This is the final post of Pas de Chat. Prologues are generally frowned upon by the publishing world. This is often because they don’t really help tell the story, they simply augment it in a way that isn’t realized until the end of the book. So, how about the Prologue at the end of the book? Regardless, I hope you’ve enjoyed the novel. Thank you so much for reading!

Green flowed around her as she leaped effortlessly from branch to branch.  The sunlight today had the quality of thick liquid gold as it streamed through the heavy canopy of leaves and branches.  She would have rather spent the day in repose in a cool crevice, observing the humidity instead of partaking in it.

But the men were everywhere.

She paused on a thick twisted branch, and scaled several feet down its wide trunk.  Her muscles were warm, but not at all fatigued despite how long she had led this chase.  In the dappled shadows of her forest, she was hard to see.

These men were experienced.  They knew what signs to look for and had trained their eyes to see her.  But even the best of them bumbled through the undergrowth.  She could hear them well before she smelled their salt or saw their shadows.  She felt sorry for them.  They were slow and clumsy and hopelessly landbound.  They had to strain their bulbous heads and thin necks upward just to see her.  But what they lacked in grace, they made up for in persistence.  That garnered her respect.

Several closing were in on her once again.  To the east was one in a sodden white shirt.  The stink of his sweat burned her nose.  And there off to her left, she heard the clomping feet of the wide man that had been behind her all morning, since the smallest light of the sun crept over the hills.  He had hunted her before with the tall, white man.  In the distance, there were others that she had passed by.  They left silence in their path.  Birds flew before them and marmosets kept still and high just in case the men became disinterested in her and decide to hunt other prey.

She growled in frustration.  She was being too predictable in her movements, using routes that would normally confound.  But there were so many of them today.  Everywhere she turned, footsteps harried her.  Men from two of the old tribes sprinted, bare-foot, alongside men covered in clothes from head to toe.  Those men came with metal and noise and acrid, oily clouds.  Those men often hunted without hunger or need.  Below, one spotted her and shouted.

She pushed off easily with her hind legs and leaped upward into the branches.  They could not reach her easily, but their guns could.  She struck out south, toward the river.  When she was close enough to smell the running water she stopped again to listen.  She considered the rapids.  Past rain had made the river swift, but it would be an easy enough swim.  She crouched and effortlessly bounded to a branch closer to the moving water.

Something was wrong with the river today.  The flow had settled into a wider pattern than usual.  And there.  A swirl in the current as water backflowed.  A dam downstream.  If she had tried to swim away, they would have captured her.  Yes, it was better to stay high.

She made her way up river, up a steep incline, toward the falls.  The noise drowned the sound of boots and feet, but she knew where the nearest men were on this side of the river.  Without breaking her fluid stride, she jumped across a gap in the trees that spanned the river.  There was another shout, and then a sharp pain in her left haunch.  She growled as she landed and swiped at the thin dart that protruded from the muscles of her hip.  It fell out and she was gone before it hit the ground.

Deep in the muscle where the needle had been, there was fire.  It had been a very long time since a man had wounded her.  A very long time.  She climbed higher and circled back toward the river in a wide arc.  She heard them calling down below, on this side of the river too.  But it was time to end this dangerous game they were playing with her.

When she returned to the river, she saw one man several yards separated from his companions.  He was not a man of her tribes.  He had never offered thanks to her or bowed his head in deference.  He had never sat alone in the forest as a young man and prayed that she would not come.

She dropped from the lowest tree branch, ten yards above him, and landed silently behind him.  Her movements were covered by the sound of the water and he was looking away, trying to catch the attention of one of his compatriots without shouting.  With a single bound, she landed on his back, knocking him to the ground.  Her claws sprang through the heavy material of his shirt and sank deeply into his flesh.  He let out a yelp as the air rushed from his lungs.  The dart gun he held in his hands skittered away.

She rose from her crouch on top of him only enough to gain better position.  The hat on his head gave him no more protection than the shirt on his back.  A man’s head was too big for her to entirely fit in her mouth, but the back of the neck, where the spine met the skull was effective.  The bones popped beneath her incisors.  Blood and brain matter filled her mouth for a moment and she was tempted to stay and feed.

The man across the river had heard the death cry of his fellow hunter, and she saw him turn.  With a cry he pointed his rifle at her.  She reached out with one great paw, claws bared, and sent the dead man’s rifle spinning into the river.  And before the other man could shoot, she leapt away, back up into her home of branches and leaves.  A dart followed, and lodged in the smooth green of the tree.

She could still taste the man as she chose her next target.  For now, she would let the tribesmen live.  She was after the unmistakable appearance of the outsiders.

Four more hunters fell.  Teeth and claws worked in unison to make quick work of them between each bound upward into the trees.  But burning anger made her reckless and a second dart caught her near her tail. A third hit her squarely in the side.

She cautioned a glance downward when she reached her perch.  The last dart came from a rifle held by brown hands, held by a shirtless barefooted man who had once been spared by her in order to become a man.  Not many of the tribesman still held to the ritual, but this one had.  And now, unworthy, he had shot her.

Without thinking, she turned and sprang.  He did not scream as her claws ripped into him and her jaws clamped down on his wide face.  It had been a hasty decision and she immediately regretted her misstep.  They surrounded her now and she felt the sting of several more darts as she charged the closest of them.  She ripped out his throat and went on to the next in order to make a big enough gap in their defenses.  She was covered in blood and was glad they wouldn’t be tracking her by smell.  More darts zinged past, only a few hitting their mark.

She ran into the forest and prepared to leap upward where she was safer.  But she could feel where each of the darts had hit.  Her muscles were beginning to weaken and tire.

She jumped, but was unable to catch the branch she wanted.  Instead, she scrabbled for hold on the tree’s buttressing roots and slowly climbed.  Panic kept her moving when she would have rather stopped.  Fear was not an emotion that she cared for.  How many moons had passed since she last had need of it?

The men were shouting, some making sounds that she was not familiar with.  They would have her.  Another dart pelted her, but this time it was followed by an angry word from another man.

She recognized this one’s voice.

He was the tall one, very pale like a root that had never seen the sun.  He had lived with one of her tribes for a while, and strangely had sat in the moonlight as though he were a child waiting to be a man.  Maybe it had been a mistake not to kill him too, when she had the chance.

Her legs gave out, and she half slid, half fell down the trunk of the tree.  She kept her feet as she landed, though her legs were threaded with fatigue.

The tall, pale man yelled again and she knew anger in his voice.  One of the others said something, but he silenced them.  He walked slowly toward her and she twisted in her weakened state to keep her eyes on him.

She expected he would have a rifle, and he did, though he carried it pointed downward.  And when he was close enough, she could see his eyes through the darkness that was closing in.  The awe she saw in him, a man of no tribe she had ever known, was pure and simple.  And the love.

He knew her for what she was.

The next morning, Jason called in sick to work.  He didn’t feel any of the regret or guilt as he might have in Chicago.  His second call was to a nearby flower shop that he picked out of the phone book.

“I’d like an arrangement of pink roses to be sent, please.  One dozen.  And something that’s not just pink, maybe some cream colored roses with red edges.  Do you have anything like that?”  He had decided that Emily would prefer pink to red.

“There’s the Cherry Twirl.  Will those do?”  The woman on the other end had a weak, older voice.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine.  Thanks.”

He gathered up a bottle of orange drink and a microwaved breakfast and turned on the one of the local morning shows.  Dien mentioned that she would be on television this morning, but Jason had already known.  He had set his alarm to be up for it even though he had been awake until nearly 2 am.

Commercials for laundry detergent and luxury cars gave way to a local news break.  Jason watched it impatiently as he ate.  Finally Cheri Hayes came on with the entertainment spot.

“Well, New York certainly received a treat last night with the debut of Vladimir Deminov’s new ballet.  And here with us again is Mr. Deminov and the prima ballerina of the event, Joanne Anderson.  Welcome back to the two of you!”

This time they were all sitting on high stools against a blue-gray background.  Deminov was paler and more drawn than when Jason had seen him last.

“It must have been a very late night for both of you, so extra thanks for seeing us so early.”

“No, problem,” said Deminov.  “It’s our pleasure.”

Joanne only smiled.  It’s might have been the lights or the make-up, but she was fresh faced.  Her green eyes sparkled and the slight tan tint on her lips was enticing.

“So, how did it go last night from your perspectives?”

