‘Let’s go backstage and congratulate them,’ I suggested, jumping to the ground.
Summer caught my hand. ‘You go—we don’t know them.’
‘But I’ll introduce you. Come on!’
Dragging my friends along, I made my way to the back of the tent. Joey and Fresh were already outside chatting to fans. Inside the venue, the next act was just up. Poor new guys: it always sucks to follow the best, so depressing as the benches thin out.
‘Joey, Fresh—you were amazing!’ I barrelled through the fans and gave both a whopping big hug.
‘Liked your moves, Angel: some serious shaking of that little ass of yours. If this playing with Gifted doesn’t work out for you, wanna be our backing dancer?’ Joey’s eyes twinkled.
‘I’ll give it serious thought,’ I teased. ‘Particularly as you called my ass little. Can I introduce you to my friends—Misty, Summer, Alex and Uriel?’ I stood back to let my guys say their hellos.
‘Great show, guys,’ Brian said as he and Jennifer arrived.
‘Did you get some good shots?’ Fresh asked hopefully.
Jennifer nodded and patted her camera. ‘Yes, all in there. Give me your email and I’ll send you some.’
‘And did you get Angel here displaying her best moves?’
Jennifer smiled. ‘Of course. It was hard to ignore her.’
Maybe I shouldn’t have insisted on being in the front row. I’d meant it as support but perhaps it had looked just like showing off.
‘Are you going to do that tonight for our set?’ asked Brian.
‘Absolutely not,’ I promised. ‘I’ll be on my best behaviour.’
‘Shame.’ He grinned at my puzzled expression then winked at Joey and Fresh. ‘I don’t think she gets it.’
‘Angel, it’s a guy thing,’ said Joey.
‘Stop teasing her, Brian,’ said Jennifer. ‘Can’t you see she’s embarrassed?’
‘That’s me: always embarrassed after the event,’ I muttered. ‘One day I’ll learn to anticipate.’
‘Actually, Angel, can you spare me a moment?’ asked Jennifer. ‘I’d like to introduce you to some press friends of mine who are interested in covering the story about you taking to the stage with Gifted tonight.’
‘Oh, OK. Sure. See you guys later?’
‘We’ll be there. Margot has sorted backstage passes for us,’ said Summer.
‘Great. I’m going to be in the VIP dressing room, apparently.’ I grabbed Misty and spun her in a circle. ‘Drop by and admire.’
‘We will do,’ promised Alex.
I squeezed Misty’s hand. ‘And stop me wearing a hole in the carpet as I pace with nerves, won’t you?’
‘Of course we will.’ Misty and Summer exchanged a look: they both knew what I was like. They were my personal fire blankets, used to smothering my mini-meltdowns. ‘Will Marcus be there? We’ve not met him yet.’
Releasing Misty, I dug my hands in my pockets and shrugged. ‘He’s performing just before us, so maybe not.’
‘Then we’ll see him afterwards,’ suggested Summer. Clearly my friends had decided to give me a helping hand with my non-starter of a soulfinder relationship—if that’s what it was.
Jennifer gave Summer an apologetic smile. ‘Unfortunately that won’t be possible. Gifted and Black Belt are rolling out immediately after the gig. They’ve got a couple more concert dates in the south-east and then they’re appearing at the O2 next weekend and we’ve got to set up. We’ve spent longer here than we normally do at any venue. Margot wanted us to catch our breath in the middle of a long tour.’
I was speechless. Marcus had made no mention of this, though now I thought about it I remembered seeing the posters for the concert on the Underground. I just hadn’t connected the dates.
Summer covered for me. ‘Oh, I see. Well, maybe it’ll be possible to meet him in between his session and Angel’s?’
‘Maybe.’ Jennifer gave a polite smile that meant she really didn’t think it would work out that way. I got the impression she wasn’t that keen on my friends. Perhaps she thought I was trying to move in the whole tribe. Gifted staff were serious about preserving the privacy of band members. ‘I’ll be back soon, Brian. Are you coming, Angel?’
