Page 32 of Specters & Spotlights

Elise’s abilities always felt more like triage than therapy. She could point to the wound. She could not always heal it.

And whatever this ghost was carrying, her stomach told her one thing clearly:

He was not here to make friends.

She pulled out her phone and texted, fingers tapping fast.

green room ghost. ex-actor.

super anxious. feels sharp around the edges.

sage bundle thing??

A reply arrived almost instantly, like Cici had been waiting.

Cici

YES. Burn one of the bundles I packed in your warding kit.

Waft around him.

Say something he needs to hear.

That should ground him.

Also I’m putting more sage in the mail.

You definitely need a restock.

Elise pocketed the phone, half-convinced, and she made her way back to the wig closet.

Time was short—the green room wouldn’t stay empty for long—and whatever this ghost was carrying, she didn’t want anyone else caught in the fallout.

“Come on,” she muttered, grabbing the sage from the wig closet and gesturing to Kevin. “You’re coming too.” He floated behind, arms crossed like a backstage manager who hadn’t approved the cue sheet.

“I hope you’re not planning on chanting anything,” Kevin warned. “Last time you tried a chant, you accidentally invited that tap-dancing ghost into the orchestra pit.”

“I was nineteen and quoting Wicked lyrics,” she muttered. “This is different.”

Back in the green room, Elise realized she was missing one crucial ingredient.

“A lighter,” she said aloud, patting her pockets. “I forgot a lighter.”

Nick disappeared for a moment, before returning. “Found one—Romy keeps one in the prop drawer with her emergency mascara,” he said, handing it to her.

Elise took the lighter and stared at her sage bundle, the dry ends crumbling slightly between her fingers.

“All right,” she said, more to herself than anyone. “Let’s see if this works.”

She crouched by the ghost’s pacing path, lit the sage, and let the smoke drift across his frantic loop—back and forth, back and forth, shoes scuffing a path long since worn into the floor. Elise stayed just out of his way. She knew better than to get too close. Walking through a ghost always felt like stepping into a frozen lake in your socks.

“Don’t crowd him,” Kevin warned. “Ghosts on the edge don’t like to be startled. Ask Macbeth how that went.”

Elise shot him a startled look. It was a cardinal theatrical sin to mutter the name of that play within a theatre. Hopefully the rules didn’t apply when you were already a ghost.

Nick, oblivious, leaned closer. “Is anything happening?”

“Not yet,” Elise murmured.