“Done!” The make-up lady turned the chair around so everyone could see Ruslana.
The stage assistant clipped a transmitter block on the back of Vincent’s belt. “Can you say ‘testing one two three,’ please?”
“You’re beautiful!” Vincent said, ignoring the stage assistant.
Not that Ondine was in the habit of agreeing with Lord Vincent, but Ruslana did look stunning.
“I’ll be in the car,” Melody said as she hauled herself off the couch and walked out.
“We really have to go, Sir, it’s –” the stage assistant caught sight of Ruslana and became stutteringly lost for words.
Vincent beamed. “Come, Ruslana, it’s time for Brugelers to meet their future Duchess.”
Ondine glanced at him, silently reminding them of their deal. He made a slow blink, as if to say “I know” as he left the room.
Would he stick to his word? Ondine didn’t trust him as far as she could throw a cheese ball.
EERIE QUIET GREETED Ondine and Hamish as they returned to the empty pub. In the past, there was always some kind of “goings-on” going on. Guests in the hotel, Chef preparing food, and the general noise of noisy people, even in their sleep. They checked the premises to make sure everything was where it should be and that thieves hadn’t taken advantage of their absence. But then, according to the television promotions, everyone would be watching BrugelMelody. That had to include thieves too? [312]
“Put the telly on and let’s find out who wins, eh lass?”
“Good idea.” It would provide noise so they wouldn’t have to talk. Because talking would invariably lead to a discussion about Lord Vincent, and whether or not they should have helped him. It hadn’t felt right at the time, and now Ondine felt nothing but remorse. She kept herself busy making hot chocolates, took a deep breath, fixed a smile in place and joined Hamish on the couch. [313]
They’d tuned in to find Marta Pompeii announcing the top five finalists. Battlefront’s Anthem made it to the top five, as did the boy band in boiler suits that Ondine was sure would disappear without a trace.
“Vincent had better come good on his promise,” she said. Oh dear, she’d said it out loud.
“Aye,” was all Hamish said.
“I did the right thing, didn’t I? I mean, I didn’t really have a choice.”
“Aye,” he said, giving her a rub on the shoulder. But no bone-melting kisses. Did that mean Old Col’s anti-magic magic was still working, or was Hamish upset with her?
A rock outfit made it to the top five. As did the krumpers on skateboards. One place left, Ondine forgot how to breathe. Nerves stretched tighter than a slingshot, Ondine held her breath until she nearly passed out. Watching this at home was killing her.
“Margibelle!” Marta finally announced. Ondine and Hamish cheered at the screen and hugged each other, spilling their drinks and not caring. They hugged and kissed and bounced in their seats. A top five finish! Amazing! Maybe they really could win this?
Marta, all white of teeth and bouffant of hair, stood in front of the five acts. There, on the telly, were her sisters known as Margibelle, standing amongst the winners, smiling and waving at the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen and special guests,” the Marta said, “These are our top five finalists!” She paused to allow the audience to go crazy for a while. “This is truly an historical night. In the first time ever at BrugelMelody, we have a three-way tie for first place!”
Ondine choked. Hamish patted her on the back to help her recover.
“As much as we’d like, we cannot send our top three acts to PopEuroTube. Although the quality was so high this year, it would be a crime if Slaegal and Craviç didn’t immediately grab the runners up to represent them. This of course means we’ll need to call in our mystery judge to make the final decision of who will represent Brugel at the PopEuroTube Song Contest.”
The crowd went wild. Ondine and Hamish held each other, afraid to let go. On the telly, the curtains to the side parted, to reveal Lord Vincent, waving his blue hand to the crowd, a stunning Ruslana by his side, every millimetre the future Duchess of Brugel.
The presenter beamed and asked Vincent if he’d made his decision.
“I have,” he said, then smiled again.
“Then may we have the result please?”
Would Vincent stick to his side of the bargain?
Ondine couldn’t breathe for nerves. Margibelle had to win. They simply had to.
