The Nightingale Circus (9 page)

Somewhere in the background, Rake
chuckled.

* * *

And one … and two … and three…
Anya’s
leg swung high in the air, her toes pointed straight in the ballet
shoes while her hands held tight on the barre in front of the
mirror. She repeated the exercise again and again to strengthen her
legs so they could carry the extra weight of her chest with
ease.

Six weeks into her rehabilitation program and
she could already do nine out of ten spins without losing her
balance. Not good enough to perform on a big theatre stage, but a
huge improvement compared to the first days after the procedure
when a simple walk across the room used to be a challenge. It would
get better. She had to believe that. She had to re-learn everything
she’d trained for years to do, but now she had time.

She grabbed the towel from the barre and
wiped the sweat off her face and neck. She still sweated when she
trained hard but never flushed anymore, and she missed the loud
thumps of her heart when she got excited. If the human condition
had been defined by the presence of a heartbeat, she would have
been declared dead by now.

Avoiding the mirror, Anya turned towards the
middle of the room. No need to rest since her lungs didn’t get
tired and her muscles received all the oxygen they needed. They
still hurt, but it was a good burn. A grand plié and an arabesque
followed by an attitude brought a smile on her face. Soon, she
would be good enough, if not even better than her previous persona.
And then the world would see…

She danced across the empty room on the
ground floor of her villa in St. Petersburg, listening to the music
sounding only in her head, and imagined herself on the Moscow
stage, amazing the audience. The dream lasted until her phone
beeped. She ran to the bench where she’d left her things and picked
it up.

Dear Anastasia Anatolievna Semenova,

We regret to inform you that your health
record doesn’t qualify you for a position in our ballet
company…

The third rejection letter received this
week. Not only did the local companies not want to hear from her,
neither did the foreign ones. She was beginning to see a trend.

Anya tossed the phone across the room and
winced, imagining Masha being alerted by the noise and not wanting
the maid to fuss over her. Wishing they had removed her tear ducts
along with her lungs, she continued her routine.

* * *

It felt strange to sit in a box rather than
be on stage, but Anya couldn't stay away, no matter how much it
hurt. She had to feel the music, drink in the lights, and pretend
she was flying up there with the rest of the dancers. After a whole
year, she’d come to terms with the idea that she wouldn’t dance
again, not professionally anyway. It didn’t mean she couldn’t watch
and gloat internally that she was better than anyone on the stage.
A boost of pride got her through the day. But artists needed an
audience, and sometimes she couldn’t help getting depressed. This
was one of those nights. So when she spotted a familiar face in a
box across the hall, she saw red.

Sitting through the end of the act was
torture, and when the intermission started, she stormed out of the
box and bumped right into Big Dino in the corridor. He looked
bigger than she remembered, but the wicked grin was still in
place.

“You tricked me!” She poked his wide chest
with her index finger. “You
knew
no one would hire me
after—”

“I didn’t trick you,” Big Dino said. “I
promised you’d live and still be able to dance.”

“Dance
where
?” Anya’s voice became a
shout that turned the heads of several people in the corridor.

“Ah, that…” An elusive smile spread over Big
Dino’s round face. “Finding you a job wasn’t part of the deal … but
I can offer you one.”

“A job?” Anya stared at him then her eyes
narrowed. “At the circus?”

“Yes, at The Nightingale Circus.”

“That’s insane.” What could she do at the
circus? They toured cities all over Europe and part of Asia, too,
but it was the wrong type of audience. She’d seen a couple of shows
during her brief recovery. There was nothing for her to do
there.

“Maybe … but you’ll have the floor all to
yourself in front of thousands of people. Isn’t that what you
want?”

Was it? Anya shook her head. “Not like this.
They won’t appreciate it.”

“If you’re this good,
make
them.”

Anya’s back stiffened. Was this a challenge?
What did she have to lose? “What are you offering?”

“Two numbers per show, one of your choice and
one designed in collaboration with me. A fair share of the profits.
Second headline right after The Nightingale.”