“Wonderfully.  Everything was so smooth.  I couldn’t have prayed for a better night.”  Deminov’s teeth were crooked when he smiled.

“Same for you, Joanne?”

“Yes, I was pretty amazed by the audience’s reception, but everything technical went very well.”

“Let’s talk about the reaction for a minute.  There was a huge amount of hype surrounding this performance, but by all accounts I’ve heard, it was positively spectacular.”

“Have you seen early reviews?”  Deminov reached over and touched Cheri’s arm.  “I haven’t seen them yet.”

“Really?  Well, they’re sparkling!  You’ll have a huge number of favorable clippings.  Everyone is especially surprised by your abilities, Joanne.  How do you train to do such amazing acrobatics?”

“Mostly, I just train like every other ballet dancer.”

“But how do you manage such height and strength?  You must do some weights.”

“Some.”

“Can’t tell us anything about your routine?”

“Well, I can’t tell you all my secrets.  I like to be a bit of a mystery.”

Cheri passed a disbelieving glance to Deminov, hoping for some other hint.

“Of course lately our Joanne has been rehearsing the ballet, so it’s not that she’s doing too much of the usual bar work.”

“You choreographed this ballet especially for Joanne?”

“I had heard the music many, many years ago.  A good friend of mine, Anatoli Pirvokan, wrote it.  And it has been a long search for a good concept to go with it.”

“And you found that concept in Joanne?”

“Yes, I saw her marvelous talents and it easily fell into place for me.”

“Speaking of talents, I meant to ask you about your freckles the last time you were here.  Considering the rather, shall I say, wild nature of ballet, some have wondered if they are cosmetic.”

“They’re not.  They’re all my own.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Are you worried that they might interfere with your future performances?”

Joanne’s eyes flashed.  She brushed at her lips with the fingertips of one hand.  Jason could see that her nails were well manicured with a flesh tone and white paint job.  It was much different than the wild purples and pinks she used to wear.  Jason wondered if she still owned the black T-shirt with the cartoon faerie on it.

“Are you implying that I will only be limited to Pas de Chat and The Lion King in my future because of my freckles?”

“Of course not, but I’m sure our viewers are wondering if you intend to have them removed or lightened.”  If Cheri realized how rude the question was, she didn’t show it.

“No, I have no intention of that.”

“And really you don’t need to.  You’re a very beautiful woman.”

“Isn’t she?”  Deminov gazed at Joanne like Jason had seen many men do.  It wasn’t lust.  It was a mixture of pride and awe.

“Well, before we get to you showing us some of your routine, I have to ask: is there anyone special in your life, Joanne?”

Joanne smiled, genuine this time.  Cheri Hayes earlier transgression had been forgiven and forgotten.

“It requires some thought?”  Cheri was leaning past Deminov.  He was a spotlight hound and he wasn’t happy that talk had passed away from him.

“No, no.”  Joanne shook her heard.  “There’s no one right now.  I’m much too busy.”

“Well, I’m sure some handsome man will catch your eye soon.”

Joanne snorted a laugh through her nose.  “Yes, I’m sure.”

“So, last time you were here you couldn’t show us any of your talents.  This time we’re not letting you leave until you do, even if you do have an interview with the Morning Show.”

Joanne would be on several TV shows and Jason would watch as many as he could.

Thank you for reading Pas de Chat. Next Sunday, May 22, 2011, will be the final post of the novel. If you have any questions or comments, please, feel free to drop me a line.

Backstage was crowded and hot and noisy.  And insanely joyous.

When the curtain had fell for the final time, the audience rose to their feet and applauded. Incongruously, stiffly tuxedoed men and proper older women whistled and shouted. Jason shouted, as did Ian Dien next to him.

When the applause began to die down, the supporting cast came through the gap in the curtain to take their bows and receive their accolades.  Jason noticed that Emily looked tired and happy and relieved.  And when that round of clapping quieted, Joanne and Vladimir Deminov appeared.  The crowd exploded.  They had been loud earlier but that was nothing compared to when Deminov presented his star.

Joanne bowed and waved graciously.

Jason was ready to leave.  His head buzzed.  He wouldn’t sleep for hours yet, but he wanted to be away from the crowd.  Away from Ian Dien.

The older man turned toward him and handed him a small plastic badge with a metal alligator clip.

“What’s this?”

“Clip it on.  It’s so we can go to the reception backstage.”

Jason couldn’t refuse.  By the time he and Ian had made their way backstage, the dancers were half dressed and in the midst of taking off their makeup.  They were an unselfconscious contrast to the audience members.  A messy ritual of Champaign evened the groups.

Jason was quickly separated from Ian.  There wasn’t room to move and Jason decided that his best course would be to shake hands and congratulate anyone he bumped into.  His elbow hit Emily eventually.  She was holding two sticky glasses of Champaign and she pressed one into his hands.  Her hair was half-undone from its pins and her overdone makeup was still in place.  It gave her the sly air of a flapper from a black and white silent movie.

“You danced wonderfully,” Jason told her.

“Thanks.  Thanks for saying so.  The night is Joanne’s though.”

“Not entirely.”  It was a blatant lie, but Emily graceful let it slide.

“No offense, but you don’t seem like a ballet kind of guy.”

“I’m not,” said Jason, “I haven’t been to the ballet since grade school.”

“Really?  Well, I hope you enjoyed the performance.”  She touched glasses with Jason.  “Maybe we can make a fan out of you.”

“I think you already have.”

“Good!  Now all we need to do is convert the millions of others.  Hopefully this will help.”  She waved her hand around the room.  Someone else bumped into Emily and grabbed her attention.  She gave Jason another smile before she turned away.

Jason glanced through the crowd, but did not see Joanne or Ian Dien.  He made his way slowly to the back door.  It was opened in an effort to cool the room down.  Jason welcomed the cold and stepped out on to an elevated concrete dock.  There was a crowd below milling about and talking.  They had enough coats and booze to keep them warm.

“Jason?”  Joanne materialized from a deep shadow away from the door and the iron stairs leading to the alley.

“Hi.”  He wanted to say something else.  He wanted to banter with her as he had with Emily.

Joanne wasn’t wearing anything more than the last costume that she had worn on stage.  There wasn’t too much to it, mostly a few well placed pieces of material.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“No.  I’m…  I was too warm.  I needed to get away for a bit.”  She rubbed her hands together and tried to warm them with her breath.

“Have you seen Ian yet?  I’m here with Ian.”

She lifted her head and smiled.  Her green eyes picked up the little amount of light from inside.  “No, I haven’t.  It’s really nice to see a friendly face, Jason.”

Jason took off his tuxedo jacket and hung it over her shoulders.  He didn’t stand too close to her.  “So is it everything you thought it would be?  Dancing like that?”

“It’s amazing.  It really is.”  She wrapped his jacket around her tighter.  The material was like a wall between them, as thick as cinderblocks.

“Joanne!  Darling!  There you are!”  Deminov spotted her from the doorway.  He pushed past Jason and hardly gave him a second glance.  “There are docents who would like to meet you, my dear.”

“I just needed a little air.  I’ll be there in a moment.”  She was weary and reluctant.  Jason wanted to think that she wanted to linger here with him and talk more.  He knew that wasn’t the case.

“They are very important men.  And their wives of course.”  Deminov carefully removed Jason’s jacket from her shoulders and handed it back to Jason.  He didn’t touch Joanne at all.  “And it’s cold out here.  We don’t want you becoming ill.”

“No, I suppose not.”  She left with Deminov, but not before she nodded to Jason.

Jason went back to the party as well.  Emily had disappeared, but Ian Dien stood by the door to the stage.  He was ready to leave.

“So what do you think?” Ian asked when Jason was near enough.

“About what?”

“Will you accept my offer?”

Joanne was shaking hands with a wolfish man whose wife was younger and bejeweled.  She smiled at them, but her eyes never quite met theirs.  He couldn’t imagine not being as near as he could be to her.

“Yes,” said Jason.

Thank you for reading! Chapter Forty-Four, part 2 will be posted on May 15, 2011.

Annalise began to cry when the curtain fell after the first movement.  The tears had been welling inside since Joanne appeared on the stage.

Her daughter was radiant.  She moved with such beauty, but she was so changed.  Physically, yes.  But her bearing was different too.  There was a cold control that Annalise had never witnessed in her daughter’s dancing.

