Spotlight: Understudy by Cheyanne Young

The high school play is in two months and senior Wren Barlow just became director. Wren still isn't over the fact that she got stiffed as a stagehand instead of the lead role that she totally deserved. Now she is in charge of rehearsals, costumes, navigating around cast member hookups and managing the real life drama at home.

The principal counts on her to succeed because tickets have been sold and the money has been spent. But when he drops a gorgeous bad boy on her and wants him to help the play for extra credit, she falls hard for someone she knows she can't date.

With everything spinning out of control, the mysterious and secretive detention king named Derek has a few tricks up his sleeve and wants to help—too bad Wren is scared to give him a chance to prove himself

EXCERPT

Chapter 1

It’s two forty-five on the dot and my stomach is nestled firmly in my throat. Ms. Barlow sits in her director’s chair at the back of the theater arts classroom. She tells me to stand on the zebra print x made of tape in front of the white board, in the place she usually stands while she’s teaching class. Today is the first day I’ve seen the zebra print x. I wonder if that’s the same zebra print tape she took away from a freshman last week.

The classroom is abnormally dark with a single spotlight shining directly on my face. I wish I’d worn makeup. My nose is too oily, I just know it. Three stapled-together pages of Ms. Barlow’s original script shake in my hands as I stand, waiting for her signal to start. She has a peacock feather tucked behind her ear and a pen in her hand as she scribbles something on her clipboard. Her bright orange hair is gray in the dark. I clear my throat.
“Yes Wren,” she says without taking her eyes off her clipboard.

“You were auditioning for a minor role, but then you switched for the role of Gretchen? Am I reading your chicken scratch handwriting correctly?”
“Yes ma’am,” I say, wondering if I should tell her I signed up for auditions while writing on someone’s back in the hallway before class and that’s why my handwriting resembles chicken scratch. I wasn’t going to audition at all until Mom pointed out the requirements in The Art Institute of Lawson catalog places a strong emphasis on extracurricular activities. And if I’m going to be in a school play for the sole purpose of winning the affections of my dream college, I might as well do it right. Even if my best friend is also auditioning for the lead role.
Ms. Barlow stares at me over the rim of her purple teardrop glasses, appraising me as if she doesn’t see me in class every day. “You do know Gretchen’s role includes a lot of kissing with the male costar?”

I didn’t know that, but I nod anyway. It’s too late to back out now. Plus I like kissing. I can handle kissing.

Ms. Barlow laces her fingers together and rests them in her lap on top of her clipboard. “You may begin.”

I swallow. The words on my paper blur into a mess of jumbled letters that form nonexistent words. Good thing I have it memorized. I crumple the papers and hold them in my clenched fist.
“Jeremy? Is that you?” I squint my eyes, which comes naturally with the blinding spotlight on me and take a step forward. “Jeremy, get down! What the hell are you thinkin’? Are you crazy?”
“Stop.” Ms. Barlow’s hand flies out. She tilts her head to glare at me over the rim of her glasses. “Why do you sound like a melodramatic southern belle?”
“Because my character lives in Alabama?”

She shakes her head. “No. Do it again.”

My heart pounds so hard it turns my chest into goo. “Jeremy! Get down! What the hell are you thinking—are you crazy?”

Ms. Barlow lowers her voice and assumes Jeremy’s lines. “What do you care?” she says with a snarl.

“Of course I care.” I clench my chest. “Jeremy, you can’t jump.”

“Give me three good reasons why I shouldn’t jump off this bridge and end my worthless life right now. Actually, just give me one.”
I heave a sigh, a big dramatic one like I’ve practiced in front of my mirror for the last two days. Unfortunately it comes out like I’m choking on my own spit. I ignore the teacher’s disappointed nod.

“How about this one?” I say, tossing my hands up in surrender as I stare at the empty desk in front of me, pretending it’s Jeremy. “I’m in love with you.”

“You’re too fat,” Ms. Barlow says.

“Huh?” That isn’t the script.

