Page 131 of Specters & Spotlights

“Hair check?”

“Looks great,” she said, her voice thin around the edges. Like something straining not to crack.

He didn’t speak right away. Just took her hands and silently led her out of the room. They paused in the side hallway, beneath a low pool of golden light. The noise fell away behind them.

Here, it was quiet.

“We’ve got you,” he said simply. “All of us. And me? I’m here for you.”

Elise didn’t realize how tightly she’d been holding herself until she leaned into him.

His arms closed around her, and the world softened. He smelled like stage powder and something warm. Familiar. For just a moment, it was safe to breathe.

When she pulled back, her fingers brushed a smudge on his shoulder. “If I got mascara on you, wardrobe would throw me off the mezzanine.”

He smiled, warm and sure. “They wouldn’t dare.”

He left for places. The moment dissolved.

Elise returned to the wigs, barely a breath behind schedule. The clock kept moving. There were wig caps to apply, hair pins to hide, focus to fake. Final call for places rang out. People darted past in tights and overcoats, grabbing last sips of water, adjusting headsets.

When the house lights dimmed and the overture began… The curtain rose.

And the show began.

The opening chords of “Five Daughters and a Dowry” rang out, bright and buoyant, the voices of the ensemble rising in harmony as the Bennet sisters danced their way into the spotlight. Upstairs, it looked like just another performance night. Downstairs, everything felt heavier.

In the greenroom, the small speaker crackled to life, letting Elise follow the show in real time. The sound quality wasn’t great—it buzzed a little at the edges and flattened the vocals—but it was enough. She preferred it, actually. Rather than catching fragmented echoes from the wings or bits of dialogue through the floorboards, she could follow the entire arc from down here.

Usually, she found it comforting. Tonight, it made her feel like a ghost. Like she was already somewhere else, listening in from the beyond.

Her hands were still. That was the problem.

Act One was quiet for her—only a few minor wig adjustments and some prep before intermission. Which meant she had time to think. And right now, her mind wouldn’t stop leaping ahead to the second act. To the ten-minute scramble they’d have during intermission. To everything that needed to be placed, checked, salted, and traced before the curtain rose on Act Two.

To everything that could go wrong.

Her tattoos pulsed softly beneath her sleeves. Not pain, not quite, but more insistent than ever. A tight, humming pressure under her skin, as if something was pressing from the outside in. She still hadn’t seen the Specter directly, but the signs were everywhere: flickering lights, cold drafts, shadowy movement at the edge of vision. The building felt like it was bracing for something.

She shifted on the couch, stretching her legs—and paused.

There, in the far corner of the greenroom, stood Myrtle’s cane.

It hadn’t been there earlier. Elise was sure of it. The polished wood caught the dim overhead light.

She stood and crossed to it slowly, heart ticking up with every step. As she reached for it, the temperature around her dropped.

A whisper brushed her ear, paper-thin and close.

“We’re trying to hold him back,” Myrtle breathed. “But he’s furious. He knows what you’re planning.”

Elise froze. The air smelled faintly of dust and roses.

She swallowed hard and gave a tight nod, not sure if the ghost could still see her.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Then the whisper was gone. The chill faded. But the cane remained.