Angel Dares (8 page)

She removed her hand. ‘Oh, go on then. Just don’t let anyone else see you’ve got that.’

‘Promise.’ I quickly snapped the plan. ‘Wait five minutes and expect to hear the girly screams.’

Enlarging the map with a swipe of finger and thumb, I saw that each plot was neatly labelled with the occupant or band name. I had to go ahead with the wet flannel thing just so Henry didn’t suspect my ulterior motives. Best to get that done first. I grabbed a bottle of water from the yurt fridge and made my way through the network of duckboards laid between camping spots. I passed the tour vans and motorhomes on my way to the more distant area handed out to the less famous names. As Al had said, Gifted had rocked up that morning. Their silver tour bus was parked alongside four Winnebagos. No slumming it under canvas for Kurt Voss and his band mates. There was no activity around the doors so perhaps they too were sleeping in. Checking the map, I saw that the fourth Winnebago was given over to Black Belt. Gifted clearly looked after their support act—that was nice of them. Most new bands weren’t treated so well.

I reached Matt’s tent. It would have been easier to use my gift and snake the water in without being seen, but I had promised Will that I would lay off using my powers. I’d have to go for the conventional approach. Not having a flannel to hand, this would involve direct application. Taking the lid off the bottle, I crawled in. Matt was lying on his back, snoring. Leaning over him, I tipped a little stream of water onto his face.

Yelling, he sat up like he’d been electrocuted, his flailing arm knocking me flying. The bottle catapulted from my hand and hit the side of the tent. ‘What the—!’

I put my finger tentatively to the side of my face. ‘Ouch.’ That hadn’t gone very well. I’d only gone and hit my head on a metal tent peg.

Matt scowled at me from his sleeping bag. ‘Angel, what the hell are you doing here? Why am I wet?’

I threw him a towel. ‘Sorry. It was supposed to be joke—payback for keeping Henry up all night.’

He rubbed the water off his face then noticed I was still clutching the side of my head. ‘You hurt?’

‘Just a little.’

Swearing, he scrambled out of his sleeping bag. ‘You twit: you need more practice at playing practical jokes. They’re not supposed to backfire and injure you.’ He turned my head to the light coming through the doorway. ‘Not too bad: just a bump.’

I’d imagined it being really funny; instead it had turned out just pathetic. I didn’t learn, did I? Always failing to look before leaping. ‘Sorry.’

Matt huffed, his early-morning wits only just catching up with him. ‘Henry’s pissed off with us?’

I nodded, picking up that my friend was more than slightly interested in Henry.

‘I’ll have to make it up to her then.’

‘Chocolate or flowers.’

‘What?’

‘If you want to impress her. And pretend the joke was really funny—show her you’ve a sense of humour.’

He grinned. ‘I must have a good one if I’m still friends with you.’ He ruffled my hair gently. ‘Get lost, sweet pea. Some of us are trying to sleep.’

Reversing out of the tent, I dusted myself off. OK, so maybe I wasn’t as funny as I liked to think. But I’d got my map—it hadn’t all been a waste of time. Next stop: Marcus Cohen. Summer had said I was irresistible. Even though my confidence had taken a knock at my totally lame execution of the joke, I had no choice but to act like I believed it.

I stood at the bottom of the short flight of metal steps leading up to the Winnebago door. Oh Lord. I bit my knuckles, running various lines through my head.

Hello, remember me?

Hi there. Do you want to have coffee?

Marcus, can you give me some tips at making it in the music industry?

Nothing sounded right. He was going to hate me—and probably call security. I might even get my pass taken from me for stalking one of the stars.

Think of Will. I walked up the steps and raised my hand to knock. Dang: I couldn’t do it. I turned and hurried back down the stairs.

Stop it, Angel! You’re no coward. Get it over with.

I put my hand on the rail, towing my reluctant body back up the steps.

‘Hey, honey: got a problem?’

I swung around and found myself face to face with Kurt Voss, lead singer of Gifted. Lanky limbed, shock of black hair, piercing green eyes, in his early thirties, he was Zeus in the rock god Pantheon. I opened my mouth but nothing came out except a squeak.

