Angel Dares (26 page)

I dipped my head again, hiding my anger that he could even think I’d be up to playing after that experience. Self-absorbed rock god.

Kurt clenched his fist then released it. ‘I’m sorry about that but it would be too much, wouldn’t it?’

I could tell he was hoping for an Angel bounce back to put everything on track to how it had been before all the weirdness had started but I couldn’t oblige. ‘Yes.’

‘Right. OK. See you later then?’

I nodded, but I had no intention of doing so. Seeing him standing there had firmed my resolve. I couldn’t return to how things had been a few hours ago: me trying to win Marcus and Kurt over to the savant world like some desperate puppy whining for their attention, rolling over with enthusiasm to make them love me.

Summer stepped into the awkward silence. ‘I hope the performance goes well.’

‘Thanks, love.’ Kurt took one last look then left.

Summer came over to me and pulled me to her for a hug. ‘You want to go.’

Of course she knew. ‘I
have
to go. I want to be home, not here. Will you … ’ I took a shuddering breath. ‘Will you fix it for me?’

Summer nodded. ‘Misty, can you make Angel a hot drink? I’ll go talk to the others.’

I don’t know how she did it but Summer persuaded Margot to provide me with a chauffeur-driven car to take me home. As Gifted stepped out on stage to make their headline performance, I was tucked up on the rear seat with Summer beside me, heading back to London. Everyone else was staying to sort out the mess of my abduction: Davis was still on the loose, Jennifer had not yet returned, and the crane driver claimed he had no idea someone was in the container. With no evidence to lay against them—even the live footage had not shown up on any part of the web Victor’s people had searched—it looked as though it was purely my word against theirs as to what had happened. And none of it made any sense unless I could be open about my savant power—which I couldn’t. I’d almost died keeping that secret so I was hardly like to blurt it out now, was I? Doubtless this was part of the risk calculation Davis had made.

‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing leaving?’ asked Summer softly.

I watched the trees lining the motorway flick by. ‘Yes. I’m only bringing forward a few hours what Marcus was going to do to me. It’s for the best.’

‘It’s not over, Angel. You can’t leave your soulfinder even if you feel better putting a distance between you right now.’

‘I know we’ll always be connected by that but, honestly, I can’t bear to stay near him. You and I both know that soulfinder relationships don’t always work out. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t even like me very much. He makes me feel bad inside.’

Summer touched the back of my wrist. ‘He’s plucked the wings off our butterfly and I think I could hate him for that.’

‘Butterfly?’

‘That’s how Misty and I think of you—you are so … so happy, it’s a joy to be with you.’

‘Not so happy now.’

‘Of course not. But you will be again, I promise.’

‘I love you guys.’

‘And we love you.’

Mum and Dad didn’t question me when I arrived home—just opened their arms and hugged me, then put me to bed. I think I heard Mum muttering something about Marcus never playing under fine skies ever again, but that was just temper talking. I switched off the light and lay staring at the darkness for a few seconds. Exhausted but not able to sleep: a poisonous mixture. Sighing, I sat up and gave in to temptation, opening iPlayer on my laptop. Searching through the recent broadcasts, I found footage of the night’s concert from Rockport. Thumbing the timeline to the point where Marcus walked off stage, I watched the replay. He was in the zone playing ‘Out in the Cold’ then froze, hand poised over guitar strings. Seeing it from the outside like this, it was incredibly awkward. He was going to have that clip come up again and again in every interview. The stillness and conflict within was etched on his face. I realized then that he had also had the tug of the audience to battle—his gift linked him to those he was playing, like my attraction to the sea. Yet he had done it, hadn’t he? He might not win any prizes for doing it with grace, but he had stormed off with a face like fury to deal with my crisis.

The footage then cut to coverage of other stages while the commentators speculated on the reason for Marcus’s abrupt departure. Then the conversation moved to the technical problems and some pitying comments at Marcus’s expense at getting the blast from the feedback.

