Boston Avant-Garde 5: Bellicoso (8 page)

A rather distasteful possibility began to take shape in Selena’s mind. “Are there other people down there waiting?”

“Could you just come downstairs?”

Selena knew she shouldn’t have returned to their family’s Brookline estate. Lately she’d been staying at her friend Mattie’s place. The last few months had taught Selena that all the crap she’d once thought so important in life didn’t matter much in the end. She’d only come home for the dance bag because of what had happened at Triptych.

Because of Malachi.

The memory of his slate-gray gaze made her shiver. Desiree was still lecturing, but Selena tuned her out. Looping her tote over one shoulder, she followed her sister, fully intending to duck out at the first opportunity.

“There you are, darling.”

Selena froze on the sweeping staircase, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the railing. She hadn’t expected her mother to be waiting in the foyer. Annaline Aasen was dressed to take the city by storm, even while hanging out at home. Her pale blonde hair was impeccably styled, her silk dress and jacket combo freshly pressed.

Selena became suddenly, painfully aware of her own rumpled jeans, T-shirt, and messy ponytail. Six months ago she wouldn’t have been caught dead in anything but designer clothes with perfect hair and makeup.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

“I had no idea you guys were having a family meeting.” Selena figured bluffing her way out of whatever idiotic intervention her family had planned was her best bet. “I’ll just run along and let you guys finish up…whatever it was you were doing.”

From the direction of the kitchen two men entered the foyer. The first was her brother, Erik. He looked tired, his clothing rumpled and his dark hair sticking up at odd angles. It was no wonder, considering his wife, Talia, was due to deliver their first kid in another three months.

The second man was a slightly broader, badass version of her brother with tousled, dark hair and a wicked gleam in eyes that were more hazel instead of the usual Aasen green. He gave her a rakish grin. “Thank God you showed up, Selena. This group is the killer of all parties. Erik’s married with a bun in the oven, and no one will come near Desiree when we go out because her husband scares them off with one look. No offense, Aunt Annaline, but Selena was my last hope for a good time while I’m here in Boston.”

“I think she’s been having a little
too
much fun recently, Lars.” Annaline shot Selena an icy gaze. “It’s high time she get back to important family matters instead of traipsing around Boston making a fool of herself.”

Not even her mother’s insult could dampen Selena’s joy at seeing her cousin for the first time in more than two years. “Lars Aasen, did you come all the way to Boston for my intervention?”

He opened his arms, and Selena dashed down the steps and flung herself against his chest. He squeezed her tight. “Coincidence, love. I flew in from London two days ago. I’ll be hanging about in order to step in while Mr. Mom takes his paternity leave after the baby is born.”

“Maybe he can talk some sense into you,” Erik grumbled. “God knows you won’t listen to the rest of us.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Selena stepped away from Lars’s comforting presence. “You’re right. Since I had the audacity to leave my no-good, can’t-keep-his-dick-in-his-pants husband, I should be hiding in shame. Or better yet, begging him to take me back.”

“Nobody’s saying that.” Desiree gave their mother a wary look. “At least I’m not saying that. But we’re a little worried that you’re running with some unsavory people.”

“Unsavory people. Really? That the best you got, Desiree?” Selena wondered what her family would say if she described Malachi to them. If she told them she’d let him use a flogger against her pussy and bring her the best orgasm of her life. All within ten minutes of meeting him.

What would they say if I admitted I wanted a repeat performance with Malachi after telling him to invite a friend for a threesome?

“Jackson treated you horribly. Of that there is no doubt.” Her mother glanced down, examining her cuticles. “However, instead of using the very public incident to reinforce your place in society, you’re hiding out in clubs, keeping low company, and making the people who count wonder if Jackson wasn’t right to treat you as he did. I’ve told you a thousand times, wild displays are perfectly acceptable as long as you use them to sway public opinion in your favor. Especially now that Jackson has left town for a while.”

The words stung. Just once Selena wanted her mother to acknowledge her as something more than a society princess. She wanted to be worth more than her stock as the pampered daughter of one of Boston’s richest families. Preoccupied with her feelings, Selena almost didn’t catch what her mother had let slip about Jackson.

