Stage Fright (Bit Parts) Read online

  As my temper cooled and the speedometer dipped from 85 mph to the legal 70, my whiny self-pity gave way to more rational thoughts. There had to be a logical reason why Isaiah left me without a word. I deserved an explanation, and he deserved an opportunity to explain. We were both adults. We could talk this out.

  Still, my heart beat in double time as I pulled into the parking lot of the old church. What if I wanted to talk, but he didn’t? The man had a stony streak a mile wide. I’d never get past his defenses if he didn’t want me to.

  When I walked into Holy Comics, Perry greeted me with a smile. Then, seeing my expression, his grin faded. “What’s wrong?”

  “Is Isaiah here?”

  “No.” Perry’s worry lines deepened. He glanced at the customers who were browsing the stacks. “Let’s talk in the office.”

  Too anxious to sit, I paced the tiny room and gnawed my thumbnail as I told him of Marcella’s attack at the Mercury. My throat tightened as I explained that I’d tried to stake her. When I got to the part about how Hedda and Isaiah had caught me in the act, Perry paled.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nodded.

  “And Andrew?”

  “Fine.”

  Perry blew out his breath, relieved. “So Hedda saw Marcella attack you, and Victor was attacked himself.” Perry asked. When I nodded again, he shook his head and ran his fingers through his beard. “This is bad. Really, really bad,” he muttered. “How did the Outfielder take it?”

  My voice pinched tight. “I wouldn’t know. He left without talking to me.” When Perry didn’t respond, I added, “Do you think he blames me?”

  “Knowing Isaiah, he blames himself. He may not say much, but believe me, he’s crazy about you, Cassie. I don’t know why he left without talking to you, but I know he had his reasons. Trust him.”

  The tightness in my chest eased a little. “Thanks.”

  “At least your vampire problem is solved. I doubt Marcella will live to see another moonrise.” Perry put his hands to the small of his back and arched, cracking several vertebrae. “Which means that I can finally take a break from the computer. I’ve spent the last six hours researching how to revoke Marcella’s invitation.”

  “You did that for me?” I asked.

  He shrugged, embarrassed. “I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

  His gesture touched me deeply. “Thanks.” My eyes ached to cry.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.

  I finally sank onto a chair. “On top of everything else, Victor’s canceled his play, and the Bleak Street is being turned into a movie theater. The chandelier, and everything else, was stripped and sold off.”

  “What?!” Perry was instantly at his computer, his fingers dancing over the keys. “You’re right. The zoning was approved yesterday. Damn! Those vampires know how to work the system. Try getting a zoning permit the usual way and see how long it takes you.” More keys clicked. “They’re also tearing down the building next door to the theater to make more parking.” He scratched his chin. “Why on earth would Hedda do something like that? She loves that place.”

  “It’s not Hedda’s idea; it was her ex-husband’s. Bertrand Peabody.”

  Perry frowned. “Peabody lives in Boston. Why would he want a crappy, little theater in Detroit?”

  “Maybe it’s retribution,” I suggested. “Like when he stopped making donations to the Widderstrom Foundation for the Arts.”

  “Good point. Still, why spend millions on the renovations? If Bertrand wanted to hurt her, it would be cheaper – and crueler – to make her watch him tear the place down.” Perry dug into a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips that had been sitting on his desk. As he thoughtfully chewed, crumbs gathered in his beard. “This isn’t adding up. We’re overlooking something.”

  “I guess putting a movie theater there would make financial sense,” I admitted grudgingly. “After all, the Bleak’s got the best location in town.” Location, location, location. It was a theme the realtor had drummed into my skull over the past few months because, according to him, my parents’ house didn’t have it.

  It was like I’d switched on a light bulb over Perry’s head. He tossed the bag of chips aside and returned to the computer. His fingers flew over the keyboard. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize it before. Look!”

  I leaned over his shoulder to view the map he’d brought up. Virtual, red pushpins marked the locations of the Bleak Street, Mercury Hall, and the Muse art gallery.

  “Do you see it?” he asked eagerly.

  “See what?”

  “What these places have in common!”

  “They’re all built on old Native American burial grounds?”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “They form some kind of devil’s triangle? They outline a hell mouth? They’re built on otherworld portals?”

