Necromancist, p.16
Necromancist, page 16
Alice said her goodbyes and made her way home. She stripped the bed and bundled the sheets into the washing machine. She didn’t want Ivan’s smell to linger in her room. After cleaning the house, she got into bed and stared at the ceiling. All she had to do was get through tomorrow night and another month before her life could go back to normal.
The New Royal Theater consisted of four levels above and three underground. The lower floors were used for storage, wardrobe, and set décor, while the upstairs part served as offices, a kitchen and canteen, gym, computer, and rehearsal rooms. With a stage that could swivel and tilt simultaneously as well as a four-story elevator that could accommodate a cargo truck loaded with stage sets, it was one of the most advanced theaters in the northern hemisphere.
Alice swiped her card to access the dressing rooms backstage where Ivan was getting ready for their premiere. She would only come onstage during the second half. When the heavy door clicked shut behind her, she made her way to the west side-stage and stopped for a moment to enjoy the ambience. A line of light from the main stage fell through the curtains. Technicians in charge of lighting moved around the space while décor staff checked the last details. Members of the orchestra were tuning their instruments in the pit. For them, she was invisible, each person focused on his task. If she didn’t have to make an appearance in little over an hour, she would’ve felt at peace.
She walked over the hardwood floor and pulled the curtain aside. Her fingers trailed over the rich burgundy velvet framed by golden tussles. The fabric was soft under her skin like a carpet of moss. Gaffers were testing the spots from the side gallery boxes and setting up a camera to film the show. In the center of the ceiling, the crystal chandelier caught the light and reflected it back in rainbows. Angels adorned each pillar. The painted dome depicted them in flight, their golden wings stretched out over the expanse of the ceiling while soft clouds fluffed like feathers in the blue sky. The one thousand and seventy plush red seats, now empty, would soon be filled. She breathed in deeply, inhaling the acrylic scent of the freshly painted décor. This was home. Never before had being here filled her with fear. Tonight, everything felt wrong.
In half an hour, the doors would open to let the public in. Damn, her nerves were shot. She would’ve liked to linger longer, but she needed to greet the media in the foyer before getting ready to walk on stage. While she was at it, she’d better check how Ivan was doing.
She walked to his dressing room and knocked on the door. “It’s Alice.”
“Come in.”
She took in the surroundings. Even if she’d visited the room countless times, it always felt different with each celebrity. Performance outfits hung on a portable clothes rail pushed against the wall. The brightly lit interior smelled of clean linen and soap. Ivan sat in front of the vanity counter, applying stage makeup.
“Hey.” She offered him a smile while her insides ripped apart. It felt as if she was putting up an act just so the show that was life could go on. “Ready?”
“Almost.” He turned to her. “How do I look?”
The uncertainty in his tone was touching. He wore a black tux and a bowtie with a crisp white shirt. He’d traced his eyes with kohl, which made the difference between the brown and blue stand out even more than usual, and his hair was gelled back, but other than that he looked the same as every day.
She motioned at the attire. “That makes for a change.” It wasn’t the tight pants and leather jacket he wore in the concert halls.
He shrugged. “Had to look the part of the tenor.”
“You’ve managed well. The eyeliner definitely matches the color of the tux.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you making fun of me, Ms. Jones?”
“I’d never dream of it, at least not on your opening night.”
“Our opening night. Do I get a break-a-leg kiss?”
“Not part of the job description.”
He got up and walked to her, dragging his gaze over her from top to bottom. “You look nice.”
“Nice?” She glanced down at her simple black dress. “I haven’t changed yet, but thanks.”
He touched a strand of hair that had escaped her bun. “Do you mind?”
At the contact, her breath caught inaudibly. She cleared her throat. “Mind what?”
His fingers moved to the clip at the nape of her neck, but she took a step back.
“I’m not going to say good luck,” she said quickly.
“Please don’t.” He smiled his knowing smile. “Will you watch the first half?”
“Of course, it’s—”
“Don’t say it’s part of your job.”
“I always watch the show.”
“Just tell me you’ll do it because you want to, even if it’s a lie.”
She hid her discomfort with a laugh. “Why?”
“Because for nine years I searched for only one face in the crowd.” He added softly, “Yours.”
They stood frozen in the moment, his eyes asking for something she wasn’t sure she interpreted right. Her whole being wanted to comfort him. She touched his cheek as carefully as one would catch a butterfly, but then the door opened and shattered the fragile emotion in which they were trapped.
A mature woman with purple hair threw her arms out. “Ivan!”
“Kate, how kind of you to make it.” He pulled back his sleeve and checked his watch. “In the nick of time.”
Alice couldn’t hide her surprise. “You’re Kate?”
“Not what you expected?” Kate winked.
“Kate, this is Alice Jones.”
“Nice to finally meet you, Alice.”
Ivan frowned down at Kate. “Where were you? You said you’d arrive this morning.”
“I have other clients, you know.”
“You didn’t answer your phone. I was worried. Anything could’ve happened. You could’ve had an accident on the way or—”
“Shuut!” Kate held up a long, red nail. “Bad luck to say it out loud.”