“Did you just say Jackson left town?” she asked, for clarification.

Annaline sniffed. “His father has put him in charge of some business interests in South America. He left for Rio a few weeks ago.”

About the time he was stupid enough to pull a gun on Malachi
. It didn’t matter. Nothing did. “Well, with that lovely encouragement in mind, I think I’ll just crawl back into the hole I share with my low company.” Selena turned on her heel and stalked away. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Lars trying to decide which way to jump. “You coming, London Boy? Or are you going to stick around with the married set?”

“When you put it that way…” She could hear Lars’s feet on the marble floor as he followed along in her wake.

* * * *

“So, where are we going exactly? And do I need to change my shoes to enter this cesspool existence you’ve been living?” Lars settled himself into the passenger seat of her tiny Acura.

Selena shot her cousin a mocking smile. Three years her senior, he had a rowdy sense of humor that was always a little on the irreverent side. Since he was closer in age to her than to Erik and Desiree, Lars had been her childhood playmate during the summers he’d spent at their estate.

“I was sorry to hear about your divorce.” Lars frowned. “If I’d been in town, I would have strung the bastard up by his balls.”

“Your solidarity is duly noted. Although unnecessary since my lawyers pretty much did the legal equivalent.” Selena whipped the little car onto the ramp and headed toward Danvers.

He looked at the scenery with interest. “Okay, I give up. Where the hell are we going?”

“I’ve been staying with my friend Mattie. She works out of a studio in her house in Danvers when she isn’t working at a gallery in Salem.”

“Is she a witch?”

“Why? You need a love potion?”

Selena hadn’t mentioned staying with Mattie to her mother or sister. Desiree wouldn’t have cared. She’d always liked Mattie, but their mother was another story. Besides, it wasn’t a permanent solution. The tiny historic house Mattie owned was barely big enough for her painting paraphernalia. Not to mention its location in the middle of nowhere. It took almost twenty minutes of navigating a colonial-era dirt track just to get from Mattie’s to Salem. It was another forty-five minutes to the city.

A billboard caught Selena’s eye, and she promptly forgot their conversation. HEAR THE MUSIC. The words were emblazoned in gold across a black field dominated by a pair of white toe shoes. The ballet shoes looked like Selena’s own—battered and scuffed, their existence a testament to dedication and love of dancing.

Lars gripped the handle on the passenger side as they swerved across two lanes of traffic. “Are you crazy! Thank God the ice from last week’s storm is gone.” His hazel eyes were wide as hubcaps. “Where the hell are you going?”

She gestured at the billboard. “Wherever that is.”

“Boston School for the Arts?” He ducked his head to read the information on the rapidly disappearing monolith. “Do you even play an instrument?”

“Dance, stupid.” Selena knew she’d heard of the school before, though she couldn’t place it. “I used to dance.”

“Turn right at the bottom of the exit. That’ll take you to the cross street nearest their address.”

Her tiny car jetted down the ramp, tires squealing as she took the corner a little faster than she should have. “You’re not going to talk me out of this?”

“Would it do any good?”

She hung another right and dived into the Boston afternoon traffic. “Probably not.”

“It should be coming up here on the left.”

With a little tweaking, he might have a future as one of those GPS voices. She peered out her windshield as they approached an old brick building labeled BOSTON SCHOOL FOR THE ARTS. A white and black banner draped across the pillared entrance announced that the school was accepting applications for new students.

A car veered away from the curb, leaving an empty space. Selena slammed on her brakes and ignored the horn blaring behind them. “See, perfect timing.” She backed neatly into the spot.

Lars slumped against the dash. “Remind me to get a cab for the ride home.”

“You’ve been away from Boston too long if you thought that was bad.” Selena rummaged behind her seat until she could close her fingers on the familiar canvas bag. She yanked it over the console into her lap and snatched up her purse. “Are you coming with me?”

He heaved a sigh and shoved open the passenger door. “I suppose I am vaguely responsible for you at the moment.”

