11
Théâtre Bohème Townhouse, 2 December 1870
Iris had just gotten the last of her notes off the floor and organized when Marie stumbled into their room. She reached out, and Iris rushed to help her to her bed. She wore no cloak, and her face was flushed like she ran from some sort of nightmare.
“Where have you been?” Iris asked and wrinkled her nose. “Have you been smoking opium to get into character?”
Marie shook her head so hard she almost fell over on to her bed. “No, there is a ghost in my dressing room.”
“A what?”
“A ghost who knows all my secrets. Or he will soon. He makes me talk and talk even though I don’t want to.”
Iris put a hand on her friend’s shoulder and drew back from her fever-hot skin. “Really, Marie, if you’re seeing ghosts, you need to lay off the tobacco. Or hav
