‘Yes, ma’am,’ Jackson said, passing her the little brown bag.
As soon as it was in her hand, she whirled around. ‘Did anyone see anything?’
‘I didn’t,’ said the feather-in-cap guy.
‘Not me,’ replied Sophia.
Out of the corner of her eye, Olivia spotted Garrick disappearing behind a curtain, obviously trying not to be seen.
His voice echoed in her head. ‘I’m making my own luck,’ he’d said. Itching powder was exactly the kind of thing Garrick Stevens would go for.
‘Ivy,’ Olivia began and Ivy whipped her head around. ‘If you promise not to kill the messenger, I think I know who did it.’
‘Speak!’ she commanded.
Olivia drew her deeper backstage, among the dusty wardrobes filled with props, where most theatre hopefuls wouldn’t dare tread.
Jackson and Sophia followed, out of earshot of the rest of the auditionees.
‘Garrick Stevens,’ Olivia explained. ‘I’m pretty sure of it, actually. Garrick was lurking around five minutes ago and he was definitely up to something.’
‘He did come over and ask for the number of my dentist, which seemed very odd,’ Jackson said.
Olivia rolled her eyes. She wasn’t going to explain it to Jackson, but vampires had to get their teeth filed regularly, and Garrick was always trying to find a dentist who would make him a set of false fangs.
Ivy took a closer look at the brown paper bag in her hand. There was a doodle in black felt tip. ‘And it doesn’t take a secret agent to figure out what that means.’ She held the bag out so the others could look.
Olivia saw a tiny B with devil horns scrawled in black pen on the corner of the bag.
‘The Beast left his calling card,’ said Sophia.
‘Garrick is so dead,’ Ivy said. ‘I don’t know how yet, but I will have my revenge.’
Sophia grinned and tapped her headphones. ‘If you need help, just call.’
‘Alack, there lies more peril in mine eye than twenty swords!’ Ivy declared.
Olivia’s jaw dropped. ‘How come you’re spouting Shakespeare?’
‘I’m the stage manager, which means I know the whole script back to front.’ Ivy turned back to the auditionees. ‘It also means I have less than sixty seconds to get you all out into the auditorium. Move it!’
Ivy had to abandon her socks and shoes, because they were covered in the powder, so she slipped into a pair of bright red clown shoes, with a look on her face that dared anyone to comment.
Everyone, including Olivia and Jackson, scurried to do her bidding. Olivia nearly sprinted through the wings, stage right, and down the side steps to plop into a seat in the third row. Jackson had gone straight through the gap in the main curtain and ended up on the opposite side of the auditorium. There was no way she could talk to him again before the auditions started.
Probably just as well, Olivia thought. She was nervous enough as it was, and having him nearby might completely distract her.
The back doors to the auditorium burst open and in strode Camilla, dressed in a black beret, dark sunglasses and red braces holding up her camouflage trousers. She looked half French director, half army sergeant. She marched down the centre aisle to the edge of the stage. ‘OK, people,’ Camilla said to the crowd. ‘Thank you for coming. Good luck to you all. You have one chance. There will not be callbacks.’
One of the guys behind Olivia muttered, ‘She looks tough.’ Olivia was proud of her friend. Usually Camilla had her nose buried in a science-fiction novel, but today she was taking charge.
‘I am not your average director and this is not your average production of Romeo and Juliet,’ she went on. ‘We only have three weeks to pull it together, so I want passion; I want originality – I want that something special.’ Camilla turned to the stage, settled in the front row, middle seat, took out a clipboard and barked, ‘Who’s first?’
Ivy was stage left and motioned for the first auditionee to come up on stage. It was Charlotte, smiling demurely, and looking every inch a Juliet in her period dress. It had a frilly-sleeved white top under an embroidered blue dress that flared out at the waist. Charlotte flashed Jackson a huge eyelash-fluttering smile.
Olivia squeezed her eyes shut, willing the spirit of Shakespeare to write a happy scene and not the tragedy of Charlotte getting to play Jackson’s Juliet.
Chapter Three