An arctic breeze sliced through Selena’s thin hoodie, and she pulled it closer to her body. The gray sky promised to dump another helping of snow before the day was through. Selena loved Boston, but in December the city on the hill could start to resemble the North Pole.

They entered a large courtyard situated between four identical buildings. Two of the towering structures looked like residence halls, while the others had wide windows that offered a view of students in class. The one directly opposite the entrance was labeled MAIN BUILDING.

Lars was already striding quickly in the direction of the office. “Aren’t you too old for this place?”

Selena hoped he wasn’t right. “I don’t think that’s how these schools work. It’s skill level as much as grade.”

He took the steps two at a time and pulled the door open. “When was the last time you danced?”

“Three years ago.” She ducked beneath his arm and savored the slightly warmer air in the drafty hallway.

It looked exactly as she’d imagined it would. Battered black-and-white tile flooring and warm wood with a liberal sprinkling of windows. She could hear a strings class going through their scales somewhere down the hall. Right across the way she could see dancers dipping gracefully into plié while a teacher paced the length of the barre on the wall, making corrections.

Excitement tingled down her spine. She remembered how it had felt to climb onto the table in the training room at Triptych, the still and steady thrum of quiet anticipation. She thought of a quote by Robert Frost, something that had never made sense until right now.

 “Dancing is the vertical expression of a horizontal desire.”

Lars reached for the door marked HEADMISTRESS. “Ready?”

“Absolutely.”

Chapter Eight

Demon slipped farther into the shadows at the base of the stairwell. Allie’s ballet class had just completed their warm-up at the barre. He’d come to watch. Seraph wouldn’t have cared if the girl was happy or not, but her “fathers” cared very much. In fact, Seraph wasn’t even aware Demon had enrolled Allie in a school that catered to dance as well as academics. Seraph hadn’t specified where he was to enroll her—just that he was to do it. Since Malachi was still supposed to be ignorant of Allie’s location, Demon considered it his responsibility to see how Allie was settling into her new school.

Demon gazed at the matronly woman wearing a long black practice skirt over her matching leotard. The teacher paused beside a student, gently placing her second and third fingers beneath the girl’s chin and lifting it to the correct angle.

He could see Allie watching from the corner of her eye. For a thirteen-year-old, she was surprisingly adept at absorbing what she saw. She adjusted the angle of her own chin to match that of the other girl’s. The teacher passed, giving her a warm word of encouragement. When Allie’s full lips tilted just so, Demon felt his heart contract with a wave of fierce emotion.

She wasn’t his blood. She was Malachi’s. But Allie was as much Demon’s daughter as she was his partner’s. He’d been there when she was born, cared for her throughout her life, and made her happiness his full-time occupation.

Allie looked far more like Malachi than she did Seraph. She was tall for her age with a long, lean frame given to sleek muscle. Her full mouth and high cheekbones reminded Demon of Malachi’s, as did her mischievous gray eyes. Keeping the three of them together was the most important thing on Demon’s list. No matter the cost.

* * * *

“I’m sorry, did you just offer me a teaching position?” Selena tried not to gawk but found it almost impossible in light of the circumstances.

Ms. Warren, the headmistress, smiled as if she had total confidence in Selena’s abilities. “Normally there is a bit more of a process, but your sister-in-law, Talia, taught here for more than a decade. I also spoke with Madame Brussard when I stepped out a moment ago, and she speaks of your talent in glowing terms.”

“I started with her when I was three.” Selena swallowed, her throat dry and scratchy. “I’ve never taught a class though.”

“Madame assured me you were always very good with the younger girls when you were prepping for productions.” The earnest expression on the woman’s face nearly convinced Selena. “That is the way in which most of us learn to teach. We don’t set out to do it. It is simply an extension of the learning process.”

Selena gazed around the simple office with its pale yellow walls. It reminded her of the tiny office Madame had kept in the back of her studio—half-toppled towers of instrument cases, a discarded pair of toe shoes, and walls hung with faded posters from productions long over. The pleasing scent of mint emanated from the candy dish on the corner of Ms. Warren’s desk.