Angel Dares (12 page)

As much as we would have loved to stay and prolong our spell in the limelight, the next act was gathering in the wings and we had to relinquish our spot. As the applause died down, Jay thanked everyone for being ‘the best crowd ever’ and led us off. We were still surfing the euphoria. The boys exchanged high fives as the roadies switched over the kit on the stage for the next act. I stood a little to one side, hand pressed to my heart, knocked sideways by the after-glow of the experience. What exactly had happened? I couldn’t see Kurt or Marcus. They must have slipped away.

Jay came over and hugged me—not the smarmy type but a genuine pleased-you’re-in-the-band kind. ‘That was great, Angel. Do you think he was here?’ He didn’t need to spell out whom he meant.

‘I hope so,’ said Richie, muscling in for his own hug. ‘I don’t think we’ve ever played better—and you were on fire, girl!’ Richie pretended to touch my upper arm. ‘Ouch!’

I was about to reply when the stage manager came over, walkie-talkie in hand. ‘Sorry, guys, but I’m going to have to ask you to move along. Great show by the way.’

‘Thanks.’ Jay wished the next band ‘good luck’ and headed for the stairs.

‘Strange how he can present himself as a passable human sometimes,’ muttered Matt, squeezing the back of my neck affectionately.

‘Alien possession—only credible explanation,’ I replied.

‘Just think: he might be someone that success does not spoil but improves.’

I giggled at that idea. ‘I doubt it.’

Jay was waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs, and I could instantly see why. Kurt and Marcus were standing to one side, chatting together. They both looked up as my high heels tapped down the steel steps, giving me an intro like the snap of a snare drum.

‘Angel! That was a great performance you and your guys put in there,’ announced Kurt, coming over to give me a congratulatory kiss.

Fangirl inside was screeching:
he kissed me!

Sensible Angel was relishing the ‘you and your guys’ crack, treating me as if I were the lead.

‘Thanks, Kurt. I don’t think you’ve met my band mates yet.’ I did a quick round of introductions.

Kurt shook hands with each one. ‘Sweet. I met your Angel this morning and just had to see you all perform together. She’s a little stick of dynamite, isn’t she?’

‘Is that a compliment?’ I asked teasingly, finally beginning to get past my breathless adulation to treat him as I would other friends. ‘Sounds more like an insult. Oh, and this is Marcus Cohen. I think Jay’s already met him, but for those who haven’t, Marcus is in Black Belt. They’re supporting Gifted tomorrow night.’

Marcus shook hands. His gaze sharpened when he reached my drummer friend. ‘Matt, right?’

‘That’s correct.’ Matt crunched a salt and vinegar packet in his jeans pocket as he dug his hands in.

‘Angel mentioned you.’

‘She did?’ Matt looked down at me in surprise and grinned. ‘Don’t believe anything she said. I was not responsible for any of it.’

Marcus paused. I think he was trying to gauge the nature of our relationship. ‘Well, if there’s trouble, I’d guess she might be at the bottom of it.’

‘You know her so well already,’ chuckled Matt.

‘No, he just thinks he does.’ I linked my arm through Matt’s, hoping to irritate Marcus. I knew Matt wouldn’t take it the wrong way. It was so tempting to try out telepathy but this was far too public. I had to get Marcus alone for a moment. ‘So, did you like us?’

‘It was … ’ Marcus rubbed his chin, searching for the right words. His blue eyes were like pools reflecting the summer sky. ‘It was really something else.’

‘Something else in a good or a bad way?’ I pressed.

He cleared his throat. ‘I have to say that you were impressive, Angel. I was surprised.’

Kurt appeared at Marcus’s shoulder. ‘Yeah, she blew you away, didn’t she? At least that’s what you said to me.’

Marcus looked over my head and his cheeks were definitely a little red.

I dropped Matt’s arm and took Kurt’s instead, giving his elbow a squeeze. ‘Kurt, I know you have a million girls say this to you, but I love you—no, really—for coming here and being so nice about our performance. And that’s love in a totally respecting-you-as-a-professional sense, not a creepy stalker fan way.’ I pretend-frowned to show I was teasing, though under it all was, of course, a sliver of truth.

