Chaos Choreography (19 page)

Crossing the city was easier on a motorcycle than on foot, even for me. Alice seemed to have at least a basic understanding of traffic laws—she understood they existed, and she understood she didn't like them, but if everyone else was playing by the rules, she should pretend to care. She only broke a few speed limits and drove on the sidewalk for about six blocks during a particularly nasty patch of traffic. Apart from that, she was a model citizen.

I still kept one eye on her rearview mirrors, waiting for the red-and-blue lights to start behind us. We were wearing helmets, but that was where our dalliance with being responsible drivers ended, and I had no faith that whatever license she was using would stand up to any sort of scrutiny . . . or hadn't expired thirty years ago.

Luck was with us for a change. No police appeared by the time the neon sign of the Be-Well loomed ahead of us, and Alice was able to snag a parking space out front, using the weird alchemy of good fortune and random happenstance that had kept her alive for all these years.

“I'm walking home,” I said, sliding off the bike and pulling off my helmet. My hair, offended by going from under-a-wig to under-a-helmet, stood up in untidy hedgehog spikes.

“No, you're not,” said Alice, removing her own helmet more carefully.
Her
hair was perfect.
Her
hair was always perfect. I'd seen her so drenched in blood that she looked like Carrie after the prom, and her hair had still managed to look amazing. As useless superpowers went, it was probably one of the more pointless, and I envied it fiercely. “You left your wig in the garage, remember? Unless you're planning to explain to your dance buddies that I scared you so bad it turned your hair blonde, you're going back with me.”

I groaned and stomped into the motel. Laughing, Alice followed me.

Hearing two women in the lobby was apparently novel enough to catch the clerk's attention. He looked up from his magazine for the first time when there wasn't money being shoved in his direction, and looked us both up and down before making an appreciative sucking noise. Alice's eyes narrowed.

“Please don't knock his teeth out, we've already paid our rent for the rest of the month,” I said, grabbing her arm before she could do anything.

“Men used to be more respectful,” she said, shooting one last glare at the clerk before allowing me to lead her to the stairs.

“You and I both know that's not true,” I said.

Alice smiled, glare fading. “And thank God it's not, or your father would never have been conceived.”

“Ew! Grandma, ew! Don't say things like that! How can you say things like that with your face? Your actual grandma face? You're supposed to be all innocent and baking cookies and forgetting that sex was ever a part of your life.”

Alice snorted. “Sweetie, if that's what you think, old age is going to be a series of small miracles for you.”

“Like you'd know what old age was like? The oldest I've ever seen you look was thirty.”

Alice's expression turned wistful. “That was a good run,” she said.

We'd been climbing as we talked, and were almost to the room where Dominic was waiting to meet us. I saw the chance to solve one of the great family mysteries within my grasp—how
did
Grandma Alice keep slipping backward in physical age?—but decided, regretfully, that this wasn't the right time. We had more important things to take care of.

“Yeah, well, Dominic and I are hoping for a good run, so please don't punch my husband, okay? He's a good guy.”

“I wouldn't,” said Alice, sounding offended. “I trust your taste in men.”

“You, and absolutely nobody else.” I knocked twice, paused, and knocked twice more.

There was a clatter from inside as Dominic undid the chain. The door swung open and there he was, expression blank as he studied us.

Alice, for her part, studied him right back. She didn't even pretend to be subtle about it: she just stared, looking him up and down with bald frankness. Finally she grinned and said, “It's nice to meet you. You're my first grandson-in-law. I'll be honest, none of us expected Verity to win
that
particular race.”

“Hey!” I squawked.

Dominic nodded gravely. “I am Dominic Price, born Dominic De Luca. You are Alice Price-Healy, daughter and wife to traitors.”

“In the flesh,” said Alice.

“It's an honor to meet you, ma'am.” Then, to my surprise, Dominic bowed.

Alice grinned. “Oh, I
like
him. I like you, Dominic. Did the Covenant send you to infiltrate our family so you could kill us off once and for all?”

“No, although I'm sure they would have if it had occurred to them,” said Dominic, straightening up. “You are the last of our great deceivers, after all, and your death would mean much to those who keep the historical
records. Alas, the people in charge are nowhere near that creative. I'm afraid I married your granddaughter because I was in love with her, and because she said yes when I asked her if she would. Between the two, it seemed rude to refuse.”

“Fair enough,” said Alice. Her levity faded. “It seems like we have a lot to talk about. Can we come in?”

“Please,” said Dominic, and stepped aside.

We went in.

Dominic closed the door behind us.

“My mama left me when I was too young to be without her, and I always swore I would do better than she did. Turns out the only thing I was better at was leaving.”

