” Melanie said, “but after she recovered she said she felt better than she had for a long time.” Melanie fingered her necklace.

“Then she had the wreck.” Seth told Hank.

“I still can’t believe that happened.” Melanie turned and stared out the window. “Paulie had been driving since she was fifteen. Her father taught her in parking lots and driveways. He was as excited as she was when she was old enough to get her learner’s permit, but of course she drove well by then. He bought her a new car at the beginning of our senior year. Told her it was an early graduation gift.”

“How did she have the wreck?” Hank shivered and scooted nearer to Seth. He pulled her close. Bryan glanced at them in the rearview mirror. Then he looked at Melanie to see if she was all right.

“She’d been to see her grandmother. Up in Connecticut. She was crazy about Grannie McMasters. Went up there lots of weekends, especially when she wanted to be alone. Her grandmother lived in the country.” Melanie turned around again. “Paulie was such a good driver. She didn’t speed or show off in any way. She was a little absent minded, but …”

“It was a one-car accident,” Bryan said. “The police said Paulie was driving about ninety miles an hour. They said the brakes on the car must have failed, or that Paulie didn’t try to brake soon enough.”

“Brakes don’t fail on a new car.” Seth shook his head. “That’s what helped me believe Mel when she first said she didn’t think it was an accident.”

“Maybe the brakes were defective,” Hank suggested.

“She’d been driving the car for three months. Defective brakes would have showed up by then.”

“Are you saying someone tampered with them?” Hank asked.

“I just don’t know. The police said there were skid marks, but that they were in an erratic pattern.”

“I’m sorry to ask this,” Hank said, “but could she have committed suicide? I’ve heard lots of one-car accidents are really suicide.”

“Mel and I have talked about that,” Bryan said. “We just don’t think so. It wouldn’t have been at all like her. She was starting to talk about all the other things she could do besides dance. She liked kids. She said she could teach and some day open her own school.”

“Okay,” said Seth, serious for once. “You’re bringing a fresh approach to all this, Hank. Say whatever you’re thinking.”

Hank sat up straighter and took a deep breath. “I—I don’t see how you can think that Madame Leona killed Paulie just because she quit the ballet troupe. That’s just too farfetched.”

“But you agree that Leona’s a little strange, don’t you?” Melanie asked.

“Sure. Eccentric. Obsessed with her work. But that’s all I can say. I know Paulie’s death was a waste, guys. She was so smart and so talented. I know you’re all hurting over it. But could you just be looking for some reason it happened—someone to blame?” Hank did bring an objective outlook to the matter.

“I—I’m sure you could be right, Hank. None of us could say that out loud.” Melanie stared out the window for a few seconds, leaving an awkward silence in the car. Then she swung around.

“But what can it hurt to keep looking for something—anything? I’m in the troupe. I’m going to stay there.”

“I’m certainly willing to keep an open mind,” Hank said. “I think Nicol, Janell, and Anne are almost as strange as Leona.”

Seth pulled a notebook from his pocket. “I haven’t let you do all the work, Melanie. I have this to add, thanks to some of my uncle’s powerful, but discreet and helpful friends.” He licked his finger and found the page. “Leona Turva has no account in a Bellponte bank. I went to the Seaton Arms office. She had no references, but paid for four months rent and damage deposit—a lot of money—in lieu of references, on an apartment for her and one for Nicol, Janell, and Anne. She paid in cash.”

“How’d you find that out?” Hank asked.

“Bribery. Apartment managers don’t make big salaries. And charm.” He grinned at Hank. “Then I asked my uncle to order a credit report on Leona Turva. I explained to him how important it was. She has no credit record.”

“So? Some older people don’t like credit cards.” Bryan would never cease to be amazed at Seth’s resources. His uncle seemed to know everyone. “And she banks under a mattress.”

“But she’s running a business,” Melanie argued.

They were early, so they sat outside Julie Pedigren’s apartment building. Melanie looked at her watch. “Let’s go see what Julie thinks about Leona Turva.”

Bryan took Melanie’s arm as they walked to the building. She looked up at him. “You agree with Hank, don’t you, Bryan? I can see that. You think nothing will come of all this worry and time we’re putting in.”

“Maybe I do, Mel. But I care about you. Even if you’re chasing a wild goose, I’ll go along. I want to be with you.”

Bryan didn’t know whether to hope they found some tie with Leona to Paulie’s death or not. But he could see Melanie becoming more and more obsessed with this investigation—and, he hated to say, with dancing in Madame Leona’s exclusive troupe.

She also looked tired. There were dark circles under her eyes. All the things she’d said about Paulie were showing up again—in Melanie.

ten

ON THE SIDEWALK, looking for Julie’s number, Bryan brought up another possibility. “Melanie, you said Paulie had wanted to dance all her life, wanted that career. Isn’t there a possibility that quitting left her depressed? That maybe under other circumstances she’d never have committed suicide, but she might have done it accidentally?”

“You’re saying she had an unconscious death wish?” Melanie was willing to talk about the possibility.

“Something like that.”

“What about the police saying her brakes failed?” Seth pointed out.

“Maybe that was a gentle way of telling her parents that Paulie failed to apply the brakes. Maybe the erratic skidding showed she changed her mind, but it was too late.”

Melanie stared at him. “There would be no way to know that.”

They were quiet until they found Julie Pedigren’s small row house. Now that Bryan had heard the entire story again, with some added information, he didn’t know what to think about it. He did tend to agree with Hank, but Melanie had such strong opinions, too. He hated to think that he and Seth were just being wishy-washy. If they’d had a best friend killed, they would feel differently, he was sure.

They found Julie waiting, and in no time the foursome were seated in Julie’s Victorian-style living room. Julie had probably just gotten home from work. She wore an oriental housecoat and was lighting a cheery fire.

“I made some spiced tea.” Julie spread cheese, apple slices, black olives, and salted cashews on a crystal plate. “I know dancers are always hungry.”

“Oh, Julie, you shouldn’t have gone to any trouble,” Melanie said. “At least let me serve it. You sit down.” Bryan hurried to help Melanie pass cups of the sweet-smelling tea.

“I am exhausted.” Julie curled into an overstuffed, well-worn chair with a cup of the steaming liquid. “I’ve hardly had time to shop properly in two weeks. Fortunately I usually have snack food.” She smiled. “I miss you in my classes, Melanie.”

Playing hostess, Melanie smiled thanks to Julie, then she warmed her hands on the cup and looked around. The small room overflowed with paintings and framed photos, all of English pastoral scenes. “Nice house.”

Julie had seen her looking. “It’s not the Seaton Arms—I heard you went there the other night—but it’s me. Leona says she’d gladly trade her fancy apartment for my cozy house, but I’ll keep the house.”

“It is quite a contrast, but I agree with you. I certainly feel more comfortable here than at Nicol’s.”

“That’s an understatement,” said Hank, laughing.

Small talk out of the way, Julie looked at Melanie. “Now what did you want to talk to me about, Melanie?”

“Julie,” Melanie looked around at Bryan and the rest of the group. “Will you tell us everything you know about Madame Leona—her background.”

Julie took a few seconds to look at each of her visitors, but she didn’t ask why they wanted to know. “I know only what Ilene Greenway told me. Leona Turva is well off. Very. She probably doesn’t need the school to make a living. She’s traveled a lot. She’s a superb dancer—or was. Ilene said Leona was once a member of the Budapest S.S.R. Ballet, which is no small achievement, and she owns the Arbuthnot Shop next to the theater.”

“Do you know anything about the three women she brought with her to Bellponte?” asked Bryan, remembering Mel’s stories.

“Nicol, Anne, and Janell?” Julie studied what was left of her tea. “I met them. It was all the contact I cared to have. They were pretty cool to me. The one named Nicol seems very bright and friendlier than the others. She speaks and smiles, at least. I can never get over those eyes when I see her. I’ve never seen anything like them. That blue-gray like translucent ice. If they were any lighter—”

“They’d seem to vanish?” Melanie asked.

Julie blinked. “Yes, Mel. Yes … That’s how they impressed me.”

Seth grabbed a handful of cashews. “Sounds as if you don’t feel entirely comfortable at the school, Julie. How come you’ve stuck around?”

“When I knew Ilene Greenway had sold, I planned to quit. But I got a letter from the Dance La’Vousier in Paris. From Leona Turva. She asked me to stay, to keep my classes intact. For my trouble, she sent a check for twenty-five hundred dollars.” Julie shrugged and smiled. “So I stayed. I do feel pretty settled in here. That was in late July, I think.”

“A check—she sent you a check?” Seth asked.

Julie thought about Seth’s question. “Now that you mention it, it was an international money order.”

“Why do you think Ilene sold the school, Julie?” asked Melanie. “She and my mother were friends. Mom can’t believe she left. Dance was her life, and she had told my mom that she loved it here. She’d planned to stay until she retired.”

Julie shook her head. “I was surprised. The money, maybe. She said Leona had offered her a lot. That coupled with several annoyances.”

“Like what?” asked Bryan.

“Well, Leona bought the Arbuthnot Shop first, it seems. We didn’t know who the owner was at the time, but it came out later. The noise of the remodeling was terrible. Ilene complained about it time after time. We had plaster coming off the walls in the studio from that brick wall they have in common. Even Mr. Brandish complained about the dust and dirt and having to work all night repairing our walls.”

“That was only temporary,” Melanie said. “Not a reason to leave. What else happened?”

“Ilene came back to work one day after lunch to find her terrier dead. It was lying in the middle of the studio floor.”

“I remember that.” Melanie poured Julie more tea. She seemed on the verge of tears. “But wasn’t he really old?”

“Not that old. And he hadn’t been sick or anything. Ilene was distraught. He was her only family. She even let the vet do an autopsy. He was puzzled, and he found nothing. He said it must have been a heart attack. There wasn’t anything to suggest foul play.

“Ilene was so depressed. I stayed with her that night. The next day I bumped into Leona as I was leaving the school. She was headed for Ilene’s office.”

“You think Leona put pressure on Ilene at a weak moment?” Bryan thought of how strong and intense Leona was.

“That’s all I can think. When I came to work the next day, I found Ilene gone and Leona the new owner, but she was gone, too. Voska seemed to be in charge, and you know how easy she is to talk to. She told me to continue with business as usual. By the end of the week, I had the letter and the money from Leona.”

There was a moment of silence while they considered Julie’s story. Then Bryan spoke. “You don’t think Leona had anything to do with the dog dying, do you?”

“I don’t know what to think, Bryan. Surely not.”

“Ilene just disappeared?” Melanie asked. “She didn’t leave you a note? Have you heard from her since?”

“I got a scribbled postcard from London. She’d mentioned that she’d always wanted to go there. But I didn’t understand her not telling me she was going—much less that she’d sold the school. We were pretty good friends.”

“Are you sure the postcard was from her?” Hank asked.

Julie looked as if she’d never questioned that it was. “I—I guess so. It looked as if she’d written it quickly, and it didn’t say much. I think I still have it at the studio. It was postmarked in London. I know that. I tried to read the date, but it was smeared. You don’t think—” Julie couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I can think anything where Madame Leona is concerned.” Bryan reached for some cheese. “I don’t like the woman.”

Julie thought of something else. “A lot of people didn’t know Ilene was married once. Her ex-husband lives in Syracuse. I think he still carries a torch for Ilene. He called me last month, asking about Ilene, asking me if I’d heard from her. The last time he’d talked to her was in September. He seemed worried. I gathered Ilene did keep in touch with him.”

There was another pause in the conversation. Then Melanie changed the subject.

“And Paulie—we actually came to talk about Pauline McMasters.” Melanie shifted in her chair. Bryan could tell she didn’t feel really comfortable questioning Julie.

“What a waste of a talented life.” Julie shook her head. “She stopped in to visit just before she—just before—I was busy. She seemed anxious to talk to me. Afterwards, I felt bad, of course. I could have given her a few minutes. I knew she wasn’t getting along with Leona. I heard one blow-up they had. But Paulie, despite being a fine dancer, was never easy to work with. She didn’t respond well to pressure, and she needed a lot of approval, a lot of attention. Leona isn’t one to pamper anyone, even a good dancer.”

“That’s true,” Melanie added. “As smart as Paulie was, as talented, she didn’t have as much self-confidence as she should have had. I was always having to talk her into trusting herself. And she was very superstitious. She was always talking about luck—good luck, bad luck. She carried charms and—”

“Oh, I’d forgotten.” Julie jumped up and hurried out of the room. The whole group looked at Melanie, but she shook her head to indicate she didn’t know what Julie had forgotten.

Julie was back in seconds. “A few days after the accident, her parents stopped by—they were a mess—but they thought I might understand this. Paulie did stay and talk to me a lot. I’m sorry, Melanie. I know you and Paulie were close. The Highway Patrol had given them Paulie’s purse—it was thrown clear of the—the fire.”

Melanie took the note that Julie handed her and shared it with Bryan. He hoped Melanie was all right. Her face was white and the circles under her eyes even darker. The note was handwritten in blue ink, a flowing, feminine style.

Melanie nodded. “That’s Paulie’s handwriting.”

Bryan read it aloud. “I divorce myself from the influence of this place. I care nothing for what is here; nor bother myself with judgment. Also, I seek no communication with what might surround me. It is all beyond my eyes; it is all beyond my ears. I am the garden which I tend. I am also its wall.”

“Her parents asked if I thought it was a suicide note,” said Julie. “I told them no way was Paulie suicidal.”

Melanie slowly shook her head in agreement. “But it doesn’t make any sense to me. What’s this it’s stapled to?” She lifted the note.

Hank and Seth moved to look over Bryan’s shoulder. “It’s two tarot cards,” said Melanie. “The Nine and the Six of Swords.”

“You know the cards?” Seth asked. “Melanie, you’re always full of surprises.”

“Paulie and I played with them for a time. It was fun.” Melanie took the cards and the note. Her voice was hoarse, an octave lower, caught by emotion. “This note doesn’t surprise me. Paulie was sometimes melodramatic.”

“Do you know what those particular cards mean?” Hank asked.

“The six—that stands for a trip, surmounting difficulties. Remember, she was going to her grandmother’s to—to get away. But the reverse, if I remember means unwanted interferences.”

“Leona. And the nine?” Seth prompted.

“The nine …” Melanie paused, holding the card which pictured a figure in bed, her face covered as if crying, nine swords hanging on the wall in the background. “The nine means sadness, quarrels, disappointments. It’s appropriate.”

“Maybe the note and the cards were her way of symbolically casting off the troupe and Leona,” Bryan said. “At least for the weekend.”

“Maybe she was thinking on paper, trying to work out something,” Melanie suggested. “I often do that.”

The phone rang. Julie answered, then put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Excuse me for a minute, guys.”

“We have to go, Julie,” Melanie said, standing. “We’ve taken too much of your evening, and I know you’re tired. We’ll let ourselves out. Thanks.” She led the way out Julie’s front door. “I think that was her friend, and she said he was about to give up on her for being so busy.” Melanie looked at Bryan when she said that. He hugged her, trying to reassure her that he’d never give up on her.

“Let’s go eat,” Seth suggested. “We can talk about this.”

