Page 16 of Specters & Spotlights

Elise chuckled, her hands still deftly organizing a tray of pins. “I think so. A few. It’s not common, but I’m not the only one.”

Nick tilted his head, and this time he wasn’t teasing—only listening.

She glanced toward the door, thoughtful. “I’ve never met anyone who sees them quite as clearly as I do. Full form, full voice—it’s like being tuned into a station most people can’t hear. But I think perception runs on a spectrum. Some folks get a flicker, a chill. A whisper, maybe.”

Nick looked both delighted and horrified.

“It’s not a gift you usually advertise, especially to strangers,” she added. “There are forums. Message boards. Some say they see them too. Some of those people are probably real. Some… are definitely not.”

As she reached for the next wig, her stomach rumbled—a small, traitorous sound.

“I almost forgot!” Nick exclaimed, rooting around in the depths of his costume jacket. “I brought you a cookie.”

Elise blinked, surprised. He produced a slightly crumpled, plastic-wrapped chocolate chip cookie like it was a sacred offering. It had definitely seen better days.

“You’ve been running around nonstop and I haven’t seen you eat a thing,” he said. “Figured you might need a sugar boost.”

Elise accepted it gratefully, tearing open the wrapper to find it fractured into three large pieces and a generous scattering of crumbs. “Did you carry this through the ballroom number?”

Nick grinned. “Tucked right in with my pocket square. It’s a very dramatic cookie.”

Elise laughed, picturing him galloping across the stage with a cookie rattling around his chest. “This poor cookie died for art.”

The first bite melted on her tongue, soft and sweet and unexpected. Her shoulders lowered, dropping tension she hadn’t realized they were holding. She wasn’t used to this: someone noticing. Someone caring, casually, without her asking.

In other companies, she’d worked twelve-hour days powered by caffeine and instinct. No one had ever brought her a cookie before.

She paused mid-chew. “Wait. Aren’t you gluten free?”

“I am,” Nick said breezily. “Which is why I raided Ed’s emergency snack stash. The one he thinks I don’t know about.”

Right on cue, Ed pushed into the room, halfway into his Colonel Fitzwilliam costume. He caught the tail end of Nick’s confession and sighed in mock exasperation.

“Nick.”

Nick shot him a sheepish look and held out his arms. “It was for Elise. A worthy cause.”

Ed gave Elise a mock scolding glare, then softened into a smile as he tugged his vest into place. “As long as it’s only for Elise,” he said, with a warm, conspiratorial tone that made Elise feel unexpectedly seen.

Nick lifted both hands like a priest at an altar. “Elise is special.”

She wiped a crumb off her apron and gave them both a grateful look in return. “I’m touched. Truly.”

Then, with a wink and a whirl, Nick turned and vanished into the growing hum of intermission traffic, right as two dancers peeked in for quick wig touch-ups.

Intermission wasn’t quite the whirlwind that pre-show had been, but it still kept Elise on her toes. Fewer wigs to swap, sure—but no less urgency in the air.

“Not Casper—Jasper,” she reminded herself as she helped him transition into his George Wickham wig, fingers moving quickly and precisely. She gave the lace a final pat and sent him off with a smile.

Isla Kent swept in next, halfway between Mrs. Bennet and Lady Catherine. Elise felt a quiet thrill—helping a legend transform never got old. The new wig settled into place with a satisfying snikt of pins and combs.

The ensemble moved like a tide. Dancers shifted into servants. Characters folded into new roles. One of the Bennet sisters breezed in with a half-defeated curl drooping over her brow.

She wasn’t quite sure if this one was Talia or Romy—but at least she now knew to say “Bennet sisters.” Nick had corrected her during an Act One change, with Bex chiming in to say the term was fair game since it described the characters. Elise had taken the note gratefully. One small victory in the sea of names.

Actors cycled in and out, and despite the chaos, Elise felt… settled. Like she’d done this a dozen times already. Her hands knew the rhythm even if her mind was still memorizing names.

A minute before the call for places, a shadow darkened the wig closet door. Graham leaned in the doorway—not with arrogance, exactly, but with the effortless confidence of someone who’d been born knowing their best angles.