Stage Fright (Bit Parts)

by Scott, Michelle

  Something landed near me with a thunk and rolled across the floor. With an impressive war cry, Perry charged into the gallery.

  Marcella swore as the fog of holy water touched her, but the weapon didn’t slow her down. She went for Perry, wrapping him in a lethal embrace. Muttering an oath of my own, I left the crate and raced towards them, my silver necklace at the ready.

  “Let him go!” Isaiah’s voice filled the room.

  Marcella dropped Perry like a rag doll. “About time you showed up. I was beginning to worry that you’d miss my party.”

  Isaiah’s hands reached for the baseball bat behind his back.

  Marcella laughed. She stopped a short distance from her brother, her hands on her hips. “You’re not going to use that on me, are you?” She advanced as slowly as a human and pouted like a child. “Your own little sister?”

  Isaiah’s hands twitched, but he didn’t swing.

  “I was the one who bought you your first baseball, remember? I spent hours looking for returnable cans so I could earn enough money to buy it. I was only seven.” Marcella’s voice still rasped, but it had softened as if the memory was as important to her as it was to him. She took several more steps forward, and Isaiah took half a step back. “And remember how we sang together in church? You in your little, gray suit, and me in my white dress?”

  Isaiah swallowed.

  She was nearly within arm’s reach. Her eyes held Isaiah’s like a snake holding a mouse’s before it struck. “How did you repay me? By letting Hedda steal my shine. And my voice.”

  Isaiah lowered his hands.

  “No!” A split second before Marcella pounced, I dove for her ankles, knocking her off balance. It hardly mattered. She was back on her feet in an instant, holding me tight. I struggled, my legs flailing as she lifted me up. Her arm locked around my neck, turning my windpipe into a narrow straw. I clawed at her, desperate for a breath of air.

  “Now, brother, I get to destroy something you love.” Her grip grew stronger, pinching off the little bit of airway I had left. The loss of air made me too weak to fight. Blood roared in my ears. As my vision grayed out, I caught a glimpse of Isaiah.

  Good-bye, I thought. Good-bye Elena and Mom and Dad. Bye, Andrew.

  All at once, I was in a heap on the floor, gasping to fill my lungs.

  By some miracle, Victor had reclaimed his strength and had Marcella pinned to the wall. Isaiah, slower to catch up, joined them. Isaiah’s teeth clenched as he raised his bat and readied to swing. The weapon whizzed through the air, straight at Marcella’s head. Had this been a baseball game, Isaiah would have knocked the ball out of the park and into the next state.

  Instead of hitting Marcella, however, the bat struck the brick wall and splintered. Isaiah was quick, but the vampire had been quicker. Striking like lightening, Victor tore out Marcella’s throat with one, grisly bite. I shuddered at the crunch of gristle and bone.

  At that moment, vampires flooded through the Muse’s front door. The crowd was led by one human. “I told you they would be here,” Charles told Bertrand.

  At the sight of Marcella’s broken body, Hedda gave an anguished cry. The other vampires roared in protest, the word ‘murderer’ repeating itself over and over. Bertrand said nothing, but pointed a finger at Victor whose mouth was still painted with Marcella’s blood. When two of Bertrand’s guards dragged the playwright away, he went without protest.

  I fled to Andrew who lay slumped on the floor. He gave me a watery smile. “I did it for you, Cassie.”

  That’s when I noticed the bloody holes in his neck. Victor’s miraculous recovery had come at a terrible price.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  It took the better part of three days to undo Caleb’s damage to my house. Perry offered to help, but I turned him down. Cleaning up the mess was a kind of grieving, and I wanted to do it alone. When I threw away all of Maggie’s broken and torn artwork, I sobbed like I’d lost my best friend.

  As I swept up the remains of the dishes, scrubbed the floors and walls, and washed my clothes, the events at the Muse played and replayed in my mind. I was full of regrets. If only Isaiah had come to my rescue sooner. If only Andrew hadn’t given his shine to Victor in order to save me. If only Victor hadn’t been caught with Marcella’s blood smearing his face.