“Before we do, will you all indulge me one more stop?” Melanie asked. “Something has been bothering me ever since I met Nicol, and Julie reminding me of her eyes again jogged my memory.”

“If it will only take five minutes,” Seth decided.

“Don’t ask any questions yet,” Melanie said, getting into the front seat of the car. “I want to go back to the theater. Actually to the Arbuthnot Shop. I think they’re open until six.”

Bryan looked at Melanie and started the car. It was a very quiet but, fortunately, a very short trip.

“We’d better not all go in. But Bryan, will you go with me?” Melanie led the way, practically running. “Hurry. I’m afraid the shop will close. I have to know.”

She took Bryan’s hand, tugging him into the shop. The bell jingled, but as before, no one came running.

“What’s on your mind, Melanie?” Bryan asked. All he could think of were the swords on the wall, the row of nine swords on the Tarot card.

“Shhh.” Melanie pulled Bryan into the second room of the Arbuthnot, not towards the swords, but towards the portrait.

Together they stood before the painting of the woman in blue—the woman said possessed by devils in 1633. “I was right. I knew I was.” She looked at Bryan, who was also staring. Then their eyes met.

“It’s Nicol, isn’t it?” Bryan whispered.

Melanie nodded. “The spitting image.”

eleven

And the demon Batraal tempted her, and she was pulled this way and that like a disputed bone until she made her choice.

ON SUNDAY MORNING Melanie woke and immediately her mind returned to the painting. Bryan’s explanation was too easy. He’d said it was a fake. Someone had used Nicol for the model and then doctored the painting so it looked old. Maybe lots of the things in the shop were fakes.

Hank had laughed. “I can believe that Nicol is a witch, all right. But I don’t think I can handle thinking she’s come back from 1633 to haunt us.”

Everyone had laughed at that idea, so Melanie dropped it.

What did she think? She had no idea. But she did think it was a strange coincidence. Maybe she could just flat out ask Nicol. “Did you pose for that picture in the Arbuthnot, Nicol? The one that’s supposed to be old?” Or, “Is that your painting in the antique shop, Nicol? Did it belong to some ancient ancestor?” Couldn’t Nicol look enough like an ancestor to mistake the woman in the painting for her? But then how many people kept stuff lying around for more than three hundred years?

She pushed herself to a sitting position, tugged off the warm covers, and headed for the shower. Turning the water on as hot as she could stand it, she let the spray pound down, clearing her head, her thinking. One hand searched for her shampoo. She lathered her hair with the lemon-smelling liquid and scrubbed, willing some answers to come to her rather than more and more confusing bits and pieces of this mystery—a mystery, it would seem, she had probably made up.

“Melanie? Melanie, are you in the shower? Guess who just now called?”

Melanie toweled her hair, then wrapped herself in the warm, pink bath sheet. “Bryan?” She stepped back into her bedroom, finding her mother perched on the edge of her unmade bed.

“No, not Bryan. Nicol, that girl from the troupe. She said she wanted to tell you how glad she was you came to the party the other night. And, she wanted to remind you that you said you’d go shopping with them this afternoon.”

That’s right, Nicol had asked her if she wanted to go into the city, but Melanie hadn’t said she would.

Katherine hopped up and practically ran to Melanie’s closet. “What can you wear? Oh, I wish we could afford some new clothes for you. I don’t have much cash. Do you have any money in your purse? You don’t want to let them know how poor we are right now. Maybe you can pretend you don’t like anything you see. You can say you just bought a bunch of stuff, or that you’re saving all your money for Christmas presents, or something.”

“Mother! Stop writing a script for me. I know how to talk to people. Is she still on the phone? Did you tell her I’d go?”

“Of course I told her you’d go.” Katherine looked at Melanie as if she’d lost her mind to think she’d say no.

“What if I already have plans for this afternoon?” Melanie didn’t but she’d hoped she would as soon as she talked to Bryan this morning. She’d call him when she got home. Maybe they could go out tonight. She started to get dressed. What could she wear?

“You don’t have plans, do you? If you do, you can cancel them. I was sure you’d want to go.”

Hardly paying attention to her mother’s excited chattering, Melanie pulled on black stirrup pants and a soft yellow sweater. She’d wear her dressy boots. They would probably be at an indoor mall.

She took as much moisture from her hair as she could with the towel, then blew it dry the rest of the way. She styled it as she dried, so that it had some body, swirling softly around her shoulders.

“Here’s all the money I have.” Katherine had disappeared at some point and now came back into the room with her old black leather purse. She stuffed some bills into Melanie’s small shoulder bag. “I’ll pay half the heat bill and tell them I’ll catch up next time.”

“Mother, I can’t spend money you need to pay the utilities.”

“You can’t say you don’t even have enough to get a snack. You know they’ll want to have tea or something. You don’t want to be embarrassed.”

No, she didn’t want to be embarrassed. But she felt awful taking the last of her mother’s cash.

“I should get a job, Mom. I could work on the days I don’t have a dance class. And part of the. weekend. Bryan would understand.”

“Bryan? What does he have to do with this? And you can’t work and still have the energy to go to school and dance in the ballet. Look at you now, you’re half sick. Maybe you should have stayed in bed all day, but you can’t miss this opportunity to get to know Madame Leona’s friends better.” Katherine started to fuss again.

“Mom, thanks.” Melanie leaned over and kissed her mother on the cheek. “Now go fix me some breakfast—lunch would be better. I can’t go shopping if I’m starving.”

“Oh, I forgot you hadn’t had breakfast.” Katherine practically ran from the room.

Melanie didn’t feel hungry, but she knew she had to eat. She put some finishing touches on her makeup, then hesitated over putting on Madame Leona’s necklace which was resting on her dresser. Should she wear it? She held it up against the sweater. Sure, why not? It looked dramatic and expensive. It would make her simple outfit look more elegant. She slipped it over her head and went to the kitchen. Blocking out her mother’s conversation, she forced down a cheese sandwich and two cups of hot tea with lemon and honey. By the time the last crumb disappeared, she was bursting with energy.

When the doorbell rang, Katherine ran to answer it. Melanie waited in the living room, pretending to watch something on the television, which was always on. Her mother had it on even when she was reading. It was company. For just a second, Melanie wanted to empty her purse, hand the bills to her mother, and say, “You get out of the house. All you do is work, come home, and hide here.”

Her mother would have a heart attack. Melanie smiled at the thought. “Hi, Nicol. Where are Anne and Janell?”

“Waiting in the car. Ready to go?” Nicol was wearing a gray wool coat with a fluffy gray and white fur collar. It framed her face beautifully. She had on boots, too. Expensive black leather fashion boots, reaching to her knees.

You won’t let them make you feel like the poor relative, Melanie promised herself. She knew she wouldn’t be dressed as well as the trio her mother had called Madame Leona’s friends. They worked at the school, teaching the beginners, but did they make enough money doing that to dress like they did? And to furnish that apartment even if Leona paid the rent? Melanie knew she couldn’t ask, but she wondered. Maybe they were all three from rich families. They had huge allowances they lived on until they inherited fortunes.

“Hi, Anne. Hi, Janell,” Melanie said, as she slid into the front seat of the new silver-gray Honda Nicol was driving. The two girls were seated in the back, leaving the front passenger seat for Melanie.

“Hi, Mel,” they said together. “Glad you came along.”

“I can’t imagine staying home on Sunday afternoon.” Anne smiled. “Were you going to study?”

“I am so glad to be out of school,” Janell added, pulling her imitation leopard coat closer until the heater took out the chill Melanie and Nicol had let in.

“It’s winter break, so no studying,” Melanie answered. “I hoped Bryan might call. We usually do something on Sunday.”

They laughed and chattered as Nicol found the thruway. Melanie let Anne and Janell lead the conversation. But when Nicol pulled into traffic smoothly, she said, “Where are we going?”

“The city. Where else?” Nicol smiled, then turned back to her driving.

“You are ours, Melanie.” Janell laughed.

“What?”

“For the day, she means.” Nicol’s smile turned into a grin.

“I just love New York City at Christmas time, don’t you, Melanie?” Anne said. “It’s so festive.”

“I—I’ve never been there at Christmas.” Melanie thought the city had meant Bellponte. And she didn’t want to admit she seldom went to New York City. She and her mother had talked about taking the train in, but they hadn’t done it. Bryan kept saying he’d take her, but they didn’t have time. He had promised they’d make the trip during the winter break.

A part of Melanie regretted not having this experience with Bryan. Another side argued that it didn’t matter. She’d enjoy the trip with Bryan just as much. It would be different from going with three girls.

“What fun! We can show it to you.” Nicol got them there in less than an hour. She obviously knew her way around the narrow streets and huge buildings. Melanie held back from craning her neck so she could see everything. She rarely saw buildings this tall. She sure didn’t want to act like a country hick.

Nicol, Anne, and Janell sailed in and out of the huge department stores, where carols filled the air, propelling Melanie along with them. She let herself be led, realizing she wouldn’t even know what to suggest if anyone said, “Where shall we go next?”

Bergdorf’s, Lord & Taylor, Macy’s—they hit all the places she’d heard of but never dreamed she’d go to shop. Christmas shoppers jammed the stores, but Melanie didn’t mind. It just made the atmosphere more exciting.

“Let’s get new party dresses,” said Anne, leading the way to the holiday fashions when they were in Saks.

Melanie was on holiday. She didn’t need a new dress, but she got caught up in the excitement of trying them on. The sales women treated the four girls like they were debutantes, bringing them accessories to match the dresses they slipped in and out of.

“Oh, Melanie, that is you. It’s perfect, isn’t it Nicol?”

“It sure is.” Nicol pushed Melanie’s arm so that she twirled around.

Melanie wore a black dress with a softly pleated chiffon skirt. The skirt swirled around her legs sensuously. It was a very simple design, the bodice sleeveless and scooped deep like a tank top.

“Here.” Anne took a black, green, and gold sash the sales lady handed her and wrapped it around Melanie’s waist. “Just that much color. Green for the holiday and your eyes.”

“Tights with lace on the bottom are a must.” Janell held up a pair. “And these little slippers with gold trim.

Nicol started holding up dangling earrings to Melanie’s ears. She finally settled on a pair that were like a cascade of lacy gold coins. “And at least five gold bracelets.”

Five gold rings. The line from the song flashed through Melanie’s mind. I’d like to give you one gold ring. Bryan’s words bombarded Melanie’s mind while the expensive clothes heightened her senses. Nicol’s exotic perfume stayed in her nostrils as she fussed over Melanie.

“There, imagine the tights, and it’s a perfect outfit for the holidays. You’ll be the star of all your parties.”

Melanie dared look at herself in the mirror that reflected back three Melanies with shimmering light brown hair. The heavy medallion, looking a bit out of place, rested between her breasts on the black background. The red stone glowed.

“I—I may not be going to any parties, and I can’t afford the outfit anyway.” Melanie was honest on both counts.

“Of course you’ll be going to dozens of parties,” said Anne. “I thought you had a steady guy.”

Melanie tried to laugh. “Well, I do, but I don’t think we’ll go to any party where I could wear this.”

“So—” Nicol shrugged. “Find somebody rich to go out with. Maybe we know someone.”

“With your looks, Melanie, you can have any guy you want. Don’t go steady with someone who can’t treat you like you’re special.” Janell teased the earrings with one finger and they tinkled slightly in Melanie’s ear.

“Listen, we know some terrific guys,” Anne added. “We’ll introduce you. They’ll make your guy seem like he belongs in junior high.”

Nicol looked deep into Melanie’s eyes, holding her captive for a moment. “Listen to us. You don’t need that guy.”

Melanie took a deep breath and touched the red stone in her necklace. She felt suddenly warm, powerful, and sure of herself. Nicol was right. She didn’t need to go steady with Bryan.

Nicol laughed, bringing Melanie out of her thoughts. “We’ll take all this.” She indicated Melanie’s outfit and handed the sales woman the tights with the lace on the cuffs.

“But, Nicol, I can’t—”

“You’re not buying it, we are. It’s your Christmas present. We were wondering what to get you.”

Not wanting to, Melanie had glanced at the price tag on the dress when she put it on. It was a hundred and eighty-six dollars! Add all the accessories and shoes and the bill was going to add up to way over three or four hundred dollars.

“This is too—”

“We don’t want to hear any more about it. It’s done.” Nicol tossed several hundred-dollar bills on the counter, piling up the things she’d chosen to add to the ticket.

In a daze, Melanie took off the dress, put her own clothes back on, and said no more. But she didn’t feel right about accepting such an expensive gift from Nicol, or all three of them if they split the cost.

She didn’t want to make a fuss. She didn’t know how to get out of being the recipient of their generosity. So she gave up, and smiled. “How can I just say thanks? It’s a beautiful dress.”

“You can dance like you did the other day.” Nicol handed Melanie a bag to carry. “You’ll make all of us look good. I can’t believe how well you’ve fit in with the troupe. I couldn’t resist telling Leona she should have picked you over Pauline McMasters in the first place.” Nicol smiled, and her blue-gray eyes sparkled.

“Thanks, Nicol.” Melanie shook her head. She was having trouble focusing. But she managed one question. “Why didn’t Paulie work out? Do you know?”

“Oh, she was super spoiled. And she hated working hard. Leona said she had an attitude problem right from the first. It takes a certain personality for ensemble work. You know that. You’re the type we needed.”

Melanie wasn’t sure just how to take that. She had never been a trouble maker, until now, she thought, but she did have some backbone. Nicol meant what she’d said as a compliment, she thought, scolding herself.

She realized she was looking desperately for a reason to dislike Nicol, to resent what she’d said about Paulie. But it was probably a leftover from Hank’s introduction. Hank didn’t like Nicol, and her feelings had rubbed off on Melanie. But look how great Nicol was treating her. All three members of the troupe were acting as if Melanie was their best friend.

“Now, where shall we eat dinner?” Nicol interrupted Melanie’s thoughts.

Dinner? Melanie wasn’t going to get home in time to call Bryan. But then—she’d forgotten. It didn’t matter. She was going to cool their relationship, maybe even give him up. She didn’t need him anymore. She had new friends.

twelve

MELANIE FELL INTO bed, exhausted from the shopping trip to New York, but she couldn’t get to sleep right away. She was cold—her mother kept the heat turned way down to save money—and on top of that, she was annoyed that her mother had made her go over every detail of the day’s trip before she would let her go to bed. She marveled over the new clothing Nicol had bought Melanie, handling every piece, making Melanie put it on again.

Sometimes Melanie fantasized about having a mother who had a life of her own, or a family with a bunch of brothers like Hank did. She was sure Hank’s mother didn’t have to know how Hank spent every single minute of her day. She wouldn’t have time to listen.

The trip had been fun, but Melanie was left feeling puzzled, something she could never talk to her mother about. Anne, Janell, and Nicol had been so nice to her, too nice. She didn’t trust them, but her feelings were all intuitive. She couldn’t put her finger on anything wrong with them. Just like she couldn’t find anything concrete wrong with Leona. They just didn’t seem—well, real.

Melanie had never been around really rich girls; maybe this was how they all acted. A bit artificial, spoiled, able to buy anything they wanted, and able to give expensive gifts to anyone they wanted to impress. Had they been trying to impress her? She didn’t know, and there was certainly no reason to cater to her.

