Stage Fright (Bit Parts)

by Scott, Michelle

  His forehead knitted with worry. “In that case, I really am coming along. No buts. Last night, your friend made me a part of your vampire-fighting team, and I’m taking my obligations seriously.”

  I glared at him, but he refused to back down. Finally, I gave in with a sigh. “Fine. It’s your funeral,” I said, sincerely hoping it wouldn’t come to that. “What’s your superhero name?”

  He sliced the air with exaggerated karate chops. “Cutting Edge.”

  I sucked in my cheeks to keep from laughing.

  “Don’t mock me,” he said indignantly. “It was late, and I was tired, okay? Besides, it’s as good as Leading Lady.”

  Isaiah’s nickname drove a spike into my heart. He’d been in my head since the minute I’d woken up. I’d texted him a few times and even called, but he hadn’t responded. Even Perry didn’t pick up his phone.

  Seeing my distress, Andrew affectionately bumped his shoulder against mine. “Stop worrying. I’m sure Mr. Sexy Dreads is fine. He was really upset last night, and he’s probably working off some steam.”

  No doubt, that’s exactly what Isaiah was doing. I pictured him in his basement dojo, kicking the hell out his training bag and pumping iron until the cords stood out on his neck. The tension in my chest eased, and I smiled gratefully at Andrew. “Okay, Cutting Edge, but I get to drive first.”

  I had intended to head straight to the Bleak Street, but Andrew convinced me to take the long way. ‘Long way’ meaning we drove an extra thirty miles to Pontiac and back. The weather had gone from cold and snowy to slightly warmer and icy. Pinpricks of ice ticked against the windshield, and the roads were a slushy mess. When we got caught behind a slow-moving salt truck, I cringed as the saline spray doused the Jag. Exposing the brand-new XKR to such wretched conditions had to be a sin. I suddenly had more sympathy for Isaiah’s fixation with his own baby.

  Besides letting me play with the Jaguar, the long drive had another advantage. It allowed me to fill Andrew in on all of the details of my vampire history, beginning with my audition at the Cipher and ending with Marcella’s visit in our kitchen.

  As I talked, Andrew stopped fidgeting with the satellite radio and the controls on his seat. He grew very still. “Do you think it could have been Marcella who attacked you at the Cipher?”

  I’d already dismissed that possibility. “One of my attackers was a woman, but she was shorter and her voice was different.”

  Andrew nodded thoughtfully. “Marcella’s voice is pretty distinctive.”

  Not just distinctive. Dead. Her voice would have suited a corpse. As scared and furious as Marcella made me, I could at least understand her rage over losing her voice. She’d wanted Hedda to make her a famous singer, and as a result, Hedda had taken the one thing Marcella truly loved. It was a bitter irony. I wondered about what Marcella had said last night – that she’d found a blood partner who could restore her voice. I doubted it. No one had that much power. Especially not a human. Still, I understood why she believed it. She didn’t want to give up hope that she’d lost her voice forever.

  “Marcella’s certainly aggressive enough to have attacked you, though,” Andrew muttered. He leaned back in his seat and thoughtfully drummed his fingers on the armrest. “Do you think Isaiah will ever believe that his sister is dangerous?”

  “He’ll come around,” I said, but Andrew’s question stirred up my worries all over again. Even if we did convince Isaiah that Marcella was a threat, could I count on him to do something about it? What if he warned Marcella to leave us alone and she refused? Would he try to restrain her? Would he actually take her out?

  My thoughts turned to my own sister. If Elena was turned into a bloodthirsty vampire, I’d go to great lengths to protect her. Especially if I felt responsible for her change. Still, if she proved to be dangerous, I believed I would intervene. I couldn’t let her get away with murder.

  Seeing my frown, Andrew said, “Cassie, you gave me plenty of good advice when it came to Caleb…”

  “Not that you ever listened to me,” I grumbled.

  “…Now, I’m going to give you some advice. I don’t care how gorgeous or amazing your vampire hunter is, if he won’t take your side against people who are out to hurt you, he’s not worth having. You’ve got to be able to trust him to have your back.”

