“Don’t do that!” I whispered angrily.

“Sorry,” Tod said. But he didn’t look very sorry. “Her mom’s in there with her now, but she’s about to leave to call the car.”

He’d barely spoken the last word when the dressing room door opened, and an older, darker version of Addison Page emerged. She nodded to the guard, then clacked off down the hall past us, without a word or a glance in our direction.

“Okay…” This time Tod whispered, as if setting the tone for the Acme tiptoe routine we were about to pull. “You guys duck into the bathroom around the corner. I’ll draw the guard away while you sneak into Addy’s room, then I’ll pop in with you. Get her attention fast, and don’t let her scream.”

But something told me that would be easier said than done.

“I’m gonna kill you if this goes bad,” Nash hissed as we followed the reaper around the corner toward the public restroom.

“It’s a little late for that,” Tod snapped. Then he was gone again.

I opened the door to the ladies’ room to make sure it was empty, then waved Nash inside and left the door slightly ajar. While he looked around in awe at the cleanliness and the fresh flowers, I peeked through the crack, waiting for some all-clear sign from Tod.

We’d only been in the bathroom a few seconds when rapid footsteps clomped toward us from the direction of Addison’s dressing room. Tod appeared around the corner, fully corporeal now, a wild grin on his face, the security guard’s newspaper tucked under one arm. The guard raced after him, but the poor man was obviously built for strength rather than speed, because Tod put more distance between them with every step.

“Get back here, you little punk!” the guard shouted, huge arms pumping uselessly at his sides.

Tod glanced at me as he passed the bathroom, and I could swear I saw him wink. Then he rounded the next corner, and the guard trailed after him.

As soon as they were gone, Nash and I jogged back to the dressing room, hearts pounding with exhilaration, afraid the guard would return at any moment. We stood in front of the door, hand in hand, and my pulse raced with nerves. Nash met my eyes, then nodded toward the doorknob.

“You do it,” I whispered. “She doesn’t know me, but she may remember you.”

Nash rolled his eyes but reached toward the door. His hand hesitated over the knob for a second, then I saw determination—or was that resignation?—flash across his face. He twisted the knob and opened the door in one smooth motion, so brash I almost envied his nerve.

He stepped inside and pulled me in with him, then closed the door.

I braced myself, expecting to hear Addison scream for Security. Instead, I heard nothing and saw no sign of Addison Page.

But her room was awesome. A rack of flashycostumes stood against one wall, beside a full-length stand-alone mirror. Which was next to a vanity lit by several large, frosted bulbs. In one corner stood a small round table covered in an array of meats, cheeses, fruit, and bite-size desserts. And in the center of the room, a couch and two chairs were gathered around a flat-screen television hooked up to a PlayStation 3.

But no Addison Page.

Nash glanced at me with his brows raised in question, and I shrugged. Then jumped when the sound of running water drew my focus to an open door I hadn’t noticed before. The dressing room had a private restroom. And Addison Page was in it.

“Is the car ready?” The singer stepped out of the restroom and crossed the floor toward her vanity, head tilted away from us as she pulled an earring from her left ear. Then she looked up and froze. For just a second, I thought she might actually scream. But then Nash spoke, and her features relaxed, just enough to hold true fear at bay.

“Hi, Addison,” he said, and his Influence flowed over the room like a warm, comforting breeze, smoothing her ruffled feathers and taking the edge off my own nerves. Male bean sidhes rocked the whole audio-anesthesia thing, whereas the females of our species sported only an eardrum-bursting scream.

Not fair, right? But convenient at times.

A brief flicker of annoyance flashed across Addison’s famous, pixieish features, replaced an instant later by a gracious, bright white smile. “Um, this isn’t really a good time. I’m on my way to the hospital to check on Eden,” she said, brushing back the blue streak in her pale hair while she grabbed a pen from the vanity. “But I guess I have time for a quick autograph.”

She thought we were fans. And she didn’t know Eden was dead. I wasn’t sure which misunderstanding to correct first, so I started with the lesser of two evils.

“Oh, we’re not fans.” I shrugged, stuffing my hands into my pockets. But then she frowned, and I realized how that had sounded. “I mean, we are fans. We love your music. But that’s not why we’re here.”

Her frown deepened. Even with Nash’s Influence, by my best guess, we had less than a minute before she would yell for the guard, who had surely returned to his post by now. “Then what do you want?” Addison narrowed beautiful, impossibly pale blue eyes, though her smile stayed friendly. Or at least cautious.

I glanced at Nash, hoping for some help, but he only shrugged and gestured for me to start talking. After all, I’d gotten him into this.

“We have to tell you something.” I hesitated, glancing at the couch. “Could we maybe sit down?”

“Why?” She was openly suspicious now, and her hand snuck into her pocket, where a bulge betrayed her cell phone. “Who are you?”