Angel Dares

by Joss Stirling

  ‘Wow!’ I whispered but no one could hear me as the sound was deafening. The nice stage manager gave me a thumbs up. I returned the gesture.

  ‘Ready on my mark,’ she said, holding her earpiece to her right ear.

  Kurt was now talking into the mic, saying something about a special treat for fans, a rising star going to be playing with them for the first time, so give it up, London, for Angel.

  ‘Go!’

  The shove in my shoulder blades got me walking. Do not trip up. Do not do a Jennifer Lawrence at the Oscars, I told myself. I came on stage into a wash of warm applause. That was OK. I could do this. I smiled and waved, heading over to my spot at Kurt’s left hand. The performing area was huge: it felt a very long walk. Banks of lights blazed down on us, preventing me from seeing anything in the crowd apart from the raised phones with their lit screens filming the moment, a thousand fallen stars. Kurt gave me a kiss as I passed.

  ‘Brace yourself,’ he said in my ear.

  Puzzled, I took up my stance, waiting for the introduction to the new song he had rehearsed. But he was leaving that script behind.

  ‘As you guys know, I have collaborated with various songwriters, but none have come anywhere as close to understanding me as my most recent partner. The new song we’re going to play was written with him and I’ve asked him to return to the stage to sing with us. Please, give a big London welcome to Marcus Cohen!’ Sweeping his hand to the opposite side I had come from, Kurt gave me a wicked smile. Behind me, Marcus stepped out into the lights. The applause went up a few notches. I turned slowly.

  Do not embarrass yourselves, I told all my inner Angels: the Lovelorn, the Angry, the Calm and Professional, the Impulsive. Especially the Impulsive.

  Marcus was carrying his guitar. He was wearing the same clothes he had worn on the beach: faded jeans and same blue T-shirt under an open shirt. Was this a signal to me? A reminder of when things had been on track?

  He crossed to me and brushed my arm. Bending to my ear, he said. ‘I would have worn the tutu but Kurt said you’d never forgive me.’

  So he remembered his vow: that he’d wear one if Kurt ever spoke to him telepathically?

  I cleared my throat. ‘Good call.’

  Passing in front of Kurt with a grin, Marcus took up position at the central mic. ‘The new song you’re going to hear is called “Stay Away, Come Closer”, and it’s dedicated to a very special girl.’ He turned to me. ‘She’s standing right there.’

  The crowd whistled and stamped. I could feel tears pricking my eyes but told them to go away until I could howl in private.

  Brian took up the intro and then the music wove its spell. I didn’t have to shout at my conflicted inner selves; the melody made me enter a space where I was whole. It was the place Marcus took me to with his power, where I could be more of a musician than I ever could on my own. Three verses passed and it was time for my solo. I lifted Freddie to my chin and relaxed. I forgot I was on stage, that I had an audience of thousands, even that I was in the O2; all there was for me was Marcus’s steady blue gaze holding me with him in the web of notes. I put into my part all the regret for my hastiness, my sadness that we’d hurt each other, the distance between us that I’d been unable to bridge. The violin said it all far better than I could and I knew that Marcus understood from the tiny smile he gave me at the end.

  He returned to the mic for the final verse, but the words had changed from when I first heard it.

  Don’t stay away, ’cos I’m closing in.

  Just can’t fight you.

  He turned to face me. My head was spinning: this was his declaration, his apology! And my reticent Marcus had chosen to do it in front of thousands.

  You know it’s said that fools rush in

  Where angels fear to tread.

  Then I’m a fool;

  Angel, I’m your fool.

  Blue eyes locked with mine, filled with hope and fear—hope that I’d forgive him, fear that I’d give him the biggest, most public rejection of his life. Freddie dangled at my side in nerveless fingers as the song ended, the words rolling through me. Kurt plucked my poor violin from my grip as Marcus took off his guitar. He leant to the mic.

  ‘Excuse me guys: there’s something I’ve got to do.’ Not waiting for a sign from me, Marcus closed the gap between us and gathered me up in his arms for a kiss. Bending me back over his arm, the kiss went on and on, encouraged by the cheers and whistles of the crowd. Of course, I’d forgive him. I’d choose hope over hostility any day. Then the chant ‘encore, encore!’ struck up in the huge inverted bowl of an arena. It was Kurt who answered the cry.

