“Don’t kill him,” I said once she’d dismissed the waiter.
“Darling, what would be the fun in that? Unless you want his body for your own?”
The Potestas would deliver me to the nearest Shade Vale if they found out I’d executed a human for his body. Still, I must admit, I momentarily considered it.
“I do not. But thank you for the generous offer.”
“Such a shame.” Her predatory gaze followed the waiter as he tended to another table. “With your proclivities, you’d do well with that one.”
“Lena,” I said in a gently beseeching tone. She despised what she perceived as my weakness, but I didn’t want the blood of an innocent on my conscience.
“Azrael has perverted you, my son. You’ve spent so much time shelving human souls, you believe them to be your equal, but I can assure you, they are not.”
She pulled a compact and a tube of lipstick from her purse. Using the handheld mirror, she traced her full lips with burgundy while continuing her lecture on how short I’d fallen of everyone’s expectations.
“One day, my darling, you will tire from the drudgery of being one of Azrael’s slaves. You’ll forgive yourself for whatever crimes you believe you have committed against humanity, and you will join your brother and me in our quest to rule over the human realm as is our bloodborn destiny. And when you do, my sweet melancholy boy, I’ll be waiting.”
Then, with a snap of her compact case and a few kisses blown in my direction, my mother, the maelstrom, was off.
I dropped some of my host’s money on the table and seduced our server into believing he was sick and had to leave work early.
Your audition was being held in a building twenty minutes away by foot. I ran the whole way there.
11
Orlando
You were late. You’d warned me you might be. Something about brunch with your mother. How that worked I hadnoidea. But solo auditions were about to begin, and you still hadn’t arrived. I was freaking out. Nearly a hundred dancers were auditioning, some for the ballet company and some as pre-professionals. Only twenty in my age group would be getting through and likely far fewer boys. To make matters worse, I was thirteenth in line to audition, unlucky.
I’d been given sheets of square paper showing my number, which were fastened to the front and back of my t-shirt with safety pins. I’d never auditioned for anything in my life, never tried out for anything at school either. There weren’t many boys at Madame Lavoie’s School of Dance, but I was the best, so I usually got the lead. But now I was surrounded by dozens of dancers who were the best at their own schools. How would I match up?
This moment could be life-changing, and that made me want to puke and crap myself at the same time. At least I didn’t have much to work with since I’d hardly eaten anything that day. My stomach was in knots and my muscles felt cold and tight.
I went back to stretching out my hamstrings on the carpeted floor of the warm-up room, flexing and pointing my toes to keep my feet nimble and my ankles warm, stressing that I was going to forget absolutely everything I’d ever learned about dance. Under my breath, I chanted your name. I needed you there, Henri. I couldn’t do it without you.
“Olá, my name is Bruno,” said a boy with an open smile and a thick accent. He offered me his hand. “You are…”
“Orlando.” I shook it. “You from Miami?”
“No. Rio de Janeiro.” His brow lowered a bit. “Not the nice part.”
“Oh.” I was surprised at his honesty. Most people in my hood wouldn’t admit that, afraid they’d be judged. “Brazil, huh? That’s a long way to travel.”
“Yes, the ballet school invited me.”
My eyes widened. “MCB flew you outhere?” Bruno nodded. “You must be pretty good.”
He smiled and shrugged, seeming embarrassed by the compliment but also a little bit cocky about it too. “We will see. And you? Where are you from?”
“I’m from here.” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. “Miami. Not the nice part either.”
Bruno nodded, then pulled a Sharpie from his dance bag and started filling in the scuffs on his black ballet shoes.
“That’s smart.” I glanced down at my own beat-up shoes.
“Here.” Bruno offered me his marker.
“Thanks.” I focused on coloring my shoes to help with my nerves. Solo auditions were beginning, and I was running out of time. Bruno donned the headphones attached to his Walkman, getting into the zone, and I passed him back his marker, admiring the cheap and easy fix. My shoes looked brand new.