She marks something on her clipboard and flips to the next page. “I’m sorry Wren. Despite your…attempted…acting, you know I’d love to give you the lead role but you’re just too fat.”
“I’m not fat,” I say confidently, because I know I’m not fat. Is she even allowed to say that to a teenage girl? Sure, I gained a few pounds over the summer but that hardly makes me fat. Plus, I’m on day twenty-six of the 20 Minute Abs DVD, and if I tighten my core I totally have a six pack under the inch or so of flab.

“Gretchen is five feet ten inches and a hundred and five pounds. She’s an aspiring model.”

“It doesn’t say that in the script.” I wag my papers at her.

Ms. Barlow’s short hair flies around her face as she whips her glasses to the top of her head. “That’s irrelevant. It says that in my mind and I am the writer and the director.”
I wish the lights were on so I could glare at her, and not just at the darkish blob I can see. I don’t stomp my foot on the floor, but I want to. “I’m telling Mom.”
She waves away my threat with a flourish of her hand. “Good. And while you’re at it, tell her to stop filling the house with ding-dongs and Twinkies. It’ll do you both a favor.”
Okay. This is about to blow up to epic-Barlow-like proportions if I don’t do something to scale it back. I smooth my hands over my shirt and stand straight. “You’re right, Aunt Barlow, I’m sorry. But I really want this part so if there’s anything I can do to make myself perfect for the role, please let me know.”

“I’m Ms. Barlow while in school. I’m not your aunt right now, I’m your director.”

“Yes,” I say, humbling myself to her greatness, something she laps up like starved puppy. Ms. Barlow starred in Broadway plays in her younger years, before age and three divorces and heaps of melodrama took its toll and made her resemble a haggard man. “Why do you even want this role? You watched me slave over this script all summer and you never cared.”

“I care,” I say. But she’s right. I don’t care about this stupid school play.

So even though I have no interest in a school play, probably because my mom, the failed actress, and my aunt, the failed Broadway star-turned-theater arts teacher shoved acting down my throat since I was in infancy, I am going to get this role. And then my picture will be put in the yearbook and The Art Institute of Lawson will be impressed and they will accept me and I’ll get an awesome job as an interior decorator.

That all starts with Wren Barlow playing the lead role in the Lawson High School play.

Ms. Barlow taps her foot on the footrest in her tall chair. She scribbles something on her clipboard that makes her nose crunch up like she’s smelled something bad. “Thanks for auditioning, Wren. Will you send in the next student?”

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Book Spotlight: Witch's Bounty (The Witch Chronicles, Book 1) by Ann Gimpel

One of only three remaining demon-stalking witches, Colleen is almost the last of her kind. Along with her familiar, a changeling spirit, she was hoping for a few months of quiet, running a small magicians’ supply store in Fairbanks, Alaska. Peace isn’t in the cards, though. Demons are raising hell in Seattle. She’s on her way out the door to help, when a Sidhe shows up and demands she accompany him to northern England to quell a demon uprising there.

Duncan swallowed uneasy feelings when the Sidhe foisted demon containment off onto the witches two hundred years before. He’s annoyed when the Sidhe leader sends him to haul a witch across the Atlantic to bail them out. Until he sees the witch in question. Colleen is unquestionably the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. Strong and gutsy, too. When she refuses to come with him, because she’s needed in Seattle, he immediately offers his assistance. Anything to remain in her presence.

Colleen can’t believe how gorgeous the Sidhe is, but she doesn’t have time for such nonsense. She, Jenna, and Roz are the only hedge Earth has against being overrun by Hell’s minions. Even with help from a powerful magic wielder like Duncan, the odds aren’t good and the demons know it. Sensing victory is within their grasp, they close in for the kill. 

