Page 10 of Specters & Spotlights

More accurately, her brain stuttered for half a second as she clocked the stranger’s state of undress: a nude lace bra and matching underwear, worn with the unbothered confidence of someone who’d forgotten clothing was ever meant to be armor. Not that it was wholly unexpected. Backstage, it was common to find actors in various stages of getting in and out of costume. Modesty wasn’t a trait theatre people tended to cultivate. If anything, the opposite was usually true.

Still—this hit different. A total stranger, standing in the doorway like she belonged there, leaving barely anything to the imagination.

Once you got past the near-nudity, she could’ve been Ellen’s mirror image. Same height, similar build, though this woman held herself with a practiced poise—posture like a dancer, chin tilted in quiet command. Not quite regal, but close.

Elise practically shook herself out of her reverie. She didn’t need a name tag to guess: Elizabeth. Or rather, the actress who played her.

There was a brief flicker in Ellen’s expression, as her eyes snapped over to the doorway. Not quite a grimace, but something closed off and flat, like a door being quietly shut.

“Lark Ellison,” Ellen clarified for Elise, tone clipped. “Our leading lady.”

“Charmed,” Lark replied smoothly, eyes already sliding past Ellen to rest on Elise.

Ellen didn’t linger. She gave Elise a nod, polite but quick, and slipped through the door like she couldn’t leave fast enough. The air left behind felt charged—the kind of silence that hummed after an argument no one will admit to having. Elise turned to face Lark and offered a tentative smile. “I’m Elise. I come bearing bobby pins and the power to make bad hair days disappear.” She dipped into a mock-curtsy, light and theatrical.

Kevin, floating idly near the wigs, gave an exaggerated yawn. “Bit on the nose,” he muttered, mostly to himself. But his eyes were squinting in scrutiny at Lark—clearly taking her measure.

Elise ignored him. Barely.

Lark stepped forward at last, her expression unreadable. “So you’re the cavalry,” she said, not quite smiling. “Promising start.”

She looked Elise over—once, then again—not unkindly, but with the deliberate attention of someone trying to decide if the new hire was a threat, a tool, or something else entirely. It was an appraisal.

Something about it made Elise’s spine stiffen, just slightly. She held her ground, meeting Lark’s gaze with quiet curiosity, willing herself not to let her eyes wander—or, worse, let her noticing be noticed.

Because Lark was stunning in a way Elise didn’t have to choose to register.

Elise forced her attention back to Lark’s eyes.

A fraction too late.

Lark’s mouth curved, almost imperceptibly, like she’d just gotten the confirmation she’d been aiming for. Like she’d seen the tell Elise hadn’t meant to show.

“Well,” Elise said lightly, “I do try to exceed expectations.”

Lark’s lips curved a fraction more. “Good. I like that.”

Behind her, Kevin let out an amused hum. “You’re appreciating,” Kevin murmured. “Loudly.”

Elise allowed her attention to shift to an area of strictly professional interest: Lark’s chestnut-brown hair was loose, freshly blown out and curled under at the ends. It looked great, sure, but… not show-ready.

“Your hair’s down,” she said, keeping her tone light, observational. “Did you just come from somewhere? Or⁠—?”

Lark arched an eyebrow, eyes cool and unreadable. She settled into the chair with practiced ease. “The wig mistress always does my pin curls,” she said, each word delicately clipped. “I don’t do them myself. Surely someone already told you that?”

Elise hesitated. “Every show?” she asked. “That must’ve… been a tight turnaround. Especially during pre-show call.” She usually asked folks to come with their pin curls already set. It helped keep the chair moving quickly.

Lark folded her arms loosely. “I’m here fifteen minutes before call, aren’t I? That should be enough. You’ll do a great job, I’m sure of it.”

Elise offered a small, polite smile, but something prickled in her chest. Not annoyance exactly, more the strain of fitting into a rhythm she hadn’t rehearsed.

From the corner, Kevin made a low, theatrical guffaw. “Ah, the prima donna has arrived—and expects applause before the overture.”

Elise didn’t nod, but her lips pressed into a line. She’d seen this type before. Not mean, exactly. Just... used to being the sun everyone orbited.

“Well,” she said gently, picking up her comb, “let’s make the most of our fifteen minutes, then.”

Elise was reaching for the wig cap, the last pin curl tucked neatly in place, when the door cracked open again and in swept Nick, carrying the exact air of someone who meant to arrive a minute sooner.