Stage Fright (Bit Parts) (30 page)

The pair of muscular vampires struggled to drag Marcella out of the theater.  Hedda, her shoulders bowed, followed.  Isaiah gave me a final, inscrutable look, then without a word, left the theater.

Andrew assured me that the snap I heard was not a bone, but the sunglasses he’d put into his pocket.  “My arm is fine,” he said, flexing his fingers and wrist to show me.  “Although, I’ll have bruises,” he added ruefully.

I nodded sympathetically, but my mind was spinning in a different direction.  I hurried into the lobby, but it was empty.

“Damn!”  Where had Isaiah disappeared to?  I desperately wanted to talk to him.  Just five minutes to explain!  Wondering if he’d gone down to Hedda’s blind pig, I tried the door leading to the basement, but it was locked.

As I searched the lobby again, it occurred to me that Isaiah hadn’t even stopped to see if I was okay.  Surely, he’d seen Marcella at my throat.  Outrage battled with grief, and outrage finally won.  Isaiah should have sided with me!  After all, I’d only been defending myself!

Andrew came in from the theater carrying my silver necklace.  “Look what I found!”  I gratefully fastened it around my neck.  “I’m getting one of those things,” he said.  “Only, mine will be huge, and have hip-hop bling.”  He was trying to make me smile, but the corners of my mouth remained nailed in place.

As Andrew and I crossed the lobby, Victor called my name from inside the manager’s office.  He sat behind a battered desk, an open checkbook in front of him.  His features were tense, as if having Marcella dragged away was only the beginning of the day’s drama.

“Are you sure she didn’t hurt you?” Victor asked.  When I shook my head, he looked at Andrew.  “What about you?”

“I’ll survive.”

Victor handed a business card to Andrew.  “If you ever want a hand up in the theater business, call me.  I’ve got plenty of contacts who’d be interested in what you have to offer.”

What Andrew had to offer was, of course, his shine.  Andrew knew this, too, and paled.  Even so, he accepted the card and shoved it into his back pocket.  “Thank you.”

“And for you, Cassandra…” Victor handed me another of his business cards along with a check he ripped from the register.  “I hope this will cover your pain and anguish.”

I goggled at the number of zeroes.  Next to me, Andrew’s breath hissed through his teeth.  “You’re buying my silence?” I asked.

“If I was worried about your silence, I’d simply glamour you into forgetting.”  Victor’s eyes brushed against mine, making me shudder.  “No, this is your stipend for directing my play.  We didn’t have a formal contract, but I intend to pay you even though the show’s been canceled.”

I dragged my eyes from the check.  “Charles told me you were turning the play into a movie.”

He gave a startled laugh.  “I’d never do such a thing.  I abhor movies.”

“So why is the Bleak Street being turned into a Cineplex?”

“That was Bertrand Peabody’s idea.  A very good one, I might add.”  He nodded approvingly.

“But what about your play?  You said your greatest desire was to see it staged!”

Victor steepled his long fingers under his chin, a sad smile playing on his lips.  “True, but there’s no longer any reason for me to stage it.”

I gaped at him, speechless, before letting my eyes drop to the wire wastebasket next to the desk.  Sitting among the junk mail and a crumpled candy bar wrapper was my edited copy of
16 Voices
.  I snatched the play out of the trash and dusted off a layer of pencil shavings.  Realization set in like a hard frost, killing my hope.  “Everyone was right about you, weren’t they?  You never came here to stage a play.  And the Bleak Street!  That renovation had nothing to do with
16 Voices
, did it?  You always knew it was going to be turned into a cinema!”

His lips thinned.  “Grieve business is between vampires, not humans.”  Then he sighed and massaged his forehead.  “But yes, you’re right.  The play wasn’t the reason I was here.  Bertrand Peabody had lodged a complaint against Hedda, and as his maker I was obliged to check it out.”  His mouth grew firmer.  “It’s a good thing I did.  Bertrand was right: Hedda’s grieve is out of control.”

“
Marcella
is out of control,” I argued, “not Hedda!”

“If Marcella had only broken the rules of Hedda’s grieve, there would be no issue, but she attacked me, another vampire.  She must be brought to justice.  And since Hedda is responsible for all of her creations, she must also be held accountable.  Vampire law is very clear on that.  ”

“So lie!  Tell everyone you weren’t attacked.”

