Page 143 of Specters & Spotlights

She felt the weight leave her fingers but not her mind.

“I need these back,” she whispered. “Right before the finale.”

Lark nodded once and tucked the items away like sacred relics. Her posture was rigid, but focused. Her face was pale beneath the stage makeup, and her injured leg was propped awkwardly to one side, but there was no hesitation in her eyes now.

Cici was still on FaceTime in Lark’s lap, watching everything unfold like she had somehow secured a front-row seat to the backstage apocalypse. Elise caught her eye and gave her a small wave. Cici winked in return.

Jen swept by, clearly in the middle of orchestrating ten things at once, headset wire swinging at her jaw, but paused long enough to flash Elise a double thumbs up.

It helped more than it should.

And then she saw them: the sharp edges of sigils, scrawled in black and red beneath Jen’s sleeves and along her collarbone. Protective magic inked in haste. Marcie had done her job well.

Isla arrived as if summoned, cool, composed, and right on cue. Regal, even in the wings. Velvet draped from her shoulders like armor. She found Elise in the wings and leaned in close. “Ready?” she whispered.

Elise exhaled and nodded. Her heart was pounding, but her spine straightened. There was no turning back now.

The lights rose. The music began.

Elise and Isla stepped into the Bennet drawing room, and the verbal duel commenced.

“You Presume Too Much” cut through the theatre like a blade.

Isla commanded the stage, all righteous fury and surgical precision. Elise found her footing slowly, heart pounding, voice shaky at first. She was supposed to move downstage on the second verse—wait, which direction?

“Go left,” Kevin whispered urgently. “Now stop. Turn back—look at Isla.”

She obeyed.

The audience wouldn’t know the difference, but Elise felt the seams. Isla smoothed over each moment, guiding Elise like a seasoned dance partner without ever breaking character. Every note Elise hit felt like a small victory. Every lyric delivered on time felt like a lifeline.

By the final phrase—Elizabeth’s refusal, clear and defiant—Elise was breathless, and not just from the performance.

The lights dimmed.

The scene ended.

Then the dread returned.

It was time for the finale.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Elise

Elise rushed offstage right, applause still chasing her heels, and stepped straight into the storm.

The quick-change team closed around her.

Hands moved everywhere at once—unfastening, lifting, tugging, smoothing. Gina caught the dress before it pooled at Elise’s feed. Marcie had the final wig ready. Someone pressed a towel briefly to the rain of sweat at the back of her neck, then vanished. Someone else was already pulling the last costume up over her hips.

For years, Elise had been the hands behind the illusion.

Now she was the illusion.

And she forced herself to stand still while the world spun around her.

“Arms,” Gina said. Elise lifted them.