The Ballad of Sweeney Todd
SLADE
T he director didn’t deign to notify me that he was using the ‘off-book’ spells for the cast while I was gone.
Luckily, those work for the orchestra, too, or he’d really be screwed in terms of this ill-advised first run through.
I’ve never agreed with using magic to shortcut the arts in this way because, to me, it feels like cheating.
It’s asking the universe to make you skilled at something you put no effort into, and that feels like the definition of entitlement.
Not everyone is supposed to be talented at everything, and some things are supposed to take work—that’s why they’re worth it.
But the increasingly common viewpoint of the less ethical folks in every community—even humans—has been taking advantage of the magic behind these in different ways for years.
Technomages were using it to nudge humans into artificial learning models first, then the damned virus of mediocrity was wedged into the arts there, and now, it’s filtered into the supernatural world in a unique style.
Rather than giving people's abilities they don’t have, these spells speed learning, enhance talent, and compact the process of creation in a way that I wholeheartedly believe removes the soul from it.
Unfortunately, budget cuts and funding freezes mean our paltry departments lose time with mounting productions because we can’t afford to build them from scratch like normal.
Herr Director, otherwise known as Rialto Beauregard, made the executive decision to cut corners by giving the damn spells out to the entire cast, crew, and musical performers to get his ‘vision’ perfect in the smallest amount of time possible.
“Talk about someone jumping off the earned name of extremely talented people to get ahead,” I mutter as I go over the sheet music in anticipation of my orchestra’s arrival. “That idjit is absolutely a nepo baby, and no one will convince me otherwise.”
When I was approached to head the music department’s involvement in the theater season, no one told me the latest Beauregard—as in the building we’re in, Beauregard—spawn would be in charge of the musicals.
I probably would have declined unless I had met them first, just to make certain I wasn’t trapped in the situation I’m currently in.
But the Dean of Music pleaded with me and somehow got them to include a small monthly stipend, and I caved.
That also should have been a big red flag; I bet that asshat’s family is paying me the hazard fee monthly so he can pad his resume.
Guys like him with money and a famous name just move from college to producing on Broadway—they don’t make any stops.
“Whatever, it’s only this year. He graduates at the end, which is why he’s able to do this for his senior project.
Next year, I’ll know better than to go in blind.
” My self-comforting doesn’t help as much as I’d like it to; I’m not happy my name will be associated with this mess, and I can’t change my commitment.
Once I’ve gathered everything I need, I climb out of the pit and head to the back of the house.
I want to go up into the lighting booth and run the programmed lights to make sure some magic-hopped kid hasn’t set them to accidentally blind the musicians.
Professionals or grad students wouldn’t have made such a rookie error, but Rialto has done other dumb shit to cut costs, like taking inexperienced crew in every department.
I might be the oldest, most seasoned person working with him, and that means this thing will either be good because the Beauregards flooded cash into it secretly or terrible because he made shitty choices.
“Let’s find out,” I mutter as I climb the stairs to get into the booth.
The door is unlocked, and I keep the lights off as I do the main part of the theater.
I used my stand light to organize my stuff because I’m honestly terrified to see what might lurk behind the curtain in terms of sets.
It’s prolonging the cringe, I know, but I had to give myself time to bitch internally about how fucking ridiculous this shit is for college-level productions.
Sitting in the chair, I turn on the board and bring up the edge light first, noting that they’re aimed correctly for the curtain, as are the wings.
That’s the straightforward part, though, and I start the program, taking a deep breath as the black velvet pulls back to reveal a dark stage.
Slowly, lights create the stage palette, and I note the freshman who did this has managed to?—
Holy fucking shit on a goddamn stick.
“What the fuck is that ?” I growl as I note something big and lumpy in the middle of the stage.
It looks to be covered with a curtain, and I can’t figure out why the hell it would be there.
That is not how this musical starts, and though it’s not my damn job, I shoot to my feet.
Stalking out of the booth, I climb down angrily and head for the stage.
Whoever left a set piece or prop there should get their ass kicked, and I’m going to make my fury known to that squealing little dilettante.
Taking the steps up the right side of the stage, I head over quickly, but my feet go out from under me as I slip and slide across the wooden boards like I hit a banana peel.
My glasses go flying, and I groan as I get my breath back, rolling to my knees to start my Velma-esque crawl to find the damn things.
The floor is both slippery and sticky, plus it’s not fully lit yet and I’m goddamn blind.
I’m going to file a goddamn complaint with the college and the theater department.
Someone, including me, could have been really injured by… whatever the fuck this is.
“Slade? You there, man? Yo, Slade!” Lucas’ voice pulls me out of my internal complaints, and I look up, not seeing a damn thing but a vaguely blond blob in the aisle.
“Why are all the lights off? I thought this was a big deal, so I got here early so I could save us all seats in the front. Why are you crawling around?”
“Slipped and lost my glasses. Can you find the house lights on that back wall? There should be an emergency switch?”
I don’t know if he went to find them, but I continue crawling around to find my glasses.
When I finally grab them, I put them on only to find some shit smeared all over them.
If the damn prop people didn’t clean up their fucking ‘Demon Barber’ squibs from rehearsal and that’s what this is, I’m going to be even more pissed.
