by Lucy Banks
“Hey, none of us tell anyone what we do for a job,” Serena said warningly, applying her lipstick in the mirror at intervals to stop Mike from deliberately jogging her.
“I know. I understand,” Anya replied. “Anyway, I did the same, didn’t I? I never told you about the Thelemites because I thought you’d think I was weird.”
“In all honesty, they do seem a little odd,” Kester said. “What was with Barty Melville? He looked like a whale in a dress.”
“Lots of the older ones wear clothes like that, it’s a traditional outfit,” Anya said. She glanced out the window. “But I suppose I must be careful what I say, right?”
“Damned right you do,” Mike said. “Remember, it’s not just humans that belong to that society, it’s spirits too. Which means they can listen to you whenever they want, and you wouldn’t have a clue about it.”
Anya gave him a strange look. “I know,” she replied finally, toying with her skirt. “I wish I’d never joined. I just got so wrapped up in finding out the truth of it all that I didn’t think about what I was getting myself into.”
“Well, best not talk about it anymore, eh?” Mike added. “How about we talk about Billy Dagger instead?”
“Lord, you’re obsessed,” Serena drawled as she rested back against the seat. “Are we going to have to endure you rabbiting on about him the entire journey?”
“Have you listened to his latest album?” Mike carried on, ignoring her.
“Not yet, it only came out last week, didn’t it?” Kester replied. Not that I have enough money to buy it anyway, he added silently. He was still waiting for last month’s pay-cheque—he didn’t have the heart to chase his father over it.
“Four days ago, to be exact,” Mike continued. “It’s amazing. Really weird though, lots of strange lyrics. There’s obviously a subtext going on, but I have no idea what it is.” He patted the compartment in the driver door before finding the CD in question. “Here,” he said, flinging it into Serena’s lap. “Put this on, would you?”
Serena sighed but did as he asked anyway. At once, deep, melodious music flooded the car, complete with an eerie, thumping bass-line. Mike’s right, Kester thought, listening to the lyrics. This is pretty odd. Nothing like his usual stuff.
“What’s this one called?” he asked as he reached over to take the CD case from Serena.
“‘Tear the Walls Down,’” Mike replied automatically, his foot heavy on the accelerator as he joined the motorway. “It’s awesome, isn’t it?”
“What the hell is the song about?” Anya asked.
“It’s probably all the drugs he’s taken over the years,” Serena chimed. “They’ve clearly addled his brain.”
“Hey, don’t insult his mighty brain, thank you very much,” Mike barked. “Especially given the miniscule size of your own.”
“You’re a fine one to talk.”
“At least I haven’t got an incubus hovering around over my head.”
Serena looked up immediately, then punched him on the arm. “Shut up, Mike. I haven’t seen the incubus since this morning anyway, so I think he might have gone away.”
“If he’s gone back to the swimming pool, we’re in trouble,” Kester said, thoughtfully scratching his ear.
“Nah, we’ll just send Serena over to flirt with him, she’ll get him out of there again.”
“Mike, you are so annoying,” Serena growled, smoothing down her fringe.
They drove on through the darkness at breakneck speed. Mike mastered a route through the chaotic streets of Bristol, taking great delight in burning other cars off at the traffic lights and nearly crashing at least twice. After circling a few busy, residential streets, they finally managed to find a place to park and headed over to the venue.
“God, it’s absolutely heaving,” Serena commented, surveying the crowds of people spilling over all three floors and leaning over the bannisters of the cavernous reception area.
“What did you expect?” Mike retorted as he fiddled around in his back pocket for his wallet. “What I’m more concerned about is that bloody huge queue at the bar.” He nudged Serena and gave her a wink. “Go on, love, work your magic. You’ll get served before me because you’re prettier.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. I’ll get you a nice soft drink, shall I?”
“Beer, please,” he replied with a warning wag of his finger. “Don’t even think of making it non-alcoholic. You know the deal.”