His face and spine went rigid.  “I will not tolerate insubordination of that magnitude.”

That, finally, set me off.  He was allowing Hedda’s grieve to be dissolved because his own pride had been wounded.  “You’re a vile, soulless monster!” I shouted.  Andrew tried to reign me in by grabbing my shoulders and hushing me, but I shrugged him off.  “An animal!  A rogue with a bad wardrobe!”

 Victor remained immobile, but his eyes shone with unspent grief.  “When I first came here, I didn’t give a damn about Hedda’s grieve, and I thought her artistic inclinations were pure rot.  The time I’ve spent here, however, reminded me how much I miss the theater.  Believe it or not, Cassandra, I love the stage as much as you do.”

“You love it so much that you’re giving up on your play.”  I dumped the script back into the trash.  If he didn’t care about it, then neither did I.  “Let’s go,” I told Andrew.  I stormed through the theater doors, eager to put as much space as possible between me and Mercury Hall.

I charged across the parking lot towards the silver Jag, but Andrew stopped me with a shout.  “Cassie!  Isn’t that your car?”

Sure enough, my poor, abused Focus sat like an abandoned child in the back corner of the lot.  I was absurdly happy to see it.  The car was safe and familiar and bespoke a simpler time when vampires had been nothing more than scary stories.

The Focus’s windshield was marbled with ice.  I took a credit card from my wallet and started scraping.

“You’re not really going to drive that instead of the Jag, are you?” Andrew asked.

“I don’t want the Jag.”  I never wanted to see the XKR or the Mercury or the Muse again.  That went double for the Bleak Street, no matter how much I’d once loved it.  “In fact, you can drive the Jag home, and I’ll take the Focus.”

He laughed uncertainly.

“I’m serious.  In fact, you can
have
the Jag if you want it.”

“Okay, I’m going to do you the hugest favor in the world and not hold you to that right now.  We’ll talk about it tonight when you’re feeling better.”

“I’m fine now.”  I grit my teeth as I sawed at the stubborn layer of ice. 

He shook his head.  “No, you’re not.  You’re attacking that poor windshield like it insulted your mother.”

“I. Am. 
Not
!”  On this, the credit card snapped in half.

“Is it the play?”

“No, it’s not the play.”  Not
just
the play, at any rate.

“It’s him, isn’t it?  Mr. Tall, Dark, and Gorgeous?”

I sucked in my cheeks and looked at my broken credit card.

“You should have seen your face when he walked out of the theater.  It was like watching someone murder your happily-ever-after.”

“I have an errand to run,” I said stonily.

Andrew pulled me against him and hugged me tightly.  “You did the most amazing thing today.  You offered to sacrifice yourself to me.  I’ll never be able to repay you for that.”

“I don’t expect payment.”

“That makes it even more amazing.”  He held me for a moment longer before letting go.  “If Mr. Tall, Dark and Gorgeous doesn’t appreciate you, then to hell with him because you deserve someone who does.”

I managed a smile, but if heartache had been lethal, I would have been flat-lining.

Chapter Twenty-One

Merging onto the expressway, I stomped the gas pedal so hard that my car shuddered.  When a minivan in the next lane wouldn’t slow down to let me over, I laid on the horn and swore.

I was such a fool!  I should have listened to my sister when she told me that Isaiah was heartache in a package.  But, n-o-o.  I’d been so dazzled by the beautiful package, I’d ignored the big ‘Proceed with Caution’ sign hanging around his neck.  Now, I was paying the price.

This
was why I didn’t do relationships.   The pain, the grief, the jealousy…who needed them?  I was better off alone.  I didn’t want a man in my life.  Well, not a
straight
man anyway.  Besides, I had plenty of girlfriends.  It wasn’t as if I needed some
guy
to discuss theater with.  I could do without a man to hold me or laugh at my stupid jokes.  I didn’t want broad shoulders, soulful amber eyes, kissable lips, and a tight butt.

Yeah, right.

As my temper cooled and the speedometer dipped from 85 mph to the legal 70, my whiny self-pity gave way to more rational thoughts.  There
had
to be a logical reason why Isaiah left me without a word.  I deserved an explanation, and he deserved an opportunity to explain.  We were both adults.  We could talk this out.

Still, my heart beat in double time as I pulled into the parking lot of the old church.  What if I wanted to talk, but he didn’t?  The man had a stony streak a mile wide.  I’d never get past his defenses if he didn’t want me to.

