“My duty is to act as a bridge between realms. I say whatever needs to be said. I do whatever needs to be done.”
It was moments like those when I remembered you weren’t a person, but something else that I could only guess at. I had no idea how to describe you. And when you spoke to me like that, it was pretty fucking scary.
“What happens to them after they cross over?” I asked.
“There are different outcomes for different souls.”
“Judgment?”
“In a sense, but there is very little negotiation.”
Goosebumps broke out on my arms, and my whole body felt chilled to the bone. I grabbed the flannel from my bag and put it on. You’d just admitted that you’d tell whatever lies and make whatever promises you must to get souls to follow you to an unknown destination. It seemed… wrong.
“And then what?” I asked, taking advantage of your telling mood. “What happens to those souls?”
“Some things I cannot tell you,cucciolo.”
I was holding onto the barre now, facing the mirrors. My eyes looked haunted and hollowed out, but I could see your energy hovering around me. Was that what made me feel so safe?
“Would you lie to me, too?” I persisted. “Would you lead me astray?”
“If it meant saving your soul from being lost or damned, then yes.”
“Are you a lost soul, Henri?” I asked gently.
There was a long stretch of silence, and I thought I’d gone too far.
“Yes, I think I am.”
You sounded so sad. You’d lost your body and your human lover along the way. I wanted to help you heal, but I didn’t know how.
“If you had a body, I’d hug you right now,” I said.
“Hug life,” you quipped, and I smiled. You were getting better at making jokes.
The door to the studio opened then and Madame arrived with our usual—chef salads from the Greek restaurant down the street. Dressing on the side. All protein and fiber with few carbs. She flipped on the lights.
“Orlando?” She spotted me by the mirrors. “What are you doing in the dark,mon cheri?You’re shaking all over.”
“I was just talking to Henri,” I said, outing you to Madame. The secret of it was too much. I even hoped that she might be able to hear you, too.
“Who is Henri?” Her penciled-in eyebrows drew together sharply.
“Oh, he’s just my demon boyfriend.”
From you, I got nothing. Silence. Had I offended you? Broken some cosmic rule? Madame shook her head and told me I needed to eat something, have a long hot soak, and get some rest. She said I was pushing myself too hard, and it was affecting my head.
Having you with me meant I was crazy. But not having you meant I was alone. You made me better—a better dancer at least—so I decided that day it didn’t matter if you were real or imagined. Joan of Arc needed the archangel Michael to achieve greatness, and I needed you, Henri.
My soul was yours to lead astray.
10
Henri
Ihad told you many things about my mother—mostly her adversarial qualities—but perhaps what I should have been telling you from the beginning was how utterlycharmingshe can be.
It would be so much easier to resist her temptations if she didn’t pander to our deepest fears and desires. If she didn’t make the promises that spoke to our ultimate aims, even the ones we were too afraid to utter aloud. My mother understood human nature, better even than I did, and she used that knowledge to her advantage. It was far easier to manipulate someone if you didn’t care about their well-being, and my mother didn’t care about humans one whit.
