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touch remained, like a burning leg cuff, holding her prisoner. She didn’t dare look at him, but stared at the rope she clung to.
    She also listened to the dark, somber music that filled the stage and her head with longing. Late nights, alone in the loft apartment, she had felt this way. Lonely, lost, yearning for someone to share her life, her thoughts, her hopes and fears.
    â€œThe piece is called Arachnid,” Davin whispered, beside her now, his breath warm on her ear. “When the music darkens, but speeds up, pretend the ropes are part of a web.”
    â€œAre you the spider?” She hadn’t meant to speak to him, but she couldn’t resist.
    â€œThat’s right, and you’re afraid. Climb away from me.”
    She climbed in rhythm to the music, which had now become a little faster. Twice she looked back to see Davin watching her, his green eyes intense, then playful, and occasionally fired with an emotion she could only call passion. A languid lustful look that said he knew he could catch her any time he pleased. She tasted the fear of an innocent victim.
    Barron signaled for the music to stop after a few minutes. Miki was glad. She was running out of rope—web. Glancing around, she watched as Barron talked softly to Primavera and Romney. She couldn’t hear what he was saying to them.
    She sensed Davin beside her, paused in the dim light. She clung to the ropes without looking at him. Her heart pounded and her arms and legs turned to jelly.
    â€œYou’re shaking. You’re really afraid, aren’t you?”
    She might as well be truthful—almost truthful.
    â€œSure. But not of you—the spider. Don’t you remember joining the troupe, your first rehearsal? Or have you belonged to this company for a long time?”
    â€œYes. A long time. I can hardly remember when we started with the first rehearsal.”
    â€œIt can’t be that long. You aren’t that old.” She wanted to ask his age, but that seemed forward.
    â€œI’m older than you think.” His voice sounded hollow, wistful. He volunteered no other information.
    â€œYes,” she turned to him then. “I think I see a few gray hairs around your face.” She meant to tease and was surprised when one hand moved quickly to his temple as if he could feel a gray hair. He was much too handsome and probably vain.
    â€œNow, Miki.” Barron stood below them. “You turn and start back after Davin. He’ll flee as soon as he realizes his mistake. Center stage, you’ll fling open your cape and pose so the audience can see the red hourglass that will be on your costume.”
    So she was really the bad guy here. She smiled at the idea. And loved it. And loved the idea of wearing a cape. She wondered when she’d get one.
    â€œThen you strike, biting him as the music swells. Understand?” He didn’t expect a reply, but she nodded. “Okay, we’ll start at the beginning and dance it all the way through. Start center stage on the floor, Miki, then run from him at first. You are tempting him to follow. Pretend to be afraid when he does. He nearly catches you, then you turn on him and he sees his mistake.” Barron moved like a molten shadow downstage and leaped off to sit in the front row and watch. He must have been a beautiful dancer when he was young.
    They played out the piece again as the music swelled around them darkly, filling Miki with an easy fluidity that surprised her. She could always feel the music, but this piece came from within as well as from without.
    At first she wondered if the dancers on the trapeze bars played out a similar scenario, but she never dared to look and soon she forgot them.
    As she started back after Davin, and he moved slowly away, a spotlight hit them and kept them in its pale glow, like moonlight on a deadly insect ritual. In her peripheral vision she glimpsed the immense shadows they threw against the ropes. She felt