Page 73 of The Devil and His Goddess

“Here,” she grumbled as she averted her eyes. “I brought you a drink as thanks. I even added some of my coconut water to it for the electrolytes.See? Icanbe nice.”

My eyebrows rose. Slowly, I faced her and accepted the outstretched drink. I stared at the bottle before smiling at her. “Thanks, Mandi.”

Preparing me a drink with added electrolytes while she prepped her own was the bare minimum, but I appreciated the gesture all the same. It was the little things, right?

Holding the bottle close, I asked, “You ready to get started then?”

She followed me down the hall to the ballet studio, and as she put her bags down by the door, I downed some of the gifted water. The slight sweetness of the added coconut water made my taste buds do a little happy dance.

Putting the water aside, I went to the stereo and connected my phone. “What do you like to listen to while doing warm-ups?”

She snickered quietly behind me. “Sinners Do It Better.”

My fingers froze over the phone. I knew she chose that to act as some sort of prodding at me since she suspected Perseus and I were close. Instead of giving her any reaction, I nodded and queued up a playlist of their most popular songs.

I went to the center of the room as the catchy and sensual music played over the speakers. “Warm-ups first.”

Facing the mirror, I began to roll and bounce on my feet, letting them prepare for more dancing. I let the motion reach my knees, and eventually, my hips. I even noticed at one point, I was bouncing and moving to the beat of the song, nearly forgetting I wasn’t alone. Mandi stood beside me and went through the warm-ups, all while staring at me through the mirror.

“What?” I asked her.

“I’m just trying to figure it out,” Mandi answered. “What is it you do thatIdon’t?”

Continuing the loosening of my lower muscles and joints, I rolled my shoulders and arms through the same warm-ups. “I wouldn’t say you don’thavesomething. Rather, you need toworkon something. You’re a great dancer, Mandi. You wouldn’t have gotten the role if you weren’t.”

She frowned and stopped moving. After a moment of only the rock band playing overhead, Mandi asked, “Are you just saying that?”

“Why would I lie? Or better yet, why don’tyoubelieve you’re good enough?”

Her eyes widened. She finally moved, dropping flat onto her feet and arms falling to her sides. She blinked a couple of times and faced me. “Doyouthink I’m good enough to be the swan?”

I dropped onto my feet, too, and turned to her. My body was definitely warming up, so I shed my sweatpants to get down to only my tights and leotard as I answered, “Of course I do. You’ve always been talented. Great stage presence, lots of energy, and amazing technique.”

“Not like yours.”

My gaze met hers again after throwing the sweats aside. Patting at my slightly damp forehead, I studied her for a moment. In her vulnerable stare, there was still a sliver of envy and anger directed at me.

“That’s why the Black Swan steals the show,” I said gently while pointing at her narrowed eyes. “Youarethe Black Swan. You’re so focused on this rivalry you’ve built between us. The need you have to prove you’re better shows on stage. You’re so focused on perfecting Odette, trying to perform her like me instead of showcasing her through you. Instead offeelingher through you.”

I went to the stereo and queued up “Swan Lake, Op. 20, Act 2: No. 11, Scene. Allegro moderato - Moderato - Allegro vivo,” one of the White Swan’s performance pieces. It wasn’t one of the more difficult sections of emotional portrayal, but seeing as how Mandi didn’t want anyone else here, there was no partner to help her in the White Swan pas de deux. Regardless, this section would allow her to glimpse how she represented Odette with a certain harshness.

Turning back to her, I gestured at the open floor. “Put on your pointe shoes, and show me Odette. The parts you can’t do without Samir, you can skip. Watch yourself closely in the mirror.”

She almost seemed dazed as she and I grabbed our pointe shoes and waited for her music cue to enter the floor. With a graceful fluttering of her arms and tapping en pointe, she began. As the soft and innocent sound of the piece took her through the dance, her features remained tight, and I knew she was once again focused on the movements and skill of the piece rather than her overall portrayal.

I stopped the music, and she halted. When she faced me, I didn’t even have to speak. Her sneer and tightly shut eyes told me she knew how she performed.

I rewound the music. “Again.”

“You didn’t tell me how to—”

“Again,” I repeated firmly.

She huffed but returned to the side of the room while I shook out my arms to fend off some of the warmth that I was feeling. I clearly had the heat on too high by mistake, but I wanted to wait until we were done with this to go adjust it.

This time, when the music cued Mandi’s appearance, I entered, too, falling right into a character I’d performed countless times. Mandi’s gaze left her own reflection to study mine as I mirrored her movements.

Side by side, we looked the same—almost. Where her movements had a sharpness like a fan cutting through the air, mine had a flowing gentleness like feathers in the wind. Where her face was tight in concentration, mine was furrowed in the portrayal of an alarmed swan who’d been stumbled upon by a hunter. While she movedthroughthe piece, Iwasthe piece.

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