Kurt laughed. ‘Thanks, darlin’. Now, we stayed to make sure you all got the invitation back for pizza. So see you at our trailer in about ten minutes, OK? Job well done, guys.’

My band mates gave a round of heartfelt thanks as we watched Kurt and Marcus walk off.

‘That was possibly the coolest five minutes of my life,’ admitted Richie.

I looked down at my little silver dress and impractical heels—hardly suitable for pizza. ‘Ten minutes to change—oh no! Don’t wait for me!’ I slipped off my heels and ran barefoot to the dressing room.

I was halfway out of my dress when my phone clucked. I checked the text from Misty.

Major problem. Victor says psychic energy was going nuts when you were playing. We all sensed it. And if we did so did Davis if he was in the audience. What were you doing?!!!!

I quickly texted a reply.

That wasn’t me. Marcus and Kurt were watching. Do you think it was them???????

With a little distance from that magical moment on stage, I realized that Victor was right: my playing had been given a boost by some kind of psychic wave. I should have understood that myself but I had been on a musical high. I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of Marcus or Kurt giving me a psychic lift. It was a little like performance-enhancing drugs and athletes, wasn’t it?

Victor says you’ve got to warn them. He’s trying to pull strings to get in to see the Gifted management but that’s going to take time. Warn them tonight.

!

I know. We’re all rooting for you.

And I had been so looking forward to a simple evening of pizza and soulfinder hunting. I glared at my reflection in the bulb-lit mirror.

‘What are you looking at, dumbass?’ I asked the pale-faced creature staring back at me. My grey-blue eyes had a catlike slant to them, emphasized by the stage make-up. I didn’t like that person—she looked daunted, like she’d climbed too high up a tree and was not sure how to get down without the fire brigade.

I really, really didn’t want to spoil this great opportunity I had been given—this dream come true—of getting along so well with Kurt. Marcus—well, that was a whole bundle of complicated, but even there I didn’t want to bowl in and sabotage it by making what to them would sound insane claims. I could just imagine the scene.

Hey, Kurt, thanks again for coming to hear me. Oh, and by the way, do you have strange psychic gifts that you are hiding from everyone?

That would so not go well.

Marcus, I know you think I’m a little weird but have you ever considered you might be a savant? Not heard of us? Oh, well, it’s like having a kind of superpower but without having to wear the spandex … 

My insides were crawling at the prospect. I looked back down at my texts.

Please can someone get me out of this?

I waited for Misty’s reply.

Victor says to tell you this is bigger than embarrassment. Will says he will promise you a lifetime of free pizza-with-everything if you protect his soulfinder and yours?? from these guys.

I swore under my breath. She was right. I was being totally selfish. Will’s girl was somewhere here, ignorant of the danger. Even if Marcus didn’t turn out to be my soulfinder, he was a savant and still deserved protection. He was too exposed. He might hate me for it tonight but later he would understand.

Sorry for being a cowardly lion. Tell them that Mission Impossible is a go.

My text signalled my acceptance of the task and kissed goodbye to my totally cool new relationship with my rock heroes.

The pizzas were being served in the space between the Gifted tour bus and the Winnebagos. Someone had strung up lights and set out tables so it was like having our own private restaurant terrace with live background music from the main stage rumbling away. I hung back in the shadows for a moment, gearing myself up for this. I could see my band mates, Marcus, and the rest of Black Belt, but Kurt and his group were missing. As I watched, the furthest door of the tour bus opened and Gifted filed out. A pretty brown-haired woman in a scarlet suit accompanied them and—oh Lord, no—a journalist in creased trousers and a white shirt. Davis had got there first. I texted a quick alert and hurried forward to see if I could divert any disaster. I ploughed straight past Marcus and Matt. I must have looked like a shopper on the first day of the sales heading straight for her favourite bargain—not the impression I had hoped to make.

