Read Wraiths of Winter (The Haunting Ruby Series Book 3) Online
Authors: Joy Elbel
Lucas.
He brought me
endless
frustration but I
refused to give up on trying to figure him out. It was almost
like he had multiple personalities or something. One minute
he
was
a cocky
jerk on
the prowl,
the
next a dark and
brooding tortured soul that any Gothic novelist would have
been proud to create. Which one was the real Lucas? I would
make my final judgment on that after the Pittsburgh trip.
Several hours alone with him should be sufficient time for me
to coax out the truth.
Hopefully.
He was like a forgotten
password—even
after multiple attempts
and
fails, I still
couldn’t give up on trying to figure him out.
With tons of homework before next week’s midterms,
the week went by quickly.
Too quickly.
When I agreed to
attend the auditions
at
the Bantam
with Rachel, Friday
seemed worlds away. Before I knew it, the final bell rang in
the weekend I was dreading. Friday night in a creepy theater,
Saturday in Pittsburgh with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Sunday
forced to participate in the royal tree lighting ceremony at
Rosewood. Yeah, the weekend was totally going to suck.
The bells of the old Baptist church began to chime the
hour as Rachel and I stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the
Bantam Theater. Ominous and perfectly timed. It felt like I
was walking into my own funeral. When we opened the door
and stepped inside the massive building, I half expected to
find an open coffin and a somberly clad Misty comforting a
grieving Zach.
No, screw somber—Misty would wear a hot
pink mini dress to
my
funeral.
I wish I could say that the interior of the Bantam
looked nothing like it did in my dream. But if I did, I would be
lying. The details were all there, from the chandelier to the
fraying carpet.
Everything was the same.
The only thing I
didn’t notice in my dream was the smell. It smelled like death.
It wasn’t the putrid odor of road kill in July—it was
something subtle, yet menacing, with a distinct top note of
fear. “Yuck! It smells awful in here!” I clamped my hand over
my nose to block the brunt of it from entering my nostrils but
it barely helped at all.
“Oh, Ruby! It’s not that bad—a little dusty but no
worse than your average attic.” She pulled some cotton candy
scented body spray out of her bag and gave a few sprays.
“There—problem solved.”
Problem solved. Only if you liked the smell of death
wrapped in spun sugar—which I definitely didn’t. But if I was
going to spend any length of time in there, I had to get used to
that scent.
Slowly, I peeled my hand away from my face and
followed Rachel to the front rows where everyone else had
gathered.
The turnout was better than I expected.
In total,
about fifty
people sat in
the velvet seats.
Some faces
I
recognized, some I didn’t. Most of them looked like college
students but there were a few kids I recognized from school
there, too.
Excited chatter came from every seat—make that
every seat but mine. The atmosphere was a thick, stagnant
pool of latent energy. I hadn’t seen a thing yet but I was
certain that something was there. Something I
didn’t
want to
be a part of.
A thin man in his early thirties emerged from behind
the curtain and walked briskly to the center. “SILENCE!” he
announced with such authority that all noise in the theater
became nothing but a distant memory.
I watched as the
excitement literally seemed to drain right out of the crowd. If
I were actually happy to be there, I would have had the same
reaction.
He walked to the edge of the stage with the presence
of a drill sergeant.
Then, he jumped down onto the floor in
front of us, threw his arms into the air and exclaimed jovially,
“Welcome to the Bantam Theater!”
The
throng
of hopefuls
once
again
looked, well,
hopeful. The man ran down the first row high fiving everyone
like an aging rock star. If he decided to crowd surf next, I was
outta there. Thankfully, stage diving wasn’t on his agenda. He
simply
flopped down
onto the floor and
folded his
legs
underneath him.
“Before we get started with the auditions, I want to
tell you a little bit about myself and this historic theater. My
name is Jonas Mazzerati, son of famous Broadway director
Giuseppe Mazzerati.
I have a fine arts degree and taught
theater before moving on to directing as well. I spent the last
few years directing off Broadway shows before deciding to
move to Charlotte’s Grove to resurrect this masterpiece you
see before you.”
Masterpiece?
The
Paris
Opera
House
was
a
masterpiece—the
Bantam
Theater
was
nothing
but
a
rundown pit of despair. Who in their right mind would look
at this place and not want to rent a wrecking ball for the
weekend?
“The Bantam Theater was built in 1850 by the town
founder, Joshua Abbot Baker. His wife Charlotte Mae Bantam,
who died tragically a few years earlier during childbirth, was
a patron of the arts and he built this theater to honor her
memory. Their only daughter Scarlet funded the theater until
she died in 1940 but the building fell into a state of disrepair
in the years following her death.
After a series of owners
bought and abandoned the property, my father acquired the
Bantam in 1972 and brought culture back to this small town.
Twenty
years
later when the call of Broadway became
impossible for him to ignore, my father sold the theater.
Except for a brief attempt by the local college to revive it, the
Bantam remained untouched until now.”
Untouched. Was that a delicate way of saying that it
sat moldering and festering unhindered for two decades? I
watched as the rest of the group marveled at the interior,
entranced by his story. Were they all blind to the fact that this
place was a total dump?
The only things missing were the
giant cobwebs I pictured shrouding each corner.
See, even
spiders wouldn’t hang out in this heap!
“Now the Bantam belongs to me and my goal is to
make it as popular as it was in the days my father owned it.
So without further ado, I’ll get to the point of why we are all
here tonight.” Jonas raised himself off of the floor and
retrieved a messenger bag from just off stage. He pulled out a
stack of papers. “This is my greatest work—The Phantom
Affair.”
