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Business as usual at Theater Macabre. Walking through the backstage hallway, past the models in their clown makeup and ripped tights, and Sally and Estelle in their silk kimonos, made everything that happened since last night’s show seem like nothing more than the nightmare it was.
“Where the hell have you been?” Cash barked at me like I missed curfew when he came out of his dressing room. Even he looked normal. Almost human, his cheeks were so rosy. My stomach turned, knowing where that blood probably came from. He placed his hands firmly on my shoulders, steering me toward my dressing room. “You almost missed the show.”
He had to be kidding. I pushed back against him, trying to resist, but it was no use. “Where’s Lennon?” I struggled to get away from him. His fingernails pierced my skin. He’d leave marks. “What did you do with her?”
“I’m done with her,” he said, way too calm for that to be good. “I have something for you.”
“What?” I turned to face him in the doorway. Cash didn’t expect me to stop, and he was just an inch away from me. One of the acrobats who walked by us totally got the wrong idea, and muttered something about fucking the favorites under her breath. “Who’s Rachel? What’s your tie to her?”
Cash moved back in surprise. Hands on my shoulders, he turned me around. “She’s a throwaway. Don’t worry about Rachel. I have her under control.”
“She’s coming here with Callie for Lennon,” I said and then gasped. A beautiful headdress in shades of red, orange, and yellow waited for me on a stand next to my costume rack.
“It’s made so it will ignite when you do.” When I looked back at Cash, he beamed, so proud of his gift. Or maybe it was just all that extra blood flowing through his veins. Whatever it was, the distraction worked. Just for a minute, I promised myself as I walked over to the headdress, running my finger along its metal and synthetic feathers. I frowned, sad that it wasn’t made from real feathers or flowers like some of the headdresses I’d seen in Bette’s show. “You’ll be able to wear it every show.”
“It’s beautiful.” I looked back at Cash. “Please tell me Lennon’s not going on stage with you tonight.”
“She’s not.” It didn’t make me feel better. “I told you, I’m done with her.”
“Is she still alive?” My words came slow.
“As far as I know.” Cash stepped toward me, kissing my forehead. “I can’t wait to see you on stage wearing this.”
I was scheduled to go on in forty minutes. I really wanted to go downstairs to the apartment and look for any clues as to what happened to Lennon. I held out hope I’d see her sitting on the couch in one of her flowery vintage dresses, drinking a martini or the last of my tea. Producers kept coming into my room, under the guise of checking on my progress, but I knew they’d been sent here by Cash to hold me prisoner. Between the shiny new headdress bribe and the guards, Cash was making sure I couldn’t back out of the show tonight.
Callie and Rachel were on their way. I had to trust that they’d make things right for Lennon. If that was still a possibility.
The warm-up guy was already out in the crowd. We had closed circuit TVs in the hallway so we always knew what was going on with the show. Unless Cash put a spell over us. Either way, we saw what he wanted us to.
I looked like hell, but that was the beauty of stage makeup. No one dared come close enough to see what a mess I was. I had no idea how I was going to get through this show with so many questions unanswered.
Fastening the headdress under my chin, I looked at myself in the mirror. I didn’t recognize the girl who looked back at me. I’d become Cash’s puppet.
“Holly! Holly! Holly!” The crowd chanted my name.
A frantic knock at the door startled me. One of the producers opened it and stuck her head in. “Holly, it’s time.”
I should have said no. But the roar of the crowd once the spotlight trained on me made my heart thrum double time. My legs felt like rubber as I approached the stage. The opening notes of I Put a Spell on You did nothing to calm my nerves.
Missing a step, I stopped and shimmied, dipping low with my legs wide. The crowd loved that type of move, it made them forget all about rhythm. I stripped my tailcoat, sliding it across the stage. Thankfully tonight I had a shorter set, and I was already down to the pasties and thong. Making it look sexy took too much effort tonight. The mind was the most active sex organ, and mine was too preoccupied with vampires and deception.
As the music changed to Manson, I picked up the burning baton, running along the length of my arms, up and down my torso, the heat whispering against my body. I let the flames illuminate my skin as the crowd went wild, like they did every night. My body warmed, and it was the closest thing to love as a room full of strangers could provide for me. This is why I performed. It made all the bad things go away, even if it was for five minutes. I dipped the fiery baton past my lips, swallowing the flame.
A white-hot flash of pain surged down my throat, igniting my belly. I fell to the stage, the pain unbearable. Usually, when the flames spread through my body, it tapped like pins and needles against the inside of my skin. But this felt wrong. The usual flames didn’t come.
Something was terribly wrong. I was actually on fire.
I opened my mouth to scream. My lips melted away from the muscle, skin dripping to the floor, revealing my skull. The crowd gasped, and screamed, then went silent. Everything was silent. The center of this fire wasn’t blue. It was black.