Plus, in a world as small as ours, there’s always gossip.
The other company members have already managed to space themselves out along the edges of the studio with five in the center on a metal barre. I scan along the barres for an empty space. Silently, a petite blonde with a cream-colored leotard and a blue boat neck sweater waves me over, stepping back to make room for me next to her.
“Thank you,” I whisper and shuffle to snatch the open spot. “I’m Jolie.”
“Evelyn. I recognized you from ABT’s summer intensive.” She had looked familiar, but I couldn’t place from where. She turns toward the barre, putting her leg up on the top one and shifting her hips back to stretch her hamstring. “Welcome to Ballet Potomac.”
Before I can thank her for making me feel less other on my first day, the door clicks and the room hushes. Mistress Maral, whom I recognize from the company’s website, enters. Tall and slender with chestnut hair tucked into a perfect twist pinned at the back of her head, she wears a loose, wine-colored sweaterover a black ballet skirt with leggings and appears to be in her mid-forties. After retiring as a principal with the Joffrey, she’d moved with her husband to instruct at the newly opened Ballet Potomac.
Everyone remains silent, but instead of addressing the class, she turns away from us, setting up the sound system.
“First position,” she begins, marking through the plié combination. We all adjust into place at the barre and follow along in time with her. The movements flow smoothly from everyone. Everyone except me. This must be some pre-choreographed barre they’re accustomed to and I’m expected to keep up. When we get to tendus and I’m struggling to memorize the combination, Mistress Maral lets out a sigh, seemingly annoyed that I’m holding up the class by forcing her to actually instruct. When my eyes meet Evelyn’s, she gives an apologetic grimace.
Alright, Jolie. Time to sink or swim.
As soon as the music comes on, and the other company members hit each brush and stroke of their foot in time to the beat, it’s clear I’m firmly in the sinking category.
Sinking. Sinking. Sinking—
My throat dries and I can’t seem to suck in air as memories threaten to drag me down.
Focus, Jolie!
I grip the barre tightly to center myself in the present. I can’t afford to be distracted. This opportunity is my only life raft. One I’m desperately clinging to. If I want to keep my place in the corps and be promoted back to soloist, I need to be flawless. There are dancers poised at these barres vying for the same spots. Ballerinas who’ve spent years working their way up here, just like I had done at the Institute. They don’t want their promotions going to a newcomer, no matter how illustrious my previous company was.
With a flick of the ballet mistress’s finger, the intro to the instrumental comes on, and I follow along, grateful it’s slow and there are bodies moving seamlessly through the combination around me. Mimicking the other dancers out of my peripheral, I brace my core. My knees bend into my grand plié, and I grit my teeth into a frozen smile to conceal the pain slicing up my left thigh as I come back up from the floor. Mistress Maral eyes me with hawk-like scrutiny.
They may know about the accident and that I wasn’t asked back to the Institute, but they don’t need to know about this. Never about this. Not even this injury can hold me back from making the most of this second chance at my ballet career.
Pressing up onto the balls of my feet into my highest relevé, I find my balance and then glance at the mirror, checking my alignment as I release the barre. My shrug accentuates the curved line of my arms floating through the port de bras. I follow my fingers with my focus—
A flash of movement from outside the window snags my attention.
Two prismatic eyes watch me intently.
A silver-and-white wolf peers over some park bushes across the street. The more I look, the less I believe it’s a wolf. It couldn’t be, could it? Must be a large dog. A very, very large dog. Maybe some sort of husky mix? Whatever it is, its intense stare pinches between my ribs. Wobbling, I nearly lose my balance, recovering at the same time Mistress Maral exhales a disgruntled huff.
Shit on a snowflake.
Flashing an apologetic smile, I blink away the distraction. When the music ends and we move into the next combination, I sneak a glance at the window, only to find swirls of delicate frost creeping along its edge.
The beast is nowhere in sight.
2
JAX
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
I watch her dance as the pulse between my ribs kicks up, beating beneath a tuft of silver fur. The one covering my mark.
My fellow Frosts, immortal harbingers that bring winter to the world, had always said how much it hurt when Fate etched it into our skin. But the moment I awoke from my hibernation, it was already there, seared into my sternum.
It was odd. Even in hibernation, there were periods where we were somewhat lucid. I would have thought I’d have felt it happen. But there was no pain.
Once I’d reached adulthood among the Frosts, my fathers had sat me down and explained that one day Fate would bring me an immortal mate. As two of our Lead Albiduses, it’s their responsibility to ensure all Frosts in their care understood everything about harbingers. According to them, first would come the mark. Then we’d be able to find them with just a touch.