  ‘Sorry, guys, but Marcus will be otherwise occupied. You’ll have to put up with us playing our final number.’

  Taking that as permission, Marcus swept me up into his arms and strode offstage with me. This produced the biggest cheer yet.

  I pressed my ear to his chest, listening out for his heartbeat.

  ‘Do you want me to put you down?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘An attractive if somewhat impractical plan.’ He kicked open a fire door and strode out onto a balcony overlooking the Thames. He set me down on the plinth but didn’t remove his arms. We just stood together watching the dark waters unroll beneath us for a few magical moments.

  ‘I can’t believe you just did that,’ I admitted.

  He gave a self-mocking laugh. ‘Neither can I. Did you like it?’

  ‘I loved it.’

  ‘And have you decided to forgive me for being an idiot?’

  ‘I don’t bear grudges—it’s just not something I’m good at.’

  ‘That’s a relief.’ He kissed the tip of my ear. ‘I didn’t get a chance to explain. I didn’t ask Barry to test you. I told him he was wasting his time, but I handled that all wrong. I should’ve stopped him before he opened his mouth but I couldn’t interrupt the meeting in case you thought I was behind your success—asking him to see you as a favour.’

  ‘Oh.’ I’d accused him of not trusting me when in fact I had been the one rushing to judge him. Didn’t that make me feel about a centimetre tall? ‘Then I guess I owe you an apology.’

  He had worked his way down to my neck. ‘I can think of all sorts of ways you can show me how sorry you are, starting with this.’ He put his lips to mine, waiting for me to initiate a kiss. I did so.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I kissed him again—and again. ‘Just piling up some useful forgiveness tokens as I’m going to need them.’ I turned to lay my head against his chest again. ‘I’m sorry I’m impossible to live with.’

  He smoothed my hair away from my cheek. ‘That makes two of us. I get all moody when I’m writing.’

  ‘So I suppose we’re doing the world a favour taking two such difficult people out of the dating pool?’

  ‘I’d say so. And Angel, I have every confidence you’ll learn how to handle me—and me you.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes, because I’ve finally figured it out. We’ve got something major in our favour. Not the soulfinder thing—though that’s a bonus—but the fact that I’ve fallen in love with you.’

  I frowned. I couldn’t believe anyone would—not a boyfriend. I was too much for most people to handle. ‘You sure?’

  His shoulders shook as he laughed. ‘You’re not supposed to say that. Yes, I love you. I think I did the moment I saw you dancing on the table making everyone have a good time. The colours are brighter when you’re by my side, the laughter more infectious, the fleeting moments of perfection more poignant. Life is just more.’

  I sighed. ‘What wonderful words. They could be a song.’

  ‘Maybe they will be.’ He waited, stroking my arm. I knew what he wanted but I was trying not to give in to my tendency to rush things, savouring his words. ‘Angel?’

  I wouldn’t make him wait too long. ‘Marcus Cohen, you are gorgeous—both on the inside and out—but as a wise man once tried to tell me, it really is the inner kind that matters. You are t
houghtful and generous, caring of others, and incredibly talented. When you sing I feel you’ve climbed inside my heart and found all the keys to my soul, opening every corner, every pathway. And I love you, too.’ He went still, chin pressed tenderly to the top of my head. ‘I’m sorry I rushed you into this far too quickly at Rockport. I’m an idiot as I caused us both hurt, but I’m not sorry—not for a millisecond—that you’re my soulfinder. In fact, I’m very, very … ’ I grinned up at him then turned back to the river. Jump, I commanded it. A ribbon of water coiled and span into a circle, sparkling with white lights. Another smaller ball briefly taking the shape of a cow flew over it, landing with a splash that sounded just a little like a moo. ‘Over the moon.’

  Then Marcus roared with laughter. Holding me to him, he shook with it, interspersing fits with kisses and hugs. I’d never seen him give way to his sense of humour before as he’d always held something back. He had tears running down his face by the time he had caught his breath.

