Smoke and Mirrors (27 page)

“Here, you have me.”

“That and thirty-two seventy-five'll buy you a two-four.” He sighed. “I could use a beer.”

“You've had plenty. Call. Or concentrate. Or do whatever you have to.”

“You've got no friggin' idea how this works, do . . .” Twisting around, he looked up at Henry and froze. “Yeah. So like, I'll just, um . . .”

As little as he wanted to, Henry dialed it back. Masked the Hunter. Destroying this annoying little man would not help free Tony and the others.
More's the pity.
Closing his fingers over the back of Graham's chair, he waited.

Tony's theory, expressed between visits from the last ghost Henry'd had to deal with, had made a certain kind of sense. Like was drawn to like.
Except, of course, when opposites attract.

That wasn't helping.

Fabric began to tear under Henry's fingers and he snarled softly in frustration.

The temperature in the balcony plummeted.

“He's here.” Graham's announcement plumed out from his mouth.

“I figured.”

A tall figure began to take shape in the place where camera two would rest. The lack of light in the balcony made it difficult to see defined edges, dark bleeding out into dark. It almost seemed as though the pale, middle-aged face cupped by the high formal collar of the early part of the century floated, sneering and unsupported.

“He's complaining about the theater. I don't think he means the building, I think he means . . .” Graham waved toward the stage. “That stuff.”

“Why couldn't I hear him?”

“Because you're not a medium.” Graham snickered. “You're short enough I bet you're barely a small. What?”

The ghost frowned.

“I think he thinks I'm brave talking to you like that because you walk in darkness. Jesus, the lights are out. Who doesn't?”

Alistair McCall, once given five curtain calls for his Faust, and Henry Fitzroy, once Duke of Richmond and Somerset, exchanged an essentially identical expression.

“Yeah, yeah, Nightwalker. What the hell is a . . .” Whites showed all the way around Graham's eyes as he slowly turned and gazed up into Henry's face. “Oh, boy, oh boy—I knew you were strange from the moment I laid eyes on you, but you're a
vampire?
”

Henry smiled, and this time he didn't bother being charming. “Ask him about Creighton Caulfield. We haven't got all night.”

“Hartley's gone?” Brenda's eyes were painfully wide and both her hands were wrapped around Lee's arm in a white-knuckled grip. “The house! It's the house!” she shrieked as Lee closed his hand over hers—not so much for comfort, Tony was just petty enough to observe, but to try and force her to loosen her hold. “It's eaten him!”

“No, it hasn't!” Amy snapped. Then she frowned and turned to Tony. “Has it?”

He shrugged and glanced over at Stephen and Cassie who'd finally rejoined them. Cassie still looked a little twitchy—which would have seemed reasonable given the dance music still playing a counterpoint to Karl's crying except that she was dead and therefore should, in Tony's opinion, be beyond twitchy.

“The house doesn't eat you, it uses the energy of your death,” Cassie told him, smoothing down her bloodstained skirt and glaring at Brenda. The
you're an idiot
was clearly implied.

Tony repeated Cassie's statement, trying to keep the implication a little less obvious. “And since no one else is dead,” he added, “Hartley can't be. It's been murder
then
suicide since the beginning.”

“So he's probably just gone off looking for a drink,” Peter sighed.

Arms folded, Kate shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Or he's gone off looking for someone to kill!”

“Who?” Amy demanded impatiently. “We're all here.”

“So he wants us to go looking for him and when we're separated, then he kills one of us.”

Heads nodded agreement.

“Yeah . . .” Amy pursed her lips, giving credit where credit was due. “That sounds reasonable.”

“Tom wasn't a murder/suicide,” Mouse muttered mournfully.

Tina shot him a flat, unfriendly look. “Stop saying murder/suicide around the children.”

Safely out of the way beside Zev, Brianna rolled her eyes as Ashley pulled her ears out from between the script supervisor's hands. “First of all, not a child,” the older girl snorted. “And second, it's not like we don't know the words. We watch
Law and Order
, you know.”

“How can you avoid it?” Adam snorted.

Heads nodded again.

“Tom was kind of a metaphysical accident,” Amy reminded them. “He didn't intend to kill himself, so his death is different.”

Kate's lip curled. “If one death can be different, what's to say others can't be.”

More nodding.

“Hartley wants a drink,” she continued, “so the house, the thing . . .”

“In the basement,” Amy interupted.

“Fine. The thing in the basement convinces him that a bottle of rubbing alcohol is just what he's looking for and the next thing you know, he's poisoned himself.”

Amy spread her hands. “Come on, guys. This is Hartley we're talking about. He's perfectly capable of drinking a bottle of rubbing alcohol and poisoning himself without any help from a thing in the basement.”

The nodding continued.

The circle was beginning to look as though it contained an assorted variety of bobblehead dolls.

“So do we go looking for him?” Tony asked.

“Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Go off all alone. Come back and tell us stuff we're expected to believe. If all we have to do is survive until morning, then I think we stand a better chance if we use a little duct tape on Tony and keep him from wandering off.” Kate patted the roll of tape hanging off her belt. “Who's with me?”

“No one is duct taping anyone,” Peter told her. “Not unless I say so.”

“Unless
you
say so?”

