Something about being the protagonist in a mystery play tends to compel the detective to write lengthy first person case files, often with diversions into minutia of urban fantasyland culture that would, in a hidden society, get them killed for blabbing too many secrets. Presumably, the books are being written for someone already in the know, in those cases, but that just asks the question, then, of why tell them things they already know.

(Given how often these case files involve diversions into just how much sex the detective is having, there is a strong suspicion that the compulsion serves as a way to brag, in a “Dear Reader, I can’t believe it happened to me, but” fashion. The over-explained side details are thus present as an odd attempt to establish the speaker’s bona fides.)

--Quote from an internally circulated employee email at Mystery Play LLC, presumably not for public consumption.

The meeting was being held at a random conference room in a building not far from the office. Lorraine escorted me there to be sure that our killer wasn’t observing and thus getting a shot at learning I wasn’t his already dead target. This meant another duel with the car over control over the radio, which was a little much when I hadn’t even had coffee yet.

Fortunately, there was some waiting for us in the conference room, as everyone filed in. Lawson, Moira, Lorraine, Simone, Charlie, and Jackie Engerstall, who was playing Spider Bonaparte- I’d done a few rehearsals with them back when I was playing the part Simone had now. The boss wasn’t physically present, of course, he never is. When you’re a famous Mystery Play director you get to be eccentric.

As everyone was staring at me, still in my glamour as the client, Lawson set up an intercom at the head of the conference room table.

The bosses voice crackled. “Say the line, Ray.”

I sighed, as Moira mouthed “Ray?” with a confused expression, and Simone got that look of “I wanna fight him” she always does at the sound of my name.

I spoke. “I suppose you’re all wondering why I’ve gathered you here”, and the glamour dissolved, revealing me in all my...well, you can’t really call it glory with a trollblood. Just big as life and as twice as ugly.

It had an impact. Simone immediately tried to punch me, Lorraine intercepted her by pinning her arm behind her back, and Moira looked like she’d been punched in the gut, then turned bright red, from the ears on down, and covered her face with her hands. Jackie passed Charlie twenty bucks. I looked at them. Charlie shrugged. “I figured it was you after our scene, Jackie said I was crazy, I bet them twenty bucks.”

I rolled my eyes at that, then focused on the other end of the table. “I’m sorry for any harm or upset this deception caused. There’s a reason for it. Boss?”

Boss took over at that point, the speaker crackling again. “Everyone, sit down, please. That includes you, Simone. Our customer, Mr. Louis Carrefour was assassinated shortly after the start of the play. His assailant is still at large, though we are making every effort to catch him. As it happens, one of those efforts involved Doyle here. We had him play the part of Derek Criss to lead the killer to believe that Mr. Carrefour had survived his attack and keep him around. We can’t have the Carrefour family finding out about this. They’re old magic, and you know how they’d react to one of their golden boys dying on our watch with no one else to punish.”

Everyone nodded. Moira even took her hands away from her face to nod her agreement, though she still didn’t look at me. Couldn’t exactly blame her. The job’s acting, sure, but it was her first time playing the vamp part, and she wound up hitting on a co-worker instead of the guy she’d prepared herself for.

The boss continued. “In that we’ve been successful; there’ve been two attempts on Ray’s life, and though we’ve been doing rewrites to work them into the story, it’s obviously starting to put the rest of you in danger, and Ray convinced me that you all needed to be let into the loop. If anyone wants to back out now, or is uncomfortable continuing with their current part with this revelation, let me know. You’ll still receive full pay, with a bonus for danger faced until now.”

He continued. “If you decide to stick around, we’re going to keep the play going to keep the assassin’s attention, so we’ve got someone we can hand over to the Carrefours as a distraction. Ray will keep playing the lead, because frankly, he’ll survive better than anyone else in the part. As soon as we catch the killer, we’ll end the play, and everyone will still get full pay as if we’d had a full run. So. Anyone leaving?”

Not a single one raised their hands. Not even hesitate and then take it back down.

Simone spoke first. “Like I’d give up a chance to fight Ray, even if he will be wearing a fake face.” She whispered something to Moira, who kicked her under the table, then asked,

“So um, if the play goes on as planned, and things...happen, is the Mara going to visit Ray? Like will he get knocked out and have a dream crafted? I mean, not that...I just want to know because it seems like that could put him in danger.”

