“Well, I am considering expanding your role.”
“Really? Wow!”
“Yes. I’d like to attempt an artistic experiment. Make the part of Charlie a bit more dynamic. A bit more interesting.”
“Awesome, sir!”
“Of course, no one must know about this. As I said, it’s all very experimental. Very avant-garde.”
Derek had no idea what “avant-garde” meant but it sounded better than his mother’s constant reminders that he was a lousy actor, that he only got by on his dimples.
“I’m all about avant-garde, sir.”
“Excellent. Wonderful.” Grimes reached into a pocket with his good hand and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “You’re not to show this to anyone. Not your mother. Not Miss McKenna. Not the Jennings boy.”
“Of course not.”
“It’s in Latin.”
“Okay.”
“I spelled it out phonetically for you.”
“Thank you, sir. That was very kind of you.”
“Commit these new lines to memory before sundown.”
“No problem, Mr. Grimes. I’m a very quick study.”
“Excellent. See you at rehearsal.”
“Ten o’clock, sir. I’ll be there! And I’ll memorize all these new lines, too!”
“Wonderful.”
Wow.
This was it! His big break!
He really was a brilliant actor.
Reginald Grimes had said so!
57
Zack saw Meghan sitting on a sun-drenched bench in the lobby.
“Hey!” he said.
“Hi!” Meghan closed her script. “Do anything exciting last night?”
Zack shrugged. “Read a little. Watched an old movie on TV.”
Chatted with Justus Willowmeier III, Bartholomew Buckingham, and a whole bunch of other dead people.
Zack wanted to tell Meghan all about the theatrical ghosts he had seen swarming outside the theater last night. But Mr. Willowmeier had specifically told him not to say a word to Judy, Meghan, or even Derek about what he had seen and heard.
I’m afraid they may soon need the protection of a demon slayer even more than we do!
Why? Was there some sort of demonic conspiracy brewing against Curiosity Cat? Didn’t demons have more important stuff to do than mess around with musicals?
“So what’d you do last night?” Zack asked.
“Homework. Studied my lines.”
“Homework? In August?”
“The principal of my school doesn’t believe in summer vacations.”
“Your mom?”
“Yeah. So where’s your stepmom?”
“She went upstairs to talk to Mr. Grimes.”
“Oh,” said Meghan, “I almost forgot! I figured out why that girl downstairs was crying!”
“Yeah?”
“I think her name is Princess Nepauduckett. There was this etching that looked just like her—the buckskin dress, the beads, the hairdo—in this obscure Native American history book my mom brought back from the library.”
“Cool.”
“Not really. It was an etching of her execution. They hanged her for stealing food from the first settlers. The Pilgrims.”
Zack pretended to be surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah. Hey, I wonder if Princess Nepauduckett knows your Pilgrim Guy!”
“We’ll have to ask her next time we see her.”
“Yeah! We know where to find her. I figure she’s stuck downstairs.”
Zack wanted to say No. She also rides the elevator. Especially real early in the morning.
But he didn’t.
58
Reginald Grimes sat behind the cluttered desk in his office on the second floor, staring at the wall filled with framed posters from the many shows he had directed over the years: Put On Your Shoes; My Gal Sal; Sing, Sing, Sing.
All had received rave reviews.
All had brought him glory.
But none of those triumphs could compare with the glory awaiting him when the full August moon rose in the east and he, the anointed one, performed the sacred resurrection rite with the two children.
His worldly cares and concerns, his fears and his hates, his loneliness and isolation, all of it was fading away now.
He reached into a desk drawer and found the special hat Hakeem had given him to wear in his role as high priest. A purple turban with a luminous emerald clasp at its center. Just like his grandfather’s. He placed it on his head. Felt its plump lushness.
There was a knock at the door.
“Mr. Grimes?”
It was Judy Magruder Jennings. The author.
“Yes?”
She was staring at his hat.
“Is that a costume piece?”
“Yes.”
“For Curiosity Cat?”
“No.”
“Good. Because none of my characters is a genie.”
Grimes assumed that the woman was attempting to be funny.
“Is there something I can help you with, Ms. Jennings?”
“Yes. I wanted to talk to you before rehearsal. I don’t think the lyrics should be changed.”
“I see.”
“So I’m not going to change them.”
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“It was simply a suggestion.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks.”
“Is that all?”
“Yep. See you at rehearsal. Ten a.m., right?”
Grimes nodded slowly. He wasn’t even there. Wasn’t really listening. The woman’s words sounded like the wahwah blaring from the bell of a muted trombone. Reginald Grimes cared nothing for Curiosity Cat or the Pandemonium Players or the playwright currently darkening his doorway.
He was the exalted one, the high priest of Ba’al Hammon—the voracious creator, king of the two regions, and ruler of the underworld!
59
Before, anyone, else arrived, while his mom was upstairs slathering on her last layer of face paint, Derek Stone had rehearsal room A all to himself.
He pulled out the secret script the director had just given him.
He stared at the paper.
Uh-oh.
The words were gobbledygook. Thank goodness for Mr. Grimes’s phonetic translations!
“O, magnus Molochus.”
What could it mean?
“Nos duo vitam nostram damus ut vos omnes qui hue arcessiti estis vivatis.”
Okay. Something about noses and dames, which was what they used to call girls in black-and-white movies.
The door swung open. Tomasino Carrozza came bounding into the room.
Derek hid the secret script in his pants.
He’d have to work on this later. No more monster truck. No more Burnout Dominator on his PlayStation Portable. No more goofing off with Meghan and Zack down in the basement.
Derek Stone had work to do!
Reginald Grimes thought he was a great actor.
He had lots and lots and lots of work to do.
60
“Sorry if the room’s kind of messy,” the company manager said to the group of actors gathered around the snack table at the back of the rehearsal room. “Mr. Kimble, our custodian, didn’t show up for work today. First time that’s happened since forever.”
“You want a doughnut?” Judy asked Zack.
“No thanks.”
She looked at him. “You feeling okay, hon?”
“Never better.”
Zack wished he could tell Judy about all he had seen last night, because he and Judy had slain the demon of the crossroads together. Now, however, Mr. Willowmeier wanted Zack to fly solo. Why? Who knew? In Zack’s experience, ghosts had their own screwy reasons for doing what they did, even if it made very little sense to people on the other side of the dirt. It was what made phantoms so unfathomable.