Page 33 of Dance of Devils

“Got it,” I say, earnestly nodding. “Then let’s do this and not get caught.”

It’s a seriously heavy painting, because it’shuge, and in a wooden frame. But we eventually manage to finagle it down the stairs and into the bubble wrap that Dove has ready. From there, we quickly carry it outside and slide it into the back of the insanely cool old Land Rover Defender parked next to the carriage house.

“When’s the show?” I ask her when we’re back inside after our great art heist caper. “We should tell everyone at work. They’dfreakif they saw your work.”

She winces, wagging her head side to side. “I’m…not that open about this with most people.”

I frown. “The painting stuff? Really?”

She nods. “Yeah. It’s weird, I know. But if you could not…”

I smile and zip my lips. “I won’t say a word. I get secrecy, trust me.”

“Thanks,” she smiles back. Then she eyes me, her brow arching. “I hope you know that you’re aseriouslygood dancer.” She frowns. “I’m not sure I’ve said that to you before, but… You’re incredible. I love watching you dance.”

I blush, grinning. “Sorry, I’m shitty at taking compliments. But…thanks?”

She laughs. “I see we have the same childhood trauma. Awesome!”

I laugh back, but then she clears her throat and peers at me a little closer.

“I know you auditioned for theBallet Imperiya Korona.”

My mouth falls open before I can stop it.

“Uh…what?”

She smirks at me. “When Liliya Rostova was in New York a month or so ago? Ringing any bells?”

I groan. “Okay, okay. Guilty.”

Dove laughs and plops down on one end of the sofa, and I follow suit on the other side.

My brows knit. “Wait. How did you know that?”

She shrugs with a mysterious grin on her face. “You hear things, you know?”

“Yeah, well, speaking of not saying a word…”

She shakes her head. “Oh, I figured when I didn’t hear you telling anyone at work that you wanted to keep it quiet.” She slowly nods. “I won’t mention it to anyone, don’t worry.”

“Thanks.”

She sucks her teeth, running her fingers through her hair. “It’sveryhard to get in, as you know. But…” She frowns. “It’s about…more than just how you dance.”

My face scrunches up. “Oh, I know.”

It’s why in my brief moment of clarity the other night, when I realized someone was driving me somewhere, saying they were going to get me help, I blurted out something dumb like “no police.”

It wasnotbecause I’ve got a mountain of unpaid parking tickets and I sleep in the back of Pearl. It’s the same reason I’ve never gone to the authorities about any of the vile, monstrous shit that James or Lou have done.

Because Dove’s right: theBallet Imperiya Koronadoes not just care about how well you can dance. They’re looking for class. Forpedigree.

…Needless to say, domestic abuse charges, or the police looking into you getting mugged outside thestrip clubwhere you work, don’t do much for your image.

Dove smiles at me. “Forget about that whole pedigree crap. Fuck it. You areveryfucking talented, Brooklyn. I meanBallet Imperiya Koronatalented. Enough that they won’t care about who your family is or isn’t, or how much money you come from, or any of that elitist bullshit.”

I feel my face heating as I stammer a thank you. But then I deflate a little. “They also look for existing connections to the company, though,” I exhale slowly. “I’m out of luck there.”