The Backstagers and the Final Blackout Read online

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES, AND INCIDENTS ARE EITHER THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR USED FICTITIOUSLY, AND ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, BUSINESS ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALES IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.

  CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA HAS BEEN APPLIED FOR AND MAY BE OBTAINED FROM THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.

  ISBN 978-1-4197-3865-4

  eISBN 978-1-68335-637-0

  TEXT AND ILLUSTRATIONS COPYRIGHT © 2019 BOOM! STUDIOS

  BOOK DESIGN BY CHAD W. BECKERMAN

  THE BACKSTAGERS CREATED BY RIAN SYGH & JAMES TYNION IV.

  THE BACKSTAGERS AND © RIAN SYGH & JAMES TYNION IV.

  PUBLISHED IN 2019 BY AMULET BOOKS, AN IMPRINT OF ABRAMS. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO PORTION OF THIS BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED, STORED IN A RETRIEVAL SYSTEM, OR TRANSMITTED IN ANY FORM OR BY ANY MEANS, MECHANICAL, ELECTRONIC, PHOTOCOPYING, RECORDING, OR OTHERWISE, WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THE PUBLISHER.

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  FOR THE COMMUNITY THAT KEEPS ME LOVING THEATER, EVEN WHEN IT DOESN’T FEEL LIKE IT LOVES ME BACK. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

  PROLOGUE

  When you go to the bookstore or the library, find the Drama section (if they still have one anymore), and pull a title off the shelf, you may think you’re holding a play. That’s understandable. The title on the front cover is the same title as a famous play. The playwright listed below is also the writer of that famous play. It may even have pictures from one of the play’s productions on the cover or printed inside. It contains all of the dialogue, characters, and action of the play. But still, it isn’t a play.

  Nonsense, you say, but think about it: The bound paper you hold in your hands is merely instructions on how to perform the play, like a recipe or a user manual. Or maybe a book of spells is more like it. For, much like a book of spells, the words certainly contain magic, but not as they lay there, lifeless, on the printed page. For the magic to take place, you must assemble the necessary materials, prepare the space, dim the lights, and speak those words aloud with great feeling and intention. Only then do you really have a play, and only then do you begin to access the real magic that lies hidden deep within the ancient art we call theater. It is as old as anything we know in this world and is discovered and rediscovered, again and again, by each new generation as they pick up one of those books of spells, take it to a bare stage, and begin to manifest the play into reality.

  There was a time though, very very long ago, when that magic wasn’t hidden behind velvet curtains and masks of tragedy, when it was newly dreamed up, as most magical things are, by a young and curious mind.

  The boy’s breath burned in his chest as he ran across the grassy lawn, away from the jagged black cliff, toward the white clay house where his mother was hanging linen out to dry in the perfect spring sunshine.

  He shouted, “Mother, mother! Come quickly! I have to show you!”

  The boy’s mother looked up from her work, smiling at her son, so easily delighted. What would it be this time? A particularly colorful beetle? Maybe a bird’s nest hanging in an olive tree? Her smile faded ever so slightly when she noticed for the first time how quickly he was growing. But she was warmed by the knowledge that as long as he still came bounding up to her, eyes glinting with excitement to share some beautiful thing with her, he’d still be her little boy.

  “My darling, can it wait? I’m almost finished with the washing.”

  “I worked so hard! And I’m finally done!” He wasn’t so much whining as he was singing with excitement.

  “Well, if your work is done, then, my goodness, I’m sure mine can wait,” she said, chuckling.

  The boy beamed just the way the sun rose over the sea below their little cliffside home. He took his mother’s hand and practically swept her off her feet as he charged back toward the cliff.

  “Careful, my son, the rocks! You don’t want to send us both tumbling down toward Poseidon!” She laughed, though the cliff did hang a serious distance above the churning, frothy sea.

  “I’m not afraid of that old barnacle,” the boy roared into the salty air. “He’s going to be afraid of me, now!”

  “Let’s not boast, dear,” she said, before mouthing a silent apology toward the dark water on the horizon.

