Page 42 of Specters & Spotlights

“I don’t know. I wish I did. It started maybe half an hour ago—this heavy feeling, like something pressing in from the edges. Like someone opened a door that should’ve stayed closed.”

Elise adjusted her bag, glancing behind her reflexively.

“Is it… me?”

“It’s around you,” Cici said. “Not from you. But it feels… drawn. Like something noticed something.”

The words tangled in Elise’s chest. “I’ve been careful.”

“I know. I know. And maybe it’s nothing,” Cici said. “But I haven’t felt anything this loud since⁠—”

She stopped herself. But Elise knew.

Since then.

“That’s… comforting,” Elise said lightly, trying to force a smile through the tension.

Cici softened her voice. “I didn’t want to spook you. I just needed to tell you. The energy around you right now—it’s shifting. Be careful tonight.”

“I will,” Elise promised. “I’m okay. Really.”

“Are you?”

“I’ll have people with me. I’m wearing my comfy boots and my don't-mess-with-me eyeliner. I’m untouchable.”

That earned a tiny laugh. “Alright. But call me after, okay? Even if it’s late.”

“I will.”

Elise turned the corner, and spotted the soft glow of string lights and the tall outline of the brewery ahead. Music floated faintly into the night—light, distant.

“I can see the place now,” she said. “I’ve gotta go charm theatre kids and avoid karaoke.”

“You’d crush karaoke.”

“I’d cause a scene.”

“You always do,” Cici said fondly.

The call ended. Elise slipped the phone into her coat pocket, the distant music tugging her forward, and the weight of Cici’s worry trailing softly behind.

Elise stepped into the brewery right as she tucked her phone away, the strap of her carry-on digging stubbornly into her shoulder. It was heavier than she remembered—probably stuffed with too many just-in-case items, like bobby pins and bundles of rosemary that smelled faintly of travel and theatre dust.

Inside, the brewery itself was warm and softly humming. Cozy, with that comforting mix of low chatter and the clink of pint glasses. A long wooden bar hugged the back left corner, lit from above with mismatched pendant lights. Toward the front, worn leather chairs and a lopsided couch gathered near a large paned window like friends swapping stories.

In the opposite corner, a wide doorway—clearly the entrance to the karaoke room—glowed with moody purple light. She caught the lazy spin of a disco ball casting little bursts of glitter across the walls and the floor.

The restrooms stood like sentries near a black door marked only by a green exit sign. Probably the alley, Elise thought. She adjusted her bag, the strap catching for a moment, and scanned the room.

“Elise is here!” Marcie called.

She spotted Jen and Marcie near the bar, beers in hand, already halfway through a toast. The welcome was instant. Warm. Familiar in a way that made Elise smile without meaning to. One by one, other cast and crew members noticed her arrival—hands lifted, heads turned, smiles exchanged. A few people raised their glasses without even interrupting their conversations.

As she made her way toward the bar, someone brushed lightly against her shoulder. She turned.

It was the quick-change tech from backstage—the one who’d always appeared exactly when needed, holding a hairpin or a can of static spray.

“Hey,” the woman said, smiling. “I’m Gina, by the way. We never really got a proper intro.”