Death's Endless Enchanter: Mystery (January Chevalier Supernatural Mysteries Book 3) Page 13

  “I thought that was your job,” Joe said, casually, sitting down on the sofa.

  January frowned at the cake, silently cursing the misleading name of the bakery. “It’s my bakery,” she explained and then bit her tongue. As much as she liked Joe, she really didn’t want to get onto the topic of Simon with him. It was too annoying.

  “This was on the doorstep,” Joe said, reaching over the sofa to pass her a package.

  January reached out a hand but froze before her fingers could touch it. She instinctively gave it the once over using witch sight, but nothing glowed.

  Joe raised an eyebrow. “It doesn’t smell like a bomb,” he said, his voice dry. January took the package and turned away, not letting him see her face. It was unsurprising that he thought her paranoid. He had no idea just how serious the situation had got. She sighed and unwrapped the package. She supposed she should fill Joe in on the details, but if he knew the death sentence that had just fallen on her head, would he still be on her side?

  “Typical…” She growled under her breath when she pulled out a sparkling black mini-dress. There was a note pinned to it.

  Good luck with your gig tomorrow!

  I thought you might need an outfit.

  Love from Gregory

  (The friend you can definitely trust… unlike some who are close to you right now.)

  January rolled her eyes at the last line, wondering if Gregory knew he was being melodramatic.

  “What is…oh,” Joe said, coming to stand behind her.

  She turned to face him, feeling exasperated. “It’s just Gregory being Gregory. He must have known you were coming round, or maybe he just guessed,” she added, privately thinking he’d probably found out… somehow.

  For some reason, the ancient vampire saw fit to spend his immortal days stalking her under the guise of protection. January wondered again about re-warding the house against vampires, but shook her head. Any new wards would probably only be seen as a challenge by that ridiculous King Bob.

  She frowned while she folded the dress back up and returned it to its packaging. Where was King Bob? There hadn’t been any death curses for nearly two weeks.

  “Are you going to wear it?” Joe asked.

  January looked down at the repackaged dress. “I hadn’t thought about it,” she said, honestly.

  Joe nodded but she knew that it had somehow been the wrong answer.

  January smoothed down the light reflecting glass beads that adorned the black mini-dress. After Joe’s reaction, she’d thought about tossing it into the bin, but not before trying it on first.

  That had been her downfall.

  Gregory had a knack for knowing what looked good on her. As uncomfortable as that made her feel, she couldn’t help thinking he should consider a career as a personal stylist. Perhaps he could even get his own TV show, she thought with a smile. It faded when she remembered the complications of fame when you were immortal or two-natured. Her eyes found Leah’s in the near darkness backstage. She knew that the vampire-witch was silently cursing her for being stupid enough to be doing this.

  They were playing as the support act at Wembley stadium.

  So long as she lived, January suspected she’d never get another shot at an experience like this. I’ll quit the band after tonight, just this one last gig, she silently promised herself, trying not to catch Leah’s eye again.

  “Okay, now remember, this is a bigger stage than you’re used to, but the same things apply. If you’re put off by there being too many people, just breath and focus on what you’re playing,” Ollie said, sounding the most nervous out of any of them. His hands kept rustling a bunch of paperwork, and he’d cast several anxious glances in the direction of James Phoenix’s dressing room - as if he didn’t believe the star would appear.

  Leah snorted close by to January’s ear. “As if that preening peacock would miss a chance to be in front of a crowd this size,” she said. January’s mouth tweaked up into a smirk when the dressing room door swung open and James strutted passed.

  “Let’s get this show on the road, gang!” Rich, the fuzzy haired guitarist said, with his usual laid back smile. January wondered if he’d ever been on this stage before and suspected he probably had – several times. Rich struck her as the sort of session musician who was passed around pop stars. He’d probably seen many stars come and go. She wondered if he’d figured out the secret to the successful ones’ success, and if he knew when it was time to jump ship…

  “On you go. Don’t forget to look for the tape on the ground, so you know where to stand,” Ollie said, ushering them forwards, as though they’d forget how to walk if he didn’t tell them how. James remained backstage, a cigarette defiantly poking out of his mouth. January tried not to roll her eyes at the petty ways he tried to show that he was a big deal - a real rock star.

  Just before the lights went up, Leah shot her one last disparaging look. January grinned back. She was probably enjoying dragging Leah into this performance more than the prospect of actually playing.

  January turned to face the front as the megawatt beams lit up the stage. She looked out across the sea - for a sea was what it was - complete with waves and moving tides, as thousands upon thousands of heads bobbed up and down, all eyes fixed on the stage. In her heart, January knew she had no desire for fame of this kind, but it was definitely something to remember. It was something worth experiencing, just this once.

  She breathed out. Her stomach flipped over when the click track started in her ears, and her fingers slid over the strings, before finding their place. The bass line started, slow and heavy. Then the drums joined in, followed by guitar. January closed her eyes as the sound level built. The crowd’s roar grew to meet it when James Phoenix walked out on the stage.