  ‘You are one in a million, Angel. No, I’m wrong: one in seven billion and I’m the luckiest guy alive as I get to keep you.’ He kissed my fingers. ‘First thing into the fire when I get home tonight: the words to “Demon Angel”. I couldn’t have been more wrong.’

  I jumped down from the wall. ‘No way: that’s a good song! Sent to torment me,’ I sang. ‘Fly back where you belong.’

  He groaned. ‘You really did hear it all then? I was hoping you’d forgotten.’

  ‘Hardly, the words are graven on my heart, Marcus “OMG” Cohen.’ I pulled him towards the stage door, aware there would be people waiting for us inside. ‘You’ll need them when I annoy you, which I’ve no doubt I will. Besides, good music is good music.’

  His hand slid from my waist to my hip. ‘I’ll just have to write another song then—the one where the guy wakes up and realizes he’s the shallow fool for getting her all wrong.’

  ‘Or you could write me a song where I get to answer back.’ I pushed open the fire doors that hadn’t closed properly behind us. The warmth of the stage and the buzz of people reached out to wrap around us.

  He patted my hip in approval. ‘Great idea. I’ll write you one then our bands can duel for that top spot. Him and her.’

  ‘Black Belt versus Angel Dares? That’s one story I don’t mind being part of.’ I headed for the green room.

  ‘Sorry, but you don’t stand a chance against us highly trained guys.’ In the corridor just outside the lounge, Marcus feigned a judo move to throw me, giving me plenty of time to skip out of the way.

  Backing into the room laughing, I shook my finger at him. ‘Uh-huh, we’ll just dance out of your reach.’

  Cameras flashed—and yes, that was the second picture that made it into the press the next morning along with the onstage kiss: Marcus and I fooling about in the doorway to the green room, both laughing, me holding him off, him with his hands outstretched to grab me.

  ‘Oops.’ I blushed and quickly checked my dress was straight after our tussle.

  ‘Yeah, the backstage press conference.’ Marcus cleared his throat, looking more amused than embarrassed. ‘I forgot about that.’

  I turned to take in the avid looks of what appeared to be at least fifty journalists. Marcus closed the gap between us and slung an arm around my shoulders. ‘I think they’ll want us down the front with the others.’

  Kurt, his band mates, and Pete and Michael were all smiling at us.

  ‘You did say “send in the clowns—there oughta be clowns”?’ I said brightly.

  ‘Don’t worry: we’re here,’ finished Marcus. I just knew that before me he would never have made a joke like that at his own expense.

  ‘Thanks for the floor show, guys,’ said Kurt. ‘Come closer.’ He patted the sofa beside him where they had left room for two.

  ‘Not stay away?’ grinned Marcus, pulling me down onto this lap.

  ‘Definitely not stay away. Right, Margot, over to you to pick the questions.’

  As Margot took the floor to control the interview, I relaxed back against Marcus. Kurt refused anyone who asked about Marcus and me, making clear this was about music, not about our private lives. That was sweet of him but I guess Marcus had kinda blown the private part when he did his apology in front of thousands. From my perch I was able to take in some of the details that had escaped me before. Will, Uriel, and Victor were in the room, standing at the edges, eyes on the journalists rather than us. I could see Alex also, standing next to Uriel, Misty just behind him, visible only because I could see her hand wrapped in his. That left Summer. I spotted her sitting on a chair behind Victor, eyes closed as she concentrated. What was she doing? When I’d seen that expression on her face before, she’d been using her gift. She can get into just about any head unless they have formidable shields. As I watched, she got up and whispered something to Victor. His eyes focused on a man in the middle of the crowd, face hidden behind a large camera that he didn’t lower.

  I sat up, not believing the man’s gall. Eli Davis had dared to come to our press conference! Was he that stupid to think we’d let him walk in and out with impunity? I sagged a little. Of course, we had nothing to charge him with. We couldn’t stop him as I’d been unable to prove he’d been behind my abduction.

  Marcus noticed my reaction. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Eli Davis—the guy with the black Gifted baseball cap and checked shirt.

  Marcus stiffened and started to shift me off his lap. I’m not sure what he was planning to do but tearing the guy limb from limb appeared to feature heavily in his thoughts.