  The boy led his mother, not as carefully as she’d like, down some stairs that wrapped along the side of the cliff, and soon they reached a landing. Mercifully, the mother thought.

  Where the flat landing met the steep side of the cliff, there was a shallow rectangular outcropping that housed the mouth of a cave. The mother didn’t love that her son had chosen this precarious spot as his secret hideout, but then, she was looking to hide him from the world as long as she could and a cave like this seemed as good a hiding spot as any.

  “Wait HERE!” he commanded, darting into the cave, leaving her a blessed moment of quiet to catch her breath. He will be very hard to keep up with in a few years, she thought.

  The boy emerged from the cave at a fraction of the speed with which he’d entered it, because now his arms were overflowing with strange objects. His mother’s brow furrowed a bit as she watched him lay out each item before him with a care she had never seen from her usually careless or carefree son.

  “I’ve been working on them for weeks,” he said. “I didn’t want to show you until they were finished. And now they are FINISHED!” He waved his hand toward the array, inviting her to take a look.

  His mother didn’t quite know what she was looking at, even though her eyes were pointing in the right direction. A rod of metal with a glass ball at the tip. A piece of oblong stone with some symbols carved into the sides. A brick of wood with a groove cut into its center. A leather belt. A wooden box. And two curious scrolls.

  Her confused eyes met his expectant ones. She didn’t know what to say.

  “They’re . . . they’re beautiful! I love that you are being creative. Maybe you can bring some of that energy to the kitchen; I think it’s time for lunch!”

  She turned to head back up the steep stairs when the boy cried, “But you have to see what they DO!”

  “Maybe after lunch, my dar—”

  And suddenly the boy’s mother couldn’t speak, because the sun had fallen out of the sky and their perfect spring afternoon was now a moonless night.

  She turned back to the boy, terrified. He held the wooden block, his finger at the very bottom of the groove cut down its center.

  “Don’t be scared!” he said. “We have this!”

  He put down the wooden block and picked up the metal rod. As he held it aloft, the glass ball at its end illuminated brilliantly, casting a perfect sphere of white light around them.

  “Nothing can hurt us while we’re in here. Um, hold it, please.” He thrust the strange glowing object into his mother’s trembling hand and picked up the oblong stone.

  “Now, this one is—” He brought it up to his lips and touched one of the symbols carved upon it. “ONE OF MY FAVORITES.” His voice bellowed, impossibly loud, throughout the countryside.

  “Dionysus, that’s ENOUGH!” his mother screamed, dropping the glowing rod as if it were flaming hot. The boy’s eyes grew wide and he picked up the wooden block again. With a swi
pe of his finger, from the bottom of its groove to the middle, the sun returned to its rightful place in the sky. The birds began to chirp, and everything was right again. Except for his mother, who stood paralyzed with terror.

  A gentle roll of thunder snapped her out of the stupor. She turned toward the sound and saw a small gathering of storm clouds a few miles out above the sea. They seemed to creep toward the cliffside, closer every moment.

  The mother dropped to her knees to look her son in the eye and said, “Listen to me, Dionysus. You need to hide these things, now.”

  “But you haven’t even seen what all of them can do!”

  “And I don’t want to! This power you have harnessed—it’s far too much for someone your age. And a demigod, no less.”

  Dionysus didn’t like that term one bit. He looked at her defiantly and said, “It’s my power. I made these objects. Why can’t I use them?”

  “Because your father is very jealous!” she whispered, looking over her shoulder to the encroaching storm. “If he thinks a half-mortal son of his has surpassed his power, there’s no telling what he might do.”

  Dionysus looked toward the dark clouds himself and nodded, his shoulders slumped.

  “But,” his mother offered, “I didn’t say you can’t use it, I said you must hide it. We just have to be very clever.”

  “What do you mean?” Dionysus asked.

  “Well, we can keep these things deep in the cave there. No one ever goes inside except for you, right? Not even Zeus will know. We’ll build a door to the cave and inside, you’ll be safe to let your powers free.”