—Alice Healy

The Crier Theater, the next morning, after a lot of coffee

B
Y THE TIME THE CLOCK S
TRUCK TWO
and I asked Alice to take me back to the apartments, we had what seemed like a halfway viable plan. Dominic would stop patrolling and lurk around the theater during rehearsal instead, watching for signs of suspicious activity, while Alice took over canvasing the city. She knew more about snake cults than he did, and would have a better chance of seeing something. The rest of the mice would come back to the apartments with us, where they could keep an eye on both available priestesses. And I would dance.

It seemed like a small contribution in the face of things. Dominic was risking arrest if someone decided he was trespassing or loitering. Alice was risking all sorts of things involving knives and shouting, since snake cults don't take kindly to being spied on. Whereas I was just risking a sprained ankle and a few pulled muscles.

Dominic walked us to the door, Alice chatting merrily away to the rapt mice that filled her pockets and covered her shoulders. He snagged my arm before I could step into the hall, turning me to face him.

“Be careful,” he said, in a low voice.

“Not my style,” I said, and kissed him, long and slow and languid, like we didn't have an audience, like I wasn't about to walk away.

When we broke it off, his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright. “Incorrigible,” he said, and shut the door between us. That was probably a good thing. It was the only way to keep me from telling Alice I was going to make my own way home before I jumped his bones, and I
needed
to get some sleep.

New experiences I didn't know I was missing: riding a motorcycle while accompanied by more than a dozen cheering Aeslin mice.

Lyra was sound asleep when I came in through the window. I smiled at her, wistfully. It must have been nice to be that oblivious to how dangerous the world could really be. Then I tied a scarf around my head to hide my hair and crawled into bed.

I was out before my head hit the pillow.

Sasha clapped her hands. “All right, again, from the top, and this time I want to believe it! Five six seven eight!”

I revised my earlier thought about the risks of dancing. I was looking at a sprained ankle, a few pulled muscles, and maybe a homicide charge if Sasha didn't relax before the end of the rehearsal.

The fourteen remaining dancers spun and leaped and flung ourselves into one another's arms, moving with one unified goal: to remind the audience how much they loved us, and how much they wanted us to stay. Sasha was a hard taskmistress, but she was also an inspired choreographer, and every one of us knew how lucky we were to be working with her. All we wanted was to please her. Nothing was going to break our concentration—

Nothing but the sound of a body impacting the studio floor, followed by a wail of pain. Dancers stumbled to a
halt around me. I caught myself on Anders' arm, craning my neck to see who'd stumbled.

“Medic!” shouted Sasha.

The crowd parted and there was Jessica, splay-limbed on the floor, a line of blood running from her nose to her upper lip. She was glaring daggers at Reggie, the only other remaining dancer from her season. He looked alarmed and faintly mortified, like this was the last thing he'd been expecting when he came to this rehearsal.

“You dropped me on
purpose
!” she accused, loudly enough for everyone to hear.

Now Reggie looked even more alarmed. “I didn't, I swear I didn't! I just—you jumped before the beat, and I wasn't braced yet! I'm so sorry, Jessica, I didn't mean to do it.”

“That's a pretty major accusation,” said Sasha. “Are you going to be able to back it up?” The sympathy was gone from her voice. I remembered watching Jessica's season while I prepared for my own. Nothing had ever been her fault. Somehow, every mistake she'd made had been something she could blame on someone else, even when she'd been alone on her side of the stage. Sasha apparently remembered that, too.

Jessica hesitated. “I was
on
the beat,” she said finally. “I'm sure of it.”

“Good thing we record everything, isn't it?” Malena's question was sweet enough that it could have been mistaken for genuine concern if she hadn't been smirking. Jessica shot her a venomous look. Malena smiled back, and her expression was, if anything, sweeter than her question. “If there's any question, for insurance purposes, I'm sure we'll be able to see who was at fault.”

Jessica was saved from needing to answer by the appearance of the medical team, who swept through the group and surrounded her, already asking questions about what hurt, how badly, and whether she thought she could stand. Sasha rolled her eyes, turning away from the scene.

“Everyone, take fifteen,” she said. “We'll either continue or start figuring out how to perform with one less girl.”

“What?” squawked Jessica.

“Miss, please be still,” said the medic who was taking her blood pressure.

Sasha ignored them. “Fifteen minutes, and then it's back to work,” she said. “Now scatter.”

We scattered.

I found myself on the stage with Lyra, Anders, Pax, and Malena, who was becoming an unofficial fifth member of our group. I was fine with that, for obvious reasons. Lyra wasn't quite as pleased.

“Doesn't your season miss you?” she asked, putting her hand on Pax's arm, as if to claim territory. “I mean, everyone else is mostly sticking with their own year.”

