Page 2 of Dramatic AF
I didn’t expect a response right away, but three green dots appeared on the screen, indicating an incoming message.
USER:It won’t hurt him, will it?
I lifted an eyebrow in surprise. I hadn’t expected that, but it raised the client a considerable degree in my estimation.
TRICK:No, it won’t harm him. He’ll just be a little forgetful for a few weeks.
USER:Then…okay. I’m agreeable.
TRICK:I’ll need a name and location.
USER:His name is Jayden Norwood, and he’s currently at the theater.
His message came with another attachment, a photograph of a young male with big eyes and a sweet smile. Cute. I wondered what he’d done to piss off someone enough to want to curse him.
TRICK:Got it. You’ll be notified when the task is complete.
I closed out the app without waiting for a response, pocketed my phone, and headed back the way I had come from, toward the Circle City Theater.
It was an easy job, and only a few blocks away. In and out. No drama. If everything went to plan, it would take me half an hour tops.
Since this kind of magic required touch, I just had to find a way to get close to him, but I figured that wouldn’t be too difficult. Most people accepted a friendly handshake without thinking twice.
Not wanting to deal with the flirty barista, I stopped at a different cafe on my way to the theater to order an iced latte. While I waited, I did a quick internet search on my phone for Jayden Norwood.
According to several articles, he only had one production under his belt, but he appeared to be a rising star in the theater world. Critics praised him, the media loved him, and he had built a dedicated following of rabid fans.
I couldn’t speak to his skills as an actor, but I could understand why the public adored him. Early twenties, unattached, loved animals, and volunteered at food pantries. The guy ticked all the boxes.
It likely didn’t hurt that he also had the body of a dancer and the face of an angel.
His soft mouth and gently sloped nose seemed to be in direct contrast with his angular jaw and sharp cheekbones, butit worked for him. Dark hair—either soft and floppy or slicked back, depending on the occasion—accentuated his sun-kissed complexion, and he had the most striking eyes I had ever seen.
Round and wide set, they dominated his heart-shaped face, and the deep whiskey color practically glowed in every picture. Even in candid shots that clearly hadn’t been manipulated, those big bright eyes made him look like some ethereal nymph.
I finished my research at the same time the barista called my name. This one didn’t smile or flirt, and best of all, she didn’t linger. She simply placed the drink on the counter and walked away.
Finishing off my own Americano, I chucked it in a bin outside before heading off in the direction of the theater. As I had suspected, I found the lobby doors locked, so I made my way down the filthy alley to the entrance at the back.
It took surprisingly little effort to convince a stagehand I was there to make a delivery. With a bored glance at the latte in my hand, he waved me inside without asking for credentials or even who had placed the order.
At that time of morning, the backstage area buzzed with activity. Costume and prop designers zipped back and forth, rushing past with mumbled curses, their gazes sliding right over me. Overhead, stage techs skittered across the catwalks, little more than silhouettes against the shadows.
Peeking around the curtain, I didn’t see anyone on the stage, but beyond it, several people filled the seats in groups of three or more.
All except one.
Seated alone in the front row, Jayden Norwood had what I assumed to be a script in one hand and a fluorescent yellow highlighter in the other. Still hidden, I watched him, uncharacteristically intrigued by this complete stranger.
His dark hair fell forward today to cover his brow, the strands soft and shiny in the artificial lighting. Combined with the black leggings and oversized gray tee he wore, he looked younger than his age and so damn…innocent.
Of course, looks could be deceiving, but I still couldn’t imagine him doing anything to warrant being hexed.
Head bent, he’d read for a few seconds before swiping his highlighter across the page, ending each line with a subtle flourish. After every third or fourth scribble, he would lift his head and chew on the end of the marker while he stared into the distance.
It shouldn’t have mattered, and I definitely shouldn’t have cared, but I couldn’t help but wonder what he might be thinking about. The play and his part in it, obviously, but perhaps something more as well.
Curiosity wouldn’t get the job done, though, and I couldn’t have asked for a better setup. I just had to walk over to him, introduce myself, and offer my hand. Maybe follow that up with a minute or two of small talk, then I would be out the door without anyone the wiser.