Smiling, his eyes dipped to my pass. ‘Angel—real name or nickname?’

‘Real,’ I whispered. Inside, fangirl Angel was screaming and begging for him to sign her festival programme, T-shirt, skin—anything.

‘You want to see my man, Marcus?’

Come on, Angel: get your act together. I could bypass Marcus entirely if I could make friends with Kurt.

‘I was trying to pluck up the courage,’ I admitted, giving him what I hoped was my best gamine grin. Summer swore my dimples were my true ‘access all areas’ card. I leaned forward and lowered my voice. ‘I don’t think he’s that impressed by me.’

‘You sure about that?’

I nodded. ‘I think he thinks I’m … ’ I frowned, trying to put myself in Marcus’ shoes, ‘lightweight.’

Kurt chuckled. ‘You may be right. Marcus is far too intense for a guy who’s only seventeen. I wasn’t half as serious at his age. I tell him to lighten up all the time but he’s got this mission, you know?’ He grabbed my hand—Stop press! Kurt Voss was holding my hand!!!!—and towed me up the steps. ‘Let’s go see him together.’

I pulled back, thinking how I’d probably never wash that hand again. ‘Oh, but I don’t want to interrupt.’

‘I wouldn’t miss this for the world, darlin’.’ He rapped on the door. ‘Hey, Marcus, get your ass in gear. You’ve visitors.’

The door flew open and Marcus appeared in the doorway clad only in jeans. If my jaw hadn’t already been on the floor since Kurt took my hand, it would have fallen there. Oh boy. My day was getting better and better.

‘Kurt! You just got in?’

‘Yeah. Made good time from Hamburg.’

Marcus then realized I was standing next to Kurt. ‘What’s she doing here?’

‘That’s no way to talk about a guest.’ Kurt muscled his way into the Winnebago, tugging me along with him. The place was dim, curtains still pulled. It smelt of a guy’s deodorant and toast. A guitar leaned against the bench sofa, a scattering of paper with musical notations on the table. ‘I found her trying to screw up the courage to approach the lion in his den and, being a noble kind of guy, thought I’d give her a helping hand.’

In the middle of pulling a T-shirt over his head, Marcus’s blue eyes snapped to me. ‘You were coming to see me?’

I shrugged, feeling about a centimetre tall. ‘I guess I was.’

‘I could do with coffee. Got any on the go?’ asked Kurt, rifling his way through the sheets of music.

Marcus’ gaze now shot to his work-in-progress. Kurt scanned the title and lyrics and grinned. ‘Had a new inspiration, Marcus?’

‘It’s not finished yet.’ Marcus tugged the paper out of Kurt’s fingers and shoved it in his guitar case. Lid closed and locked, he seemed to breathe more easily. ‘I’ll get you that coffee.’ He paused, shoulders rigid, then turned to me with his movements screaming reluctance. ‘You want something?’

As grudging as the offer was, I couldn’t refuse as it was the excuse I needed to hang out with them. ‘Coffee would be great.’

‘How do you take it?’

‘White, no sugar.’

Kurt opened the curtains and cracked open one of the windows to let some fresh air into the place. The sounds of the festival rumbled like thunder in the distance. I perched on the sofa, smoothing the fabric of my skirt flat on my thighs.

‘So, Angel, what band are you with?’

‘Seventh Edition. You won’t have heard of us.’

‘What do you do?’ He sat across from me, foot resting on the opposing knee. I had to keep pinching myself: Kurt Voss was actually acting as though he was interested in what I had to say.

‘Vocals and violin.’

‘Cool. You any good?’ He laced his fingers behind his head.

‘Er … ’ How to answer that without sounding a complete egomaniac?

Marcus banged three mugs of coffee on the table between us. ‘Her boyfriend says she’s very talented, but the guy’s such a dick I’m not sure I’d take his word.’

‘What boyfriend?’ I scowled at Marcus. ‘Matt and I are just friends.’

‘Matt? I’ve no idea who that is. Just how many guys are you stringing along?’

I spluttered in outrage: that was completely uncalled for! ‘None, thank you very much!’

‘I’m talking about your boyfriend, Jay Fielding—remember him? He bored me rigid about you yesterday; he said you were his great discovery, owed everything to him.’