It wasn’t like Melanie to look for trouble where none existed. Maybe that was the source of the uncomfortable feeling when she was around the three girls that Hank called the witches. She wanted to find something suspicious, and she couldn’t. Because there wasn’t anything. They were good dancers. They spent their money, wherever they got it, rather frivolously, but there was certainly nothing wrong with that.

If you had tons of money, who’s to say how you’d spend it?

She lay in bed, smiling, thinking how foolish she was going to feel when this investigation came to naught. Of its own volition, her hand felt for the medallion still around her neck. She clutched it, pressing the metal into her palm. The stone felt warm, comforting.

Finally she felt secure, cozy, and the thoughts and emotions that tumbled in her head settled to a soft muddle. She’d spend some time looking at the whole situation in the morning when she wasn’t so tired.

She slept, but as soon as she entered a deep state, tapping into her subconscious, she began to dream.

It is some strange time between day and night. The sky is brilliant green. She must be in Iowa or Kansas because this means tornado weather.

She and Bryan leave her house together. He is wearing his wrestling sweats, but she—she is wearing a long white lace dress. The material is crisp and swishes as she moves. The skirt circles when she spins around. Over the dress a fur-trimmed white cloak falls in heavy straight lines from her shoulders to the ground. The cloak has an attached hood, but she’s not wearing it. A slight breeze ruffles her long brown hair and lifts the cloak slightly.

She carries a sword in front of her, the blade high in the air.

“If you don’t return that sword to the Arbuthnot, Madame Voska will be angry,” Bryan tells her.

“I don’t care. She doesn’t scare me.”

Suddenly Frau Voska steps in front of them. Her hands ride on her hips and she is frowning. “That is from the shop. It is only used for special events. Return it this instant.”

“Bryan needs it,” Melanie says. “He can’t be the Cavalier of Swords without this blade.”

She gives the sword to Bryan. He points it at Voska and she disappears.

“You are good at banishing demons, Bryan,” she says. “You must stay by my side and always carry the sword.”

As they approach the high school, Pauline McMasters comes out. Melanie thinks this is funny since, first, Paulie is dead, and second, it’s winter break. No one should be at school.

“I see you still carry the sword, Bryan. He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword.”

“But how else can I be a Cavalier of Swords?” Bryan asks. “And thanks for those great tarot cards, Paulie. Would you like to dance?” Bryan bows, sticks his sword into the ground, then reaches out his hand to Pauline.

“No, thanks. Melanie will take my place.” She fades away.

“I will dance.” Melanie laughs. “Can you spin, Bryan? Can you turn like this?” Melanie pulls another sword from inside her cloak and forces the point into the ground. “I like this sword better.”

Bryan groans. “Oh, no, Voska will kill me. She doesn’t want us to handle the swords.”

Ignoring him, Melanie steps onto the slender, snake-curved bronze dagger. At first she turns slowly, then she spins around and around and around, balancing perfectly on the hilt.

Seth appears, dressed like a mortician with a black top hat and sneakers. He carries a tray holding steaming cups of spiced tea. Bryan takes a cup and both watch Melanie. “She’s great, Bryan,” Seth says. “I think you’d better keep her.”

Melanie jumps off the sword and helps herself to tea. “Paulie can’t have any tea, but I’m thirsty.”

Bryan pulls both swords from the ground. “Watch this, Melanie.” He starts to lift them into the air.

“Oh, let me. I can do it.” Melanie takes them from him. Laughing, she stands with both swords extended at shoulder level. She starts to spin like a toy top, both blades whispering as they rip the air.

Faster and faster she turns, faster and faster. The air twists itself into a vortex cutting into the earth. Melanie tosses the swords to Bryan. They watch as slowly, but with a loud rumble, a whirling core of earth rises slowly from the ground, balancing Melanie on its center.

“That’s awesome, Mel, but get down now.”

Melanie leaps off the fifteen-foot wide churning column.

“I think that’s a tornado, Melanie.” Seth watches. “You’ve created a tornado all by yourself.”

The whirling stones and dirt rise higher into a dark green and dreary sky, disappearing into a cloud. The whirlwind leaves a gaping hole in the earth. From the hole, dozens of great, black birds, much like ravens, fly toward Bryan. He swings with his swords but misses.

One of the ravens leaves the flock and lights beside Melanie. At it starts to spin, it becomes Nicol, dressed in veils, one for each color of the troupe’s medallions. With each turn, Nicol lifts and releases a veil. When the wisp of chiffon floats into the sky, it becomes another bird and flies away. With five veils gone, Nicol is dressed all in black, holding Melanie’s red veil. She grasps Melanie’s hands, causing her to spin with her.

“You are one of us now, Melanie. Dance, dance, spin, spin.” The two girls are quickly pulled into the spinning core of earth just above them.

Each bird becomes a member of the troupe, flying in circles around the two dancers, singing in high, shrill voices.

Melanie tires and becomes dizzy. She wants to get out of the dance. She pulls away from Nicol.

“Oh, you can’t go now, Melanie. You are one of us now. You must keep dancing.”

Suddenly frantic, Melanie looks for Bryan to help her. “Bryan!” she calls and looks down.

Just as he reaches up for her, Frau Voska appears. She strikes the ground with the huge baton she carries, opening a wide, bottomless crevasse.

Bryan slips and slides on snow around the edges of the wide hole. “Melanie, I can’t—I can’t reach you. And I’m falling—falling—falling—”

Melanie watches, horrified. She reaches out to Bryan. “Bryan, let me help you, help you. Take my hand.”

“I can’t reach you, Melanie.” Deeper and deeper, he slides into the hole, all the while reaching up to her.

“Bryan, Bryan,” she screams. “Take my hand!”

Bryan slides into darkness and Melanie realizes she is all alone. But Madame Leona has been watching. Now Leona starts to laugh. Her voice echoes through the dark green sky and the billowing clouds, filling Melanie with incredible fear.

thirteen

SHE WOKE UP shaking. It was a dream, just a dream. But why—where had it all come from? She tried to remember.

The gargoyle necklace bumped against her chest as she rolled over. For some reason, she’d left it on last night. Had the necklace … no, that was silly. She had dreamed about swords because of those cards Paulie left. Because of Bryan being fascinated by all those swords on the wall of the antique store.

Those images had mixed with the feelings of confusion she kept having. The spinning was her head, all the stuff that she was letting fill her brain. She should be thinking of nothing but the dance, the ballet recital, learning her part perfectly.

She stared at the bright red stone glowing on her chest. On impulse she took a firm hold on the medallion and lifted the chain from her neck. Immediately she felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach.

Rolling into a ball, she clutched her middle, trying not to cry out. The blow was followed by a draining of her energy as if every drop of blood had left her body, as if her bones had melted and left no substance but flesh to pool and lay helpless.

For a few minutes her mind duplicated this lassitude. She could think of nothing. She could neither move nor care if she ever left her bed.

I never wear my necklace except when I’m dancing. Hank’s words came to her.

Paulie changed when she put on that necklace. I’m sure of it. I’ve been a fool. Her own thoughts spoke now. I’ve obeyed Leona like a small child with no will of her own. There is something, something about the medallion. It seems so impossible, but haven’t I just proved it. I feel strong when I wear it, able to do anything, anything Leona or—or—

You are ours now. Janell’s words came back to her. For the day, Nicol had added. But their laughter. Their laughter …

Melanie forced herself to sit up. It seemed as if it was the hardest thing she had ever done. She stood on wobbly legs, not the strong legs of a dancer. Holding onto her bed, then her dresser, she staggered to the shower.

She stripped off her nightgown and tossed it on the bathroom floor, stepped onto the cold, marble-like floor of the shower, and leaned on the freezing tile walls—walls that might as well have been icebergs, closing her in on three sides, cloudy glass forming the fourth side of the rectangle.

With a cascade of water as hot as she could bear she bathed, wishing she could wash away the last few weeks.

Back in her room, she slumped on the bed and dialed Hank’s phone number, sounding out each number, forcing her finger to punch the keyboard.

“Hank?” Thank God Hank answered. “This is Melanie. I need you, I need help, Hank.”

She didn’t realize she slept again until Hank shook her awake. Katherine stood beside Hank. “Are you sick, Melanie? Why are you still in bed? And your hair is wet.”

“Let me talk to her, Mrs. Clark,” Hank asked. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

Katherine Clark hesitated.

“Please.” Hank’s voice was almost an order. “Melanie, sit up. What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“Oh, Hank.” Melanie grasped Hank’s hand and curled tighter into a ball on the bed. “I’m afraid. I’m so afraid.”

“What of, Melanie? What are you afraid of?” Hank talked to her as if she was about six years old. Melanie heard it in her voice, but somehow it seemed like what she needed. She needed to be six years old and have someone else make her decisions. Tell her what to do.

“I had this dream. It was awful.” Melanie forced herself to sit up, to wrap the covers around her, push damp hair out of her eyes. She told Hank her dream.

“Then, Hank, I wondered if it was this necklace. I’d worn it all night. In fact, I’ve hardly had it off since Leona gave it to me. You were smart, Hank. You took yours off after class.”

“You think the medallion made you have that dream?”

“I think it’s done something to me. When I took it off, I—I could hardly walk. I feel like a pool of melted Jello. I may never get out of this bed.” Melanie shoved the gray panther face off the bed and onto the floor by the wall. “That’s stupid. The whole idea is so stupid.”

“I agree. But let’s just deal with facts, Melanie. You took it off and you feel exhausted. It might be psychological. If you think that thing has some power, then it might for you.”

“What should I do? I don’t feel as if I can move, much less dance. Ever, ever again.” Melanie bit her lip and stared at the sheet. She saw her fingers plucking at her blanket, picking off those little balls of lint that roll up when it’s washed over and over.

“For now, put the thing back on. See what happens.” Hank walked around, got down on her knees, and pulled the medallion from under the bed. She held it out towards Melanie.

Melanie ducked her head, letting Hank place it back around her neck. Only a few seconds passed before she felt her energy returning. Surges, like ocean waves, washed over her, flew up and down her arms, her legs, her torso. The feeling, she guessed, since she’d never taken drugs, was like the rush an addict gets directly after a fix.

Was she hooked on this charm—this circle of ugly animals with its glowing red stone? Or was it all in her head?

She looked up to find Hank staring at her. How many minutes had passed?

All Hank said was, “We have to be at rehearsal in an hour. I have Mom’s car. Have you had anything to eat this morning?”

“No.”

“Get dressed. I’ll tell your Mom to fix you a sandwich.” Hank left the room.

Melanie had no trouble getting up, pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt, blowing her hair the rest of the way dry—it looked pretty wild, but who cared? She packed her dance bag and walked slowly downstairs.

Hank sat at the kitchen table, eating a tuna sandwich.

“Are you all right, Melanie?” Katherine set a plate down across from Hank with a thud, then rattled a cup and saucer, pouring hot tea. Without asking Melanie, she added two spoons of sugar.

“Fine, Mom. Dancer’s nerves.”

“I sure understand that,” Mrs. Clark said, smiling at Hank. “I was always scared the closer I got to a recital or a performance. Eat every bite of this and try to forget it. The minute you step on the dance floor it’ll drop away.”

Bryan wasn’t going to let her forget him. The phone rang just before they were ready to leave. Mrs. Clark answered and handed it to Melanie, who took the phone into the hall. “Melanie, where were you last night? I thought we were going out, to a movie.”

“I never said that.” The way Bryan spoke to her made her bristle, jump to the opposite side immediately. “We didn’t have any firm plans.”

He didn’t want to argue. His voice softened. “Well, maybe not. I just assumed—”

“You should never assume I’m sitting here waiting for you to call.” She had forgotten all about Bryan this morning. Maybe that was why she felt angry and on the defensive.

“I know that. I—I missed you.” There was an awkward silence. “Can I pick you up after rehearsal today? I assume you have rehearsal.”

“Yes, at two. I don’t know what time we’ll be finished.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“I’m going with Hank. And maybe I won’t have time to go out. Maybe I’ll be too tired.”

“Are you planning to be too tired? Melanie, what’s wrong? Did I say something that upset you?”

He gave her a chance to explain. She didn’t have any explanation for the way she was acting now, any more than she had an explanation for what had happened earlier this morning. She just felt like being perverse with Bryan. And hadn’t Nicol and Janell and Anne said she didn’t need Bryan in her life? She should start seeing less of him. She realized she’d spent every spare minute since September with Bryan. He was taking her for granted.

“No, it’s me, Bryan. I’m busy, and I don’t have a lot of extra energy. I need to concentrate everything on the dance from now until Friday. I don’t want to make a fool of myself in the performance.”

“You won’t, Melanie. You told me yourself you were doing well. Listen, I’ll be there. If you’re too tired to go get something to eat, you can say so. I’ll take you home.”

He was being too nice. What could she do?

“Okay, Bryan. See you.” Quickly, she hung up. Then she sat staring at the phone as if he might call right back. As if she should call him and apologize.

All of her nerves felt raw, chaffed. Her skin felt sensitive, paper thin. Both her mother and Hank stared at her when she returned the phone to the kitchen, but she didn’t explain anything. “Let’s go, Hank.”

“You didn’t finish your lunch,” Katherine protested.

She had eaten half a tuna sandwich, drunk a glass of juice, and the sweetened tea. “I had enough.”

They left for the studio. “What did Bryan want?” Hank asked, maneuvering through Saturday’s shoppers.

“To pick me up after rehearsal. I said maybe.” Melanie watched the familiar route go past. She fingered the medallion, as if she knew closing her hand around it would give her the strength to get through this day—this week. She did know that. But what could she do now?

The dancing calmed her. Madame Leona was patient, demanding, expecting more than Melanie thought she could give. But a smile from her was worth a week of aching muscles. She drew Melanie in, made her feel she could do anything.

“You are excelling beyond my dreams, Melanie,” Leona praised, both hands on Melanie’s shoulders. “You will be perfect on Friday night.”

The compliment warmed Melanie through and through. For one fleeting moment she remembered why she had joined the troupe. And she smiled, knowing she had been wrong, foolish even. Leona Turva wasn’t capable of killing anyone. She wanted only to present a perfect ensemble of seven young women, performing at the top of their ability. Paulie hadn’t been able to fit into this group, so she left. What had followed had been a tragic accident, nothing more.

“Are you all right now, Melanie?” Hank asked during the second break when they started toward the dressing rooms.

“Sure.” Melanie pulled her towel around her neck, rubbing the moisture from her hairline. “What makes you think I’m not?”

“Have you forgotten what happened this morning?” Hank had a funny look on her face, but Melanie ignored it.

“No, but that wasn’t necessary. I won’t do it again. I just need to concentrate hard. I was afraid I wouldn’t learn this, but I think I’m going to be okay.”

Hank squeezed Melanie’s arm. “As soon as rehearsal is over let’s go someplace with Seth and Bryan. Or we can get Chinese carry out and a video.”

