Page 118 of Specters & Spotlights

“How can you not?” she snapped. “The air curdled the moment it arrived. I smelled it. Sour and wrong. It came less than an hour ago.”

Her eyes narrowed further. “I rang the bell to warn the others. There are other residents throughout the building—some still half-asleep in their corners. But I do not take chances with my theatre.”

Elise’s brows rose slightly. “Others?”

She was just about to ask who else “lived” here when Kevin floated casually through the far wall, leaving a faint ghostly frost across the nearest mirror as he passed through.

“Well there you are,” he said, voice bright and oblivious as he drifted in like he’d taken a scenic route through backstage. “Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon. Thought you two would still be busy canoodling for⁠—”

“YOU!”

The ghost’s voice cracked through the room like a snapped baton.

Kevin stopped mid-sentence.

She pointed a trembling, accusatory finger straight at him, eyes blazing. “You. It’s you who’s brought this evil into our opera house.”

Kevin blinked, then looked over his shoulder like she must be pointing at someone behind him. When no one emerged, he touched his own chest delicately.

“Me?” he said, scandalized. “Are you sure it’s me? I’m quite harmless. Practically decorative.”

But the ghost didn’t so much as twitch. Her gaze was locked on him with unsettling certainty.

“I smell it on you,” she said, low and sharp. “The stench of what’s coming. You brought it here.”

Elise stepped forward quickly, lifting her hand in protest. “Ma’am, with all due respect—this is Kevin. He’s with me.”

The woman didn’t look at her. She was already circling.

Kevin stiffened as the ghost paced around him, inspecting him like a slightly offensive antique. Her shoes made no sound, but her presence was thunderous.

Kevin tried for a light tone, though his voice pitched a little too high. “Is this the part where I get a note on posture? I’ve been dead for fifty years, darling, I’m as upright as I’m going to get.”

Elise could see it, though—his unease flickering just under the surface.

The ghost stopped in front of him again, frowning deeply.

“You’re right,” she said at last, glancing at Elise. “He is not the source.”

Kevin let out an exaggerated sigh of relief.

“But,” she continued, “he’s tied to it. Or rather—it’s tied to him.”

Elise’s breath caught.

The ghost’s voice dropped lower now, almost clinical. “It’s inside him. Like rot beneath paint. I can feel it—something leeching his essence, soundlessly, slowly. Like an hourglass turned over.”

Kevin’s face went still.

The ghost looked at them both. “Whatever is inside him… it’s feeding. And it’s leaving something behind.”

Elise turned to Kevin, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s the Specter.”

Kevin nodded once, just barely.

His voice was quiet. “He never let go.”

Elise turned to Graham, still holding his hand, her voice low and fast.