“It’s not my nickname,” Val said dryly. “It’s my name.”
Knuckles grinned. “Not the one your parents gave you.”
“True,” Val agreed as One flitted around, giving the cape a final inspection. “I changed it.”
“Was the name they gave you that bad?” Olive asked.
Val shrugged. “It was a perfectly nice name; it just wasn’t for me. Like exchanging a shirt for one that fits better.”
“I like your name and your shirt,” Eli said, and Val smiled at him. Knuckles’s hands slowly rose up behind Eli’s head and curved toward each other with the thumbs touching to form a heart. Knuckles shooed them away hastily.
Olive cleared her throat. “Well, I think I saw another ghost just now. I’ve seen it twice, and both times Juliana got really upset.”
A distinctly uncomfortable silence fell. Val and Eli exchanged a meaningful look, and Olive crossed her arms. She did not want to mention Finley—the cast always looked so distraught when anyone said the former star’s name. But this was her home now too, and she deserved to know the truth.
“Please tell me who it is.”
“Maudeville is filled with ghosts, Olive,” Val said carefully. Eli fidgeted but said nothing.
“I know that,” Olive replied with a touch of impatience. “Maude told me, and she said they’re all nice. But I’m…I’m not so sure.”
Val frowned. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, Juliana’s obviously afraid of this one. And Felix is too.”
“Felix?” Eli sat up straighter, eyes flashing. “You know him?”
Olive nodded. “He’s always out in the alley. He’s afraid to come in here, and he wants Juliana to leave. He says—”
“Stay away from him,” Eli interrupted. Olive stared at him, confused and slightly hurt.
“Why?”
Eli started to respond, but Val silenced him with a look before turning to Olive.
“Felix is…troubled,” they said slowly.
“So?” Olive retorted. “I am too. We all are. Maude said so herself—that’s why we’re here. If this ghost is so harmless, why can’t Felix just come—”
“That boy is dangerous.” Eli was on his feet now, spots of red visible beneath his beard. “Olive, listen to me. Do not bring him into this theater, under any circumstances.”
And he walked off the stage, leaving Olive gaping at his retreating back. Val sighed, tightening the cape’s ribbon around their neck.
“We need to get back to work” was all they said.
No one mentioned Felix for the rest of rehearsal. But Olive could not stop thinking about him and Juliana. Both of the Morellas were “troubled.” Yet apparently, only one was welcome in Maudeville. Then there was the singing ghost, the one who made Juliana so weepy, the one the cast pretended not to see.
Olive knew deep down the singing ghost must be Finley. The former star of Eidola had died, and no one wanted to tell Olive how it happened. No one wanted to talk about why this ghost made Juliana cry or why it frightened Felix so badly he couldn’t even step inside the theater.
And in all honesty, Olive wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. But for the Morellas’ sake, she had to try.
That night, Olive couldn’t fall asleep. Partly to blame was the churning in her stomach, no doubt caused by the cold leftover pheasant she and Aidan had indulged in before bed. She also hadn’t yet gotten used to sleeping in a room with so many other occupants, especially occupants who sometimes mumbled (Eli), snored (Mickey), or fell off the bed in a great clatter of wood (Nadia). Olive listened as Aidan crawled down from his top bunk, gathered up his puppet, and laid her gently on the bottom bunk again before returning to his bed.
Olive closed her eyes, ribbons of flame still dancing behind her eyelids. She had seen Mickey’s act for the first time that day. Dazzling and dangerous though all the fire fans and torches were, Olive couldn’t stop thinking about Finley. She’d just begun to slide into an uneasy sleep when a muffled click startled her awake. She sat up in time to see someone slip out of the dorm.
Juliana.
Without hesitation, Olive threw aside her blanket and snuck out of the room. Her bare feet didn’t make a sound as she tiptoed through the hall. Ahead, she saw Juliana’s shadow just before it disappeared down the stairs. Olive followed, listening hard. On the last step, she heard a distant, familiar creak. She reached the backstage doors and slipped inside before they could close.
Olive stood in the dark, holding her breath and allowing her eyes to adjust. After a moment, she heard Juliana’s shaky sobs on the other side of the curtain. Carefully, quietly, Olive crept closer.
