by Kasie West
Dedication
To my Donavan, who has a big heart, a curious mind, and a contagious laugh. You make life better and I love you!
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Kasie West
Back Ad
Copyright
About the Publisher
Dancing Graves
INT. THE GRAHAM MANSION—NIGHT.
SCARLETT, seventeen-year-old daughter to wealthy estate owner and zombie hunter LORD LUCAS GRAHAM, paces her bedroom, a fire glowing in the fireplace. She nervously awaits the return of her father and BENJAMIN SCOTT, the man she hopes to marry, from a hunt.
SCARLETT
Where are you?
EXT. A FOREST—NIGHT
In the forest surrounding the mansion, on horseback LORD LUCAS and BENJAMIN SCOTT, nineteen-year-old suitor of SCARLETT GRAHAM, fight off a horde of angry zombies.
LORD LUCAS
Only kill if you must! There is still hope for them. The cure is closer than ever.
BENJAMIN
There are too many!
LORD LUCAS
Retreat!
One
“Your face is falling off.”
I reached up to my chin, where Grant’s eyes were glued, and felt the long piece of fake skin that the makeup artist had adhered to my real skin hanging by a thread.
“My face is supposed to be falling off. I’m a zombie.” I was a zombie! Acting in my very first movie role alongside Grant James. Superstar Grant James. We’d been on set for a week now, but I still couldn’t shake the excitement of that thought.
“I don’t think it’s supposed to look like that,” he said.
“My face is falling off,” I said, turning toward Remy, the director. He was behind a camera and a monitor with about ten other people.
The boom operator to my right groaned and moved the pole to his shoulder. This was at least our twentieth take of the scene; his arm was probably sore.
“Makeup! Leah!” Remy called. “We need a face fix!”
Even with the large light box blocking the direct rays of sun from the scene, the heat still radiated off the soil around us. It was hot in Los Angeles for September. We were shooting in a graveyard today, and if we were out here much longer, I knew I’d start to feel like an actual zombie, slowly melting away.
Leah hurried forward with her bag of supplies and got to work on my face. Remy stepped into the shot as well. “I need you both to add some chemistry to this scene. I’m not feeling anything.”
“I’m not either,” Grant mumbled.
We weren’t projecting chemistry? We’d had plenty of chemistry when we auditioned for the part. Guess my becoming zombified wasn’t helping.
I could fix that. I may have been the newbie on this set, but I wasn’t new to acting. I had been in a few commercials, a dozen high school plays, and had made four guest appearances in The Cafeteria, a long-standing television show. Sure, approximately three people remembered me being in the show, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t good. This movie was my big break. And my first real chance to prove I was star material.
I stayed perfectly still while Leah poked and prodded at my chin. Grant paced behind her, stepping over mounds of dirt and around fake headstones. He mumbled his lines, completely forgetting two. I didn’t say anything. That was Remy’s job.
Leah took a step back, gave my face a once-over, and said, “Perfect.”
I smiled. “I look pretty?”
She swatted at my arm playfully and then took her place behind the monitor again.
“Okay,” Remy said. “Places, everybody.”
Three hours later, Remy yelled, “Cut. That’s a wrap.”
Leah stepped forward to remove a premade section of my zombie face that she never let me take off myself (too valuable, she once told me). I started to say something to Grant, when, past the lights and monitors, I noticed my dad weaving his way through the crew, his eyes glued to Remy. I shook my hands, hoping that would help Leah move quicker. The second she was done, I rushed to intercept my father. I wasn’t fast enough. By the time I got there, my dad was talking about the appropriate number of breaks for an underage actress. Remy’s expression was unreadable.
“Dad,” I sang out. “You’re here. Again.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve been here for two hours, and there wasn’t a single break.”
“We’ll keep that in mind,” Remy said.
“Thanks, Remy,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I hooked my arm in my dad’s and forced us both toward my trailer.
“Lacey,” Dad said. “I wasn’t quite finished.”
“Didn’t you have that talk with him yesterday?”
“And obviously nothing changed.”
“Dad, I feel great. We had plenty of breaks, I promise. Half the time, we’re just standing around waiting for the lights to get moved anyway.” We had at least two more months of filming. This could not keep happening.
“That’s not the same as an off-set break,” he said when we stopped in front of my trailer. He looked at the door, then back at me. “Aren’t you coming home right now?”
Right. Home. I was underage, which meant that I was the only lead cast member who wasn’t living in my provided trailer, which was towed to each location along with the rest of the equipment. I had to trek at least forty minutes (depending on where we filmed for the day) home every night to my dad’s apartment . . . a place that didn’t feel like home at all. It had been seven years since I’d lived with my dad full-time, and we were still getting used to it. When he’d offered to move down to LA with me, I thought he was finally supporting my acting career. What I didn’t realize until we were down here was that he just wanted to micromanage it.
