Page 70 of Specters & Spotlights

“It’s you and me again,” she said, half to the wig, half to Kevin. “Let’s make magic.”

The theatre always felt different in this in-between hour. Softer somehow. Like it remembered what had just happened and was still buzzing from it.

Elise sang as she worked, picking up Lark’s solo from Act Two—the solo, the one that always gave her goosebumps when Lark nailed the transition into the final chorus.

She let herself feel it, swaying a bit with the melody, one hand mimicking the choreography, the other guiding her brush through long, luxurious locks. Her voice climbed—confident and clear. The final note rose and rang like it belonged to the rafters.

She held it.

Released.

Silence.

She opened her eyes.

Something was standing in the corner.

Chapter Thirteen

Graham

Graham stayed still, half-shadowed by a rack of costumes, as if moving would break the spell. He hadn’t meant to linger—he’d already worked up the courage to come in and confidently strike up a conversation with this woman he couldn’t stop thinking about. But Elise’s voice had caught him in place.

She held the note.

Released.

Silence.

Elise opened her eyes.

And then she saw him. And yelped.

The sound was sharp enough to jolt him. She stumbled back into the wig dryer with a loud clang, and Graham’s stomach dropped.

Oh shit. He’d scared her.

He stepped forward too fast, hands lifting instinctively like he could undo it by looking harmless. “Whoa—Elise! It’s me! Sorry, sorry—didn’t mean to scare you.”

Idiot. Of course he’d scared her. He’d noticed she was jumpy—especially lately, especially after whatever strange undercurrent had taken hold of the company since the last cast party. And now that he knew what he knew—what Elise had admitted she could see—silently standing in a dark corner like a creep wasn’t just awkward. It was cruel.

He mentally berated himself as if he could rewind the last ten seconds and give his past self a simple set of instructions: Clear your throat. Say her name. Be a normal person.

Elise’s hand pressed to her chest, breath uneven, eyes narrowed with pure, righteous irritation.

“Graham,” she said, still catching up to her heartbeat. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“I know, I know.” Graham felt genuinely stricken. “I should’ve said something. You were… singing.”

As if that explained it. As if the word could cover what had just happened to him in the last thirty seconds.

He was still trying to recover from the shock of it—that voice, coming out of her. Not loud, not performative, not the kind of belt meant to impress a room. It had been beautiful in a quieter way. Controlled. Certain. Like she’d been holding it back on purpose.

Elise’s face went pink so fast it was almost comical. “You heard that?” she asked, and her hand flew to her cheek as if she could physically contain the blush.

“Every note,” he said, and surprised himself by letting a small, sheepish grin slip through. “You’re amazing.”

The words landed and immediately made him want to rewind time. Not because they weren’t true—because they were too true, too easily said.