Page 34 of Specters & Spotlights

Romy caught it instantly, mimed a curtsy with mock outrage, and the entire stage pivoted into something even more alive.

Backstage murmurs caught fire instantly. Later, Jen relayed the moment with pride in her voice. “Did you see that pivot? We should be taking notes.”

Elise smiled, warm and a little wistful.

Kevin, hovering nearby, was characteristically deadpan. “You miss them.”

“The sisters from the First company?” she asked, already knowing. She nodded. “Of course. But this group… they’re something too.”

An hour later, tucked in the wig closet with a monitor crackling overhead, Elise listened to the final verse of “In Vain Have I Struggled.”

Something in Graham’s voice tonight felt… different. The tension had gone soft around the edges—less restraint, more ache. Like he wasn’t playing Darcy anymore, just telling the truth in iambic pentameter.

Kevin, hovering near the speaker, gave a long-suffering sigh. “Someone’s found his subtext. About time.”

The theatre was quieted again as the hours slipped past.

Everyone had trickled out over the last hour: cast, crew, even the ever-lingering Nick. Elise was alone in her wig closet sanctuary, surrounded by the scent of hairspray, the distant memory of orchestra notes, and the hush that only came when the curtains were truly at rest.

She hummed, then sang softly. Tonight’s choice: “Don’t Rain on My Parade.” A bold finish to a two-show day. Her voice curled around the room like ribbon, confident and precise. Kevin floated by the doorway, pretending not to watch—but his smile gave him away.

As the final note hung in the air, shimmering like the last fleck of stage glitter, Elise exhaled and carefully set the wig into the dryer.

Kevin cleared his throat. “Show-off.”

Elise grinned. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“Someone had to,” he said, softer than expected. “It was the best performance of the night.”

She was just about to start packing up when something caught her eye.

Tucked between her teasing comb and a jar of bobby pins, was a brush she didn’t recognize. It wasn’t hers—that much was clear. The handle was smooth, carved wood, darker than anything she used. Nestled in its bristles was a small lock of hair, brown and fine, tied delicately with a piece of red thread.

Her brows furrowed. “That’s… weird.”

Kevin drifted in closer, gaze sharpening. “Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know,” Elise said, reaching toward it with mild curiosity. “Maybe it was buried in the wig trunk?”

But before her fingers could close around the handle, Kevin darted forward—unusually fast for a ghost.

“Don’t.”

Elise blinked, hand suspended in midair. “What?”

“Don’t use that brush on yourself,” he said, tone suddenly sharp. “I don’t like the way it feels. It’s… wrong.”

Elise hesitated. Kevin wasn’t often this serious. But the look on his face now—that pinched, protective tightness—was enough to give her pause.

“Is it cursed?” she asked lightly, trying to dispel the sudden heaviness in the air.

“I don’t know,” Kevin admitted. “But someone wanted it found. That hair isn’t random, and that’s no ordinary brush. Don’t trust anything you didn’t place here yourself.”

Elise didn’t argue. She picked it up with a towel and placed it in the trash can on the far side of the counter, far from where anyone might accidentally grab it.

“I’ll text Cici later,” she murmured. “She’ll know if I’ve almost accidentally adopted a cursed object.”

Kevin didn’t laugh. He just hovered nearby, watching it like it might sprout legs and walk off.