“I need to get some homework done first.” I opened the trailer and stepped inside. He followed me.
“That reminds me—why did you tell Tiffany to stop coming?”
I sat down on the couch and unlaced my boots. “Who?”
“Tiffany. Your tutor.”
“Oh, right. I didn’t tell her to stop coming. She quit.”
“Really?”
She had . . . after having to wait two hours for me for the third day in a row. My daily call sheet may have spelled out my schedule, but sometimes we got behind.
“Yes, really. Besides, Father dearest, I don’t require a tutor,” I said in an English accent. “I can work on homework packets on my own.” My dad had found a school close by to sponsor my home studies. The semester started three weeks ago, before we began filming. When I was done, I would finish out my senior year back home with my mom and friends. That was probably why I wasn
’t super invested in the homework or the weekly emails I got from my sponsor teacher.
“You’re right. A tutor wouldn’t be required if you actually finished the packets and turned them in all by yourself too,” he returned in his own English accent. I smiled. My dad was a bit of a nerd, who always dressed in khakis and actually parted his auburn hair to one side, but with a little effort, he could pull off a leading man. He nodded toward my homework on the table. “That’s why I hired you another one. Someone who I will keep updated on your schedule. Even when it changes.”
I dropped the accent. “What? No, Dad. I’ll get to my homework, I promise. I don’t need a babysitter. This is the biggest opportunity of my life. I’m focusing. Channeling my zombie nature. Zombies do not do independent study packets.”
He gestured to my zombified face. “Somehow I don’t think that this is the biggest opportunity life will afford you. And the amazing thing about school is that finishing it makes it so when opportunities get ruined, you have something to fall back on.” He held up my barely started homework packet. “He’ll be here tomorrow.”
“He? You hired a man to tutor me? That’s going to be weird hanging out with a strange man in my trailer.”
“He’s not a man. I hired a student this time, from your sponsor school. It will be good for you to hang out with someone your own age.”
“Don’t you think a guy my own age will be more of a distraction?”
“You think of the most creative ways to get out of things. No, I don’t think that. I know how your mind works. Boys will get in the way of your big dreams; I don’t remember the last time you gave one the time of day.”
“I’d give one the time if he asked.”
There was a knock on the trailer door, and Aaron, the director’s fifteen-year-old son, poked his head in. “Can I get you anything, Lacey?”
I smiled. “I could use a cold bottle of water, please?”
“Lacey can get her own water,” Dad said.
“It’s okay. I’m here to help.” Aaron walked to the little fridge in the kitchen area. “I stocked your fridge with drinks this morning.” He pulled one out and handed it to me.
“You’re the sweetest. Thank you!”
He looked down, his cheeks going pink.
My phone buzzed on the table. We weren’t allowed phones on set, so there was a list of notifications from the day. I entered my passcode and quickly looked through my texts. They were mainly from Abby and other friends back home.
“Anything else?” Aaron asked from beside me.
“Oh, no. I’m good.” I held up my water. “Thank you.”
He nodded, then backed out of my trailer, shutting the door.
“When did you get a water fetcher?” Dad tugged on the leaf hanging off the stem of one of the roses my mom had sent over my first day of filming. Seven days later, they were now droopy and wilting. “I thought Faith was your assistant. You need two?”
I unscrewed the cap on my water bottle and took a sip. “Dad, Faith is the assistant director. And that was Remy’s son. Don’t call him a water fetcher. I think he wants to work on movies when he grows up.”
“So he gets your drinks?”
“No, he just kept following me around, asking me how he could help. I tried to tell him I didn’t need anything at first, but he seemed really sad about it. So I ask him for things now and again. It’s easier this way.” I set my water on the table and unlaced some ribbons from my hair, hanging them on a rack of clothes in the corner.
“I see,” Dad said, even though it didn’t seem like he understood at all. “So how did things go today? Do you want to quit yet?”
I scrunched my nose at him. “You will be the first to know if I ever want to quit. Try not to gloat too much if that happens.”
He put his hand on his chest as though deeply offended. “You know I would never gloat.”
“No, you’d just be so happy that your head might explode.”
“You know it’s not about me.”
“I know, I know. It’s about your deep concern for my fragile ego.”
“I just think there’s nothing wrong with being a kid before you have to grow up. This industry can do crazy things to people.”
“Those people don’t have you, Dad.” I wrapped him in a hug. The only one driving me crazy right now was him, but he was my dad, and I was pretty sure that’s what dads were supposed to do, so I’d forgive him for it. Not even my overbearing dad was going to take away the excitement of where I was and what I was doing.
His shoulders rose and fell again. “This is how you talk me into things.”