“She’s just like a little cat when she dances.”  Miss Stolstovich was tall and lithe with a tight bun of iron gray hair.  Annalise wonder how old she was.  Her body wasn’t past fifty, but she had a grave number of years in her eyes.  “But a wild cat, Mrs. Ellison.  There is much talent and ability, but there is no discipline in anything she does.”

“She can learn discipline, can’t she?”

The fights at school had become worse and worse.  Joanne wasn’t always the instigator, but it was becoming more common. She had decided the best way to fight back against the kids that teased her was to scare the wits out of them first.  Annalise couldn’t understand where it came from in her daughter.  She was a good girl at home.  She had done well with tutoring, but Richard wanted her to be social as well.  Getting Joanne into this ballet class was the last chance Annalise had before the courts would send her to a juvenile center.  How she had managed to convince the social workers that this would be the answer, Annalise wasn’t entirely sure.  They had given her a choice of rehabilitations and Joanne had picked this with her mother’s urging.

Miss Stolstovich didn’t say anything for a long time.  Joanne was dancing.  As the other little girls did their forms at the bar, Joanne moved to a music that was a beat faster than what was being played.  She basically did the forms, but added her own additions.  She ignored the tutoring of Miss Stolstovich’s assistant.  “Of course, she can learn discipline.  That’s what she’s here for.  Joanne, come here!”

Miss Stolstovich stood straight, her lips were tight and severe.  This woman would brook nothing less than the best from her girls.  Joanne stopped her dancing and padded over to Miss Stolstovich and Annalise.  Annalise didn’t like the rebellious lift of her chin.

“Why are in this class, Joanne?”  She tilted her head and there was challenge in her eyes.

“Because they’re making me be here.”  Joanne shivered in her leotard.  The room was cool and Joanne had worked up a bit of sweat.  Annalise resisted the urge to cover her daughter’s shoulders with the fluffy white towel she had brought with.

“That’s not what your mother told me.  She told me you were given a choice and you chose here.”

“Yeah, but they were making me choose.  The other things were dumb.  There was some macaroni art class or something.”

Annalise wasn’t used to this sort of talk from her daughter.  It had seemed that Joanne had happily chose ballet.

“But still, you chose.  You can still choose differently if you want, but if you stay here, you must take this seriously.  You will have to do as I say, as Jennifer says.  I see talent in you, Joanne, but you have to work with us.  If you don’t think that you can do that, you need to choose something different.”

Joanne’s looked Miss Stolstovich over, sizing her up again.  She bobbed her head.  “You think I have talent in ballet?”

“Yes, I do.”  Miss Stolstovich’s face softened.  “You move just like a little cat, Joanne.  Always balanced on your feet.”

“I’ll stay.  I’d like to stay.”

“Then go back to the bar, and do the forms like Jennifer asks.”

Joanne nodded again.  She noticed Annalise suddenly, standing away from Miss Stolstovich and blushed.  She headed back to the bar and began to do forms along with the rest of the girls.  Still, Annalise noticed small flourishes here and there that the others left out.

“Yes,” said Miss Stolstovich.  “Just like a little cat.  All the independence too.  She will be a lovely dancer.”

Joanne’s troubles didn’t end, but for a while she was calmer.  She focused on dancing until the day of her recital.

Richard put his arm around Annalise’s shoulders.  She tried to sit up straighter and quell her tears.  She was making a scene she was sure, and Richard hated scenes.  Through watery tears, she fumbled to find a Kleenex in her purse.  She carefully wiped at the lower eyelids and was dismayed at the mascara and eyeliner that came off on the tissue.  She wanted to think about anything aside from her daughter at this moment.

“Do you want to go?” Richard whispered.  He squeezed her shoulder.

Around them, the audience waited patiently for the second movement of the ballet to begin. A small amount of muttering commenced as couples discussed what they had just seen.  Others simply sat quietly, their eyes didn’t turn away from the curtain.  They barely even blinked.  At least one other woman nearby was crying too.  Annalise wondered what it was that made her cry.

“You can go if you want,” said Annalise.  She wouldn’t hold it against Richard.  He had made his decision long ago.  “I need to stay.”

He nodded.  “Yeah.”  He didn’t move his arm from around her and he didn’t leave.

Comments are welcome and always appreciated! Chapter Forty-Four will be posted on May 8, 2011.

The symphony hall was stylishly outfitted in dark maroon velvet and gleaming wood. Long, heavy curtains closed off the stage and lined the walls. Shadows clung to the fabric and dampened the low drone of conversation. The seats were similar to a movie theater’s but they were made of wood and metal instead of plastic. On each side there was a small niche manned by a porter, ready to attend to any sort of problem that might occur. Jason doubted that there was much need for them. There were no youngsters in the audience. Everyone was dressed in their best and the amount of diamonds that dripped off the women’s ears and throats would be more than tempting for most of the men Jason worked with in his private life.

The seats that Ian Dien had secured for them were sevens rows behind the symphony pit at center stage. They were as deep and as plush as they appeared, much to Jason’s surprise. He had half expected the thick cushion to be made of something akin to Styrofoam. If they were closer to the stage, they would have been at the foot level of the dancers. But at the seventh row, they were part of a gentle rise that elevated them slightly. He could see a small strip of the stage extending out from under the curtain. The wood was a lighter color, and not polished.

The stringed portion of the orchestra began to play gentle strains of music Jason wasn’t familiar with. It was light and reminded him of wind passing through a field of grass. Gradually, other instruments joined and added depth and a surprising amount of rhythm. After several minutes playing, the curtain began to rise. A small smattering of applause accompanied a pair of dancers. After a moment, the clapping died in disappointment. Neither of these dancers was Joanne Anderson.

Jason recognized the woman as Emily, the dark-haired girl in the gray dress that had flirted with him at the opening party. He was sure the male dancer had been at the reception as well. He was a small powerfully built man with knotted muscles. Jason opened the thick program he had been given and squinted at the print in the low light. He assumed he was the principal male dancer, David Gamble. Both wore fitting outfits that blended with the neutral tones of the background. Only Emily’s costume had the slightest addition of sparkle around the edges.

They began with a slow series of moves. With the help of her partner, Emily spun with utter deliberateness. He lifted her above his head and placed her down again with delicateness and balance. They performed similar moves again with slight variations, his hands always on her. When the two parted, it was to perform a series of running leaps from one side of the stage to the other. She was always in the foreground, and he in the back, outdistancing her in height and in difficulty of the motions. The strains of the music had not risen at all. They maintained their lulling nature and the theme of the music came back around to the beginning. The dancers, ingrained by practice to heed the musical cues, restarted the series as well. Back to twirls and lifts.

Jason’s eyes wandered from the stage. Near the left and right corners of the orchestra pit were men writing on tablets by the dim light.

Jason leaned close to Dien. “Are those reviewers?”

Dien tore his eyes from the motions on stage. “Yes.”

“So what would they be writing about this? Is any of this worthy of the hype yet?” Jason had tried to learn a small amount about ballet, but he’d never gotten around to reading the books that he’d picked up on the subject.

“There’s no chorus of dancers yet, which might be considered strange if this weren’t an original piece.” He spoke so softly, Jason wasn’t sure he heard every word. “The prima ballerina isn’t on stage yet, though much of what is going on shows off this young lady’s talents very well.”

“Emily is her name.”

Dien lifted his eyebrows, but didn’t look away from the stage. “This is also fairly vigorous for this early in the ballet. These two will be tired out soon.”

Jason nodded. The couple was in the middle of their third set of lifts and spins. Again these increased in difficulty from the last set, but they followed the same pattern. Jason noticed several other people around him fidgeting. The dancers began their jumping runs again. He was out-distancing her in height by nearly a full body length. When he landed, he had to spring forward just to keep his feet under him. A sheen of sweat had formed on his face and shoulders. On their fourth run, unexpectedly, a third dancer joined them from off stage. This dancer was furthest from the audience and could jump higher than either of other two dancers.

The entire audience gasped. The spectacle drew Jason’s breath away from him. He grabbed the arm of his chair. It was Joanne. During the third jump, she performed a twist in mid air. It was similar to one the man had done earlier, but higher and faster. After that jump, Gamble stopped dancing noticing the new addition in staged, exaggerated motions. It took slightly longer for Emily’s cue to realize that she had lost her partner. When she stopped dancing, there was room left on the stage for Joanne alone. With no pause, Joanne landed one of her jumps and began to spin on toe. The audience must have breathed again because there was another abrupt inhalation.