  “But then no one will see them but me,” he said, dejected.

  “And me, silly! Think of all the wonderful things you’ll be able to show me, when you get really good with these powers. You can put on wonderful shows for me whenever you want.”

  He thought for a moment, then asked, “What if I can figure out a way to keep the magic hidden and still put on shows for everyone? So that they experience my magic but never know how I’m doing it?”

  “That would be very powerful magic indeed,” his mother said. “Now quick, get into the cave. There is a storm coming.”

  Together, they gathered up Dionysus’s magical objects and took cover deep inside his secret cave as thunder boomed and clapped in the distance.

  CHAPTER 1

  Boom.

  CLAP.

  Boom.

  CLAP.

  It was almost like magic the way some colored lights, hanging streamers, and thumping music could turn the St. Genesius auditorium from a banal, beige chamber of athletic horrors to a candy-colored wonderland. But it was more like a curse the way suits, dresses, and the expectation of dancing in front of their crushes could turn the generally confident students of St. Genesius and Penitent Angels into sweaty, insecure messes.

  Beneath a huge banner reading SPRING DANCE AT THE GYM hundreds of teenagers attempted to move and shake themselves in a way that might be interpreted as human dancing. They looked as comfortable piloting their own bodies as they might be piloting alien spacecrafts. Luckily the lights were very low.

  That was by the design of Beckett and Sasha, who surveyed the wiggling crowd from the safety of the refreshments table.

  “Look at them,” Beckett said to Sasha, as he ladled some punch into a red plastic cup. “Some of these budding romances might actually survive tonight, thanks to us!” His neon blue tux, neon green hair, and neon purple plugs flashed especially bright in the pulsating light. Being able to create an atmosphere specifically to enhance your look is an advantage the other guys at Genesius would have killed for in this moment.

  “You think Coach Barry will pass us in gym now?” Sasha’s already anime-sized eyes swelled to planetary proportions.

  “That was the deal, my man. And we did good!” Beckett raised his hand for a high five and Sasha had to leap up to meet it, nearly tearing the seams of his tiny black tux.

  “Where are the rest of the guys?” Sasha asked, readjusting his floppy blond curls.

  “They’re easy to spot,” Beckett replied with a smirk. “Look for the only guys actually having a good time.”

  Sasha scanned the crowd and discovered that was very true, for among the hoard of stiff and stammering students trying desperately to look cool, there was one group of kids, way off in the corner, who didn’t care about looking cool at all.

  Jory, feeling fresh with an immaculate fade and a burgundy suit he’d designed himself, strutted around the dance floor like a disco king while his boyfriend, Hunter, opting for comfort in a tux-print T-shirt and vintage black blazer, howled with laughter. Hunter erupted in applause when Jory ended his dance with a dramatic pose, pointing at Aziz, cueing him to take the space for a dance solo of his own.

  Aziz was characteristically conservative in an all-black ensemble, but when it was time to get down, he was anything but buttoned-up as he nailed a perfect Running Man before dropping into a split (which absolutely no one knew he could do) and passing the floor to Reo.

  Reo shut his eyes and let the music surge through his body as if it were possessing him before he started spinning around the floor, his dark velvet robes and skirt swirling around him like incense smoke. The group whooped and cheered until Reo turned on his heel and took a bow.

  “I hope that was a spell to cleanse the space of awkward,” Beckett hollered over the music as he and Sasha joined their friends.

  “If only I were that powerful,” Reo said. “Sasha, I give you the floor.”

  With a dramatic sweep of his hand, Reo welcomed Sasha into the center of the circle. Without missing a beat, Sasha hit the floor and began wiggling his little body like an electrified worm as his fellow Backstagers roared. The electric worm squirmed to a dramatic death before he pointed to Beckett, who rolled his eyes.

  “Come on, Beck!” Sasha said. “You’re not scared to look dumb, are you?”