“I’ll inform the Mara not to do that for the comfort of everyone concerned. We’ll just fade to black during the streams if that happens- treat it a bit like a traditional love scene.”

Moira looked relieved, and to be honest, I was too. Getting a hand-crafted sex dream about a co-worker wasn’t my idea of a good time.

“Any other questions? We should break, get Ray re-glamoured, and everyone prepare for the funeral scene.”

Jackie spread their hands. “At last, my on-camera debut.” Jackie at least, wouldn’t need a glamour as a costume; they were a skinchanger, and rarely wore the same face twice in a row to begin with. They were still wearing their regular casual look- loose-fitting clothes and a theater mask face, which meant I still hadn’t seen how they’d look for the part of Spider...which probably meant it was going to be a surprise. They offered Simone an arm, and headed off to costuming to get ready. Moira glanced at me, then followed after them a moment later, hurrying away. That read like it was going to be a problem, but it might not be mine to solve.

“How many extras are attending? He seems to be waiting to attack until I’m mostly alone, but I wouldn’t put it past the guy to come shank me from the crowd if he can manage it, unless Lawson’s right and he thinks I’m the actual victim back from the dead as some sort of revenant.”

“Around 10”, answered the boss. “Not counting our crewmembers who are playing the house staff who’ll also be there.”

“Okay, good enough.” I presented myself to Lawson, who reapplied the Criss Glamour, now with a black suit to be appropriately funereal. Lorraine wasn’t attending the funeral as Friday, but would be there incognito in case the killer showed, and she headed out the door after the others.

Charlie noted, “We’ve got an info scene on the schedule after the funeral, assuming you live through it.” and waved on his way out.

As the saying goes, the show must go on.

The local church in this particular Wainscotting neighborhood was the Church of the Wicker savior, a pagan group that had adopted superficial christian trappings- it used a wicker man tied to a burning stake instead of a crucifix and there was a whole lot of speechifying about making the seasons change and ensuring a good harvest. A bit odd for a mostly urban pocket universe, but not the oddest I’d ever come across. I was acting as Moira’s escort as requested- her hair was done up in a tight bun, topped with a small black hat and a mesh veil over her face, all the proper image of a grieving widow. I led her to the front row of pews, waited for her to take a seat, and then sat down myself while keeping an eye on the crowd.

The house staff players were all there, sitting towards the back. Simone was sitting two rows back with someone I assumed was Jackie, currently presenting as a slim, dark skinned man in a suit with a silk tie with a spider tie-pin.. Sitting next to them was a portly grey-haired character player whose name I couldn’t recall, though his skin looked weirdly pale and smooth,, as though someone had taken a much older man and had him reupholstered using babies as their source material. I leaned over to Moira. “Who’s that?”

She looked, casually. “Oh, it’s one of Hugo’s business associates. I think his name is Lukas something. Lukas Martin? We’ve met socially, but that’s about it. Why?”

“Looks like a man who might have shed his skin recently, is all.”

There were others- Charlie lurking around in the back, but it added up to the ten or so extras that the boss had predicted. I still had an itch between my shoulder blades that I couldn't quite escape when the priestess came out and started giving the speech about life and renewal through the cleansing purity of flame. It was a nice sentiment- the plan for afterwards was for the procession to go the graveyard- the same one that the Grim I’d spotted earlier had been from, if I remember the address correctly.

After the priestess finished her sermon, it was time for the Eulogy. To my surprise, it wasn’t the business associate or Moira- Jackie as Spider Napoleon, stood, straightening his lapels, and walked to the front.

“I know it’d surprise a lot of you here, but I considered Hugo Delacourt a friend. Sure, we almost never met in person. Sure, sometimes his business interests and my business interests competed. And sure, there was that time he threatened to set the dogs on me if I showed up on his property again, but that’s just how Hugo was, you know? Much better at keeping distance in a relationship.”

