Page 3 of Wolfsbane Hall
How dare she? Someone fire this wretched girl!Lines of the script screeched inside her mind. The magic was adaptive. If another character altered the story, the Specter’s magic would modify the script in real-time. It was like reading off cue cards, but the cards existed inside her head.
But Celestine didn’t say her lines; she just swallowed and squared her shoulders, holding her head high like a regal queen as confusion struck her stomach. The person who had accosted her was Babette Fontaine, a fellow Wolfsbane Hall cast member who frequently played the French maid or mistress roles. But Babette and Celestine’s roles were not supposed to overlap much tonight. They didn’t even share the same storyline.
Celestine barely had any dialogue with her character, meaning Babette was going rogue.
It was unsurprising; the girl was like a rose in full bloom, with thorns dipped in vinegar and laced with poison. Babette was a tiny thing that seemed entirely harmless, but her bite was deadly.
“What was that?” Celestine whispered, her eyes darting to the crowd now forming around them. “That wasn’t a part of the show.”
“No, but it felt good,” Babette said in a low voice as she placed the empty wine glass on the bar and leaned closer. “I am sick of you stealing my parts. I was the ingénue long before you, and I will be again long after you’re gone.”
Celestine shivered at the threat, but also because the liquid now varnishing her dress had mixed with the cold air, causing goosebumps on her flesh. “I’m not stealinganything.” Nor did she even want this role. Babette could have it; she could bask in its cruelty.
Babette grunted, unconvinced, but she pulled away, and her face changed, the mask of her role sliding over her features. Thick, wavy chestnut locks bounced around her powdered porcelain face. “I am so, so, so sorry,” she said with a thick French accent. An accent that was as fake as the beauty mark painted beneath her left eye. “I didn’t mean to, mistress.” Turning her head so only Celestine could hear, the brunette breathed, “I hope you choke on poison tonight.”
All around them, patrons stretched their necks to listen and get a better view, for the show had officially commenced. Technically, the show started when a single patron entered the building. There was no big announcement; the mystery was a part of the spectacle.
But the audience’s attention was a clear sign. Celestine needed to take on her role and become Dorothy fully.
“Oh no, my dress is destroyed,” Celestine whined in an over-the-top, rich, spoiled lilt, keeping with the persona. The true Celestine wanted to say nothing. She’d rather grin and bear it, but the character would never do that. So Celestine gritted her teeth and fanned herself dramatically while speaking her lines. “Oh, my night is ruined—ruined, I say!”
Celestine patted her soaked dress with a napkin she’d grabbed from the bartop and sighed hyperbolically, the hysterics on full display.
Babette rolled her eyes and sauntered away smugly like the wildcat she was.
“Sometimes I want to throw my wine on you, too,” James Ashbrook said as he approached, his eyes sparking with mischief.
Excited shivers danced in Celestine’s stomach at the sound of his rich baritone, and she sucked in a breath, taking him in.His presence had a visceral effect. Some men were too handsome for their own good, like all the Ashbrooks. The three men, fellow cast members, were rich, too. James was the tallest and most refined. To Celestine’s utter dismay, he was exceedingly charming and, oh, so good at tempting her into mistakes. It didn’t help that he was blunt as a lead figurine, speaking in precise, concise, and sometimes cruel phrases. Unfortunately, she was drawn to bad boys who showed no emotion.
An added benefit was that they tended to have massive cocks and be great in the sack.
“No, you don’t,” Celestine finally responded.
He raised a midnight eyebrow as he chewed a piece of gum—the man loved chewing gum. It was like a tic. “Don’t I?” When the sides of his lips drew up, she finally grasped his meaning. “It could be fun to lick off your smooth…folds.”
Her center pulsed, wanting him to make good on that offer.
“James,” she whispered and hit him with her fur scarf. “Don’t be so vulgar.”
He shrugged. “I can’t help it.”
“You very well could help it.”
“Ah, but I don’t want to.” James stepped closer, and her back hit the bartop. “Nor wouldyouwant me to.” With one more step, he pinned her, his arms snaking around her waist. “It seems like it’s my lucky night. I get you all to myself, and my meddlesome cousins are nowhere in sight.”
Celestine’s eyes snaked through the room, not seeing the twins either, but they had to be somewhere. Despite being as rich as Croesus, they were in the cast, and the cast never missed a show.
James leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on Celestine’s lips. The gesture wasn’t new. Outside of the shows, they were sometimes lovers. Mostly when he was bored, or she was desperate for a human touch. James Ashbrook wasn’t capableof true love or connection, and she would never ask it of him—or at least, that was the lie she always told herself. Because if she ever truly cared for him, he would break her.
James was a psychopath. He reveled in the murder—enjoyed both killing and dying. It was why he worked at the club. Only those who were truly desperate or fucked up worked here. James was no exception. He bathed in the carnage.
But he was good to her, and even more importantly, what they did together gave her a chance to numb herself. To fall entirely into pleasure and forget everything else.
A moment of respite.
Celestine pulled away from the kiss. “The show, James.”
“Tonight, our little kisses fit into the show.”