Before she could answer, Janell and Anne found Melanie and each took one of her arms. “Mel, come on. Nicol wants to talk to you.” They tugged Melanie toward Leona’s office. Melanie looked at Hank, shrugged, and allowed herself to be pulled in the opposite direction. Hank looked a little puzzled, maybe even hurt that Melanie would leave so abruptly. She felt her face heat up, but then turned and forgot about Hank.

Bryan and Seth were early, so they parked the car and waited in the lobby of the theater.

“Ever been to a show here?” Seth asked.

Bryan shook his head. “Nope, never have that kind of money.”

“Uncle Elias and Aunt Ruth used to bring me here occasionally. We saw a one-man show of Edgar Allan Poe. It was pretty neat.”

“Nevermore?” Bryan said in a low voice, trying to put himself in a better mood.

“Sure. He had a stuffed raven on the table beside him. For inspiration, I guess.”

“Poe or the actor?” Bryan laughed, but remembered the owl and the raven in the antique store. He hated stuffed birds. He had planned to take Seth inside the Arbuthnot to show him the portrait of “Nicol,” but it was closed.

“Are you Bryan?” a voice behind him asked.

Speak of the devil. The girl who stood beside him could have stepped out of the picture. Her eyes were the same eerie blue-gray, her hair that shade of black like a raven’s wing. He found his voice.

“Yes. You’re Nicol?”

“Have we met?” Nicol’s eyes sparkled like ice, chilling Bryan, but at the same time fascinating him.

“Not actually. I saw you hanging on the wall in the antique store.” Bryan threw in that remark to see what response he got. Nicol smiled and said nothing. “Where’s Melanie?” he asked.

“That’s why I’m here. She asked me to tell you she can’t go with you tonight. She’s coming over to my apartment.”

“But why—”

“I don’t know. Or if you’re asking why I came to tell you instead of Melanie, I think she doesn’t want to see you.” Nicol turned and bounced away.

Bryan felt as if she had slapped him.

“The day I’m getting along better with a female than you are, Dorsey, is a day for celebration. I’m buying tonight.”

If Seth was trying to make Bryan laugh, it wasn’t possible.

“You didn’t tell me you two had a fight.” Seth continued a one-sided conversation.

Finally Bryan spoke. “I didn’t know we did. Melanie was acting funny when I talked to her. In fact, she seemed to be trying to pick a fight. But I didn’t buy into it. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Here comes Hank. Maybe she’ll know.”

“Where’s Mel?” Hank asked, telling them she was in the dark, too. “She was in the shower, then she disappeared. I figured she came on out here.”

“She sent Bryan a message,” Seth said. “Via an exceptionally beautiful woman, I might add. But I stayed loyal.”

Hank hugged Seth, then looked at Bryan with a question on her face.

“It was Nicol. She said Melanie didn’t want to see me. That she was going home with her.”

Hank seemed to think about what Bryan said, but she said nothing.

Seth turned Hank around to face him. “Should we go rescue Melanie?”

“I don’t think so. Mel is acting really strange today. Come on, I’ll tell you what happened.” Hank hooked her arm through Bryan’s. “Sorry, Bryan, I know you didn’t want to hear that. But I don’t think there’s anything we can do tonight. Melanie has a mind of her own.”

“She’s never acted like this before.” Bryan led them to the car. He sure wasn’t going to go looking for Melanie. He felt foolish enough now. “I don’t know of anything I said or did to upset her. But any time we’ve had even a minor disagreement, we’ve talked it out. That’s one of the things I’ve liked about Mel. She’s honest and doesn’t play any boy-girl games.”

“I think this is a girl-girl game, and maybe more. Nicol has Mel’s undivided attention. I guess that could be flattering, but Mel doesn’t seem the kind of person to fall into that trap, either.”

“I have an idea,” Seth said. “Let’s go to the May Wah, get take-out food, and go to my place.”

Bryan hesitated. Leaving without Melanie felt a little bit like betrayal. But he didn’t want to be alone right now.

“You don’t want me to tag along with you two.”

Hank put her fists on her hips. “Hey, Bryan, Melanie snubbed you. And besides, you’re being silly. We all care about what’s happening to Melanie. Let’s talk and decide what to do.”

They picked up the food, although Bryan didn’t think he could eat, and drove to Seth’s. Fortunately his aunt and uncle weren’t home. Seth built a fire and tried to get Bryan to relax.

“Bryan,” Hank said. “Tell me everything Melanie has said or done since we were all at Julie Pedigren’s—that night.”

Bryan relived Melanie’s conversations, but more intensely, her mood swings. “I’ve never seen her act like this. She just isn’t herself. Maybe we didn’t have an actual date Saturday, but she didn’t need to get angry about my wanting to be with her.”

Hank paced for part of the time that Bryan was talking. Then she swung around and faced Bryan. “I don’t want to worry you, Bryan, but this sounds identical to the way people say Paulie changed. She seemed obsessed with the ballet class. She acted as if Madame Leona had put some kind of spell on her. As if Leona had total control of her mind and her actions.”

Bryan looked at Seth, then at Hank. Her freckled face, so often smiling, was serious. “I think—I think Leona and those three girls do have control of Melanie, at least the Melanie I know.”

Hank told them about the morning’s episode. About her dream, about how afraid Melanie had been, and how weak she was until she put her medallion back on.

“We have to do something!” Bryan demanded suddenly, slamming his fist on the chair arm. “I don’t know what, but we have to get Melanie out of Leona’s influence. And soon!”

fourteen

“I KNEW IT! I just knew it!” Seth said after they had eaten and were taking Hank back to pick up her car. “There’s something weird about those medallions.”

“That’s crazy, Rubens.” Bryan wished he could believe the answer to Melanie’s behavior was so simple. She wasn’t doing this, something was making her do it. “Why aren’t you affected the same way?” Bryan turned to Hank.

“I never wear mine except when I’m at the studio. To tell the truth, the thing gives me the creeps. But Melanie has been wearing hers all the time.” Hank rode squeezed in the front seat between the two guys. “This morning, after that scary dream, she took it off and had immediate withdrawal symptoms.”

“As if she’d been taking drugs.”

“Exactly.”

“I refuse to believe that a piece of jewelry could have that kind of power,” Bryan argued.

“That’s because you’ve become too civilized, Dorsey,” Seth pointed out. “Despite being brilliant and logical—not to mention charming—I have a streak of superstition a mile wide. Belief in the power of amulets and charms goes back thousands of years. Combine that medallion with Madame Leona’s hold on Melanie, and you have something she can’t fight.”

“You think Leona Turva has Melanie hypnotized?”

“I don’t know exactly. There might even be something in or on that necklace. Remember how all the dancers admitted to getting a rash? There are contact poisons. Why not contact drugs, mind-controlling drugs?” Seth’s mind was racing.

“I don’t think we can figure out how this works. We just have to believe that it does.” Bryan worried out loud.

“You’re the only one who doesn’t believe it, Bryan,” Hank said. “I didn’t until this morning. But Melanie was a mess until she put that thing back on.”

“Then we have to get it off of her,” Bryan decided.

“She’d need some time to recover. That was obvious. She was weak as a kitten.”

Seth turned to Hank. “Have you got your necklace with you?”

“In my dance bag.” She leaned towards the back seat. “You want it?”

“Yes.” Seth waited till Hank rummaged along the bottom of her bag and pulled out the necklace. By the time she found it, they were parked in front of her house.

Seth took the medallion with its lioness on the back and distorted animals surrounding the stone of lapis lazuli. He held it in front of them, lighted by the car’s dim overhead bulb.

“Touch it,” he said. “Despite the fact that it sat in the car while we were at Suzanne’s, the metal is warm. And there’s—there’s just something about it that makes it seem—seem—alive.”

“Stop it, Seth. You’re scaring me.” Hank tried to take the necklace back. Seth wouldn’t let her have it.

“Good, I want you to be afraid of it,” Seth said. “Call it atavistic memory, call it a gut reaction, call it illogical and impossible, but I don’t even like holding it.”

“I’ve heard of people who get readings off of people’s things, rings, necklaces, clothing, you know, all that psychic stuff.” Bryan had heard of it, which didn’t mean he believed it.

“That’s the science of psychometry,” Seth said. “Let’s say you wore a ring for a long time and during that time you had a lot of sorrow in your life. The psychic could read the sorrow off the metal of your ring.”

“You didn’t just think of this idea, did you, Seth?” Hank asked. “You know too much about it.”

“I’ve been doing some research. The first time I held your necklace, Hank, it was warm and got hotter the longer I held it.” He slipped it back into her hands. “Right now I feel pain, great suffering. I can’t hold onto it for long. I didn’t realize I could do that.”

“So someone who wore this before me was in pain?” Hank stared at the medallion.

“It would seem that way. If you want to believe what I’m feeling.”

“Do you believe it?” Bryan asked. He felt as if his best friend had gone round the bend. Seth was often full of surprises, but this was the first he knew about his being this superstitious.

“I believe that people have always worn talismans to guard against evil, but that some talismans are used to do harm. You can get a talisman to wear in case you’re thrown in jail. If you have it on, you’ll get out on Sunday. There’s a talisman against sudden death, one if you desire a good memory—”

“Can you get me one of those before semester exams?” Hank said, trying to joke them out of all these ideas. “My memory is terrible.” No one laughed.

“Sure. My pleasure.” Seth continued, “The most common talismans are crosses, crucifixes, rosaries, coins, you’ve both seen that kind of thing.”

“I’ve seen movies where someone held up a cross to ward off a vampire.” Hank laughed, but without much humor.

“And it worked.” Seth smiled. “Maybe you didn’t notice, Bryan, but I wore a talisman during my bar mitzvah. It’s called Shaddai and has a Solomon’s seal at the top. You’ve seen a Solomon’s seal. It’s one of the most famous talismans of all times.”

“Sure, the two interlaced triangles. I just never thought of it as a talisman.” Bryan shook his head. “What are you getting at, Seth?”

“I’m not sure, but maybe Madame Leona is extra superstitious. She thinks these medallions will protect her dancers, or help them dance better.”

“Do you think the jewelry could give her some control over those who wear them?” Hank asked.

“Anything is possible. We could make a better guess if we knew why she gave them to you.”

“I’ll just ask her.” Hank let out a breath she was holding.

“Okay. When?” Seth put her on the spot.

“Tomorrow.”

“I have a better idea,” Seth said.

“I’ll try anything to get Melanie back to who she was before she got into that troupe.” Bryan leaned on the steering wheel, trying to make sense of what Seth had said, of what was happening.

“You lend us your medallion, Hank. Bryan and I will make a trip into New York City tomorrow. I’d like to show this to the man I talked to about these earlier—you know he said they should be in a museum. He runs an antique shop.”

“Listen, I almost forgot about something else I meant to tell you,” Hank said. “Mel’s calling me this morning made me forget about it. You remember that book I told you I found in the three witches’ apartment—the one that smelled old? Well, I was snooping around in Leona’s office the other day before rehearsal, and someone has brought it over to the dance school. If I could get it for you, would you want to take that to your expert, too? Just out of curiosity. I know it’s old. No book is going to get on the New York Times best seller list today if it smells of dead mushrooms.”

“Terrific, Hank. You’re a gem.” Seth hugged her.

She looked at the necklace she was supposed to be wearing all the time. “A lapis lazuli lioness. Wonder what kind of talisman that might be.”

“It keeps you growling at guys who get up close and personal,” Bryan teased. “Take her to the door, Seth. Remember she has a terrible memory. She might forget you by the time she gets there.”

“Good idea. Be right back, Dorsey.”

Bryan wished he could just joke about all the things they’d talked about tonight. But none of this was funny. He thought about everything Seth had said to keep his mind off not having Melanie to see safely home. All this talk of medallions with power and talismans for warding off evil made this situation even more confusing. And the way Hank said Melanie had acted this morning scared him. At least going to New York was something to do.

They picked up Hank and took her to the studio Monday morning. She left her medallion with Seth, safely inside a small white cardboard box at his request.

“What if Madame Leona asks you where it is?” Seth asked.

“I’ll just say I have a bad memory and I left it at home. All she can do is kill me,” Hank joked.

Bryan didn’t think Hank’s remark was funny. She probably didn’t either. She was joking to cover how scared she was. He tapped on the steering wheel while she went inside to try to get The Book of Raziel, or whatever it was called.

Seth couldn’t even sit in the car. He paced the sidewalk outside. When he saw Hank running toward them, he swung open the door and pulled his seat forward so Hank could toss the book into the back.

“Boy, did I have a close call. And pray Leona doesn’t need this today. But I don’t know what for. It must weigh about forty pounds.” Hank groaned and heaved the book into the Camaro. She had hidden it inside her dance bag, so neither Seth nor Bryan could get a look at it.

“Did you see Melanie?” Bryan had to ask.

“She’s the one that saved me by stopping Leona. But I don’t think she knew I was in the dragon lady’s office. Should I tell her what you’re doing?”

“Maybe not. Thanks, Hank. If you get a chance, tell her I said hi.” Bryan pulled away from the curb as soon as Seth was seated.

Their plan was to leave the car and take the train into the city. Parking was the first problem, but Bryan squeezed into one last space at the end of the lot.

Seth pulled his seat back and reached for Hank’s bag. “Ugh, she wasn’t kidding. What kind of tome is this?”

“Come on. We don’t have time to look at it. If we don’t catch the next train we’ll be late for our appointment.”

“Did you call Mr. Cohen back?” asked Bryan.

“Yes, he’s eager to meet with us. He’s a real expert, Bryan. All the museums call on him when they have something they’re in doubt about. If there’s anything weird about this necklace or that book, Cohen will be able to tell us about it.”

The train was nearly full. They found seats opposite a woman and her three children.

The oldest child must have been about six. “Are you going to your ballet class in the city?” she asked, huge brown eyes staring at the yellow ballet bag.

Bryan felt his face heat up. “My friend is. I have a karate lesson.”

Seth went along with the teasing. “Yeah, I’m playing the wolf in Peter and the Wolf.”

“Really?” asked Brown Eyes. Her hair curled round her face naturally and when she smiled her eyes flirted.

“Cecilia, don’t bother the boys,” her mother said.

Cecilia stopped asking questions but kept staring at Seth until he growled at her. Then she giggled and stood at the window, hanging onto her mother’s knee.

“I never realized you were such a ladies’ man, Rubens,” said Bryan quietly.

“Me either. But when Hank came along, it must have wakened some slumbering giant inside me. I feel ten feet tall around her.”

Bryan knew what Seth meant. Melanie had made him feel the same way, until this week. Today he felt small and empty and cold all over. And he didn’t know whether to be eager or scared about what they might discover in the city.

fifteen

FROM PENN STATION, Bryan and Seth took a cab to the street address that Seth had written down. This section of Manhattan was old, the buildings dark from years of accumulation of dirt, exhaust, and weathering. There were small, neighborhood groceries nestled between antique and second-hand stores, thrift shops, and walk-up apartment buildings.

Maurice Cohen was a small man, stooped by age. In fact, Bryan thought he looked as old as all the objects around him, maybe older than most. He studied them over tiny, wire-rimmed half glasses, his blue eyes faded and watery.

“So, Mr. Rubens, you have come with some puzzle for me to solve?” He spoke with a slight accent, but seemed eager, almost to the point of rubbing his hands together in anticipation, to see what they had brought for him to identify. “The alexandrite? I see so little of it.”

