Page 79 of The Artist and the Dragon

Chapter 34

Bronwyn

Bronwynwrungherhandsin front of her, unable to stand still as Wynni’s stage manager rushed toward them, his eyes wide with alarm.

“The box is empty and so was the hall,” the man said, breathing hard. “The usher on duty had been knocked out and shoved into a closet. Charles is seeing to him now.”

The pit in Bronwyn’s stomach opened wider. She’d rushed to find Wynni and let her know about the empty box. Her hunch had been right. Someone was up to no good, likely multiple someones. Her gaze darted around backstage, searching for Malik but not finding him. Not that she expected to, given the shadow spell, but she yearned to see him all the same.

“And the box roles?” Wynni asked urgently.

“Mick is getting them now.”

That would tell them who had rented the box and thus was missing.

“Should we call an early intermission?” he asked.

Wynni’s lips thinned.

It might scare the dragons off. A good thing for the opera. Not so good for catching the perpetrators once and for all.

Wynni had just opened her mouth to speak when someone else rushed up from farther backstage, calling her name. “A fire! Ensemble dressing room!”

The stage manager and Wynni took off at once, the latter barking orders at those they passed, calling for water and sand.

Bronwyn trailed close at their heels. “Did you see anyone?” she asked the startled woman who’d delivered the message. “Anyone you don’t know?”

“I— They—” She gaped, eyes wide in panic. “I don’t—” The woman was far too on edge to provide an answer.

When they got there, they spied the fire in the hallway outside the dressing room—a heap of clothes burning and billowing smoke into the narrow hall. Cast members ran this way and that, coughing. Someone was already hurling water onto the mess, dousing most of it.

Bronwyn’s heart raced against her ribs as she took in the scene. This fire was too small, too inconsequential—

The warmth leached from her skin. “A distraction.”

Bronwyn spun on her heel and raced back toward the stage. Wynni called out for her, but she couldn’t stop, not when she was so sure that someone hadwantedthem to leave at that moment. She wove through the hall, darting past harried stagehands, some rushing toward the small fire and others toward the stage as if the show must go on no matter the chaos behind the scenes.

A troupe of dancers was just moving onto the stage to join the lead soprano. Stagehands pushed some of the castle set pieces into place.

“No!” Her hands balled into fists at her side. A moment too late, not that she had authority to call off the show. Immediately, she searched for signs of anything or anyone out of place—

Then, something caught her attention, not on the stage but above. Two people fought on the catwalk high above the stage. Her heart leapt into her throat. Almost immediately, she recognized one.

Malik. It had to be. Even from a distance, she would know his form. He had the other man cornered, but then something happened. One of the ropes sparked and snapped. There was a terrible groaning. Members of the audience gasped and screamed. Several musicians played discordant notes before quieting altogether. A few dancers tripped or halted completely.

And the chandelier fell.

Only to stop, with jarring suddenness, to sway above the audience.

“Goddess above,” Bronwyn swore. They’d done it. The dragons had really tried to do it, even when such a disaster would cost countless lives.

She stood frozen, staring from her position backstage as the musicians haphazardly began to play and the dancers tried to pick up their cues. Commotion from the audience flooded onto the stage. Malik and the other man were fighting again. Damn it all, she couldn’t sit and watch, she needed to do something. Anything.

A convenient ladder was too much to ask for. But as she turned to rush off and look for stairs, she spotted something even more horrifying.

A man wandered slowly behind the active set. Where everyone else was in a hurry, he was not. A hooded cloak covered him completely … save his shoes. They were fine and polished, too nice to belong to a stagehand, and no performer would be wandering about like that. As he passed by part of the castle set, he stuck something to the back of it, then picked up his pace, rushing stage left. He passed right by her but didn’t seem to see her at all past his hood. The performers were still half in disarray, half trying to carry on. No one was looking, no one noticed the man.

Then, the set piece he’d touched ignited. A plume of fire suddenly blazed like a torch, reaching up, up, up, right to where Malik and the man dueled.

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