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I can’t. She stands and takes a step into the aisle. There’s a flash, something shiny in her hand, winking in the houselights. I lean out a little farther from behind the mushroom, trying to make it out. Then the kid playing Stephano walks right into me, and we fall over in a tangle.
    “Cut!” Mrs. Rosewater yells. “Dovey, what happened?”
    “Sorry,” I say. “But there’s someone watching us. Isn’t this a closed rehearsal?”
    Mrs. Rosewater follows my pointing finger, squinting into the corner of the balcony with her hands on her hips. The only thing that makes her angrier than a mess onstage is people breaking her rules offstage.
    “Who’s up there? Come down here immediately!” she yells.
    We wait, but nothing happens. The girl in the fox hat doesn’t appear. I manage to disentangle my sandals from Stephano’s toga and stand, shielding my eyes. Mrs. Rosewater shoves her assistant toward the stairs, and the girl jogs up them, around the pit, and up the house stairs and disappears. She shows up on the balcony and ducks behind the seats. My heart seizes as I wonder what sort of lunatic I’ve just sent her to find. I can’t forget the wink of metal, the slash of blood, that feeling of being hunted.
    “There’s no one here,” the girl says, emerging from the shadows with a shrug.
    Mrs. Rosewater turns the full weight of her stare on me. I’m speechless.
    “I saw her,” I say, my voice firm. “I’m sure of it. A girl in a fox hat.”
    Cocking her head at me, Mrs. Rosewater sighs and heaves herself up the pit stairs. She walks to where I’m standing onstage and puts a meaty arm around my shoulders. Contrary to her name, she smells like chalk, not roses.
    “Dovey, have you been taking your medicine?” she says, so low that I can barely hear her. “Maybe you need to go home and rest.”
    I jerk out from under her arm and storm off the stage without a word. Along with my feelings, my pride is back, big-time. I may have been crazy, I may have been drugged, but I’ve never been a liar.
    Well, until this morning.
    I duck through the wings. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, and I know what they must be thinking. The crazy girl is losing it again. But I don’t have the tools to deal with it, don’t know how to tell them I’m fine, without sounding even crazier. I feel like I’ve just woken up, like the sleep’s still in my eyes. Maybe I shouldn’t have quit the meds cold turkey. Maybe I should have tapered off, should have given myself more time to return to normal.
    Too late now.
    At least skipping out on rehearsal means I can start looking for Carly earlier.
    I kick over a prop chair, and it’s exhilarating. I feel like meagain. My current rage, my rush of fear, my wounded pride—they feel good. I fling open the door to the hall and almost run into Old Murph when I turn the corner.
    “Watch it, girly,” he says gruffly.
    “Was there a girl here?” I ask, moving to block him as he tries to edge around me.
    “Lots of girls here,” he says, but he looks cagey, his rheumy eyes narrowing at me.
    “In the balcony. Up in the corner. In a fox hat.”
    “What kind of girl would wear a fox hat?” he grumbles.
    “Anyone with ten dollars,” I shoot back. “Who was she?”
    “You need to let sleeping dogs lie, girl. You look into the shadows long enough, something’s gonna start looking back.” He shifts from foot to foot and won’t meet my eyes.
    “Was there someone there or not?”
    “Theater’s closed. Doors are chained. If something else gets in, ain’t my fault.”
    I block his path again. “What do you mean, ‘if something else gets in’?”
    The old man looks at me, and a creepy smile spreads across his face, making waves in the wrinkles. He leans up against the peeling wall, and it’s hard to tell whether he’s holding it up or it’s holding him up.
    “Wait,” he says with a chuckle. “You’re the crazy girl, ain’t you? I heard about you.”
    “I’m not crazy,”