The music had changed too. It was faster and rougher now. The woodwinds and percussion added a dark depth to the light wind the strings had woven earlier. It wasn’t needed in Jason’s opinion. There was no doubting that Joanne was the wild force that had entered the lives of the couple. The other two dancers were huddled together in one corner of the stage. Emily gripping at her partners arm and chest in fear. In contrast, he watched with certain awe.

Joanne was beautiful in a way that Jason had never fathomed. Her hair, still short, was soft around her face. It moved with her, pushed about by the force of her spins and turns. But in the moments when she became still, it lay perfectly against her head. If there was any chaos in its style it fit perfectly. The outfit she wore didn’t hide the markings on her skin. The florets traveled down her neck and arms. The back of her dress was made of a sheer netting that allowed the audience to see their progress to the small of her back. The dress had a short asymmetrical skirt made form the same light material. Her legs were visible through the skirt, but it followed her movements as lightly as the violins still followed the blaring timpani. Her limbs were so long and perfect. Jason had never realized before how beautifully proportional they were to the rest of her body.

Every movement she made was deliberate. Jason had thought that Emily was graceful, but she was nothing compared to Joanne. It wasn’t simply technical mastery of the movements. Jason wouldn’t know if a pirouette was performed correctly or not, but he knew when it felt wrong. There was passion in Joanne. In her arms and legs. In her eyes. The mastery of the elements was only matched by the aching love she projected into even the smallest gesture.

Next to Jason, Ian Dien sat forward in his seat. The smile on his face was rapturous. All around Jason, men and women leaned toward the stage waiting for the next beauteous thing to occur. Gamble left Emily’s side and began to dance near Joanne. He mirrored her movements as best that he could. He tried to keep up, but became fatigued quickly. When Joanne eventually noticed him, she danced quick, playful circles around him. Occasionally, she nearly ran into him, only to dodge away like the wind carried her.

Gamble tried and tried, but there was no way he could manage to stay near Joanne unless she wanted him to be. He would try to touch her, but there was never any contact made. Whether it was planned or not, Jason didn’t know. His own knuckles were white and the tips of his fingers ached where they dug into the arms of his seat. Emily began to dance again as well. At first she danced alone, but she seemed broken, unable to do what she once could. She was as grounded as a butterfly with only one wing. Gradually she joined Gamble, helping him try to stay in step with Joanne. She lent her strength to him, although his eyes remained on Joanne. Joanne stayed playful and aloof. While they were a step behind, Joanne turned suddenly and jumped clean over the two. As the first act of the dance concluded, Joanne stopped for a moment to watch the man and woman dance, their roles reversed, before she darted off-stage.

The second part of Chapter Forty-Three will be posted on May 1, 2011. Thank you for reading!

The cufflinks were made of jade.  They had arrived the day after the party.  Jason didn’t know what to think of them.  They were from Dien, that much Jason was sure of, although they did not come with a card.  They were simple and elegant and went well with the tuxedo.  The gift was extravagant enough to make Jason uncomfortable.

He checked himself in the mirror in the bathroom.  He had gotten a haircut yesterday.  Too short for his taste.  The look reminded him of a thug in the courtroom, groomed and cleaned up, but still a thug under the suit.  He brushed off a piece of lint and checked to make sure his ballet ticket was in his pocket.  It was a slip of thin computer paper with a UPC bar as well as his seat number.  That really didn’t convey the amount of class that the New York Ballet Company wanted.  Instead it was folded in a piece of thick parchment, stamped with a gold seal.  The flowing calligraphy restated Jason’s seat number and urged him to remember his proper ticket.

The phone rang.

“Yeah?”

“Mr. Tobel?”

“Yes.”

“This is your driver.  I’m here and at your disposal, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Jason had bought a better coat, a long wool affair that was well cut.  He slipped it on and headed downstairs.  Again a limousine was waiting, long and black.  The chauffeur was waiting at the curb and opened the back door when Jason approached.  The seat was not empty.  Ian Dien was waiting for Jason.

“Good evening, Jason.  I thought we’d have a little dinner before we headed off to the ballet.”

Jason sunk into the seat across from Dien.  There was an open bucket of ice settled in a holder above the small refrigerator.  There was an open bottle of Champaign and Dien poured him a glass as the car took off.

“Dinner?”  Jason hadn’t expected to see Dien until after the ballet, if at all.  He considered trying to cut his ties to Dien completely.  Jason knew it would be wise to do so and to leave Joanne behind as well.  And it wasn’t an option either.

“Yes, there’s a few matters I still want to discuss with you.”

“Why don’t we just discuss them?  I’m getting tired of games.  And you don’t have to buy my complicity either.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“The cufflinks, the rent payments.”

“They are merely gifts, Jason.  I honestly expect nothing in return from you.  I don’t need to ‘buy’ you.  You don’t follow me, you follow Joanne.  I am just showing my appreciation.”

“You don’t need to.”

“No, I don’t.  I debated on the cufflinks.  I thought they might have been too extravagant, but I thought you would find some irony in them.  As for the rent, it’s in my best interests to make sure you are well set up here in New York.  It can be a harsh city.”

“Why is it in your best interest?”

“As I said, there’s another matter to discuss.”  He didn’t say any more until they settled in at the restaurant.

They were seated in a small, private area, away from the other diners.  The clientele was similar to what Jason had encountered at the ballet company party.  Older elegant men and women were sprinkled with perfect-faced younger wealth.  Jason has passed a line of similar guests as he followed Dien to their seats.  Apparently, Ian Dien had priority reservations.

The dining area was replete with mahogany and red and gray upholstery.  The table was set with plates, flatware and glasses with a flowering branch that decorated the middle.  The chairs were more uncomfortable than they looked.  A small booklet served as a menu.

Dien ordered a wine after listening to the waiter’s litany of evening specials.  Jason was not familiar with many of the dishes.

“The salmon is excellent,” Dien advised.

“So what is it you want to talk to me about?”  Jason moved the centerpiece out of the line of his sight.

Ian sighed.  “Fine, we’ll cut to business.”  He folded his hands on the table and looked at Jason for a long time.  Long enough that Jason began to feel very uncomfortable under the older man’s gaze.

“Be honest with me, Jason. Is there any chance, any at all, that you will ever leave where Joanne is?”

The waiter came back with the wine.  He uncorked the bottle at the table.  The bottle and label weren’t as old as Jason expected them to be.  Dien did his expected duties and tasted the wine before it was officially poured.  Jason just waved the offer away.  He didn’t know wine and he would only be a fool if he attempted to pretend.

“Well?” Dien asked once the waiter had left.

“No.”  Jason took a drink of the wine and wished it were something stronger.  “I don’t see myself going anywhere.”

“You do understand that she will never come back to you because you are not the thing that holds her?”

Jason nodded.

“And even if you are let into her graces again, it will never be as it was.”

That was a harder thought to wrap his mind around.  Jason hadn’t given up on that yet.  She would not come back to him, but maybe if he was around her enough, she would realize that she missed him.  She would let him back into her life.

Dien was following his thoughts.  “It won’t happen, Jason.”

“What do you know of it?  Were you her lover once and you know what it’s like to be cast aside?”

“My involvement started long before Joanne.  She let me be her keeper and an instrument of her transformation.  Only Joanne has been used more than I.”

Jason shook his head.

The waiter returned briefly for their orders.  He seemed torn between interrupting and doing his job.

“The salmon,” Jason ordered.

“The butter sautéed with asiago or… Of course, sir.  The asiago.”

Ian ordered something using a string of French words that Jason didn’t understand.  His smile allayed the waiter’s fears, but he still scurried off like a frightened rat.

“There’s two, Jason,” Dien said when they were alone again.  “I’m not sure if you realize that entirely.  There is Joanne the woman.  The physical form.  And then there is the glorious part of her, the part that is older than you or I.  That’s what you and I have fallen in love with.”

Jason shook his head, slowly at first, but with gradual increase of speed.  “No, that’s not what I fell in love with.”

“They are one and the same, Jason.  If anything, she has given Joanne strength in the more recent days.  And it might have been Joanne that began loving you, but it was her that ended it.”  Dien smiled at Jason’s disbelief and sipped his wine.

“I don’t know what to say, Dien.  I don’t believe it.”

“That’s a lie.  Deep down you know it wasn’t a broken, weak girl from Seattle you loved.”

For awhile, Jason couldn’t look at Ian.  He knew it was true.  “She’s extraordinary.”