  He sighed, exasperated. “No. They’re all in the middle of Renaissance zones. Cassie, these are the hottest spots in the city. Like you said, location is everything. There’s all kinds of state and federal money being poured into these areas. This isn’t about revenge; it’s about Bertrand making a fortune.”

  “Retribution could still be part of it,” I argued. “Hedda told me that something about her play, The Scent of Ketchup, made her ex-husband really angry. He’s probably looking to pay her back for his embarrassment.”

  Perry frowned thoughtfully and grabbed another handful of potato chips. “I saw that. It’s about the end of a marriage. That time when a couple will argue over anything, even the scent of ketchup. I think the couple in the play gets a divorce because the wife has an affair or something.” He shrugged. “Like I said, I fell asleep after the first act.”

  I drummed my fingers on the desk, thinking. “So the play was autobiographical. Bertrand had been Hedda’s husband, but Hedda divorced him.”

  “Then remarried someone in Boston,” Perry reminded me. “Nowadays, that might not be so bad, but in 1920, it must have caused a stir. No doubt, Bertrand’s held a grudge against her for a long time.”

  “Victor said that Bertrand had lodged a complaint against her, and he was obliged to check it out.”

  “That makes sense. Vampire society is very hierarchical. Remember those concentric circles I drew at Isaiah’s apartment? Hedda’s assets belong to her, but I’ll bet that if Victor deems her unfit to run her own grieve, Bertrand will be allowed to take it over. The Bleak Street, Mercury Hall, the Muse, all of Hedda’s vamps and the blood partners will probably belong to him. And because of those Renaissance zones, Bertrand will make a mint. I’m telling you, most of those vampires want money as much as they want shine.”

  This just proved to me that vampires – even civilized ones – were brutes at heart, and their sordid appetites were nothing but one big ball of evil.

  Perry wiped his greasy hands on his t-shirt. “It’s not about Hedda’s play. It’s greed, pure and simple. Bertrand wanted to take her grieve from the very beginning, and now that Marcella’s rampaging, he has the perfect excuse to declare Hedda incompetent.”

  “But how did Bertrand find out that Marcella was out of control?” I wondered. “After all, Hedda kept that a secret.”

  “It wasn’t much of a secret,” Perry countered. “No doubt, someone let it slip.” The bell on the counter rang. Perry pushed away from the desk. “I’ve got to get back to the store, but as soon as things quiet down, I’m digging into this again.”

  “Have Isaiah call me when you see him, okay?”

  “I promise,” Perry said.

  The delicious aromas wafting up the basement steps told me that Elena was hard at work. I followed the smells to the kitchen where, sure enough, my sister stood at the counter slicing carrots while something simmered on the stove. I pasted on a smile and went to say hello.

  “Are you free on Saturday afternoon?” Elena asked. “I could use an extra pair of hands.” Then she saw my face. “What’s wrong? You look like you just lost your best friend.”r />
  Not wanting to get into the whole Isaiah thing, I told her about Caleb’s visit the night before.

  When I finished my story, Elena chopped a carrot in half with a brutal swing of her knife. “Have I ever told you how much I hate that man?”

  “Once or twice. Don’t worry, though. Andrew’s done with him. For good, this time.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  I took a seat at the counter and watched my sister efficiently peel and slice potatoes. Like Andrew, cooking was in her blood. There is something very comforting about being in the kitchen with someone who loves to cook. You feel warm and safe and taken care of.

  I twirled a strand of hair around my finger. “If I was turned into a vampire and tried to attack Maggie, would you stake me or would you stand by and watch?”

  Elena groaned. She hated these kinds of games. “Isn’t this why you have Andrew? So the two of you can ask each other stupid ‘what if’ questions and plan for the zombie apocalypse?”

  “Just play along for once, okay?”

  She sighed, aggrieved, but her face softened. “Okay. If you were really turned into a vampire, then you’d no longer be my sister. Not really. I mean, you’d be some kind of monster, and not the Cassandra Jaber I knew and loved. So I’d definitely defend my daughter, even if it meant staking you.”