“Please don’t cry.”
Olive froze. This was a new voice—a boy’s voice. Olive fought the temptation to pull the curtain back, afraid of alerting the speaker and Juliana to her presence.
“But you look so…” Juliana’s words were garbled with tears. “I can barely see you.”
“But I’m getting better at controlling it,” the boy said eagerly. “Like Knuckles, right?”
“He’s been here for decades!” Juliana cried. “He’s never leaving.”
“Neither am I!” The boy sounded as though he meant the words in a comforting way, but Juliana moaned. “Don’t you want me here with you?”
“Yes, of course….” Juliana paused. “But I won’t be here forever. And it just feels…I mean, shouldn’t you go wherever you’re supposed to go when you’re…”
“Dead?” the boy supplied, and Juliana burst into fresh tears. “Oh, I’m sorry! But, Juliana, I don’t want to go anywhere else. And neither do you—you love it here!”
“I don’t!” Juliana sobbed. “Not always. Sometimes I hate it here. Sometimes this place feels…wrong.”
“Wrong?”
Olive couldn’t breathe. Because she recognized the boy’s voice now. But it couldn’t be. It couldn’t. Her fingers shook as she pulled the curtains open, just an inch.
Juliana stood there, tear-streaked and miserable, arms crossed as though she was trying to hug herself. And facing her was the faintest wisp of a person, the ghost of a boy with messy black hair and dark eyes.
His features blurred and flickered, and Olive tried to convince herself this was not Felix. Because Felix was not dead. She had seen him, very much alive and solid, on Monday when she arrived at the theater. He had tried to persuade her not to go in. And Olive had taunted him, asked why he wouldn’t just come inside. Her stomach twisted as she remembered the last thing she said to him:
Are you really so afraid of ghosts that you’d just abandon your own sister?
A small cry of horror escaped Olive’s lips. She clapped her hands to her mouth, but it was too late—Juliana spun around with a gasp. The Felix ghost stared at her curiously. Then everything went blindingly white.
“Ow!” Olive yelled, squinting and stumbling out of the spotlight. Neon spots danced in her vision, and she could just make out Juliana hurrying toward her.
“What are you doing here?” Juliana grabbed Olive and steadied her. “I…”
She stopped, and Olive rubbed her eyes hard. When she opened them, the Felix ghost was gone. In his place stood Maude.
“A bit late to be out of bed, isn’t it?” Her voice was low and kind, but Olive felt Juliana shiver before she stepped forward.
“Yes, it’s my fault.” Juliana wiped her still-wet cheeks hastily. “I saw…I saw h-him again today, and I just had to…I needed to…”
“Oh, my poor dear.” Maude shook her head and turned to Olive. “Darling, would you mind giving Juliana and me a little privacy?”
“Um…” Olive glanced helplessly at the miserable girl next to her, and Maude smiled.
“She’ll be back to bed just as soon as we have a chat,” she told Olive. “And we have a big weekend ahead, darling. You need your rest!”
At those words, Olive’s eyelids drooped, and she yawned. Although a small part of her longed to stay and figure out what h
ad just happened, her bottom bunk, with its scratchy sheets, suddenly sounded like the most wonderful place in the world.
So she obediently headed back to the dorm, promising herself she would stay awake until Juliana returned. But she drifted into a deep sleep almost right away. And when she woke in the morning, Juliana’s bed was still empty.
Olive sprinted to the kitchen without bothering to change out of her nightgown. Tanisha and Valentine were already at the table, and Eli stood at the stove, peering into a giant pot. Olive was just turning to leave when Aidan emerged from the pantry, followed by Juliana.
Stray strands of black hair had come out of her ponytail, and dark circles had formed under her eyes. She clung to Nadia tighter than seemed necessary while Aidan carried a box of oatmeal over to Eli. When Juliana noticed Olive, she dropped her gaze to the floor.
“I’m fine,” she mumbled the moment Olive reached her side. “Don’t ask.”
“But—”
“Maude asked me not to talk about it,” Juliana whispered, glancing up at last. The fear in her eyes sent a chill through Olive. With effort, she swallowed back her questions and followed Juliana to the table in silence.
