“You are Paige, right?” he asked, moving us along at warp speed.

“Uh, right.”

“J.D. I’m Jaime’s production manager. They didn’t send you around the front, did they?”

I shook my head.

“Thank God. It is a zoo out there. We’ve been sold out since last week, but some moron at WKLT has been announcing all day that we still have seats available, and now we have a line from here to Cuba of very unhappy folks.”

A pink-haired woman appeared from behind a heavy velvet curtain. “J.D., there’s a problem with the sound levels. The acoustics in here are shit, and—”

“Just do your best, Kat. We’ll take it up with the booking agent later.”

He pushed me past the woman, then through the curtain. We stepped out onto a side stage, in front of a rapidly filling auditorium. I stopped to gape, but J.D. tugged me along, crossing the stage to the opposite side.

“What kind of—” I began. J.D. stopped in mid-stride and I nearly bashed into him.

“I don’t believe this,” he said. “I don’t f**king believe it. Tara! Tara!”

A woman scurried up the steps. She could have been J.D.’s twin, carrying a matching clipboard, just as slight and harried, not balding but looking ready to tear out her own hair.

“Front row,” J.D. said. “Second seat right of the aisle. Is that not reserved for Jaime’s guest?”

Tara consulted her clipboard. “A Ms. Winterbourne. Paige Winterbourne.”

“This is Ms. Winterbourne,” J.D. said, jerking a finger at me. Then he jabbed the same finger at the sixty-year-old platinum blond in the second seat. “That is not Ms. Winterbourne.”

“I’ll get security.”

Tara disappeared behind the curtain. J.D. surveyed the theater, now nearly three-quarters full, with a steady stream flowing in.

“I hope they didn’t overbook. Houston overbooked and it was an absolute nightmare.” He stopped. “Oh, my god. Take a look at what’s coming through the door now. Do you see what she’s wearing? I didn’t think those came in purple. Some people will do anything to catch Jaime’s attention. In Buffalo last month—Oh, good. Your seat is clear. Follow me.”

He kept his hand on my elbow, as if I might otherwise be swallowed by the crowd. A security guard escorted the platinum-haired grandmother down the aisle. She turned and shot a lethal glare at me. J.D. quick-marched us down the steps.

“Is front row okay? Not too close for you?”

“Uh, no. It’s fine. This, uh, Jamey, is it? Is he around? Maybe I could—”

J.D. didn’t seem to hear me. His gaze was darting over the crowd, like a sheepdog surveying an unruly mob of ewes.

“We needed more ushers. Ten minutes to show time. Itold Jaime—” A watch check. “Oh, God, make that eight minutes. How the hell are they going to get everyone in here in eight minutes? Go ahead, sit down and get comfortable. I’ll be out to see you at intermission. Enjoy the show.”

He darted into a group of people and disappeared.

“Okay,” I muttered. “Enjoy the show…whatever it is.”

As I sat, I glanced at the people on either side of me, hoping one of them might be this Jaime guy, who I assumed was the necromancer I’d come to meet. To my left was a teenage girl with piercings in every imaginable location…and a few I would have preferred not to imagine. On my other side was an elderly woman in widow’s weeds with her head bowed over a rosary. Talk about audience diversity. Now I was stumped. I couldn’t imagine what kind of show would interest both of these people.

I looked around, trying to pick up some clues about the show from the theater, but the walls were covered in plain black velvet. Whatever the show was, I hoped I wasn’t expected to sit through it before I spoke to this Jaime. Maybe after it started, he’d come out and get me. I guessed he was the theater owner or manager. Someone important, from what J.D. said. An odd profession for a necromancer. Unless this Jaime wasn’t the necromancer. Maybe he was only the guy who would take me to the necromancer. Damn it! I didn’t have time for this. I pulled out my cell phone, called Lucas’s number again, but only got his voice mail.

I left a message. “I’m sitting in a theater right now, with absolutely no idea why I’m here, what’s going on, or who I’m supposed to talk to. This better be good, Cortez, or I’m going to need a necromancer to contact you.”

I hung up, and glanced at my neighbors again. Not about to disturb the rosary-widow, I turned to the teen and offered my brightest smile.

“Packed house tonight, huh?” I said.

She glowered at me.

“Should be a great show,” I said. “Are you a…fan?”

“Listen, bitch, if you raise your hand and get picked instead of me, I’ll pop out your eyeballs.”

I turned my endangered orbs back to the stage and inched closer to the rosary-widow. She glared at me and said something in what sounded like Portuguese. Now, I don’t know a single word of Portuguese, but something in her voice made me suspect that, whatever she said, the translation would sound roughly like what pierced-girl beside me had said. I sunk into my seat and vowed to avoid eye contact for the rest of the show.

Music started, a soft, symphonic tune, far removed from the caterwauling rock backstage. The lights dimmed as the music swelled. A scuffle of activity as the last people scurried to their seats. The lights continued to fade until the auditorium was immersed in darkness.