"Why don't you go a few rounds with the man mountain," Anne growled instead, pride still a bit stung.
"I don't need to: that's what I have you for." Chelle flashed a smile that warmed Anne through. That sweet smile had disappeared for years. Anne said a silent prayer of thanks for Mike, for Avi and for Father Kurt, for men who knew about Chelle's past, and didn't care. Men whose bluff, good nature convinced first Anne, then Chelle that life could be safe again.
"And I have Mike and Avi for when you try to kill me for impudence," Chelle added, sticking her tongue out. She danced away when Anne made a mock grab for her. The little ball on her tongue-stud winked golden in the studio lights.
Instantly, Anne saw her vision, seeing the dark figures reach for Chelle, trapped behind the mirror. It was as though someone had dumped ice-water down her spine. The smile fell off her face and she shuddered. Chelle, still spinning and laughing, missed it. Mike didn't.
"What?" Mike's gaze sharpened.
"Have, have you ever thought you'd seen - something?" Anne asked, picking her words with care. She'd spent more than enough time with shrinks, first getting free of her mother, and then getting Chelle the help she needed, that she was fully aware of what telling the full story of her vision could mean. "Something that seemed, well, impossible?"
It was difficult to tell - for the average person, it would have been impossible - but Anne had been sparring with Mike for the better part of a year. The skin around his eyes and mouth tightened, just a bit. His shorn scalp smoothed down over his skull until it gleamed in the studio lights. His weight shifted slightly forward. Mike was scared. And angry.
For a split second, Anne felt herself mirror his reactions. Just as quickly, she backed off, as she realized Mike hadn't reacted to her. He'd reacted to what she'd said. His expression turned inward, and his eyes went a little glassy. It was a long, long moment before he spoke. In the background, she could hear Chelle joking briefly with Avi, but for Anne it felt like an eternity.
"That doesn't sound as crazy as you'd think, Annie," Mike said. His tone was cautious, full of doubt and - wonder? Her friend kept giving off a strange mix of signals, and it was starting to make Anne's teeth itch. After a thoughtful moment pregnant with unspoken thoughts, Mike opened his mouth.
Chelle took that moment to interrupt.
"Annie!" She bounced away from Avi's office and spun between Anne and Mike. The bundle of excitement was so unlike Ryan's last few tense, fearful years Anne blessed anyone of significance who might be listening. She touched her chest with a fingertip, feeling the outline of the little crucifix that was all the legacy she had of their father. Thank God Chelle wasn't afraid anymore.
"Annie," her sister repeated, bouncing on her toes while her eyes flashed. "Avi said there's a new club down near China Town! It's only been open for a few weeks, and he said it's almost certainly safe! Can we go tonight? Can we? Please?"
A fist seemed to squeeze Annie's heart at Chelle's pleas. She had a hard time denying her sibling anything. In large part because as Ryan, Chelle had experienced a surfeit of hurt and pain. The mere thought of which pricked Anne's eyes with unshed tears, and brought an itchy lightness to her fists that promised a company's misery to any with the wrong idea.
Chelle loved to dance. More, even, than when she'd been Ryan. She was actually comfortable in her own skin, for one. When Ryan said he wanted to join ballet instead of the football team, Daddy had disappeared, damn his flaky eyes. Mother dearest had begun to turn inward, and suckled a canker of bitterness. She'd also insisted on family attendance at a little church. A little backward church, full of small, withered souls.
Which made Chelle's love of mass all the more confusing to Anne, much as she treasured her own meager faith. Father Kurt's truly unconditional love soothed both their souls.
Anne had always encourage her sibling's love of dance. She saw it much the same as her own need to practice here in the studio. To that end, she often accompanied Chelle to clubs. Which was to say, when Chelle went to clubs, so did Anne. Much of the reason was protection: Ryan's boyish prettiness had transformed into Chelle's slim elegance.
Anne looked down into the shining eyes that looked so much like their mother's. If their mother's eyes had ever been that full of joy, neither Anne nor Chelle had ever seen it. It was the light in Chelle's eyes that made her beautiful, though, and Anne wouldn't risk that by letting her wander around the city alone.