  I didn’t want to admit it, but Andrew was right. Either Isaiah was going to protect me from his sister, or he was going to protect his sister from me. It couldn’t be both ways.

  When I let Andrew drive for the last twenty minutes, I realized how natural he looked behind the wheel. That morning, he’d fussed with his hair to make it salon-perfect and had dressed with great care: gray wool coat, blue scarf, and – despite the gray weather – sunglasses.

  “Is that cashmere?” I asked, fingering his scarf.

  “Of course! I can’t have the Jag looking better than me.” He merged from I-75 onto the Jeffries Freeway. “Why are we going to the Bleak Street anyway? I thought auditions were moved to Mercury Hall.”

  “They were, but I need something from the Bleak.” I grabbed the dashboard and stomped an imaginary brake pedal as he cut off a semi. “Be careful!”

  “Why worry? I thought it was just a car,” he teased.

  “Right now, it’s the only car I have!”

  “What do you need from the Bleak?” he asked, shifting into the passing lane.

  “The one weapon that I can use against Marcella.”

  “A wooden stake covered in silver?”

  “Nope. A little piece of crystal.”

  “Crystal? Against a vampire? Wait, I get it!” His eyebrows shot up, and he grinned. “That’s what caused the flash of light last night, right? The one that sent the vampire packing?” When I nodded, he punched the Jag’s gas pedal, as eager to reach the Bleak Street as I was.

  When Andrew finally pulled into the theater’s cramped parking lot, I said, “Wait for me in the car. I’ll be back in a sec.”

  He unbuckled his seatbelt. “No way. You need a bodyguard.”

  “A body guard in a cashmere scarf?” I teased.

  He sourly pursed his lips. “Don’t knock the scarf.”

  I hustled into the theater with him at my heels. It was unlikely that another crystal had fallen from the Bleak Street’s massive chandelier, but I was prepared to climb the scaffolding all the way to the ceiling in order to fetch more. Vertigo be damned. I needed my weapons.

  When I hurried into the theater, however, I was met with a terrible shock. The scaffolding was gone. As was the chandelier.

  The ceiling had been resurfaced. The elegant plaster medallion had been replaced by a pristine surface of smooth white. The chandelier must have been disassembled the previous day.

  “Whoa. The old girl got a facelift,” Andrew said, looking around. “Check out the cup-holders!”

  Cup-holders?! The elegant, velvet-covered seats were gone, replaced by ordinary, cloth-covered ones with plastic cup-holders attached to their armrests. The Bleak had a strict ‘no food or drink’ policy. What the hell was the point of the cup-holders?

  I fought against panic as I scoured the floor looking for more fallen prisms. After fifteen minutes of fruitless searching, Andrew stopped me. “I declare this place crystal free. What now?”

  My mind grasped at other solutions. I’d found energy in different places before. I could find it again. “I’ll head to the prop closet. You check scenery storage.”

  “To look for what?”

  I was already halfway out the door. “Anything from the original Bleak Street. Anything at all!”

  When I reached my old office cum prop closet, my spirits plunged. The tiny room had been stripped bare. Every last costume and prop had been cleared away. Not so much as a single shoe or stray button remained behind.

  Panicked, I fled the room and nearly ran into Charles who was coming down the hall carrying a large, cardboard box. He looked even rougher than I did, and he stank of bourbon.

  He paled
as if seeing a ghost and dropped the box. “What are you doing here?”

  “Where’s the chandelier?” I demanded. “Are they cleaning it? Is it coming back soon?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Because I need it, that’s why!”

  He shrugged, color flooding back into his face. “I imagine it’s being auctioned off along with everything else.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought you, of all people, had already heard the news. The theater’s closing. Or, rather, it’s changing. By next week, it will be the newest, most state-of-the-art movie complex in this part of the city.” He recited this like he was reading from a press release. “IMAX films. A coffee bar in the lobby.”

  A movie theater?! I fought to remain calm. “I thought the Bleak Street was being renovated to better stage Victor’s play.”

  Charles gave an offhand shrug. “No doubt Victor’s had another of his impulses and wants to turn his play into a movie.” He laughed. “I’m sure that 16 Voices Singing at the Same Time is Oscar material.”

