Annabella relaxed out of position, chest heaving, her hands braced on her hips. The air was stale with old sweat, but no one would think of opening a window to let the chill air in to cramp their muscles.
She looked over her shoulder at her partner, Jasper Morgan. He’d taken advantage of the break to snag a towel from his bag to wipe himself down. The rest of the dancers who made up the corps lounged on the barre or sat on the floor along the back wall of the studio. They’d been at this for over five hours, but tomorrow’s dress rehearsal would be more about staging and costumes than fine-tuning the movements. The time was now. She’d stay all night if she had to—this was her debut as principal. Her Giselle had to be perfect, even if the company was only doing the second act for the gala performance.
Jasper flung the towel over his shoulder and crouched on the floor. Probably to stretch his back—hers was killing her, too. When she got home, she’d swallow a bottle of ibupro-fen, take a hot bath, and bawl like a baby. But not now. Not with people watching.
“Annabella,” Venroy said from his stool at the front mirrors, “your shoulders are full of tension. You are supposed to be a wili. A ghost. Like a puff of smoke.”
Tension. Right. She was freaking stressed out of her mind.
She squared her shoulders. “I’ll do better,” she said. “My concentration slipped, that’s all.”
“Anna.” Venroy waved away her words. “You’re tired. Jasper is tired. Go home and—”
“No,” Annabella cut him off. She winced at her sharp tone, took a deep breath, and pleaded, “I need to get this right. I’ve almost got it. I can feel it. One more time.”
Venroy frowned. One of the girls in the back murmured diva, but Anna didn’t turn her head. What they thought of her didn’t matter, not really. She’d given up her life for ballet; she didn’t expect anyone to start inviting her to slumber parties now.
She glanced down at Jasper. “Please?”
Jasper groaned as he stood, but he balled his towel and threw it to the side of the room. He’d been a principal for more than two years already, and he was just as invested in this performance. At six feet, he was the ideal height to partner her. His blue-and-blond good looks always showed well onstage, not to mention that he sure knew how to fill out a pair of tights. Too bad he was gay.
Jasper’s grudging support had her spirits rising. She looked back at Venroy in question.
“Oh, all right. One last time.” Venroy’s gaze shifted to the dancers at the back wall. “Be ready.”
Annabella backed up to her starting position again and waited for the music to begin. One last chance for “perfect” before the big night.
Deep breath. Shoulders relaxed. Ready.
The soft music slid again from the CD player, and she let the ribbons of sound guide her. She glided through the intermediate steps following the pas de deux, the touch of her pointe shoes nearly silent on the floor.
She threaded the discrete movements together so that her step-step arabesque became the haunted shift of a forest sylph. She shed Annabella and let the magic of the ballet take over. Let the dance transform her into the ghost, the wili, of Giselle.
The arabesque. A breath. And Jasper’s strong hands were at her waist to skim her body through the ether.
He set her gently on the forest floor, near her grave, then stepped forward to embrace her, to capture the spirit of his love. Too late, too late. The two-timing Prince Albrecht broke her weak heart and she died. Now he comes at midnight to grieve for her.
“Lightly! Don’t forget your arms!” Venroy called.
Annabella corrected the angle of her port de bras so her arms were tentative, the tilt of her head mournful.
She floated back, on tiptoe, stirred by an errant breeze through the darkened trees.
“Yes! Don’t let Jasper catch you!”
Jasper blurred in her vision as she took a light run upstage. If she looked at him, really looked at him, she’d lose the moment. The magical transport between here and the Otherworld. Her blood sparkled through her thrumming body, tingling at her fingertips in the sweep and twist of each extension. Darkness crowded the corners of the story, a forest of magic replacing the barrier of the studio walls.
“That’s it! Beautiful, Anna!” Venroy raised his cane. “Ladies, be ready!”
The music rose and her wili sisters poured from the tree line, circling her like a cauldron of mist before forming two straight lines at the edges of the clearing, arms crossed over their breasts, heads bowed, eyes hollow and downcast as in death.
The music hesitated, and then a single violin sang, the melody rising in tempo, yet still queer in tone. She sprung into a series of backward moving leaps, feet quick, body light, then prepared for her diagonal cross—
She brought her gaze up for her pique turn.
A pair of wide-set yellow eyes peered back at her from the murk of the imaginary trees. Feral eyes.