Spellcrossed (29 page)

Instead of the bed called for in the script, Hal had come up with the idea of using a stylized canopy that would rise from the floor as the Fakir chanted, like a cobra emerging from a snake charmer’s basket. After the fly operator raised it to the right height, four actors would install poles and stretch the gauzy fabric out to create an open-sided canopy. While the idea was cool, the effect was usually spoiled by actors juggling poles and fabric.

As Larry lifted Natasha, the scrim rose. A quartet of actors dressed as Indian servants emerged from the wings. As the groups moved slowly toward center, the tent shimmied upward. The servants seized the four corners of the long swath of fabric, slipped their poles into them, and backed away just as Larry gently laid Natasha in her “canopy bed.”

There were appreciative murmurs from the audience. I squeezed Rowan’s hand in thanks and felt his love warming my fingers.

He used his magic as sparingly as Janet had predicted: to control the mist that snaked obediently around the actors’ ankles, to make the topiaries glide smoothly
around the stage, to calm Ethan when he dried up in his first scene, and to give Neil the extra nudge he needed to transform “Winter’s on the Wing” into a joyous rite of spring.

The “Final Storm” erupted with lightning and thunder, drawing gasps from the audience. The frenzied singing of the Dreamers gave way to the ominous “Mistress Mary, Quite Contrary” round. Natasha appealed to the Dreamers, but they glided past her like living topiaries, brandishing their red handkerchiefs.

Rowan suddenly tensed. I glanced at him, then back at the stage, wondering what had disturbed him. Natasha conveyed Mary’s growing terror perfectly as she wove in and out of the maze of Dreamers, desperately searching for her father. Maybe Rowan was concentrating on controlling the mix of voices so that each individual line came through clearly against the choral singing of “It’s a Maze.”

As the Dreamers slowly circled Natasha, Daddy began shifting in his seat. Was he simply restless or did he have to pee? Well, Act One would be over in a few minutes. He could certainly wait that long.

I forced my attention back to the stage, but I couldn’t concentrate because of Daddy’s infernal squirming.

Janet’s head snapped toward him. She whispered something, but he just rocked back and forth in his seat.

My impatience vanished at his obvious distress. I leaned forward to reassure him, but when I touched his shoulder, he cried out and batted frantically at the air.

Heads turned in our direction, audience members distracted from the action unfolding onstage by the personal drama playing out in the house.

Rowan’s forearm thrust me back in my seat. He slid forward to rest his hand on Daddy’s right shoulder. Daddy moaned, and I pressed my fist to my mouth to keep from doing the same.

I’d worried that the vivid special effects might frighten some of the children, but my father knew too much about stage magic to be this upset. Had the ghostly
Dreamers triggered some awful memory of the Borderlands? Did Mary’s futile attempt to escape the maze of Dreamers remind him of his terrified flight from the Crow-Men?

The number built in intensity, the Dreamers’ “Mistress Mary” chant underscored by the dissonant blare of horns and the wild twittering of the piccolo and the relentless beat of the timpani. In a few moments, the terrifying music would segue into the soothing melody of “Come to My Garden” and the nightmare would be over. If Daddy could just hold on, if Rowan and Janet could keep him calm for ten more seconds…

Daddy quivered like a dog straining at its leash. Natasha darted through a pool of light, red hair washed to a pale strawberry blonde by the white light.

Only then did I understand my father’s distress. I was too shaken to move. All I could do was sit there as the music reached its frenzied peak.

A single oboe played “Come to My Garden.” Natasha flung herself into Larry’s arms, father and child reunited at last.

The Dreamers began drifting offstage. I leaned forward to touch my father, to let him know without words that I shared his anguish.

Rowan shoved me back and clambered over me just as Daddy leaped to his feet and shouted, “No!”

There were startled exclamations from the audience. Still frozen in their embrace, Natasha and Larry broke character to stare into the house. The oboe faltered, then picked up the melody once again.

Daddy tottered down the aisle. Tears welled in my eyes as he raised his arms to embrace his lost child.

To embrace me.

My fingers dug into the worn nap of his abandoned seat, still warm from my father’s body. Only by gripping the seat hard could I keep from jumping up and running down the aisle and crying, “I’m here, Daddy. I’ve always been here.”