Kurt chuckled and sipped his coffee.

My temper soared. ‘Jay Fielding? Are you out of your tiny little mind? The guy is a gold-plated egotistical gobbet of slime!’

Marcus’s eyes glinted dangerously. ‘So what does that make you? You’re the one shacked up with him.’

‘Shacked up? Who said that? I live with my parents, you idiot!’

Kurt cleared his throat, breaking into our quarrel. ‘I take it, Marcus, you met Angel just yesterday?’

He nodded, face dark with rage.

‘Then why are you so angry with her?’

‘Because … I’m not angry.’ Marcus took an angry sip of too-hot coffee and winced.

‘No?’ Kurt flicked his eyes to the guitar case.

I stood up. ‘Look, let’s get something straight here before I’m the one putting a fist through something.’ Preferably Marcus’ face—or Jay’s, as he had started this whole stupid rumour. I settled for stabbing a finger at Marcus. ‘I am not—nor am I ever—going out with Jay Fielding and I’m definitely not living with him. I’m still at school for Pete’s sake and I live at home. Not that it is any business of either of you.’ I glared at Kurt, who was chuckling quietly on the sofa.

Oh my word: I’d just sassed my rock hero. I had to be mad.

‘I hear you, Angel.’ Kurt pushed my coffee closer. ‘Sit down. Marcus will stop being a complete moron when he realizes he’s made a mistake about you.’

‘Unlikely. I would have thought that moron setting was Marcus’s default mode.’

Kurt roared with laughter at my quip, while Marcus fumed and moved to a spot as far from me as the living space would allow.

‘Did you want something, Kurt, or did you just drop by to stir things up as usual?’ asked Marcus.

Kurt stretched his arms above his head lazily. ‘Just came to tell you the tech is at eleven. You OK with that? I must be getting old because all I can think is how nice it is to have a day or two in the same place for once.’

There was a quick rap on the door and two more people appeared—an Asian boy with black hair longer at the front and an auburn hunk with impressive biceps. Putting two and two together, I recognized them as the other members of Black Belt. From my deep research of the subject—I had read the Wiki entry last night—the smaller one was called Michael and he played drums. The big guy was Pete and he multitasked on keyboard and bass. I deduced from the muscles that he also did a fair bit of heaving kit in and out of vans. The band members were all from Liverpool and had met as kids when they had all been enrolled in the same judo class, hence the cute name. After they hit their teens, they started making music together. The rest, as they say, is history: Black Belt had been talent-spotted a year ago. I could only sit back and gaze with envy at their meteoric rise.

‘Hey, Kurt, how was the trip?’ asked Michael. His gaze slipped to me. I was beginning to feel very out of place. These guys already knew each other so well and now I was sitting among them blending in as well as a penguin among pelicans.

‘Great, thanks. Have you met Angel yet?’ Kurt gestured to me. ‘She’s my new best friend as she really gives as good as she gets.’ He winked at me while my heart did a little tap dance. I knew he was teasing but still, it’s not every day a girl gets called Kurt’s new BFF.

‘We’ve not met yet, no. Hi, Angel.’ Michael lifted his hand in greeting. Pete nodded in my direction. I was getting the message he was not the talkative type.

Now I was in the inner circle, I racked my brains to decide what I should do with it. From the thunderous expression on Marcus’s face, he wasn’t going to rush to invite me back. I had to make some progress so I would still be welcome. Making myself useful seemed a good way to go.

‘I’m so excited to meet you guys. I’ve heard good things about your band. Have you had a chance to look around the festival yet?’ I asked.

Michael took the spare place next to me, too polite to ask what the heck I was doing here. ‘Not yet. We rolled in late last night. Marcus, you gone exploring yet?’

‘No,’ growled Marcus.

Michael’s eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘What’s wrong with you, man?’

Marcus dropped his shoulders, trying to rid himself of his tension. ‘Nothing. I was caught up writing a song.’

Michael smiled. ‘I see.’ He turned to me. ‘Marcus gets these moods. Nothing will stop him once he has an idea—kinda like a hen laying an egg. Can’t be shifted till it’s all over.’