Spellcrossed (2 page)

This is not the time for curtain calls; the season is just beginning.

There is work to do.

I must stop dreaming.

I must wake up.

I must forget Rowan Mackenzie.

SOMETHING’S COMING

T
HERE IS NO UPSIDE to losing your lover—especially in Dale, which is not exactly the singles capital of Vermont. But having a faery for a lover does teach you to accept the impossible and cope with anything that life throws at you.

Since Rowan Mackenzie returned to Faerie one year, eight months, and twenty-two days ago, life had thrown me a lot of new and unusual experiences. I had helped judge the watermelon seed spitting contest at the Farmers Day Fair and frozen my ass off collecting buckets of sap during the Maple Sugar Festival. I had enjoyed fishing with Reinhard, Christmas caroling with Alex, and a romantic Valentine’s Day sleigh ride. With Janet.

As manager of the ramshackle Golden Bough Hotel, I had dealt with a flooded basement, a kitchen fire, and the mysteries of ancient plumbing. As executive director of the newly nonprofit Crossroads Theatre, I had learned to write successful grant proposals and appeal letters. As the theatre’s interim artistic director, I had staged three small musicals and plucked out twice that many long gray hairs.

After all that, auditioning dogs was a breeze.

As the latest contender shuffled across the stage, I heard soft chuckles from the seats behind me, quickly converted into coughs. Naturally, the entire staff had
turned out this morning, eager to see Maggie Graham, Dog Director, in action.

It was my own damn fault. I’d pitched the idea of doing a show with children’s roles. The perfect way to draw attention—and warm bodies—to our after-school program and bring in enough money to keep it alive after the grant ran out.

The board was thrilled, visions of ticket-buying relatives dancing in their heads. The next thing I knew, we were doing an entire season featuring young performers, and I was auditioning dogs to play Annie’s adorable sidekick Sandy.

The lugubrious click of toenails ceased as Arthur finally made it to center stage. At a hand signal from his owner, his arthritic hindquarters drooped onto the floorboards. Doreen kissed his shaggy head. She looked exactly like the handlers I’d seen during my infrequent viewings of the Westminster Dog Show—portly, middle-aged, and tweedy.

She straightened and peered into the darkened house, awaiting my reaction.

“He’s very obedient,” I said.

“Arthur’s a pro.”

Which was true; his resume was more impressive than mine.

“And he’s played Sandy twice before,” she noted.

Judging from his age, he’d probably starred in the original Broadway production of
Annie
.

“He’s very…calm, isn’t he?”

“Oh, nothing upsets Arthur.”

The entire set could fall down, and he’d just sit there. But he was sweet-tempered and scruffy if not exactly adorable. Who cared if he was a little long in the tooth?

“Play dead, Arthur.”

Frankly, it wasn’t much of a stretch. I watched him anxiously until the rise and fall of his rib cage assured me he was merely playing. Then I smiled brightly.

“I’m sold. Arthur’s our Sandy.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful! Isn’t that wonderful, Arthur?”

Arthur’s tail thumped the floorboards once.

“I hope Fifi won’t be too crushed,” I said.

“Her time will come,” Doreen assured me.

She coaxed Arthur to his feet and released Fifi from her “stay” position. Fifi shot across the stage and jumped up on her stubby legs to lick Arthur’s face. He appeared unmoved by her display of affection, but clearly, wagging his tail was a monumental effort. He hobbled down the five steps from the stage, and slowly—very slowly—made his way toward the back of the house with Fifi literally running circles around him.

I kept my smile in place until the lobby door clicked shut behind them.

“Oh. My. GOD!” Mei-Yin exploded.

I swung around in my seat. “Not another sound until they’re out of the theatre.”

“Better give them five more minutes,” Janet advised. “It’ll take Old Yeller that long to reach the front door.”

“Oh, hush. He was better than the hyperactive Border collie. Or that ugly pit bull.”

Or Fifi who appeared to be the unfortunate offspring of a golden retriever bitch and a very determined toy poodle.

“You’re as picky about dogs as you are about men,” Hal complained. “I don’t know how many hours I’ve wasted setting you up with eligible bachelors.”

“Bachelors, yes. Eligible, not so much.”

“What about Mitch?” Hal demanded.

“The cross-dresser?”

“He was straight.”

“Which is more than you can say about Rafael.”

“Rafael is bi!”

“With a decided preference for your team. As we discovered at the cast party of
The Fantasticks
when he went home with my date.”

I shot a pointed look at Javier who sighed. “Yeah. I kind of missed the mark on Tad.”

“Kind of?”

Catherine poked her husband’s arm. “I told you he was gay.”

“But he likes basketball. And fixing up old cars.”

“So do I,” Lee pointed out as he leaned over to kiss Hal’s cheek.

“I rest my case,” Catherine said.

“Well, what was so wrong with Don?” Alex asked, jumping into the fray.

“The real estate guy who never shut up?”

“That was Ron! Don! The English teacher.”

Janet groaned. “He spent the entire date crying about his ex-wife.”

“How do
you
know?” Alex demanded.

“I insist on hearing about all of Maggie’s awful dates. Much more gratifying than charging her rent. For what it’s worth,” Janet added, “I’d have given Mitch the Cross-Dresser another shot. His fashion sense was impeccable.”

Hal nodded solemnly. “And there are very few men his size who look elegant in a strapless gown.”

“And that,” I announced, “ends this discussion.”

