Chaos Choreography (InCryptid, #5)(108)

She nodded, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. I realized with a pang that I might have made her situation a lot more difficult. I’d already decided I was going to have to walk away from this life again—and this time, it would have to stick. I couldn’t be Valerie and Verity; one of me had to give, and when you got right down to it, I liked Verity more. She had a family. She had a husband she loved, and who loved her in return. She had a colony of talking mice that would remember her forever. She had everything, and Valerie only had the dance floor. It wasn’t a hard choice to make . . . but Lyra didn’t have it.

Lyra was real. Lyra belonged here. And by dancing as well as I had, I’d put her in even more danger of elimination.

“You’re going to be amazing,” I said, putting every ounce of conviction I could into the words. “You always are, I mean. There’s a reason you beat me the first time, and you’re probably going to beat me again.”

“You really think so?” she asked. There was a pleading note in her voice that seemed almost alien when stacked against her usual unshakeable confidence.

“I absolutely do,” I said. “You’re one of the best dancers I’ve ever met. You can dance rings around anyone who thinks they can beat you. Now get out there and show America how much they screwed up last week.”

“You’re a good friend, Valerie,” said Lyra. She stepped forward, hugged me, and then was gone, letting Pax pull her toward the stage.

I watched them pass through the curtain that kept stage and backstage separate. I’d have to hurry if I wanted to get to the monitors in time to see them dance. I didn’t move.

A light scuff from behind me alerted me to the person approaching. I didn’t turn. Dancers walk softly, but they don’t walk that softly. I was about to meet either an ally or an enemy, and either way, I was staying where I was.

“Hey,” said Alice. “The halls below are deserted. No one’s gone in or out.”

“They wouldn’t need to before they had a sacrifice,” I said, finally turning to look at her.

My grandmother was in her usual gear—tank top, khaki shorts, boots that looked like they could wade through rivers of acid without being seriously damaged—and the moth-eaten tattoos on her arm and shoulder just drove home how much trouble we were in. Her arsenal of unusual weapons was all but depleted.

“I know,” she said. “How long before the end of the show?”

“About an hour.”

She nodded. “All right. Let’s see if we can get through it alive.”





Twenty-One




“Everything’s better with a little extra boom.”

—Alice Healy

The Crier Theater, about an hour later

WE STOOD IN A RAGGED LINE across the stage, me between Lo and Lyra, each clinging to one of my hands with the bone-crushing strength of people who had everything to lose. Our heads were bowed, eyes half-closed against the glare of the stage lights and the tension in the air. Even the audience seemed to be holding its collective breath as we waited to hear from the judges. We’d changed back into the costumes we’d worn for our solos, putting our most iconic finery on display. The stage lights were hot, but I was freezing in my sequins and fringe.

“Well, Adrian? Have the judges come to a decision?” Brenna’s voice was as warm and professional as always, but I could hear the quiver underneath her carefully rehearsed question. If I got eliminated tonight—if I died—I would be taking the hopes of her entire Nest to the grave with me.

“We have. Valerie, step forward.”

Heart hammering in my chest, I let go of Lo and Lyra and moved into position, lifting my head high. I would not cry. I would not flinch. I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. Instead, I was going to prepare for the fight of my life.

“Tonight you danced the way we’ve always known you could: with grace, power, and passion. You’ve been a remarkable, consistent technician from the beginning, but there have been times when it seemed as if technique was all you had. If you remain on the program after tonight, we’re going to expect this level of performance every week—and so is America. Honestly, we can’t be sure you have the stamina to deliver on our expectations. Valerie, step back.”

I stepped back.

“Lyra, step forward.”

The whites of her eyes were showing all the way around her irises as she stepped into position. Adrian’s face softened.

“The judges have discussed this, and I’m afraid we’re unanimous, darling. You’ve always been one of our favorites. You are an incredibly skilled, accurate, daring dancer, and your journey through this season ends tonight. It’s been a pleasure having you, but Lyra, you have been eliminated.”

Lyra’s eyes began to fill with tears, glittering like diamonds in the stage lights.

“Valerie and Lo, you are safe for another week and may leave the stage.”

Adrian’s voice sounded tinny and distant, filtered through the ringing in my ears. On automatic, I moved to hug Lyra. She wrapped her arms around me and clung as tightly as a limpet. She wasn’t crying yet, but it was coming; those tears were going to fall.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

Lyra didn’t say anything. She just nodded, and let me go.