“Yes, she is.  And the whole world will know it soon.”

The waiter brought a thick cream soup, replacing the empty bowls before Jason and Ian.  Jason stared at it and the array of spoons and forks before picking a utensil at random.  The soup was bland and floury and Jason wasn’t sure if it was the soup or his sense of taste.  He ate three spoonfuls before he decided his stomach wasn’t happy with it.  Dien finished his in silence.  The waiter must have been waiting within eye shot because he appeared immediately after Dien was finished and brought a sparse salad of greens with a side of cheese.  The tangy smell of the dressing made Jason’s stomach rumble.  The wine tasted especially good with the salad.  Dien didn’t share his enthusiasm and picked at the leaves.

“I have a proposition for you.”  Dien washed down a small bite of red tinged lettuce leaves with more wine.

“Really?”

“So much disbelief.  You don’t need to be suspicious.”

“It serves me well.  And I probably would have been better off if I had been more suspicious in the first place.”

Dien ignored him.  “I need someone to help me.”

“With what?”

“Taking care of her.”

“She doesn’t seem to need us.”

“Seem would be the operative word.”

“If she’s some sort of higher being, why does she need us?”

“Think about it for a moment.  She had been left behind by her worshipers.  Hunters poach her kin and industry tears down her home.  She knew nothing of the world.  So many things are confusing.  So many subtleties to life that we take for granted.”

“Like the law enforcement system?  Are you wanting me to help you cover up other things she’s done?  That she might do?”

Dien put down his fork and shoved the plate away an inch.  “I don’t expect that there will ever be problems like that again.”

“How sure are you?”  Jason finished his salad and the waiter appeared to clear the plates.  He left them with more cheese as well as thin slices of light, crispy bread.  Neither of them made any move to eat it.

“Ninty-nine percent.”

“Why?”

“The problems have been caused because there has been a struggle within Joanne.  That struggle has ended.”

“So you’re saying she can control herself now?”

“Yes.”

“What do you need me for?”

“To help me watch over her.  Smooth her way when it needs to be.”

“How much have you done, Dien?”

“I’ve gotten her jobs.  I’ve vouched for her, so quietly that it wasn’t even known.  It’s been easier since she left home.”

“Was that your doing?  Her leaving her family?”

Dien shook his head.  “No.  And in fact, I lost track of her for awhile.  That gave me more than a few gray hairs.”  He picked up a piece of bread but put it down again.  “There’s no use in her being incarcerated, put away, kept away from those who would adore her.  It would kill her now as it never did before.”

“You’ve had her pardoned in the past?”

“Only of juvenile offenses.  I was a little bird in the ear of many.  I recommended that she be given some other outlet.  Her parent’s money didn’t hurt matters any.  Her mother has worked just as hard for her, if not more so.  It was her mother’s idea to put her into a dance class.”

“Why don’t you contact her mother?  You two could be quite a pair.  Her mother and her father figure.”  Jason caught sight of the waiter fidgeting in the shadows.  Jason took a piece of dark yellow cheese from the plate and nibbled it.  Like everything else it was tailor fit for the wine he was drinking.

“That’s not an option.”  Dien fingered the tines of a glowing silver fork that lay next to his plate.

“Why?  Does she know of your involvement?  Does she know you’ve helped her daughter become someone else?”

“No, but she would see me and find out.  I was her keeper.  I let her have Joanne.”

“The thing at the zoo.  You were involved.”

“Of course.”

“She could have killed Joanne.  Do you know what jaguars can do?”  Again anger welled in Jason’s chest.  A little girl next to a wild cat.  How would it be, Jason wondered, if that little girl had been one of my sisters?

“I sent you the books, remember?”

The waiter finally came in carrying two large plates with a small amount of food set in the middle.  Jason recognized his as the salmon and cheese sauce after investigating it for a moment.  The bread and cheese was left on the table with an annoyed snort.

“I don’t think so, Dien.  I don’t think I want any part of this.”

“No part of Joanne’s future?  Are you sure?”

“I’ll find my own way.”

“Why don’t think about it, Jason.  Before you make any decision.  See her dance.  See what she really is.  And think about what place you have in her life.”

The salmon tasted bland on Jason’s palate.

Chapter Forty-Three will be posted on April 24, 2011. Comments are always appreciated, and thank you for reading!

The crowd frightened Annalise.  It was a huge, crushing crowd.  The noise made her want to press her hands over her ears and shut her eyes tight.  Richard took her hand and squeezed it. He stood behind her a step, more protective than Annalise had expected him to be.  She twisted her head around.

“Are we in the right place?”  She had to shout to be heard over the crowd’s white noise.

“Yes.  This is it.  It has to be.”

Richard’s attempts to reach Joanne hadn’t been any more successful than Annalise’s.  He had taken the information Annalise had gathered and made the same sort of calls.  He had tried his own contacts in New York as well in order to approach from a more roundabout manner.  He had encountered just as many high walls.  It had been his idea to try to see her at a public appearance.

“Don’t worry,” he had assured her.  “I’ll get us in.”

The crowd pushed them forward.

This was a morning show.  In summer months, it wasn’t unusual to have a crowd large enough to spill over the sidewalk, but to but today the wind howled down the streets and the clouds hung low. The crowd, huddling toward the door and against the glass windows of the studio, was phenomenal.

Annalise and Richard slipped in just barely before men in security uniforms began turning others away.  The crowd filled the roped-off area inside.  Many held out signs in order to catch the attention of the newscasters.

“This way,” said Richard.  He steered her to the left and skirted the edge of the crowd.  She and Richard were dressed better than others.  Both looked more like they should be guests instead of sign-holding tourists.

“Who’s the other celebrity on today?” Annalise asked.  “Certainly, these people aren’t here just for Joanne.”

“I don’t know.”  Richard took the lead.  When they reached the furthest edge of the crowd, Richard bent close to her ear.  “We’re going to wait here.”

Annalise could see three plush chairs set up where an interview would take place.   There was also a cleared section of the studio lined with wood parquet.

A show producer came down and explained to the crowd what their role would be.  Annalise ignored him and watched the many entrances to the catacomb of backstage areas.  Joanne would be on this show, along with the choreographer.  They would be on in the second half of the show with this crowd that doubled as a live audience.

Annalise caught a glimpse of a tall woman in long slacks backstage.  Her honeyed-red hair shimmered in the overhead studio lights and Annalise knew that it was Joanne.

A flashing sign above the interview area urged the crowd to applause.  Annalise could only hold on to Richard’s arm with vise-like ferocity as the group erupted.

“That’s her, that’s her.”  She said it to Richard, to anyone who would listen.

“Stay here.  I’m going to go talk to that guy.”  He pointed to a producer wearing headphones.  “Stay here,” he repeated.

Annalise nodded.  She stood still for a moment until she saw that Joanne was alone just off stage.  The crowd was cheering in response to the weatherman who was easily making jokes with them.  Richard had caught the attention of the producer that watched over this portion of the studio.  Annalise stepped around the barricade and rushed to where Joanne was.  If anyone in the crowd noticed, they did nothing to stop her.

Joanne saw her out of the corner of one green eye and turned quickly to meet her.

“Joanne?”  Annalise feared that her daughter would turn again and run and that would be the end of it.  There was no place to go.  This was merely an alcove, partially shielded from the audience.

“What are you doing here?”  Joanne seemed taller, or maybe it was that Annalise felt smaller and weakened by the chase.  Her daughter stood tall with her head balanced perfectly above her shoulders and her shoulders easily in line with her hips.  She wore long loose slacks over a set of toe shoes.  Her blouse too was light and airy.  Its long sleeves nearly covered her hands.  She held a clipboard.  The papers on it were proposed questions that might be asked.  Some of them were crossed out with a red pen.  Others were highlighted.

“I…”  Annalise shrugged.  “I came to see you, Joanne.  I thought you’d want to see me.”

Joanne shrugged.  It was a perfect, elegant gesture, but cold.  “It’s been a long time.”

“Where have you been?  I’ve been so worried.  If you wanted something else in life, all you needed to do was say it, Joanne.  If you needed to be away from me, we could have worked that out too.”  She didn’t want to accuse her daughter.  She wanted to stay calm.  Her chin trembled as she waited for Joanne to say some thing to calm her fears.

“I didn’t know what I wanted.  I just wanted to forget the past and move forward.”  There was no fear in her eyes today, but Annalise didn’t want to look at them for long.  They were as hard and unyielding as the green stones that made up the choker she wore.

