Addendum to the author's note: thanks again to everyone who's reviewed! Comments like those are why I write these things. Once again, any local lore you'd like to pass on and possibly see in future parts of this fic, feel free (thanks Kristy!). To be honest, I had to control myself on this story, to keep from going into too much detail on the various pieces of theater equipment, and the history of Macbeth itself (that's what I get for an education littered in lit and theater....), I hope I didn't lose anyone with what I did leave in. But on with the tale, eh? You knew I wouldn't leave you hanging like that....

Roads Less Traveled

by Casix Thistlebane

Story 4: the Scottish Play

Part Four

Navigating the theater catwalks in the dark was no easy task, even with Jane's hand on Xander's the whole way. First he managed to conk his head just coming up the ladder (followed by a very belated warning from the distracted Jane), and if it weren't for the glow in the dark tape and warnings posted on low lying pipes, Xander figured he'd probably have been knocked out three or four times. But they finally made it to the far ladder, and down to the now empty stage. Jane grabbed a flashlight from the backstage control station and swung the beam around the small area.

"What are we looking for?"

"Anything out of the ordinary." Xander followed the beam's path with his eyes. The area was littered with empty bottles, candy wrappers, and bits of costume, but nothing that screamed of the supernatural, or murder. He nearly wet himself when a hand landed on his shoulder.

Dawn was out of breath, and holding a flashlight of her own.

"The audience is out in the lobby, they all want to meet with the cast. I told them they have to change and everything, I don't think they suspect anything is up."

"Good job." Xander spotted the pool of blood center stage as Dawn's flashlight swung past it. He bent down to it, sniffing. Dawn joined him a moment later, while Jane hung back, looking like she might be ill again. Xander frowned. "Notice anything?"

"Like what?" Dawn aimed the flashlight directly at the pool. "It's blood, isn't it?"

"Doesn't smell like it." Dawn gave him a look, and Xander shrugged. "Not that I have the best sense of smell in any case, but you hang around vampires long enough, you start to pick up on things." He touched a finger to the pool, and raised it to his nose. Dawn raised an eyebrow, and Jane gagged as he put the finger in his mouth, and began spitting.

"Gyah!" Xander wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "That's disgusting! And very much NOT blood."

Jane, still holding back, cocked her head. "What does it taste like?"

"Soap?" Xander spat again. "And kinda sweet under that. Not," he gave a half-hearted smile. "That I know what soap tastes like."

"Stage blood then." Jane knelt down beside him. "Our recipe uses corn syrup and detergent. Makes it all glow-y in the black lights. Of course, I've heard real blood glows, too . . . ."

"So it was a fake head, then?" Dawn stood back up, pushing her headset off her ears.

"The blood was, at least." Xander turned back to Jane. "Let's go find the others, see what they have to say."

Jane nodded. She stuck her hand in her pocket, trying to still the shaking. "Um, do you mind if I join you in a minute? I really need a smoke."

"Those things will kill you." Dawn nodded importantly. Jane just stared at her. "Go, fill your lungs with yuck. See if I care."

Jane nodded, and moved, zombie like, toward the stage doors. Xander took one last look at the stage blood, and moved to follow. Suddenly Jane was back, her face somehow even paler in the light cast by the outside lamps, a cigarette hanging unlit from her lips. "Um, guys? I found something unusual."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Ew." Dawn tapped the body with her foot. "And yuck, too."

"That's definitely Martin." Jane pointed at a tribal looking tattoo on the headless body's left ankle. "Can I be sick again?"

Xander just stared down at the corpse. The neck ended in a neat stub, just above the shoulders. He expected to see arterial sprays on the wall, or at least some blood pooling around the neck, but the pavement beneath it was clean. He walked toward where the head should be, then noticed something odd. "It's breathing."

"What?" Jane lit her cigarette, calming slightly as she pulled the smoke into her lungs. "How the hell can it breathe without a head?"

Dawn shrugged. "I've read a severed head keeps living for another couple seconds after it was cut off. Maybe the body does, too?" She glanced down at her watch. "For an extra, ten minutes?"

Xander bent down. A series of chalked symbols lined the point at which the neck ended. "Someone's been casting spells."

"Okay," Jane puffed out smoke with every syllable. "Curses, I can handle. Insane actors? Par for the course. But there's no way someone was casting spells out here."

"You have another explanation for this?" Xander kicked lightly at Martin's chest, only to have its hand swat him away. He shrieked and jumped back.

"He was really healthy?"

The studio door, only ten feet or more away from where they were standing, opened. Nancy peeked her head out. Her eyes were wide. "Hey, Emma wants you guys in here." She swallowed. "Like, now."

