Chapter 24 – Elise #2
Lark was sitting nearby on a folding chair in her slip, her foot propped up on a costume trunk and a half-melted ice pack tucked behind her ankle. She had the printed spell instructions in her lap, flipping through the pages with concentration and quiet intensity.
“I’m still in this,” she said to no one in particular, thumbing to a marked page. “Even if I’m casting from the sidelines.”
Nick appeared again, holding the phone. “Cici had the same thought,” he said, and handed the call to Lark.
Lark gave a breath of a laugh, then looked up at Elise for the first time. Her eyes were glassy but clear. “You’ve got this,” she said. “You know the stage. You know the spell. And I’ll be right here—watching your back.”
Elise nodded, emotion tightening behind her ribs.
She slipped into the dressing room, grabbed the labeled costume bag for “Elizabeth Bennet – Act Two,” and began pulling on the layers. Somehow, impossibly, the shoes fit.
Marcie worked like a magician with a deadline.
Most of the intermission wig changes were already done—Romy, Mila, even Devon had been prepped and sent flying back to the wings—and now she spun Elise toward the makeup mirror with practiced precision.
Powder, blush, liner—each swipe of her brush erased some of Elise’s panic and replaced it with Elizabeth Bennet.
Midway through the eyeliner, Marcie’s eyes flicked downward. “We’re going to need to cover your arms too,” she said casually, like she was noting a missed contour. “Pretty sure the audience would notice if Elizabeth suddenly had full sleeves.”
Elise glanced down at the tattoos curling up her forearms like vines. “Right,” she murmured. “Good point.”
Marcie rummaged in her kit, pulled out a retractable stick of cake makeup—like an oversized, skin colored chapstick.
She dabbed a light beige shade across Elise’s hands, wrists, then all the way up to her shoulders.
The tattoos disappeared in slow, deliberate strokes.
Elise watched, half-hypnotized. It had been years since she’d seen her skin like that, unmarked.
For a moment, it felt like erasing a version of herself.
She closed her eyes briefly, trying to feel through the makeup. The pressure of her protections remained, a slight hum under her skin. Still there. Still working. She exhaled a breath of relief.
Jen burst into the dressing room like a storm. “How much longer?” she asked, voice tight. “We’re supposed to be in places now.”
“Five minutes,” Elise said quickly, glancing at herself in the mirror. “I still need the wig.”
“She’s done with makeup,” Marcie confirmed, wiping her hands and clearing the space. “Go.”
Jen nodded, but her eyes flicked to the hallway. “Okay. Steve and I’ll come by once Act Two starts. Sharpie party time.”
“See you soon,” Marcie said over her shoulder, already packing up.
Elise stood, heart pounding, feeling like she’d just jumped a fence and wasn’t sure how many more were coming. But one thing was clear. There was no turning back now.
The wig closet buzzed with the last frantic shuffles of intermission. Romy was in the middle of pinning a waylaid curl for one of the dancers when Elise slipped in, Elizabeth’s updo wig in hand and ready.
“Sit,” Romy said, not looking up. “I’ve got you.”
Elise dropped onto the stool, fingers trembling slightly as she grabbed the front of the lace-front wig and held it in place while Romy pulled the back snugly down over her pinned curls.
“It’s not a perfect fit,” Romy muttered, securing the hair pins to the wig cap underneath. “But it’ll hold.”
Elise didn’t respond—she was already reaching for the spirit gum. Her fingers worked quickly, dabbing along the lace and pressing it into place, while Kevin paced in the far corner of the room.
“The salt line in the orchestra pit is set,” he said, a little breathless. “Candles all where they should be, everyone has lighters—oh, and don’t forget the watch and photo. You’ll need those before the finale.”
Elise didn’t look up, but her hands slowed. Kevin kept talking, the nerves spilling out of him like steam from a kettle.
“I just—there are a lot of moving parts, and I don’t care for how many of them involve you being directly in harm’s way.
Which, I understand, is hypocritical coming from a dead man who has made a hobby out of meddling, but still.
You’re the focus now. He’ll come for you.
If something happens, if he gets too close, I—I wouldn’t be able to—”
His voice broke, just slightly. But Elise heard it.
She looked up and met his eyes in the mirror.
For all his theatrical outrage, for all the snide comments and floating dramatics, Kevin looked scared. And it hit her, suddenly and viscerally, that she had been afraid of losing him all night. Longer. Since he first put himself in harm’s way to save her.
Kevin had become a part of the architecture of her life. A sarcastic, sardonic miracle in a waistcoat. He had seen the strangest, ugliest, most haunted pieces of her and stayed—not because he had to, but because he had chosen her.