“We need some ground rules,” He said as the coffee kicked in.
“I like rules. Thank you for signing the pre-nuptial agreement.”
That must have been one of the documents he’d put his name to during the evening, signing his family name for the promise of a future.
“Daddy says most of the money will flow when there are grandchildren. He thinks becoming a mother will be good for me.”
That brought a chunk of bacon flying up Vincent’s throat. He swallowed it down, hard. It was one thing to marry for mercenary reasons, but quite another to bring children into it.
“Good. You are listening,” she said. “I am not having children. Not to you or anyone.”
“We don’t have to talk about that. I’m sure we’ll find some way to work around it later.”
“You are not listening!” She banged the table with her fist. “This,” she pointed to her stomach, “is not for getting babies. Full stop!”
Vincent retreated into sarcasm. “Oh my sweet. Our first tiff. However will we go on?”
A knock came at the door. Ruslana crossed her arms over her chest and refused to get it. Vincent went to the door.
“Good morning My Lord.” It was Melody, making nice with a forced smile. “I trust you slept well. Here are your newspapers and schedule for the day. If you need anything, I shall be in the car.”
“Thank you Melody,” he said. “I will be right down in a minute.” [298]
“I like her,” Ruslana said after Vincent closed the door. “When Daddy’s money starts to flow, you’ll be able to pay her.”
When her father’s money began to flow, he’d be able to do a whole lot of things.
“He really likes you,” Ruslana said. “If you hadn’t come along, he probably would have bought another football team. And I so detest all that . . . testosterone.”
“Good morning beautiful children!” A voice boomed at the door.
Babak came strolling in, sucking all the oxygen from the room simply by being in it.
Melody came trotting along in his wake. “He borrowed my key card.”
Interesting. Melody must have had that key card earlier, yet she’d knocked.
“You are going to love this,” Babak said as he handed a sheaf of papers to Vincent. No sign of any embarrassment on his part of walking right in to his future-son-in-law’s hotel room. “This, my son, is how you win your crown back. Now, very important. Make sure your hand stays blue. Paint it. Colour it. Get a tattoo if you have to, but keep it blue.”
He’d submerge his whole body in printer’s ink for the amount of money Babak was offering.
Bakak said, “I have found a way to get your Aunt Anathea out of the picture, in a way that everyone benefits.”
“She won’t get hurt?” Vincent’s mind darted back to Mrs Howser’s deadly cadets, equal parts impressed with their brilliance and terrified of their power.
Babak looked at Vincent as if he were something stuck on his shoe. “It will only hurt if she does the wrong thing.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now, I hope you have terrible taste in music, it’s time to put on a show.”
ONDINE, HAMISH AND Old Col were in a constant state of worry about what Vincent and Mrs Howser were plotting, and doing their best not to let Ma and Da know they were worried about national affairs and royal intrigue. Because Ma had stated they were to have nothing more to do with Brugel’s royal family, and Ondine didn’t want her to know they’d ignored that edict.
Fortunately for Ondine, something else was happening in the pub to divert everyone’s attentions. The music executive who had liked what she’d heard and seen in Cybelle and Margi several nights ago, was now encouraging them to enter BrugelMelody, which, if they won, would see them compete at PopEuroTube in May. [299]
All attention in the pub had since turned to music and performances and winning competitions, allowing Ondine, Old Col and Hamish to worry and fret about the nation’s problems in private.
On this particular morning, they privately fretted while walking to the fresh produce market to buying food for their customers. For the next hour or so, Ondine and Hamish, along with Henrik and Cybelle, bought seasonal fruit and vegetables, hustling and haggling their way through the rows of traders. Spicy aromas assailed them at one market; stinking fish assaulted their senses in the next. At the end of one particularly stenchsome row, Ondine nudged Hamish out in to the fresh air, which just happened to be near a donut van. [300]
These were especially good donuts because they weren’t always cooked right through, so the centre could be lush and gooey. For an extra schlip, you could have hot jam in the centre. Ondine always said yes because she was in love with the way they slammed the donuts onto the nose of a model dolphin to inject the jam in.
Hamish gave her a weird look. “Ye going tae eat that?”
“I bought plenty to share.” She offered him one. “Watch out for the lava in the middle.”
Screwing up his face, he took the tiniest bite then grimaced. “Pure carbs are nae good fer me.”
“I know you can’t eat sugar when you’re . . .” she dropped her voice, “a ferret. But when you’re you, you can, right?”
“Best not, just in case, eh?”
“Suit yourself,” she shrugged then scoffed it. The heat burned her throat, pricking tears in her eyes. The heat moved to her tummy and radiated warmth as she licked her sugar-encrusted fingers, then wiped them on her coat. Bliss.