Olive barely listened as Tanisha and Val chatted about opening night on Saturday. Aidan joined them, sliding onto the bench next to Nadia. He glanced curiously from one girl to the other.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, unfolding a napkin and placing it on Nadia’s lap. Juliana started a little bit.
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”
“Me neither.” The girls fell quiet as Eli set steaming bowls of oatmeal and banana on the table. Olive felt vaguely disappointed at having the same boring breakfast as she did at home. She noticed that Eli served only the children; both Tanisha and Val declined bowls before falling back into their conversation.
It took all of Olive’s willpower not to bombard Juliana with questions about last night: Why did she tell the ghost she hated Maudeville? Was that really Felix? How had he died?
Her stomach churned with guilt. She had, after all, taunted Felix when he said he couldn’t enter the theater. But apparently, Felix had had a very good reason for staying out in the alley. Somehow, coming inside had killed him.
Olive toyed with her spoon, wondering how she would possibly make it through rehearsal today. When she finally took a bite of oatmeal, she gagged.
Grabbing a napkin, Olive covered her mouth and pretended to cough. She spat the food out and wadded it up, then stared down at her bowl in disgust. The banana slices were rotten, coating the oatmeal in brown mush. The sickly-sweet taste lingered in Olive’s mouth. She looked from Aidan, who was eating with gusto, to Juliana, who simply gazed at the table with a listless expression.
There must have been a rotten banana in the bunch, thought Olive. She didn’t want to hurt Eli’s feelings, so she waited a minute or so before standing and hurrying over to the sink, where she quickly scraped the foul, goopy stuff down the drain.
Even rehearsal wasn’t quite enough to distract Olive from what she had seen last night. The acts were as spectacular as ever, the massive cocoon just as mysterious, the spotlight just as alluring. But just when Olive would start to lose herself in Eidola, she’d see a shimmer or hear a whisper and come to, glancing around for any sign of Felix’s ghost. She couldn’t stop thinking, too, of the singing ghost—was it Finley? What other secrets was Maudeville keeping from her?
When Maude asked her for a private chat after rehearsal, Olive’s heart dropped.
“I’m sorry,” she said the moment the last cast member had exited the stage. “I know I was off today. I’ll do better.”
Maude gave her a sympathetic smile. “Relax, darling. I wasn’t going to chastise you. Saturday is opening night. A little stage fright is normal, particularly for your first performance.”
Olive’s hands twitched at her side. “It’s not stage fright,” she said quickly. “I’m just kind of distracted.”
“Is something bothering you, dear?”
“Um…” Olive thought of Felix, of Juliana’s teary pleas, of the singing ghost. She desperately needed to talk to someone about what was going on at Maudeville—and who better than Maude Devore herself? But something nagged at Olive. The way Juliana had shivered when Maude caught them onstage; the fear in the girl’s eyes when she told Olive that Maude had asked her to keep quiet about Felix’s ghost. Sometimes I hate it here. Sometimes this place feels…wrong.
“It’s nothing,” Olive said at last. “I just need to get some sleep.”
“A wise idea,” Maude agreed. “But remember, I’m here if you ever need to talk.”
Under the stage lights, her teeth gleamed.
That night, Olive lay staring at the bunk above hers, where Juliana was curled up in a ball, sleeping—or pretending to sleep. Life at Maudeville did not come with much privacy, and Olive had not had a chance to talk to Juliana about Felix all evening. And while Juliana hadn’t been avoiding her, Olive couldn’t help noticing that she hadn’t made much of an effort to talk to her either. Perhaps she knew, somehow, that Olive had taunted Felix about coming inside the theater. She might even blame Olive for the death of her brother. But Olive couldn’t very well just ask Juliana about it in front of the other cast members.
So she had decided to ask Felix himself.
She waited until the rhythm of the snores and mumbles indicated that everyone was asleep, and then she slipped out of bed and into the hall. As Olive crept down the creaky stairs, a distant, lilting sound reached her ears. She froze, listening hard.
Someone was singing.