“We couldn’t bring that necklace, Mr. Cohen,” Seth said. “Sorry. We have this one instead—lapis.” Seth took out the small white box and lifted the lid. Hank’s medallion rested on a soft bed of cotton. “We know there are seven necklaces in all, each with a different animal on the back, each with a different stone. There is a dance teacher in Bellponte who has given each of her seven dancers a medallion. This woman also runs an antique shop, so she could have acquired the jewelry through that source.”

Cohen’s hand shook as he reached for the piece. Was it palsy or excitement? Bryan wondered. Obviously he was fascinated. He studied the necklace carefully, used an eyepiece to look closer, turned it over and over, all the while mumbling to himself. “Hum, hum, yes, indeed,” and some other words Bryan either didn’t hear right or didn’t understand as they were in another language.

Seth glanced at Bryan, both trying to be patient. Finally he could wait no longer. “Well, what do you think?”

“I think, young man, that this is possibly the oldest piece of jewelry I have ever held in my hand. I think it is so old, I wonder how you could possibly have it.”

“How old?” Bryan wanted specifics.

“I’d have to spend more time.” Cohen shook his head, perhaps in disbelief. “Centuries.”

“Not years? Centuries?”

“Fifteen hundred, perhaps, perhaps older. You say there are seven medallions, all different? How I should like to see them all. But the fact that there are seven makes me worry.”

“About what?” Bryan took Cohen’s bony arm. “Why?”

The old man stared at Bryan. “You say you have something else?” He turned his attention to the ballet bag.

“Yes, this was unexpected, and we have to get it and the medallion back to Bellponte as soon as possible,” Seth explained, lifting the bag onto Cohen’s paper-littered desk.

Seth held the bottom of the bag while Bryan reached in and hefted the huge, musty-smelling book out.

“Oy vey!” Cohen stared, then reached out a trembling hand to gently brush the cover.

Bryan and Seth stared at the book, which was larger than an unabridged dictionary but with fewer pages. The pages, when Cohen carefully opened the cover, were thick, bumpy, as if the paper was handmade. He turned them one by one, while all three stared at the hand-lettered script, some as dark as the day it was written, some faded to a pale, spidery scrawl.

“Say something, Mr. Cohen,” begged Bryan. “What is this?”

“Oh!” Cohen shook his head, his cheeks even more pale and gaunt than when they’d first seen him. He ran one hand through his thick, gray hair. “I did not think it possible.”

“What? Please, talk to us.” Bryan was about to lose his patience. His insides felt squirmy, apprehensive. Maybe he didn’t want to know what this was.

Finally Maurice Cohen chose to speak. “This book, if it is authentic, and it certainly looks real, is so old, it dates back to around 1480 A.D., that experts have disagreed for years about its existence. Part of the book has been reproduced.” Cohen left them, but quickly returned with a much smaller book, one obviously old as well. “This is called The Book of Rosalynn.” He opened it and paged through it until he found the passage he seemed to be looking for, then read with a strong voice.

This from Lamiaza I have derived: The maidens of the chosen, whose number is in accordance with Lamia, who is also called Lilith, is to be seven. For at the mark of five hundred years, the cycle is again accomplished.

“What does that mean?” Bryan asked, totally confused now. “Lilith. Who is that?”

Seth explained. “Lilith, according to Jewish folklore, was the first wife of Adam.”

“First wife? What happened to her?”

“She wasn’t very cooperative,” Maurice Cohen gave them a rare smile. “She was cast out of the garden, which did not make her happy, of course. She joined the fallen angels to become a female demon.”

“I think what Bryan and I both want to know, Mr. Cohen, is what you think this might have to do with our friends in Bellponte.”

“You may not believe—”

Bryan interrupted. “Tell us anyway.”

“There is an obscure legend—supported in part by the text I read you from Rosalynn—that every five hundred years seven of the fallen angels are allowed to return to earth for one night.”

“And?” Seth prompted.

“At this time they will dance the night through with seven beautiful young women. In order not to frighten these dancers, the demons will take the form of seven beautiful young men.”

“Seven …” Bryan tried not to feel he was hearing some kind of supernatural, B-movie plot. He looked at Seth.

“Is that all of the legend, Mr. Cohen?” Seth asked.

“A beautiful woman organizes and leads the evening of dancing. She is believed to be either a descendent or a reincarnation of Lilith.”

“Madame Leona Turva,” Bryan whispered. “It’s not possible. I don’t believe this.”

Seth stared at Maurice Cohen. “Do you believe this, Mr. Cohen? Is this possible?”

“When you have lived as long as I have, Seth Rubens, you know that anything is possible. It has nothing to do with whether or not I believe it or you believe it.”

“I need to say this out loud.” Bryan swallowed. “You think that Leona Turva is preparing the seven dancers in her ballet to dance with these seven demons when they—This is ridiculous! I don’t believe this. Come on, Seth. Nothing like this happens in real life.”

“A talisman like this”—Mr. Cohen held out Hank’s medallion—“combined with the mind power of a strong woman—”

“Melanie certainly seems to be under some kind of spell, Bryan. You said it first. Think about Hank’s story about when Mel took off the medallion. She’s not herself.”

“There are cults in this country. There are pockets of demonology, of witchcraft at work.” Maurice Cohen closed The Book of Rosalynn. He returned his attention to The Book of Raziel. “This woman you speak of—how did she obtain this book? It is not the type of thing that circulates through antique stores. It is one of a kind—it belongs in a museum.”

“We have to return it.” Seth picked up the book and placed it back into the ballet bag, which Cohen held open reluctantly.

Bryan fought an irrational hysteria. He clutched the front of Maurice Cohen’s suit coat. “Do you believe this, Mr. Cohen? You have to tell me the truth.”

Cohen pulled back, uncomfortable with being put on the spot. “There is one more thing for you to believe or not believe, young man.”

“What?” Brad demanded. “What else could there possibly be?”

Cohen peeled Bryan’s fingers off his coat and stepped back before he spoke. “The legend also says that this evening of dancing usually comes to a climax with the sacrifice of one of the women dancers.”

sixteen

NEITHER SETH NOR Bryan spoke, except to tell the cabbie their destination, until they were on the train back to Bellponte.

Bryan first tried to laugh off their experience now that they were back in the sunshine, which did little to warm the day. “Well, that was some story, wasn’t it? You wanted some facts, some concrete evidence. What do you think now?”

Seth, usually the joker, was not in a laughing mood. “Maurice Cohen taught ancient history at the university for years before he retired and opened this shop. He’s a scholar, Bryan.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s without superstitions. He can’t really believe all that stuff he told us.”

“But he did, Bryan, and I—I do, too.”

“That’s ridiculous. There are no witches or demons—that’s just mythology.”

“But you believe there were back in some remote piece of history?”

“I doubt it. Witches were just poor women who happened to hold beliefs that were a little different. If I didn’t like someone, I could call her a witch. Then a crowd would get hysterical and burn her just in case such a thing existed.”

They both stared out the window for a few miles. “Then you aren’t going to tell Melanie what we found out?” Seth asked.

“I’ll tell her, sure. If I get a chance. I’m sure she’ll laugh about it, too. This doesn’t mean I’m on Leona’s side now. I do think she has some kind of hold on those seven women. Maybe she has them hypnotized, or drugged, or just brain washed. I’ll still ask Melanie to get out of the troupe, but I know she won’t do it this close to the recital and performance.”

“Where did Leona get this book?” Seth asked, indicating the heavy bag he’d set between his feet.

“How should I know. Maybe it was passed down in her family from generation to generation, even for five hundred years. That kind of thing happens.”

Seth stopped arguing. Bryan stopped thinking. Tried to, that is. What he’d been given to think about was so farfetched, so unreasonable, it was hard not to think about it. But it was harder still to believe.

It was a little after three o’clock when they got to Bellponte and hurried through the darkening afternoon to Bryan’s car. The sky was the color of pewter, turning piles of old snow gray and dirty blue. Clouds were heavy with new moisture. Bryan felt heavy, unreasonably tired, weighed down with something he didn’t understand.

They found a parking place near the theater and hurried into the Blue Princess, Bryan lugging the heavy book, Hank’s medallion tucked into Seth’s inside coat pocket. Bryan knew that no matter where this book came from, Leona would not be pleased that they had taken it out of the studio. He hoped for good luck with getting it back into Madame Turva’s office.

Almost at the door of the ballet studio Albert Brandish stopped them. “You boys got business in there?”

Bryan was startled, his concentration on their task. “Our—we’re picking up two friends. Surely they’re through rehearsing by now.”

“We got tired of waiting out front,” Seth added. “It’s getting ready to drop a ton of snow again.”

“I’ve got orders to keep everyone out except dancers.” The man was the Incredible Hulk in overalls. If he wanted to keep them out, he could.

“Can we wait in the lobby of the theater?” Bryan asked. This must be the custodian that Melanie mentioned. Surely he couldn’t keep them out of the theater, even though there was no show scheduled for tonight.

“I guess so.” Brandish spotted the ballet bag. “Want me to take something into the studio for you?”

“No. No.” Bryan hugged the bag tighter. “My friend will come and get it when she’s finished.”

Hank, still in her leotard, was the one who came looking for them. “There you are. Finally,” she whispered, looking back down the stairs. “I got a thousand demerits and a lecture for forgetting my medallion. I think if Leona finds this book gone, she might explode. She’s been the very devil to work with today.”

“Don’t say that.” Seth hugged Hank and lifted the book into her arms. “What can we do to help you put this back? Yell fire from out here? Get everyone’s attention?”

“Something. Why don’t you go back downstairs with me? I’ve noticed that Leona hates it when anyone comes in the school who’s not a dancer. If she comes to throw you out, I’ll have a few seconds to slip this book back into the drawer where I found it.”

“The custodian was standing guard.” Seth looked around. “But I don’t see him right now. Come on.”

The three pounded down the steps and into the heated air of the ballet school. All the classes were getting out, so there was enough confusion for Hank to accomplish her job, they hoped.

Bryan made sure. He and Seth stepped inside Leona’s domain. “Melanie, there you are!” He acted as if he’d been looking for her for a long time. And he was glad to see her, even though Nicol was with her and shot blue steel daggers his way.

“Bryan? What are you doing here?” Melanie was clearly surprised to see them.

“Ignore him, Melanie.” Nicol took her arm.

“I need to talk to you, Mel.” Bryan walked closer.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you, Bryan,” Nicol said, tugging Melanie toward the dressing rooms.

“Would you let her make her own decisions, Nicol? Maybe she’d like to talk to me. You’ve interfered enough.”

Someone must have gone for Madame Leona. She hurried into the scene, walking between two dancers, each incredibly beautiful and older looking than Hank and Melanie. These must be the other two “witches” that Hank and Melanie had mentioned. Leona’s helpers.

“No one belongs in here except dancers.” Leona Turva stared at Bryan, making him feel more than slightly intimidated. Her dark eyes pierced him like a pin through a captured insect. He felt her power, the aura of someone used to having her way. “I asked Brandish to keep visitors out.”

“I came to pick up Melanie.” Bryan found his voice. “It’s going to storm.”

“We’ll get her home.” Nicol stepped in front of Melanie.

Bryan saw Melanie hesitate just enough. He pushed Nicol slightly and took Melanie’s arm.

Hank ran to them, mission accomplished. “I’ll get our coats. Meet you in the lobby, guys.”

Seth stepped up and took Melanie’s other arm. Bryan actually felt they were kidnapping her as they practically dragged her up the steps and into the lobby.

As soon as she was over her surprise, Melanie started to protest. “I need to shower. I’m not sure I want to go with you.”

“Please don’t make a fuss, Melanie. No matter how you feel. I must talk to you.” Bryan’s voice was as firm as he could make it.

Melanie shook her head to clear it. She had come straight from the spell of the dance to the confrontation with Bryan. She was tired, so tired. Grasping the medallion that had escaped the front of her leotard, she held it as if it would give her strength, or help her think. It pulsed, warm in her fist, and she did feel better clutching it tightly.

She felt Bryan staring at her. Looking up, she was surprised to see that he seemed afraid.

There was no time to ask him why. Hank appeared, looking like a one-woman department store. She had clothes, coats over her arms and shoulder, and boots in both hands.

Hank and Bryan helped Melanie pull jeans over her leotard, a sweatshirt on top, and then zipped her into her coat. Hank untied and tugged off her slippers and jammed her feet into boots. She wasn’t aware that Bryan had slipped her necklace off in the confusion until she reached for it again.

“My medallion! Where is it?” She felt panicked, naked.

“I have it, Melanie. You don’t have to wear it now that you’re finished with rehearsal,” Bryan said. “It’s safe in my pocket.”

“It’s mine! I’m supposed to wear it. Give it back, Bryan, no kidding.” She felt strength drain out of her body, her legs, her knees. Before she knew it, she was falling—falling—

“Catch her, Bryan,” Hank screeched. “She’s fainting!”

Bryan scooped her up into his arms. She wasn’t unconscious, just terribly weak. She felt him catch her, hold her close, lift her, and carry her to the car. He tucked her into the passenger seat, buckled her seat belt, left her for a few seconds.

She heard her door slam. His open, slam. He reached for her on her left. “Melanie, Mel, are you all right?”

“You should have put her back here, Bryan,” Hank scolded. “I could have held onto her.”

“She’s all right. Aren’t you, Mel?”

“I feel so weak, Bryan. What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing. You’re just tired. I’ll bet you haven’t eaten all day.”

“Take me home, Bryan. I want to go home.” Melanie held to the seat, concentrating on keeping upright. “I’ll be all right if you take me home.”

Bryan did as Melanie asked, skidding on icy streets twice. He pulled into her driveway, then ran around before she could try to get out of the car.

“I’ve got you. Just relax.” He tugged her out and scooped her into his arms again as if she weighed nothing.

She felt light, floating, as if she was a feather, a snowflake, drifting, drifting …

“Melanie!” her mother screamed. “What happened? What’s wrong? Oh, my baby.” Katherine Clark pulled the door wide and pointed to where to take Melanie. “Put her in her bed. Oh, I knew this was going to happen. You’ve been working too hard. Not eating enough. Leona should pay more attention or she won’t have a show. Put her on the bed. I’ve got a pot of soup on the stove. That’s what she needs. Something to eat.”

As soon as Katherine was sure Melanie wasn’t hurt, she ran back down to the kitchen.

“Whew,” Seth said. “We are surrounded by intense women.” His comment made them laugh—a little.

Melanie let Hank help her get her coat and boots off and tuck her into the bed. Keeping her eye on Bryan until she saw him take the medallion from his pocket, she pretended to cooperate. But when he laid it on her bedside table, she rolled over and grabbed it. Why had he taken it away from her?

She squeezed it until the metal of the panther dug into her hand. It felt warm, making her breathe easier. Her head cleared a little, and she watched Bryan look at Seth, then both look at Hank, and at her.

“Okay, now why did you cause such a scene back there, Bryan? What was it so important to say to me?” Slipping the chain over her head, she let the panther rest near her heart and pulled herself to a sitting position.