‘Sure. Yes.’
Misty grabbed my shoulders before I left and whispered in my ear: ‘It’ll all work out—you’ll see.’
‘Thanks.’ My voice sounded hoarse, my body felt hollow. I hadn’t been this stunned since I was thrown from a pony in my first (and last) riding lesson.
Jennifer seemed not to have noticed she had delivered devastating news. She led me away from the congratulate-Joey-and-Fresh party. ‘I said we’d try to meet the press people after the Beatbox event. Not really my kind of music, but they’re good, aren’t they?’
‘Sorry, what?’ I stumbled after her, arms crossed on my chest.
‘Joey and Fresh—good at what they do.’
‘Yes. They’re great.’
‘And they do it all with their own talent, don’t they?’
‘Yes, of course—what other way is there to do it?’
‘Down here, Angel.’ She guided me to a tent that promised Wi-Fi connections and coffee. It was busy with people sitting at the camping tables, headphones on, checking their emails. Jennifer walked straight through and out the other side.
‘I thought we were meeting the press in there?’ I asked, catching her up.
‘No, no, too many people—too much background noise.’ Her manner had changed. Around Brian she was all sweetness and concern; now she was brisk and business-like. Maybe meeting the journalists did that to her? Still, my instinct was telling me that something odd was going on.
‘Who did you say we were meeting?’
Suddenly, Will’s voice came into my head. Angel, threat level around you has shot up. What are you doing?
The light meter on Jennifer’s camera beeped.
‘Using telepathy, are you? We can’t have that.’
Will! I’d only managed to shout his name when I glimpsed Eli Davis step out of the dark alleyway between tents behind me.
How do you stop someone using telepathy? Other than a savant gift for doing so, I hadn’t thought it possible. Davis and his anti-savant brigade must have given the subject much thought, probably experimented at length because their moves felt practised.
Will, help! They’ve got me!
While Davis tied my hands, Jennifer, the double-crossing bitch, fixed earphones blasting a high-pitched whistle right into my brain. I tried to shout my distress call against it, tried to give Will my location, but it was overwhelming, like standing next to a road drill and trying to talk on your phone. All I could broadcast was an echo of the shrill tone.
I couldn’t bear it. Too much. My head felt close to explosion, tears pouring down my cheeks.
Unable to hear what was said to me, I only felt the pokes and the slaps, the pull of duct tape on bare skin. Davis put his arm around me, half-holding me up, half-forcing me along. If anyone had been close enough to see us, they would have seen a couple assisting a girl who looked the worse for drink. They propelled me along until we reached a car. Two more people joined us but my vision was too blurred to see who they were. I was lifted up and placed in the boot, despite my kicks to wriggle free. A blanket smelling of oil covered me and the top clunked down. The car began to move, bumping over ruts, and then gathering speed.
Take the headphones off, please! I didn’t know if I was screaming this telepathically or out loud. I kicked and thumped the compartment, desperate to escape the noise. I thrashed my head, trying to dislodge the earphones but they had been duct taped in place. No, it’s hurting me! Too much. Too much.
I curled up into a foetal ball, eyes screwed shut, nails digging into palms. I screamed every savant name I could think of, hoping one cry would get through. The journey seemed to go on and on. I began to think it would never end—that I’d be locked in this torture chamber for ever.
I came to
my senses when the sound finally stopped I don’t know how much later. My head was at an odd angle on the ground, hair plastered on my cheeks. I appeared to be lying on a cold floor made of metal. It was completely dark. I remembered being lifted out of the car and dropped here but I had been battling to keep my wits against the whistle. The silence was deafening; I could still hear the residual roar of the noise, like the aftermath of standing by the speakers in a heavy-metal concert. I wondered briefly if my hearing had been permanently damaged.
Not important. Focus, girl: escape. First thing, make sure no one can put that sound in your head again.