  If only, if only, if only…

  But while my mind whirled like a hurricane, one thought remained firm: Charles Corning must pay for what he’d done. Although Charles had set the entire tragedy in motion, Bertrand had rewarded him by turning him into a vampire and giving him control of Hedda’s grieve. Now, Charles lived like a king while Victor was being tried for Marcella’s murder.

  As I stuffed the last of my dad’s shredded novels into a garbage bag, I considered how I could expose Charles for the traitor he was. Unfortunately, I had no concrete evidence to support my theories, and I doubted that any of the vampires would listen to the testimony of a mere human. Even if I did make them believe me, I doubted that any of them would care enough to do something.

  Frustrated, I tied off the garbage bag and kicked it all the way to the curb. My extreme cleaning spree had relieved some of my stress, but I was still plenty worked up. What I really needed was a trip to Isaiah’s dojo so I could beat the hell out of his punching bag.

  Isaiah.

  I blinked back tears, determined not to cry again. Isaiah and I hadn’t talked, or even texted, since the night Marcella died. The silence between us was a wall that grew bigger and thicker as each day passed. His eyes and deep voice haunted my dreams. I wanted him desperately, but was too afraid of rejection to make the first move.

  After hauling the last of the trash to the curb, I decided to give my aching back a break. While I made a pot of coffee, Andrew shambled into the kitchen. Since the night at the Muse, he’d haunted the house like a troubled ghost. This morning, he wore the same pajama pants and old t-shirt that he’d worn the day before. And the day before that. His tousled bangs fell into his eyes. Although the unkempt hair actually suited him, everything else looked like hell. It wasn’t just the scruffy beard on his chin, or the fact he’d grown so pale that his complexion was the color of skim milk. It was his empty eyes. Now, I knew exactly what he’d meant when he’d described my vacant stare as the Blue Screen of Death.

  Andrew opened the fridge and stared into it for a long time without moving. When the kitchen started to cool, I shut the fridge’s door. “How about if I make you breakfast?”

  While I fixed cold cereal, Andrew sat at the kitchen table and silently stared at the falling snow outside. When I set the food in front of him, he used his fingers to pick wet Cornflakes from the bowl and put them into his mouth.

  I gently smoothed down the wild peaks of his hair. “You should use a spoon, honey,” I said.

  He blinked. “Oh. Right.” He picked up the spoon and resumed eating.

  I knew from experience that this walking dead state could last for months. A terrifying thought. I hardly dared leave Andrew alone in the house since I worried he’d turn on the stove and forget to turn it off again or fall asleep in a bathtub full of water.

  “Cassie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I just remembered that I hate cold cereal.” He pushed the bowl away and dug the palms of his hands into his eyes. “I’m really tired. I think I’ll go back to bed.”

  He’d been sleeping anywhere from twelve to fourteen hours a day, sometimes so deeply that I held a mirror under his nose to make sure he was still breathing. “How about if we go to a movie?” I suggested. I hoped that getting him out in public would jar him awake.

  For a moment, I thought he might agree, but to my dismay, his eyes clouded and he shook his head. “No thanks. I’m too tired.” He yawned, went into his room, and shut the door.

  The phone rang. Picking up, I winced at the bossy voice of the new realtor, a steel-haired woman with a handshake so firm it could leave bruises. She informed me there would be two showings that afternoon th
en abruptly hung up.

  To get ready for the potential buyers, I swept the floor, removed the damp towels hanging in the bathroom, and ran a dust rag over the furniture that Caleb had left intact. I was done with passively resisting my parents’ attempts to sell the house. This was their property, after all. My sister had been right; I needed to start acting like an adult and make my own way in the world.

  I didn’t noticed the limousine sitting in front of my house until the driver tapped the horn. Peering through the curtains, my heart sank. Although this vehicle was dove-gray and not the black of Bertrand Peabody’s limo, I knew that vampires sat inside.

  The driver tapped the horn again. I went onto the porch, crossed my arms over my chest, and shook my head. Until they dragged me screaming from my house, I refused to get in.

  One of the heavily-tinted windows rolled down, revealing a very young Charles Corning. My body stiffened at the sight of his smug face. “What do you want?” I demanded.

  “Come take a ride with us.”

  “Forget it.”

