Page 13 of Pas de Trois
I make my way down the aisle on the left. I find Nikolai’s seat easily enough, but I don’t know what to do now that I’m here. It’s an aisle seat, so I stand beside it, looking and waiting for something special to reveal itself to me.
I drop to my knees on the plush red carpeting and examine the area. I lift the hinged seat up and down, looking beneath it, trying to find a latch or a lock—something, anything that looks out of the ordinary. With a huff of exasperation, I slap my hands on the veneered wood flooring under the seat.
Did I imagine that hollow sound?
I run my hands across the floor, covering every inch until I feel a gap with the pads of my fingers—a miniscule crevice that cuts across the floor in the wrong direction. I claw at it, digging my fingernails into the edge and pulling, but nothing happens.
If it were truly important, Nikolai wouldn’t leave it unlocked.
I practically crawl beneath the seat, inspecting the chair, the legs, the floor…but there’s nothing.
Nothing.
But then…Nikolai wouldn’t get down on his hands and knees to retrieve a secret box, that would be rather undignified of him.
I climb back out and inspect the back rest. My hands roam along the flat back, finding nothing and moving on to the armrests. My fingers slowly graze down the sides, sliding along the outside of the armrests, then the inside.
That’s when I feel it—another unusual ridge on the inside of the aisle armrest. When I dig my fingernails into this one, it clicks. A tiny wooden door carved into the intricately-etched pattern at the end of the armrest pops open.
I bend, moving my head closer to look inside it, and sure enough, there’s a keyhole. “What on Earth?” I whisper in the empty room.
I already know which of Nikolai’s keys will fit this. It’s a small keyhole and there’s only one tiny brass key on his keyring that appears as though it will fit. I insert the key, turn it, and jump back when I hear something click beneath the seat. I crouch down to look and see that the floor is now uneven—a piece of it has sprung upward on a hinged spring.
I scramble to pull the piece all the way back and find myself looking into a black hole in the ground, at least a foot deep. Other than the gray box sitting inside it, it looks like a void, a place where perhaps all my hopes and dreams and possible futures went to die.
I don’t know what’s in this box that Nikolai thinks will save me. But Ezra already knows and that knowledge took away some of his brightness.
I feel nauseous.
Time is wasting. The four families could arrive at any moment, and I need to know what’s in this gray box that will spare me from harm. I lift it from the black cavern and carefully set it on the carpet. I close the hinged door in the floor, remove the key, and cover the keyhole on the armrest.
Though my curiosity threatens to kill me, I don’t dare look inside the box—not here, not alone. Whatever is in this box is going to change my life. I know it. I can feel it. And I can’t find out alone.
I pick up the box and carry it all the way across the manor and back to the dance studio, holding it delicately, as if it were a bomb that would explode should I drop it. I hurry inside the studio only to be welcomed by the sound of Nikolai’s gasping breaths. They’re heavier and shorter than they were before, and it halts me in the doorway.
Ezra is on his knees beside him, grasping his hand, almost comfortingly. Nikolai deserves no comfort…
Then why do I feel thankful that Ezra gives it?
Something inside me feels torn to see Nikolai this way—weak and helpless. He’s finally getting what he’s always deserved, yet I feel a prickling confusion from my head down to my toes.
Ezra catches my gaze and I lower to my knees on the opposite side of Nikolai. Ezra’s expression is mixed with urgency and concern. “He doesn’t have much time.”
“I know,” I reply.
Nikolai’s head falls to the side and he looks at me. “Open the box.”
I nod and sit back on my heels, bringing the box onto my lap. I inhale deeply, steeling myself against Nikolai’s unpredictability one last time.
One last time?
The last time.
I remove the lid and set it aside.
Nikolai speaks, as quiet as a whisper, his voice weak and strained. “Everything is official. Legal.”
Inside, there’s a letter-sized envelope and a small black box. I reach for the envelope, lifting it with care, my fingers delicate on the paper that holds untold secrets. I quickly glance up at Ezra and he nods. I swallow down my anxiety and open it.