  All my life, my sister had been my strongest ally. My parents had been supportive, too, but they’d been on the sidelines while Elena was in the thick of the game with me. We were a team of two. My sister was right: a vampire and a human were different creatures, but she was wrong to think that the two could be so easily separated. If Elena had been turned into a vampire, I’d always see the person the vampire had once been. And if it was my fault that she’d become a monster, things would even more complicated. No wonder Isaiah was so protective of Marcella.

  In a sudden rush of emotion, I hugged my sister tightly. When I let go, Elena muttered something about calling the Betty Ford Clinic and went back to slicing vegetables.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Because of Victor’s generous check, I could have blown off my waitressing shift that evening and stayed at the church as long as I wanted. But it wasn’t fair to my uncle to quit without notice, or to burden poor Jordan with extra tables. Besides, I didn’t think I would cash it. Accepting that check meant I’d forgiven Victor, and I wouldn’t do that.

  When I couldn’t afford to wait for Isaiah any longer, I drove to my uncle’s restaurant, arriving fifteen minutes late. My uncle frowned at me from behind the cash register and tapped his watch making me feel worse than I already did. I quickly tied on an apron and grabbed the coffee pot.

  I was scheduled to work until closing, but by eight o’clock, my feet were killing me, and I was sick of the smell of French fries and gyro meat. I also wanted to call Isaiah again. Telling Jordan that I was taking a break, I fetched my phone from my purse. Along with a stake. Although being attacked by a vampire behind a suburban strip mall seemed absurd, I didn’t want to be unprepared. I only hoped no one noticed what I was carrying. I would have felt ridiculous trying to explain.

  I stepped out the back door into the well-lit alley. It was sleeting again, the pellets of icy rain pinging off the Dumpster. After the warmth and humidity of the restaurant, I welcomed the refreshingly cold air.

  Once again, Isaiah didn’t answer his phone. Disappointed, I left another message. “Hey, it’s Cassie again. I was hoping we could talk after I get off of work tonight…”

  Two vampires slipped like shadows from behind the Dumpster. One snatched my phone and the stake and tossed them to the ground. The other twisted my arm behind my back until I whimpered then marched me towards an old-fashioned limousine which had rolled up to the mouth of the alley.

  The vampire pinning my arm shoved me into the limo and climbed in after. I scrambled across the seat, but before I could reach the other door, the second vamp slid inside, blocking my exit. The two goons dressed like mobsters from the 1930’s: pinstriped suits with wide lapels, thick ties, and spats over their shoes. Their perfectly calm faces and flat, unblinking eyes unnerved me. I could picture the pair of them skinning an enemy alive and enjoying the agonized screams the way someone else might enjoy a Mozart concerto.

  Panicked, I lashed out with my fists and feet. My hand struck a shoulder as hard and cold as a block of ice while my foot connected with something as solid as cement. I clutched my hand and doubled over in pain, sure I’d broken both a pinkie finger and little toe. Fighting my way to freedom wasn’t an option.

  “Please relax, Miss Jaber.”

  In my frenzy, I hadn’t noticed the human woman sitting opposite me. She rapped on the ceiling, and the car eased out onto the road, its engine purring.

  My breath came in quick, shallow bursts. I didn’t care how fast the car was moving, I had to escape. These horrors would not feed on me again! I made another grab for the door handle, but one of the vampires grabbed my wrist and twisted. I yelped.

  “Miss Jaber!” the woman said. “Calm down!”

  Calm down? Impossible! My lungs pumped faster and faster but drew in no air. Panicked, I struggled to breathe, certain I’d pass out, throw up, or asphyxiate. The Cipher nightmare replayed in vivid detail: the sudden darkness, the iron-strong arm around my chest, the fangs sinking into my neck…

  The woman opened a window. She sat forward and put her hands on my shoulders. “Relax. Deep breaths.”

  The bracing air revived me. I inhaled and exhaled through pursed lips, finally regaining control of my breathing. Slowly, my panic ebbed.

  “Better?” she asked. When I nodded, she closed the window again. “Now then, my name is Rita.” Light from a street lamp revealed a thin woman with long, salon-streaked hair. She had the prominent cheekbones and plump lips of a runway model, and wore a fox fur coat complete with an attached head. The fox’s ears were pinned against its skull, and its beady eyes fixed on me. “I know this is frightening,” she said, “but you’re safe. I promise.”