  “Of course not,” Beckett said. “Why would I be—”

  Suddenly Beckett’s face turned a neon red to match his neon suit and hair, because he locked eyes with Bailey Brentwood, the Coolest Girl in the World (and his all-but-official girlfriend), as she approached arm in arm with her best friend, Adrienne. They were both stunning: Bailey in a yellow dress, short and lightweight for maximum dance-floor mobility, and Adrienne in a sparkly rose-gold romper that matched her rose-gold hair and rosy cheeks perfectly.

  “Crap, I ruined it!” Bailey moaned. “I thought I was finally gonna see Beckett dance!”

  “Yeah, close call,” Beckett muttered as he looked to the floor.

  Bailey snorted as she threw her arm around Beckett affectionately.

  “You look amazing!” Aziz said to Adrienne. She smiled and pointed up toward the thumping speakers.

  “ASL, please!” she signed. Aziz chuckled and put his face in his hands—duh! Normally Adrienne was comfortable lip-reading with her hearing aids in, but against the music, Aziz should have known signing would be better. Luckily, now that they were an official couple, Aziz was getting more fluent every day. He repeated himself in ASL and she blushed and took a turn, modeling her sparkles.

  The rhythmic pop song gave way to something slow and romantic, and you could feel the temperature in the room rise as hundreds of teenagers all panicked in unison.

  “I think it’s time to make our escape,” Aziz said and signed.

  “Why?” Adrienne signed.

  “The music,” he replied. “Slow. Sappy.” He threw out every cheesy romantic sign he could remember, his face contorted in a silly pucker, and Adrienne laughed.

  “Backstagers, that’s our cue!” Hunter announced to the group. “To the Club Room!”

  Very happily, the crew followed Hunter toward the exit of the gym. Bailey, however, grabbed Beckett’s shoulder.

  “Wait,” she said. “Now, I know you’re not the most . . . graceful, but I think you can handle a slow dance, right? I mean it’s literally just swaying.”

  “In theory . .
.” Beckett said, his palms sweating.

  “Let me handle this,” she said as she took his hand and began to sway to the beat. “You okay so far?”

  “I am very, very okay,” he said, as his blushing cheeks returned to their normal color and the tension in his shoulders began to relax. He’d wanted to be exactly in this moment ever since he’d met Bailey when he was a student at Penitent Angels, and now, miraculously, here they were.

  Jory and Hunter were hand in hand and almost out the gym doors when they looked back and saw Beckett and Bailey beginning to sway to the music. Jory looked at Hunter like a proud parent and they left the dancing couple to their romantic moment.

  After a few moments, Beckett allowed his body to give way to the music, and soon he and Bailey moved in sync beneath a glittering disco ball, which cast a galaxy of white lights around them.

  “It’s been such a crazy year, hasn’t it?” Bailey asked.

  “Bonkers,” Beckett said.

  Together, they’d conquered four musicals built from the ground up, school work, crises small and large in their friend groups, and (most impressively) their own nerves and anxiety as they finally opened up to each other about their romantic feelings. Then there was all the world-saving that had kept Beckett busy as he escaped a magical limbo, battled an ultra-powerful ghost, and foiled the evil plans of a nefarious organization, all unbeknownst to Bailey.

  “But I’m feeling pretty great about where things have ended up,” Bailey said, dropping her eyes.

  “Yeah,” Beckett said with a nervous chuckle. “It feels most definitely worth it.”

  Bailey looked up again into Beckett’s eyes, but her expression had changed ever so subtly. Her usual Bailey Brentwood twinkle had been replaced with something deeper and more serious. Beckett realized that it was his first time ever seeing her nervous. She shut her eyes and leaned toward him. It took Beckett a moment to even realize that he was about to have his first kiss.

  Beckett’s mind was usually so crowded with thoughts about electrical grids, sound mixing, and Diet Coke that he had never really imagined what his first kiss might be like, let alone a kiss with someone he cared for as much as Bailey. He had seen some miraculous things in the backstage—flowing rivers of rainbow paint, swarms of winged stage lights blinking every imaginable color, lavish ballrooms full of gowns that danced on their own—but this moment was the greatest bit of magic he’d ever experienced. He shut his eyes and tried to imprint it on his memory forever.