When I walked into Holy Comics, Perry greeted me with a smile.  Then, seeing my expression, his grin faded.  “What’s wrong?”

“Is Isaiah here?”

“No.”  Perry’s worry lines deepened.  He glanced at the customers who were browsing the stacks.  “Let’s talk in the office.”

Too anxious to sit, I paced the tiny room and gnawed my thumbnail as I told him of Marcella’s attack at the Mercury.  My throat tightened as I explained that I’d tried to stake her.  When I got to the part about how Hedda and Isaiah had caught me in the act, Perry paled.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded.

“And Andrew?”

“Fine.”

Perry blew out his breath, relieved.  “So Hedda saw Marcella attack you, and Victor was attacked himself.”  Perry asked.  When I nodded again, he shook his head and ran his fingers through his beard.  “This is bad.  Really, really bad,” he muttered.  “How did the Outfielder take it?”

My voice pinched tight.  “I wouldn’t know.  He left without talking to me.”  When Perry didn’t respond, I added, “Do you think he blames me?”

“Knowing Isaiah, he blames
himself
.  He may not say much, but believe me, he’s crazy about you, Cassie.  I don’t know why he left without talking to you, but I know he had his reasons.  Trust him.”

The tightness in my chest eased a little.  “Thanks.”

“At least your vampire problem is solved.  I doubt Marcella will live to see another moonrise.”  Perry put his hands to the small of his back and arched, cracking several vertebrae.  “Which means that I can finally take a break from the computer.  I’ve spent the last six hours researching how to revoke Marcella’s invitation.”

“You did that for me?” I asked.

He shrugged, embarrassed.  “I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

His gesture touched me deeply.  “Thanks.”  My eyes ached to cry.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.

I finally sank onto a chair.  “On top of everything else, Victor’s canceled his play,
and
the Bleak Street is being turned into a movie theater.  The chandelier, and everything else, was stripped and sold off.”

“What?!”  Perry was instantly at his computer, his fingers dancing over the keys.  “You’re right.  The zoning was approved yesterday.  Damn!  Those vampires know how to work the system.  Try getting a zoning permit the usual way and see how long it takes you.”  More keys clicked.  “They’re also tearing down the building next door to the theater to make more parking.”  He scratched his chin.  “Why on earth would Hedda do something like that?  She loves that place.”

“It’s not Hedda’s idea; it was her ex-husband’s.  Bertrand Peabody.”

Perry frowned.  “Peabody lives in Boston.  Why
would he want a crappy, little theater in Detroit?”

 “Maybe it’s retribution,” I suggested.  “Like when he stopped making donations to the Widderstrom Foundation for the Arts.”

“Good point.  Still, why spend millions on the renovations?  If Bertrand wanted to hurt her, it would be cheaper – and crueler – to make her watch him tear the place down.”  Perry dug into a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips that had been sitting on his desk.   As he thoughtfully chewed, crumbs gathered in his beard.  “This isn’t adding up.  We’re overlooking something.”

“I guess putting a movie theater there would make financial sense,” I admitted grudgingly.  “After all, the Bleak’s got the best location in town.”  Location, location, location.  It was a theme the realtor had drummed into my skull over the past few months because, according to him, my parents’ house didn’t have it.

It was like I’d switched on a light bulb over Perry’s head.  He tossed the bag of chips aside and returned to the computer.  His fingers flew over the keyboard.  “I can’t believe I didn’t realize it before.  Look!”

I leaned over his shoulder to view the map he’d brought up.  Virtual, red pushpins marked the locations of the Bleak Street, Mercury Hall, and the Muse art gallery.

“Do you see it?” he asked eagerly.

“See what?”

“What these places have in common!”

“They’re all built on old Native American burial grounds?”

He rolled his eyes.

“They form some kind of devil’s triangle?  They outline a hell mouth?  They’re built on otherworld portals?”

He sighed, exasperated.  “No.  They’re all in the middle of Renaissance zones.  Cassie, these are the hottest spots in the city.  Like you said, location is everything.  There’s all kinds of state and federal money being poured into these areas.  This isn’t about revenge; it’s about Bertrand making a fortune.”

“Retribution could still be part of it,” I argued.  “Hedda told me that something about her play,
The Scent of Ketchup
, made her ex-husband really angry.  He’s probably looking to pay her back for his embarrassment.”