EXCERPT

…The bells around the shop door clanged a discordant riot of notes. “Crap!” Jenna shot to her feet. “I should have locked the damned door.”
“Back to cat form.” Colleen flicked her fingers at Bubba, who shrank obligingly and slithered out of clothing, which puddled around him. She snatched up his shirt and pants and dropped them back into the canister.
“I say,” a strongly accented male voice called out. “Is anyone here?”
“I’ll take care of the Brit,” Colleen mouthed. “Take Bubba to the basement and practice.”
She got to her feet and stepped past the curtain. “Yes?” She gazed around the dimly lit store for their customer.
A tall, powerfully built man, wearing dark slacks and a dark turtleneck, strode toward her, a woolen greatcoat slung over one arm. His white-blond hair was drawn back into a queue. Arresting facial bones—sculpted cheeks, strong jaw, high forehead—captured her attention and stole her breath. He was quite possibly the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on. Discerning green eyes zeroed in on her face, caught her gaze, and held it. Magic danced around him in a numinous shroud. Strong magic.
What was he?
And then she knew. Daoine Sidhe. The man had to be Sidhe royalty. No wonder he was so stunning it almost hurt to look at him.
Colleen held her ground. She placed her feet shoulder width apart and crossed her arms over her chest. “What can I help you with?”
“Colleen Kelly?”
Okay, so he knows who I am. Doesn’t mean a thing. He’s Sidhe. Could have plucked my name right out of my head. “That would be me. How can I help you?” she repeated, burying a desire to lick nervously at her lips.
“Time is short. I’ve been hunting you for a while now. Come closer, witch. We need to talk.”
***
Duncan Regis eyed the grim-faced woman standing in front of him. She was quite striking with such stunning bone structure—high cheekbones, square jaw—she could have been a runway model. Her unwavering pale blue eyes held his gaze. Dressed in brown wool slacks, a multicolored sweater, and scuffed leather boots, she had auburn curls that cascaded to waist level. A scattering of freckles coated her upturned nose. Her lips would have been full if they weren’t pursed into a hard line.
He knew he was staring, but couldn’t help himself. Colleen was tall for a woman, close to six feet, with well-defined shoulders, generous breasts, and a slender waist that flared to trim hips. He smelled her apprehension and was pleased she was able to cloak it so well with the defiant angle of her chin and the challenge in her icy stare.
Despite his earlier command, she didn’t move. Annoyance coiled in his gut. He could summon magic and force her, but he wanted—no, make that needed—her cooperation. Compulsion spells had a way of engendering lingering resentments. He smiled, but it felt fake so he gave it up. “I like women with spirit, but I’m used to being obeyed.”
She frowned and tilted her chin another notch. “I’ll just bet you are. I’m not coming one angstrom closer until you tell me why a Sidhe is hunting for me.”
Surprise registered. He tried to mask it, just like he’d attempted to disguise himself in a human glamour. Duncan tamped down a wry grin, wondering if his second ploy had worked any better than his first.
“Not really.” She tapped one booted toe. “I read minds. You’ll have to do a better job warding yours, if you want to keep me out.” Colleen exhaled briskly. “Look. Maybe it would be easier if you just told me why you’re here. I’m sort of busy just now and I don’t have a bunch of time to spar with you.”
“You don’t have any choice.”
“Oh yes I do.” Anger wafted from her in thick clouds. Along with it a spicy, rose scent, tinged with jasmine, tickled his nostrils and did disconcerting things to his nether regions. He resisted an urge to rearrange his suddenly erect cock. Colleen unfolded her arms, extended one, and pointed toward the door. “Out. Now.”
“You’re making a terrible mistake—”
“Maybe so, but this is my turf. If you force me with your magic, you’ll have broken the rules that bind your kind—and the covenant amongst magic-wielders.”
Duncan’s temper kindled, but it didn’t dampen the lust seeping along his nerve endings. Rules be damned. He could flatten this persnickety witch, or better yet, weave a love spell and bind her to him that way. Maybe he should do just that and have done with things. He clasped his hands behind him to quash the temptation to call magic. The movement stretched his trousers across his erection, making it obvious if she chose to look down.
