Angel Dares Read online

  This was not happening to me. ‘Have you written the piece already?’

  ‘I’ve been working on it with Marcus. Come by tomorrow morning and I’ll show you. You might have some suggestions. It has a folk feel to it, not classic rock.’

  Just as well I’d brought Freddie along. I knew my instincts were good but this was way beyond anything I could have dreamed.

  ‘I’ll be there. A zombie invasion wouldn’t keep me away.’

  Kurt grinned and leaned back in his chair and sipped his beer. ‘So, darlin’, what was it you wanted to ask me.’

  I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t do it. Oh Lord, I’d promised everyone but if I now started spouting about savant gifts he would think I was completely crazy and take back his invitation to play with them tomorrow.

  What could I do? ‘I … er … just wanted to say that some friends of mine would like to talk to you.’

  Kurt’s expression dimmed. ‘I’m fine with a few autographs but I don’t really have time for a face to face. Ask them to come by after the show, hey?’

  ‘Oh, they’re not fans!’ No, no: had I just said that? Talk about putting my foot in it.

  He looked puzzled but amused by my tactlessness. ‘Oh? Then why … ?’

  ‘They’re … um … security experts. They have some concerns they want to share with you.’ Oh flipping heck, this all sounded so lame. What was I, a seventeen-year-old wannabe, doing talking about such things? Even I didn’t believe me.

  ‘Darlin’, you feeling OK?’ asked Kurt.

  ‘Yes … no … damn: I’m digging a big hole here, aren’t I?’

  Margot was looking worried, reassessing my ‘asset’ label and considering shifting me over to ‘liability’. ‘Try the truth, Angel.’

  ‘You need my friend Misty for that.’ Not only was I off course I was wandering in blithering circles. Bite the bullet, Angel. ‘Look, I’m so crap at explaining; I’ve got to let someone else do this. Margot, would you give my friends five minutes of your time? You see, there are these three Americans I’m camping with: one is a kind of bodyguard, another is a forensic expert and the third works for the FBI.’

  Kurt was looking at me as if I’d just turned into a leprechaun and was performing an Irish jig before him.

  ‘Please, I’m not pulling your leg or gone mad. Neither is this some newspaper setup or anything like that.’ I gazed down at my uneaten slice of pizza. ‘And I’ve blown it. They shouldn’t have asked me to do this.’

  ‘Who asked you to do what?’ Kurt covered my hand again with his. ‘Angel, are you in trouble?’

  ‘No, but we think you might be. Please,’ I swallowed against the lump in my throat and scribbled on a serviette with my eyeliner, ‘please, just call this number, Margot. The guy on the other end is called Will Benedict.’

  ‘Will Benedict?’ Margot looked at the serviette like it was a dish of poison.

  ‘Yes. He’s a good guy—and not the least bit like me, I promise.’ I pushed the number over to her. I glanced up at Kurt through my eyelashes. ‘I know I sound crazy but do you still want me to play with you?’

  Kurt rubbed his chin. ‘I guess so, but there’s something about you that doesn’t make any sense. You’re hiding something, aren’t you.’

  And you haven’t even seen what I can do to your beer yet. ‘I’ll just … just go. If you change your mind about me playing, drop me a message at the yurt reception. I’ll leave you alone to let Margot make her call.’

  I left them talking, heads close together. Life was not fair: I had just strangled at birth the most promising break I was ever likely to receive. I felt like jumping off the cliff at the end of the camping ground. Of course, thanks to my gift, I could make the sea receive me like a feather bed and then surf out of here, but the thought was very tempting. I found myself humming the refrain to ‘Crash and Burn’— yep: that was my signature tune all right.

  ‘What are you doing here stuck out on your own?’ Marcus had spotted me sitting in the shadows. ‘Margot flick you off?’

  ‘Go away if you’re not going to be nice to me,’ I said, not caring at the moment what I said to him. Twenty metres away Davis was talking earnestly to Brian and Matt—too close for me to risk telepathy on Marcus. Anyway, who was I kidding that he could be my soulfinder? I was such a fool, messing up the one thing I was here to do. Marcus was way above my pay grade.

  Marcus sat down beside me on the Winnebago steps and offered me a slice of pizza from his plate. I shook my head.

