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Zelda Spellman had been a full-time professor at Gehenna Academy of the Arts for over twenty years, and never in her career had she heard such a heavenly racket. She was right in the middle of sight-reading the second verse of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” with her alto section, when what sounded like stomping and shrieking began. The room directly above their heads was meant to be a ballet studio, but clearly it was not The Nutcracker that was being rehearsed.
How could Zelda possibly hope to get her students to focus on pitch and rhythm when she couldn’t even concentrate herself? Furious, Zelda slammed her baton down onto her music stand and stalked to the door.
“I’m going to go put an end to whatever it is that’s causing this commotion. I trust you will all keep working and behaving yourselves in my absence?” Zelda gave a pointed look to her niece, Sabrina, who already seemed to be inching closer to her boyfriend, Nick, in the tenor section. Her niece was always up to trouble—so much so that her aunt could hardly keep track of all of the infractions she had to her name.
“Yes, Professor Spellman,” the class chorused, their smiles promising that Zelda would return to utter mayhem, but it couldn’t be helped.
Just then, there was another unholy shout from the room directly above them, followed by clapping and stomping. Zelda whipped out of the room and launched herself up the nearest staircase, intent on giving this so-called ballet master a piece of her mind.
When she made it to the studio doors, however, Zelda paused. Through the window, her eyes had found the most gorgeous creature she had ever seen. The woman was unlike any premier maître de ballet that she had ever known, sporting a colorful caftan, headscarf, and beaded jewelry. When she spoke, it was in heavily accented French, which made Zelda’s stomach flutter involuntarily.
“Arretez-vous, s’il vous plaît, mes enfants! C'était incroyable, mais la prochaine fois, rappelez-vous…”
Zelda shook herself out of her trance and barged through the door. The students all dropped out of their various poses and ceased playing their instruments. Zelda recognized Prudence Blackwood, the daughter of the President of the Academy, among the female dancers, and nearly lost her nerve. Her ex-husband was something of a tyrant, and she wouldn’t put it past her stepdaughter to go running back to her father with news of Zelda’s interruption of his daughter’s studies.
“Can I help you, ma chérie?” said the ballet mistress, her eyes seeming to twinkle with amusement, rather than offence, at being interrupted.
“Yes, you may,” said Zelda, coming to stand toe to toe with the woman. Up close, the woman was even more beautiful, and Zelda found herself incredibly distracted by the warm brown eyes that seemed to look right into her soul. “I am Professor Spellman, Chair of the Music Department and lead Vocal Director. My classroom is right below yours, but with all of the noise you’re making, I can’t get a single thing done.”
“Enchanté. It is an honor to meet you, Madame Spellman,” said the woman, bowing her head and extending her hand. “Je suis Mambo Michéle Marie LaFleur, danseuse, et premier maître de ballet ici, à l’Academie de Gehenna.”
Zelda eyed the woman’s hand for a moment, before accepting what she thought would be a handshake, but instead, once Marie had taken hold of her hand, she pulled her in very close, and held it with both of her own.
“Please accept my sincere apologies, ma chérie,” said Marie, so close Zelda could smell a hint of incense clinging to her skin. “But I am afraid there is no quiet way to teach a Haitian Voodou dance of protection.”
“I thought you were hired as a ballet mistress, to take over from the late Shirley Jackson?” asked Zelda, shivering as Marie traced her fingers in a gentle pattern over Zelda’s knuckles. “Shouldn’t you be instructing the students in classical ballet?”
Leaning in to speak in Zelda’s ear in a soft whisper, Marie said, “May I tell you a secret, ma chérie?”
All breath had left Zelda’s body at Marie’s proximity, so she simply nodded in response.
“I might have…misled Monsieur Blackwood. I am trained in the classics, bien sûr, mais… it is not my passion, comprenez-vous?”
“I understand,” breathed Zelda, finding it difficult to pull herself together. There was something about this woman that made her feel like she had been placed under a spell. “But the dance program has very specific requirements, and you were hired to teach those requirements, were you not?”
“The children will learn the European ways, Madame, but of course!” said Marie, placing a chaste kiss on the woman’s cheek. Zelda reeled back, not having expected the sudden intimacy. “But first, they will learn my ways, n’est-ce pas?”
Seeming to think that settled matters, Marie addressed her students once more. “Maintenant, une fois de plus, dès le début!”
Zelda watched with an open mouth as the students she had only ever seen perform pointe technique were suddenly moved by the drums and rattles to contort their bodies to the beat. It was a beautiful, if shocking, display, and Zelda could feel Marie’s eyes on her.
“Would you care to join the dance, ma chérie?” said Marie with a teasing smile. “I could teach you as well...?”
Snapping herself out of whatever stupor had come over her, Zelda said, “That will be quite impossible. In fact, I need to borrow one of your students—Prudence—immediately.”
Prudence, who had taken over on the drums, looked up when she heard her name.
“Very well,” nodded Marie. “But I will be needing her back. Elle danse magnifiquement!”
“Quite,” agreed Zelda before grabbing her stepdaughter by the arm and ushering her out forthwith.
Prudence was indignant as she wrested her arm from her stepmother's hold. “Why did you take me out of class? You have no right to do that, Miss Spellman.”
Zelda turned on her once they were far enough down the hall that no one would overhear. “That’s Professor Spellman to you, Prudence. Does your father know that you’re chanting and drumming when you ought to be perfecting your pointe technique?”
“Does my father know you’re flirting with Mambo Marie so soon after the divorce?”