  It was only five minutes later that everything went wrong.

  The rock and roll magazines would, in later years, write that there was no better way to go. To have everything ended while you were up on stage, playing the music you loved to a huge crowd – was it not every rock star’s dream demise? The magazines also knew that to go out with a bang meant you would never really be gone, but live on immortal, as a legend. It was practically an honour to die on stage.

  January strongly disagreed.

  “This one is for all of the ladies out there tonight. It’s called ‘Heart Struck’,” James oozed, winking in the general direction of a dozen females, who had crowded to the front.

  January looked across at Leah behind the drums and tried not to mime sticking her fingers down her throat. The ghost of a smile crossed Leah’s face and she knew the drummer was experiencing the same reaction.

  That was the last thing she remembered.

  Well… almost the last thing.

  The next moment, something hot hit her in the head, snapping it back with violent force. Her vision turned red and then black. The last thing she heard was a familiar voice in the crowd screaming in frustration.

  “No! She was mine! MINE! I am the best! I am the greatest…”

  January Chevalier crumpled to the floor of the stage with a bullet in her head.

  17

  The first breath was the most painful.

  It felt like it took forever to fill up her lungs, and the air seared their insides. It was almost as though a longer breath was required because there hadn’t been any air in the lungs before.

  But that would mean…

  “Good, you’re alive.”

  January opened her eyes, frowning at the way her vision blurred and then cleared, as if she’d been asleep for days. Leah was alone in the dressing room with her. She recognised the room, which meant that not much time had passed since… what? What, exactly, had happened?

  She lifted a hand to her forehead and then just as quickly removed the hand when she felt a strange indentation. It hadn’t been there before.

  Leah tutted. “Don’t worry, I’ll wager it won’t scar. At first, I thought that your magical mentor must have been wrong after
all. Then a couple minutes after you died, the bullet popped out.”

  “Bullet?” January repeated. Her mouth was dry and she could taste death – her own death.

  “You got shot. Someone managed to smuggle a gun into the arena. Who knows how. Human security is terrible. I don’t even think they were aiming for you. They just wanted to make a scene and shout about some terrorist cause or other,” Leah went on and shrugged like it didn’t matter. “The bullet that hit you must have been a lucky shot.”

  “Thanks,” January said, darkly.

  Leah flashed her a grin. “Good to know your sense of humour didn’t die when you did.”

  “I was really dead?” January asked, pushing herself upwards, so she was sitting. She looked down at the floor, covered in more blood than she’d known she contained. Already, she could feel an electric tingle running through her veins. She supposed it must be some enchanter magic already healing her, the same way it had popped the bullet back out.

  “Super dead,” Leah said, looking at the blood with far more interest than January liked.

  “Oh, hell… I was dead,” January said, finally understanding Leah’s words. “That’s bad.”

  Leah tilted her head from side to side. “Yes and no…”

  January waited for her to explain.

  Leah sighed like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Come on, January, publicity stunt? Tons of people have faked their own death before. It can be spun as completely fabricated.” She ran a hand through her short, brown hair. “But probably, your music career should be over. You’re about to become very famous.”

  “That still sounds bad,” January said, glaring at Leah. How was this meant to be helping?

  Leah shrugged. “As long as you remain an enigma, it’ll be okay. There aren’t any good photos of us. We’re basically session musicians. All there’ll be is audience pictures. I bet there aren’t many of those, either. Persuade Ollie to give the press a false name, and you’ll be fine. No one will know who you were.” Leah crossed her legs as the blood pool spread further across the floor.

  January privately lamented the amount of blood that had soaked the dress that Gregory had bought her. She doubted it could be resurrected - unlike its wearer.

  “Anyway, you might have missed it, but there was one audience member who was very unhappy about the way you died,” Leah said.

  January frowned at the memory. “Yeah, I didn’t miss that.” King Bob’s voice was pretty unmistakeable. As was his pomp.

  “So, he thinks you’re dead! No more King Magician,” Leah said, brightly.

  “Until he sees me about town, or hears I’ve put in an appearance at a full moon meet.”

  Leah rolled her eyes. “Only if you go back!” She saw January’s stubborn expression. “Fine… I guess there is no good side. Everyone will find out you’re alive. I suppose what we should be doing is making out that you never died in the first place. Otherwise…” Leah trailed off, her eyes far away.

  “Otherwise?” January prompted.

  Leah shrugged. “Coming back from the dead isn’t something most people can do. No, wait… no one can do it. That’s right - no one,” she said, looking at January with serious eyes. “I know vampires are technically dead when they rise, but you’re different. You still smell alive. You smell like a horse, the same as you always do.”

  “Again, thanks,” January said, wondering if she should go heavier on the perfume.

  Leah smirked.

  The knock on the door threw them both. January stared at Leah in panic. They’d talked about future hypotheticals, but not about what they were going to do right now.

  Leah swore and ran to the door, faster than the human eye could follow. “Yes?” She said, her tone brisk.