“We can do that.  We can do that together.”  Annalise smiled and reached out her hand.

Joanne shook her head.  “I’ve already done that.”

“Then we can start again.  New.  Here in New York.”

Confusion brought a frown to Joanne’s face.  She shook her head a second time, but there was uncertainty there.

“What are you doing here, ma’am?”  A second producer had spotted Annalise, out of place with his itinerary of what should be happening.

“I’m here to see my daughter,” said Annalise.  She watched Joanne’s eyes for reaction, but still there was little to see there.  If there was any chance to reach her, it was gone now.  A hard mask had fallen back into place.

“Miss Anderson?”  The producer was three inches shorter than Joanne, and he easily deferred to her.

“I don’t have time to speak to you today.”  Joanne’s attention shifted back to the clipboard.  “Give your number to my assistant and I’ll call you when I can.”  She turned away.

“Please, I can give you my number, Joanne.  I’m staying at Janice’s house.  You remember your Aunt Janice, don’t you?”  She spoke quickly, loud enough to be heard over the crowd.  The producer had taken her gently by the arm.  “And your father is here too.  He came to see you, he wants to see you, Joanne.  Please.”

“Ma’am, please lower your voice.”  The producers presence on her arm became more notable, and Annalise pulled away.

“Joanne?”

“Please, show this woman to my assistant,” Joanne muttered and flipped a sheet of paper over the top of the clipboard.

“Ma’am, I’d rather not have to call security.”

“Annalise!”  Richard was there too now, angry, at the edge of Annalise’s crumpling vision.

When she came around, Annalise was laying on a nondescript couch in a plain walled room.  For an instant, she thought that maybe they had carted her off to an institution.  The place had that feel until her eyes focused and realized the carpet and the couch itself needed a good vacuuming.  Richard was leaning over her.  He had one of her hands in his.

“What happened?”

“You fainted and the studio took pity on us.”  Richard smiled thinly.

“Joanne?”  Annalise tried to sit up straighter, but her head swum and she eased gingerly back against the couch.

“She doesn’t want to see us, Lise.  At least not today.”  He tried to smile again and couldn’t.

“Did you give someone our number?  Some assistant?”

He nodded.  “I did.”

There was a monitor in the room, high in the far corner, over Richard’s shoulder.  It’s sound was muted.  Annalise’s vision cleared and she could see Joanne standing before the interview chairs.  She was smiling, affable.

“Turn that up,” she said to Richard.  Richard hesitated, but did as she asked.

“Are you sure you can’t give us just a little taste of some moves?”  The interviewer was a blonde middle-aged woman.  She shook her shoulders and hips when she asked.

“Um,” Joanne smiled and the crowd clapped and cheered.

“Or are we going to get you in trouble with your boss?”

“You’re definitely going to get me in trouble.”  She had never smiled at Annalise like that.  It was conspiratorial and fun.  Joanne hadn’t smiled much after the incident with the jaguar when she was little.  That had changed their lives in ways Annalise couldn’t put her finger on.

“Oh please?”  The interviewer clapped and the audience renewed their applause too.

Joanne smiled and nodded.  The crowd cheered.  “I’ll do something small.”  She took her spot at the middle of the wood parquet.  She did a plie to ready herself.

“The pirouette?”

Joanne nodded.

“I’ve been told that you can hold a pirouette longer than anyone.”

Joanne shook her head.  “Probably not anyone.”

“Well, we’ll be the judges.”  The crowd clapped.

Joanne took another plie and went up in her toes.  With a quick motion she began to spin.  Her legs were perfectly positioned.  The slacks she wore were fitting enough to give her complete motion.  And she spun, fast.  Minute changes in her balance kept the momentum going.  Her body spun nearly as fast as the figure skaters Annalise had watched during the Olympics.  Joanne kept her head straight instead of focusing on one thing.  She began with her arms in an arch in front of her and very slowly brought them above her head.  She had spun for a full minute and a half before she wound down and performed a small jump.  Annalise had the feeling that she could have remained that way indefinitely, spinning longer than possible.

“That’s amazing!”  The crowd was clapping wildly and whistling.  “And you’re not dizzy?”

“No, no.”  Joanne simply smiled.  The humility was an act.  She knew she was marvelous.

Thank you for reading! Chapter Forty-Two will be posted on April 17, 2011.

“Would you like to be introduced to our choreographer?”

“What?”  Jason remembered his manners.  “Pardon me?”

“Our choreographer, Mr. Deminov.  I could introduce you to him, if you’d like?”  Emily was still smiling at him.  She was trying hard to be friendly and interesting.

“I already know Mr. Deminov.”  Her Champaign glass was empty.  It would have been easy for him to keep the conversation going.  He could get her a new glass.  He could smile and ask her instead to introduce him to someone else that she knew.  He didn’t.

“You’re a lucky man.  Mr. Deminov is not someone who is available to many.”

Jason made no comment.  Instead, he looked through the crowd.  Dien was off talking to an older lady in too many sequins.  Near the door, he caught sight of a packed crowd forming.  “If you’ll excuse me.”  He left Emily standing there in her elegant gray dress.

Joanne was stunning.  Jason’s mouth went dry.  Her burgundy dress caught every curve.  It did nothing to hide the markings of her skin.  In fact, it was so low cut in the back that everyone could follow the dense pattern as it flowed away from her short-cropped hair.  He had never noticed how the slight variations in her hair color nearly matched the flowerets of color that painted her skin.  Maybe it was just the light.

She wore an intricate bangle of jade and gold on one wrist, but no other jewelry.  Someone in the crowd handed her a large bouquet of roses that nearly matched the color of her dress.  She smiled graciously, but hardly looked at them.  Vladimir Deminov stood behind her and applauded her with the rest of the crowd.

Emily walked past Jason and as she did, she gave him a nod of complete understanding.  Every eye was on Joanne.  Jason couldn’t hear the music and wouldn’t have been surprised to see men and women with violin and violas struggling to get a glimpse of Joanne.  The director of the company, a short and hyper man, was making some sort of speech, but Jason couldn’t hear.

“This is her true natural environment, Jason.”  Ian Dien put a hand on Jason’s shoulder.  “Look at her.  Have you ever seen her this happy?  Even when she was with you, she was never like this.”

It was true.  She was beaming, luminescent.  She was soaking up the adoration of the crowd.  They were here to see her, and her alone.  Even a woman like Emily watched her quietly and without jealousy.  If Joanne saw him at the back of the crowd, her eyes didn’t stop as she glanced from one face to the next.

“This is our place, isn’t it?  Not too near to her.”

Dien nodded.  “Yes.  Always.”

He skirted the crowd and Jason followed him.  The hotel bar was nearly empty.  There were low shades that kept light isolated to the small tables that dotted the area.

“Scotch of a decent brand, please,” said Ian.  “Make that two.”

Jason sat down at one of the tables and Ian set a Scotch down in front of him.  The older man smiled.  “Don’t be so glum.  There are worse positions in the world than ours.”

“You speak as though we are two of a kind.”

“Not always.  I remember trying to run you off early on.  But you weren’t deterred.  That’s when I knew that you’d love her.”

Jason shook his head and half drained his glass.  “Is everything a manipulation by you, Mr. Dien?”

He smiled broadly.  “Things could have gone differently.  You could have been a problem and I would have had to deal with you in a different manner.”

“What?  Do you have an entire crime syndicate working for you?”  Jason couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Ian Dien making men offers they couldn’t refuse.  His amusement faded when he saw that Dien wasn’t responding to his joke.

“I have my resources, Jason.  I know people and I’ve found that most people will respond to money.”

Jason raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Oh, I don’t require too many unlawful things.”

“Just some obstruction of justice, maybe a little extortion.  Hell, we’ll add some grand larceny to keep you liquid.”

Ian Dien was still not amused.  “Let he that is sinless cast the first stone.”

“Yeah,” said Jason.  He finished his drink.

“As I’ve said in the past, I’ve done what I’ve done to protect her and to clear her way.  She’s a grand being, beyond the shell that is Joanne Ellison.”  Dien’s voice was dreamy and Jason suddenly felt uncomfortable sitting across from him.  Whatever spell Dien had cast around him, he broke it as easily. “And don’t worry about the money.  I’m old wealth, Jason.  I collect more interest in a year than you’ll make in thirty.”