  Yeah, right. I carefully massaged my bruised hand. I felt as safe as the fox must have moments before it had been turned into a coat.

  “I work for Bertrand Peabody,” she continued. “Bertie asked me to find you so that you can answer a few questions.”

  Bertie? She called the murdering, greedy head of the Peabody grieve Bertie? I had to bite my cheeks to stifle my nervous giggles. “Go ahead,” I said. “Ask away.”

  “Not here,” she said.

  Of course not here. That would be too easy. I’d known as soon as I’d been forced into the limousine that this wasn’t going to be a short – or pleasant – ride.

  I didn’t care that Bertrand Peabody wanted to question me. I wanted out of this car, and I wanted out now! I might have tried to escape once more, but the limo was picking up speed as it pulled onto the freeway. I wiped a trickle of sweat running down my forehead. “Can you open that window again?”

  Rita obliged, then offered me a bottle of water from a tiny fridge. Grateful, I took a drink.

  As we rode, the silence weighed heavily, and I was too nervous to keep quiet. “Are you Bertrand’s blood partner?”

  She smiled. “For the past six years.”

  Bertrand had been alive far longer than that. I wondered what had happened to his previous blood donors. Had he turned them into vamps, or simply killed them when their souls ran out?

  I sipped more water, trying hard to relax, but my mind was intent on taking me places I didn’t want to go. “Is Bertrand’s grieve larger than Hedda’s?”

  Rita sniffed. “The Widderstroms are nothing compared to us. The Peabodys have over eighty-five members, each with his or her own cadre of supporters.”

  Rita was using doublespeak, but I understood the message just fine. Eighty-five vampires, each with a supply of blood donors. Bertrand certainly had been busy. I wanted to fire back that Hedda was more selective in whom she turned vamp, but I bit back the comment. Hedda might not have been as bloodthirs
ty as the others of her kind, but I wasn’t up to defending her.

  Rita’s smile widened. Clearly, she loved showing off. “The Peabodys also own several Wall Street businesses as well as trade on the New York Stock Exchange.”

  “What about off-shore accounts, nation-wide fast food chains, and government contracts?” I was being sarcastic, but Rita didn’t seem to notice.

  “Of course.”

  Yet, Bertrand wasn’t satisfied with all of that. Selfish pig. I slouched in my seat, disgusted.

  Seeing that Rita and I were getting along so swimmingly, I risked another question. “Why does Bertrand want to talk to me?”

  She fluffed her fur coat. “He wants to talk to a lot of people.”

  “Because of Hedda?”

  Her smile went rigid. “That’s right.”

  I jiggled my knee up and down, wondering where the hell we were going. Tension pulled my nerves tight. It was like that moment of suspense between the time the lights dim and the curtain rises. Only this moment stretched out beyond my endurance. Desperate to release some pressure, I blurted out, “Please don’t let Bertrand ruin the Bleak Street!”

  “Ruin the Bleak Street?” Rita laughed. “The place is already a ruin, but Bertie’s making it into something grand. Besides, what does it matter? The Bleak Street is just a building.”

  “It’s not just a building! It’s a historic landmark.” I nervously rolled the water bottle between my palms. “People say that historical buildings have atmosphere, but it’s more than that. I think their history becomes a part of them and gives them energy.” I was dangerously close to giving away my secret, but I was too wrapped up in my speech to care. “Even if you built an exact copy of the Bleak Street, it wouldn’t be the same. A shiny, new building wouldn’t have the same soul.”

  At the word, the vampires next to me uttered soft sighs.

  Speaking more to myself than Rita, I said, “I wish I had seen the Bleak Street during its heyday. It must have been amazing.” I pictured my beloved theater as it might have looked eighty years before. Despite the Depression, the Bleak would have attracted wealthy patrons: the men dressed in tuxedoes, the women dripping in diamonds. They would have arrived in their sleek, black cars to see the latest plays: The Children’s Hour, Our Town, The Iceman Cometh. The vision grew so real that I could actually feel the brand-new plushness of the velvet seats against my fingertips, and hear the murmur of anticipation from the crowd. Overhead, the immense chandelier sparkled.