Rowan seized Daddy’s left arm. Janet seized his right.

The music swelled, mercifully covering the rising tide of whispers. Soothing magic rippled through the sostenuto of the strings as Alex tried to calm musicians and audience alike. I felt the steadying throb of Reinhard’s power and the determined beat of Mei-Yin’s, urging everyone to focus on the stage.

As Michaela stepped aside to reveal the door to the secret garden, even those seated around me settled back in their seats. Their soft “Ahh” told me that the door had swung open, silhouetting Natasha in a flood of moonlight.

I didn’t see it. I was still watching the shadowy figures escort my struggling father out of the theatre.

I
HAD NO TIME TO DEAL WITH MY EMOTIONS. When the house lights came up a moment later, I had to concentrate on damage control. I delegated my available staff to handle the audience and asked Bernie and Frannie to deal with the board. As Long made a beeline toward me, I beat a hasty retreat to the Dungeon to check on the cast and found Reinhard outside the women’s dressing room.

“They are fine,” he whispered. “I told them it was Jack and…” He shrugged uncomfortably.

They had all witnessed Daddy’s outbursts. This was just another crazy Jack moment.

Natasha, God love her, was more concerned about Daddy than the fact that he had spoiled her big moment. Most of the other women were mollified when I told them he had been overcome by their performances, but a few grumbled that he had ruined their opening night.

“Be glad the guy got into it,” Debra snapped, “and focus on Act Two.”

I shot her a grateful look and continued down the hall to the men’s dressing room. Larry still seemed a little nonplussed, but Otis’ reassuring presence was calming everyone. I squeezed his arm, got a firm nod in return, and moved on to the musicians’ green room.

Trapped in the pit—and assuaged by Alex’s magic—
they were just puzzled because the underscoring had fallen apart. Alex had his arm around the shoulders of the poor oboe player, clearly bolstering his sagging confidence with Fae magic.

I arrived at the breezeway to find staff and board doing their best to downplay the incident. The audience members who had been sitting near Daddy still seemed shaken, but Mei-Yin and Lee were working them hard. Lee’s power pulsed with strength and calm, while Mei-Yin’s crackled with humor. The odd combination worked. My racing heartbeat slowed and I felt the urge to laugh the whole thing off—just some poor old guy who’d gotten carried away by the magic of theatre. Things could be worse, I thought, as I raced up to Rowan’s apartment.

Then I heard the shouting.

I flung open the door and hurried inside to find Long stalking around the living area and Janet clinging to his arm.

“Jack’s asleep in the bedroom,” Janet informed me. “Rowan gave him a tranquilizer.”

I nodded my understanding of her faeryspeak. Before I could assure Long that everything was under control, he said, “What the hell just happened? What’s
wrong
with that man?”

“Nothing’s wrong with him,” I replied, trying hard to keep my voice level.

“First, those disturbances in rehearsals…oh, I heard all about them. Is he mentally unbalanced or—?”

“No! And keep your voice down or you’ll wake him up.”

“Let’s all keep our voices down,” Janet advised. “And let’s not overreact because Jack got caught up in the show.”

“He’s an actor, for God’s sake! How could he get
that
caught up in the show?”

“He’s been through a lot!” I exclaimed. “So cut him a fucking break, Long.”

Long’s eyes widened, but I was too sick with worry to care.

“Why don’t we all sit down?”

I hadn’t even noticed Rowan standing in the doorway, his voice and power radiating calm. The tension in the room dissipated. I sank into an easy chair, limp and weak-kneed. Janet and Rowan guided Long to the sofa. They sat on either side of him, Janet clasping his hand, Rowan gripping his forearm.

“The show brought back some painful memories for Jack,” Rowan said.

“He just wasn’t ready to deal with them,” Janet murmured.

“But he’ll be fine.”

“And so will the show.”

“Actors are resilient. They’re used to dealing with little bumps during a performance.”

“And that’s all this was.”

“There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing at all.”

Long nodded, soothed by their soft voices and their seductive Fae power. Then he blinked and asked, “Should I make some sort of announcement before Act Two? To reassure the audience?”