“Melanie,” Bryan said, “did my pulling that thing off your neck make you faint?”

“Of course not.” She grasped it again. It did—she knew it did. And that frightened her even more than being without it had done. “It’s just—that I’m supposed to wear it all the time. Hank nearly got killed today for forgetting hers.”

“She didn’t forget it,” Seth said, starting their tale. “We took it to the city.”

“What did you find out, Seth?” Hank asked, sitting beside Melanie on the bed and taking her hand.

Quickly, and with one eye on the doorway, Bryan and Seth gave the two girls all the information they’d gotten in the afternoon. The more Melanie heard, the harder she squeezed Hank’s hand.

Hank looked at Melanie when they stopped talking. “Well, that’s quite a story. Are you sure you didn’t go to the movies instead of visiting this so-called expert?”

“You don’t have to believe it,” Bryan said, staring at Melanie. “I don’t think I do. But you know how gullible Seth is. He fell for it like a drowning man clutches a rope.” Bryan tried to laugh.

“That figures, Rubens.” Hank put her arm around Melanie. “You are steeped in Old Testament mythology.”

“Demons are mentioned throughout the Old Testament,” Seth admitted. “There must have been a reason for that.”

“The Old Testament is the history of a people. So it would explore their superstitions, their belief systems, all of their culture,” Bryan pointed out.

“Jesus cast out demons in the New Testament,” Seth countered.

“That was a flowery way to say he cured someone who was mentally ill.” Bryan looked at Hank, then at Melanie for support.

“Just what we needed on a cold night,” Hank said. “A deep theological discussion. Right, Mel?”

Melanie nodded. She wasn’t sure what to make of the story. Looking at the medallion, she could see that it was old. She already knew that. And that book was old. Five hundred years? Surely not, but it was ancient. No argument there.

“Let me get this straight. You think Madame Leona is getting us ready to dance with seven demons? Bryan, I know you want me to drop the ballet, but if you expect me to believe this, you’re really desperate.” Melanie laughed out loud. At the same time she clutched the bed, drawing the sheet up into her fist.

She did believe it! Something inside her made her sure that everything Bryan and Seth had found out was true. What—what could she do about it?

Hank joined in with Melanie’s laughter. “Think your mother has enough soup for company? I just realized I’m starved.”

“She probably made enough for the whole school,” Melanie said. “Go help her, Hank. Come back up here and eat with me.”

Hank left and Seth followed her. Bryan sat beside Melanie on the bed. “Melanie, you don’t have to believe this, okay? But if you keep wearing that necklace, if you stay under Leona’s power, how are you going to keep snooping around, trying to find out what Leona is up to?”

“There’s no proof of any of this. What if she’s just a dance teacher?” Melanie didn’t know why she had to keep arguing with Bryan.

“Let me have the medallion, Mel. I’ll stay with you. So will Hank and Seth. We’ll stay with you tonight.”

“My mother will love that.” Melanie grasped the chain.

“Tell her the truth.”

“Tell my mother that Madame Leona is—is—”

“She’s evil. A witch.”

“No, Bryan, that’s not possible.”

“Then take off the necklace. It has no power.”

Melanie took a tighter hold on the medallion. Now just the idea of removing it made her shiver and feel sick at her stomach. But if she didn’t …

“Let’s forget this, Bryan. Leave me alone till after the recital.”

“That might be too late.”

“When is—is this—this— When is it supposed to happen?”

“I don’t know. I’m guessing soon. Leona had to replace Paulie quickly. She seemed to be under some pressure to get another dancer so she’d have seven.”

He placed his hand over hers. Unlocked one finger, another, then another. “I’ll take it home with me. Bring it back tomorrow in time for you to have it at rehearsal. You can wear it only when you dance, only when you’re with Leona Turva.”

What small bit of her own personality that remained, that was rational, knew Bryan was right. “All right. Take it. Hurry, before I change my mind.”

She felt the metal slide from around her neck. She heard Bryan’s voice say, “Melanie isn’t feeling well, Mrs. Clark. I think she’s going to need you to stay with her some of the night.”

I’ve changed my mind, Brian, give it back. She tried to scream, tried to call out, reach out. Nothing worked. Her legs melted into the bed. Her arms were rubber bands. Her voice was silent.

Darkness closed in around her—the thickest, blackest, most ominous silence she had ever known.

seventeen

And the demon Danel came to her, reassuring, helpful, and leading the way.

SHE FELL INTO a deep pit, tried to climb out, up and up and up, there was no way out. Even had she succeeded, on one side, at the top, Frau Voska stood, alternately waving her stick and beating it against her black skirt. On the other side, Leona Turva stared at her. “How dare you,” she said. “You have disobeyed me. You must be punished.” She laughed on and on and on, a high-pitched, shrill sound. “You are still mine. You can stay there until I want you, until it is time.”

She fought to wake up. She must wake up. If she was awake she could climb out of the pit.

“Melanie, Melanie, honey. Wake up. Please wake up.” It was her mother’s voice.

“Mother?” Her head felt like it was twice its size. Her legs belonged to someone else. She had no control over them. Something heavy pinned her to the damp sheets. “Help me. Help me get up.”

She felt her mother’s hands trying to pull her to a sitting position, trying to prop her up. She felt dizzy, so dizzy.

“Melanie, should I call a doctor? Maybe we should go to the emergency room at the hospital.”

“No. No. I’m all right. I’ll be all right. If I can just wake up. I have to go to rehearsal.”

“I know you want to, but I don’t see how you’re going to dance today. I’ll call Leona. She’ll understand.”

“No, she won’t. It’s too close, too close to time.”

She struggled to pull her legs over the side, to sit up on the side of the bed. Her mother sat beside her, holding her.

With all her mental strength, she fought. All night she had fought. She was winning. She could win.

“Do you want something? Some juice, hot tea, coffee?” Her mother’s voice pleaded with her to want something. To tell her something she could do.

“Have you been here all night?” Melanie asked. Her head was clearing a tiny bit, then more and more.

“Yes. You tossed and turned. You screamed and called out. I could never understand what you were saying. Oh, Melanie, I was so scared. I should have insisted you go to the hospital last night.”

“No, I don’t need a doctor. Some juice. That sounds good. And I’m hungry. I—I think I can get up and shower.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to fall.”

“I’m sure.” She wasn’t strong, but her mind was clearing. Her hand flew to her chest. The medallion. Bryan had taken her medallion. Then she remembered his story. That incredible story they’d told after returning from the city.

Shower, Melanie, just shower and get dressed.

She was sitting at the kitchen table when the doorbell rang. Bryan, that was Bryan. She could have it back now. It would be easier to keep wearing it. This was too hard.

To her surprise it was Laurie Roberts. “Melanie, are you ready to go to rehearsal? Madame Leona called me. She remembered we live close. I’m supposed to give you a ride.”

For a few seconds, Melanie stared at Laurie. She was supposed to be Bryan. And Seth and Hank. He promised. He promised he’d pick her up and return the necklace.

“Melanie?” Her mother stared at her. “Are you going to rehearsal?”

“Oh. Oh, yes. Just a minute. I’ll get my things.” She was stronger, getting stronger. Slowly, but with a determination she hadn’t felt in a long time, she walked back upstairs. She gathered her dance clothes, packed her bag.

Jean Whitney was in the back seat of Laurie’s car. “One more week, Melanie. We’re almost there. One more week.”

Melanie got in and then studied the two girls with her. There was something strange about them. Both seemed to be functioning in a daze, a type of robot behavior that might seem normal to most people. But Melanie had known them before.

Had she been acting like that? “Are you wearing your medallions this morning?” she asked both of them.

“Of course.” Laurie pulled hers out to show it. “Aren’t you? Madame Leona told us to wear them all the time. Remember?”

Yes, I do remember. And what did I do? The really smart detective, Melanie. I wore it.

Avoiding Leona and Frau Voska, Melanie hurried to the locker room and changed into her leotard. Slowly she tied on her toe shoes. She kept a towel around her neck the whole time in case anyone noticed it was bare.

Hank burst in. “Melanie, there you are. Did you forget we were stopping for you?”

“No, Laurie came for me. Leona sent her.” Melanie formed each word slowly. She seemed to be doing everything in slow motion. But she knew what she was doing.

“Here.” Hank slipped her the medallion with its red stone, the magic red stone.

Melanie stared at it. Hank, standing in front of her, took it from her hands and slipped it over her neck. “Just while we’re here,” she whispered in Melanie’s ear. “Just while we’re here with Leona.”

In seconds Melanie felt an incredible amount of strength surge back into her arms, her legs, her entire body. She could dance now.

They followed that pattern the rest of the week. Right after rehearsal, Bryan and Seth picked them up. Both Melanie and Hank took off the medallions and handed them over. Melanie especially didn’t trust her self-control. It had been so easy to comply with Leona’s orders.

The four of them went over and over the strange ideas Mr. Cohen had put forth. But only Seth said what no one else was willing to put into words. “The only proof we’ll have is if it happens.”

By Friday Melanie felt completely herself—except that she knew she had never been so nervous before a dance recital. This didn’t feel like a recital, it felt like a performance, an important one. This close to New York City, an occasional scout from a ballet or an advanced school attended recitals. Madame Leona had surely sent invitations to important people she knew. After all, this was her first showing of her elite troupe.

The weeks had been filled with hard work, making time fly. During every pause to catch her breath, she thought of what Bryan and Seth had discovered on their trip to the city, of their idea that sometime, in the future, Madame Leona had a secret performance planned. Every day Bryan asked her if she was all right. His hovering over her, her mother hovering over her, was getting old.

When they weren’t dancing, Melanie watched Leona Turva. She watched Frau Voska. They seemed perfectly normal, worrying only about form, about perfection, about the recital.

Once, she and Hank had discussed the legend in whispers after rehearsal, trying to laugh at the story the guys had tried to get them to buy. Demons, witchcraft, talismans with power, Leona with super powers—all of it was ridiculous to think about in this century. In any century. Melanie smiled again while she dressed for the big night. Granted, the medallions did have some kind of power, or Leona did, when they were wearing them. She hadn’t forgotten the night—the week, actually—of withdrawal, but since she had no logical explanation for it, she put it behind her.

Laurie Roberts insisted on picking her up every day and again tonight. Melanie saw no harm in that, and certainly tonight she didn’t want her mother, or even Bryan and Seth, hanging around for a couple of hours before the performance. Katherine was nervous enough. Since Monday, her lapse of energy, the night of dark dreams, her mother had almost driven her crazy with her worrying.

“This is it, guys,” Melanie said, getting into the car. And then she didn’t try to visit with Laurie and Jean on the way over to the studio. Both seemed subdued, probably as nervous as she was. She skipped out as soon as they found a parking space near the theater. The last storm had passed. The week had been fair, warming up enough so they weren’t always frozen by the time they got to the studio. “Thanks for the ride, Laurie. No way did I want my mom here early.”

Laurie laughed. “I know what you mean. My parents are both being impossible. And my dad doesn’t understand my complete dedication to tonight’s performance.”

“My mom does, but that still doesn’t help.”

There was a holiday atmosphere at the studio. Everyone was excited, full of energy, smiling nervously or warming up alone.

Melanie was a mixture of all that. But as soon as they were dressed, Frau Voska rapped on the lockers with her stick.

“All right, ladies. Madame Leona wants you in her studio for warm-ups as soon as you have your makeup on. Hurry now. No dawdling.”

“Is it possible,” whispered Hank, radiant in her ice-blue dress, “that Vodka is a bit excited herself?”

“Anything is possible tonight,” Melanie whispered back. “Anything,” she repeated to herself. As long as she stopped shaking like a willow in the winter wind.

Bryan picked up Seth an hour before the performance.

“What are we going to do with all this spare time?” Seth asked.

“By the time we get there, park, walk inside, there won’t be much left. We want to sit close.” Bryan found he was shivering, and it wasn’t very cold tonight.

He wanted this night over with, he realized. Seeing Melanie in the ballet would be special, but nothing mattered except making sure she was all right, that she stayed safe. He knew he was being irrational, but he didn’t care.

“Think we can talk Mel and Hank into letting us take them home?” Bryan asked.

“I have no idea. I’ve hardly talked to Hank all week except for picking her up and taking her home.”

“Melanie’s acting like a high-strung race horse.”

“They’re ar-teests.” Seth tried to calm their nerves.

“Yeah, who wants to go out with a couple of guys preaching demons and bad luck? I don’t blame either of them for not talking to us.” Bryan tried to laugh at himself at the ideas they brought back from the city.

“But I think if—if there is going to be another performance after this one, it’ll be tonight, don’t you?” Seth said. “It would seem logical. Leona will have her dancers here and ready.” Bryan didn’t respond, but Seth sensed an unspoken agreement.

After driving almost to downtown in silence, Seth spoke one more time. “Are you as scared as I am, Dorsey?”

“Yes. I know it’s crazy, but I just want this night over with.” Bryan didn’t even want Seth to know how scared he was. He hadn’t been able to eat and now his stomach rumbled. His hands sweated on the steering wheel.

“Tomorrow we’ll be laughing at ourselves,” Seth added.

Leona Turva had rented the rest of the theater building for the dance night, so the recital was being held in the theater proper. Seth and Bryan were early enough to get a table near the stage, but the place was starting to buzz with parents and friends wanting a good seat.

“Mrs. Clark,” called Bryan. He wasn’t sure he wanted Melanie’s mother to sit with them, but she was alone and looked nervous. “Find a chair and sit with us.”

Katherine Clark stared at Bryan as if she didn’t know who he was. Finally she flashed a very artificial smile and shook her head. “I need to sit alone. Thanks.”

Seth smiled. “You tried, Dorsey. Good guys always lose with jealous mothers. Didn’t you know that?”

“Guess not. Melanie says her mother’s obsessed with her making a career of dance. Sounds like a classic case of living your life through your kid.”

“Yeah, we’re lucky no one else wants to live our lives.” Seth sipped a Coke he’d gotten at the bar, which had converted to soft drinks and coffee for family night.

In no time at all they were wishing they could place a large RESERVED sign on their table and go walk the streets.

“I forgot we’d have to sit through the recitals for all these little kids,” Bryan complained. He’d been to the bathroom three times and left once just to pace the hall.

“They’re kind of cute.” Seth seemed more relaxed than he was, or maybe he hid it better.

Leona Turva herself announced her elite dance troupe. Seth whispered, “She hasn’t grown any horns yet—that I can see from here.”

Bryan had trouble laughing. Seeing the dance master again reminded him of her poise, her control.

The ballet was worth their wait, though. A hush fell over the large crowd when the music started for the “Snow Queen.” The curtain squeaked and rattled open to reveal a sparse set, but one that suggested winter—ice, snow, a duplicate of the last month in Bellponte.

As six women floated on in ice blue dresses, Bryan had to remind himself to breathe. Then he sat transfixed for the rest of the program. He realized he’d never seen Melanie dance. He began to understand her dedication to this art.

She floated, whirled, leaped as if possessed by some magic dust that had turned her into a winged creature. There seemed to be no effort in any movement that she initiated. She was as delicate as a snowflake, and she melted onto the floor at the last note.