  I put my hands to my forehead. I couldn’t feel the pain yet, but I knew it was coming: a headache so large that my skull would explode. “I can’t believe he would do this to me,” I moaned.

  “I never saw it coming, either.” Charles smiled humorlessly. “It’s a classic third-act twist.”

  Finding out that my beloved Bleak had been taken away was like missing the bottom step on a staircase. You’re expecting to step onto solid ground, but your foot finds air instead. I ran my fingers through my hair. Now would be the time to try Plan B. Unfortunately, there was no Plan B.

  Charles eyed me closely, as if measuring me for a costume. “If I were you, I’d bail on the project before it takes you down with it.”

  “What about Hedda and Victor?”

  He snorted. “They’re both in love with you. Nothing you do at this point will change that. In fact, I believe they’re casting lots to determine who will get you as their next blood partner.”

  “No way! I keep telling everyone that I won’t do that.”

  He took another step towards me, coming uncomfortably close. “It’s no longer about what you want. You’re a hot commodity, Cassie. You were what I was forty years ago.” Something dark slipped into his eyes, and he put a hand on my arm, squeezing it tightly. “If you aren’t careful, someone may try to kidnap you and sell off your shine to the vamps.”

  I opened my mouth to tell him that I’d nearly been abducted the night before, but then snapped my jaws shut. Something in those cunning, gray eyes worried me. Somehow, I had the feeling he already knew my story. Yet, how could he know?

  “Cassie!” Andrew called as he walked down the hall. “Scenery storage has been turned into bathrooms. Really nice bathrooms. Hey, Charles.” Seeing Charles’s overstuffed box on the floor, he frowned. “Are they renovating your office, too?”

  A few mounted newspaper clippings and a thick envelope had slid from Charles’s box onto the floor. Seeing them, my eyes widened. These were the very last items from the original Bleak Street! Maybe one of those mementoes could fuel my power. I picked up the envelope, but the moment I touched it, I realized it had no energy. Certainly nothing that would restore my shine.

  Charles nearly climbed over me to reach my friend. “Andrew! So good to see you again.” He gave a strained laugh. “Have you thought about meeting Victor yet?”

  “Yes, and no – I’m not meeting him.”

  “Well then, perhaps Hedda. She loves you, too. In fact, she’s always looking for new talent.” He laid a hand on Andrew’s shoulder. “What do you say? She can make all your dreams come true!”

  My stomach plunged. It was just like Andrew had said. Charles was looking to pimp my best friend out to a vampire. I hadn’t wanted to believe it before, but there was no denying the proof. As if a shroud had been torn from my eyes, I saw Charles for what he really was: a desperate, craven washed-up man who would do anything to get what he wanted. No wonder he still had soul left inside of him; the thing was a bottomless well of bitterness. It was amazing to think that Hedda could bear to drink from him all these years.

  Andrew shoved Charles’s hand from his shoulder. When Charles reached for him again, Andrew grabbed the director’s middle finger and bent it backwards. Charles yelped and pulled away.

  “Let’s go, Cassie,” Andrew said tightly.

  With glare, Charles clamped a cigarette between his lips and picked up his box with a grunt. “See you at the movies.”

  “Movies? What’s he talking about?” Andrew said.

  “The Bleak’s being turned into a movie theater,” I said bitterly.

  Andrew’s eyes widened. “But isn’t this Hedda’s jewel? Her darling? She can’t possibly want it turned into a cinema.”

  “It isn’t about what Hedda wants; it’s about what Victor wants.”

  “I’m so sorry, Cassie!”

  I thought my soul would crack in half. My beautiful, shabby Bleak Street! Not only had I lost my beautiful theater, I’d also lost the power to stop Marcella. I numbly followed Andrew into the parking lot. When we were both buckled into the car, I said, “You were so right about Charles.” Not only was I losing my theater, I was losing my hero as well. Charles had fallen off of his pedestal and broken into a thousand pieces. “I should have listened to you before.”

  “And I should have listened about Caleb.” Andrew rubbed his hand over his eyes. “You know what our problem is? We both want to see the best in people. It blinds us.” When I didn’t reply, he said, “Charles really is a good director, Cassie. You weren’t wrong about that.”