“What’s that?” Serena replied, pretending not to hear over the hubbub of the crowd. “Make it non-alcoholic? Are you sure?”
“Don’t even joke about it, madam.”
“Hey? What was that? Lemonade?”
He flapped a hand at her as she disappeared, slipping between people with the ease of a snake through grass.
“She’d better hurry up,” Mike snarled as he tapped his watch. “The support band’s on in a few minutes.” He hopped from foot to foot, anxiously eyeing the doors that led to the main hall.
“Where are we, then?” Kester asked, peering over Mike’s shoulder at the tickets. “Are we near the front or right at the back?”
Mike waved the pieces of paper in the air triumphantly. “It’s a standing-only gig, which means we can dive right down to the front.”
Anya laced her arm through Kester’s own, the warmth of her skin pressing against him. “My dad always loved Billy Dagger; it will be awesome to see him perform live.”
“Your dad, eh?” Mike repeated with an embarrassed rub of his forehead. “Now I feel old. I forget you two whippersnappers are younger than me.”
Eventually, Serena returned, weaving through the crowds and struggling with four drinks. Mike let out a sigh of satisfaction to see that, despite her threats, she had bought him a beer. Without preamble, he necked down about half the pint without pausing for breath. Kester took his, then slipped some money into Mike’s pocket.
“Let me get the drinks,” he said with a nod. “You gave us these tickets, it’s the least I can do.”
An ear-splitting buzz rang through the bar area, announcing the imminent start of the gig. The hundreds of people ceased speaking in unison, turning towards the doors like a pack of meerkats.
“Aye, aye,” Mike said with a grin. “Time to get a move on. I want to be so close to the stage that I can see the grey hairs up Dagger’s nose.”
“Whatever turns you on, weirdo,” Serena replied before pushing past him and striding towards the door.
They milled into the general throng, squeezing through the double-doors and down the stairs, until they reached the stage, which was bathed in darkness save for a projector display announcing the name of the support act.
“Who the hell are the Grot-Monkeys?” Serena asked, apple juice cupped pertly in her hands.
“Ah, some psychedelic rock outfit,” Mike replied knowledgeably. “They’re from Finland, aren’t they, Anya?”
Anya raised an eyebrow. “Why are you asking me? I’m from Denmark.”
“Finland, Denmark, same place.”
She chuckled. “They really aren’t, you know.”
The support band all looked identical to Kester: long hair draped over their faces and grubby T-shirts hanging off their skinny frames. They were passably good, or at least good enough for the crowd to start bobbing and singing along to the lyrics. Whilst they were playing, Kester took a moment or two to glance across at Anya.
Her face was illuminated by the stage lights, flickering green, red, and blue in turn; her eyes were a glittering black. She looks like a beautiful rainbow turned into a human, he thought, amazed by his unexpected burst of emotion. He wondered whether he’d have the opportunity, or the courage, to kiss her at the end of the evening. Probably not, he thought, looking across at Mike, who had his eyes closed and was holding his empty glass in the air in some sort of salute to the mus
ic. Mike will probably say something awful like “get in there, mate,” which will instantly make me feel like a colossal prat.
The support act finished. Then, after an impossibly long wait, strobe lights started to pulse over the stage. Mike whooped in excitement, spilling his third pint over the back of a man in front, who didn’t seem overly bothered.
“Aw man, I’ve been waiting for this for ages!” he chorused, then wrapped an arm around Serena, who looked alarmed and revolted in equal measures.
So have I, thought Kester, looking at his watch. Billy Dagger certainly likes to keep his crowds waiting. We won’t be back home until about two in the morning at this rate.
A low hum like a swarm of bees gathering momentum filled the auditorium. Seconds later, a solitary guitar chord crashed into action followed by a deafening techno-beat. Mike howled, embraced the man next to him, and nearly knocked Serena over in the process.
“Is he always like that?” Anya shouted in Kester’s ear.
