* * *
My heart leaped into my chest as we made our way through the deserted dormitory and locker-lined corridors to the auditorium.
At my old school in Philly, we didn’t even have a space for productions. Plays, assemblies, dances, and other events happened in the gym, with everyone sitting on the bleachers or the basketball court. But at Derleth they spared no expense – the school’s auditorium looked more like a Broadway theatre complete with bar and padded seats that stepped down toward an elaborate Moorish-inspired stage complete with gilded turrets, spires, and minarets.
A crowd of students and parents gathered at the entrance. It looked like the bar was already hopping. My heart hammered in my chest as I ducked behind Quinn. At any moment someone could look up and recognize me and this would all be over.
Quinn made it to the backstage door and yanked it open. I ducked inside, and we immediately separated – Quinn heading to the wings to start moving the set and props onto the stage while I scrambled behind the stacks of old set pieces in the corner, a hiding place I’d staked out in advance. I pulled my costume from my backpack and started to peel off my black hoodie and leggings.
From between Sweeney Todd’s barber chair and a revolving bookshelf from Bugsy Malone, I had a small window to view the stage. Right now the curtains were drawn while black-clad figures moved around preparing the first set, but I could hear the trill of the audience as they took their seats.
They’re in for a show tonight.
I smoothed down the front of my swirling ballgown, affixed the tiara to my head – hoping it wasn’t crooked, as I had no way to check – and counted down the minutes. The last of the crew exited the stage. Feet shuffled across the floorboards as the actors and chorus lined up at the wings. I drew my head back as Tillie – who headed up the backstage crew – stomped past, barking orders into a walkie-talkie. The first ponderous notes struck from the orchestra, building into a crescendo as the curtains swung back and the lights went up on a busy Paris street.
Showtime.
Courtney strutted into the spotlight and spoke the opening lines.Mylines. Not that I cared anymore. Applause echoed through the auditorium as the chorus came out and launched into a raucous number.
It was strange to watch something I’d worked on for months go ahead without me. Part of me knew what we were doing tonight was necessary, and that I’d never fit in at this school in the first place. But there was another part of me that wished I had the chance to have a normal teenage life – that I’d gotten to stand on stage instead of Courtney and play that part and have my mom in the audience laughing and clapping along with the music.
It’s stupid to wish for things that can’t happen.I clenched my fists, willing down the rush of heat pooling in my palms.Tonight isn’t about me – it’s about making sure the Miskatonic students know the truth.
The play chugged along at a decent pace. The audience seemed into it, laughing and clapping at all the right places. I was surprised – these were people used to Broadway shows and opera, and back in the meeting room they acted as if they were only here begrudgingly. Perhaps they were even better actors than their kids, or maybe they bought into this farce that they were normal, supportive parents. I wasn’t sure which was worse.
Every second that passed brought us closer to our surprise. Tillie kept walking past with her walkie-talkie as sets flew in and out and actors scurried around the wings to meet their cues. The curtain dropped on intermission, and the audience exploded with conversation and thumping feet as parents made their way to the bar.
With what they were about to see, they were going to need those drinks.
My breath came out in ragged gasps as the second act began. The lights went down, and the first notes of a familiar song struck up. The song I danced with Trey. The song where I chose him.
Trey stepped out on stage. In his leather jacket and torn jeans, with his hair slicked back and a dangerous glint in his eye, he looked the epitome of the hot biker he portrayed. The music swelled, and he executed the first steps flawlessly, the way he did everything in his life. He finished on one knee at the front of the stage, his hand extended toward the wings, waiting for his leading lady to join him.
Courtney’s cue sounded, but she didn’t glide in to meet him. She couldn’t. Andre had her locked in a closet backstage, knocked out with a mild sedative Quinn stole from Old Waldron.
A ripple of unrest echoed through the wings. Tillie stomped by, snapping into her walkie-talkie. “Courts, where are you?”
The orchestra repeated the bar, and the cue sounded again. That wasmysignal. I stood up, smoothing down the front of my costume, and bolted from my hiding place toward the wings.
The backstage students waiting with props looked up in surprise, but they’d barely registered my presence before I stepped out under the lights and glided into Trey’s arms.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I held my breath as Trey caught me, his strong hands on my hips steadying me. The orchestra swelled, and the song continued. The musicians had an awkward view of the stage – they hadn’t noticed I wasn’t Courtney. Trey and I moved together, leaping and flowing together as we danced our theme of seduction. All the moves we’d practiced came to me in a rush of heat and lust and fire.
While we danced, the lights swirled and shifted. In the lighting box, Quinn worked his magic, using a red-tinted spot to follow us across the stage. Murmurs rose through the audience as people started to recognize me. My shoulders prickled from the heat of their gaze, but no one left their seat. No one rushed the stage or used a comically-large cane to fish me off.
The whole auditorium teetered on a knife-edge, waiting to see what happened next.
Behind us, images flickered across the backdrop as Quinn turned on the projector. Faces twisted with innocent smiles while white mist swirled around our feet. Familiar faces of past scholarship students – each one with a cruel cross etched through their features by a King. The faces flickered over the walls and ceiling of the auditorium as Quinn swung the projector around.
The orchestra halted with a screech as the musicians realized something was seriously wrong. A cold hush fell over the audience.
Trey and I danced on, the only sound in the room the scrape of our dance shoes against the stage. Until a voice cried through the loudspeakers, startling even me with its fearful trill.
“My name is Freddie,” a small voice whimpered. Trey really was good with voices. He’d recorded the tape earlier in the week, devising several different personalities – it was impossible to tell it was him. The reverb Quinn placed on the tape gave it an eerie, ghastly quality. “I’m John’s younger brother. Now I’m his older brother because he wasn’t allowed to grow up. We were going to work on our first cars together. He was stolen from me. I miss him.”
“Hey, what the—” John Hyde Jones rose from his seat in the orchestra, his face red with anger as he watched his brother’s face from his photograph flicker against the wall. He gripped his oboe like a baseball bat.