My hands were still bound behind me but my legs were free. I wriggled to sitting position then dropped my head between my knees and caught the headphones between them. I swore viciously as I lost some strands of hair tugging my head free. I hadn’t completely dislodged the headphones but at least they were now hanging around my neck, no longer covering my ears. The residual tape pulled and twisted on the damp skin of my cheeks until it finally dropped free.
Will? Anyone? I sent out a telepathic distress message.
No answer.
If I was going to try that again, I had to play my best game. Give my telepathic powers in my bruised brain a little time to recover. And not panic.
Oh crap: I was panicking …
OK, Angel: breathe. One … two … three … That’s right, you can do this. You are not a complete idiot, even if your recent track record suggests otherwise. Davis has got hold of you. Jennifer was working for him—that wasn’t hard to piece together. Why hadn’t Kurt sensed she was a fake—or Margot for that matter? Too late to ask that now. I was here—wherever here was—and I needed to work out how I could escape.
So next on the agenda, explore the prison for an exit.
Feeling a little better that I’d managed to come up with a basic plan, I groped around on the floor. Cold sheet metal. Shuffling backwards on my bum, I then found a wall—corrugated. Building the mental picture, I guessed I was in some kind of shipping container. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed a pinprick of red light up in one corner, too high for me to reach. I put my foot out to break the beam and a light clicked on. After the utter darkness it was so bright. I buried my head in my knees and curled up against the nearest wall.
‘So you’re back with us. Excellent.’ Davis’ voice came from a speaker somewhere in the roof and tinny in the headphones dangling from my neck.
‘Let me out, you bastard!’ I screamed at him, kicking at the wall in case someone could hear me outside.
‘We’ll let you out all in good time. Perform well in our little experiment and the doors will open, I promise.’
I tried a different tack. ‘Please, you don’t want to risk your career for an abduction, surely? Just let me out now and I won’t tell anyone. I’ve got a show to do.’
‘Don’t worry: you’ll have a chance to star in your own little performance for the cameras. Footage of you is being streamed live from our webcam. When you have given us indisputable proof of the existence of savant powers, then you’ll be free to go.’
Hope that he was going to be reasonable shrivelled up. How was I going to get out of this? ‘I don’t have any powers. I’m just a singer. No one would believe you—they’ll say the footage is a fake.’
‘Please, carry on protesting—it is what we expected. Your people hide among us, manipulating us without our consent. You must be exposed for what you are: just one part of a much bigger picture. And as for proof, you’ll sing a different song when you have to use your gift for saving your own life.’
There was a clunk against the side of the container and it rocked. There was nothing for me to hold onto but I tried to grip the wall with my bound fingers. ‘What’s happening?’
‘We’re moving you down onto the slipway. As the tide comes in your container will start to fill with water. For normal people that would be a problem, but water is your speciality, isn’t it? Those pictures on your phone were most enlightening. You’ll have about thirty minutes to decide if you prefer to live or go to your death pretending you couldn’t prevent your own drowning.’
‘You … you expect me to hold back the sea? Haven’t you heard of King Canute, Mr Davis?’ If this were being broadcast live, at least the authorities would now have his name for later prosecution.
‘Very witty, Angel. But if Canute had had you on his side, the story would’ve ended quite differently, wouldn’t it?’
The container started to move, rattling as it was shifted. It ended up at an angle, fitting Davis’s description of placing it on a slipway.
No help was going to come from my captors. My head felt strong enough for a second attempt at telepathy. Will!
Again no reply. Telepathy over any significant distance was always a chancy matter; far greater prospect of success if the relationship was a close one, the other mind well known to you. The bond between the middle Benedict brother and me was not strong enough to span the distance from the festival to wherever I was being held.
I wouldn’t get many attempts at this—my head was already throbbing with a migraine from the whistle, white lights flashing behind my eyelids. I’d have to try for my strongest link—and I knew who that was even if he wasn’t going to like it.
Marcus! This time I felt my message brush against someone else’s mind.
Angel, where the hell are you?