He glanced over at Mike, then nodded. “Yeah.” Where’s Billy Dagger, then? he wondered as he scanned the stage. His backing musicians had assembled, only partially visible through the smoke and pulsing lights, but he couldn’t see the singer anywhere. Then the rousing wail of enthusiastic calling and pointing alerted him to the fact that Dagger was emerging from what looked like a rip in the curtain at the back of the stage, floating down on a set of ropes.
“Amazing entrance!” Mike gibbered, flailing his arms with worshipful abandon. “Like a fallen angel or something. Beautiful. Just beautiful.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Mike, it’s not God himself descending from heaven, you know.” Serena crossed her arms, but her expression revealed she was more impressed than she was letting on.
“It is,” Mike corrected. “Seriously, Dagger is like a god to me. Come on, look at him. No-one that cool can be human.”
A cacophony of noise silenced them all as the first song, one of Dagger’s classics from the 1970s, kicked in. The crowd went wild, thumping and stamping as one until the floor beneath their feet vibrated. In spite of natural introversion, Kester felt an irresistible urge to join in. He attempted a few experimental bounces before catching sight of Anya’s puzzled expression and stopping.
After a few more old songs, Billy Dagger launched into a song from his latest album. Kester immediately recognised it from the car on the way up.
“What was this one again?” he shouted.
“‘Tear the Walls Down’!” Mike bellowed back, leaping around like a maniac. “Man, it sounds even better live than on the album!”
Kester could see what Mike was getting at. The singer, even though he was in his sixties, was slight, sprightly, and full of attitude, with a fetching sneer, spiked hair, and a tight leather T-shirt. His voice was also impressive, almost unearthly when he hit the high notes, like a bird caught in a trap.
“He’s such an incredible performer,” Anya said, gazing entranced at the stage.
“Yeah, really sexy too,” Serena added, nodding. Mike and Kester looked at one another incredulously.
“He’s old enough to be your dad, if not your granddad!” Kester shouted.
“Yes, but he’s got a certain something, hasn’t he?” Serena added, eyes following every hip-thrust and wiggle with great attention.
The song ended with a deafening crescendo and the crowd erupted in approval. Billy Dagger sauntered to the front of the stage, then pointed, finger signalling masterfully into the darkness.
“Good evening, all you people of Birmingham,” he drawled. His voice snagged like velvet dragged over spikes—smooth, yet disjointed.
“It’s Bristol, mate!” someone called from the back.
“Same thing, same thing,” the singer crooned with a wink. “Wherever you’re from, people, you must remember to do what you will. You dig?”
“Oh yes, we dig!” Mike roared along with thousands of other eager fans behind him. Without waiting for the noise to die down, Dagger crashed into his next song, another familiar hit that sent the audience into a renewed state of frenzy.
“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Anya screamed into Kester’s ear.
“Crazy and very impressive,” Kester replied. Admittedly, he’d never been to a gig before, unless you counted the choral performances that his old neighbour, Mrs Winterbottom, held in the town hall back in Cambridge. Nothing could have prepared him for the noise and the excitement. The air vibrated with energy powered by an unseen current that rippled from person to person.
Dagger paused, then extended a fist to the sky. “It’s time to tear the walls apart,” he whispered cryptically into his microphone, then he slumped to the floor.
The crowd gasped as one.
Kester looked around, confused. All the surrounding faces mirrored his own—open-mouthed amazement at the scene in front of them. The singer’s motionless body remained in the centre of the stage, like a puppet whose strings had suddenly been snipped.
“Is this part of the act?” he asked, scratching his head.
Mike frowned. “I’m not sure.” The crowd started to murmur. Even the backing musicians on stage were looking at one another in bafflement.
Suddenly, two stage-hands bolted on and knelt beside Dagger. The audience watched, muttering and whispering, as the men checked the singer’s pulse.
“Oh my god,” Anya breathed, eyes wide. “What’s going on?”
“I have literally no idea,” Mike replied, staring at the stage. “But this is very, very not good.” He looked like a little boy who’d had his ice-cream taken away from him, bottom lip hanging in horror and disappointment.
