Her brow arches almost imperceptibly as she leans closer.
“But gettingfuckedwell does.”
Two hours later,after I’ve put out the fire that used to be my face, and everyone else has left, I’m back on stage, going over the Black Swan piece again.
The ZakharovajustdidSwan Lakea little over a year ago, and Naomikilled itas the lead. But there’s a performance in a few months of some crowd favorites for a special audience of VIP benefactors, and Madame K asked me to give it a shot. I want it to beperfect, particularly since it's not the sort of role sheeverlets me do.
I nail the ending and then exhale in a whoosh. Sweat sheens my skin. My body sags, shoulder rolling forward as I slowly stretch out my back.
The slow clap coming from the darkness of the theater jolts me upright in a nanosecond. My heart lurches into my throat as I stab my gaze into the shadows, tensing when I see a figure slowly emerging.
“Vaughn?” I say quietly.
“Try again.”
I shudder, slowly backing away.
Why does that voice sound familiar?
I glance behind me, to where my gear is heaped at the side of the stage. In a flash, I bolt over and yank the little keychain-sizedcan of pepper spray out of the side pocket of my bag that Milena hasinsistedthat I carry for the last…well, as long as I’ve known her.
I whirl, brandishing it at the shadowy figure as he approaches the stage.
“Stay thefuckback!” I snarl, reaching for my phone, too. “I don’t know how you got in here, but you’ve got three seconds to get out before I call the police.”
“Ahh, but I don’t think you want to do that,Evelina,” he murmurs, pausing just beyond the glow of the lights at the front of the stage.
How does he know my name?
“Because if youwereto call the police, you would find yourself in the awkward position of having to explain why you weretherewhen Andrés Torvallés was murdered, and yet have never once come forward.”
This is impossible.
Just as I say it to myself again, like a protective incantation, the impossible becomes reality and Andrés Torvallés steps out of the shadows.
He smiles darkly at me, his eyes glinting with savage amusement. I struggle for breath, my hands shaking.
“I—”
“Behold Lazarus, back from the dead,” he growls, winking. “Surprised?”
I swallow numbly, blinking as I stand there shaking, still holding the pepper spray out in front of me.
“I…I don’t understand,” I choke. “You… Hekilledyou.”
Andrés chuckles. “Youassumedhe did. Did you actually see him do it?”
He smiles coldly and steps a little further into the light. For the first time I can see that his face is bruised, with a small bandage covering perhaps stitches above his left eyebrow.
“But…Vaughn?—”
I shudder, trying to think. But it feels like years ago at this point. I remember Vaughn yanking Andrés out of the car, the knife flashing, the mad chase through the woods before he pinned me to the tree with his bloody hand around?—
“Blood,” I choke, shaking my head. “There was so much blood.”
“Well, that washisblood. And unintended. But it certainly sold the illusion.”
The illusion.