“Besides, I’m far from a kid.” I peeled up a corner of latex from my cheek and pulled it off slowly. “Daaadddd, help me! My face is falling off.”
“Did you seriously just do that after claiming you weren’t a kid?”
“You’re right. My timing was off.” I walked to the vanity and dropped the piece of latex there, then picked up a Q-tip and dipped it in some sort of magical makeup dissolving solution Leah had given me on day one. It made the fake skin come off easier.
“So I’ll see you back home at ten with a finished homework packet,” he said, his hand on the door now.
“Yep.”
He left the trailer with a click of the shutting door.
I sank down into a chair and immediately regretted it as the corset I wore dug into my hips and ribs. I stood and loosened it. The makeup I had to endure may have been atrocious, but the wardrobe was gorgeous. Historical zombies knew how to dress. I ran my hand down the tattered sleeve of the billowy blouse.
I threw my corset over the rack, then picked up my phone.
Abby answered after three rings, “Hey, movie star.”
“Hi! I got your one thousand texts today.”
“I know you said you can’t check during filming, but it’s just habit now.”
“I understand. I miss you too!”
“When do you get a break to come visit your not-so-cool Central Coast friends?”
I felt a twinge in my chest. There wasn’t a second that I regretted accepting the role of Scarlett, but it was hard not to feel a little homesick. I felt a million miles away from all my friends, who were doing all the things that we used to do together, like meeting up at the diner after school and planning our weekend. “My Central Coast friends are the coolest, but filming seems like it’s going to be pretty nonstop for the next few weeks. Especially since things aren’t going that well. Apparently Grant and I have lost our chemistry.”
“Why?”
“Probably because I look like maggot-eaten death most days.” I grabbed a wipe and began scrubbing at the residual makeup and adhesive on my skin. I’d need a long shower tonight. My hair, normally red and curly, was straight and streaked with dirt, making it look mostly brown.
“I still don’t understand why his character is supposed to want to kiss your character in that state.”
“Because true love transcends all. What you really should be worried about is why my character wants to kiss him. I’m a zombie. Sure, a partially cured zombie, but still, shouldn’t I just want to eat his brains? I guess things don’t have to make complete sense in movies.”
“It makes sense. True love really does transcend all. It’s kind of sweet, actually.”
I laughed. “Spoken like a woman in love. How is Cooper?”
“Amazing.”
“So the whole best-friends-turned-lovers thing is something you’d recommend, then?”
“Absolutely. Why? Do you have a best friend you’re looking to turn into more?”
“Ha! I have no friends. I just moved here, live with my single and very-much-out-of-the-social-scene dad, and am on a movie set every day.”
“I didn’t realize you were the only person acting in this movie.”
I pursed my lips. “You’re right. I’m being antisocial.”
“Which is very weird to me. You are the queen of parties here. You throw one for every occasion
.”
I ran my hand along the clothes hanging on the rack as I walked by, feeling the silky material drift through my fingers.
“You still there?” Abby asked.
“I’m feeling a little pressure. This is such an amazing opportunity, and I’m terrified of messing it up.” It was the first time I’d admitted that out loud. This was probably why I was feeling off, why Remy felt no chemistry between Grant and me. I needed to relax. I breathed in and then out slowly.
“I’m sorry,” Abby said.
“Enough about me. How’s your art? Have you posted any more paintings online that I can drool over?” Abby was going to be a world-famous painter one day, I was sure of it.
“No. School is taking all my free time.”
“School is a poacher of time, that’s for sure. Speaking of, I have at least half of an independent study packet to complete by ten o’clock tonight. I better run.”
“Okay. Good luck,” she said.
“Tell Cooper I say hi.”
“Have fun working on your chemistry with Grant James. He may not be feeling it, but one look at his face and I’d think you wouldn’t have a hard time at all,” she said. “Is he as hot in person as he is on the big screen?”
“Hotter.” And the entire cast and crew knew this, including him.
She laughed. “It’s a tough job you have, Lacey Barnes. Super tough.”
“I know. Some of us are called on to sacrifice for the greater good. And some must pay good money to watch those who’ve heeded the call.”
“Talk to you later.”
We hung up, and I grabbed my independent study packet. I worked on it for a solid five minutes before my mind drifted back to what had happened on set today. What I really needed to be studying was Grant James. Abby was right, I had some chemistry to work on, and I knew how to do just that.
Dancing Graves
INT. THE GRAHAM MANSION—MORNING
BENJAMIN and SCARLETT talk in the study with Scarlett’s friend EVELIN, twenty-year-old longtime acquaintance of the family, as chaperone, reading a book in the corner but really listening to every word they say. Scarlett doesn’t know, but Evelin has feelings for Benjamin.
SCARLETT
Are you okay? Did you come to any harm last night?