  No, not here, I begged. Let’s not give him the story he wants.

  Kurt stood up and signalled that the question and answer session was over. ‘Thanks for coming, everyone. There are drinks and stuff in the waterfront bar. We’ll be over for the party when we’ve had a chance to wind down, OK?’ Gifted were famous—and well liked—for their hospitality to the music press. These parties were a regular event at the end of a tour.

  As the press filed out, Victor and Will moved in on Eli Davis. Victor relieved him of his camera as Will took a firm grip on his arm.

  ‘Mr Davis, I believe we need to have a word in private,’ said Victor coolly.

  Davis’ eyes flicked to his colleagues heading for the free drinks. ‘You can’t do anything, Benedict. People know I’m here.’

  ‘I believe Mr Voss would like a word too.’ Victor marched Davis up to where Kurt, Marcus, and I were still sitting. Margot moved to Will’s side; Alex, Misty, and Summer stayed in the room but kept back. None of them looked surprised at this confrontation.

  Did you know about this? I asked Marcus.

  No—but I think I like what I’m seeing. He settled me protectively against him. Just sit back and enjoy the show.

  Kurt glanced down at us to check we were OK then turned to face Davis.

  ‘Davis, I have some bad news for you,’ he said.

  ‘What? That you’re one of them?’ Davis spat at Victor’s feet. Victor raised a brow but said nothing.

  ‘One of what?’ asked Kurt blandly. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. No, what I mean is that my lawyers are delivering an injunction against you and your newspaper.’

  Davis’ eyes darted to me, then to the door. ‘Nothing can be proved.’

  ‘Sadly, we are aware that we can’t pin attempted murder on you, you scum, but that is not the charge I am bringing against you. I have presented evidence of phone hacking to the police here and in the US. So desperate to get celebrity gossip, you stole a phone off a new associate of mine and dug through her contacts for our numbers. One of those stolen was mine and I know you attempted to break into my voicemail—I had my security team watching for it.’ He gestured to Will. ‘And Mr Benedict here also has something to add.’

  Will passed Davis an envelope. ‘You also hacked into my account and picked up a message left for me by my brother four days ago. Taking his number, you attempted to do the same to his voicemail. Unfortunately
for you, his phone is FBI-issued, which bumps up the charges to attempted espionage on a government official. Homeland Security has got very interested in you. When you’ve got through the court case here, I imagine the US authorities will be asking for you to be extradited to face further charges at home.’

  Davis went white. I had no sympathy—not a scrap. He had brought the whole stinking bucket of gunk down on his own head by forgetting to behave like a journalist with any morals and almost killed me in the process. Margot spoke into her walkie-talkie and two uniformed police officers entered the room.

  ‘You can’t do this,’ spluttered Davis. ‘I’ve got rights!’

  ‘Excuse me, sir, I was just about to read you those now,’ said the senior officer as she approached. Victor gave her a nod and stepped back. Davis had forgotten in his mad dash to expose us that Victor had friends in most major police forces in friendly countries. He was now about to find out just how unpopular the charge of celebrity phone hacking was going to make him.

  He was led away, shouting out about savants and plots. Kurt stood between Will and Victor, savouring the moment.

  ‘Ah, that felt good.’ He turned to me. ‘You OK seeing him again? We thought you’d like to be here when he was brought down.’

  I bounced off Marcus’s knee and did a little happy dance. ‘Yay, score for the good guys!’

  Marcus got up and spun me once. ‘And it was all thanks to you.’

  ‘Me?’ I squeaked. ‘No, it was these wonderful people.’ I gestured to my friends.

  Victor gave me a wry smile. ‘No, Marcus is right. It was your phone that did it.’

  Misty approached hand in hand with Alex. ‘None of us planned it that way but he had stolen it off you already so Alex here had the totally brilliant idea of using it as bait.’

  Alex cleared his throat. ‘I might’ve made a call to your old number suggesting persuasively that whoever was listening go through your contacts and focus on Will and Kurt.’

  ‘And Summer tracked him for us tonight so we knew he would be here,’ beamed Misty.