  ‘Go on: you’ve not eaten anything.’

  He’d been watching, had he? ‘I can’t.’

  He put the plate aside. ‘You should be feeling on top of the world, Angel. That was a great show.’

  It was strange to be sitting next to him without him trying to shoot me down with his let’s-despise-the-groupie barrage of words. I was so close, I could scent his aftershave—a faintly spicy smell. His hands, square and capable, rested on the knees of his jeans. You could imagine those hands building stonewalls as competently as he played the guitar. Three freckles sat in a triangle on the back of his right hand. I was tempted to trace the outline but kept my fingers laced together around my folded up legs.

  Marcus was studying my profile. I could feel a little warmth from his breath on my cheek. ‘What made you dance around just now? I’ve never seen anyone go from ecstatic to depressed in such a short time.’

  ‘Kurt invited me to play the violin on the new single.’

  ‘I see. Yeah, we discussed that we thought that would work but I hadn’t realized he was going ahead so soon. The part’s only in early draft.’

  I squeezed my elbows, wanting to curl up in a foetal ball. ‘You write music with him a lot?’

  ‘That’s how we met up. Margot introduced us when I—a complete unknown—sent in a song for the band to consider. It turned into “Crash and Burn”.’

  ‘I love that song!’ Then I did the maths. ‘Hey, but you must’ve been about five when you wrote it.’

  ‘Hardly.’ He smiled lopsidedly. ‘I was fifteen.’

  ‘You’re seventeen now, right?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  I forced myself to make the fishing expedition. ‘So am I. My birthday’s in March. When’s yours?’

  ‘Same.’

  Red flashing lights lit up in my brain. Here goes. ‘Have you ever heard of savants, Marcus?’

  ‘Savants? Are they a new band?’

  Oh Lord, help me.

  ‘No, we are … we’re people with some extra gifts that set us apart. You’re one too.’ I flicked my gaze over to Davis. Surely he was too busy to notice me? I’d risk it. We can use telepathy and … I held my hand over Marcus’s drink. I can do this. I made the Coke wiggle out of the can and flow neatly back into the hole.

  Marcus had frozen on the step.

  You can hear me, can’t you? Unless he responded telepathically, I couldn’t be sure if he was my soulfinder. No matter the suspicions beforehand, soulfinders only know each other when they speak mind to mind. Please, tell me you can.

  Over at the tables, Davis slipped a phone-size device out of his pocket and started quartering the area with his gaze. Oh, this was not good—not good at all.

  Marcus rubbed his temples. ‘Are you some kind of … illusionist?’

  I shook my head. Don’t look this way, Davis.

  ‘I’ve got to be imagining things. Did you slip something in my drink?’

  ‘No, Marcus. You’re a savant like me—and I think you might be my soulfinder.’

  He was edging away from me now. ‘Your what?’

  ‘My … ’ There was no subtle way of saying this. ‘My other half. We may be destined to be together.’

  ‘Oh no: you’re mad, aren’t you? I thought you were just a desperate fangirl but now I get it. OK, Angel, just take some deep breaths.’ He knelt before me, taking my hands in his. ‘Are you on medication? Have you forgotten to take it? Is there someone I could call?’

  I began to la
ugh hysterically, probably confirming his diagnosis. He was being so sweet but so wrong.

  ‘I think I’d better get you a doctor. Stay here.’ He would have got up but I kept hold of his hands. Screw Davis: I had to get Marcus to connect with me.

  You can hear me—I know you can. You have a gift, Marcus. That thing you do with music—it’s not normal. You are using psychic energy. It spreads to me too when I’m playing and you’re there.

  ‘Stop it,’ he hissed, snatching his hands away and falling back on his butt. ‘Get away from me.’

  I can’t. Just answer me. Please, I’m begging you.

  His answer was to spring up and run into his Winnebago, slamming the door behind him. Crash and burn. When I looked up, I found Davis standing in front of me.

  ‘Hello, little savant.’ He waggled the device so I could see the dial. ‘Care to do that again?’

  ‘So, Miss … ’ Davis read my name off my security pass as he tucked his detector in his back pocket, ‘Angel Campbell, how about giving us an interview?’ Snake-strike quick, his hand whipped out and grabbed my wrist.