Xander nodded, and gave Martin a wide berth as he passed. He could hear Emma well before he entered the studio theater.

"Now, Frank, I think you need to apologize to your fellow actors."

The cast and crew of Macbeth sat in a loose circle around Emma and Frank-Banquo, who still held the pale, bloodied head of Martin. Frank was looking penitent, and embarrassed.

"It wasn't my idea!" He shot a look up at Jane as she entered. "Martin said it'd be fun, like a practical joke!" Emma glared at him, and he went back to studying his boots. "Sorry,"

"Geez." Martin's eyes shot open, a scowl pulling itself across his face. Frank jumped and nearly dropped him. "Calm down, people! No one liked the cabbage sack!"

A few of the spear-carriers fainted. Jane huddled in the doorway, pulling frantically on her cigarette. Mike stepped over to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Xander and Dawn stepped up next to Emma.

"Found a spell, huh?" Xander looked the severed-Martin-head in the eye. "Pretty damned stupid if you ask me. Spells have this wacky tendency to go really, really wrong where you least expect them. You could have been killed."

"No way!" Martin glared back. "Who the hell are you, anyway? Some prospie, who got to help out a the last minute? We checked everything over. And I didn't die, did I?" Martin smirked. "Hell, I didn't even bleed."

"Which explains the stage blood," Jane murmured. Mike grabbed her cigarette, taking a drag of his own. The whole theater was on edge, with the possible exception of Xander, Dawn, and Emma. Dawn frowned.

"Who's 'we'?" She looked at Frank. "Did you help him?"

"No way!" This time, Frank did drop Martin, which elicited a yelp from the head, and startled shuffling from the cast. "My sister nearly went nuts casting spells. I don't do that stuff."

Dawn scanned the rest of the gathered students. Everyone was still staring, shocked, at the fallen Martin-head, except for three blond girls in the corner, who were staring either at their feet, the ceiling, or the wall. She smiled.

"Of course. The witches."

Naomi, the tallest witch, shot her head from her shoes. She looked quickly from Dawn, to Martin, to Emma. "You told us we should research our parts, right?" She went back to her toe gazing. "We found a witch, a real one. She gave us the spell, said it would be fun. That's why we were always late to rehearsal, we were studying it."

"In kayaks?" Angie was calming down. "Shite, you were out in the Dead Zone, weren't you?"

"What Dead Zone?" Emma cocked her head. "I want all the details, right now, or you three are failing basic acting."

Naomi and her friends winced. "Over by the skyway. There's all sorts of accidents out there. We'd heard the rumors, the Summit Venture, the Indian burial grounds . . . . I thought they were bunk, but then Martin and I were kayaking out there, and this woman appeared on the water . . . ."

"Great." Xander rubbed the bridge of his nose. "A ghost-witch. And I thought Sunnydale was bizarre."

"She gave us the spell, and it worked fine. Martin's fine–"

"I'm BRUISED," Martin lay on the floor on his face, his voice muffled.

"And we're all fine, and the audience loved it."

"You should have at least told me." Emma's fire was dying down. "All right people go get changed, find your family and friends. Naomi, you girls get Martin's head reattached." She sighed, closed her eyes for a moment. "Jane, I want a cigarette while you guys finish up." Her eyes opened. "Cast party is at my place as scheduled. I want all the information you can give me on the spell." Her eyes softened. "You guys did good tonight, all things considered. I'm proud of the way you all handled yourselves in the crisis. We've got class on Monday, so no overdoing it tonight." She clapped her hands, and the crew began to scatter. Frank skittered out of the studio as if his ass was on fire. Naomi hesitantly lifted Martin by the hair.

When most of the crowd had left, Emma turned to Xander and Dawn. "And thank you guys, again, for helping." She smiled. "Maybe I will make the move. St. Petersburg is beginning to look like something less than the paradise I first thought it was." She shrugged. "At least your lot is trained to handle this." She crossed her arms, hugging herself. "You want to join us at the cast party?"

"Will there be drinking?" Dawn bounced, then halted at Xander's look. "Of, juice. And soda and water. Because I don't drink booze." She glowered. "I'm too young."

"You're damn right you are." Xander hugged her across her shoulders. "'sides, I'll be needing you to drive tomorrow. Hung over Xander is a terrible thing behind the wheel."

"I hate you sometimes, do you know that?"

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

"Um," Naomi, holding Martin, was the only cast member left. "There's kind of a problem."

Martin was rolling his eyes. Emma tensed again.

"We don't have a re-attachment spell."

end part four