Shadowy figures rose and began drifting up the aisle toward the lobby: Hal to his lingerie shop, Lee to his law office, Javier to his antiques store, and Catherine back to the Mill to finish constructing the Warbucks mansion set. I felt a pang of regret; last year, everyone had sat through auditions to lend me moral support.

But I was a big girl now. And I had Mei-Yin, Reinhard, Alex, and Janet to get me through the rest of the day. If I could survive dogs, how bad could children be?

“Shoot me NOW,” Mei-Yin whispered. “Just put a GUN to my head and SHOOT me.”

As yet another Annie wannabe stuck out her chin and grinned and warbled that the sun would come out tomorrow, I was sorely tempted to grant Mei-Yin’s request and then turn the gun on myself.

Instead, I envisioned a sold-out house and a big, fat program filled with “break a leg” ads placed by adoring parents. And the opportunity to mount two shows that had never been staged at the Crossroads Theatre, a thought that filled me with enough excitement to weather a hundred renditions of “Tomorrow.”

The blonde girl onstage gulped a breath of air and belted out that final “aaa-waaay.” Alex pounded out a succession of triumphal chords on the piano. Janet and Mei-Yin heaved simultaneous sighs of relief.

Then the applause started.

“Brava, my dear,” the mellifluous voice called. “Brava!”

Mei-Yin leaned close to whisper, “When did HE sneak in?”

I gave a dispirited shrug. It was harder to shrug off the déjà vu that shivered through me as I recalled Hal bursting into spontaneous applause after my ever-so-reluctant audition.

Rowan had quelled Hal’s ebullience with a single glance. I had to swivel around in my seat, clear my throat, and call Long’s name twice before the applause died.

I swung back to face the stage. “Very nice…” Quick glance at the resume. “…Chelsea.”

“I know all the songs,” Chelsea informed me. “I played Molly when our community theatre did
Annie
four years ago.”

“Yes, I see that.”

“If you’d like to hear something else…”

Mei-Yin’s fingernails dug into my forearm.

“That won’t be necessary. We’ll be in touch next week to let you know our casting decisions.”

Chelsea nodded briskly. “My home number and e-mail address are on my resume. But the best way to reach me is my iPhone. It’s always on.”

Instantly, I morphed from vital thirty-four year old to doddering crone. When I was eleven, I’d been thrilled to have a Princess Phone in my bedroom. Cell phones and e-mail didn’t even exist back in those dark ages.

Cronehood receded as Janet began humming “Thank God, I’m Old” from
Barnum
; when she was eleven, the telephone hadn’t even been invented.

“Thanks for coming in, Chelsea.”

From stage left, Reinhard effortlessly picked up his cue and announced, “Please follow me to the lobby.” He marched out of the house, leaving Chelsea to scamper after him.

Janet rose and stretched. “Thank God that’s over.”

Long’s laughter shattered the peace. “Why so gloomy?” he chided. “That little charmer was born to play Annie.”

For the gazillionth time, I wondered why I had listened to Janet. After she agreed to join the board, she’d urged me to invite Long to serve as president, citing the benefits of his wealth and influence. So far, the only benefit I’d discovered was a newfound ability to curb my temper.

A shaft of light signaled the reopening of the lobby door. I glanced around, hoping Long had slipped out. Instead, I found Reinhard striding down the aisle with Long hard on his heels.

I made a big deal of stuffing papers into my briefcase. Unlike Reinhard, Long failed to pick up his cue and planted himself at the end of my row. His meticulously coiffed mane of white hair gleamed dully in the light from the stage. When he smiled, I caught the fainter gleam of white teeth.

“Thanks for stopping by, Long.”

“No trouble at all. I just wanted to pop in and see how auditions went.”

He was always popping in: to observe the after-school program and the green room renovations, to check on the progress of a grant proposal, to offer a few “humble” suggestions and his usual leer. At first—like a good little executive director—I’d welcomed his interest, but lately, he always seemed to be underfoot.

I mustered what I hoped was a convincing smile. “Actually, there is something we should discuss.”

His face rearranged itself into a pontifical expression.

“We saw close to forty kids today. I’d like to use them all this season.”

“Are you NUTS?” Mei-Yin exclaimed.

“We have to double cast the principal children’s roles, anyway. What’s a few more orphans?”

“A lot more WORK!”

“You and Alex could still teach choreography and music to the whole group. But when I block scenes, I thought we could break the orphans into teams. Each headed by one of the Annies. And rehearse each team separately to avoid competition and build camaraderie.” I shot a pleading look at Reinhard. “I know that’ll make things tougher on you. And me. So if you think it’s impossible…”

“Impossible, no. But to hold separate rehearsals…and work around their school schedules until Hell Week…”

“Okay. Bad idea.”

“We will discuss it tonight at casting. Extra children mean extra costumes. We cannot make that decision without Hal’s input.”

“Extra costumes mean extra money,” Janet noted.

“Oh, I don’t think we need to worry about that,” Long said with an airy wave. “The week we’ve added to
Annie
’s run will easily offset the cost. And with all those children in the show…” His eyes gleamed as he mentally calculated the additional ticket sales.

“So you’re green-lighting this?” I asked him. “If the staff goes for it?”

“Absolutely, my dear. And if you’d like me to sit in on casting—”

“Oh, no,” Janet said. “You just want the phone numbers of all the pretty women.”

Long heaved a sigh. “Janet, Janet, Janet. Why do you always ascribe the basest motives to me?”

“Long, Long, Long. Because you’re a bigger hound than any of the dogs we saw today.”