Chapter Eight
Pain lanced Ondine’s chest as she waited for the result of Lord Vincent’s casting vote. He had to come good on his promise.
“We have a three-way tie.” Marta said, hamming it up for the audience. “Would you like to know who our three winners are?”
The crowd went insane. Ondine’s head was going to explode from the tension.
“Our three winning performers, in no particular order are, Margibelle! Battlefront and –”
Ondine didn’t hear the third band. It didn’t matter. She squealed and squished Hamish, who cried out with joy as well. They’d won. Well, they’d equally won. They were tied for first.
Making a great show of the results, Marta Pompeii on the television turned to Vincent, who handed over the envelope with his casting vote. Marta then opened it slowly, dragging the tension out so long it breached the Geneva Convention. “This year’s winner, with Lord Vincent’s casting vote, to represent Brugel at PopEuroTube is . . .” she paused and looked at the three final finalists. Margi and Belle were holding hands and turning blue from holding their breaths. Marta turned back to the camera and said, “Battlefront!”
Blood rushed through Ondine’s ears. “What? What!” Her jaw dropped, further opening her ears as the noise of the televised crowd poured into her brain.
“It’s a mistake,” Hamish said.
“But Vincent said –”
“– The toe rag –”
“– that they’d get in.”
“– lying piece of scum.”
She couldn’t hear properly over her thundering pulse, but her eyes weren’t lying. There on TV, the members of Battlefront, who’d sung Anthem, were leaping with joy. They would represent Brugel at PopEuroTube. Not Margibelle. Who were hugging and consoling each other and then being absolute troopers and congratulating the members of Battlefront.
Deflated and defeated, Ondine fell back on to the couch and kept shaking her head at Vincent’s deception. “He said he’d help. Why did I trust him? He used us!”
“Can I turn it off now lass, it’s nae gointae get any better.”
“I want to flip tables and start a riot!” Tears of frustration blurred everything as the words, ‘he lied to us!’ rang in her ears.
“We have plenty of tables in the dining room if ye want tae make a start.”
Molten lava-anger fried Ondine’s brain as she kicked over the side table. Then she quickly righted it again because flipping tables didn’t solve anything. Except make her feel marginally better for having done it.
But still.
What else could she kick?
Noise wafted in from outside. A group of people were singing Anthem out in the street, as if they’d deliberately burst into song just to drive her mad. The singing became louder as it reached the back door. They were carousing now, right outside her family home. Talk about rubbing menthol into her eyeballs! [314]
Hamish did what Hamish did best and wrapped Ondine in a hug. She howled out the unfairness of the world into his chest. Encased in Hamish’s arms, his biceps should have smothered the sound of other people singing. But it became even louder. How was that possible? Then the noise came inside their room and she pulled away from Hamish to see her family walking in, twirling sparklers in the air and popping streamers!
They were singing Anthem! Had they fallen into a vat of plütz? Margi and Cybelle were hugging their men and singing. Ma was making strange ululations like a gypsy
queen and Da was singing the low notes in some bizarre attempt to harmonise.
The Bergers joined in as well, as their son Alexei lit a fresh sparkler.
They looked . . . happy?
Eventually Ondine’s family paused for breath, giving Hamish the chance to ask, “Have ye all lawst yer minds?”
“Watch the sparks on the carpet!” Ma said.
Margi broke away from Thomas and grabbed Ondine in an embrace. “Oh Ondi, it’s wonderful!”
That would be yes.
“They haven’t seen it yet,” Thomas said. “Turn the box back on, you’ll see what happened.”
Mute with confusion, Ondine did Thomas’s bidding and switched the set back on. But by now they’d finished the broadcast and were showing an old movie.
Margi’s smile grew larger. “Ondi, we’re going to PopEuroTube anyway. We’ll be representing Slaegal! Isn’t that wonderful?” At which point Margi squealed, grabbed Cybelle and the two of them bounced around and made giddy noises. They moved into the beer garden to continue the party. Alexei had a fresh box of small fireworks that he was keen to set on fire.
