The Stage is Set

The Grand Opera & Theater

Backstage

ZOSIA slipped out of her seat, mindfully navigating past the well-dressed couple sitting next to her. They didn’t look like they intended to leave their seats during intermission. As she sucked in her chest and squeezed around their knees, Zosia kept her detective bag tucked close to her side. At another event, her uniform might have seemed out of place. Luckily, in the theater of elegant patrons, even here in the cheaper seats, her clean and well-maintained suit blended in nicely.

She exited the aisle and walked down the stairs. She had to step around a gentleman in a purple tuxedo who was quickly downing the two flute glasses he held in both of his gloved hands.

Zosia stepped off the last stair onto the polished marble of the lobby. She hadn’t noticed it before, but around the side of the stairs was a small, unlabeled doorway. It was tucked away from the bustling comings and goings of the patrons. A security guard sat in a tall chair to the left of the doorway. He glanced up at Zosia lazily, then did a double-take as she continued to approach.

“Ma’am,” he called to Zosia. “This is the wrong way. The restrooms are over there.” He gestured toward the bar.

“Does this go backstage?” Zosia asked.

“Uh, yes,” he replied.

“Then it’s the right way,” Zosia replied, reaching for her lapel.

“I’m afraid it’s cast and crew only pas—oh.” He stopped, eyeing Zosia’s police badge with wide eyes. “I guess that’s, uh, that’ll get you in then, won’t it? Right-o, in you go…”

The young guard waved her past, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair.

“Thank you.” Zosia stepped through the small doorway.

Moon crystals were tucked into antique-looking holders along the wall, drenching the hallway in gentle light as Zosia descended. Unlike the lobby and halls where the patrons meandered, there was no decor here—the wallpaper had no paintings or theater paraphernalia on display. It looked worn in the way well-traveled spaces did, the wooden floorboards of the hall softened beneath many years of hurrying slippers and ballet shoes.

The hallway turned sharply, likely to avoid the ground floor of the auditorium on the other side of the wall. Zosia stepped around the corner to find the path ahead curving into a wider area that was bustling with people. They scurried about their business, talking, practicing dance moves, or burning lines into their memories. Most of them were at least partially in costume, although Zosia passed one woman skidding into the open doorway labeled “makeup” in nothing more than tight shorts. No one spared a look at Zosia as she maneuvered quietly along the edges, careful not to get in anyone’s way.

Further down the hallway, someone yelled, “15 minutes to curtain!”. The call was followed by a frenzy as the actors and stagehands sped up whatever hurried tasks they were doing.

Zosia kept her head lowered while simultaneously trying to read the labels on the doors she passed. ‘Orchestra’, ‘Townsfolk’, ‘Kasandra’s ladies-in-waiting’, ‘Duke’s regime’, ‘Stage crew’ …

Zosia had to flatten herself against the wall, squeezing behind a group who had broken into a dance sequence practice right in front of the exit onto the stage. She could see the back of the curtain over their bobbing heads as they spun around in pairs. Pulling away from the dancers, Zosia was relieved to find that the churning mass of bodies became less dense the further she went. There were only a few doors remaining as Zosia approached the end of the hall.

A partially open door with a paper flower stuck to the front caught her eye. ‘Lady Kasandra’ was written in elegant cursive across the pink petals . Zosia shot a curious glance inside, but nothing was visible behind stacks of frilly under-dresses and shawls hanging from on the door and racks within. Ribbons lay scattered across the floor, reaching like root tendrils into the hallway. Zosia stepped over them carefully.

Up ahead, there was only one door left. On the closed door was a large golden star tacked in the center, its pins pressing new holes into the already pincushioned wood. The words ‘ Prince Alexandre’ had been inscribed upon the paper star in swirling, fanciful letters.

A few steps to the right of the door, the worn floorboards transformed into dark wood that disappeared behind a thick curtain. It matched the wood of the stage—meaning this must be a private entrance, separate from the one used by the rest of the cast. Zosia could hear people hurrying around the stage beyond the curtain, and the staccato pluck of notes as the orchestra re-tuned their instruments out in the pit.

She took a deep breath, sparing a quick side-eye around. A few actors and stage hands hustled by, too flustered with their costume adjustments and their contraptions to look Zosia’s way. Making absolutely sure no one was looking, she pulled her bag closer to her front and reached inside. Zosia found what she needed easily. The handcuffs were slipped into her pocket with no one the wiser.

This was it, then. She would either get what she was looking for or she’d have to leave empty-handed.

Straightening her back, Zosia knocked.

There was no reply.

Frowning, Zosia reached for the handle. The cold of the metal seeped through the thin bandage wrapped around her hand. It turned with an accommodating click.

Unlocked? They have their guard down… or could it be a trap?

Either way, there was no backing out now.

Zosia gathered herself and pushed against the door.