“Sign the petition?” A young woman about Ondine’s age stepped in front of them with a clipboard and a pen. Behind her was a makeshift stall with more volunteers surrounded by signs and posters calling for the restoration of Lord Vincent’s inheritance. Oh they were clever, standing near the donut van. A captive market or what?
Looking at the clipboard, Ondine saw pages and pages filled with signatures.
Hamish asked, “What’s all this about?”
The volunteer brightened and said, “Lord Vincent should be Duke. We’re collecting signatures to take to the Duchess and the Dentate, to show how much support Vincent has for his claim.”
“But I thought everyone loaved Anathea?” Hamish said.
“Oh we do!” the woman said. “We think she’s wonderful. But it should go to Vincent. We’ve collected three thousand signatures already. Sign here.”
“Uh, I really don’t get involved in politics,” Ondine said.
“Yes you do.” Somebody from the pro-Vincent team came over. “I saw you at the Snow Maze last year, you were there.”
Then he noticed Hamish and said, “and he was there, you were both up on the stage in the end.” [301]
“Mistaken identity,” Hamish said, grabbing Ondine’s hand and dragging her away.
When they were safely beyond reach of Team Vincent, Ondine said, “They’re so organised already. It’s only been a couple months since Anathea was officially sworn in.”
“Aye, but he’s wanted this for years. Now he’s stepping up the campaign. Can’t let Anathea get too settled, people might start liking her too much.”
Chapter Six
Weeks of worry passed for Ondine. The spring equinox had come and gone, but winter refused to let go. Grey skies above only added to her gloomy mood. Hamish had taken to sleeping as a ferret in order to stay young, which meant even less time to sneak in cuddles and kisses with his human self.
Her older sister’s songs were getting frequent airplay on the radio, which drew the crowds to the Duke and Ferret hotel, making Ondine work even harder and wash even more dishes than before.
Which meant she had no time to sneak off and warn Duchess Anathea about what Vincent was up to. Instead, she wrote letters. Old fashioned letters that required proper handwriting, an envelope and a stamp. [302]
Each letter sent earned Ondine no reply, which added to her already growing list of worries, which she had to squeeze in between her regular classes at school and her increasing workload at home.
Thank
fully, they had a rare night off with nobody for dinner and no guests staying overnight. It was a Monday night, and for the first time in Ondine’s memory, her entire family were out together. They were at VTV6 studios, located in the foothills of Mt Verka Serduchka, to the east of Venzelemma. [303]
The air hummed with nervous tension as the television crews moved cameras into positions and checked lighting and sound levels. All the production people wore headphones with microphones attached. Turning to the very back of the studio, Ondine could see a row of people sitting behind a glass wall, the lights of an enormous control panel reflected on their concentrating faces.
Sitting – but mostly fidgeting – along a row of flip-down seating sat Ma and Da, looking proud and incredibly nervous. Next to them sat Henrik and Thomas, along with Thomas’ parents and his younger brother Alexei. Ondine and Hamish sat on the other end of the row. Old Col had warned Ondine not to flirt or canoodle outrageously with Hamish in public, lest their ‘make other people’s wishes come true’ magic got out of hand.
She’d also put a dampening field around Hamish to make sure Ondine’s emotions didn’t run wild. Even though Ondine knew she loved Hamish with all her heart, she didn’t have the slightest inclination to sneak off somewhere privately with him. Drat that witchy great auntie of hers for having such strong magic.
“To think we paid full price for these seats, when we’re only using the edge of them,” Da said.
Margi and Cybelle were somewhere backstage, waiting to perform, along with several other acts representing the length and breadth of Brugel’s musical talent. Being a proud nation, the rules of BrugelMelody stipulated that the music, lyrics and performers all had to come from citizens of Brugel, or at least permanent residents, to compete. [304]
A woman with auburn hair so shiny you could see the audience reflected in it, took to the stage. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen, I am your warm-up host, Marta Pompeii. Tonight’s search for Brugel’s next PopEuroTube star will be recorded completely live, which in real terms means it will be broadcast later tonight after editing out the mistakes and slotting in the adverts. We would not be able to put on such a wonderful show without you, the audience. So can I have your very best round of applause when I say, “go”, so that we can record it. Okay, go!”
Everyone clapped, cheered, whistled and stamped their feet, shaking the studio.
“Thank you thank you. One more time to make sure we get it, and go!”
It didn’t seem possible but the audience was even louder.
Ondine’s hands smarted from slapping them together.
“Better keep yer powder dry for yer sisters,” Hamish said.
Marta raised her hands, “OK, everyone, great job. Now please get ready to welcome your host to this evening, Me! Yes, I’m so cheap I do my own warm-up act!”
Marta paused and the audience gave a smattering of laughter.
“Tonight is BrugelMelody, our judges and voters at home will be sending Brugel’s next act to PopEuroTube in May!” Another pause for applause. Ondine wasn’t sure how much longer her flayed palms could take this.