  ‘I don’t give interviews.’ I tried to twist free but his grip was painfully tight.

  Pulling me to my feet, he snatched my phone from my lap. ‘I’ll be taking that. By all means, do shout out with your telepathy: I’d just love to see your friends running to help you. That’d be damn good proof that you communicated with them as I’ve got your cell phone.’

  ‘Let go of me!’ Davis dwarfed me, being broad in the shoulders and a good deal taller. The way we were angled, I doubted anyone could see me struggle. Fear dug its claws in my gut. ‘I’ll get you thrown out for this!’

  ‘Yeah, right. Like you want to attract attention to yourself with these people. You don’t know them very well, do you? You see we’ve been watching them for a while now and we don’t think they know what they are. Am I right?’

  ‘Like I’m going to tell you anything.’

  Davis started walking away from the pizza party, towing me with him. ‘I think you will. I’ve finally got me a genuine savant I can handle. What: no freaky telekinesis or mind strikes? What’s it you do, honey? My equipment was going crazy at the concert when you played. Do you burrow in our brains with music? What kind of subliminal messages were you planting, hey?’

  ‘Let go! You’re hurting my wrist. Where are you taking me?’ He was dragging me further away from people down the narrow passageways between the Winnebagos. I was getting confused about his motives here. ‘Is this some kind of sick joke?’

  ‘No joke, hon. I’ve got some friends who are very keen to meet you. They’re waiting to interview you too. Between us, we’ll make you talk.’

  I kicked and managed to reach his calf.

  ‘Argh!’ As he hopped in pain, I ripped free and bolted. I didn’t get far before he tackled me to the ground, him landing on top squashing all air from my lungs so I had no chance to scream. He plastered a moist palm over my mouth.

  ‘That wasn’t very nice of you, was it? But now you’re gonna shut up and come along with me.’

  Marcus! Help! Though he didn’t believe in telepathy, he was the only one close enough to do something.

  The door to Marcus’s trailer shot open. ‘What the—! Angel!’ He raced down the alleyway, heaved Davis off of me and flipped him over his thigh in a neat judo move. Davis slammed into the trailer opposite. ‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’

  I rolled over onto my back and spat out the grass that had got in my mouth. I could feel bruises blooming on my knees, hip and elbows.

  Rubbing the back of his head, Davis made a wary move to get up. ‘I was just … interviewing her.’

  ‘Like hell you were! I’m calling security.’ Marcus’s eyes blazed with fury.

  ‘She won’t want you to do that. Ask her.’ Trembling with the aftermath of our tussle, Davis stood up, arms folded, baiting me to bring in the authorities. That was his agenda, not mine.

  ‘It’s OK, Marcus. I’ll handle it. I’ve got people I can tell.’ I lifted my chin, meeting Davis’ gaze.

  ‘Yeah, you do that, and tell the Benedicts I’m not on my own this time.’ He jabbed his index finger at me. ‘This time I’m not backing down.’ With a roll of his shoulders, Davis walked off, leaving me to face one very irate rescuer.

  Marcus put his hand to his forehead and turned a circle, clearly confused. ‘You’re letting him walk away? The guy had you wrestled to the ground. Was it … was he trying to … ?’

  ‘No, he wasn’t molesting me, Marcus.’ I got to my feet, shivers running through me.

  ‘Then what the hell was it?’

  ‘More like trying to force information out of me.’ I took a breath. ‘About savants.’

  Marcus turned away. ‘Bloody hell. Not this again.’

  I felt a lot like crying. I’d just been attacked and I wanted a hug but the nearest ‘huggee’ thought me delusional. ‘Explain then how you knew I was in trouble.’

  ‘I must’ve heard you—you called my name.’

  ‘You saw: Davis had his hand plastered over my mouth. You heard me in your mind.’

  He shook his head, deep in denial. ‘No, then it was the noise of the scuffle—or a damn good instinct.’ His arm shot out and lifted my left. ‘Hey, are you bleeding?’

