Page 12 of Specters & Spotlights

His voice, when he thanked her, was low and musical—the kind that made audiences lean in.

Jasper came in with a lopsided smile and a pair of earbuds he tugged loose as he sat. Auburn curls stuck out from under his ballcap in defiance of all wig prep logic.

“George Wickham and troublemaker extraordinaire,” Nick whispered helpfully as Elise began the wig cap routine. “Also, Act One ensemble.”

“Wait—no. That’s Casper” Elise glanced sideways at him.

“Nope. Jasper,” he confirmed. “I know, I know. It’s a nightmare.”

“There’s no way I’m going to keep Casper and Jasper straight,” Elise muttered.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Nick said with a grin. “They’re not.”

Elise choked on a laugh.

“Here’s my trick,” Nick added, striking a mock-educational pose. “Casper plays Charles. Starts with the same letter. Jasper plays George—starts with the same sound.”

Elise filed it away with silent gratitude. Mnemonics and magic were sometimes the same thing.

As she was pinning Jasper’s wig in place, a familiar face ducked into the room—tall, sharp-featured, and unmistakable.

“Ed!” Elise called, a genuine smile blooming.

He grinned back. “Didn’t expect to see you on this tour,” he said warmly.

“I could say the same,” she replied, stepping back so he could take the seat.

Behind her, Nick called out, “You’re late.”

“I know, I know.” Ed wiped a bit of sweat from his forehead. “Just here for the opening wig. I’ll grab the mutton chops during intermission.”

Elise laughed under her breath. “Some things never change.”

Nick made a dramatic show of checking his invisible watch and then popped out to get into the last pieces of his costume, leaving Elise mid-chaos.

Elise turned back to the mirror—and the energy in the room tripled.

Devon, all long limbs and perpetual motion, twirled through the doorway mid-conversation. “I told him—if you can’t pirouette without knocking over the chaise, maybe don’t stand center.”

Benji followed, coffee cup in one hand, the other adjusting a scarf he definitely didn’t need. “What chaise? There’s barely enough set in that show to call it minimalist.”

Lex trailed behind them, soft-spoken and serious, already humming his opening harmony.

They lined up like choreography. Elise barely had time to catch their names, but she caught their patterns: Devon was kinetic, Benji charming chaos, Lex a steady note in the noise.

She moved faster now—wig cap, wig, pin, glue, repeat—until the room spun in a kind of organized frenzy. Somewhere in the middle of it all, Kevin leaned against the shelves, half-possessed by the moment.

“Backstage ballet,” he mused. “No one sees it, but it holds the whole illusion up.”

Elise didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. This was her element. The eye of the storm, the heartbeat of transformation.

And then—a quiet knock on the doorframe.

Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just… deliberate.

Elise glanced up, comb still in hand.

The rhythm shifted again.