  “Apologies, we’re here to collect the body to take it for autopsy,” the voice came back through the door.

  Leah flicked her hand behind her back at January, motioning for her to rise. January did so, immediately regretting it. There may no longer be a bullet in her brain, but the headache was probably the worst one in the entire history of headaches.

  “Whose body?” Leah asked, sounding puzzled.

  “Er… a January Chevalier?”

  “There’s no one here by that name, I think you may have it written down wrongly,” Leah said, opening the door a crack. January was unsurprised to see the golden tendrils of glamour leaking from her to the waiting coroners.

  “There’s a girl here called May Poisson,” she prompted.

  “Yes, that’s it,” the coroners agreed.

  Leah nodded along with them. “Definitely a mistake. She took part in a publicity stunt earlier tonight, but I assure you, she’s fine. See for yourselves…” She threw the door open.

  January tried to summon as much life to her face as possible.

  The lead coroner frowned. “She doesn’t look very well and the blood…”

  Leah rolled her eyes. “That’s just her face, and the blood is fake. It’s corn syrup. We take our publicity stunts very seriously,” she said.

  January watched, half-fascinated, as the men who’d come to collect her body nodded. The whole room reeked of blood and death, but they were buying every single word Leah said.

  When they were gone, the vampire winked at January. “Now I’ll just go fix your name with Ollie, make sure he’s really convinced, and then the job will be done! Good thing you’re just a bass player…” Leah added, as a parting remark.

  January opened her mouth to complain about… everything. Mainly the way her name had been changed without her consent to ‘May Fish’, but the headache was too bad.

  The air around her shifted. She pulled energy in, her headache leaving her with limited control. Leah watched, unnerved, when January’s dress tore into tiny pieces and a black unicorn materialised in the dressing room. The unicorn snorted and shook its head. January discovered that the damage to her other form was less. Or maybe she didn’t have as many nerves in the same places.

  “I’ll go get you a change of clothes,” Leah said. “Don’t go anywhere…” she warned. “Unicorns are harder to forget.”

  “Yes! YES! I knew it. You’re alive!”

  January sighed at the man, who looked like he’d been rooting around in her bin. She’d finally opened the door when she’d spotted him running around her gravel parking area waving a slip of paper above his head. She wrinkled her nose when King Bob got a little too close for comfort. He definitely smelled like he’d been rooting around in her bin.

  “A credit card receipt for pizza takeaway from a day ago! I knew it!” He said, waving it in front of her face - as if that was more likely to prove she was alive than her physical presence.

  “You could have just knocked,” January said, but he wouldn’t have got an answer. She hadn’t added any more warding to the house, as it would have been a dead giveaway, so she just wasn’t answering the door. Bob gave her a look that said he knew as much.

  January tried not to sigh at the magician’s usual over-the-top methods. Since the public thought that the person shot on stage in a crazy publicity stunt was actually a bass player called May Poisson, she’d been able to carry on pretty much as normal. For those who did know that she’d been playing, (such as Bob) she’d hoped that they’d think her death was being covered up – or a publicity stunt, if she let them know she was still alive.

  “This is the best news ever!” Bob said, running around in a tiny circle. “Now we can carry on our mighty duel! We shall come together and battle as adversaries,” he said and then ran back down the drive, looking like a psycho jogger.

  January thought about trying to call lightning down from the sky to strike him, but un-practiced magic usually meant unprecedented results - at least, that’s what Tor was always trying to drill into her.

  She shook her head at King Bob’s disappearing figure and wished he’d leave her alone. Didn’t he know that he was going to wind up dead? Whether it was her, or someone else, being on a quest fo
r power and killing everyone in your path tended to mean that one day you’d be caught up in the same set of ambitions - only, this time, you wouldn’t be the one doing the killing. Tyrannical rulers came and went.

  January went inside and turned on her laptop, finding several forwarded emails from Leah. Leah was handling anything band-related but still showed everything to January. January suspected more so that she would know how much trouble Leah was having to go to on her behalf.

  Neon Rain record label have decided to keep the mystery of bass player, May Poisson, a mystery. The management feels that it will better serve James Phoenix’s career to be seen as him suffering a loss and then rising from the ashes. Ollie’s carefully planned publicity stunt will also be turned to our benefit when we reveal the depth of relationship between the two parties. James will be portrayed as being heartbroken over the sudden death - slash -mysterious disappearance of the bass player he’d fallen for…

  January snorted into the latte that she’d made herself just before she’d seen Bob running around outside. If the public believed that James Phoenix was capable of having any lasting or deep feelings, then they were all idiots. She’d seen him move from girl to girl like wildfire… with most of the girls telling him to get lost. James may look good, but sleaze seemed to ooze from his very pores.

  So, that was the end of her pop career. January smiled a little at the thought that she’d always have a tiny place in musical history. No one would ever truly be sure if it was a stunt, or a cover up, and no one would ever be able to find out anything about her false name. She would be an enigma forever.

  Her smile faded. If only The Clan could forget her face as easily as the rest of the world would.