Stephen wafted closer to Tony as the shouting started. “It likes this. It likes anger. It likes any strong emotion,” he added thoughtfully as Sorge shoved Pavin, Mouse shook Kate as she tried to lunge at Peter, and Amy, Adam, and Saleen were attempting to outshout each other—the three clumped together but yelling independently. Tina, Zev, Mason, Lee, Brenda, and the girls were being shoved toward the far edge of the circle. “Anger's easiest for it to use, though.”

“Yeah?” Tony jerked back away from Kate's flailing arm. She wasn't flailing at him, but he still wanted to avoid impact. “How do you know?”

“How do I know what?”

He turned and glared at the ghosts. “How do you know what
it
likes?”

Cassie rolled her eye and stepped forward. “It feeds off our death, remember? We're its prisoners as much as you are. We've just been here longer, so we know more.”

“Stockholm Syndrome.”

“What?”

He frowned. “Helsinki Syndrome? Never mind. The point is; how do I know you haven't gone over to its side? How do I know I can trust you?”

“It's working on him now,” Cassie muttered.

Stephen snorted. “You think?”

“It is not! It's more likely you two are working with it than with me against it because you and it are . . . OW!” Tony clutched his crotch with both hands and stumbled back through Stephen. Gripping her arms, Mouse had lifted Kate off the floor freeing her feet to swing. In spite of the pain—or maybe because of it—Tony felt more clearheaded than he had in a while. Clearheaded and cold. “Man, you are fucking freezing!”

“Heat is energy.” Stephen adjusted his head. “We don't have energy to spare.”

Heat . . .
“You used the heat from the lights to look real this morning.”

“The lights and the people. We . . .”

“Is that relevant?” Cassie interrupted, sounding remarkably like Amy. She waved a bloody hand at the rest of the crew. “I mean it was fun and all, but right now you need to do something about this!”

While Tony'd been distracted, the darkness had thickened around the circle of light cast by the lantern. It felt . . . anticipatory seemed the only—if clichéd—choice. Within the circle, the old arguments went on and new ones had started. Mason and Lee stood nearly nose to nose, yelling about fan sites. Brenda was on her knees between them—the tuxedo jackets covering just what exactly she was doing there—with Zev hauling at her shoulders trying to pull her away. Tina had left the circle and was banging on the front door demanding that Everett wake up. Her pinafore over her head, Ashley sat cross-legged on the floor singing “Danny Boy” at the top of her lungs.

It looked as though everyone had slipped over the edge, Tony realized as he slowly straightened. He had no idea how the hell he was supposed to haul everyone back.

“I HAVE TO PEE!”

Okay, not everyone.

Brianna stood in the center of the circle, hands on her hips, and as the echoes of her announcement died down, she glared at the suddenly quiet adults. “I have to pee, now!” Not quite as loud but just as penetrating. One bare foot lashed out . . . “Shut
up
, Ashes!” . . . and “Danny Boy” died. “Did you hear me? I have to PEE!”

“I think they heard you in Victoria,” Amy winced.

“Do they have bathrooms in Victoria?” Brianna demanded. “ 'Cause if they do, I want to go there! Right NOW!”

“Okay, okay . . .” Zev stepped up behind her and patted her shoulder. “I imagine there's a number of bathrooms in a place this size.” He looked around expectantly at the others, and Tony remembered that the music director had only been at the location for about half an hour before the house closed down. “Right?”

“Yes and no,” Peter admitted. “There're six bathrooms, but only the one in Mason's dressing room has been approved for use.”

Amy opened her mouth to say something rude, but Zev stopped her with a raised hand and allowed his smile to say it for him. “Given the circumstances, trapped in a haunted house and all, I think we can ignore that rule.”

“Sure, if we're planning on not getting out. But this was one of CB's directives, and I'm not leaping from the frying pan into the fire. I think I'd rather stay in the frying pan.”

“She'll pee in the frying pan,” Ashley warned ominously.

“Fine.” With no time to argue, Zev surrendered. “We'll use the bathroom in Mason's dressing room.”

“You won't,” Tina told him, taking Brianna's hand from his. “
We
will. I think . . .” She swept her gaze around the circle, allowing it to momentarily alight on the other three women and Ashley. “. . . that we should all go. All us girls. Together.”

“No!”

“Oh, for Christ's sake, Mason.” As Amy lit the second lantern, Tina turned a withering glare on the star of
Darkest Night
. “Grow up and learn to share.”

“Fuck you,” Mason muttered. He pulled a battered cigarette out of the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket and held out his hand for his lighter. “It's not about sharing,” he said as he lit up, staring at Tony over the flame. “It's about shadows.”

“She'll pee on the shadows,” Ashley giggled.

“I'll pee on you, Zitface!”

“Try it, Cheese!”

Brianna lunged out to the end of Tina's arm.

“Enough!”

Everyone stared at Zev, impressed, as both girls quieted.

Then all heads swiveled toward Tony.

He sighed. “There's something in that bathroom,” he began.

“Richard Caulfield,” Cassie interrupted. “Creighton Caufield's only son. He was retarded. We think he lived in that room his whole life.”

“We know he died in it,” Stephen added.

“He's not like the rest of us. He doesn't . . . um . . .” She frowned and sketched circles in the air.

“Replay?” Tony offered.

“Yes, he doesn't replay. He's just . . .” Unlike her brother's, her head remained in place when she shrugged. “He's just there.”

“Tony?” Lee's voice had risen on the second syllable. He closed his hand over Brenda's and moved it off his arm, frowning at her while he did. “That hurt.”