"Sure, hon." Chelle's answering squeal brought a warmth to Anne's heart that banished the chill left from her bizarre, dream-like vision.
"Mike, can you come, too?" Chelle spun on her heel and - presumably, as her back was to Anne - implored their big friend. Mike smiled at Chelle, but shook his head.
"Sorry, kiddo; I've got class tonight." Mike was studying for his EMT certification, something of a departure from his usual, more physical, employment. He was still bouncing, but had cut back to make room for his classes.
Also for special tutoring sessions with his new "friend," Yasmin. Anne ground down her jealousy. She wasn't attracted to Mike, exactly. He was good to have around, and Chelle liked him. He was a kind of benevolent older-brother type. The kind Anne had always been too scrawny and female to be.
"Speaking of which, I need to get moving." Mike pulled Chelle in for a quick hug, ignoring her protests of his ickiness, then chucked Anne on the shoulder before moving toward the foyer, where his gear hung near the door.
"Avi," Anne called, eager to get away from her feelings of guilt and inadequacy, old and new. "What's this place called?"
His mop of curly hair shot out the open office door.
"Under Hill."
"Weird name."
Avi's head, the only part of him visible, rocked back and forth.
"Eh. This place used to be called the Island of Many Hills. Don't you know your own history?"
Anne stuck her tongue out at him.
"We only moved here a couple years ago, you big jerk. Chelle and I learned about North Carolina history in school." A place where it hadn't been safe to be as different as they were. As Ryan had been. She strangled the old familiar anxiety with the ease of long practice. People in the big city might care, but not enough to find out. And there were enough oddballs here that they didn't stick out.
"Big jerk, am I?" Avi's bushy eyebrows rose, his face taking on a - completely false - air of hurt innocence verging on indignation. "Big jerk?" His head disappeared, and then reappeared an instant later, bringing with it the rest of his bulk. It always surprised Anne just how short Avi actually was: no taller than Chelle. For all his lack of height, he would easily have made two of Anne's sister. "Just for that, you're going to have to show me you've learned from that fall earlier just why you don't go inside against someone male who out-masses you by half."
Anne groaned over the sound of Chelle's laughter. As Avi brought up his hands, Chelle danced away on quick feet. Anne brought up hands weary from earlier exertion and slowly circled away from her mentor. As Avi moved closer, Anne thought she saw a flash of light through the doorway into the foyer. Then Avi closed and threw a quick jab, and there was no more time for conscious thought or ominous visions, only reaction and training.
###
Anne rolled her right shoulder as she tried to keep up with her boisterous sister. Again. Hours - and ice packs, as well as a really hot shower - later, and it was still feeling stiff. She suspected it would be for at least a few days.
During their sparring match, Avi had somehow managed to get a grip on her arm. The only way out was a complex - and uncomfortable - twist that had put her arm behind her head, and used the shoulder as a fulcrum to put him off-balance.
He'd reamed her out for using it, and Anne knew she deserved it. It was the kind of trick you could pull in the studio, but would almost certainly get somebody - probably her - seriously injured in a street fight.
Her other hand rested in her jacket pocket, clenched tight around the gold coin she'd found there after practice. The thing was small - just smaller than a dime: she'd checked - but much, much heavier than any other coin she'd ever touched. Heavier than it had any right to be. Anne thought it might be solid gold.
Weird that Mike would just leave it in her pocket. Doubly weird that he'd left no real explanation why. There'd been a note wrapped around it. She'd instantly recognized one of the sticky notes that her friend used for references in his class textbooks. It said, "Just in case - M." And the big lug had only answered her questioning message with, "for luck."
If she didn't know him enough to trust him, Anne would have been pissed. She kind of was, anyway. Better to be angry than confused and fearful. When she'd unwrapped the coin, the light had caught it just right and sent a lance of golden reflection into her eyes. Instantly, all the fear and confusion from her vision had loomed large. Anne didn't know what to do about it, but keep an eye on Chelle. And see that her sister was happy.
