Page 136 of Specters & Spotlights

Elise glanced down at the tattoos curling up her forearms like vines. “Right,” she murmured. “Good point.”

Marcie rummaged in her kit, pulled out a retractable stick of cake makeup—like an oversized, skin colored chapstick. She dabbed a light beige shade across Elise’s hands, wrists, then all the way up to her shoulders. The tattoos disappeared in slow, deliberate strokes. Elise watched, half-hypnotized. It had been years since she’d seen her skin like that, unmarked. For a moment, it felt like erasing a version of herself.

She closed her eyes briefly, trying to feel through the makeup. The pressure of her protections remained, a slight hum under her skin. Still there. Still working. She exhaled a breath of relief.

Jen burst into the dressing room like a storm. “How much longer?” she asked, voice tight. “We’re supposed to be in places now.”

“Five minutes,” Elise said quickly, glancing at herself in the mirror. “I still need the wig.”

“She’s done with makeup,” Marcie confirmed, wiping her hands and clearing the space. “Go.”

Jen nodded, but her eyes flicked to the hallway. “Okay. Steve and I’ll come by once Act Two starts. Sharpie party time.”

“See you soon,” Marcie said over her shoulder, already packing up.

Elise stood, heart pounding, feeling like she’d just jumped a fence and wasn’t sure how many more were coming. But one thing was clear. There was no turning back now.

The wig closet buzzed with the last frantic shuffles of intermission. Romy was in the middle of pinning a waylaid curl for one of the dancers when Elise slipped in, Elizabeth’s updo wig in hand and ready.

“Sit,” Romy said, not looking up. “I’ve got you.”

Elise dropped onto the stool, fingers trembling slightly as she grabbed the front of the lace-front wig and held it in place while Romy pulled the back snugly down over her pinned curls.

“It’s not a perfect fit,” Romy muttered, securing the hair pins to the wig cap underneath. “But it’ll hold.”

Elise didn’t respond—she was already reaching for the spirit gum. Her fingers worked quickly, dabbing along the lace and pressing it into place, while Kevin paced in the far corner of the room.

“The salt line in the orchestra pit is set,” he said, a little breathless. “Candles all where they should be, everyone has lighters—oh, and don’t forget the watch and photo. You’ll need those before the finale.”

Elise didn’t look up, but her hands slowed. Kevin kept talking, the nerves spilling out of him like steam from a kettle.

“I just—there are a lot of moving parts, and I don’t care for how many of them involve you being directly in harm’s way. Which, I understand, is hypocritical coming from a dead man who has made a hobby out of meddling, but still. You’re the focus now. He’ll come for you. If something happens, if he gets too close, I—I wouldn’t be able to⁠—”

His voice broke, just slightly. But Elise heard it.

She looked up and met his eyes in the mirror.

For all his theatrical outrage, for all the snide comments and floating dramatics, Kevin looked scared. And it hit her, suddenly and viscerally, that she had been afraid of losing him all night. Longer. Since he first put himself in harm’s way to save her.

Kevin had become a part of the architecture of her life. A sarcastic, sardonic miracle in a waistcoat. He had seen the strangest, ugliest, most haunted pieces of her and stayed—not because he had to, but because he had chosen her.

The thought of stepping into the light without him made something inside her go cold.

“Kevin,” she said softly.

He stopped pacing.

The wig closet seemed to shrink around them: lace and pins, hairspray and panic, the muffled orchestra tuning beyond the walls.

“You’re important to me,” she said, gently but firmly.

His expression shifted. For once, he had no joke ready.

“You’re not just… part of the haunting,” she continued, voice tight. “You know that, right? You’re not a helpful prop. You’re not a weird little theatre feature I inherited. You’re my friend.”

Kevin blinked.

Elise looked back down before the emotion on his face could undo her completely. She pressed the last edge of lace into place with careful fingers.