Heart in her throat, Olive hurried to the backstage doors and found them locked. She flew down the corridor and into the lobby and stopped in front of the entrance to the auditorium. The high, clear voice continued, and Olive recognized the opening number from Eidola. Her song. She pulled on the doors, expecting to find them locked as well. But they opened easily, and she stepped inside.
The auditorium was completely dark save for a single dim light. Not the spotlight—it radiated from a lamp that illuminated the stage with a soft, glowing circle. A lone, transparent figure stood in the center, the outline of the lamp clearly visible through him. Olive blinked in disbelief.
She moved slowly down the aisle, her eyes never leaving the ghost of a familiar boy with messy black hair. He did not seem to notice her presence; he was too wrapped up in his performance. But when she reached the stage as he held the last note, he opened his eyes and smiled at her.
“Hi, Olive.”
“Felix?”
Olive’s voice came out as a tiny squeak. She shaded her eyes against the brightness of the lamp as she climbed the steps to join him on the stage. “Are you…how did you…” She trailed off, staring. Something wasn’t right.
Up close, it was like looking at a slightly different version of Felix. The long, straight nose and dark hair were the same. But this boy’s face was a touch rounder, his eyes wide with an innocence Felix didn’t possess. Olive thought he might be a bit shorter too, but it was difficult to tell because he floated an inch or two off the ground. And his smile was…different. A nice smile. But different.
“Who are you?” she whispered. The boy straightened his back and lifted his chin.
“I’m Finley Morella,” he told her. “I’ve been watching you since your first rehearsal. You’re really good!”
Olive stared. Finley Morella?
“I miss singing, though,” the boy went on, unaware of Olive’s shock. “I used to sing along with you, and it was okay because no one could see me or hear me. But now I’m getting more solid, and…well, you heard me the other day.” He gave Olive a shy, apologetic look. “Kinda interrupted your performance. I think some of the other cast members heard me too, but they pretended not to.”
A choked, croaky noise startled Olive. It was a moment before she realized it had come from her throat. Finley flickered and faded.
“Wait
!” Olive stepped forward. “Don’t go!”
Finley laughed. “Where would I go? Oh, that,” he added, squinting at his translucent hands. “Hang on—watch this.” Olive watched as he glided over to the boulder prop like a wisp of boy-shaped smoke. Finley knelt, prying at the trapdoor with his fingers. At first, they just slipped through the planks like vapor. But then, before Olive’s eyes, the boy became more solid, more defined. The trapdoor trembled a bit, and his brow furrowed with concentration. At last, he pulled it open with a triumphant cry.
Olive could only gape. She could still see the boulder through him, but there was no denying that Finley was now a good deal more solid than he had been a minute earlier.
“It’s because I was onstage so much,” Finley explained, though Olive hadn’t voiced a question. “It’s easier to touch stuff I touched a lot when I was alive.”
Olive thought of Knuckles and the piano, and the seamstresses with their needles and thread. She nodded wordlessly.
“I died on the boulder, I think,” Finley went on matter-of-factly. “So I can touch it too. That’s what I was trying to do when Juliana found me the other night.” His smile vanished. “She cried again, just like the first time she saw me. I thought she’d be happy.”
The first time she saw me. Olive pictured Juliana sobbing in the lobby, and her heart constricted. No wonder she’d been so upset.
“Are you Juliana’s brother?” she whispered. “And Felix’s?” When he nodded, Olive felt a tiny wave of relief. Felix was not dead after all.
But the former star of Eidola was, and while this wasn’t a surprise, it wasn’t exactly comforting either.
“Did you die during the show?” she couldn’t resist asking.
“Yup.” Finley sounded unconcerned, as if his onstage death had been nothing more than a lighting glitch. “The last thing I remember from being alive is the finale.” His expression turned dreamy, and his features dimmed a tiny bit. “My first finale. It was a packed house—every single seat was filled. I was singing the last number, and the cocoon started to shake, and I was so excited because I’d never seen the butterfly, but everyone said it was just amazing. But then…” Finley frowned, concentrating. Then he sighed. “I don’t know what happened next, just that I woke up in the trap room and I was dead.”
Olive and the Backstage Ghost Page 10