“Tell me something then, since you’ve been ‘keeping the way clear’ for her.  How did she kill those men?”

Dien scowled at him.  He hadn’t touched his Scotch.  The glass sweated through the thin napkin the bartender had given to him with the drinks.  “I’m surprised at you.  Maybe you do belong in vice if you can’t put together some simple clues.  And you consider yourself a detective.”

“Don’t give me that crap, Dien.  I’m not in the mood.”  The bartender had noticed Jason’s empty glass and brought a second tumbler.  Dien moved it away from Jason before he could take a drink from it.

“No. Why don’t you start using the brain you have and put some things together?”

“Like what?  All you’ve given me is National Geographic and some old book on leopard gods.”  Jason lowered his voice.  “Am I supposed to believe that Joanne is some shape shifter?  That she turns into a cat and kills people?”

Ian folded his hands in front of him and waited.  He slid the drink back across the table toward Jason.

“Not a cat.  That’s impossible.  She didn’t have any knives though.  Or if she did, they’re gone now.”  Jason rubbed where the cut had been on his arm.  It had healed over and left a thin pucker that would fade eventually.

“Natural weaponry, Jason.  No, Engleman heard many tales.  Transforming into a jaguar is…probably not possible.  But to take on some aspects of that animal when chosen to?”

Jason nodded.  “The spots.  The deep eyes.”

“The claws.”

Jason shook his head.

“Is it that unbelievable?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do.”  Ian took up his glass and finally drank.  There was something slightly regretful in the tone of his voice.

Claws.  She had ripped flesh and muscle.  Chris Bellman has died from blood loss, his bed and floor saturated.  Javier Rodriguez’ life had poured out onto the Chicago pavement.  “Why did she kill them?”

“Accident.”

“Really?  You do know about both men, don’t you?”

“Yes.  There’s been a struggle within her.  For years, it’s been happening.  And control is a very hard thing to master.  She’s gotten much better since high school.  If you saw her juvenile record, you’d see a different trend.”

“She’s not in the system.”  Jason smiled tightly.  “She changed her name.  She’s always been this way then.”

“Not always.  She was chosen.”

Jason rubbed his forehead.

“You’ve walked into something greater than yourself, Jason.  Joanne was chosen and I made it happen.”

“No, I’ve walked into the raving of an insane man.”

“Detective, Detective, think about the evidence.”  Jason shook his head and started to stand up.  “And if you don’t believe it now, Jason, wait until you see her dance and tell me if she isn’t truly divine.”

Thank you for reading and, please, feel free to comment. Chapter Forty-One will be posted on April 10, 2011.

The ballroom was decorated in tones of gray and silver.  And where neither of those colors were in evidence, there was crystal.  The only colors in the room were from the women’s dresses and the occasional men’s necktie.  Ian Dien led Jason through the crowd.  Somewhere was a string quartet played Mozart.

Dien was social enough to jump right into conversations.  He introduced Jason to some distinguished, rich-looking couples.  Their names ran together, immediately forgettable to Jason.  A second group of people was notably different from the middle-aged rich.  They were lithe and barely old enough to drink.  They mingled but were decidedly apart from the rest of guests.  All were well and stylishly dressed.  Jason looked for Joanne among them, but didn’t see her.

“Relax,” said Ian when he had disengaged from a pointless conversation with a stout man and his equally plump wife.  “She hasn’t arrived yet.  She is the toast of this party and therefore will be fashionably late.  Why don’t you have a drink?”  He snagged two glasses of Champaign from off the gleaming tray of a passing waiter and handed one to Jason.

“How do you know these people?”

Dien shrugged.  “It’s just the same as how you can walk into any bar in this city and deal with its denizens.  A little knowledge goes a long way.”

“Are you from this social class?”

“No, I’ve just trained myself to be here, to fit in here.”

Jason nodded.  He could understand that.  “But you do have money, and quite a lot for a former small business owner.  How big of a hit did you take, selling that coffee shop?”

“Jason, Jason.  This isn’t the time to talk of such things.  But I do have my resources and I’m very careful as to what I do with them.”

He smiled and shook hands with another man who might have been a New York version of Dien himself.  “Wallace Carrington,” he stated to both in kind.  Jason smiled politely and shook hands when Ian introduced him.

A lovely woman with a crown of dark brown curls sidled up to the group.  She was small with well-proportioned arms and legs.  She wore a dress of silvery-gray silk that brought out the blue tinge of her eyes.  She moved lightly and quietly.  She was one of the dancers.

“I’m Emily,” she said.  She offered her hand to Ian first and then the other man.  She shook Jason’s hand last.  “I’m really glad so many people are here.  It’s wonderful to see the ballet supported so well.”  She gazed at each of the men, but held Jason’s eyes the longest.

“It’s our pleasure to do so,” said Dien.  “There still must be patrons of the arts, otherwise the arts would fall by the wayside.”

“This year should have us set for a while,” Emily answered.

“Well, we all hope the season will be worth the hype.”  Carrington took another glass of a passing tray.

“I assure you it will be,” said Emily.

“Any chance you can give us a hint about the big surprise?”

“No, I’m sorry.  I can’t.”  She smiled charmingly, and Jason noticed that one of her teeth was very crooked.  “We all had to sign a non-disclosure agreement, in fact.”

“Really?”

“Yes, just like if it were a movie set.”

“It must be rather unnerving,” Dien commented.  “Not being able to speak about what you’re working on with your loved ones?”

“It’s not that bad, really.”  She spoke to Jason only.  Her eye flitted back and forth between his mouth and his eyes.  “We’ve been pretty busy working.  It hasn’t left down time to even talk about it at all.”

—###—

Jason knocked the snow off his boots as he entered the lobby.  He was tired and cold.  It had been a long day of meetings with the captain and uncooperative witnesses.  The snowstorm had hit at four in the afternoon, just in time to slow up traffic.  There were moments when Jason wasn’t sure if he would make it home before midnight.  The elevator was out and Jason slogged his way up the stairs.

It was well past eleven, but the apartment was brightly lit.  A duffel bag and a travel carry-on were laying on the couch.  Coats and shoes were in a pile near the hallway.

“Joanne?”  He slipped off his boots at the door.

Joanne was in the bedroom packing another bag.

“What’s going on?” he asked.  She hadn’t even said hello to him.

“I’m leaving.”

“Where to?”  He tried to remember if some trip had been planned, but nothing came to mind.  Joanne was dressed as though she were ready to leave.  She was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt.  He had expected her to be in bed or bundled on the couch watching TV.

“I’m going to stay with a friend.”  She grabbed a handful of underwear from her drawer and stuffed it into a second duffel bag she was holding.

“What?”

“I’m leaving, Jason.”  She stopped and faced him.  Her face was neutral and factual.  “You can stay here in this apartment.  It’s paid until the end of the month.  Then you can decide what you want to do with it.”

“What?”  His head spun with fatigue.

“This isn’t working out.”

Jason shrugged off his coat.  She always had the heat turned up and he was beginning to sweat under the layers of his winter clothes.  He couldn’t remember having a fight with Joanne last night or even in the last couple of days.  Honestly, he hadn’t seen her much.  He had come home late yesterday too.  She had already been asleep then.  They had eaten a quick breakfast with each other this morning.

“Is this because we fight a lot?  I mean things are always fine afterwards, aren’t they?”  They compromised.  They worked things out.  Didn’t they?  “I’m completely confused, Joanne.”

“It’s not working out,” she repeated.

“Like hell!”  He threw his coat on the bed and he followed Joanne back and forth across the room as she gathered what she needed.  “What’s not working?”

“Everything.”

“You’re kidding me.”  He often had dreams of her leaving.  Usually they were connected to the books Dien had given him.  In the dream, she would stand at the foot of the bed and scream at him.  The words would be unintelligible, but she would be holding Transmogrifications and rip pages from it.  When she was finally done with the book, she would whirl away and disappear through the bedroom door.  And then she would be gone, nowhere to be found in his dream world.

“I’m working long hours, you’re working long hours.  We hardly see each other.”  She zipped up the bag and left it by the coats and shoes in the hallway.

“I don’t mind that.  I enjoy when we are together.”  Jason followed and continued to get in her way.

“Except that you question every moment that I haven’t accounted for.”

“Well, since we both work so much I like to know when you’re free.”

“It’s more than that.”  If she said anything else it was muffled as she walked into the closet.

“Maybe I have reason to think so, the way you’re acting.  So who are you staying with, Joanne?”

