Unholy Nights: A Twisted Christmas Anthology (24 page)

But for the last five years, the list had been more of a hit list than a cast list. The year after the Sugar Plum Fairy went missing, a Spanish Hot Chocolate had vanished. The next year it was an Arabian Dancer, then the Dew Drop Fairy, and last year a Flower. Despite extensive city and statewide searches, no trace of any of the missing dancers had ever been found, though all their ballet slippers remained behind. Every dancer, director, student, and patron of the ballet had been interviewed, but there were no solid leads. There were theories, though. Plenty of them. The police believed that despite the unfortunate coincidences, none of these cases were related. Maybe a few of the dancers had even left willingly, so they could return later as heroes and be infamous. Svetlana probably ran away to start a new life because it was too painful for her to be around her ex, Mikhail. There had been sightings of the Spanish Hot Chocolate hitchhiking through Montana. The Arabian Dancer had a history of depression; the Dew Drop Fairy was suffering from anorexia. And the Flower had mentioned that she wanted to live off the grid.

But I didn’t believe the police. These disappearances had to be related. I knew all of those dancers—trained with them, performed with them, bled with them. Ballerinas that good didn’t just throw their years of training out the door to run off and start a new life. Those dancers had all lived in the studio, training up to forty hours a week. I was certain that someone on the new list would vanish, seemingly into thin air, immediately after closing night of
The Nutcracker
.

After the disappearances, the Cambridge Ballet had talked about banning
The Nutcracker
. But the city of Boston begged the artistic director to keep the holiday tradition alive. What was Christmas without
The Nutcracker
? And the Cambridge ballet simply could not survive without the ticket revenue.

The Boston Police assured the members of the ballet that we were safe. This year, the ballet had installed cameras throughout the theater, and also implemented strict security guidelines. Though many panicked parents pulled their little girls out of the ballet school, there were always more girls waiting in the wings, eager to claim their moment in the limelight.

Mrs. Mosconi opened the creaky door of her office. No one dared crowd her. She gave a smile as she walked toward the bulletin board, holding a single sheet of paper.

It was my year. I was destined to play the Snow Queen; my name even meant snow. Snow Queen was the best role any female dancer in the Trainee program could be cast for. I lived and breathed in the studio and had sacrificed any semblance of a normal eighteen-year-old girl’s life to become a ballerina. My non-dancer friends spent their free time sipping frappuccinos, while I was always at the
barre
working on my
frappés
.

Mrs. Mosconi placed the paper up on the corkboard and secured it with a tack. “Congratulations everyone.”

Despite the imminent danger, dancers swarmed the board. Cries, screams, shrieks ran through the hall.

I stood back. I couldn’t bear to read the list.

Chantal
bourréd
over to me and curtsied. “At your service, my Snow Queen.”

I pursed my lips. Mikhail’s prediction had come true. I couldn’t wait to tell him. All the missing dancers were strong and technically advanced and had lead, solo roles in the ballet. A Snow Queen hadn’t disappeared yet—would I be next?

“And I’m your king.”

My body tingled hearing Evan’s voice. I turned and gave him a hug, breathing in his scent. He was no longer a boy now. A hot nineteen-year-old man stood in front of me—his body seemed to be sculpted by an artist.

I squeezed his arms. “But the Snow Queen has never vanished. I could be next.”

Evan blinked and his brown eyes darkened. He pushed his blonde hair off of his face. “Nothing’s going to happen this year. You knew Gina—she was always a hippy. I’m sure she left last year just to freak everyone out. She’s probably living in Berkeley now.”

I wasn’t convinced. In my heart I just knew that there was more to the disappearances than the cops knew. Something that couldn’t be figured out by detectives. Something—well—creepy.

He clutched me to his chest and kissed my forehead. “Don’t worry—I’ll protect you.”

The only way to ensure my safety was to quit dancing and drop out of the production. But I would rather risk vanishing without a trace than imagine a life without
pirouetting
.

Act I Scene II

I took the Red Line to Mikhail’s office at the
Boston Globe
. Ever since we’d met on that fateful night five years ago, we’d developed a rather unorthodox relationship. Though sometimes he would vanish for months and I wouldn’t hear from him, he’d always come to my performances. And since I lived thousands of miles away from my family, and all my dance friends were also my competitors, sometimes I felt like Mikhail was the only one who really cared for me.