Alice moved to the door. “I have to get ready. Break a leg, Ivan.”
He looked like he was going to argue, but finally only said, “You, too, Princess. You’ll be wonderful.”
She nodded and hurriedly left under Kate’s questioning gaze.
When the media was seated and the show about to begin, Alice escaped to her favorite sanctuary on the bridge. The red backstage lights flickered, the sign that the show was on in three seconds. Loud clapping erupted from the audience as the curtain lifted. Ivan stood on the side stage. He squared his shoulders. His chest rose as if he took a deep breath, and then he walked out on the stage under the spotlight.
The screaming was deafening. He took a bow and presented Verlene, who basked in her moment of glory. Alice shifted her weight to get comfortable. The music started playing. When Ivan’s voice filled the hall, her arms broke out in goosebumps. Each note had a pure quality that vibrated with emotion. Not only was his talent mind-blowing, but it was also clear that he was having fun. His onstage enthusiasm was contagious.
By the third song, the crowd was so out of control, extra security was called in to keep the girls away from the stage. Johnny would be pleased. So far, the show was a roaring success. She had a lot to live up to. A sick feeling nestled in her stomach. It was better to concentrate on Ivan. His dark hair shined in the lights. A film of perspiration showed on his forehead.
As he broke into the final aria of the fourth song, a movement on the side stage caught her attention. Alice frowned and straightened. No one was supposed to be there. She squinted through her glasses. A man wearing jeans and a light-colored shirt moved slowly down the steps of the set. He couldn’t be a technician or stagehand because they all wore black. He lifted his arm. The underside was scaly, like the skin of a lizard. Impossible. It had to be a visual effect from the lights. He turned sideways, exposing deformed vertebrae that gave a hunchback impression. She leaned forward as far as the rail allowed. Could it be an actor in costume? But no one except Ivan was supposed to be on stage. The man watched as if he was waiting for his cue to act. What was he doing? Something flashed in the spotlight.
A gun!
“Ivan!”
Her scream rang through the space, followed by a shot going off and the disharmonious notes of the orchestra as their melody died.
Chapter 8
Pandemonium broke out around Ivan. He registered two things at once. A shot had been fired, and a scream from the sweetest voice in the world had warned him a second before. If not for that warning, he would’ve been dead. His gift took over, wrapping everything in light. Through the haze, he made out the distorted vertebrae of a hunchback before the man disappeared behind the curtain. Security scrambled onto the stage. He lifted his gaze to where the voice had come from. Even before he recognized the unmistakable spectrum of color, he knew who stood on the spotlight bridge. Arms grabbed him and a pair of hands pushed his head down as Donald and Ben, surrounded by a team from the theater, escorted him off the stage.
“Ben,” he shouted as they hurried to the back, “Alice is on the bridge. Get her.”
The obstinate bastard shook his head. “Kate pays me to protect you.”
“Do as I say if you want a job, tomorrow.”
Ben mumbled an objection but turned for the bridge.
Less than a minute later, he was shoved into a small resting room underground and secured behind a metal door. Johnny and Kate arrived seconds later.
“Good God.” Johnny dragged a hand through his hair. “I assure you this has never happened in our theater.”
“Don’t sweat.” Kate said, lighting a cigarette with shaky fingers. “We’re not going to sue you.”
Johnny visibly relaxed. “The police are on their way. We’ve locked down the building until everyone has been searched and questioned.”
Ivan jerked off his jacket and threw it over the back of the sofa. “Where’s Alice? She was on the bridge.”
“I know,” Johnny said. “I met Ben on the way. They’ll be fine. We’ve got our men on the stage.”
“We’ve got to get Ivan out,” Kate said.
“Do you mind not smoking?” Ivan motioned at the windowless room.
She stubbed out the cigarette in the trashcan and turned to Johnny. “Do you have a back exit that’s guarded?”
“This is the safest place for him, right now. The magnetic doors have been locked down via central control. Anyway, he can’t leave until the police have questioned him.”
The door clicked open, and Alice entered with Ben on her heels. Her cheeks were pale, making the amber of her eyes appear like liquid fire.
She addressed Johnny. “I’ve checked with security. The media is safe. We have to go back and issue a statement.” Her gaze found Ivan. “What do I tell them?”
Ivan cupped her face and searched her eyes. “You all right?”
She gave a shaky nod. “You?”
“If you hadn’t screamed, I would’ve taken a bullet. What the hell were you doing on the bridge?”
She sidestepped him. “We don’t have time. News of the attack is being sent to the television stations as we speak. One of the journalists recorded the whole thing on his phone.”
“Have you received any hate mail, lately?” Johnny asked. “Threats?” He turned to Kate. “Fanatic fan messages?”
Kate snorted. “He always gets fanatic fan messages.”
“No new threats have been made,” Ivan said. “The last time was during the world tour.” He didn’t elaborate because he had a nasty suspicion the attacks had something to do with Boris’s visit, and that wasn’t something he could share.
Johnny narrowed his eyes. “You’re being evasive. I hope you’re not hiding anything, because if you consciously put my theater—”
“What we should be asking is if we carry on with the concert.” Alice moved to the urn that always stood ready and poured tea into a Styrofoam cup. She added three spoons of sugar and handed it to Johnny.