For seconds, the audience sat mesmerized. Then thunderous applause echoed from the walls and ceiling. Bryan jumped to his feet and pounded his hands together. “Bravo!” he shouted spontaneously, and the crowd took it up. They knew the dance, they knew the hours a dancer spent working to get to Melanie’s level of expertise.

“She was magnificent, Bryan,” Seth said. “And so was Hank. I never realized …”

Bryan hadn’t seen Hank once after her entrance. It didn’t matter. Melanie was perfect.

The curtain reopened. The spell was broken. People swarmed onto the stage and backstage to congratulate dancers, Madame Turva, anyone who’d had a part in this night.

Bryan and Seth hung back. Then they joined the dwindling crowd to find Hank and Melanie.

Melanie stood, her arms full of roses and baby’s breath accented by wispy green ferns. Bryan had no flowers, no gift, nothing to give her. Why hadn’t he thought of flowers?

“Melanie, you were unbelievable.” He hugged her, feeling her damp shoulders, her trembling body, then pushed her back to see her winning smile. “I never knew.”

“I felt good,” she whispered. “I hope—”

“You were. Perfect. I don’t think you could have been better.” He couldn’t keep from staring at her, even while everyone who came by distracted her, speaking to her, congratulating her. He continued to hold her hand. She didn’t pull away. There was a link between them that had been missing ever since she joined the troupe.

Katherine Clark surfaced. “What next, Melanie?” she asked after hugging her daughter. “Is there a party? A reception? Or should I wait to take you home?”

“I—we thought we’d take Melanie and Hank home,” Bryan said, asking Melanie at the same time he told Katherine.

“I’m sorry, Bryan.” Nicol walked up in time to hear Bryan’s request. She smiled at him with her cold blue eyes. “Leona is having a party just for the troupe. Melanie must go. She can talk to you tomorrow.” Anne took Melanie’s other arm.

Melanie shrugged, smiled at Bryan, but turned and walked away from all of them. Hank waved and followed, Janell at her side.

Bryan panicked. “Mrs. Clark, talk Melanie into going home with you right now. Please. It’s important.”

Katherine Clark stared at Bryan as if he was a speck to be brushed off her coat. “You have no idea what’s important, young man. You are not important to my daughter, and you never will be if I have any say about it. Professional dancers have no other life. Believe me, I know. Melanie will never have time for you.” She turned and hurried toward the back of the theater.

Bryan watched her go. “So, young man, what should we do now?” Seth asked. Before Bryan could answer, Seth answered his own question. “There’s a big party at my house. Let’s go to your place and sulk. We are not important.”

They followed Seth’s suggestion. They seemed to have no choice unless they made a scene.

It was about one o’clock when Katherine Clark decided Bryan was important after all.

Bryan and Seth had finished their third game of chess and were thinking of calling it a night when the phone rang. Bryan looked at Seth, whispered, “Melanie,” then caught it on the second ring, hoping it hadn’t wakened his parents.

“Mel, is that you?” He couldn’t help it. He was so sure.

“Was she going to call you? Is she there?” The frantic voice belonged to Katherine Clark.

“No, Mrs. Clark,” Bryan said to tell Seth, who was on the other end of the line. “She said she’d call me tomorrow. But I was hoping—”

“I’m worried. I didn’t know who else to call.” The voice held a note of apology. “I thought you might know—know—”

“Melanie’s not home then?” Bryan asked, gripping the phone till it bruised his hand.

“I probably shouldn’t worry, but I called the studio and there was no answer. I found some other numbers in Melanie’s room and called those. One was for Nicol’s apartment. Before I could call Hank, her mother called me. Hank isn’t home either, and Mrs. Brooks is worried. She said she had called Laurie Roberts’s parents and also Jean Whitney’s. They were worried. I guess it rubbed off.” She laughed nervously. “But we’re all sure a party should be over.”

“Maybe they went out someplace—to a restaurant,” Bryan suggested.

“Melanie said the reception was in Leona Turva’s studio. Why would they go someplace else?”

“The troupe might have, after they left Leona.” Bryan wanted to think of something logical.

“Bryan, I got in the car and drove to the theater. Everything is dark, like it was empty.”

“The studio may not have any windows.” He had an answer for everything.

“I—I guess they could still be there. But why won’t someone answer the phone? This is not like Melanie. She’s always so exhausted after a recital. She usually doesn’t even want to socialize.” Katherine sounded as if she thought Melanie was still at the theater.

“Listen, I’ll go down there, Mrs. Clark. I’ll find her and bring her home.”

“Thank you, Bryan. Thank you.” Katherine hung up.

“You’re going back to the studio tonight, Dorsey?” Seth asked. “You think this is it?”

“We’re both going. Hank isn’t home either. We may look foolish, but I’m willing to break in there if we have to. I’m going to find Melanie.”

eighteen

MELANIE, WRAPPED IN an aura of success, felt warmer, more contented than she ever had in her whole life. She took one of the lovely silver goblets from the tray Frau Voska offered each dancer and sipped the golden liquid it contained. The drink was hot, spicy, smelling of cloves and cinnamon, mulled to a sweet perfection.

The drink warmed her even more, filling every tiny compartment of her body, zinging across every pore of her skin, making her tingle with anticipation. Anticipation?

A memory surfaced. The drink—the drink tasted the same as the cough syrup Madame Leona had given her when she came to rehearsal sick. This was not cough syrup.

She looked around, caught Hank’s eye, saw the panic there. A scream started deep in her bowels, rose, gained strength. But before she could open her mouth to let it escape, before she could call for Bryan—Seth—to help her—how could they? She had let them leave so casually—before she could run, pound on the door, demand to leave, Nicol and Janell walked up on either side of her.

“To your health, Melanie,” Nicol raised her glass. “To your magnificent talent.” Nicol waited for Melanie to drink. She coughed, swallowed the scream, gulped the spicy mixture to keep from choking.

Another sip calmed her stomach, blocked the rising apprehension. Panic lulled, she glanced around, wondering if she could beg off, say she needed to leave after all.

Al Brandish stood at the door as if guarding it. He was dressed in some sort of costume, not his usual overalls. He no longer looked like a custodian, a janitor. The door—the door was locked. Melanie knew that. She knew Brandish was guarding.

She swung around and bumped into Janell. “Drink up, Melanie. You wouldn’t want to spoil our celebration, would you? The evening has been perfect so far.”

“What?—I think—I don’t think I can stay much longer.” She finally got the sentence out.

“What’s your hurry?” Anne said, leaving Hank’s side. “I wanted to congratulate you, too. To Melanie.” She raised her goblet. “I’ve never seen such perfection.”

Melanie had no choice but to take another sip. She relaxed further. It was wine. She wasn’t used to drinking wine. That’s why it made her feel so strange.

Nicol took Melanie’s goblet and placed it to her lips again. “To our new friend. And many celebrations.”

“To my lovely dancers.” Madame Leona, wearing a stunning black velvet cloak, its hood resting on her shoulders, proposed a toast, holding her own goblet high. She stood on a half-moon raised dais centered at one end of her studio. “You were perfection. The most beautiful, most talented, best prepared dancers I have ever offered. My heart swells with pride.”

Melanie felt Leona Turva’s words, her tone of voice, her praise pull her in. All the fear gathering in her chest, her whole body, her mind, left her. She experienced a hypnotic need to worship this woman who had helped her achieve the high standard she knew she had reached in her performance. Her left hand still held her drink, but her right hand slipped inside her costume and pulled out the medallion she wore. The metal, the stone, pulsed, alive in the palm of her hand, like a second heart giving her life on a higher plane.

“Tonight is a special night over and above the ballet success you have already achieved. A singular honor is yours. I came here to prepare you for that honor.

“You are the chosen.”

Melanie found herself responding to Leona’s words, knowing exactly what to say. “We are the chosen.”

“The cycle is again accomplished.”

“The cycle is again accomplished.” Seven female voices repeated Leona’s words.

“You are seven.”

“We are seven.”

“They are seven.”

“They are seven.”

“They have taken from the moistness of the waves.”

“They are seven from the sea mist.”

“They have taken from the richness of the soil.”

“They are seven from the center of the earth.”

“They have taken from the brightness of the stars.”

“They are seven from the universe.”

“Their time is now.”

“Their time is now.”

Melanie felt the silver goblet slip from her hand into another. Free, her hands lifted, reached skyward. Her feet raised to pointe position. She was ready. She was perfection. The time was now.

From the upper recesses of the room, a veil of mist crept into the air, smelling of fresh ocean breezes. Overhead lights dimmed, replaced by spots of silver, blue, and sea green. In each corner of the room, a small table crouched, miniature shrines where a huge candle flamed, flickered, reflected light off the silver tablecloths. As the fog surrounded them, wrapped them in wispy lace, seven dancers frozen like ice sculptures waited.

Time did not exist until Melanie felt his hands surround her tiny waist and raise her into a perfect lift. Bending backward with the grace of a reed in the sea wind, she lay over his shoulder, sliding until one satin shoe touched the floor, and he spun her around.

A bar of music, one note vibrating, held them captive long enough for Melanie to study her partner.

He was the most beautiful young man she had ever seen. His dancer’s body was tall and supple. Muscles in his arms and legs, his bare chest, did nothing to mar the smoothness of his satin skin. Dark brown eyes smiled, and she was pulled into their depths, recognizing his pleasure at being with her. His hair was the color of a new fawn, thick, slightly curled, and falling just to the midpoint of his long neck. His tights were the deep red color of her gem stone of alexandrite. Again she raised her fingers to grasp her medallion, which lay centered between her breasts.

She belonged to him. There was no emotion to the thought, just a knowledge that came to her. And he belonged to her for the evening.

The music began, at first slow, melodic, then swelling to wash over her like ocean waves that created a rhythm inside her. She knew the dance as if she had practiced it forever, since time began. She knew his touch. They moved as one, as partners who had performed this ballet for all of recorded millenniums, and perhaps before that, before time was of any importance.

When Bryan and Seth arrived at the Blue Princess, the theater slumbered. It was as Katherine Clark had said, silent and deserted.

“Melanie is here. Don’t ask me how I know, but she’s inside there, someplace.” Bryan led the way to the front door.

“Where else could they be?” Seth followed.

Every door was locked, of course. They ran to the antique store, but even had a window been left open, there were iron bars on every opening, a testament to some earlier owner’s precaution.

Starting at the Arbuthnot, they made a circle of the entire building, trying every door, looking at every window. All of the main floor windows had bars, except two. These were small and must be the bathrooms on the main floor of the theater.

One of the windows was unlocked.

Bryan, with some effort, slid it upwards about a foot. “I can’t fit in there, Seth. You have to try.” Bryan’s upper body was heavily muscled from his wrestling. Not even in desperation, a state he was fast reaching, could he slip through the window.

“You want a miracle.” Seth studied the small opening.

“We have to get in. Try it,” Bryan pleaded. “I’ll hold you until your feet touch.”

Seth let out a long breath that said he’d try. Slowly, he wiggled and slid backward into the tiny square.

“My shoulders aren’t going to fit, Dorsey.” Seth came to a stop.

“Stretch out and wiggle, squeeze. You have to get in, Seth. You have to.” Bryan demanded that he try harder.

With his arms over his head, some tugging on his part, some pushing on Bryan’s end, Seth finally squeezed inside. Bryan lowered him until he said, “Okay, I’ll drop the rest of the way.”

Bryan let go and heard a thud and “Ooomph,” as Seth landed. “You okay?”

His face appeared at the window. “Yeah. The front door may not open without a key. How are you going to know where I am?”

“Start at the front, rap on the opening. I’ll follow you around.” Bryan headed for the big double doors.

There were a couple of night lights at the entrance, but they hadn’t seen anyone since they got to the Princess. A cop would be welcome if he’d buy Bryan’s story.

Brian shivered and watched the street. It was totally deserted. Finally Seth knocked on the heavy wood and whispered loudly. “Go back to your right. We’re in luck. The box office door unlocks from inside.”

Bryan scrambled down the steps and around the building again. Seth stood, holding a narrow wooden door wide, his flashlight beam like a welcome path.

Inside the hall, they ran quietly for the back of the building, then down two flights of groaning wooden stairs. There wasn’t time to find the steps that didn’t creak. Maybe no one would hear them from the studio.

Standing on the concrete floor at the bottom, they first tried the studio door, not expecting it to be open, but easy things first, Bryan thought. There was a mess of junk here. He nearly knocked over a rack with musty old clothing hanging on it.

What seemed to be a closet door was locked, but the wood looked flimsy. Bryan figured he could kick it in.

“Too much noise,” Seth whispered, guessing Bryan’s thoughts. “I have another idea. Come on.”

To Bryan’s dismay, Seth dashed back up the wooden staircase. He followed. Seth led the way behind the performance stage.

“Just as I thought. There’s a trap door in the stage, for disappearing acts.” He crawled underneath, then into a larger opening where there was an iron ladder leading down.

Bryan followed, hating the dank, dusty closeness of the tunnel. “It only goes down one floor,” he said, disappointed. “Wait, over here.” He motioned to Seth.

They could hear music through this floor. A square of light outlined another trap door. It must lead into the studio. They were on the far end of the level above the basement.

Carefully, inch by inch, not wanting to make one sound, Bryan and Seth fit fingers into ancient grooves and then lifted and slid the small square of wooden planking from its pocket in the ceiling.

As if they’d paid dearly for balcony seats, they had a perfect view of the scene below.

They stared, spellbound. Bryan had no idea how long they watched, mesmerized by the performance.

Seven young women, dancers from Leona’s elite ballet troupe, danced with seven partners. The men were perfect male specimens—tall, handsome, built with the lithe grace of dancers yet boasting strong and muscled shoulders, arms, legs.

Bryan spotted Hank before he could find Melanie. Her partner wore a blue leotard from waist to ankle, but nothing else. His chest was naked, his feet bare. The women wore the costumes from the ballet, but each man was clad in a different color—rose, jet black, jade, amethyst—Bryan guessed the color scheme. Their clothing matched the color of the gemstone in the dancer’s necklace. So Melanie—

“Where’s Melanie?” Bryan whispered, his stomach tightening, his heart thudding. “Red, her partner will be in red.”

Seth grasped Bryan’s wrist in a gesture that said, keep still.

“There,” he breathed the word, but Bryan heard it.

The music of the dance had become more and more frenzied. Now it came to a complete stop, a dramatic pause. The dancer clad in red, Melanie’s partner, stood in front of a raised dais. Both arms stretched over his head. Melanie was draped across his two large hands. She hung limp, possibly unconscious.

But it was not Melanie who held Bryan’s attention. It was Madame Leona. Her floor length robe was black silk. On her head was a glittering crown, whose brilliants caught the lights, sending sparkles into the dim room like fireflies. The sleeves of her dress whispered a silken message as she raised both arms overhead.

And in her hands, long nails tipped scarlet as if already coated in blood, she held the dagger from the wall of the antique store—held it, waiting until Melanie’s partner placed her on the dais.

nineteen

BRYAN JUMPED BEFORE he could think the situation through. He could imagine only Melanie being killed, Madame Leona slipping that curved, deadly knife into her heart.

