The chairs had been formed into curved rows facing the windows, which had been draped in familiar-looking silver and rose cloth. It took Scarlett a moment to work out the fact that what she was looking at was the bedding from the Empire Suite.

All of the normal overhead lights were off, except for the crystal chandler, which had been draped as well, to dim it. Her purple window sheers were much easier to recognize. The effect was amazing. They hung all the way to the tops of the surrounding chairs, suspended like a regal ghost. Some clip-on lights had been attached at strategic points to chairs, poles, curtains, and wall sconces. At least three dozen unprotected candles were placed around in the room in a blatant violation of the fire code. The smell of candles, extinguished matches, and the sweet stickiness of the champagne filled the air.

Outside, there was a flash and a loud crack of lightning, as if nature itself was getting in on the act. Rain pounded the window.

And then it began—the stylish Hamlet, old-movie style. There were the guards walking the perimeter, waiting for the ghost of the dead king. There was Hamlet, the angry college student home for his father’s funeral and his mother’s wedding, storming through the room in the suit that Scarlett had helped make. As all the adults conspired against him, he flirted with and tormented his girlfriend, Ophelia. His ridiculous friends on the unicycles came riding in, adding both comedy and a weird touch of menace. Spencer and Eric both spoke their lines well.

Scarlett began to lose track of time. She forgot that her parents were out on Chip’s boat. It was Demark inside…a strange, gleaming Denmark, full of murder and conspiracy. She was startled when the lights went out, and a cast member with one of those movie clapper-things came out and announced a “cut.” The audience broke into applause, and the doors were opened. Intermission was underway.

“For the love of God, keep them drinking,” Mrs. Amberson said quietly. Her voice was happy, though.

Scarlett slipped out of the crowd and into the kitchen, where she found Eric and Spencer collapsed on the floor, drinking some water.

“How’s it going?” she asked, trying not to look at Eric, or even really direct the question toward him. His presence was making her too crazy and queasy. “You scared me with that door trick.”

“Yeah,” Spencer said. “I just thought of that on the spot. I’m kind of glad it worked. Otherwise, I guess I’d be in the hospital or something. How do they seem?”

From the lobby, Scarlett could hear Mrs. Amberson’s low, smoky voice.

“Well,” she was saying. “They didn’t actually use it in the show. But I’ll tell you what it was later. It’s not really for mixed company…”

“Happy,” Scarlett said. “Entertained. I think Mrs. Amberson is telling her Chorus Line story for the five hundredth time.”

“We should go back,” Eric said, getting up. “Do some more party tricks.”