“Yes,” Kate said quickly. “We’re not giving the son of a bitch the satisfaction of canceling.”
“We’ll have to jack up our security,” Johnny said. “I hope you realize how bad this looks for the image of the theater.”
“It’s not his fault.” Alice laid a hand on Johnny’s arm. “He didn’t ask for the attack.”
Johnny pointed a finger at Ivan, causing tea to slosh over his jacket sleeve. “He brought the trouble here.”
“We don’t know anything for a fact. Let’s just kill this fire to start with.” Alice dabbed the stain on Johnny’s sleeve with a napkin and ushered him to the door. “We have to get you cleaned up before you address the media. The best way to deal with this is honesty. We’ll say we have no idea how a gun was smuggled in, but we’ll find out, and we’re stepping up our security.”
“People are going to demand refunds,” Johnny whined. “The shows will run empty.”
“We can turn it into positive publicity,” Alice said. “We’ll run an article on how efficiently we dealt with the situation and how advanced our security systems are. The central control magnetic doors are new. We can run a feature on that and issue a statement that the doors will be locked down from now on.”
“I want to go with you,” Kate said. “If there are questions about Ivan, I’m the best person to answer them.”
“How long do we wait?” Ivan asked, feeling claustrophobic in the vault.
“Until we’re sure it’s safe.” Alice swiped her card and opened the door, but she didn’t follow Johnny and Kate.
Johnny looked back over his shoulder. “Coming?”
“In a minute.” She lifted her gaze to Ivan. “Can we speak in private, please?”
Donald stepped up. “Sorry, Alice. I’m not leaving Ivan unprotected with anyone.”
“It’s okay.” Ivan motioned at the exit with a nod. “Wait outside.”
Once alone, he pushed her down into a chair before pouring her a cup of tea.
She regarded him from over the rim, a slight tremble in her hands. “A police investigation isn’t going to help, is it?”
He went down on his haunches in front of her, his stomach tightening. “What did you see?” She lowered her lashes, but he grabbed her chin and tilted her face up. “Why were you on that ledge?”
“I always watch the show from there.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Habit.”
“What did you see?” he repeated.
She chewed her lip for a while. “No one will believe me.”
“Try me.”
Her eyes played over his face, assessing him. Finally, she said, “You know, don’t you?”
“Know what?”
“How your attacker got through security.”
“How?”
“He wasn’t human.”
He reeled at the words, straightening abruptly. Could she see what he did? “What are you talking about?”
“He was a shifter.”
He stumbled away as if she’d shocked him with a thousand volts. “What do you know about shifters?”
“Enough,” she said in a small voice. “The person trying to kill you isn’t a crazy fan, is he?”
He looked away. If he told her about Boris or Nicolas or what he truly was, she’d believe he was as crazy as her mother had been. The last thing Alice wanted was to live another nightmare with a self-absorbed artist consumed by mad visions. Already, he had a hard time proving he was stable enough to offer a pair of strong arms and warm her bed every night. She needed to know she could depend on him, no matter what, and telling her he talked to dead people who threatened him—sometimes with her—wasn’t going to draw them closer.
He gave her the only truth he could. “I don’t know who took a shot at me, not tonight and not before.”
“I know you saw him. I had a good view from the bridge.”
“All I saw was a hunchback.”
“With a pointed vertebrae and scaly arms.”
He battled to digest his shock. “It could’ve been a trick of the light.”
“It wasn’t. We were filming the show. The proof will be on camera.”
He wiped a hand over his head. “I need to watch the recording.”
“We’ll never have that privilege.”
“Why not?” He started pacing the room.
“The police will confiscate the film as evidence, and when they discover the truth, your life will be in even bigger danger than now.”
He stopped to face her. “What are you saying?”
“Shifters aren’t supposed to exist. The government will destroy the evidence to keep it from leaking to the public. There must be a hell of a good reason why a shifter would try to kill you. Paranormals are hunted by the government. They’re going to lock you up and interrogate you, torture you if needed, and if they can’t get information out of you, they’re going to use you as bait to catch themselves a shifter.”
Fear, not for himself but for her, turned him cold. She wasn’t supposed to know all of this shit. What she’d just said was enough to get her run over by a car or some other unimaginable accident.
“Where did you get this information?”
She looked at her hands.
He touched her cheek. “Princess, the police will be here shortly.”
Her eyes were big and vulnerable behind her glasses, making him want to take her into his arms and never let go, but he waited patiently for her to speak.
After a short hesitation, she said so softly he had to strain his ears to hear. “My father.”
At the mention of her old man, he tensed. “He told you this?”
“He heads a secret paranormal crime task force for the government.”
He stared at her in horror. He knew her father was involved in government business, but this was the last thing he’d expected. Spy work, maybe, even a bit of mafia illegalities that could’ve made his fortune, but definitely not this. How could he put his daughter’s life in danger by telling her? A deep sense of protectiveness made him want to go into fight mode and hit something, preferably the son of a bitch shifter and then her father.