“Do you think he’s dead?” A spiky-haired woman in front of them turned around, putting the question to them all.
“No. Not possible,” Mike replied, hands knotted in an anxious ball over his stomach. “There’s no way . . .” His sentence drifted into silence as one of the stage-hands shook his head before gesturing urgently off-stage. A few seconds later, the curtains were drawn. The room erupted into a chorus of outraged gasps and mutterings.
“I don’t believe it!” Mike continued, as he grasped Kester by the arm. “What the hell just happened?”
Kester gazed up at the heavy, velvet curtains. “I have no idea. Maybe they’ll tell us what’s going on in a moment?”
They lingered by the front of the stage as the crowd grew steadily more restless. Suddenly, the screeching whistle of the Tannoy cut across the noise. Instantly, the room hushed.
“Now we should get some answers about—” Serena began. Mike shushed her urgently.
The voice over the loudspeaker crackled, then coughed. “It’s with much regret,” it began, “that we announce that tonight’s show has been cut short, due to unforeseen circumstances. Please be assured that we are currently attending to the health and wellbeing of Mr Dagger, and we will be in touch in due course regarding the possible rescheduling of the performance. At present, we’d like to ask you to leave quietly by the entrance doors.”
“I want my money back!” a voice bellowed from the back. He was quickly silenced by a sea of disapproving tuts.
Mike shook his head, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t believe it,” he whispered as he followed the slow-moving herd of people towards the exit. He looked back at the stage hopefully, as though expecting the curtains to miraculously open again. “The one time I manage to get Billy Dagger tickets, and he collapses. What are the odds?”
“I’m sure there’ll be other times,” Serena said, patting his arm.
“Not if he’s gone,” Anya countered, as she swiftly linked arms with Kester.
“What do you mean, gone?”
“Dead, of course. You know.”
“He’s not dead!” Mike sniffed. “No way.”
“Shall I get you another beer?” Serena asked with uncharacteristic kindness, ignoring
the fact that she was being jostled from all sides by chaotic throngs of people.
Mike shook his head. “No. Not even alcohol will make me feel better. Let’s go home.”
The drive back was sombre. Mike refused to even put the radio on, claiming it would be depressing to hear any kind of music after the disastrous evening. Instead, he slumped in the passenger seat, glaring out of the window whilst Serena drove down the silent motorway. Finally, they arrived back in Exeter, stopping at Anya’s house first.
“Well,” Anya said finally as she scrabbled out of the backseat. “Thank you again for giving us tickets, Mike. I know the gig was cut short, but Billy Dagger really was very good.”
Mike grunted and rolled his head against the window, eyes cast mournfully to the sky.
Kester nudged Serena on the shoulder. “You might as well drop me off here too,” he offered. “I only live ten minutes away. It’ll save you turning the car around.”
Serena looked over at Anya and nodded knowingly. “Fair enough,” she replied. “See you Monday.”
“Bye. And thanks again, Mike!”
Mike muttered something in response, which was partially drowned out by Serena revving the engine. The car zipped off into the darkness before disappearing out of sight at the bottom of the road, leaving them in silence.
Kester shifted uneasily on the spot. “So,” he began, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Er. Yes. So . . .”
Anya raised an eyebrow and laughed. “So, what, Kester?” She looked ethereally beautiful with her eyes glowing in the moonlight.
Kester took a deep breath, then chuckled. “Oh, nothing.” I’m such a pathetic coward, he thought, blushing furiously, glad that the darkness was hiding his red cheeks. Any other man would just lean over and kiss her, not stand around dithering like an idiot. He gestured lamely down the road. “I guess I’ll just—”
To his shock, she leaned over and kissed him squarely on the lips. His eyes widened and finally closed. Oh my god, she’s kissing me! he thought in shock, then remembered himself and focused on kissing her back. What if I’m doing it all wrong? he fretted. What if my breath smells?