A face full of scent jerked Anne's thoughts to a halt, and drove them from her head. Her pulse quickened, and her weight shifted forward over the balls of her feet. She just kept herself from bringing her hands up to cover her core. Smells that shouldn't be in the midst of a downtown lay heavy in her nostrils. On top of the constant sour smell of sumac lay damp moss, leafmold and - she sniffed - tarragon and sage mixed with loam. She smelled trees, as well. And - for some peculiar reason - underlying it all spread a sharp, coppery tang.
Anne looked up from her reverie and saw the door to Under Hill. Twining branches of what looked like living trees wove themselves into a lattice over the entryway. Enormous - for the city - double doors stood wide open. Panels of heavy, age-darkened oak bound in polished metal were studded here and there with what looked to be thick, hand-forged nails. The metal spikes had been hammered through the doors, and the excess length pounded flat to the wood.
An enormous man bulked large in front of one of the doors. Anne was struck by the immediate difference between this bouncer and Mike. Her friend was smaller, for one. A lot smaller, she realized as she got closer. And prettier, by far. This - gentleman - reminded her of a chunk of scarred masonry that had been left in the weather for a couple of centuries.
Small, dark eyes hid under thick, craggy brows. Black, wiry hair stood out from the back of his blocky head in a crest. A broad, flat nose clung to his face over a mouth set in a permanent frown. A mouth that seemed more like an animal's muzzle than anything human. Massive shoulders eliminated any chance he could call the space between his head and his chest a neck. Between the arms that hung nearly to his knees and the black suit transformed him into a caricature of a mafioso.
"G'wan in," he said an abyssal voice. Along with his words, the doorman expelled a cloud of foul-smelling breath that threatened to curl Anne's nose-hairs. She managed to stifle her shudder. Barely. Between the depth of his voice and the stench of his breath, it took Anne a few seconds to realize they'd made it through the front door.
"I expected a longer wait," she muttered to her sister.
Giving no indication she'd even heard, Chelle drifted past her into the - into some kind of antechamber. Anne hurried to catch up. People filled the room, a collection of the young and hopeful. It was an unhip crowd. Or rather, it wasn't a crowd trying to look hip. Anne was surprised to note the crowd was missing the usual mixture of the desperate. Few of the glitterati she'd expected to see. In fact, most of them seemed - from their dress and attitude - artists. Musicians, painters, writers - and dancers.
A spiky thread of unaccounted-for apprehension twisted through Anne's guts. Something felt off. Felt ... weird. Music thrummed on the air. A wild, unbound kind of music, it reminded her of folk music from her childhood. If that music was played by an orchestra full of virtuoso players. And written by a madman.
"Chelle, honey, I'm not sure about-" Anne looked around, and realized her sister had disappeared. Her apprehension ratcheted quickly through concern and into foreboding. A quick scan around told her that while there were plenty of young faces around her, none belonged to her sister.
Anne strangled the nameless dread trying to unfold within. This was a club. A weird one, with a weird doorman, but a club nonetheless. Even if they didn't have a line of hopefuls out the door. Even if they didn't seem to be serving drinks.
Anne took a deep breath and a more careful look around. The room - what she could see of it through the dim light - was made up to look like the inside of - of - of she didn't know what. The industrial concrete floor had been polished until it shone. The walls were covered with some kind of stone facade, and the ceiling! Anne boggled a little at the amount of money it must have taken to make it look like a natural stone cave.
At the far side of the room the floor dropped away. Flickering lights and the way the traffic generally flowed toward the open maw drew Anne. As she neared, she saw a set of stairs descending into a darkness shot through with myriad colors.
In any other club, Anne wouldn't have felt off-balance. Flashing lights and loud music meant dancing. She assumed it was true here, as well. But.
Light the colors of a sun-lit leaves seen through water splashed across steps that looked like they'd been carved of solid marble. Marble the color of healthy flesh. The threads of translucent blue winding through the staircase heightened the discomforting impression.