  “Don’t be so mulish, Cassandra. Victor wants to see you. You wouldn’t deny a condemned man his last wish, would you?”

  There it was: the verdict I’d been dreading. The news came like a sharp jab to the solar plexus. I’d been holding out hope that the vampires would show mercy and set Victor free, but I should have known better. After all, I’d stood in front of Bertrand’s peers and experienced their cruelty firsthand. No creatures that bloodthirsty could be compassionate.

  I grabbed my coat and purse and shouted out a good-bye to Andrew. If Victor wanted a final visit with me, I wouldn’t deny him.

  When I climbed into the limo, Hedda slid over to make room. Charles and a young blonde sat in the seat opposite. In a way, the young woman resembled Tabitha, only she was shapelier, and her lips more pouty. As the car eased away from the curb, Charles offered me a leering grin and put his arm around his companion’s shoulders.

  “So good to see you again, Cassie!” His gray eyes sparkled. As much as I hated to admit it, he’d become devilishly handsome. He’d lost forty years and thirty pounds. His black hair was combed away from his face, showing off his widow’s peak. A small goatee, like the point of a knife, clung to his narrow chin. The broken blood vessels in his nose and his yellowed fingertips, mementos of years of alcohol and tobacco addiction, had mended, giving him a fresh complexion.

  “Care for a drink?” he asked. “Water? Coke?”

  Just sitting across from my former mentor turned my stomach. “No.”

  “Of course, I no longer need human sustenance, but rest assured, my diet is every bit as delicious.” He squeezed the shoulders of his buxom companion. Peeking up from the collar of her coat was a bruise even larger and darker than the one Geoffrey had suffered. The woman kept her flat eyes fixed out the window as if she was watching her life, and not the scenery, pass by. When Charles touched her hair, she shuddered ever so slightly.

  Disgusted, I turned to Hedda and told her hello.

  Hedda flicked her gaze at me and nodded. “Cassandra. Good to see you again.” She dressed smartly in gray wool pants and a maroon sweater, but the past few days had stolen something from her. She was still beautiful, but the haughty arch of her eyebrows and the proud tilt of her chin had been replaced with slumped shoulders and downcast eyes.

  “Yes, Victor has been condemned to death for the murder of Marcella Griffin,” Charles said as if I’d asked a question. “Do you know what I admire most about vampires, Cassandra? Their ironclad devotion to their ideals. They follow their rules to the letter.”

  “Wonderful.”

  If Charles noticed my sarcasm, he didn’t let on. “There’s no fussing with interpretation. No shades of gray.” Turning into a vampire had robbed Charles of his mellifluous voice. Its former warmth and richness had grown sterile. “True, Victor murdered a vampire who had a death sentence on her head, but he had no authority to deliver the killing blow.”

  Hedda stared resolutely out the window. If she was grieving for her dead lover, she wasn’t letting it show.

  Annoyed that I was unimpressed by his lecture, Charles shifted topics. “Have you been to the Bleak Street?”

  I hadn’t, but according to an article in the paper, the newly remodeled theater was already drawing a lot of attention. Apparently, valet parking, a cocktail lounge, and gourmet snacks were exactly what elite movie addicts wanted. Bertrand had struck gold.

  “I hear it’s nice,” I said stiffly.

  “Nice? It’s more than just nice.” He smiled cunningly. “Every bit of that decrepit old building is gone. Down to the last prop and piece of scenery.”

  I clenched my jaws at his taunt. Charles had gone out of his way to prevent me from getting a memento from my beloved Bleak Street. The small amount of memorabilia that survived Marcella’s fire had immediately been sold off at an auction. A private auction. Since I hadn’t gotten an invitation, I couldn’t so much as place a bid.

  “In a few days, Mercury Hall will undergo its own transformation! We’re creating the hottest nightclub in the city. Laser light shows, multi-tiered dance floors, and private rooms.” He withdrew his arm from his companion and leaned back in his seat. “We’re calling it Club Mercury. I’ll send you a VIP pass when it opens. That way, you won’t have to wait in line to get in.”

  “Gee, thanks.” It shamed me to think that I’d ever admired this arrogant man. The last few weeks had taught me a lot. Most importantly, that I needed to pick my role models with greater care. “It sounds like the Widderstrom Grieve is doing well.”