‘Of course, that’s standard decibels at a Black Sabbath gig,’ joked one music critic. ‘These modern guys have gone soft.’

‘Yeah, but at least this generation will be able to hear when they reach fifty.’

The footage returned to the stage as Marcus, Michael, and Pete walked back an hour later. Marcus wasn’t smiling—not so unusual for him as he was known to be serious, but neither did he take the front man role as he normally would. Michael made the repeat apology and explained how they were going to finish their set, putting the start time of the Gifted gig back. This didn’t please the live broadcasters but cheered up the crowd. The field that had emptied during the intermission rapidly filled up as spectators abandoned the other stages for the main event.

I reached out to the screen and stroked the profile of my soulfinder. He looked so vulnerable up there, having to sing when he’d just been through such a confusing episode. As the music started though, he appeared to recover, moving down to take his position at the central mic. By the end, it would have been hard to know that anything was wrong. I couldn’t tell if his gift had been as strong as usual. Maybe he didn’t know how to turn it off? But I did take some pleasure in the fact that he had recovered most of the reputation damage his mission for me had caused.

He would be OK without me, that was clear. But would I be OK without him? I was going to have to learn how to live without a soulfinder.

Back at the family breakfast table, it was comforting to watch the usual morning behaviour of my parents: Dad in his rumpled T-shirt and pyjama trousers playing with his cereal, Mum already dressed checking the weather forecasts on her tablet. The only odd thing was what they weren’t saying; they hadn’t even asked me what had happened, which must mean that someone had already told them everything.

‘Who was it?’ I asked, stirring my cereal. ‘Summer?’

‘What do you mean, sweetheart? Who was what?’ asked Mum, glancing at Dad. Gotcha, parents: you do know!

‘Who told you of my complete cluster bomb of a disaster at the festival?’

‘You weren’t a disaster—we saw your performance. Got it recorded for you,’ Dad said proudly.

I sighed. ‘Not that. I meant the rest.’

Mum sipped her tea. ‘No, not Summer. Victor Benedict called and gave us the full story.’

‘Oh Lord, in that case, you must think me a complete idiot—and a traitor to savants.’

‘Don’t talk nonsense, Angel. He said you made a couple of slips—the phone being the worst. How many times have we told you to put a passcode on it?’

I slumped. ‘A million.’

Mum nodded. ‘Exactly, but as for what happened yesterday, he says it wasn’t your fault—and that you were let down by him and his brothers. They should have realized that you could be targeted after the first attempt to snatch you went wrong. But they had got it into their heads that Gifted were the real target—Kurt Voss to be exact.’

I picked up a pen and drew circles on a piece of junk mail lying on the table that promised me I’d win millions if I only entered their competition. ‘Well, that does make more sense: he is mega famous and I’m nobody.’

Dad cleared his throat. ‘Not so, love. You are our special ray of sunshine.’

I waved that away. ‘Of course, I’m special to you guys. I meant in the world’s eyes.’

‘Even by that measure you’ve become something of a name in your own right.’ Mum turned her tablet so I could see the gossip pages of a tabloid. There was a picture of me sitting on the beach with my back against Marcus’s chest. It must’ve been taken with a telescopic lens and fortunately missed out on the sea cutting his name into the sand. Instead, it had an artistic grainy effect, which made us both look really cool. I couldn’t stop the little flip of delight at seeing how good we were together. I scrolled down to read the text.
Marcus Cohen captures his own angel. Hearts are breaking in teen bedrooms across the world as Marcus Cohen gets serious with newcomer Angel Campbell (17), singer with London band Seventh Edition
. The rest of the article spun a lot from that not very much, digging up the fact that I was still at school but destined, it was claimed, for big things.

As if.

‘He looks a nice enough lad,’ said Mum generously. ‘But he has been a fool, hasn’t he?’

‘No more than me. I rushed things. Spoiled what little chance we had.’

Dad huffed. ‘I’m very cross with the whole pack of them.’

A statement like this was so unexpected from my quiet dad that I gaped. ‘With whom?’