He motioned for me to come in. “I hear congratulations are in order, Miss Snow Queen.”

“Thank you! Are you sure you didn’t have anything to do with me getting the role?” My eyes focused on the snow globes on his desk, resisting the urge to wind them up. As a tribute to the missing dancers, he had purchased globes with each of the missing characters inside. He had told me once that seeing them on his desk, reminded him to never stop seeking the truth in their disappearances.

“Well, I may have put in a good word for you.” His dark hair framed his face, showing off his strong jawline. Mikhail had once been a principal in the Cambridge Ballet, wowing audiences from around the world. Unfortunately, he never had recovered from his injury. Of course, he’d been a suspect in his ex-fiancée’s disappearance but his every move the night of that performance had been documented and he was seen leaving the theater with nothing but a briefcase, so he was quickly ruled out.

“It’s an honor. I just hope that no one goes missing this year.” I looked around the office. It was odd that the walls were bare, without a single photo from his glory days. Maybe it was too painful for him to be reminded of the success he once had.

He took a sip of tea and cleared his throat. “Don’t talk of such nonsense. You know I’ve researched all the cases extensively. It’s just a bunch of crazy kids trying to create a scandal—like all of the reality stars who are constantly taking selfies and making pornographic tapes. That last girl, the one who’d played the flower, she had a history of marijuana use. I wrote a piece on her.”

I nodded her head in agreement as my mind raced. Yeah—Gina smoked weed. But I
knew
her. Gina had loved to dance and was looking forward to applying to college. She would’ve never run off.

“So, Nieves, have you thought about your future? Which companies are you thinking of auditioning for?”

“Well, I always imagined that I would be lucky enough to stay in Boston and dance here. This is my last year of the Trainee Program. I’m hoping they offer me a contract in the Cambridge Ballet II. If not, I’ll audition elsewhere.”

“Good, that’s a solid plan. Many dancers get fooled with talk of attending college. You would waste your best dancing years studying. You can always go back to school after you retire.”

My eyes fell back on the globes. What if I snapped my Achilles like he had and could never dance again? If I didn’t have an education, how would I support myself? I’d be trapped like the dancers in the globes.

I could feel Mikhail’s deep blue eyes watching me. He was twenty-seven now and hotter than ever. I saw him as a sexy ballet star, not the crippled critic who lived in the past. Often I wondered why he’d chosen me as a ballerina to mentor. He was gorgeous—all the girls in the studio lusted after him. Despite my best attempts over the years to flirt with him, he had always shut me down. Once when I was fifteen, I had tried to hold his hand at a coffee shop, but he had withdrawn his hand like a gentleman and gave me a condescending pat on the head. My cheeks had burned with embarrassment. I couldn’t believe I had read him wrong. He’d had a hungry look in his eye. I had been sure of it.

I stood up. “I have to go back to practice. I just wanted to stop in and tell you in person.”

“I’m so glad you did. I’ll be there for every one of your performances. I’ve been waiting for years to see you perform this role. Seeing you dance always soothes me. You remind me of Sveta when she was your age. When you get a chance—come back and visit. I have an archive of some of the best ballerinas in the world dancing as Snow Queen—Julie Kent, Paloma Herrera, Gelsey Kirkland.”

All of my favorite prima ballerinas. To be dancing the same role that they had, and at such a young age, was completely unreal to me. “I’d love that. Actually, Misha, can you do me a favor?”

“Anything. What is it?”

I hesitated. I’d never actually asked him for help, but I needed him. “I was wondering if you could help train me. I’m worried about the
adagio
and I just really want to get it right. I saw you dance the Snow King with Sveta years ago. I know I’m nowhere near as good a dancer as she was, but if you partnered me in practice, I’d dance so much better.”

His lips parted. “I’d love to Nieves, but you know I can barely dance with my ankle.”

“Maybe you can come by after rehearsal one day and direct Evan and me? He’s the Snow King, after all.”

