Chaos Choreography (InCryptid, #5)(27)

“We did, Priestess!” proclaimed a mouse, puffing out its tiny chest with pride. “Three Travelers in the Mysteries have been chosen, and will walk with you in Glory!”

“Cool,” I said, glancing back at Dominic. He was looking tired but amused. Somewhere between Manhattan and home, he’d learned to live with the mice. “So how about you guys go down and raid the kitchen trash one last time before I have to get going? Give us, say, an hour?”

“Are you invoking the Sacred Law of Food for Privacy?” asked the mouse.

“If I say yes, will you leave?” I asked.

“It is most irregular to send us away, rather than giving the food to us directly,” said the mouse. “But the Thoughtful Priestess did say, lo, Go Easy On Her, She Is Going To Be Under A Lot of Stress, and I believe that this is Going Easy.”

“Thank you, Mom,” I murmured, before saying more loudly, “Yes, it is. Thank you. Have fun in the kitchen.”

“HAIL!” cried the mice, and dispersed, vanishing behind the dresser.

I turned back to Dominic. “Now, where were we?” I asked.

“You were telling me about the show,” he said, taking a seat at the edge of the bed.

I blinked. “Actually, I was thinking make-outs, but okay. Um . . . I’m sharing an apartment with the other three dancers from my season. Anders, Pax, and Lyra. We started with same-sex rooming arrangements, but people were allowed to trade, so I figure most folks will have stayed with who they knew.”

“This is good?” asked Dominic.

“Means my roommate is already used to the idea that sometimes I’ll sneak out the window and go for a run in the middle of the night,” I said. “She isn’t going to get on my case about it, since I made it to the finale last time.”

He smiled. “Ah,” he said. “This is good. Are you enjoying the company of your peers?”

“Yes. No. Maybe. It’s weird being Valerie again, and it’s not like they’re planning to ease us into things. We already have our choreography assignments for week one. We’ll be heading to the theater tomorrow to get started.”

Dominic raised an eyebrow. “What will they have you doing?”

“For week one, a group number—jazz with other elements—and then they’ve broken us down by style. I’m going to be part of a three-way Argentine tango.”

His expression softened. “I remember dancing the tango with you. It was . . . bracing.”

“Bracing? That’s all you can say about dancing with me? That it was bracing? Oh, no.” I held out my hand. “Get up.”

Dominic raised an eyebrow. “Why? Where are we going?”

“The roof.”

“You know, there was a point in my training where I should have learned not to go to rooftops with Price girls.” He slid his hand into mine. I pulled him to his feet.

“I’m glad you were such a lousy student,” I said, grabbing my backpack from the floor before I tugged him over to the window. “I think it’s time you learn just how bracing I can be.”

Dominic came without resistance or complaint. His teachers would have been very disappointed in him. I, on the other hand, was thrilled.





Six




“I’ve found that the difference between an opportunity and an obstacle often comes down to how many knives you have hidden in your clothing.”

—Alice Healy

The roof of the Be-Well Motel

WE HAD CHOSEN THIS MOTEL partially because it was cheap and partially because it had a large, flat roof that was accessible from the upper rooms, if you didn’t mind climbing straight up the side of the building. (Technically, that meant the roof wasn’t accessible, since most people don’t view “climbing straight up the side of the building” as an option. Most people are silly.)

The roof was wide, flat, empty, and surprisingly free of broken glass and other debris, again because most people don’t want to climb up the side of the building. I beat Dominic there by an easy eight feet, and was sitting down with my forehead pressed against my knees by the time I heard him climb over the edge.

There was a pause before Dominic asked, “Is there a reason you’re demonstrating your flexibility right now?”

“Yup,” I said, climbing to my feet and smiling at him. “If I’m going to brace you, I want you to know you’ve been braced.”

“I have danced with you before,” he protested.

“Oh, believe me, I remember.” He’d followed me to one of my last ballroom competitions, knocked my partner unconscious, stuffed him into a closet, and joined me on the floor, resulting in my faking an injury and getting myself disqualified. Good times.

But the past was past, and these were good times. I dug my iPod out of my bag, attached the speakers, and hit “play.” Jesca Hoop began to play. Dominic looked at me. I raised a hand and beckoned him forward.

“C’mere, Batman,” I said. “Let me show you how bracing I can be.”

He laughed nervously as he walked over and put one hand on my hip, pulling me into an amateur’s idea of a proper frame. “I assure you, I don’t need a demonstration.”

“Oh, but you do.” I moved his hand until he was cupping the top of my ass, pulling myself so close to him that there wasn’t room for air between us. “The Argentine tango is about connection. Intimacy. It’s a seduction.”