Page 84 of Girl, Unseen

The ancient texts had promised transformation, and as always, they hadn't lied. Each sacrifice had changed her, cell by cell. Earth had strengthened her bones. Water had purified her blood. Air had cleansed her pores. The fire had burned away imperfection.

Now, spirit would complete the work.

No one looked twice at the pretty young thing with the scars. They were too busy focusing lights, testing mics, running through cues. Amelia could have sprouted horns and danced naked and they wouldn't have blinked.

Which was exactly how she wanted it.

From Amelia’s research, the Gramercy Theatre could seat 2,900 people, but tonight's event would only fill about half that. Lydia wasn't quite famous enough to pack the house, but she drew decent crowds. Enough to make the old theatre feel alive without overwhelming its intimacy. The smaller audience meant fewer witnesses, fewer variables to account for.

Amelia stalked the backstage, drinking in the chaos. Techs hustled past with coils of cable over their shoulders. Lighting techs barked at each other over crackling headsets. The whole place buzzed with the manic energy of impending showtime.

Amelia could smell the desperation. It leaked from every pore - the crew, the volunteers, the whole sorry lot of them scrambling to make this spiritual circle-jerk go off without a hitch.

Amelia sidestepped a harried-looking kid juggling water bottles. Probably an intern, judging by the deer-in-headlights look and the total lack of a clue. These were Lydia Soulwright's people. The kind of New Age fools who thought chanting mantras could cure cancer. Amelia had grown up around their type - chakra-obsessed airheads who'd rather consult a crystal ball than a doctor.

Well, Lydia promised them miracles. Amelia was here to deliver.

Amelia cut through the dressing rooms until she found her station.

Speak of the devil.

‘Millie! Thank God!’ Lydia swept out of her dressing room in a flutter of scarves and patchouli. The charlatan clutched Amelia's arm like they hadn’t seen each other just last night. Rhinestones glittered of Lydia’s false fingernails.

Millie.She'd always hated that nickname. But you caught more flies with shit than vinegar. ‘Lydia! Looking luminous as ever!’

'Oh, stop.' Lydia fanned herself. She was a middle-aged odalisque dripping with paste jewelry. Amelia had always felt sorry for her. 'I'm a wreck. Absolute wreck. Have you seen the crowd out there?'

‘Peeked through the curtain. Pretty good turnout for a psychic in the age of smartphones.’

‘Cheeky monkey.’ Lydia swatted her arm. ‘I'll have you know, interest in the spiritual arts is at an all-time high. People are finally waking up to the magic all around them.’

Indeed. And Lydia was the one holding the wand, Amelia thought. But she couldn’t voice her skepticism, because Amelia had to play the part of doting friend and fellow Order member until the end.

‘So what's on the menu tonight? Channeling Cleopatra? Past life regression? Maybe John Lennon will pop by?’

Lydia huffed, feathers ruffled. ‘Nothing so crass. This is about expanding consciousness. Heightening awareness. Opening the audience to the infinite potential within.’

Amelia's cheeks ached from the effort of not rolling her eyes. ‘Sounds mind-blowing.’

‘You laugh, but this is powerful stuff. It's not just hocus-pocus and rabbit tricks. There's a whole world of wonder out there, right on the edge of perception. All we have to do is open our eyes.’

Amelia studied Lydia's face, searching for a wink, a tell, any hint that this was all some kind of joke.

But the woman's eyes shone with the zeal of the true believer. She actually bought her own bullshit.

Maybe that's how she did talks to a thousand people a night. Sheer, unadulterated conviction. Suckers lined up around the block to throw money at anybody who could sell them salvation with a straight face.

Well, time to nudge things along.

‘So Lyds, I'm here to help. What do you need?’ Amelia slapped on her best Girl Friday grin. ‘Coffee? Costume change?’

The quip earned her a wry chuckle. ‘Nothing so dramatic, dear. Though I could use an extra pair of hands here and there. Think you could set up my book table? I’m going to do some signings after the show.’

‘Sure thing. Just point me to the merch.’

‘You're an angel. And could you ensure my rider’s in place? You know I can’t do these marathons without hydration.’ Lydia gave her a look that tried for conspiratorial but landed somewhere around constipated.

‘Rider. Got it. Hydration.’ Amelia dutifully noted, ‘So what are you on tonight? Pepsi Max?’

---