Mikhail let out a laugh. “Evan’s a decent dancer. But he doesn’t have what it takes to be the best. I hope you see that and don’t get involved with him. A boy like that could ruin any chance of you having a great career. What if he doesn’t get a contract? Are you going to follow him to some semi-professional ballet company in the middle of nowhere and give up your career? I’ve seen too many ballerinas with your caliber of talent throw their lives away on young men.”

Whoa. Evan and I weren’t even dating. He was the notorious ladies man at the studio. Even so, Mikhail was right. Evan and I would be spending so much time together rehearsing. I needed to focus.

I fumbled for my purse. “Okay. Never mind. Forget I asked. I’ll just come by another time. Thanks again.”

I bundled up into my white winter coat and stepped out of the office into the snow. My blue Hunter boots slushed along the icy road. The sky was dark and the moon glowed in the distance. I should’ve been scared, a young woman walking alone to the T at night—but the only fear I had was surviving the finale of
The Nutcracker
.

––––––––

A
ct I Scene III

Chantal’s legs were stretched in a wide split. “So who do you think is going to be next? My money is on Clara! You can’t have
The Nutcracker
without Clara!”

The younger dancers crowding around Chantal and she laughed.

Little Bella Fortun let out a yelp.

“Stop scaring her,” I scolded Chantal. “Bella, don’t listen to her. First off, the police and Olivier swear we are safe. They’re searching every audience member and there’s going to be a metal detector and armed police throughout the theater. Second, everyone who has gone missing has been at least sixteen years old. And finally, Chantal’s just mad that she’s the Dew Drop Fairy and a Dew Drop has already vanished so she has no excuse to run away.”

“Ha. Very funny.” Chantal pulled her feet into a butterfly position and pushed down her knees.

I stretched my leg on the
barre
and looked out on the Charles River, watching a crew team row by. Our second floor practice studio was housed in a red brick building. Ever since I’d been accepted to the pre-professional program when I was thirteen, this studio had been my home. I’d left my friends and family behind in San Diego and lived with a host family in Cambridge. The ballet had an arrangement with a local school that allowed me to attend classes around my dance schedule and online. Though I sometimes missed San Diego’s weather, I’d fallen in love with Boston’s rich culture and historic charm.

Our artistic director, Olivier Beausoleil and the Ballet Mistress, Madame Anna, came from around the corner with a uniformed Boston Police officer.

Great—another useless “you’re safe” pep-talk. This would definitely cut into my rehearsal time.

Olivier motioned to the dancers and we all turned and faced the mirrors. “Ladies and Gentlemen. We will be starting rehearsals shortly. Officer Sean Flaherty would like to speak with you regarding safety.”

I rolled my eyes. Standard yearly visit from Boston’s Finest. We’d all heard the drill before: don’t go anywhere alone, be aware of your surroundings, don’t let anyone who is not affiliated with the ballet backstage during the productions. Yet despite all these precautions, a dancer still vanished just last year.

Officer Sean nodded his head as if he almost pitied us. He didn’t seem like he was there to give a friendly warning. But at least he was sexy. Muscular, dark hair, broad shoulders. He looked very different than the toned male dancers that I’d spent my time with.

“Unfortunately, I have some rather disturbing news. There has been a recent, er, development in the Nutcracker Disappearances. I’m not at liberty to share the new lead, but I urge you all to be extra cautious.”

The hair on the nape of my neck pricked my skin. What was he saying—had they discovered a body? I tapped my pointe shoe on the floor, trying to break up my thoughts.

Chantal raised her hand and Officer Sean pointed at her. “Yes, miss?”

She twirled her hair, clearly flirting with him. “So you are just going to endanger all our lives until you decide to share your lead? Maybe you could be my personal bodyguard?”

Olivier glared at Chantal. He always scolded her about her attitude—she was so talented but her lack of solos in the ballet probably had more to do with her mouth than her feet.

Officer Sean’s voice deepened. “We will providing around the clock protection to everyone in the production. All I can say is that there is some evidence that all the disappearances are connected. We have two extra detectives assigned to the ballet school.”

I didn’t want to listen to the drama. This lecture was cutting into our practice time. Both Evan and Mikhail were watching out for me. I knew I was safe.