  I smiled tightly.

  “What’s that you have?” Andrew asked, nodding at my lap.

  I realized that I was still holding the envelope. It was made from thick, brown paper and carried a red, wax seal. I’d been so upset that I’d forgotten to return it to his box. “A little keepsake from the great Charles Corning,” I said sourly. I tossed the envelope into the backseat without bothering to open it.

  As Andrew pulled out of the lot, I pressed my cheek against the cold glass of the passenger window. Good-bye dear Bleak Street, I thought. Rest in peace.

  Chapter Twenty

  This time when Andrew walked into Mercury Hall, he crouched low to the ground and kept his hands protectively in front of his neck. His wide eyes tried to scan every part of the lobby at once. When a car horn blared outside, he jumped like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. Despite my glum mood, I snorted a laugh.

  Looking sheepish, Andrew straightened from his defensive crouch, but kept his hands at his neck. “Isn’t this where Victor hangs out? The one Charles wanted me to be nice to?”

  Since Victor was a vampire, I didn’t trust him entirely, but he had shown restraint the day before. Besides, we were right above Hedda’s personal quarters. No vamp in his right mind would dare attack us here. “Stick tight to me,” I said, “and you’ll be fine.”

  On the drive between the Bleak and Mercury Hall, I’d finally come up with a Plan B. It wasn’t a great plan since it involved being indebted to Victor, but at this point, I was desperate. I had to have protection from Marcella.

  As if I’d summoned him with my thoughts, Victor walked into the lobby. “Cassandra!” For once, he dressed more sedately: black shirt, black dress pants and a white tie. He held my edited copy of 16 Voices in one hand and a pair of reading glasses in the other. I wondered if he’d started on the screen play yet. “I see that you’ve brought a friend.”

  “Victor Stuyvesant, Andrew Blodgett. Andrew, Victor is the 16 Voices playwright. Victor, Andrew’s my best friend.”

  At the name, Andrew swallowed nervously, but because he was always civil, he cautiously held out his hand. For a moment, I worried that Andrew’s shine would captivate Victor the way Charles had expected it to, but to my relief, Victor remained politely aloof.

  “I caught your final performance in County Dracula,” Victor said, shaking his hand
. “Nicely done.”

  “Thanks,” Andrew said, warming a bit. “I keep hearing how amazing 16 Voices is.”

  Now, it was Victor who thawed. “Thank you. But as Cassandra keeps telling me, only parts of that play are amazing.” He gave a rueful shake of his head. “You were right yesterday. I wrote most of this play when I was still…” he glanced at Andrew “…a student.” He lovingly stroked the script’s cover. “I labored over every word, and I often felt like I was breathing life into the characters. It was creation of the purest sort, and my deepest desire was to see it staged.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  He snorted, coming out of his reverie. “My father convinced me that writing plays was for fools, and I decided to please him by getting a business degree. While a young assistant, I caught the eye of one of the Stuyvesant executives, and he made me his… ” another glance at Andrew, “…personal secretary.”

  The innuendoes were all unnecessary since Andrew knew exactly what Victor was talking about, but neither of us admitted to it.

  Victor continued. “I worked for my employer as long as I could. Once I could no longer give him what he needed, he could have fired me. Luckily, I was too good at finance to let go.”

  The offhand way he said that gave me a chill. If Victor hadn’t been a financial genius, he would have been tossed aside the minute his soul ran out. No wonder Victor was warming to Hedda’s credo of not taking a human’s shine without their permission. He’d been there himself.

  “In any case, I’m glad you’re here, Cassandra. I can’t make heads or tails out of your notes!” Victor opened to a page and thrust the script at me, showing off the red ink I’d scattered across the page. He was right; my handwriting was terrible. “I need you to translate this for me.”

  My instinct was to tear into him for spoiling 16 Voices and ruining the Bleak Street. I loved the play as much as I loved the old theater, and having him take them away infuriated me. However, my tirade would have to wait until after I got what I’d come for. “Before I do anything,” I said, “I want to make a deal with you.”