Spellcrossed
Authors: Barbara Ashford
SOMEONE WAS BREAKING INTO MY
GODDAMN THEATRE
ON MY GODDAMN OPENING NIGHT…
Reinhard refused to let me call the police. Instead, we all trooped down the hill from Janet’s house to investigate.
Maybe it was some kind of practical joke. Catherine and Javier had been sent ahead to oversee the final preparations. And when I walked in, everybody would yell, “Surprise!” But the last thing I needed after the past few days was yet another surprise.
By the time we reached the parking lot, I was beginning to wonder if I’d imagined the whole thing. I almost hoped there
was
a burglar. If we walked in on Catherine and Javier having a quickie on one of the orphan’s beds, I’d feel like an idiot.
The wrought iron lamps along the walkway flared to life. For a moment, we just stood there, gaping. Then Janet gripped my hand and Reinhard flung his arm around my waist. I looked from one to the other, suddenly scared. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a practical joke….
“There’s a vast but little known overlap between fans of fantasy and fans of musical theater, and Barbara Ashford hits the sweet spot on both with
Spellcast
.”
—Carrie Vaughn,
New York Times
bestselling author
“A charming fantasy novel [that] left me wanting more, in fine theatrical tradition.”
—Locus
“One of those rare gems…something completely unique in the pantheon of novels I have read over a lifetime. It is a love story, a fantasy, a mystery, and a theatre book all rolled up into one.”
—
New Myths
DAW Presents the Finest in Modern Fantasy
From Barbara Ashford:
SPELLCAST (Book One)
SPELLCROSSED (Book Two)
ARBARA
A
SHFORD
DAW BOOKS, INC.
DONALD A. WOLLHEIM, FOUNDER
375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014
ELIZABETH R. WOLLHEIM
SHEILA E. GILBERT
PUBLISHERS
Copyright © 2012 by Barbara Ashford.
All Rights Reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-101-59472-8
Cover art by permission of Shutterstock.
DAW Book Collectors No. 1589.
DAW Books are distributed by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
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Nearly all the designs and trade names in this book are registered trademarks. All that are still in commercial use are protected by United States and international trademark law.
First Printing, June 2012
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
Thanks to everyone who helped in the creation of
Spellcrossed
:
My writing friends who provided feedback and critiques: Michele Korri, Michael Samerdyke, Susan Sielinski, and the NOVA critique group.
My friends and colleagues in the theatre who offered scripts, suggestions, and memories of past productions: Jeanne McCabe, Nellie O’Brien, and Steven Silverstein.
Ellie Miller who gave me the title.
My sister, Cathy Klenk, who confirmed and corrected details of Wilmington (and even traipsed out after a snowstorm to reconnoiter the Brandywine Zoo).
My editor, Sheila Gilbert, whose insights and suggestions were—as usual—invaluable.
And my husband, David Lofink—my first reader and my best friend. His encouragement has nurtured my writing career and his love has nurtured me since we starred opposite each other on the stage of the Southbury Playhouse. As always, this one’s for him.
To learn more about the world
of the Crossroads Theatre,
visit
www.barbara-ashford.com
.
1. EVERYTHING OLD IS NEW AGAIN
4. YOU’RE NEVER FULLY DRESSED WITHOUT A SMILE
5. ALWAYS LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE OF LIFE
17. IT’S A HELLUVA WAY TO RUN A LOVE AFFAIR
19. WHAT WOULD WE DO WITHOUT YOU?
20. THE “YOU-DON’T-WANT-TO-PLAY-WITH-ME” BLUES
21. LET’S CALL THE WHOLE THING OFF
24. WHAT DID I EVER SEE IN HIM?
28. IT’S BAD LUCK TO SAY GOOD LUCK ON OP’NING NIGHT
32. QUIET PLEASE, THERE’S A LADY ONSTAGE
37. LEAVIN’S NOT THE ONLY WAY TO GO
40. ALL I WANTED WAS THE DREAM
43. I PROMISE YOU A HAPPY ENDING
46. LET’S TAKE AN OLD-FASHIONED WALK
OVERTURE
I
AM DANCING WITH FIREFLIES.
Part of me knows that this is only a dream, that I must wake up and resume my responsibilities as director of the Crossroads Theatre. But for now, I dance in their golden light.
I am a child, chasing fireflies with her father. I am a woman, hearing Rowan Mackenzie laugh as fireflies swarm around him on Midsummer’s Eve.
The light flickers uncertainly, as if my fireflies understand the mingled joy and sorrow those memories evoke.
I sense the others before I see them, the family that I found at the Crossroads. My family in blood as well as spirit. They hover at the edge of the glade, half-seen among the shadows.
Hal rushes forward and embraces me. He is dressed in a flowing gown of green. He, too, wears many faces tonight: costume designer, lingerie shop owner, and Titania, queen of the faeries. That must make Lee his Oberon, although he wears his usual T-shirt and jeans. The light grows brighter as Lee crosses the glade, as if he were bringing up the house lights in the theatre.
Javier waves his hand, and the fireflies obediently move to the far edge of the glade like members of his stage crew. Catherine waves hers, and they construct a glowing pyramid of light. The pyramid dissolves into a dance again as
Mei-Yin stalks forward; even fireflies know better than to defy their choreographer. Alex raises his hands, the conductor cueing his orchestra, and the erratic flashes of light become a single steady pulse. On. Off. On. Off.
Reinhard jots a note on his ubiquitous clipboard, checking off fireflies like cast members reporting for their seven o’clock call. Janet rolls her eyes. Hard to believe I once considered her my enemy. But I knew so little about her—about all of them—during that first summer at the Crossroads.
They begin to dance—Lee with Hal, Javier with Catherine, Reinhard with Mei-Yin. Husbands and wives, partners and lovers. Janet pulls Alex into the dance. The widow and her widowed son. Alone in life, but in this dream, they are partners. In this dream, everyone has a partner.
Everyone except me.
Sadness touches me again. And then Bernie rolls his walker forward, observing the dance with wonder, as if he finally understands the secret of the Crossroads Theatre.
“Faery magic,” the fireflies whisper.
Bernie cannot hear them, but he casts his walker aside and dances with me. We all dance, caught up in the spell of the fireflies and the spell of the Crossroads.
Only the one who created the spell is missing. My faery lover who was the heart and soul of the Crossroads Theatre—and my heart and soul as well.
“Rowan will always carry you in his heart. Remember that, my dear. And know that you will always have a home at the Crossroads.”
I search the shadows, but I cannot see Helen. Yet I know she is here, taking her bow with the others.
