“He’s using you as a shield right now.”
“You just don’t understand.” She looked at the gap in the curtain. The audience was louder now, expecting her appearance any second. Maybe just one more, if Custo would shut up and get out of the way.
“I do understand. I’ve been there.” Custo’s voice lowered with conviction. His body hunched forward unnaturally, as if he were in pain. But how could that be? He was an angel. Lines of strain formed at his eyes and around his mouth. “You can’t trust anything about the Shadowlands, especially yourself.”
Why was Custo ruining everything for her? It was her choice. Her life.
“Annabella?” Venroy said sharply. “What is the meaning of this?”
All the dancers were looking at her, too.
Come, Wolf said.
She had to cross now. It was the only way. Shame about her bows, though.
She gave Custo a look of apology—maybe he’d understand one day—and reached a hand back to Wolf.
“Where’s Jasper?” Custo asked.
Jasper? Annabella felt him take her hand. No, that was Wolf. But it was Jasper’s body pressed against hers; Jasper’s voice asking her to come away with him. That wasn’t right either. Jasper was gay and in love with his partner; he’d never want her. Had to be Wolf. But Wolf said he hadn’t harmed anyone else. So the hand holding hers had to be Jasper’s. But he growled like Wolf. So where was Jasper? Holding her hand—
Annabella’s head hurt. She couldn’t think. This had to stop.
Venroy looked wildly at the three of them and ushered Myrtha out for the applause of the audience. “What is going on?”
Custo made a sharp cutting gesture in the air to shut him up. Venroy said something about security and stepped out of sight.
“That’s right, Annabella,” Custo said, tone insistent. “Where’s Jasper, that pretty boy who likes to strut around with his package out there for everyone to see?”
An image of Jasper flashed in her mind—he stood in his signature stance, hip cocked to show off his body, a shameless and funny leer on his face whenever he wanted to make her laugh or put her at ease. The real Jasper—the one who’d stayed extra hours rehearsing with her to get the pas de deux perfect. The one who talked about hot, promiscuous sex, but had been a devoted boyfriend for over three years. Where was he?
If she could just think straight for one moment, maybe she could work it all out. Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t identify what. All she knew was that her dreams were real in the Shadowlands, dance was real, but what kind of person would she be to think only of herself? What about Jasper?
She wrenched herself away from Wolf. The movement was like tearing herself in half.
Custo darted forward, shoving her out of the way, and leaped onto Wolf, who yelped.
Annabella fell as the acrid funk of burning flesh hit her nose, the smell beyond nauseating. The impact jarred her body into painful awareness, sweeping the glimmering magic of the Shadowlands from her eyes. Some Segue thug had his hands on her, keeping her back.
“No, not yet, Annabella! Hold the magic!” Custo yelled.
But her muscles seized, bones aching, and something was wrong with her neck. Her full-body euphoria dissipated in an excruciating hiss as she crashed brutally down from her faerie high. She felt tired and…and…old. What was wrong with her?
A panting brawl in front of her brought her eyes up. Custo grappled with Wolf, but in Jasper’s form. The smell turned to bitter burning hair. The pair rolled toward the curtain, and pinned the velvet with their heaving bodies.
Myrtha almost tripped over them as she stumbled back to the stage from her bows.
“Anna,” Custo gasped, “bring it back! We need the Shadows!”
How? It hurt to breathe. She’d be weeping if she had the energy. There was no magic left in her. Annabella saw the corps dancers chattering excitedly, but she couldn’t hear them. What did Custo expect her to do—get up and dance again? She didn’t think she could stand.
And besides, a sneaky little voice inside her pointed out, if she helped to banish Wolf, there wouldn’t be a second chance for her to cross.
Struggling violently, Custo and Wolf rolled out in plain view of the audience. The audience audibly gasped. A sudden rise of shouts told her that they’d fallen into the orchestra pit. A metallic crash had her wincing, her ears ringing.
She bowed her head and the tears came. The Segue man pulled her to her feet and was dragging her offstage when Adam arrived.
“Orchestra pit,” the guy holding her up said, as a second Segue person yelled, “Clear the way.” But what he was talking about, and what they were doing, she had no idea. And she really didn’t care. She was trying very, very hard to get a grip, but her reality kept slipping from her fingers.