‘Hi, everyone!’ I called in an over-bright voice. I could hear Marcus’s snort of laughter behind me. I’d just confirmed his view that I was a fame-hunter.

‘Hi, Angel. Glad you made it.’ Kurt introduced me to the rest of the band. Normally this would be a high moment in my life, demanding my sole attention, but I had my mind on the journalist at his shoulder. I was relieved to see that Eli Davis took no special note of me; he was finishing up his conversation with the woman.

‘I expect it to appear in Saturday’s edition,’ Davis was saying. ‘If I can get some mood details and photos backstage before the performance tomorrow, that would be great—some candid shots to back up the article.’

The woman checked a clipboard. ‘I’ll add your name to the approved list.’

‘I’ll be with my photographer; I’ll send you his name.’

‘Angel?’ Kurt clicked his fingers under my nose. ‘You still with us?’

I rubbed my forehead. ‘Oh, um, sorry: zoned out there for a moment.’

He tucked me under his arm. ‘You must be exhausted. I always am after a big show. I was just telling the guys how great you were.’

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the woman steer Davis over to the window of the catering van. Don’t tell me he was staying for pizza! ‘Oh, er … ’ What had Kurt said? Something about me being great. ‘Thanks. Who’s that?’

Kurt followed my gaze. ‘That’s Margot, our tour manager. Haven’t you met her yet?’

‘Not yet, but I meant the guy.’

‘Just some journalist from LA. No one important.’ He shrugged. The band probably met thousands of journalists each tour so he could hardly be expected to remember names. ‘But Margot you’ve got to meet. Hey, Margot, over here!’ He gave a shrill whistle and the red-suited woman turned. She waved, handing over Davis to another member of staff to entertain, and headed back to us. It was dawning on me that I wasn’t the only one with an agenda this evening—and Kurt was making better headway with his than I was. ‘Margot, this is Angel.’

Margot offered her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ She had the very light accent of an excellent speaker of English as a second language. ‘Margot Derkx.’

‘Angel Campbell. Are you from Amsterdam, by any chance?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, exactly. That’s where the band is based. Tax reasons.’ Now I saw her close to, I could appreciate her flawless caramel complexion and huge brown eyes. Her hair was a mass of long toffee-coloured waves, bunched back in a business-like swirl at the moment. Straight nose and full lips of mixed ethnic heritage: she should be modelling rather than running a tour.

‘But you, you’re Dutch?’

She didn’t seem to mind my probing. ‘Good guess—though I suppose the name is a clue?’

No, I just had a savant soulseeker on my side who had been tracking the band’s movements.

I had so many things I needed to do here: warn them about Davis, check out Margot, check out Marcus. My head was spinning. What should I do first?

Kurt got in before I could. ‘Margot, did you see the recording of Angel playing?’

That knocked me on a completely new track. ‘It was filmed?’

‘Yes, darlin’. You were on TV as your set coincided with a change-over on the main stage.’ He grinned at me, flicked a lock of hair out of my hoop earring. ‘Are you pleased?’

‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!’

Margot raised one perfect eyebrow. ‘I’d say she’s pleased.’

‘What do you think then?’ asked Kurt.

‘I see what you mean now: she’s got something.’

‘Even Marcus thinks so—and he’s hardly her greatest fan.’

‘Oh Marcus.’ Margot clucked her tongue. ‘He’s still not forgiven me for not keeping that Sinead girl away from him.’

My Marcus radar suddenly blipped. ‘Sinead?’

Kurt chuckled. ‘Don’t worry: she’s history, Angel.’

‘More like “lesson learned”, I’d say,’ added Margot. ‘You shouldn’t joke about it, Kurt. The story she sold to the gutter press really upset him.’

‘But had a great effect on his songwriting. Most of the stuff on the new album is thanks to her.’

‘And I hope she winces every time she hears “Dead at Heart”.’

No wonder Marcus was so suspicious: I’d entered into the frame just after the last love-rat had scurried back to her sewer. ‘Poor guy.’