Page 81 of Specters & Spotlights

“Are they—okay, this is important—are they naked?”

Elise laughed. “No! They show up however they felt most like themselves. Clothes and all.”

“Thank goodness. I don’t think I could handle a naked ghost chorus.” He grinned, then grew more thoughtful. “Can they, like… interact? With physical stuff?”

“The powerful ones can,” Elise said. “But it takes effort. Emotion. Focus.”

“Can they follow you?”

She shook her head. “Most can’t. They’re tied. To places. To objects. To unfinished stories. Kevin’s tied to a pocket watch and this theatre life. They’re all bound to something.”

Nick fell silent for a moment, then said, “So… your ex. He wasn’t… bound to that street corner, was he?”

Elise’s fingers stilled over the next curler.

“No,” she said, quietly. “He shouldn’t have been there.”

Nick looked at her, brows drawn. “But he was.”

She nodded. “I don’t know how. Kevin doesn’t know either. And that… scares me.”

The air shifted slightly, heavier now. Kevin hovered nearby, unusually subdued.

Nick, ever attuned, caught the shadow in Elise’s face and gently steered them toward calmer waters.

“So, this friend we’re about to call—Cici, right? She’s the same one who turned that one cast party into a full-on moon ritual with glow sticks and tequila?”

Elise couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes. Cici thrives in chaos. She’s the best kind of uninvited guest.”

“I think she and I would be dangerous in the same room.”

“She’s already claimed you as a favorite.”

Elise finished pinning the last curl into place and surveyed her handiwork with a satisfied nod. As she started tidying up the space—wiping down the chair, returning the brush to its drawer—she glanced at her phone.

11:00 PM.

“Showtime,” she said softly, more to herself than to Nick. She tapped the screen and pulled up Cici’s contact.

The call connected almost instantly—Cici’s face blooming to life on the screen, framed in moonlight and a halo of frizz. Her long dark hair was pulled back with a vibrant scarf the color of marigolds. The glint of silver hoops lined both ears, and a woven choker sat snug at her throat, a tiny crescent moon charm resting at the hollow.

“Hey,” Elise said, then paused. “Wow. You look exhausted.”

“I am exhausted,” Cici said flatly, then lifted something up to the camera. “But not too tired to introduce Chaos.”

A tiny black kitten blinked into view—fur like shadows, eyes like polished marbles.

Nick gasped theatrically. “She’s perfect. Tell her I would die for her.”

“She knows,” Cici said solemnly. “She feeds on devotion.”

The kitten pawed lazily at the screen before squirming out of frame. Cici sighed and adjusted the phone. “I wish I could be there, but feeding these gremlins every two hours is a prison of my own making. Remember last time I showed up at that haunted wreck of a theatre uninvited?”

“Vividly,” Elise said.

Nick looked between them. “Last time? You’ve been here before?”

Cici set the kitten down, her face turning serious. “It was years ago. Elise and I cast the calming ward to keep the Seamstress spirit from spiraling.”