Joanne grabbed a suitcase down from the top shelf in the closet.  It slid with a loud hallow sound.  “I wouldn’t have to act any different, Jason.  You’re jealous and paranoid.”

“What?”

“You grill me with twenty questions every chance you get.”  She flopped the suitcase down on floor and clicked it open.

“You’re overstating.  I just want know what’s going on with you.”

“What’s going on with me is the same thing that is always going on with me.”  She rose and started taking clothes off the hangers and laying them in the suitcase.  “I go and I work hard.  I am dancing more than I ever had and it’s hard work, even for me.”  She moving quicker with every word.  The packing was becoming more and more messy.  “I come home and all you have for me is to grill me like some criminal you deal with all day.  You’re suffocating me with this.”

Jason ground his teeth together.  “Joanne, I didn’t realize I was doing that.”  He wracked his brain and couldn’t produce one instance of when he had interrogated her when she arrived home from anywhere.  It didn’t matter.  He’d admit to it.  He’d admit to being wrong if it caused her to stop for only a second and reason with him.

“You do.  You are.”  She kept her back to him.  She tugged a blouse off a hanger and Jason heard it rip.

“Bullshit.”  She didn’t react.  She kept moving clothes into the suitcase without a thought to the condition of the clothes.  “Bullshit!”  He grabbed her arm.  He wanted to see her.  He wanted to see what was in her eyes.

She spun quickly on her toes and flung his hand away from her.  In training, Jason had worked with female recruits.  He had never been bowled over by one.  Rarely had one ever gained the upper hand without him letting her.  Joanne knocked him off balance and was standing over him before he could catch his breath.  His arm burned, but he couldn’t look away from her.

She wasn’t crying.  Her eyes were as cold and hard as the ice that had formed on their windowpane.  Their deep green was wild and unfathomable.  Her teeth were bared in a grimace.  She blinked and pulled away.  She took three steps away from him and crossed her arms across her chest.  She had been painting her nails a respectable pearly pink lately.  He watched as they left a swatch of reddish brown on the gray shirt she was wearing.  She kept moving away from him until she bumped into the back of the closet.

“Leave,” she whispered.

“Joanne, please, let’s talk about this.”  He pushed himself up and stood in the doorway of the closet.

“Go!”  She stomped her feet and hugged her arms closer to her chest.  “Go, please.  I’ll be gone when you return.”  Still no tears.

Later when he inspected the wound on his arm her expected to find a welt, but instead there was a cut that had shredded his shirt.  The left the sleeve of his shirt crusted with blood.

Thank you for reading! The second part of Chapter Forty will be posted on April 3, 2011. My original calculations for Pas de Chat were incorrect. The novel will finish in May.

Nathaniel Smith was flipping through the Sunday paper when he came across a color picture of Joanne Ellison on the front of the Arts & Entertainment section.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he muttered.  The picture was in color and predominant.  She was in the middle of a leap, her arms and legs in positions that Nathan knew were possible but couldn’t possibly be comfortable.  She was as trim and toned as she ever had been and her muscles bulged slightly from their efforts.

Chicago Phenom Takes New York by Storm, the headline read.  A second picture showed Joanne holding a pose on the tips of her toes.  Another picture featured her in front of a group of other dancers.  All were dressed in similarly traditional ballet garb, stiff frilly tutus and shoulder baring tops.  The third picture on the page was of a smiling man standing before the dancers, Joanne not among them.

Nathan perused the article.  They named Joanne as a Chicago native, a student here all her life, although the latest studio that she had trained at could not name where she had been previously.  She was lately seen attached to a New York socialite.  Apparently, everything concerning the New York City Ballet’s new season was very hush-hush and the implication was that Joanne’s presence was instrumental to it.  She was referred to all throughout the article as Joanne Anderson.  Nathan couldn’t help but chuckle.

Nathan rose from his kitchen table and picked up the phone.  The first number he dialed was Ian Dien’s.  After several tones, a high tone screeched in his ear and a loud, recorded voice blared.  “The number you have dialed has been disconnected.  Please check your number and try again.”  Nathan did indeed try the number again, but got the same response.  The second number he called was Annalise Ellison’s.  After one ring, an answering machine picked up.

“This is Annalise Ellison.  I’m away from my phone right now, but I urge you to leave me a message.”  There was a long pause before the machine beeped in his ear.  He hung up without leaving a message.  He would bet that Annalise already knew that Joanne was in New York.  And that Ian Dien was in New York too.

* * * * *

Annalise hung up the phone and gritted her teeth.

Janice poked her head into the room.  “Nothing?”

“No, nothing.”  She felt tears well up in her eyes.  “I’m so close.  And, and nothing!”

Janice glanced behind her to make sure the kids were occupied.  Annalise had been disruptive to her sister-in-law’s family.  When she was upset and cried, it set the youngest daughter off and that caused an avalanche of unhappy children.  She tried to keep her actions away from the family.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.  She tried to keep her sobs in and choked on them.

Janice came over and sat down next to Annalise on the guest room bed.  She put an arm around her shoulders.  “It’s okay.  Don’t worry about it.”

“I just can’t believe no one will let me even talk to her!  I’m her mother!”  She tried to keep her voice down.

“We’ll find a way.  Now come on.  Let’s get you cleaned up.  Richard’s going to be here soon.”  Janice rubbed her back and urged her to rise.

“Oh god, that’s tonight, isn’t it?  I don’t think I can.  I’m so worn.  I can’t.”

“No, you’ll be fine, Annalise.  Come on.”  She took Annalise’s hands and tugged on them.  “I’ll help you through it.”

Annalise rose up, but didn’t follow Janice to the connecting bathroom.  Instead she tidied the spread out mess of papers and files that covered most of the bed.  Phone numbers of ballet members, docents, private detectives.  Annalise hadn’t yet decided to take rash actions.  She would go to the media soon, if no other avenue reaped any success.  She put the phone back on the bedside table.

Janice had run a sink of warm water and soaked a wash rag.  “Just relax.  I’m sure it won’t be too bad.  And maybe Richard can help.”

“Yeah.”  Annalise wasn’t sure that was a comfort.  She couldn’t help the hollow feeling of failure that sat in the pit of her stomach.  Janice had been so good to her, but there was something unsaid.  Richard would make it all better.

Annalise hadn’t seen Richard in over five years.  He had visited briefly after Joanne had disappeared.  He had been concerned, of course, but in that dutiful way.  He had long ago given up on his problem daughter and his problem daughter’s entrenched mother.

Annalise washed her face and reapplied a little makeup.  She patted down her hair while Janice laid out fresh clothes for her.  It was a simple blouse and pantsuit.

“It will be alright,” said Janice.  “I’m sure of it.  You’re so close.  It has to be alright.”

Annalise nodded.

Richard Ellison had visited his sister often enough that his nieces were excited to see him.  They hugged his legs as he presented each of them with a small present.  He smiled at them fondly and Annalise remembered how he had been with Joanne before all of it had happened.  He had gotten involved with the zoo in Seattle partially because of Joanne.  And partially to boost his own ego.

“Annalise,” he said when he saw her.  His face was thinner than she remembered, and pale.  Only the cold gave him patches of red on his cheeks.  He took off his coat and handed it to Janice.  He wore a sweater and wool pants.  He was impeccable and still debonair.

“It’s nice to see you, Richard.”

“Uncle Richard, Uncle Richard?”  Britany, the oldest of Janice’s girls was still tugging at Richard’s pants leg.  “Where’s Aunt Linda?”

Annalise shifted her gaze to the floor.  She hadn’t known that Richard had been seeing anyone.  If Janice had known, she hadn’t mentioned it, even in passing.  Annalise wished she would have.

Richard knelt down next to Britany.  “Linda and I aren’t together anymore, Brit.”  Richard was trying to be patient.

“Why not?  I liked her!”

“We didn’t get along very well.  She wanted one thing and I wanted another.”  The explanation didn’t seem to make Britany feel any better, but Annalise felt her heart lighten a bit.

Richard straightened up.  Janice herded the kids away, leaving Annalise and Richard awkwardly in the hall.

“You look good,” he said finally.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”  He pulled down the edge of his sweater.  “I’ve missed you lately, Lise.  I’ll help you find her if you want me to.  Do you want me to?”

Annalise nodded.  She had been alone in this too long.

Thank you for reading. Comments are always welcome! Chapter Forty will be posted on March 27, 2011.