The world had officially stopped making sense.
“You’ll never believe it, darling,” Ma said, coming over to smother Ondine in a hug. “Lord Vincent cast the vote for Battlefront to sing for Brugel, and we were crushed let me tell you. But then he told us the good news.”
Ondine came up for air. “But how does he have any say in what Slaegal does?”
“It wasn’t him, it was his fiancé Ruslana. Her dad’s the head of the Slaegal delegation and they want Margibelle to sing for them.”
“But . . . Slaegal?” [315]
Eyes fever-bright, Cybelle said, “Don’t you see? This means we’ve got an even better chance of winning. Brugelers can’t vote for Brugel, but they can vote for us because we’ll be Slaegal. Just for one night.”
Whooshing weirdness filled Ondine’s head. “I guess that’s good then.” All the while she couldn’t shake the feeling Vincent had tricked her. Margibelle were supposed to represent Brugel, not their enemies across the border.
“Good?” Cybelle said. “It’s amazing.”
Henrik kissed Cybelle on the cheek and spun her around.
Hamish whispered in Ondine’s ear. “Ye done good, lass. Vincent came through after all.”
“Yoo hoo!” Came a familiar voice. Old Col sauntered out to the garden, “I came as soon as I could to join in the party!”
Old Col’s eyes lit on Alexei and his box of exploding tricks. “Oh yes, let’s set them off!” The matriarch and the newcomer to Ondine’s extended family then set about setting fire to things.
At least they weren’t doing it inside!
The excitement in the garden broke through Ondine’s glumness. As a firework launched into the sky, Col waved her hands casting a spell. Vibrant red and gold sparks exploded outward creating a picture of Margi and Cybelle’s faces against the starry night.
Ondine’s sisters screamed with delight at the impromptu pyrotechnics display. She’d never seen the family so happy. Their emotions proved contagious and Ondine found herself grinning and hugging her sisters for the sheer joy of it.
Nobody needed to know about her deal with Vincent.
Bang! Another magic firework illuminated the sky, this time with Ondine and Hamish’s virtual visages beaming down at everyone below in brilliant blue and purple.
“Oh how lovely Col!” Ma exclaimed, clapping with delight.
As the real Ondine gazed up in wonder, her sparkly-likeness broke into a smile. Then Hamish’s apparition winked, morphed into a ferret and then faded away into smoke.
A heat wave swept through the garden, as if the trees had caught fire.
“Be careful, Alex,” Mrs Berger said.
“Now that was a hot flash!” Ma said.
No harm done, everyone laughed and kept partying.
“Whoops, must have given it a little too much!” Old Col said.
More family phantasms flew across the sky above the pub, bringing gasps of joy to all. Alexei stuck a pinwheel to the decorative lamppost and set it blazing. Flames and sparks flew out in all directions as it whizzed around.
Creak! The pinwheel’s heat buckled the lamppost.
Mr Berger said, “You’ve done your dash boy, get inside.”
“We’ll pay for the damages,” Mrs Berger said.
“Not Alexei’s fault!” Old Col jumped in. “I gave it a little extra. Sometimes I don’t know my own strength.”
“Is everything all right auntie?” Ma asked.
“Perfectly fine!” Old Col sounded way too defensive. “Josef, why not break out the plütz? The good stuff this time.”
REHEARSALS FOR THE abnormal formal continued apace, but the Duchess Anathea did not appear at them, making Ondine even more worried as they trudged back to the family pub after an afternoon of dancing. Hamish winced as he held the door open for Ondine.
“Are you all right, darling?”
“Jus’ me shoulders hen, on account of gettin’ me posture right.”
Old Col swished past. “Posture is the most important part.”
“Aye,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “After a good sleep I’ll get the blood flow back into my arms sharpish.”
“You could be a little more appreciative, Col,” Ondine said, then suddenly felt terrible about speaking so harshly.