“Mac is more interested in keeping up with his ballet company than he is in being social, Emily and I never liked each other, and Troy is banging Lo. Turns out neither of them is into threesomes, which is cool by me, since I'm not into dudes who practice their remedial Spanish on me. He calls me ‘senorita' one more time, he's going to be short a couple of fingers.” Malena looked mildly at Lyra. “Do we have a problem?”

“I just want to be sure you're hanging out with us for the right reasons,” said Lyra.

“I'm a dancer, you're dancers, me and Valerie are pretty tight thanks to that thing where the tango is more intimate than sex and we've tangoed together, and like I said, I don't get along that well with the rest of the folks from my season.” Malena shrugged. “If you want me to split, I'll split, but I'd prefer it if you could be chill. I'm just looking for people to hang with.”

To her credit, Lyra looked abashed. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to . . . sorry. Pax, can you help me with my leg extensions?”

“Sure,” he said, and walked with her to the other side of the stage. Anders was already sitting on the edge,
flexing and unflexing his feet; their departure left me and Malena alone at the back. If we kept our voices low, we wouldn't be overheard.

“More intimate than sex?” I asked.

She shrugged. “It worked. Real answer is I figure if shit gets bad, you and shark-boy stand a better chance of keeping me in one piece and breathing than anybody else I'm going to find around here. You are thus elected as my new best friends.”

“Swell,” I said. “Have you noticed anything unusual?”

“You mean apart from the tattooed squatter in the apartment under yours? Nah. I've been watching, but there hasn't been anything. No smell of blood, either. If somebody's carving up the janitorial staff, they're doing a good job disposing of the evidence.” Malena studied her nails. “I figure I'll keep staying in well-lit areas with lots of other people around, and not get caught in whatever weirdness is going on.”

I glanced over my shoulder, making sure Lyra and Anders were still too far away to hear me. Then I looked back to Malena, and said quietly, “The tattooed weirdo is my Grandma Alice. She's here to help make sure we don't all die.”

“What?” Malena yelped. Everyone turned to look at us. She smiled weakly. “Get out of town, Val, you don't dye your hair? Wow. You've got some great genes in your family tree.”

“We all hate her for it,” called Lyra, before she winked at me and went back to extending her left leg over her head.

“Way to draw attention,” I hissed. In a weird way, I was pleased. Any jealousy Lyra might have been harboring over my new friendship with Malena had just taken a blow. After all,
Malena
didn't know I wore a wig.

“Sorry,” whispered Malena. “I just didn't expect . . . your
grandmother
? Like, Franny Brown's kid?”

“Yeah.” My great-grandmother, Frances Brown, was originally from the Southwest. It made sense that a chupacabra would have heard of her, although I hadn't
been expecting her to be remembered that clearly. “She's here to help. Don't worry about her.”

“Worry about her? I should kiss her. On the mouth, with tongue.” Malena shook her head. “Franny Brown was a great friend to our community.”

I blinked. “Okay, that's cool. I didn't know that.”

“Yeah. She needs anything you can't help her with, you tell her to come talk to me. I'd be happy to be of service. I'd be
honored
.” Malena shook her head. “Wow.”

I needed to get the conversation away from my family before someone wandered into it that shouldn't have. “So nothing else has seemed strange?”

“No.” Malena looked at me. “Maybe it's over, huh?”

“Maybe.” I hesitated before saying, “Look, this Sunday, we're going to head for the flea market downtown. You want to come with us?”

“What for?” asked Malena.

“You speak Spanish, we're going to be buying a lot of knives, it could be a handy combination.”

Malena blinked at me. Then, slowly, she grinned. “It's a date.”

“There you losers are.” Malena and I turned. Jessica was standing in the wings. There was a soft thump behind me as Lyra got her foot back on the floor. Jessica folded her arms, lip pushed out in a pout like the world's biggest toddler. “Sasha said I had to find everyone to pay for being the one who stopped rehearsal, because now it's
my
fault I got hurt. This is so unfair.”

“Thanks, Jessica,” I said. “We'll be right there.”

“Whatever.” She turned on her heel and stomped away, hips swaying so hard that I worried briefly that she was going to dislocate something.

“What a bitch,” said Anders, stepping up next to me.

“That's an insult to dogs everywhere,” said Malena. “She's a—”

“Let's get back to rehearsal!” I chirped, linking my arms with theirs and starting to march, Wizard of Oz-style, toward the others. The sooner we got back to work,
the sooner we'd be finished, and the sooner we could find out what was really going on.

We didn't find out what was really going on. Malena and Pax excused themselves enough times to get on Sasha's nerves, but they failed to find any suspicious traces of blood anywhere in the building.