Dance of Fire by Yelena Black

it and started downstairs again, saying, ‘I’ll be sleeping until two, so see you don’t ring my bell until then.’
    We stood in the doorway and beheld our new home.
    It is an attic room, mostly unfinished. It stinks of woodchips and mothballs. There are two big beds with sagging mattresses pushed under the eaves. Erik and Hal dragged those out and pushed themto opposite ends of the room. ‘We’ll take one,’ Erik said, ‘and we’ll let you have the other.’
    â€˜Obviously,’ I said.
    With loose planks on top of a bureau and a vanity without a mirror, they created a desk. Almost immediately, Hal produced three laptops from his bag, plugged in an adapter and a power strip, then hooked up all the computers. ‘This is how I make my living,’ he said, plopping himself into a rickety old wooden chair and hooking up a glowing blue plastic thing. ‘First thing to do is set up our internet access. Second thing is . . .’
    Erik held up a sheet of paper, ‘Second thing is to see if he can get us registered for this.’
    â€˜What is it?’ I asked. He gave me the sheet. It was a notice of a scholarship programme for the Royal Court: two dance students each year get a free ride with their company. Provided those two students beat out ninety-four other dancers. ‘Sounds difficult,’ I said. ‘Plus you have to be affiliated with a dance school.’
    â€˜You are one of the best dancers of your generation,’ Erik said, sitting down beside me and taking my hands. ‘You will have no problem winning one of those two positions. Me, we shall see. And as for needing to be affiliated with a dance school . . . Hal? Can you do something about that?’
    â€˜Already on it,’ he said, hunching over one of his laptops.
    For the first time in a long while, I breathed a sigh of relief. God only knows what my parents are thinking right now, or Vanessa, who’s only in middle school and too young to understandwhat’s truly going on. I may be in a strange city, with boys I barely know, but at least I can continue to dance. It’s what got me into trouble in the first place, but maybe – just maybe – ballet can still be my saving grace.

Chapter Four
    â€˜See you later, darling!’ her mother called out to her after their too-long lunch. ‘Good luck! Not that you’ll need it. The Adler women are born stars.’
    â€˜Right, Mom,’ Vanessa said. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
    â€˜But that doesn’t mean that you don’t have to practise,’ her mother added with a raised eyebrow.
    Vanessa rolled her eyes. ‘I know, Mom. Don’t worry. I’ve got it covered.’
    â€˜I know you do, darling. And –’
    â€˜â€“ you’ll be proud of me, no matter what happens,’ Vanessa said, completing her mother’s sentence. ‘But you’ll be even more proud of me if I win.’ She’d heard her mother say those words many times, and while they usually made her anxious, their familiarity was almost comforting.
    Her mother squeezed her shoulder. ‘That’s my Vanessa.’
    Vanessa pushed her way inside the entrance to the White Lodge, waving goodbye to her mother. She dug her phone out of her pocket – it was 2.50 p.m. She had ten minutes to get back to her room, change into her dance clothes, and meet Enzo for their three o’clock rehearsal.
    No way she was going to be on time.
    If only her mother had had less to say about Rebecca, her long-lost ballet friend from San Francisco, maybe their lunch would have clocked in at under two hours.
    â€˜Rebecca and I were the stars of that company,’ her mother had said, picking at her Caesar salad with grilled chicken (no dressing, no croutons). ‘She danced Cinderella, and she was marvellous.’ Her mother paused. ‘But then I danced Giselle and Juliet in the same season.’
    Vanessa had