Chaos Choreography
Page 52

We stayed frozen for several seconds, staring at each other and waiting for the cheering to begin. When it didn’t—when merciful silence, broken only by the shouting from the people who were starting to gather in the courtyard, reigned—we relaxed, in the sort of familial unison that was just going to make her claim to be my sister more believable.
“Fine,” I said, more harshly than I meant to. “As long as no one’s going to rat you out, you can stay.” I turned to my roommates. Maybe one of them would save me. Maybe one of them would object, and Alice would have to go stay somewhere else. I could call Brenna. Maybe there was room at the Nest for my occasionally murderous grandmother and her collection of grenades.
Instead, Lyra broke from the pack and slung her arms around my neck, pulling me into a tight, exuberant hug. “Oh, Val!” she squealed. “I’m so happy for you!” She turned to Alice and said, “It’s always been really upsetting to me how Valerie’s family doesn’t support her dancing. Your sister’s a genius, you know. She’s amazing, and your whole family should be coming out to watch her dance.”
“That’s what I’ve always said.” Alice was clearly amused, eyes glinting with barely-contained mischief. “So I’m here for the rest of the season.”
“Thanks,” I said, through clenched teeth.
“Any time,” said Alice. “I’m going to take the apartment right downstairs. Give me a few minutes, and then come down to talk to me? We should catch up, sis.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said, and watched my grandmother—regularly named the most dangerous human woman in four dimensions—pick up her backpack and walk out of the living room.
Lyra hugged me again. “I changed my mind, you can have first shower. This is amazing!”
Was it my imagination, or did I hear muffled cheers from behind the couch?
It probably wasn’t my imagination.
Lyra let me go. “You and your sister must have so much to catch up on!”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Definitely.”
So very much . . . like murder.
Nine
“I didn’t start out with a lot of family. One thing I’ve learned is that people who love and accept you are worth their weight in silver bullets. You hold them fast, and you never let them go.”
—Frances Brown
The Crier Apartments, privately owned by Crier Productions, about fifteen minutes later
LYRA WAS RIGHT: I felt better after a shower and a wig change, although my scalp still itched. I changed into a pair of yoga pants and a jogging top, rubbed a layer of Tiger Balm into my calves, and went bounding outside. There were no cameramen in evidence, giving us a rare moment of peace.
An impromptu rehearsal circle had formed at the center of the courtyard, which explained the yelling. About half the season was bending, swaying, and stretching their way through Sasha’s lyrical jazz routine. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve felt obligated to join them. The thought made my thighs ache. Fortunately for me, I had something more pressing to attend to.
I slipped down the stairs and headed for the apartment under ours, glancing nervously around. No one looked my way. I opened the apartment door and stepped inside. Alice—who was sitting on this couch just like she’d been sitting on ours—looked up from the rifle she was field-stripping and smiled.
“There’s my girl,” she said. “Shut the door and come talk to me. It’s been too long since we’ve had a nice talk.”
“Grandma, what are you doing here?” I shut the door. “I’m not supposed to have guests. I’m definitely not supposed to have guests with grenades.”
“Your father called me. Fortunately, I was in a place with phone service, or he’d have summoned your Uncle Mike.” Alice raised an eyebrow. “Far be it from me to criticize Mikey—he’s a good kid—but do you think he would have fit in with your new friends better than I will?”
“You don’t fit in with my new friends at all,” I protested. “They’re in their twenties, and they dance for a living. You’re . . . not in your twenties, and you kill things for a living.” And for food, and sometimes, I suspected, for fun. It was hard to tell with Grandma Alice. She was the only human I knew who lived primarily off-dimension, and that sort of thing had to be bad for her sense of social norms.
“No, but I look like I’m in my twenties, and I’m believable as your semi-estranged sister who wants to mend some bridges.” Alice began reassembling her rifle, still looking at me. “I know this isn’t ideal, Very. I’m not here to blow your cover or get you into trouble. I’m just here to make sure that you’re safe. Snake cults aren’t something to mess around with.”