Gay, Custo reminded himself. But he still didn’t like anyone touching her.
Custo peered across the way, trying to get a glimpse of her and caught only a bit of white tutu. Not good enough. There were at least a dozen dancers in white tutus—could be her, could be some other woman. He extended his mind to see if he could glean her well-being from her thoughts: a shoe ribbon was too tight. Her throat was dry. The shreds of thought surfaced in the cacophony of mental chatter coming from the thousands in the audience and did him no good.
He touched his earbud. “Jens, how’s Annabella?”
“She’s fine,” Jens answered. “Standing right here on her tippy toes to see over the—”
Custo’s earbud crackled. “Oh, shit,” Tommy’s voice cut in, breathing heavy, shouts in the background, cars honking, a crash. “Wraiths.”
Custo’s heart lurched. “Say again?”
“A group of them! It’s a trap!” A wraith screeched, high and painfully shrill in Custo’s earpiece. “He can’t hold them off for long.”
Annabella joined Jasper onstage where he grieved at her grave.
“Who? Who can’t hold them off forever?” But Custo already knew.
Onstage, the couple mirrored each other’s movements—Jasper, strong and earthy, Annabella, light and ethereal, both utterly unaware of the nightmare unfolding outside the theater.
“Adam. He’s out there alone.”
Chapter Nine
GISELLE’S broken heart pulled her gaze to the dirt floor of the forest as she rose above from the freshly turned earth of her grave. She kept her hands folded on her breast, to hold the fragments of her love within her. Prince Albrecht would marry another, a royal lady, and not some peasant girl who knew nothing of the world. His betrayal killed her, yet she couldn’t help but love him still.
But she wasn’t a peasant girl any longer.
She was a wili, a ghost, and would dance forever.
Joining the host of other wilis caught in the midnight hush of the wood, Giselle tiptoed down the long diagonal sweep of dancers to bow to her wili queen, Myrtha.
Everything was as it should be, quiet and peaceful. Annabella’s body felt strong, ready for this moment, though a chill of anxiety had her nerves snapping. The sensation went beyond opening-night jitters, beyond nerves, to fear.
On one side of her was the woodland backdrop; on the other, the black yawn of theater where the audience sat, voyeurs to Giselle’s tragic love story. Annabella looked up and strained her eyes beyond the side curtains of the stage: A bright angel stood beyond the false trees, his pale green gaze fixed on her. He was her hope, her protection. With him watching, her dance would be lighter, her heart would be lighter.
If Custo were near, she would be safe.
Giselle rose from her deep curtsy and began the series of arabesque turns that marked her advent into the Other. Heart hammering in her chest, she stirred the air, spun her magic, and reached for a world beyond her own.
“Where are you, Tommy?” Custo bit out the words, keeping his gaze fixed on Annabella. She was dancing in the center of the stage, surrounded by the other dancers. There was no sign of the wolf. Yet.
Custo strode to the edge of the curtain. Should he grab her now? Stop the performance? Abort the mission? Would there be a second chance? Damn it.
“Why aren’t you in your seat?” Custo stretched his mind to locate Tommy, found him quickly, by the rear, ground-floor exits. Custo invaded his thoughts: the soldier had made up his mind to join the fray as soon as he signed off the call. But on whose side was Tommy going to fight?
Using Tommy as a reference, Custo pushed slightly outward to the mental press of the city. Looking for Adam was like looking for a known star, but in an alien night sky. Nothing familiar, then—
There. Adam, burning with single-minded determination to survive.
Tommy buzzed in Custo’s ear, answering, “I spotted a wraith and followed him rather than take my seat with the rest of the audience. Do you want me to pull the others from their positions?”
And leave Annabella unprotected and vulnerable?
“Recall only those in the back rows. Keep the stage surrounded and keep me apprised of the situation with the wraiths.”
Custo listened in as Tommy called soldiers by name and directed them to the back of the building.
“Move fast,” Custo added. Adam was out there. Talia and her babies needed him. If Adam died—well, there’d be one more angel—but a hell of a lot of good that’d do for the wraith war on Earth. Adam and Talia were mortality’s only hope.
From his position, Custo had only a partial view of the audience. They were rapt, attention on the stage, but a few rose and sidestepped down their aisles. He assumed others farther back were doing the same. It would have to do.