“Considering he ruined my first debutante ball, yes, Ondine, I appreciate that Hamish is at last making amends for his appalling behaviour all those years ago.” [316]
Twigs figuratively snapped inside Ondine’s head. Her great aunt had never sounded so tetchy before. She’d always been playful and full of mischief. Even when things were crazy, Ondine had always been able to rely on Old Col to steer them right. Now she looked and sounded downright mean. It wasn’t like her at all. “Auntie Col, are you, y’know, all right?”
“Course I’m all right,” she snapped.
“No need to snap.”
“I didn’t snap,” she snapped. Again.
Ping, went Ondine’s brain. “It’s the ball, isn’t it? You’re getting worked up about it.”
“Nonsense.”
“It’s going to be all right, you know.” Ondine hoped Old Col would calm down. She needed her great auntie to be her great self. Not this snappish . . . snapper. “Hamish is working his shoulders off so that he’ll be ready on the night. He wants it to be a success just as much as you do.” And Ondine wanted the Duchess Anathea to be there so she could warn her again of what Vincent was up to. Honestly, sometimes she felt like everyone else had become so caught up in their personal issues they’d forgotten about what was really important. Protecting Brugel from Vincent!
People began filling the streets, heading towards the city centre. Dread filled Ondine’s belly as the crowds kept coming during the late afternoon, with dozens of people waving flags as they walked. On the flags were blue hands.
This was a rally for Vincent.
Jolted into action, Ondine raced upstairs and grabbed her camera, although what she’d be able to do with the footage was anyone’s guess. [317] She had to at least document what was going on. Maybe, when she showed the footage to Anathea, the Duchess might start to do something.
Music played, the spring sun beamed from the sky and the air filled with delicious fragrances of fried cheese balls. Although they were tired from rehearsals, Ondine and Hamish slipped out the side gate and followed the tide of people. They soon found themselves in Savo Plaza, where music and fun filled the air. Cadets created a percussion of precision drumbeats, streamers caught on tree branches filling them with colour. It was the biggest street party Ondine had ever seen.
“Gotta hand it to the lord, he does throw a fine céilidh,’ Hamish said. [318]
If Vincent kept up this charm offensive, there would soon be a tipping point, which would tip Duchess Anathea out of Brugel entirely.
In order to avoid his palm
fading back to whitish pink, Vincent plunged his hand into the toilet cistern, which had an old-style dark blue hygiene block in it. His skin came out a rich shade of blue.
This was his symbol, as Babak Balakhan had decreed. Having a blue hand linked him to his ancestor Elmaree. And it looked great on the banners. [319]
For the briefest moment he wondered if the chemicals might not be entirely good for him, but staining his hand wouldn’t be forever, just until he had the Dukedom back.
“Ready? Let’s go,” his bride-to-be said as he walked back into the hotel suite.
Happy crowds gathered in the plaza below their window. So many were dressed in blue, or holding banners of blue hands. There had to be a few thousand people already. Impressive. Babak had paid for everything. The security guards, the traffic management, the stage, the public address system, the entertainment and the food vans giving away free cheeseballs.
A second-tier celebrity presenter introduced the acts. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls of all ages . . .” A troop of Fort Kluff cadets beat out a drum roll to build excitement.
In the hotel suite, two security guards, a male and a female knocked and entered. They wore identical, dark blue suits, aviator sunglasses and little clear coils of audio equipment clipped into their ears.
“We’re ready to escort you to the stage, My Lord,” the woman said.
“Excellent,” Vincent said, “I’ll be right with –”
A rock crashed through the window, shattering glass over the carpet.
The woman pushed Vincent to the floor and shielded him with her body. “Stay down!” she yelled.
The noise and drama sent Vincent’s pulse soaring.
“Breach in Lord Vincent’s hotel room!” the man said, moving sideways to the window.
“Don’t suppose anyone’s going to jump on me?” Ruslana said with a petulant hand on her hip.
Squashed under the protective guard, Vincent tried to steady his breathing. He had to beat this panic, he couldn’t let this spoil his day. He hissed out, “You’re wrinkling my suit.”
The Ondine Collection Page 65
