Erin Kellison: Shadow Fall

“Anna,” Katrina called. She’d been her friend since they joined the company together a couple years ago. They hadn’t spoken much since Annabella had been promoted.

“Yeah?” Annabella leaned back on the bench to see Katrina pulling a tee over her head.

“Couple of us are going out for a drink to unwind. You want to come?” While grabbing some jeans, Katrina batted away another girl—Marcia, by her slick French twist—who groaned at the extended invitation.

A drink. Some laughs. Like old times.

Politically, yes, she should go. She knew that. Katrina knew that. Judging by the slight hush, everyone in the dressing room knew that, too.

But…her body hurt, her mind was reeling, and she really, really needed a good cry. The last thing she wanted was for her mini breakdown to be alcohol induced and public. She’d probably start babbling about wolves with yellowy eyes and…No. Drinks were definitely not a good idea right now

Katrina read the answer on her face, gave a cold shrug, and turned away.

Annabella caught a couple of the looks shared by some of the other dancers. One mouthed the word diva —the second time today that particular label had been applied to her. The insult smarted this time.

Diva? She didn’t get it. Nothing about her had changed since her promotion to principal.

Anna ripped off her shoes and threw them in her bag. She rummaged to find sweats to pull over her tights and leo. She’d shower at home.

But diva? Okay, tonight she’d requested the extra run-through, but it only cost everyone maybe ten minutes. Fifteen tops. And she couldn’t help it if she was too tired to go out for drinks—she’d been the one dancing all night. Not them. The corps mostly stands in the second act of Giselle , and Venroy had let them all sit for the majority of the time.

Diva? Please.

She tucked a light scarf around her head—no way on earth was she getting sick this close to the performance season—and was ready to go.

The air outside was sharp with the smell of crisp leaves mixed with lingering exhaust, underscored by a medley of city scents—a trace of spicy food, beer, old newspaper, mellow sewer funk, and fresh laundry. She breathed deep for a hit of the city’s pervasive vitality, enough to get her back to her studio apartment. The sounds of distant traffic and sirens drew her into a brisk walk. The bus stop was only a block away. The sooner she was home, the sooner she could crash. She tightened her scarf under her chin and picked up her pace.

The darkened street wasn’t completely deserted. Streetlights and buildings splashed enough light to see clearly four blocks in either direction. A couple strolled ahead of her, and a group of chatty smokers—young professionals by the looks of their day-wrinkled slacks and shirts—loitered outside a lit doorway. Nothing any city girl would worry about.

The bench at the bus stop was empty. Annabella sat, crossed her legs, and looked down the street again. No bus in sight.

Her mind wandered back to rehearsal. Tense shoulders—that’s what Venroy had said. She’d try harder to relax. And he’d said to watch her arms. Maybe there was something off with her upper carriage altogether.

Stop. You’re obsessing again. She stood to distract herself and leaned against a lamppost.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to watch old videos. She had Natalia Makarova’s Giselle. She’d seen the performance a million times, but never concentrating on shoulders and arms. Maybe—

Across the street, a dense well of shadow drew her attention. Something was moving in there. Make that prowling. A big cat, maybe. Or a dog. Or…or…

Her heartbeat accelerated. She deliberately looked away. This was not happening again.

If she had brought her iPod, she could’ve turned off her mind. Between Giselle and the creepy wolf hallucination from rehearsal, she was going to give herself a nervous breakdown.

She took a shuddering breath.

There was no need to wait at the bench all night. She could pick up the bus at the next stop. And she needed a bigger distraction. She grabbed her bag, reaching inside for her cell phone at the same time. She hit “1” and TALK to call her best friend, who answered.

“Hi, Mom,” Annabella said. She shouldered her bag and lengthened her stride down the sidewalk, taking care to stay where the streetlights were brightest. Paranoid, but whatever.

“Oh, good,” her mom answered. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. I need an extra ticket for your brother’s girlfriend. Apparently he didn’t break up with her, so now she’s coming opening night.”

Annabella’s footfalls echoed on the sidewalk. A chill slid down her spine, raising the hairs at her nape as her heart worked her up to a fast stride. She tried to outpace the niggling feeling that someone was stalking her, but glanced over her shoulder anyway.

Nothing there but motley shadows, and a block away, a pedestrian.

“Annabella?”

Oh. Brother. Girlfriend. Ticket. Right. “You think he’s going to propose to her again instead?”

“I really don’t know—” Her mom broke off. “Why are you out of breath?”

“Walking home.” She glanced across the street and almost tripped to a stop.

A patch of skulking shadow traveled the opposite sidewalk. The shadow kept to its own, black on black, and was easy to lose if she blinked.

“Bell, it’s late.” Concern filled her mom’s voice. “Get a cab. My treat.”

“I would, but I don’t see one.” She kept her gaze trained on the layered darkness, her body stone-still waiting for the next movement. Everything seemed to be shifting ever so slightly around her. The buildings, the street lamps, the metal garbage bins. She was totally cracking up.

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s stupid. I had a rotten rehearsal.” But since she could tell her mom anything, she added, “And I think I’m being followed.”

“What?” Her mom’s voice rose. “Where are you? Can you find someplace safe?”

Damn it. Now her mom was worried. “It’s just a dog, Mom. A dog is following me.”

“Get inside.”

“Businesses are closed. I’m waiting for the bus.” Not a quarter of a block away was the next stop, an empty lit bench waiting. No shadows there. Annabella made for it.

“Is there anyone to ask for help?”

She glanced around. There was no one in sight anymore. Weird. It wasn’t that late. “Not really.”

“How can you be alone in the middle of New York City?” her mother demanded.

“I’m fine, Mom. Don’t worry. The…uh…dog is staying on the other side of the street.”

Even as she spoke the shadows organized again into the unmistakable form of a black wolf, his eyes shining from the deep pitch of his rough, triangular face.

This had to stop. She had to get a freaking grip.

She dropped herself onto the bench and closed her eyes while her body quaked. There’s nothing there. Just a figment of my imagination. A part of her screamed danger! while the rest of her remained resolute. She was not cracking up, not now. They could check her into an asylum… after the gala.

“Annabella?”

She opened her eyes as the wolf began a slow advance across the street. Head lowered, ears pinned back, he picked his way through the darkest fall of shadow toward her. His growl was low with menace. His eyes were wild yellow, and locked on her.

“Mom, I’m scared.” She sounded three, instead of twenty-three, but she didn’t care. She crab-crawled upward to sit on the backrest of the bench. Her blood pounded in her ears as she clutched the phone like a lifeline. Her body loosened slightly, and she knew, tired as she was, that she could run if she had to.