‘Those Benedicts for a start.’ He pushed away his cereal and topped up his cup of tea. ‘I asked Will to return you in one piece but it doesn’t take a genius to see that you’ve been hurt by all this—not to mention put your life at risk.’

True: pieces of my heart were scattered like confetti between here and Rockport.

He added a spoonful of sugar, forgetting he had given it up a year ago. ‘And as for this young rock star—he’s the last person I’d let through that door right now. Not appreciating the wonderful gift that is my daughter! He should be … ’ Dad brandished the teaspoon at me but couldn’t think of a suitable threat, not that didn’t sound like it came out of a nineteenth-century melodrama.

‘Made to sing kiddie songs in a silly costume on CBeebies for the rest of his life?’ I suggested evilly.

Dad smiled. ‘Yes, exactly.’

‘But he was my soulfinder—and I messed up big time.’

‘We know, love,’ said Mum, putting away her tablet. ‘But you’re both so young: maybe when you’ve had a chance to grow up a bit you’ll be ready to try that again. At the moment, your relationship is so off balance, what with him being so famous and successful and you being … ’

‘At school,’ I finished for her.

‘Not that we don’t think you too can be famous and successful in your own right,’ said Dad stoutly.

‘But we shouldn’t wish that on her, should we? Not with us being savants and having to keep that quiet,’ countered Mum.

‘Oh flipping heck, it’s all such a mess.’ I buried my head in my hands. ‘You can’t un-famous people—Kurt and Marcus already rate the front pages.’

‘And so do you now. I guess we will have to settle for you being well known and discreet about your gift.’ Mum frowned, a little doubtful.

Dad chuckled. ‘That will be a new one for you, eh, Angel?’

‘Don’t waste energy worrying about that. It’s not likely I’ll meet any of them again after how I left it last night. I’m not sure I even want to. I’ve had my five minutes of fame and that’s enough for me.’

The home phone rang. I was surprised that anyone was calling as it was still early and those that knew what had gone on at the festival would be giving me a chance to sleep in. When I didn’t move, Mum answered.

‘Hello?’ She held out the receiver. ‘It’s Matt for you. Do you feel like talking to him?’

‘Sure—he’ll be wondering where I ran off to,’ I explained. I got up and walked into the living room to take the call. ‘Hey, Matt.’

‘Angel cake, where are you?’ His words were slurred.

‘You’re up early.’

‘Not gone to bed—been selly … celebrating.’ He burped. ‘Hey, Henry, say hi to Angel.’ There was the sound of the phone being passed over.

‘Angel, why aren’t you here?’ asked Henry, also far from sober. ‘You’ve missed, like, the best party!’

‘I had to get home, sorry. What are you celebrating?’

‘Moment.’ The phone was handed back, dropped, curses followed, then picked up.

‘We’ve only gone and got ourselves a record deal, Angel: can you believe it? That dumbass Jay is not so much a dumbass—all that hanging around Barry Hungerford has paid off.’

‘Oh wow—congratulations!’

‘It’s for you too, Angel. Barry made that very clear—quote “the little Angel girl has to be part of the lineup” unquote.’

Even though I had been as low as low could be, I felt my spirits rise a little at that. I hugged myself in glee. ‘How did Jay react to that?’

Matt snorted. ‘Oh, he was
very
pleased.
Wouldn’t
have had it any other way. But we’ve got a meeting at Hungerford’s office in Soho on Monday. Can you be there?’

‘Of course—just email me the details.’

‘Will do. See you later.’

‘No, you won’t, you big lummox: I’m already home, aren’t I?’

‘Oh yeah. I forgot.’ His brain was on slow setting. ‘Why did you miss your chance to play with Gifted, tweetiepie?’

‘Oh that? It just didn’t work out.’

He called Kurt a bad name and hiccupped. ‘That’s what these famous guys are like; I did warn you. Blow hot and cold.’

I just remembered that I’d left Freddie and Black Adder behind. How could I have forgotten? ‘Matt, are you sober enough to do me a favour?’