He looked at Moira, then, who shifted in her seat, then continued. “Still one of my favorite people, and it’s a damned shame he passed on so young.” He stepped back to the casket and reached inside. There was a light slapping sound, like he was patting the man on the cheek. “Here’s looking at you, Hugo. See you on the other side, buddy.” Spider strutted down from the dais and resumed his seat. The priestess asked, “Would anyone else like to say something? Mrs. Delacourt?”

I stood up and exited the aisle, allowing Moira to pass. She ran her hands down her sides to straighten her dress, took a breath, and headed up to speak. I sat back down.

Moira took her place, and started talking. “The first time I saw Hugo, I thought to myself, “That’s him. That’s the man I’m going to marry.” She smiled. “Of course, that’s because I first saw him at 18, when my father introduced us and said “Laura, dear, this is Hugo Delacourt, you’re going to marry him.” This drew a few nervous chuckles. “Hugo didn’t have to be kind to me, but he was. He took perfect care of me, and he really wanted to have children. He tried so hard. I wish I could have given him the children he wanted.” She looked down then, for a long beat. “And maybe I will, still. Hugo left behind...donations, to our fertility clinic. If I ever feel ready to have a son or daughter, it’ll be his. And a little piece of Hugo will live on. That’s...all I have to say.” She started tearing up again, and left the dais. I stood to let her sit, and handed her a handkerchief.

Then it was Lukas maybe-Martin’s turn. The fat man with way too young skin had a weird bounce in his step when he took the dais. “Hugo Delacourt made me the man I am today.” He spread his arms and smiled. “Most of this weight I earned in business lunches, after all.” Another nervous laugh from the crowd. “We were both young and hungry when we started out Exeter Finance- I was obviously a bit more hungry than he was-” he patted his gut and laughed at his own joke. “But Hugo had ambition to be more than just a financial wizard.” Which he was literally- the backstory setting for Hugo Delacort stated he was a numerologist who did magic with money and math before he died. “And then when he decided to found his own firm, he dragged me along, and the rest is history. It’s a tragedy that his life was cut short so young, but I’ll carry on with the company in his name, and make sure the future is secure for his wife and the child she may have for him one day.” He stepped down and bounce-walked back to his seat.

After that, it was time for the procession. Most of the extras left- I wound up in the back seat of a limo with Moira- I noticed the driver was Lorraine, chauffeur’s cap and a braided hairdo concealing the pointed ears. Presumably to play bodyguard in case the assassin attacked while we were more isolated.

I asked her, “So that Lukas guy- you really didn’t know him very well, but he talked like he was your husband’s business partner.”

Moira shook her head. “Hugo was very private, and...a bit jealous, at least when it came to men. I didn’t really meet any of his business friends. I didn’t even know Bastienne was in business with him, we were just old friends from my finishing school.”

That matched up with what Charlie had said about how much she was involved in his business. By then, we were almost to the cemetery, so we both fell quiet.

The graveyard was in the bad part of town, the same one I’d seen the Church grim at earlier. Apparently, it was where Delacourt had grown up, and most of the rest of the family were buried there. Interesting he hadn’t turned any of his money into improving the old neighborhood.

Since the Delacourts officially followed the church of the wicker savior, he wasn’t to be buried. Instead, he was being given a viking send-off- laid in a boat loaded with combustibles and kindling and set ablaze, which was then floated to the middle of the large pond/small lake on the cemetery grounds. I wouldn’t want to be the local sexton who had to clean up after that sort of thing, but apparently it was a reasonably popular service.

Moira, as his wife, set the boat alight by touching off the rope tying it to shore. Once the rope burned through and the kindling caught fire, it drifted to the middle of the lake, where we all watched it solemnly when it started to settle lower in the water, and finally slipped beneath the waves, still burning.

It seemed a bit suspicious that right after that, it started raining. I suspected the boss had a hand in it, just to try and set the mood a bit. Since as it turned out, no one had brought an umbrella, everyone scattered back to their cars after the priestess gave the final benediction and wished for a good harvest.

Moira slept on my shoulder in the back seat of the Limo on the way back to her house. She was still asleep when I picked her up in a bridal hold to keep her from waking up...and handed her over to Chauncey at the front door. “Let her get her rest. I’ve got to meet with a contact about the investigation.”

Chauncey nodded, taking her inside, and I went to pick up the borrowed car. It didn’t blow up this time either.