Chapter Text
Dear Diary,
I’m having so much fun here at the Théâtre des Vampires, I keep forgetting to write before bed! Here I am now, though. On my first day, I met a girl from America. Her name’s Claudia de Pointe du Lac and her French is surprisingly good for an American. I think even Papa would be impressed, and he usually always has something to say about accents.
Another thing: Claudia is from New York City! I’ve always wanted to go, but Papa hates America for no good reason. He’s always changing the subject when I try to ask him if we could go someday. But it doesn’t matter now. Soon enough, I’ll be eighteen and it won’t matter what he thinks. I’ll go to New York City and Los Angeles and Chicago, and anywhere else I want to!
Anyway, we have suites booked at the Palais Garnier for the entire month we’re here for camp. Claudia and I are sharing, of course, and it’s so nice having a roommate! I’ve wanted a sister since I can remember and it finally feels like I have one. We’ve stayed up every night so far after lights-out, making up wild stories about lonely vampires in Romania and talking about what our Spice Girl names would be (we decided Claudia would be Hungry Spice, ‘cause that girl can EAT, and I’d be French Spice. I know it’s a little unoriginal, but it was the best we could come up with.) When we have our Free Day in a couple of weeks, we’re planning on exploring every nook and cranny of Paris on our own. I’m so excited!!!!
Tomorrow, we’re going to find out what roles we’ve been assigned for the rest of the month. We had one-on-one meetings with Armand earlier today to talk about what our interests were, and he’ll be posting his final decisions in the morning. Claudia and I are both hoping we get to be on stage. I know we probably won’t get to play any of the important roles, but I don’t care. I just want to be up there and bask in the lights as one hundred people watch on, listening to my every word.
Papa says it’s the best feeling in the world, being on stage. I can tell he misses it sometimes. If I do get to be in the play, I’ll ask him to come watch.
Anyway, I gotta go now. We invited some of the others to come to our room after lights-out to play poker. I’m gonna use the trick Papa taught me and beat them all.
“Oh, I’m so terrible at cards. I don’t have the faintest idea what this means,” Rose sighs down at her hand, sticking out her bottom lip and casting a pitiful look around the circle. It’s a lie, of course. She’s looking down at a straight flush, ten high. The others twist their lips in sympathy, eating up the bluff right from her hand. Rose bites down hard on her tongue to ward off the smirk threatening to lift the corner of her mouth.
From across the loosely formed circle in the middle of their suite, Claudia meets her gaze with a face that reveals absolutely nothing about her own hand. Her warm eyes remain carefully blank, lips pursed consideringly. Rose can’t help but feel impressed even if she’s not the slightest bit surprised. But of course Claudia is an incredible poker player. She’s an incredible everything. It’s why they’ve become such fast friends.
One by one, the other players fold, to Rose’s utter glee. It’s down to her and Claudia now. She fights down a grin, shifting onto her knees as she pulls her lips to one side in a show of guileless contemplation.
“How about I make you a deal, Claudia?” Rose posits innocently.
Claudia raises an eyebrow. “And what would that be, Rose?”
“Loser has to hmm…prank call Maître Armand,” Rose says, revelling in the gasps that go around the circle.
Claudia, however, merely shrugs, her lips quirking up into a playful smirk. “Alright. You’ve got a deal.” She shifts up onto her knees and holds her free hand across the circle for Rose to shake.
Rose grasps it within her own, giving it a firm pump before letting go as she feels the beginnings of a heady thrill from the prospect of a challenge. Oh, this was gonna be so good.
Claudia lays down her hand, the cards fanned out against the Persian rug they’re sitting on. “Royal flush,” she says, drawing her hand back and raising her eyebrows at Rose. Your move.
Damn it. For some reason, she hadn’t thought Claudia would have a better hand than her, and she’d played right into it. Shaking her head with a disbelieving laugh, Rose places down her own cards. Another flurry of shocked gasps from their rapturous audience, but Rose feels strangely delighted about her loss.
“Pass me the phone,” she says, without missing a beat, to no one in particular, holding out an expectant hand. Someone drags the landline over, dialling Armand’s number before placing the phone in Rose’s waiting grasp. Claudia grins at her, scooting closer along with the others as everyone leans in to hear better.
“Hello?” Armand’s hoarse accented voice sounds over the line. One of the girls gasps loudly, receiving a chorus of shushes in response. She slaps a hand over her mouth, eyes widening apologetically at Rose.
Rose tosses a dismissive glare in her direction before clearing her throat and turning her attention back to Armand. She pauses for a second longer, holding out a hand for silence as she breathes loudly into the speaker for effect.
“Who is this?” Armand asks, his voice carrying a hint of irritation now.
“I know what you did, Armand,” Rose drawls in an exaggerated Italian accent. A burst of muffled giggles goes around the circle. Rose flaps her hand at them, demanding silence. “Did you really think you could hide forever?”
Resounding silence from Armand, before he clears his throat sharply. “I’m afraid you have the wrong number,” he says primly. Rose smirks, hearing the careful frown in his voice.