“I would require a whole train car. I’m not
sharing.” Anya pointed her chin up.

Big Dino hesitated, but his eyes gleamed with
amusement. “That can be arranged.”

“And my expenses covered for new costumes at
my own convenience.”

“Done.” Big Dino held out his hand. “Do we
have a deal?”

Anya couldn’t decide which one of them was
crazier, him for offering or her for slipping her hand into his
large palm. “Deal.”

Big Dino grinned, showing strong yellow teeth
behind his dark lips. “Welcome aboard, Miss Semenova.”

Anya’s shoulders dropped, defeated, and she
muttered with a sigh, “I guess you can call me Anya…”

* * *

At the end of the week, when The Nightingale
Circus left St. Petersburg, Anya dragged Serioja into her brand new
car and didn’t let him leave until the train stopped again in
another town. If she couldn’t be happy, she could at least make him
happy. Serioja didn’t mind.

Strange crowd in the club tonight
.
Riella arched her body and swung around the pole in time with the
music. Lights flashed, making her tiny costume glitter in the hazy
atmosphere. She was used to clients staring at her with drool
hanging
from
the corners of their mouths.
After all, that was what she was here for, to entertain their
wildest fantasies. But this group was different.

The two bulky men covered in scars kept
grinning at her. Still, they ordered more drinks each time they
raised their hands instead of trying to initiate a dialogue over
the loud music. The dark-haired man seated next to them, wearing
gloves and a tailcoat, stared into his glass, running his finger
along the rim. The blue flames dancing around his hand had to be a
reflection of the lights. Only the fourth guy, with sandy blond
hair and packing more muscles than the man in the coat, watched her
with bovine eyes.

Riella wrinkled her nose and leaned back. The
quartet from hell scared everyone off. No other customer dared
approach the edge of her round stage. So no big tips for her
tonight. She didn’t mind a quiet night when all she had to do was
dance, but she did miss the money. If it continued like this, she
would be stuck in this hellhole forever and never enter Sofia’s
upper circles.

Her colleague, also a redhead, but with
shorter, darker hair, danced on a nearby platform. She already had
her bra stuffed with bills, and it wasn't even midnight yet. Riella
glared at her picky admirers, her hands not leaving the shiny pole.
She climbed on it with the sheer force of her arms, legs wrapped
around the cold metal as if it were a lover, then let herself slide
upside down fast until the top of her head came close to the
platform.

A cough came from the back while the men in
the front row gave her appreciative glances, but that was all. No
claps, no whistles, no nothing. They hadn’t come for the show she
put on. Her languorous, sexy moves didn’t affect them at all. Then
why were they here?

Her boss frowned at her from behind the
curtain and shook his head. This was a respectable club—okay, a sex
club, but still a respectable one—not a circus. Risking injury to
herself was not supposed to be part of the act. There would be
repercussions for sure, even though Riella never fell. He pointed
somewhere in front and quickly back, signaling her to get off the
stage.

Riella turned to look ahead, and her foot
slipped. Pain shot through her ankle.
Damn.
She’d been fine
for almost a week and hoped the injury left by her nightly activity
had healed. No such luck. But the ankle bothered her less than the
sight of the wire thin man advancing between the tables. Despite
him not granting her a second glance, a block of ice settled inside
Riella’s stomach.

His reputation as one of Tena's clients
preceded him. He paid well but left the girls unable to dance for
several days after each session. Riella could do without the money,
but she needed the job. If she refused to join the brute in the
back room, the boss would most likely fire her. She bit her lip.
There was no escape.

Faking a big smile, she did a twirl, blew out
a couple of kisses, and left the platform, trying not to limp. She
failed.

* * *

“Damn these riots,” Spinner said and downed
his drink. It was his fifth. Or sixth? He couldn’t remember.

“We should have returned through the north,”
Rake said with a shrug.

“Right!” Spinner bounced in his seat. “Did
you notice only the poor countries are big on peace demonstrations
lately? We would have been safe two countries higher up the
map.”

