Chaos Choreography (InCryptid, #5)(42)
He didn’t say anything.
Brenna appeared with the hat from which we’d draw our “random” dance assignments. Someone hit the theater lights, recreating the diffuse theatrical lighting that accompanied the shows, and it was time to get back to work, no matter how much I didn’t want to. If I was going to find out what was going on, I was going to have to play by their rules.
Anders and I drew the quickstep, which meant a lot of hopping and running and incredibly rapid footwork, all performed while trying to recall Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse in their heyday. We were going to be dancing to “Candyman” by Christina Aguilera, doing a Tarzan-and-Jane concept routine, and since it was a dance built on energy and precision rather than complicated tricks or lift sequences, our choreographer didn’t need to modify it much to accommodate our skill levels. We spent the first two hours of the day warming up, learning the basic steps, and getting a feel for the piece. It was pleasantly non-hectic—something I knew wouldn’t last when we hit lunch and got our group routine assignments.
“Anyone mind if I duck out to powder my nose?” I asked.
Anders, who was currently flat on his back on the studio floor, breathing heavily, waved me off. Our choreographer flashed me a grin.
“Just hurry back, we’re about to start learning the fast part,” he said.
“Can’t wait,” I said, and slipped out of the room.
As soon as the door was shut behind me, my posture changed. Valerie was a dancer. She was graceful and loose and always ready to turn a simple motion into something profound. Verity—the real me—was all those things, but first and foremost, Verity was a hunter. Where Valerie walked like the whole room was hers to claim and conquer, Verity slunk, compact and poised to strike. Valerie posed. Verity attacked.
Sliding from one identity into the other was more difficult than usual, because I was on Valerie’s territory. The back halls of the Crier Theater belonged to her, especially in the middle of the day. Anyone could come out of a room and catch me outside my rehearsal and walking oddly. I couldn’t think about that right now. All my attention was on stripping myself back down to my training, and finding out what the hell was going on.
There was no smell of decay wafting up from the basement. I hesitated for a moment before I flicked on the light and started down the stairs. Halfway down, I froze.
The bodies were gone.
The floor was clean, all traces of blood washed away. The place would probably have lit up like Christmas morning under a black light, but the naked eye found nothing wrong. There was a scuff from behind me, like someone coming to a stop. I whipped around, falling into a combat stance, and relaxed as I saw who it was.
“Pax,” I said. “You scared me.”
“I scared you?” he demanded. “You just looked at me like you were going to rip my larynx out with your bare hands. I need my larynx. Those things take forever to grow back.” He looked past me to the floor, expression going from surprised to grim. “I figured you’d come here eventually. I’ve been checking every ten minutes or so.”
“That must be making Lyra super happy,” I said.
“Between the so-called vomiting last night and now this, she thinks I have food poisoning. I’m a ‘trooper.’” He grimaced. “The door was cracked when I passed it to start rehearsal, and I realized I couldn’t smell any blood. I checked the room as soon as I could get away, and found it like this.”
“No blood?” I turned back to the empty basement. “They can’t have cleaned it that completely.”
“I’m telling you; my nose doesn’t lie. There’s no blood in this room. Before you ask, no, I didn’t smell any blood on anyone last night, or on Adrian and Lindy this morning. Either they’ve got the best cleaning crew in the business, or they weren’t involved.”
Slowly, I sank into a sitting position on the stairs, holding onto the rail with one hand for balance as I looked down at the spotless concrete floor. There was no blood. There were no bodies. If not for Pax being as confused as I was and the pictures in my phone, I might have taken it for a very vivid, very terrible dream.
“What the hell is going on here?” I asked.
Pax didn’t answer.
We had to get back to our partners before they noticed anything amiss. After a few more moments of staring at the empty basement, we’d returned to our respective rehearsal rooms and done our best to make it seem like nothing was wrong. That was where my Valerie persona gave me a thin advantage. I’d been treating her like someone completely distinct from myself for so long that all I had to do was shove my own concerns to the background and let her have the wheel. Valerie didn’t care about dead people. Valerie just wanted to dance.
Our group number for the week was a lyrical jazz number, where Lyra floated like a leaf and the rest of us struggled to get our legs to bend in places that didn’t usually come with joints. I left Valerie in charge, allowing her to follow the steps while I tried to puzzle through the situation. Two dead dancers, and no outcry, not even from their former roommates. I could see Jessica not caring that Poppy had never come to collect her things, but Reggie? He and Chaz had been pretty close. And what about the other eliminated dancers? Someone needed to check their social media accounts. If they’d gone completely silent, we’d know they were gone.