“Oh, but you won’t want to do that, dear boy,” she continues, lifting one hand to idly inspect her fingernails. “We know what you did. And you will pay for it."
“Is this some kind of joke? I don’t have time for this—”
“Don’t be too hasty, Armand,” Rose interrupts, crooning. “We’re watching you, boy. You will look out into the audience tomorrow night, and every night hereafter, and we will…be…watching.”
“Tell me who you are this instant, or I will call the police,” Armand threatens, his voice a near growl.
“You won’t,” she chirps. “We will see to that.” Then, she hangs up the phone. The room is silent for a second longer before it erupts, exhilarated laughter overlapping with recreations of Armand’s terse responses in fake posh French accents. Rose grins, casting a look at a giggling Claudia.
“You actually did it,” Claudia laughs, shaking her head in disbelief.
“Of course I did,” Rose replies with a shrug. “And I’d do it again.”
“No way,” Claudia says, her dark eyes shining mischievously. “Next time, it’s my turn.”
Rose holds her chin up high as Armand stares her and Claudia down from across his desk. They’re in his office, a run-down little room with glass windows for walls located smack in the middle of the theatre’s backstage area. Discarded scripts with notes in red pen scribbled in their margins are scattered on top of pretty much every surface except for Armand’s desk, which only has his computer set-up and a black mesh pen holder on top of it. No framed photos, stained coasters, or potted plants.
She also notices that his computer is the new Windows 98 model, the same one that her dad’s lawyer Christine has in her fancy La Défense skyrise office. Armand’s decrepit little office must be part of the faux starving artist facade, she reasons.
Armand leans back in his tall-backed leather office chair, hands folded over his chest as he stares down his nose at them both, one long finger tapping at the sharp ridge of a knuckle on his other hand.
When he’d stopped by morning roll-coll and requested that Rose and Claudia follow him to his office, she had a feeling what this might be about. Someone must’ve ratted them out. It doesn’t matter. If Armand thinks he can sweat them out, he is sorely mistaken.
“I received a call last night,” he begins after another minute of terse silence. Rose tilts her head to one side, widening her eyes innocently. “It awoke me, in fact, from a rather pleasant sleep that I had just fallen into.”
“Oh, gosh,” Rose exclaims, sticking out her bottom lip. “How awful, Maître.” She hears Claudia hastily cough to cover up her snort.
“It is, indeed,” Armand hums, his light brown eyes narrowing as they dart between Rose and Claudia then back. “Imagine my surprise then, when I discovered that the call was placed from none other than your suite at the Palais Garnier.”
“I’m not sure if we’re being accused of something in particular here, Maître, but that phone call could’ve been made by any one of our guests last night,” Claudia says smoothly, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back in her chair.
Rose shrugs, waving a hand nonchalantly. “And there were quite a few,” she adds, unintentionally finding herself mirroring Claudia’s pose in her own seat. “You’d have to interrogate pretty much every camper to be certain. Which I highly encourage you do, Maître. The rascal who disturbed your rest shouldn’t escape unscathed,” she finishes, affecting her voice with saccharine sweetness.
Claudia leans forward, cocking her head. “Are you really going to interrogate every camper over a prank call, Maître? Perhaps we could call the next one in on our way out.”
Armand’s jaw is clenched as he sits up in his chair, glaring at them both. Rose bites down hard on the inside of her lip before the smile can make its way onto her face. Armand finally settles the full force of his fiery gaze onto Claudia, peering down his sharp nose at her.
“I don’t think your father would be very happy to hear that the substantial sum he spent on this educational experience is being wasted on juvenile stunts, Claudia,” he muses.
Rose raises her eyebrows and leans forward in her seat, carefully folding her hands in her lap. “Oh, I’m sure both my father and Claudia’s will be delighted to hear that their daughters are being wrongfully accused of so-called juvenile stunts that they had no part in.”
Armand turns his dispassionate glare onto her, but Rose doesn’t flinch. She offers him her most pleasant smile, the one that has pharmacists handing her lollipops and older women at the grocery store asking if she needs help finding her mother even at Rose’s big age of seventeen.
After another minute of terse silence that no one gives into, Armand sighs, lips pursing in a barely-there sneer before he schools his features into his usual wide-eyed, apocalyptic stare.
“See that you steer clear of engaging in such childish endeavours during the rest of your time with us,” he says, gesturing toward the door. “And need I remind you that no guests are permitted within your suite after lights-out.”
Rose and Claudia stand as one, turning to leave without acknowledging this. She can practically hear him stewing behind them as they walk out of his office, somehow managing to hold in their laughter until they’ve made it outside the theatre. Claudia clutches the brick wall in the back alley of the theatre, nearly doubled over with laughter. Rose isn’t doing any better where she is against the opposite wall, tears streaming from her eyes as she giggles at the image of Armand’s displeased moue right before they’d walked out on him.