Eyes that had been riveted on Melanie shifted focus as he hit the floor with a loud thud.

Surprise was his only advantage. Leaping forward, he covered the distance to where she now lay on the raised dais like a sprinter propelled by the sound of the starting gun.

He scooped her up, her limp body practically weightless, and darted back to where Seth crouched, back to the wall.

“That necklace,” Seth yelled. “Get it off of her!” As he spoke Bryan acted, snatching the panther talisman from around Melanie’s neck. Bryan lay Melanie on the floor and stood in front of her, prepared to fight.

In the shuffle and confusion, Seth had grabbed Hank, who stood closer to them than any of the dancers. He flipped the chain from around her neck, throwing the medallion back into the mass of frozen dancers.

Perhaps the disc sliding across the room broke the spell, or maybe Leona’s shriek released the rest of the dancers.

Bryan planted his feet and held his ground, looking for a way out. The fog had thinned enough to see around the dim room. One door led to Leona’s office and possibly the antique store. If they went that way they could end up trapped.

At the main door Al Brandish, looking like a stately Viking warrior, stood guard.

They would have to fight. But not the handsome dancers.

The nearest male dancer, Melanie’s partner, who had followed Bryan, shifted into his real persona.

Slowly, weaving with catlike grace, the demon surfaced. The upper part of his supple body became covered with shaggy golden hair. His own hair lengthened and, mane-like, surrounded his face, a face distorted, teeth forming into fangs, nose blunt, eyes turning yellow and slanting upward.

His hands and feet sprouted claws. He slashed out at Bryan, roaring like a wounded panther. Bryan had no choice but to attack, hoping for a wrestling hold—hoping his skills in that sport would come to his rescue now.

But the demon had superhuman strength. Bryan’s nylon-covered down coat kept the razor-sharp claws from ripping into his back, but the coat shredded with a hissing sound. He threw Bryan off and sent him skidding across the polished floor.

Bryan didn’t know when Melanie had moved, but he slid into her, knocking her off her stance. Shaking his head to clear it, he saw her recover quickly and kick out at a creature who had sprouted wings from his misshapen body. He had bird-like claws and short twisted legs. Screeching in a shrill voice, he flicked a forked tongue in and out of a lizard-like head.

“Help us, Bryan,” Hank yelled. She and Seth stood back to back, holding out medallions they had yanked from other dancers’ necks. “They seem to be afraid of these.”

Two demons circled, threatening. Bryan froze, totally distracted, fascinated by the transformation of the handsome male dancers.

Hank’s demon, still clad in the lapis blue leotard, sported three heads, a cow, a lioness, and one distorted, waxen face with pointed ears. His tail whipped back and forth like the warning of an attacking cat. He tipped back the center head and roared, issuing fetid breath, smelling of putrid, decayed meat.

Seth held off Anne’s dancer whose head was now that of a snake. An overhead blue spotlight glinted off the fish scales that covered his upper misshapen body.

“Get to the door,” Seth shouted. “Where is Melanie?”

“I’m here,” Melanie screamed, to Bryan’s relief. He hadn’t meant to leave her, but she too had discovered that her medallion had some reverse power now that she no longer wore it. She had escaped the panther demon and headed for the dais where Madame Leona stood, frozen with anger and dismay.

“Bryan, get Laurie. She fainted when I grabbed her medallion, or else she’s hurt,” Melanie begged.

“But you—”

“I’m all right, now that I can think straight.”

“Then head for the door, Mel. Please.” Bryan looked around for Laurie Roberts. He spotted Hank, but decided she was holding her own. Hank kicked one of the demons and threw her medallion at another. Nothing was going to stop these things, but if they could slow them down long enough to get out of this room, they might have a chance.

Laurie lay curled into a heap at the far side of the room. Hunched over her was another of the transformed male dancers. In a gnarled and lumpy hand he held a bundle of snakes that writhed and swiveled, hissing and tonguing the air. As Bryan approached, the figure spun around and hissed. His spiked hair looked like a punker’s experiment until Bryan got close enough to see that each spike was another smaller asp, standing, weaving, ready to strike should Bryan get too close.

Before he could decide how to take Laurie from this demon, Melanie appeared again, swirling the black velvet cloak that Madame Leona had discarded when the ceremony started. She tossed it so that it swung over the serpents, rendering them harmless long enough for Bryan to scoop up Laurie and carry her to the entrance to the studio. Where was Brandish?

Hank helped Laurie stand. “Thanks, Bryan. I have her. Seth went to get Jean. Go back and help Melanie.”

Melanie, a determined look on her face, now faced off with Leona Turva herself. Leona threatened Melanie with the long, curved dagger. Brandish stood ready to help Leona.

“You’ve lost, Leona Turva,” Melanie called to her. “You killed Paulie, but no one else will die tonight because of you.”

Candles wavered on the table with its ebony cloth. The smell of sulfur and musk filled her nostrils, cloying, smothering, making her cough and her eyes sting.

“You are wrong,” Leona screeched. “Wrong, wrong, wrong. You spoiled the evening but you are a perfect offering, and I will take you with me.”

Melanie had not realized that Nicol, Anne, and Janell were circling behind her. She had focused all her attention on Leona.

“Melanie, behind you!” Bryan shouted a warning, but he was too late. The three dancers confirmed their allegiance to Leona by taking Melanie prisoner. Their beauty had taken on the translucent, hard-edged glare of evil. Shrieking and cackling with laughter, they tightened their hold, nails digging into Melanie’s flesh.

She screamed and struggled, trying to throw them off. But they were stronger. Pinning her arms, they drew her closer, closer to Leona, who raised the razor-sharp knife back to strike.

With one last effort, Melanie jerked away from Anne, fell, and propelled herself forward long enough to grasp the edge of the tablecloth. One tug tumbled wax and candles onto it, setting it afire.

Leona stood close enough so that flames and hot wax leapt onto her skirt.

Bryan, who had felt he was running in deep water instead of wispy fog, grabbed Nicol and flung her away from Melanie. Screeching as she spun across the room, Nicol shifted to the form of a raven and rose above the chaos, grasping the dagger in her talons.

“Here!” screamed Hank, who had unlocked the door, dashed into the hall, and reappeared with her arms loaded with excelsior.

Seth was right behind her. They tossed the curled wood shavings into the flames that threatened to snuff themselves out with little on which to feed.

“Of course,” Melanie shouted. “Get more, get anything out there that will burn. Those old costumes, the cardboard boxes.”

She and Bryan kicked and spread the shredded wood across the floor and into the two corner shrines nearest them. Flames followed, eagerly licking a path between the ballet dancers huddled near the door and their partners, now seven misshapen beasts who hissed and screamed but drew back from the fire.

They watched, transfixed, as Brandish carried Leona Turva into the midst of the demons. He lifted her body, smoking from the smothered fire of her robes. The smoke intensified, swirled, formed a twisting funnel which rose higher and higher towards the ceiling. Continuing to dissipate, the gray mist swirled until his hands stretched empty.

Flames licked towards Brandish now, circling all the demons and the huddled trio of Nicol, Anne, and Janell. They stepped back and back until all were trapped, facing the roaring inferno.

“The fire is out of control. Let’s get out of here,” Bryan shouted, pulling Melanie to his side.

Smoke poured from the studio, filling the rest of the building. Flames roared, picking up momentum as Melanie and Bryan backed out of the large room last.

To Melanie’s surprise, Frau Voska appeared, running through the flames from Leona’s offices. In her arms she held the big gray puff, Murmur, the theater house cat.

“Please,” she said, putting the cat into Melanie’s arms.

Then, before Melanie could speak, Voska ran back towards the inferno where flames exploded, bursting through walls and spreading eagerly.

“Frau Voska! No!” Melanie hugged the cat but could make no move to follow the woman. She worked for Madame Leona Turva. Was she also—not from this time, this world?

Bryan held onto Melanie as they ran up the wooden stairs. Her satin shoes were not designed for this.

Seth tugged open the box office door, yelling to them. “Bryan, Melanie, this is the only way out.”

Bryan scooped Melanie and the cat into his arms and dashed across the street. Only from that distance did he dare set her down near the huddle of ballet dancers flanked by Seth and Hank. Only then did they dare stop and watch the ancient building turn into one huge bonfire, a crackling, roaring blaze in the winter sky.

twenty

THE BUILDING, A tinderbox of ancient wood, was impossible to enter by the time the fire trucks arrived. The firemen could do nothing but shoot streams of water on the outside to keep the fire from spreading.

Bryan had given his coat to Melanie, and the two stood shivering across the street from the fire. Seth had shared his coat with Hank but had also found a blanket in Bryan’s car for Laurie and Jean.

Melanie hugged Murmur, who to her surprise made no attempt to escape. “Those policemen are going to come over here any minute now to ask us what happened,” she said.

“I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to figure that out,” Hank said. “You—you—”

“You were right, Bryan, Seth.” Melanie finished what Hank was trying to say.

“Bryan knew about Madame Leona and those—those—things?” Laurie asked, starting to recover from her stupor.

“He and Seth tried to warn us,” Hank explained, “but would you have believed them?”

“They were so beautiful.” Jean seemed to be still under the spell of the dance.

“At first.” Melanie turned and buried her face in Bryan’s shoulder. “Oh, Bryan, if you hadn’t come—I don’t want to think—”

“Then don’t.” Bryan had a story. “Listen, Madame Leona had set candles all over the studio for the party you were having after the recital. Someone must have knocked one over and the fire got out of control before you knew it.”

“Because of all that trash piled in there,” Hank added. “That’s believable enough. If we all stick to it.”

“And say that’s all we know,” Laurie Roberts added.

“That is all we’d be able to prove.” Melanie looked back at the fire, roaring now, flames reaching for the sky as if they would consume even the clouds, the stars, the sliver of a new moon.

A car screeched to a stop at the curb near them. “Melanie, Melanie!” Katherine Clark jumped from the driver’s seat and dashed to the small group huddled on the sidewalk. “Oh, Melanie, thank God you’re all right.” She grabbed Melanie from Bryan’s arms and held her tight. “I heard it on the radio. I haven’t been able to sleep—”

“It’s all right, Mother.” Melanie soothed her mother as if she were the adult. “I’m fine.”

“Where is Leona? Madame Leona, were you with her? This is not all the troupe.”

“Some—some of them didn’t get out, Mother. We tried, but the fire was out of control in seconds.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, so sorry.” Katherine stared at the crumbling building.

“Yes, it was a tragedy.” Melanie looked at Bryan. Maybe her mother would never have to know the whole story.

“Let’s go home. There’s no sense standing here freezing,” Katherine said, looking at the rest of the dancers. “Everyone should go home.”

The spell on them all was completely broken by those words. Melanie agreed to ride with her mother. “Mother, we have a cat now,” she said before they left the group.

“But I don’t like—” Katherine stared at Melanie. “Oh, all right. As long as it survived, someone has to take it. Madame Leona would—”

“Frau Voska would like to know it’s safe.” Melanie hugged Murmur close, and the cat began to purr.

It took more than a week for the police and firemen to sift through the remains of the old Lafayette Theater building.

Melanie and Bryan, Hank and Seth were at Melanie’s waiting for a pizza when the news came on. They had watched every TV newscast for days, waiting for a final report.

Tonight the fire chief being interviewed said, “I’ve never seen a fire so intense, one so hot, one that consumed so completely everything in the building. It was as if the flames of Hell had blazed out of control for a few hours.”

They all looked at each other but no one spoke.

“How many bodies did you finally find?” the news reporter asked.

“This has been the biggest mystery, Dave. Those fortunate enough to escape told us there were at least five, maybe six if the custodian was there, trapped in the fire. Leona Turva, owner of the school, and, incidentally, of the antique shop that also burned, three more dancers, and Elatia Voska, an elderly woman, a retired dancer who worked with Leona Turva.”

“Elatia—what a pretty name,” Melanie said, stroking the gray puff curled in her lap. Murmur seemed quite content with her new owner.

The fire chief continued, “To date, we have found one body in the ruins. Just hours ago we identified the charred skeleton as that of Ilene Greenway, former owner of the ballet school. It was thought she had left town.”

“So you suspect foul play?” the newsman asked, eagerly.

“That’s part of our investigation now, too.”

“Ilene,” Hank said. “She didn’t sell to Leona after all. All of our suspicions have been correct.”

“But we can never prove them, can we?” Melanie felt terrible that her mother’s friend had died in order that Leona’s mission could be completed.

“I didn’t tell you—” Bryan said. “I didn’t realize it until later—”

“What, Bryan?” Melanie turned to him, took his hand, wondering if she wanted to hold it forever. “There’s more?”

“No, not more. Just souvenirs.” He pulled two of Leona’s medallions from his pocket. The lioness, Hank’s. The panther, Melanie’s.

Melanie pulled back from them.

“I don’t think they have any power without her,” Bryan reassured Melanie and Hank. “What shall we do with them?”

“I sure don’t want mine.” Hank moved to the fire as if she were suddenly cold.

“I don’t need a reminder.” Melanie took hers and examined it again thoroughly. The alexandrite was green, as if calm now.

“We can put them in the auction for money to rebuild the Princess,” Hank suggested. The day after the theater burned many people got sentimental and immediately started a fund to rebuild the historical relic.

“When she returns, she won’t have a matched set.” Seth smiled and reminded them of the legend. “But I guess we don’t have to worry about that.”

“She’ll find them.” Melanie shivered at the idea of this ever happening again. She placed her necklace back on the couch beside Hank’s.

As if to reassure them all that at least for now whatever unearthly power that had prevailed had left, Murmur moved from Melanie’s lap to sit between the two medallions Bryan had spread on the coffee table. She batted first one, then the other. Then feeling lazy again she curled back into a soft gray puff and fell asleep.

“You think Murmur is trying to tell us something?” Bryan asked. “That they’re gone?”

“I’d certainly like to believe that’s so,” Hank replied.

“I choose to think they’re gone, that she’s gone,” Melanie said. “Surely a legend—a sorceress—has no power when you stop believing.”

About the Author

Barbara Steiner (1934–2014) was an acclaimed author known for her books for children and young adults. Steiner authored over seventy titles, including picture books, early chapter books, mysteries, young adult thrillers, historical novels, and romances. In her lifetime, Steiner visited more than ninety-four countries and all seven continents, and many of her books were inspired by her travels. She lived in Boulder with her family until her death in January 2014.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1995 by Barbara Steiner

Cover design by Mimi Bark

ISBN: 978-1-4976-2446-7

This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

345 Hudson Street

New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com

THE DARK CHRONICLES

FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA

Available wherever ebooks are sold

Open Road Integrated Media is a digital publisher and multimedia content company. Open Road creates connections between authors and their audiences by marketing its ebooks through a new proprietary online platform, which uses premium video content and social media.

Videos, Archival Documents, and New Releases

Sign up for the Open Road Media newsletter and get news delivered straight to your inbox.

Sign up now at
www.openroadmedia.com/newsletters

FIND OUT MORE AT

WWW.OPENROADMEDIA.COM

FOLLOW US:

@openroadmedia and

Facebook.com/OpenRoadMedia

Table of Contents

- Title Page
- Dedication
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- About the Author
- Copyright Page