Something dark streaked from the back of the shop and planted itself in front of him, hissing and spitting. Gaia’s tits. A cat. He stared at it. Hmph. Maybe not a cat after all. Duncan reached outward with a tendril of magic. Before it reached the creature, Colleen bent and scooped it into her arms. The not-a-cat wriggled and hissed, but she held fast.
“Leave him alone,” she said through clenched teeth. “He’s mine.”
Duncan narrowed his eyes. “Damn if it isn’t a changeling. How’d he end up with you?”
Her foot tapped the scarred wooden floor again, its beat so regular it could have been a metronome. “I asked you a whole lot of questions.” She took a step backward. “But the only one I want to know the answer to is—”
“What the fuck are you doing?” Jenna wavered into view, having teleported in from somewhere. Her gaze landed on the cat. “Thank Christ! For a minute there I thought the little bastard got away from me.”
“Jenna,” Colleen snapped. “The Sidhe have deigned to call.”
The other woman whipped around and stared at Duncan. He stared back. What was it with these witches? Had they taken some sort of potion to supersize themselves? She made Colleen look positively petite. Jenna sidled closer to Colleen; part of her height came from high heels, but she was still an imposing woman. “What does he want?” she growled.
Duncan cleared his throat. “I’m right here. You can ask me.”
“Fine.” Jenna put her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?”
“How do you know I want anything?” he countered, trying to buy time to figure out what to do now. He hadn’t counted on two witches, and a changeling.
“Because if you didn’t, Colleen would have shooed you out of here by now. You really do need to leave. We’re busy.”
He snorted. “Yes. Colleen made that abundantly clear.” He looked from one witch to the other. At least his erection was fading a bit. Crowds always had a dampening effect on his libido. Many other Sidhe thrived on group sex, but he’d never appreciated its appeal.
“Either tell us what you want right now,” Colleen moved toward him, cat still in her arms, “or leave. I’m going to count to three—”
“Maeve’s teeth, witch! We’re on the same side.”
“Generally speaking,” Jenna joined Colleen about three feet away from him, “that’s probably true, but the Sidhe have never helped us.”
Colleen quirked a brow. “No, they haven’t.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I have this prescient feeling that Sidhe-boy here is about to ask for a pretty big favor.”
“Sidhe-boy?” The dregs of his lust scattered; he crimped his hands into fists. “Show some respect.”
“You’re not respecting me,” Colleen said. “I’ve asked you to leave—twice. No, make that three times.” The not-a-cat finally twisted free. He skimmed over the distance to Duncan and buried his claws in his leg.
“Why you changeling bastard!” Duncan shook his leg. The thing didn’t even budge. He bent, curled his hands around the furred body, and tugged. The thing bit him. Anger flashed. Magic followed. The changeling howled and fell into a heap on the floor.
“Goddammit!” Colleen shrieked. “He was just trying to protect me. If you’ve killed him…”
“I didn’t. He’s only stunned.” Duncan rubbed his ankle, glanced at the puncture wounds on his hand, and directed healing magic to both places.
Colleen sprang forward and gathered the creature into her arms. Duncan felt her magic quest into its small body. She blew out an audible breath. Cradled against her, shrouded by her long hair, the changeling mewled softly.
Duncan shook his head. He’d hoped to be subtle, accommodating, encouraging, so the witch would at least hear him out with an open mind. The time for that was long past. “All right.” He spread his hands in front of him. The flesh wounds on the one were already nearly closed. “I’m here because we’ve had problems with Irichna demons—”
“Christ on a fucking crutch,” Jenna cut in. “Seems like they’re on everyone’s mind these days. We were just—”
Colleen rounded on her. “Shut up!”
“Oops. Sorry.” Jenna held out her arms for the changeling. “I’ll just take him and—”
“No.” Colleen’s voice was more like a growl. “You’ll stay right here.” She placed the changeling in the other witch’s arms and turned to face Duncan. “I know you’re Sidhe, but who are you?”
“Duncan Regis.” He held out a hand. She ignored it, so he let it drop to his side.
“Regis, Regis,” she mumbled, her eyes narrowed in thought. “Ruling class from somewhere in Scotland.”
He nodded, impressed. “Northern England, at the moment, but the border has moved around a bit over the years. I do lay claim to Scottish roots. I didn’t know witches studied our family lines.”
“Witches don’t, but I did.”
“Any particular reason?” He was almost sorry he’d asked. She had strong feelings about the Sidhe, and he was about to find out why.
