Gil glares at me, then hurries after her. Firmin Richards remains where he is, twisting his hands together like he’s trying to wring water out of them.
“Whoa, man…can she do that?” asks Rune.
“She has a contract,” I tell him. “But technically, she doesn’t have to sing in the preview performance, so…yes, she can.”
He stares, then scratches his head. “Bro, if she’s gone, then…who’s gonna sing with me?”
“Christine is the understudy,” pipes up Meg Giry, one of the other dancers. “She can sing the lead tomorrow night.”
The memory strikes me like a fist to the gut. A solid body in a black coat crushing me against the wall, muttering words of dark intent.She will have the lead role—I will ensure it. But know that if you attempt to thwart my plans or if you try to take her for yourself, I will bring down ruin upon this theater, and your name will be forever linked to tragedy and misfortune.
No one person could be behind everything that has happened. It’s ridiculous to even consider the possibility. Besides which, no onewas on the catwalk when the piece of lighting fell. If the masked man had been nearby, I would have caught his scent.
I thought I smelled him that night when I stopped my car at the curb to speak to Christine. His scent, twined with hers, redolent of lust and blood. Is he her secret boyfriend? An ex? A stalker? Is she in danger?
Richards speaks in a strained voice. “Yes, Christine is the understudy…but is she prepared to sing the role? I know you dance well, Christine, but how is your voice? Have you had training?”
Christine speaks through tense lips, her face paler than I’ve ever seen it. “I had a teacher for a while. He taught me well.”
“You’ll have to do. I need to get someone in here to clean this up…can’t have glass everywhere… There you are, Joe! Any idea what happened?”
Joe Buquet shrugs, removing his cigarette. “Nah. Screw must have got loose.”
“A loose screw?” Richards’s laugh carries a tinge of hysteria. “We can’t have loose screws up there with all the lighting and the beams and things!” He waves a hand upward. “Fix it! And fix this floor! And do it as cheaply and quickly as possible!”
“I can get it done quick or cheap, not both,” says Joe.
“We have an audience coming tomorrow night,” I remind Richards. “We need to impress them.”
“Fine. Do whatever has to be done. Just remember I’m not made of money.” Richards hurries away, his footsteps punctuated by a string of muttered curses.
The eyes of the cast press on me like prodding fingers. I hate it. I like sitting in a quiet space, crafting lyrics and humming snatches of melody. I wasn’t cut out for this. I don’t think I like directing.
Luckily for me, my lord and savior Marjorie returns at thatmoment, carrying a cup of fresh coffee in one hand and a bedazzled phone in the other. She takes one look at the damaged stage, asks a few questions, and orders everyone to head over to the Blue Ballroom for rehearsal while the mess is cleaned up. Everyone obeys except Christine, who lingers for a moment while Marj pulls me aside.
“You look awful,” Marj says.
“Thanks. I can always count on you for an ego boost.”
“You can count on me for the truth, hon. We’ll move the rehearsal to the ballroom for now, and I’ll make sure Christine is ready to step in for Carlotta. You go home and get some rest. Smoke a joint or something. We need you relaxed and ready to schmooze our guests tomorrow night.” She pats my shoulder and heads up the aisle, on her way to the Blue Ballroom.
She’s right, of course. But before I follow her suggestion, I look at Christine, who remains onstage, frozen in place, even though everyone else has gone. Her eyes aren’t full of excitement for her first big role—they’re fractured with terror, filled with an unspoken plea that I understand as surely as if she’d screamed it aloud.Save me.
I cross the stage and take both her hands. They’re ice-cold.
“Meet you out front when you’re done with rehearsal,” I say in an undertone. “Eight thirty? I’ll have the car waiting.”
A little of the fear recedes from her gaze, and she nods.
We descend the stage steps and walk together up the slanted aisle to the doors at the rear of the theater. We cross the small lobby area of the theater and head down the hall, where I leave Christine at the entrance to the Blue Ballroom.
I continue to the big front lobby on my own. Its carpet is flecked by scintillating shards of light, cast from the crystals of the chandelier, and the glittering spots mirror the excitement in my heart as I consider my plan for tonight.
Christine has never sung for an audience. And even though she auditioned for the lead role inSidewinder, it would be cruel to throw her into that role without first giving her a taste for public performance. She needs to experience the thrill of connecting with a crowd, pulling energy from them, sensing their response to her voice and her emotions. It’s a magic like no other. And I intend to give her that experience.
As I exit through the front doors of the building, my phone buzzes in my pocket, so I pull it out and check my messages. There’s a text from a number I don’t recognize.
Do not take Christine out tonight. If you do, you will regret it.
