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“That is neither here nor there.” Yesterday slashed the air with his hand. “They are to do as you command.”
“But they look upset.” Heaving muscle, razor claws, and sword teeth aside, they did look…disappointed. Some half-mad inner voice had her crouching down in front of them. “Don’t you want to go home?”
“Pfft.” Yesterday tossed his stubby arms in the air. “You’re useless at this.”
And now that they weren’t trying to kill her, the hounds were kind of sweet. Well, sweet adjacent at any rate.
Both hounds lunged to their feet.
Eddie scrambled back on her butt.
“Edme?” Rodney called from the other side of the basement door. “Are you down here?”
Hound two growled deep in his throat, the sound rattling Eddie’s bones.
“Stay,” she whispered to the hounds and Yesterday, all of whom had locked on to the closed door. “Yes,” she called to Rodney. “Do you need something?”
“The toilet is blocked in the makeup room,” Rodney called, and she could hear the censure in his tone. “Could you deal with it, please?”
Theatre! Such a glamorous business.
Chapter
Eight
An energetic plunge solved the toilet in the makeup room. Perhaps a plunger big enough for the hell gate would send all the nasties flushing back down to hell. And speaking of large plungers, she wished she had one large enough to plunge the shit out of this rehearsal.
Lillian and Barrie were facing off over act one, scene seven, and neither had any interest in giving ground.
“I just feel, Bazzer.” Lillian fluttered her lashes at an arms-crossed, legs-akimbo Barrie. “That she’s not so much manipulative as misunderstood. She’s a woman in her prime, flexing her power.”
“Lovely internal work, Poppet,” Peter called from the safety of his director’s desk in the auditorium.
Lillian simpered. “Thank you, babe. I love working with you.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “You’re so respectful of the actor’s process.”
“She’s a bitch,” Barrie announced.
“Bazzer.” Lillian’s eyes flashed a woman’s wrath. “We don’t judge our characters. We pay humble tribute to them through allowing them to speak through us.”
“So true,” Peter intoned.
Eddie hadn’t seen much humility on or off this stage in more years than she could count. If ever. She also had the lighting technician scheduled to take over the auditorium in fifteen minutes. “Perhaps we can take this conversation to the greenroom?”
“There’s absolutely nothing to discuss.” Barrie scoffed. “The bitch makes him kill the king.”
“Um…Barrie.” Matt, the actor playing Macbeth’s sidekick, Seyton, put his hand up. “Positive space, man, positive space.”
Matt, who’d just returned from his immersive method acting class in Toronto, gave them all a positive smile. “We need a safe place from which to create. A womb of creativity, if you will.”
Barrie threw up his hands. “Oh, for God’s sake.”
Eddie looked warily for the godly bolt of lightning that might follow using the Lord’s name in vain. Given that she now housed two hell hounds and a small demon in her basement, it didn’t auger well for her in the heavenly department.
“Lady Macbeth manipulates Macbeth into killing the king.” Barrie glared at Matt. “Everybody knows that.”
“Um…Barrie.” Matt grimaced. “There is more than one way to play a role. If you’ve ever seen Patrick Stewart’s interpretation—”
“Captain Picard!” Barrie glowered. “We’re using the captain of the Starship Enterprise as our guide here?”