Oh God, Marcus. I got the blurred impression of masses of people and bright lights.
Why aren’t you here? You promised. His hurt zinged down our connection.
You really think this is a good time to hash that out? Tears of relief were running down my face, mingled with a sharp joy—so counter to everything else I was experiencing. I hadn’t been imagining anything: Marcus was my soulfinder. Petrified though I was, the connection between our minds blazed between us with warming, reassuring fire.
I’m in the middle of our set here. Pete and Michael are asking why I just stopped singing. I’ve got an audience of about ten thousand staring right at me.
Pull yourself together, Angel. Tell the guy to get you help. Sorry to interrupt but I’m in a lot of deep water here. I began to laugh hysterically, blotting the tears with my knees. If this was on webcam, I had to look completely mad. Eli Davis and Jennifer abducted me maybe an hour or so ago—I don’t know for sure. They’ve locked me in a shipping container, which is going to fill up with the tide. Tell Will to come and get me out.
There was no response. It was like the 999 dispatcher putting down the phone in the middle of your call.
Marcus? Please, please don’t let me down. I need you to believe me.
Jennifer?
I saw my mistake: I shouldn’t have mentioned someone he had known and trusted for longer than he had known me. That’s not important right now. Can we just concentrate on the saving-Angel-from-drowning part?
None of this makes sense. You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? You already told me water was your friend. Is this another of your “get Marcus’s attention” ploys? Show your power over me by making me drop everything for you?
You cold bastard! No, it damn well isn’t!
He was angry with me—with me! This isn’t a good time, Angel. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be finished up here. You’ve got your own performance in ninety minutes—you’d better be here for that.
He didn’t believe me. He thought I was playing some ridiculous game with my gift to get his notice—to make him choose between his band and me. My soulfinder didn’t care enough for me to risk his career and come save my life. My knight-in-fricking-shining-armour was abandoning the princess to the dragon and riding off in the wrong bloody direction.
He was about to end the link but I could feel his hesitation. What’s that you’re feeling? Telepathic communication between soulfinders gave each one an insight into the heart of the other—he was experiencing that right now.
I’m not sure what I’d call it: devastation maybe. I felt so tired—so disapp
ointed by him.
You know, Marcus, I thought we stood a chance once we spoke this way, but I was wrong. I was scared that my soulfinder might hate me but actually it’s the other way round: I should’ve been scared that I’d come to hate you. Go away, Marcus. I’ll get someone else to rescue me. I cut the link.
Water began to spurt through the joint where the container doors met. These shipping boxes were meant to withstand rough weather as they spent much of their working lives stacked out on a deck. Thanks to this, the tide had not found a way in until it was already a third of the way up the sides. I hadn’t noticed that I was already partially submerged. The water gushed towards me, wrapping me in the only kind of embrace I could bear just at the moment.
‘Oh my friend,’ I whispered to the water, ‘you and me are in a lot of trouble.’ I wasn’t scared, not of my element, but I was terrified of the decision I would have to make.
The sea tickled my aching wrists, bound so tightly with tape. I couldn’t ask it to carry in a knife or anything to cut me free—the gap wasn’t big enough to let in a blade—but I welcomed its soothing touch.
Hang on though: the sea could scour off the glue, couldn’t it?
Calling out to my friends telepathically all the while but failing to reach any of them, I summoned as much sand and grit as had come in with the water and directed it at the tape. Cool water protected my skin as a little whirlpool worked at the sticky join binding the tape. Gradually it loosened and floated free, like a strip of rubbery brown kelp.
‘Score one to Angel,’ I whispered, bringing my arms up in front of me.
‘How did you free yourself?’ Davis’ voice crackled over the speaker system.
I made use of my unbound hands and offered him a two-fingered reply. I took the earphones off my neck and dropped them into the water. Standing up, I found the water had reached my calves and was fast rising. It wouldn’t stop rushing towards me unless I ordered it to do so—and that was exactly what I didn’t want to do, not while on camera.
Angel Dares Page 17