The changeling yowled, obviously recovered from his semi-comatose state. Jenna cursed and set him down. “Damn it! He scratched me.”
Duncan thought about saying something cheery, like welcome to the club, but bit back the words.
Colleen rolled her eyes. “He wants to talk. There’ll be no peace until he shifts.” She flicked magic toward the creature winding itself between her booted feet. The air shimmered and a rather large gnome took form.
He rocked toward Duncan with a bow-legged gait that made him look like a drunken sailor; his open mouth displayed squared off teeth. “I’ll tell you why she knows about you.” The changeling drew himself to his full height of about three-and-a-half feet. “She came to the Old Country looking for help during the last demon war. You Sidhe were too high and mighty to get your hands dirty, so she had to settle for me.”
Colleen snickered. “Not exactly the way I might have described it, but close enough. Hey, Bubba! Get some clothes on.”
“Later,” the changeling snapped without looking at her.
“Which of us did you approach?” Duncan made the question casual. Whoever turned Colleen down had broken the covenant binding magic-wielders to come to one another’s aid in times of need. He wondered if she knew.
“Of course I do.” She sneered. “Your thoughts are as transparent as a child’s. Even Bubba here,” she pointed to the changeling, “does a better job masking his feelings when he puts his mind to it.”
“Thanks.” The changeling glowered at her before transferring his attention back to Duncan.
“What kind of name is Bubba?” Duncan linked to the changeling, and was surprised by the complexity of his thoughts. Maybe the witches had been a good influence.
“You didn’t have to just push your way in.” The changeling screwed up his seamed face in disgust, but didn’t draw back. “My true name is Niall Eoghan.”
“Clothes,” Colleen reminded him.
Bubba made a face at her, turned, and walked behind one of the display cases. When he emerged, he wore wide-bottomed green trousers and a black shirt.
“Irish.” Puzzle pieces clicked into place and Duncan transferred his attention back to Colleen. “You never did tell me who you’d asked for help. It appears they not only turned you down, but chased you across the Irish Sea.”
“We left voluntarily,” Jenna said.
Colleen’s lips twisted in distaste. Whatever she remembered apparently didn’t sit well. “We spoke with two Sidhe at Inverlochy Castle outside Inverness. They refused to give us their names, but said they were princes over your people. They heard us out and sent us packing. Gave us twenty-four hours to leave Scottish soil.”
“I was all for staying,” Jenna chimed in. “After all, we had passports.”
“Was it just the two of you?” Duncan asked.
“Roz was with us,” Colleen said.
Understanding washed through him. “Three. You brought three to maximize your power.”
Colleen’s full mouth split into a chilly smile. “We were under attack by the Irichna. Would you have done any less?”
“Probably not. So after we, that is, the Sidhe—”
“We worked fine,” Bubba said flatly. “Unless you’ve decided to renounce your heritage.”
Duncan traded pointed looks with the changeling. “Speaking of magic, you’re stronger than any changeling I’ve ever come across.”
“That’s because you’re used to our feeble Scottish cousins. They were stronger before you stripped their magic and diverted it for your own purposes.”
“Enough.” Colleen snapped her fingers. “Or I’ll change you back into a cat. We don’t need a history lesson just now.” She shook her hair back over her shoulders. The movement strained her sweater tighter across her breasts. Duncan dragged his gaze elsewhere.
“About the Irichna—” he began.
“We can’t help you,” Colleen said flatly.
“Why not? We’d pay you well.”
“It’s not a matter of money, although I’m not sure you could afford us.”
“We have an, um, previous engagement,” Jenna offered.
“Whoever it is, we need you more than they do.” He looked from one witch to the other.
Colleen dropped her gaze and rubbed the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index fingers. When she looked up, the skin around her eyes was pinched with worry. “I’m not sure it’s a matter of who needs whom more.” She speared him with her pale blue gaze. “Do the Sidhe know why the demons are so much more active here of late?”
He debated how much to tell her. Given her ability to burrow inside his head, it was unlikely he’d be able to hide much. If he told her everything, though, it might piss her off. Hell’s bells, it annoyed the crap out of him. “Not exactly.”

Her nostrils flared. “You can do better than that. If you can’t, the door is behind you.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Talk now or leave now. It’s all the same to me.”