Dance of Fire by Yelena Black Page A

nibbled at her sandwich, half listening, half watching the clock. All her life she had known how high the bar was for her and her sister. It didn’t matter how well they danced; if they weren’t the stars, their performances would always just be mediocre.
    â€˜Sure, Mom,’ Vanessa had said. ‘Sounds incredible.’ She’d realised a long time ago that her mother’s nostalgic excursions were just another way for her to reinforce the expectations she had of her daughters. She closed her eyes, thinking about Margaret’s missing shoes. Svetya must have taken them, but where were they – and why would she have stolen them?
    Back in her room, she slipped into a white leotard, then pulled on a loose-fitting pair of shorts and her hoodie. She grabbed herdance shoes and a bottle of water, threw them into a bag and glanced at the slip of paper Enzo had given her ­earlier.
    Rehearsal Space B1.
    Could he have been any less informative? There must be rehearsal rooms in the building, but she had no idea where they were. Vanessa took out her phone again – 3.05 p.m.
    Great , she thought. Just great.
    After asking five different people, Vanessa found the wing of the building with the rehearsal spaces. There were four floors of dance studios, but none was labelled B-1.
    Then Vanessa spotted an exit door. Did B stand for basement ?
    She had to push hard on the door before it opened, its hinges squealing, to reveal a dusty corridor, the walls a drab grey, the ceiling low. A faint smell of old grease hung in the air. The corridor led her beneath a string of dingy lights until she reached a spiral staircase that descended into darkness.
    She touched the railing. Her fingers left clear marks in the thick dust.
    Down she went, the metal steps ringing beneath her feet, to a dank basement passageway lined with steam pipes and mossy brick walls.
    She shivered. Something about this place made her uneasy. It reminded her of the basement practice room back in New York where Josef had rehearsed The Firebird . The damp air felt thick in her lungs.
    She turned a corner and found herself in an alcove facing a set of ancient double doors. She pushed them open. This was their dance studio?
    Enzo was standing in the middle of the room.
    â€˜Ah,’ he said, waving for Vanessa to enter. ‘Finally.’
    Cautiously Vanessa stepped inside. Some of the elements were familiar – a warm-up barre, walls covered with mirrors, a sprung wooden floor suitable for dancing.
    But everything was old and rundown. The mirror on the far wall actually had a crack running down it like a vein, and the other mirrors were smudged with handprints and dust. The wooden floor was scuffed a dull brown and the floorboards squeaked under their weight. We can’t dance here , Vanessa thought. This had to be a joke.
    â€˜Welcome to your practice space at the Royal Court,’ Enzo said. ‘Not glamorous, I know. But I requested this space. Nobody uses it any more, so it’s perfect for us.’
    At the word us , Vanessa realised that Justin, Svetya and another boy – Geo, she assumed – were already there, warming up. Justin was wearing black tights and a grey tank that exposed the muscles in his arms. Svetya was wearing a navy leotard, her right arm arched over her head in a deep stretch. Geo wore a white T-shirt and black tights, though he didn’t fill them out the way Justin did. He was tall and skinny for a dancer, with a shock of orange hair that made him look like a human carrot.
    â€˜Vanessa,’ Enzo said, ‘you’ve met Svetya, and this is Geo.’
    Geo stood up from the floor and stuck out his hand. ‘Hullo,’ he said in an English accent. ‘Nice to meet you, Vanessa.’
    Vanessa shook his hand, then dropped her bag and took out her pointe shoes. Justin wasn’t looking at her. He was focused on Enzo. He must still be upset about their conversation in the stairwell. That