Rowan patted Long’s arm. “That might draw more attention to the incident. Better to go on as if nothing had happened, don’t you think?”

“Yes…better to go on…”

Janet squeezed Long’s hand. “If anyone asks, we’ll say that Jack was taken ill.”

“Yes…that’s good…”

Brainwashing my board president was
not
good. And observing the way Long’s head bobbed obediently made me a little queasy.

Get used to it, Graham. This is what it will be like living with a faery. There will always be suspicions to quell, truths to avoid, lies to invent.

Rowan ushered Long toward the front door, one
hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Long hesitated, then eased free.

“I know he’s your friend, Rowan. But as president of the board, my first responsibility is to this theatre. No matter how much I may sympathize with Jack’s problems, the fact remains that he’s a disruptive influence.”

“I’ll look after Jack. And I give you my word, there will be no more disruptions.”

“That’s not your job.”

“But it
is
my responsibility.”

Long shook his head. “The Crossroads Theatre isn’t a…a halfway house. If this man is as deeply troubled as I suspect, he needs professional care.”

“He needs the Crossroads,” I said. “He was an actor once. He could be again.”

“And when he’s ready, I’ll be the first to welcome him back.”

“Back?” I echoed.

“I’m sorry. Jack has to leave. Tomorrow.”

“No!”

Rowan’s power lanced through me, an urgent plea for silence. Janet advanced on Long, her cold eyes belying the warmth of her smile.

I couldn’t let Long send Daddy away, but neither did I want to watch them break him. And they
would
break him. Long might be less susceptible to their brainwashing, but he would not be able to resist it forever. It would eat away at his resolution, transform his objections into complacency, convince him to do what they wanted—what we wanted. Could I let them do that when his concerns were perfectly valid?

“Stop!” I exclaimed.

Rowan and Janet shot me identical looks of disbelief; it was the first time I had ever noted any resemblance between them. Long merely seemed puzzled.

“You can’t send Jack away. I’ve cast him in
Into the Woods
.” As Long’s expression shifted into outrage, I
quickly added, “He needs to act again. He needs to find a purpose in life.”

“Why is it our responsibility to give him that?” Long demanded. “And why are you so worked up about him? You’ve only known the man a few weeks.”

“He’s my father.”

Long gaped. Janet sighed. Rowan just watched me.

“My mother divorced him more than twenty years ago. She took her maiden name again and changed mine, too. I got an occasional postcard from him and then…nothing. Until Rowan brought him back to me. He didn’t recognize me. He doesn’t even know I’m his daughter.”

My voice broke. Rowan hurried to my side, his arm and his power steadying me.

Long glanced toward the bedroom. “He doesn’t know?” he whispered.

Rowan shook his head. “We thought the shock might be too much for him.”

“That’s why he got so upset tonight. He was seeing
me
on that stage, not Natasha.”

Rowan’s anxiety flashed through me, then vanished as he tamped down his power. All the time he’d been dealing with Daddy, he must have been worried sick about me.

“He’s had a hard life,” I told Long. “But he’s coping. And he’s excited about performing again. The Narrator is only a small part. I’ve asked Rowan to play the Mysterious Man.”

“Rowan!” Long exclaimed.

“You saw him as Billy Bigelow,” Janet reminded him. “He can certainly handle the Mysterious Man.”

“That’s not the point! I should have been informed. About all of this.”

“You’re right,” I agreed. “I’m sorry. But—”

“What happens if Jack can’t go on?” Long demanded in a furious whisper. “Or—God forbid—he breaks down onstage?”

“Bernie is understudying the role. And he’ll be playing the matinees.”

“Bernie’s in on this, too? Good God, what else have you been keeping from me?”

“I’ll be with Jack during rehearsals and the show,” Rowan said. “I can keep him calm and focused.”

“You didn’t do a very good job tonight,” Long noted.

“No. He caught me…off guard. That won’t happen again.”

“I know it’s a risk,” I said. “But I’m asking you to trust our instincts. To trust
me
.” Careful to keep my voice soft, I added, “He may be my father, but I love this theatre. If I thought he couldn’t handle the stress—or turn in a good performance—I would never suggest this.”

Long frowned. “Letting him stay is one thing, Maggie. But putting him in the show…”