The footsteps over my head sound again, and then my door unlocks. It swings inward, and Mia looks at the shoes in my lap. She makes a face. “Put them on.”
We stare at each other. She seems… the same. Her face, her hair, her posture. She hasn’t suddenly transformed into the wicked witch or an obsessive stalker. She just holds her tension in her mouth and jaw. Her lips press together, the muscles tense. Tendons stand out in her neck.
“How long have you thought about this?”
She motions to the shoes.
I slip one on, adjusting the ribbons.
“I thought we had gotten over our hump,” she finally says. “So I wasn’t planning on doing this at all…”
I put on the other shoe.
“Come with me,” she says.
I rise and follow her into the small, narrow hallway. There’s a tight spiral staircase that she scales quickly. I go up more slowly, carefully. I don’t have it in me to be frightened. I’m just tired and wary and disappointed in myself.
Why didn’t I see this in her?
I have no problem seeing Greyson’s demons—so why not hers?
There’s a trap door in the kitchen floor that’s been flipped open. As soon as I’m out, Mia closes it and slides a rug back into place. If she wanted to hide me down there from someone,anyone, I don’t think they’d find me.
“I inherited this cabin from my great-uncle. He bragged that he was involved in the underground railroad. My father always thought his uncle was a crackpot and he really kept women down there.” Mia shrugs. “He drank a lot. Smoked even more. So who knows what the truth is?”
Chills skate down my back.
“I wanted to take this time to work on your technique,” she continues. She gestures to the living room; the center is now cleared of most of the furniture. The couch is shoved up against the wall, the side tables piled on top of it. The coffee table is knocked over, belly up, and the thick rug rolled on top of it.
“Fifth position.”
I raise my eyebrow. “You want me to… dance…?”
“Yes,” she says, impatient. “Go on. Take your position.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “And if I don’t want to dance?”
Her eyebrow tics, then smooths. “Then I’ll make sure you never dance for anyone. Ever again.” Her gaze goes to the corner, where a rubber mallet leans against the wall.
“You’d break my leg?”
She lifts her shoulder. “I don’t want to resort to that, Violet. But you either dance for CPB or you dance for no one.”
I shudder and inch forward.
She nods and pushes a button on a stereo on the floor, up against a wall. The music that comes out isn’tSleeping Beauty—it’sGiselle.
I cringe.
“Oh, did you think you were going to get off easy? Dance a piece you know so well?” She glowers at me. “I know you snuck away to learn this with Shawn Meridian, Violet. I know you are transfixed by his work. That’s why I brought him to you.” She comes forward and grabs my hands, both of them, pulling me toward her.
It’s the last place I want to be.
Her grip is tight, though. “That was my gift. But you still want to leave me.”
“I already told you—that wasn’t going to happen.”
“Lies!” she shrieks, throwing my hands back at me.