The accusation hit like a sudden onset of freezing rain. Faustus Blackwood could be dangerously possessive and impossible to reason with, even after they were legally separated. If Prudence were to tell him that she was dating again, even though it wasn't true… well, the outcome would be unpleasant, to say the least.
“Prudence, never in the history of Gehenna has the classical ballet curriculum been altered, in any way,” said Zelda, clenching her hands into fists to keep from shaking the petty malice out of her stepdaughter.
“Mambo Marie has taught me more in two weeks than Madame Jackson taught me in two years,” insisted Prudence. “Just because her ways are different doesn’t mean they’re wrong.”
Suddenly, Mambo Marie appeared directly behind Zelda. “Excusez-moi. Prudence? You must be getting back to class, mon enfant.”
Prudence gave Zelda one last glare before doing as she was told. Marie, however, did not follow Prudence back to the classroom. “I can see something is troubling you, Madame Spellman. Perhaps I can help?”
Zelda’s mind had, indeed, drifted back to Blackwood, and how he had once accused her of poisoning the children’s minds with “modern” chorus material, rather than the traditional religious hymns. When she had dared to defend her position, he had backhanded her so hard she couldn’t teach for a week, for fear of the students seeing her bruised face and asking questions. But she hardly knew Mambo Marie, and certainly didn’t trust her enough to unburden herself.
“No, thank you. I’m quite fine on my own.”
Mambo Marie came closer, which prompted Zelda to take a half of a step back, thinking of what Prudence had threatened to tell her father.
“You have nothing to fear from me. Perhaps if you knew me better, I would not be quite so… fearsome?” Mambo Marie’s eyes dropped to Zelda’s lips. Zelda felt frozen in place, as if one wrong move would end whatever magic was happening between them.
“Professor Spellman!” came a familiar, thunderous voice. President Faustus Blackwood was climbing the stairs in an absolute fury. Zelda unconsciously took a few steps back, pressing herself against the wall as if to disappear into the plaster. Mambo Marie frowned, before putting herself between Faustus and Zelda in what she hoped was an unnecessary act of protection.
“Monsieur Blackwood?” said Marie, holding up her arms in a placating gesture. “Is there un problème?”
“Leave us. This doesn’t concern you, Madame,” spat Faustus. He stressed the word “madame” in such a way as to imply that the title was not equal to “professor.”
Mambo Marie looked to Zelda, as if unsure if she should leave the two of them alone, despite being ordered to do so.
“Faustus,” said Zelda, finally finding her voice, “is something wrong?”
“I just left the chorus room, which is currently in disarray, because a certain impertinent niece of yours got into a fist fight with that Caliban boy. You can imagine my surprise when I arrived at the scene only to find that the children were entirely unsupervised!” Sidestepping Mambo Marie, Faustus advanced on Zelda, but was stopped when a staying hand landed on his elbow.
“It is my fault, Président Blackwood. I asked Zelda to assist me in a demonstration. The students are practicing their développés, and I heard that Madame Spellman was a prima ballerina in her day. Anything that happened while she was absent from her classroom is my responsibility.”
Faustus wrenched his arm from Marie’s grip, looking between the two of them, as if waiting for Zelda to contradict the story out of pure obligation to the truth. But Zelda remained silent, frozen against the wall.
“Very well,” Faustus said after a long, charged pause. “See that it doesn’t happen again. Your niece will be in detention for a month for violating the school’s ‘no violence’ policy.”
Zelda seemed to come alive once more at the mention of her niece’s punishment. “Yes, of course. Whatever you deem necessary, President Blackwood.”
Faustus gave Zelda and Mambo Marie one last suspicious look before turning and descending the staircase once more. Zelda let out a deep breath, as if she had been holding it since the moment Faustus had arrived.
“What is his story?” said Marie curiously as she watched Zelda run a shaking hand through her hair. “He was not very kind to you.”
“He’s my ex-husband,” stated Zelda, her tone completely flat. “I’m surprised no one has told you. The staff of the Academy loves to gossip.”
A darkness fell over Mambo Marie’s face. “He should treat you better, not worse, for having been his wife.”
Zelda blinked, as if such an idea had never occurred to her. “He’s not one to forgive and forget. Thank you for lying for me.”
“What lie? There was no lie,” said Marie, her eyes sparkling once more, though there was still a bit of an edge to her tone. “It was I who kept you from your classroom, and therefore I am responsible for whatever happened in your absence.”
Marie was relieved to see that the color was slowly returning to Zelda’s pale face.
“Yes, well…” floundered Zelda, “I should have been more understanding of your work. Being surprised is no excuse for being rude. I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted, ma chérie,” said Marie, taking Zelda’s hand and giving her a soft kiss on the knuckles. “Now, we really should be getting to les enfants. But I would be honored if you would join me for a drink this evening?”
Zelda looked thoroughly taken aback by the offer. “You want to have a drink…with me?”
Marie threw her head back and laughed. “Is that so unbelievable, Madame?”
Zelda’s eyes darted around the hallway as her cheeks reddened with embarrassment. “It’s just… I was rude to you, and then you helped me… I don’t understand.”
“We women must stick together, eh?” said Marie, winking. “I’ll see you tonight, ma chérie.”
With that, Mambo Marie returned to her classroom. Zelda remained in the hallway for several more minutes, listening to the music and dance start up again, before deciding that the noise really wasn’t all that bad after all. In fact, it was quite beautiful.