“Eh, north, south, same shit all over.”
Nicholas ran his fingers through his dark hair. “All roads lead to
Rome.”

Spinner grinned. Watching the magician
getting tipsy was probably the highlight of his week. Nicholas
didn’t drink, so things had to be bad. “Who rained on your
parade?”

“Parade? Yes, there will probably be a
parade.” Nicholas bobbed his head thoughtfully. “You see, my
brother is getting married, and I can’t go to the wedding … because
I’ve got creditors chasing after me.” He made a bleak face and
waved at the waitress for a refill.

The creditor story was a cover designed to
fool the outside world, but everyone at the circus knew he was
running away from the draft committee. At least he wasn’t drunk
enough to mix his stories yet. Spinner sympathized with him. As a
telecharger on the run, Nicholas could never go home, not until the
war ended. If he had had a family, Spinner would have missed it
too.

He patted Nicholas on the back and ordered
another round. Oblivion always helped.

“I mean I don’t mind a night off,” he said as
if the rest of the conversation never happened, “but they can
barely pay when we do work. We had to cut the ticket prices by half
lately.”

“Tell me about it.” Nicholas pulled on the
collar of his jacket. “My clothes are threadbare. I used to wear
silk.”

Rake scratched, distracted, at a scar on his
left hand. His eyes kept darting to the curtain where the redhead
had disappeared.

“At least there’s still something to eat,
eh?” Spinner elbowed Serioja
,
who hadn’t
said a word.

The tall aerialist started from his stupor as
he mournfully watched the blonde with generous curves dancing on
the platform in front of them.

“She’s late,” he said.

“Who’s late?” Spinner asked.

“The dancer,” Serioja said with a straight
face, but he wasn’t looking at the one spreading her legs on the
platform.

“Eh, she’s probably busy doing private dances
backstage,” Spinner said.

“No, he’s right,” Rake said. “It shouldn’t
take this long. This place doesn’t rent girls for the night.”

“And you know this because…?” Spinner
narrowed his eyes at him.

“You want to check the prices?” Nicholas
pulled a pamphlet out of his breast pocket and handed it over.
Confronted with their raised eyebrows, he smiled sheepishly. “A
waiter slipped it to me when I walked in. He must have thought I
could afford it.”

Spinner turned the pamphlet around and tilted
his head. “Wow …
t
he prices aren’t bad but
… how can they do that? You’d think they were built by us.”

“Yep.” Nicholas nodded. “There are some
things in there even
I
couldn’t make them do. These girls
have skills.”

Spinner finished with the pamphlet and held
it out, smiling with glee.

Rake glanced at it but made no gesture to
pick it up. He frowned at the curtain covering the back wall.

Serioja ignored it altogether. “She’s
late.”

“We know, we know…” Spinner sighed. “When she
gets back, buy a dance and get her out of your system. We won’t
tell Anya, eh, guys?”

The grunts he got in reply could have meant
anything. But it was the second night in a row they had come to the
club, having nothing better to do with the city on lockdown because
of the riots, and it was getting boring. If one of them could find
some excitement, why not?

Nicholas stumbled out of his seat and took a
moment to regain his footing. “I’m going to the bathroom.” He
strode to a side exit, moving with grace, only his glassy dark eyes
hinting he might have drunk more than his usual.

Rake got up, too.

“Rake?” Spinner looked up.

“Something’s not right,” Rake said in his
gruff voice. “The others have returned twice by now.”

“No, Rake … Big Dino doesn’t like it when we
get in trouble.”

“I’m not getting in trouble.”

True, few people dared to stand up to the big
knife thrower. On the other hand, if there was trouble already…

Spinner finished his drink. He’d paid for it,
and he hated leaving it there. When he entered the corridor,
Serioja walked two steps behind him.

* * *

The gag prevented Riella from screaming. If
she had, she would have been hoarse by now. How much longer? How
much longer until the man had enough of this torture? Client, not
man. Regular people didn’t do these things to their own kind. She
struggled weakly against the restraints. The leather bands bit into
her wrists, adding another layer of blood to the cuts.