Twisted - Esme Devlin Page 0,6
a small pair of black shorts, I feel almost naked.
The blue lighting that was switched off for Ruby comes back on for me. I try not to look at the crowd. Instead, I keep my eyes on the sand and wait for the music to start.
Romanov stands at the edge of the ring with his back to me. Behind me sits the target I was supposed to be strapped to. I fight the urge to turn around as I hear the roar of flames when a fire breaks out. That wasn’t in any of our practices, and the heat being thrown off is intense.
When the music starts, I’ll dance on the fourth beat.
Romanov will throw the first knife on the eighth beat.
After that, it stops really being memorized numbers and more just intuition. At least, that is what should happen. That’s what happens if you do it enough.
Which I haven’t.
But I don’t get any more time to deliberate on that.
The drum beats, the sound of it reverberating against my rib cage and drowning out my cantering heart. Romanov reaches down into the sand for the first dagger. In a few moments, he will spin around, essentially firing blind.
Three beats.
Four beats.
I drop to the ground into a split and then push myself forward, ducking down into the sand just before the eighth beat. I don’t need to look to know that the dagger is flying through the space my head just occupied.
The first time we tried this, the apple hit me square in the nose and almost knocked me out.
My legs close behind me and I jump to my feet.
I have eight beats until the next one where I’ll bend back into a crab and then flip over the second after it passes.
Maybe I can do this.
I remember.
The beats pass and I move exactly as I’m supposed to for every one of them.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Handstand.
Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
Pirouette.
It’s a mix of gymnastics, ballet, and something ceremonial.
I finish a cartwheel and drop down to my knees, pausing for a few beats before I’ll drop my head back in the sand.
But something in the crowd catches my eye.
A glint of metal at first, as if someone is drawing a sword. The moment I locate exactly what caused it, the world stops turning.
The drums fade to nothing.
The threat of the dagger that’s about to come flying into my face seems completely insignificant.
It’s not a sword catching the light in the crowd.
It’s a mask.
A mask or a helmet, who knows. But this mask has a face, and it’s a face of pure evil.
Like a cross between a skull and a monster. Black sockets for eyes.
It’s haunting.
The man is standing up where everyone else is seated, and even though I can’t see his eyes, I don’t need to.
He’s staring straight at me and I can feel his gaze piercing my skin.
Piercing.
Piercing?
Shit.
I throw myself back into the sand just as Romanov is already turning back around.
How the blade missed me, I have no idea, but I missed the beat.
I missed the beat because I was trapped entirely in that man’s presence.
I’m stumbling now, trying to remember where I should be.
What comes next?
My mind is blank and I’m moving, but I don’t know how or why. I know I’m off, I’m missing beats, but the more I panic about it, the more I can’t remember what I’m supposed to be doing.
My stomach drops as I go into the next cartwheel and fall into the sand with a stinging sensation on the side of my thigh. The crowd gasps, and now I can hear muttering under the beat of the drum.
I feel like I’m going crazy trying to remember what comes next, so I’m just moving.
Keep moving.
It must finish soon.
Don’t look at the crowd.
My thoughts run away with me as I gasp for air until finally, finally, the music stops.
I collapse on the sand, a movement which I think was supposed to be a split, but I cannot be sure.
My inner thigh is wet, I can tell because the sand sticks to it, although I don’t look at that.
My eyes are locked on the man with the mask who is making his way down the steps toward the ring.
Romanov rushes over to me and crouches in the sand, guiding my cheek with his hand to meet his eye. “Are you hurt?”
I don’t know. I can’t really think straight.
Romanov stands and pulls me to my feet before turning around to locate the thing I’m staring at. He quickly lets