Jonas handed a copy of the script to everyone, smiling
at each and every one of us as he did so. When he got to me, I
took it from him unenthusiastically. Rachel nudged me with
her elbow, practically knocking it out of my hand.
I got her
message loud and clear, though, and gave him the best fake
smile I had.
His eyes twinkled like the city lights at midnight,
obviously proud to share what he created. This play would
have to be better than Shakespeare’s finest if he expected it to
make the audience forget that they were sitting in such a
creepy place.
“The Phantom Affair is a modernization of the beloved
classic,
The Phantom of the Opera
,” Jonas began, pacing the
floor as he spoke. “The story is set in a community theater
not unlike this one. It is an ageless tale of divided hearts and
misguided love.”
The sound of the theater door opening and banging
violently shut behind us brought Jonas to a halt. A voice rang
out from the back of the theater. “Sorry I’m late.”
I recognized that voice instantly. It was Lucas. What
was he doing here? He didn’t seem the community theater
type but, then again, neither did I.
I had different reasons for
being here. Did he have a hidden agenda, too?
Lucas made eye contact with me, displayed a brief
look of shock, then smiled and sat down beside me. “Where’s
your boyfriend?” he whispered.
A stern look from Jonas kept me from answering him.
He had no business asking me that question anyway. I turned
my attention back to Jonas who had begun to explain the plot
of The Phantom Affair.
“The main character of the play is a girl named Kira.
Kira is a young actress who’s destined for stardom. Everyone
thinks she’s naturally talented on the stage—including her
fiancée, Roarke. What no one knows is that she has a secret
acting coach.
His name is Erik and he is a man of great talent
who hides in the shadows, guiding Kira’s career from behind
the scenes. Erik is in love with Kira and conceals his feelings
for fear of rejection. But true feelings can only be restrained
for so long.
On the night of her biggest performance, Erik
kidnaps her with the intent of keeping her until she falls in
love with him. Kira’s disappearance sends
Roarke on a
frantic search that ends when he finds her in the arms of Erik.
Roarke, unable to believe that Kira has truly chosen Erik,
starts a fight he can’t win. Roarke dies by Kira’s hand as she
chooses to protect the man she really loves. In the end, the
hero loses and the loser becomes the hero.”
Wow. The plot of the play was just as morbid as the
Bantam. Heroes aren’t supposed to lose! I knew already that
I preferred the original story over this more modern version.
The only thing I liked was the fact that he kept the name Erik
for the part of the Phantom. Any other name would have just
felt wrong. Unless he decided to call him Zach, that is. Even
when he wasn’t around, just hearing Zach’s name kept me
warm.
And I was going to need every bit of warmth I could
get. Either there was no heat in that theater whatsoever or
something
extremely paranormal was
about to happen.
Please let it be a faulty furnace.
Casting for Kira and Erik was first on the agenda. Five
girls plus Rachel lined up excitedly with scripts in hand. Four
boys formed a line beside them to audition for the part of
Erik. To my surprise, Lucas stood up to join them.
I vigorously shook my head no. “I’m only here with
Rachel for moral support—there’s no way I’m getting up
there.”
Watching the auditions was boring at best so halfway
through I got up to stretch my legs. I wandered back the aisle,
the air feeling
thicker and more oppressive as
Whatever was here was close—I could sense it.
I walked.
As I reached the center of the aisle, I found myself in
the same spot where I stood in my first dream about the
Bantam.
Compelled to look up, my eyes landed squarely on
the balcony I knew would be there.
The glare from the dusty
old chandelier kept me from making out any details but I
caught a flash of white and then nothing, nothing but the inky
black darkness. I cast my eyes downward and they met with a
gruesome sight.
Standing before me was Allison Cornell clad in a gown
of white lace, blood stains trailing down the bodice. Her eyes
hollow, her hair ratty and wild, she looked me in the eye and
emitted a high pitched wail that was well beyond the range of
what any human voice could manage.
It was the kind of
scream that could peel the paint off of the walls, shake the
chandelier from the rafters. With her jaw spread wide, I could
see that her tongue had been ripped from the bottom of her
mouth. I felt like I’d just been sprayed with a blast of freezing
cold acid.
Racked with fear, I gripped the seat in front of me for
support until the tip of one of my fingernails snapped off from
the pressure. And then, as though she were tied by an unseen
rope, she was sucked back into oblivion. Gone—with only the
ringing in my ears and a broken nail to remind me that what I
just experienced was real. At least for me anyway.
Rachel called my
name
but I had no intention of
answering
her.
My
attention was
solely
focused on the
memory of Allison’s ghost. Scarlet was nothing more than a
wisp in the dark. Garnet followed me around like a creepy
puppy dog. But this, this was different. She wasn’t a shade,
she wasn’t a phantom—I was dealing with something new
entirely.
How many different kinds of ghosts were there
anyway?
Rachel was right behind me now and I turned to give
her the news.
Before I could even open my mouth, she
gasped.
“Saw a ghost?” I interjected and finished her sentence
for her. I really detested that phrase. “Well, that’s because I
just did.”
I paused for a moment, tempted to lie and tell her no.
After just one encounter with
Allison, I could
feel
how
powerful she was and it terrified me. I’d faced down death
before but this time it truly felt like I just met its incorporeal
form. What if Zach’s luck really did run out? What if I not
only met my match but his as well? But what if Crimson was
still alive and I was her only hope for survival?
I had to stop
being selfish and I knew it.
“It was her,” I said, noticing the waver in my voice as I
spoke. “I’ve never seen or felt anything like it, Rachel.”
Sometimes fear brought involuntary tears to my eyes. This
was one of those times.