  I looked down at where he was pointing. Sure enough, there was a trickle of blood running from my elbow. I must’ve whacked that hard against the ground when we fell. My head swam. ‘Oh. Sorry, but I don’t deal well with the sight of blood.’ I folded to the floor and put my head between my knees.

  ‘Figures.’ He gave a put-upon sigh. ‘OK, Angel, let’s go to my place and I’ll fix that up for you. Then you can call someone to come and walk you back.’

  Woozy starbursts were still shooting through the black of my closed eyes. ‘Give me a moment here.’

  An arm went under my knees and round my shoulders. ‘I still think you should report that guy. What did he mean about not backing down?’ He lifted me up and carried me against his chest up the stairs to his trailer.

  I let my head rest on his T-shirt, not opening my eyes. I wished I didn’t feel so dizzy, then I would actually have enjoyed the experience of being swept off my feet. ‘You won’t like my answer. Can we park the questions until I feel more myself?’

  He lowered me to a sofa. ‘All right, but I will want answers, understood?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ I opened my eyes to find him half-smiling at me, though his expression was still concerned.

  ‘Good. The sass is coming back. Let’s get you sorted.’ Marcus got a first-aid box out of a cupboard. ‘I just need to boil some water to clean that cut.’

  ‘I’ll do the water.’

  ‘You should stay sitting down.’

  ‘I won’t need to stand. Just give me two bowls: one with water, one empty.’

  Bemused, Marcus put a bowl of water on the table in front of me and an empty plastic one a little further off. I think he thought I was anticipating being sick. I held a hand over the water and quickly separated the molecules from impurities. With a flick of a finger, I made it jump into the clean receptacle, leaving any bad stuff behind. ‘It’s distilled now.’

  Giving me a hard look, Marcus dealt with my party trick by ignoring it. He ripped open some cotton wool and tore off a wad. ‘Do you want to clean it or shall I?’

  ‘You.’ I closed my eyes again, hurt that he hadn’t even acknowledged what he had seen. Besides, if I had to deal with my own cut, I would require that second bowl after all.

  He took my upper arm in his hand and gently dabbed at the cut. ‘Not too bad. Won’t need stitches.’

  ‘Do you mind not talking about it? Change the subject please.’

  His huff of laughter was warm on my skin. ‘About getting you back to your tent, who you gonna call?’

  ‘Ghostbusters?’ I joked weakly. ‘Actually, I can’t call anyone as that slimeball took my phone. It’ll have to be telepathy.’

  There
was a hiss of indrawn breath. ‘And you’re still not going to report him to the police?’

  I winced as he found a piece of grit in the cut. ‘No. I’ve got someone better than that on my side.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘That’s part of the whole “let’s not talk about savants, Angel” thing.’

  ‘I think this should be covered with a dressing. Keep still.’

  I could hear the rustle of wrappers and then the application of a soft plaster over the cut.

  ‘Completely hidden. Can you risk opening your eyes?’

  I squinted down at my elbow. ‘That looks very professional.’

  ‘I learned to do first aid in the judo class I took with the guys.’

  ‘So are you all really black belts?’

  Relieved to have a normal topic of conversation to run with, Marcus gave me one of his gorgeous smiles. ‘What do you think, Titch?’

  ‘Titch? I’ll have you know I am only a little under average height.’

  ‘Yeah right.’

  ‘Humph. I think Michael and Pete probably are black belts. You, I’m not so sure. You strike me as too airy-fairy cerebral for the physical stuff.’

  ‘If you weren’t injured, I’d show you some of my moves and see if I could persuade you otherwise.’ His voice had gone all husky. I could feel my cheeks flush. ‘Wow, that came out way more suggestive than I intended.’ Marcus took a step back and ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

  Inside, brazen Angel was shouting You can show me your moves anytime. Self-conscious Angel, however, was in the driving seat. ‘Don’t worry—I didn’t take it the wrong way.’ Yes I had. ‘OK, so you also have the belt. That’s very cool. I was just teasing you about being too much of a dreamer. I noticed you threw that jerk off me quick enough.’

  ‘That was beginner’s stuff, Angel. You could do that.’ He sat down next to me. ‘Let’s see the rest.’

  ‘Rest of what?’ Inappropriate Angel was making all sorts of unrepeatable lewd suggestions.