“His face—” Claudia gasps for breath, hands on her knees as she peers up at Rose. “That was the best thing I’ve ever seen.”
Rose snorts, wiping at the tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes. “Do you think he’ll really call our parents?” she asks, straightening to lean her back against the wall.
Claudia thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Maybe. Honestly, I couldn’t care less. My dad might be disappointed, but it’s not like we killed someone. It was just a prank call.”
Rose smiles, thinking of what her own father’s reaction might be. He’d probably be proud.
Armand doesn’t end up calling their fathers. But when they walk into the theatre the next morning to join the crowd of campers gathered around the piece of paper tacked up to the bulletin board listing their roles for the next few weeks, they realize their names aren’t on there. Rose shares a look with Claudia, immediately catching on.
They find themselves back in Armand’s office less than twenty-four hours after they had left it the first time. Rose is already sick of this place.
“Hello, girls,” Armand says with a smile that’s overly pleasant for him. Rose doesn’t think he’s ever done anything pleasantly in his entire life. Her suspicions flare tenfold. “Did you get a chance to take a look at the list this morning?” He uncrosses his legs, planting his elbows on top of his desk as he looks up at them. “I’ll admit, it was particularly difficult assigning roles this year. You’ve joined such a talented cohort.”
“We aren’t on the list,” Claudia says, getting straight to the point.
Armand hums, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “Well, after giving it much thought, I decided that your talents would be much suited elsewhere.”
“And where would that be, Maître?” Rose presses, drawing out the last word as she crosses her arms over her chest.
Armand smiles up at them sharply, his unnaturally light eyes glinting. “Here at the Théâtre, we pride ourselves on stretching artistic boundaries. Challenging ourselves to play roles that we’ve never before undertaken,” he explains with a flourish. He fixes his gaze on them, every inch of his angled face saturated with a smugness that Rose can practically feel, even standing at least five feet away.
“Since you two seem to be so fond of leading, I’ve assigned you to play the part of assistants to our lovely stagehands for the duration of your time with us,” he finishes, holding his arms out like he’s just handed them the deed for the Théâtre itself.
Rose grinds down on her teeth until her jaw begins to ache. “So what, we’ll be working backstage?”
Armand’s smirk grows. “Oh, well that’s up to our crew. You will be tasked with anything they require of you. Putting away costumes, sweeping down the stage after a show, taking inventory of props,” he trails off, shrugging. “You’ll get a real sense of how our Théâtre works. Challenge your own perceptions of yourselves.”
It’s a load of pure bullshit, and they all know it. But Rose won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s won. Because he hasn’t, really. He just doesn’t know that yet.
“Alright,” Claudia says with a curt nod. “We’re grateful for your consideration of our success here,” she says, her voice betraying nothing except a neutral placidity. “If you’ll excuse us now, Maître. I’d like to get a start on meeting with the crew.”
Armand continues to study her for a moment longer, his eyes slightly narrowed. Then he gives them a brief nod, gesturing toward the door to their right.
Claudia strides out of his office first, not stopping when they reach the auditorium where they can hear the others already starting to help out with rehearsals for tonight’s show. Rose lengthens her own strides until she’s keeping pace with Claudia, following her into the grand foyer and through the doors of the theatre into the busy street.
She squints against the sun, momentarily blinded. When she manages to blink the spots out of her vision, she realizes Claudia has disappeared from her side. Rose whips her head around, wondering if she’s gone back inside without her noticing. But then she sees her, leaning against the wall a few feet away, between the posters advertising the Théâtre’s shows for the week. Rose makes her way over, her eyebrows rising with mild surprise when she sees Claudia pull out a pack of cigarettes from the back pocket of her jeans.
“Want one?” Claudia asks when she’s made it to her side, offering her a cigarette. Rose plucks one out of the diminished row, holding it still for Claudia as she lights it. She leans against the narrow sliver of the wall beside Claudia, who shifts over so she has more room.
“So what’s the plan? Are we gonna kill him?” Rose asks, blowing out a plume of smoke as she props one leg up on the wall behind her. It startles a laugh out of Claudia as she takes a deep pull from her cigarette. Rose looks at her. “I’m not kidding.”
“I was thinking arson,” Claudia muses, shielding her eyes from the sunlight with her hand. “I feel like my dad wouldn’t be very happy with me killing his boyfriend, but frankly, his taste in men is awful.”
Rose hums in agreement. “Are you going to tell him about this?”
“Nah,” Claudia shakes her head. “I have an even better idea.” She says, shooting Claudia a grin.
“Oh? Do tell,” Rose returns with a grin of her own. Claudia shakes her head, pushing away from the wall and tossing what’s left of her cigarette onto the ground, putting it out with the toe of her boot. She grabs Rose’s hand and pulls her along as she heads for the theatre's entrance. Rose has to hastily stomp out her own cigarette when Claudia lets go of her for a moment to open the ornate door and gestures for her to enter with a flourish.
“It’ll be easier if I show you,” she says, a sly smile creeping over her lips.
Rose grins back at her. She can’t wait.