  I purposely used the name to infuriate Charles, and it worked. “It’s the Corning Grieve now,” he said sharply. “Bertrand put me in charge. Unlike its former head…” he cut his eyes at Hedda, “…I’ll make sure it thrives.”

  I didn’t think it was possible for me to hate Charles more than I already did, but watching him dance on the ashes of Hedda’s beloved grieve was more than I could bear. “I like things better the way they were,” I said. “The Widderstrom Grieve had soul.” At the word, Hedda sighed softly.

  Charles narrowed his eyes. “This is progress, Cassie. This is business and getting a return on your investment.” In a brutal display of strength, he put his arm around his companion, crushing her against him. When she whimpered, he drove his fangs into her neck and began drinking. All the while, he kept his eyes fixed on me.

  By the time the limo pulled up in front of the old glove factory, I’d nearly lost my breakfast. Seeing Charles suckle at the neck of his blood partner was almost more than my stomach could bear. If Hedda hadn’t sensed my distress and soothed me with a bottle of cold water, I would have vomited into the ice bucket.

  Pleased at how he’d upset me, Charles delicately licked the blood from his fangs and smiled. His blood partner trembled, and a tear trickled down her cheek.

  Hedda’s eyes narrowed. “That was in very poor form, Charles. It’s shameful to feed on your partner so publically.”

  “Don’t be such a prude,” he said and got out of the limo before anyone else.

  “I’m sorry,” Hedda said before she exited; although, it wasn’t clear to whom she was apologizing: me or the blonde.

  Charles stayed in the lobby to wait for his partner, but Hedda stepped into the elevator with me. When the doors closed, she said, “Thank you for agreeing to see Victor. The visit will mean a lot to him.”

  “You’ve started to like him, haven’t you?” I asked, surprised.

  A sad smile played on her lips. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible, especially not after what he did.” She twisted a ring around her finger. “But we’ve had many, long talks, and I think we understand each other.”

  When the elevator reached the fifth floor, I once again hugged Hedda. This time, she accepted my embrace. “I wish you the very best, Cassandra,” she said, tightening her arms around me.

  To my relief, Victor was not being tortured or ill-treated. Instead, he’d been sequeste
red in one of the lavish apartments. Even so, misery haunted his eyes as he paced the plush carpeting. Despite the enormous TV, sunken fireplace, and view of the Detroit River, this was still death row.

  “Thank you for coming,” he said. He’d developed a nervous habit of running his tongue over his fangs.

  “I feel like this is all my fault!”

  He shook his head. “No. In fact, I should thank you for re-igniting my creative spirit. For the first time in a very long while, I felt human again.” He glanced out the window, taking in the Canadian shoreline across the river. “From the moment I stepped into the Bleak Street, all I wanted was to become a playwright again. I would have given anything to recapture those years.”

  Pity tugged at my heart. Victor’s ridiculous clothing and his fanciful staging of his play had been an effort to reclaim his creativity. Unfortunately, all it had done was make him appear foolish.

  “Bertrand might have asked you to spy on Hedda,” I said, “but someone put Bertrand up to it.” Although I had no concrete evidence, I was determined to let Victor in on my suspicions. Quickly, I told him about Charles and how he’d plotted to become a vampire.

  When I’d finished my story, I was certain that Victor’s eyes would blaze red, and he’d fly into a rage. To my surprise, however, all he did was smile sadly. “An interesting theory, but I’m afraid it’s come too late. My sentence has already been delivered.”

  “But I’ll find proof,” I argued. “I can help you with this!”

  “I believe you,” he said, “but regardless of what Charles did, I murdered one of my own kind. If nothing else, I believe in our code of ethics. I want to die honorably.”

  My fists tightened in frustration. “How can you give up so easily?”

  “Leave vampire politics to the vampires, Cassandra,” Victor said quietly.

  “But what about your grieve!”

  “It will remain within the Stuyvesant family,” he said. “The only concession to my penalty was that I can choose a successor. Edith Stuyvesant, my first creation, is a strong, intelligent woman with a sense of honor. She won’t let Bertrand or anyone else bully her.”