It will fuck up the wood of the stage with all that dye and shit.
They aren’t the only people who use this facility and?—
“ What the hell, man? That shit is nasty! It looks like you’re crawling around in blood!”
Sighing as I find Lucas in the back through my corn syrup and dye covered specs, I yell, “The effects people must have a left a damn mess up here. That’s what I was seeing from the booth.
Can you come up here and help me for a minute?
I’m too smeared to see well enough to get up without falling again, I fear. ”
“Gotcha, pretty boy. No problemo,” Lucas calls as he jogs down the aisle to the left stairs. He comes up them slowly, and I think he’s focused on finding a route where he won’t wipe out, either. Suddenly, he stops, standing perfectly still as he stares at me. “Don’t move.”
“Why? I’m soaked in this crap and I don’t want to stay here. I've gotta change before rehearsal, so just get over here and help me, man.”
Lucas snorts, and it looks like he’s pulling his phone out of his pocket as he keeps staring at me. “There will not be a rehearsal; trust me, dude. Stay still, and I’m going to get some fucking help.”
Easy to say when you aren’t drenched in fake blood and blind.
“But—”
He holds up a finger as he puts the phone to ear.
“Hey, Chan-Chan. We’ve got a massive fucking problem in the Beauregard.
Yes, we need her. Yes, you too. Maybe? No, right now.
Cancel everything. Why? I can’t say over the phone, but…
maybe call your other friends, too? Yes , I really think we need them now .
Whatever, have them fly home. Just… get my family and your ass here before anyone else arrives. ”
I blink, looking around despite my visual block. Is he worried about the destruction of the stage? It is pretty expensive, but I don’t think it requires our entire family.
“Channing, I just got here, and Slade was crawling around in what I thought was a pool of stage blood. Yeah, well, it’s not, and I don’t want him touching the covered lump that is probably a dead body , so shake a tail feather, woman!”
My eyes fly wide-open, and I inhale deeply, but I don’t get the scent of blood—only sweet, sticky flowers. “Lucas, how do you know this is blood? It doesn’t smell like blood,” I say as I frown at the polar bear. “You’re raising an alarm for nothing.”
“Slade, how many Fae species have you drunk from or witnessed bleeding?”
He’s got me there—I’ve only witnessed deals, not deaths, nor mating rituals.
“None,” I reply softly. “Are you telling me beings from Faerie have blood that doesn’t smell coppery like most species here?”
“I’m telling you that as an alpha shifter, I never forget what the scents of things are.
Li’s blood when we mated had a specific taste and smell—one he told me that Veil creatures all have, though it varies by species.
He said the difference is difficult for non-shifters or non-alpha level shifters to detect.
I guess it smells like fake shit to you, right? ”
I nod, feeling like I’m going to vomit with all this actual blood covering me head to toe. “Yeah.”
“ Don’t puke, bud. I can see it on your face, but puking is only gonna contaminate this shit worse. If Detective Bagel is the one they send, he’s definitely going to think you and I did this, so we can’t fuck up any important clues.”
Pressing my lips together, I try to imagine things that are not someone’s lifeblood covering me. “Easier said than done now that I know, Lucas.”
“I’d expect that,” he admits. “Your family kept you out of the really bad shit, I bet. You saw stuff, but you didn’t get your hands dirty, and now, you’re filthy as fuck. But you have to control the reaction. Think about something else… like who the hell in this production is Fae or hybrid Fae?”
I don’t think that’s going to do it, but I’ll try.
“Um, well… there are some variations in the orchestra, but this wouldn’t be them. No instruments in the pit yet.”
Lucas nods—I think—and says, “Go on, Slade.”
“I believe there are pixies in the extras/chorus. They’re smaller than that lump, though, by far. Dancers always are.”
“Right. So who is big enough to be that lump, but has Faerie-spiked blood? Really think about what you remember. I know you haven’t been working on this for long, but…”
It hit me as if I had just driven into a wall full speed.
Swallowing hard, I tilt my head to squint through the mess on my lenses to the body.
It’s tall enough for sure. The shape is muddled by the blood in my way and the covering, but it looks solid enough as well.
I wish there were even a hint of a limb or something for me to examine, but there isn’t.
Still, I have a pretty good idea of who is lying on the floor with their blood splattered everywhere.
“You look upset. Seriously, Slade, who is it? I think you figured it out, so tell me.” Lucas’ voice is low as he urges me, and I guess he’s worried someone will come in and hear us.
“I think it’s Rialto Beauregard,” I croak as the panic runs through my veins. “He’s the director, and he’s definitely half-Seelie. I’m not sure what else because I didn’t spend enough time with him to get a read. The Fae part was obvious from his appearance.”
The polar bear groans and slaps his hand over his face. “Fuck. This is going to be another huge cock-sucking mess .”
“You’re telling me.” We both whip our heads around to see Morgana striding down the aisle, wings out, and what I think might be a pissed expression on her face. “How the hell are people getting murdered like this is a damn war zone on my campus?!”
I don’t have an answer for her, but if she wants to know why Lucas and I found them? That I think we know the answer to.