“In order to get there the fairest way possible tonight, we have three judges, all experts in the field of performance, composition and technique. They will score each act, and in the case of a tie we’ll call on the services of a mystery judge!”
The studio lights shone on the three judges. One extra chair sat further along, with its back to the audience. From the side of the chair, a hand came out and waved.
Ondine gasped. The waving hand had a familiar blue stain to it. “Did you see that?” She nudged Hamish.
“Aye. D’ye think it’s him?”
“I’d bet my last fried cheeseball on it.” That Vincent, he was getting into everything. Burrowing his way into Brugel like a botfly. [305] Meanwhile, where was Anathea? She should be here, so the people could see her and love her.
The music contest, when it eventually started, was pretty awesome. Nerves writhed in Ondine’s belly as the first act finished their song. Then the next.
Every performance sounded better than the last.
Can we have one dud, just so Margi and Belle have a better shot at winning this?
Ondine’s wish was granted with the next group. Five lads in white boiler suits danced so hard they couldn’t carry their notes properly. Plus their choreography looked five years out of date. [306]
“Give me the code to your heart and I will give you mine.
Girl you’re so fine,
You’re always on my mind.”
“They’re so bad they could win it,” Hamish teased.
Ondine shuddered. Hamish lifted the armrest that formed a barrier between them and pulled her in for a snuggle. She used his shoulder to block sound in one ear, then snuck her hand under her long hair to block the other ear.
Much better. The crowd damned the boiler-suited boys with polite applause when the song finished.
The next group was a proper rock outfit with two massive drum kits, three violins, a cello, three guitars and a robust woman out the front on vocals. [307]
She didn’t merely belt out a song, she gave them an anthem.
A flag-waving, chest-thumping, patriotic-as-Brugeldirt rallying cry.
The chorus was so memorable that when they came to it a second time, people stood up and joined in.
If we go then we go.
If we fight, then we fight,
If it’s the end of the world my friend, let it be tonight.
Jupiter’s Moons, Margi and Belle were sunk and they were up next. Ondine forgot to breathe as her sisters took their respective places behind the microphone and piano. They looked like superstars; their hair perfect, their makeup glamorous but not overdone, their outfits timeless.
“We’ve seen some incredible acts tonight,” Marta Pompeii said as she walked out in front of Margi and Belle. “Remember, voting will open in ten minutes, and you can only vote once. Don’t go away, we’re going to take a quick word from our sponsors and be right back.” [308]
Ondine wished she could dash home and make a phone call. Then she wished she could be sick. Did they have to drag things out so much?
“It’s all right dear,” Ma leaned over to reassure her. “Auntie Col is voting for us.”
But as much as Ondine adored her great-aunt, who had been there for her through many adventures in the past year, how would one vote make a difference?
“She’s made sure all her Coven buddies are watching and voting as well,” Ma said, in answer to Ondine’s thoughts. Relief rolled over Ondine. Then, a fresh burst of panic. “What about –”
“– The phone lines? If a witch can’t get through, nobody can.”
OK, her mother’s reassurances would have to do for now. Hamish squeezed her hand for luck as Marta Pompeii started talking again.
“Welcome back to BrugelMelody. It’s been an insanely great show tonight, but we have more to come. And now, ladies and gentlemen, the song you have all heard and fallen in love with already. It’s Margibelle with You Are My Star!”
The applause was so intense it smacked Ondine inside her head. As one, the crowd was on its feet.
“Margibelle?” Ondine mouthed to her parents.
Ma shrugged and shouted back, “It’s better than Cybguerite.”
Ondine could hardly breathe as the audience fell silent. Cybelle caressed the keys to start the song.
How could her sisters look so relaxed when Ondine couldn’t breathe for the knots in her belly?
But, oh what beautiful music her sisters made! Margi’s voice wrapped the audience in a collective hug. The crowd swayed and moved as one, then started clapping and stamping their feet as the song reached the bridge. When Margi hit the first big note of the chorus, the crowd screamed with delight. They knew the words and sang along.
Tears verily spritzed from Ondine. Hamish wiped his cheek. An unspoken bond united the audience, Cybelle, Marguerite and the nation itself.
Magi
c. It had to be magic. How else to explain the overwhelming sense of love in the studio?
Please win, please win, please win!
Margi sang true. Her voice united everyone as they moved from the verse into the coda with its incredible endnote.
Get the note, get the note.
Not a flicker of worry on Margi’s face, not a wobble in her voice as she belted it out.
A silent beat as the audience let the song finish, before they erupted in delight. The noise bounced inside Ondine’s chest as she let out her long held-in breath. Had she breathed at all during the song?
“They did it!” Hamish grabbed Ondine in a massive hug and lifted her off the ground. Ma and Da hugged and kissed each other and grinned and cried. Both of them. Down the line, Thomas and Henrik chest-bumped and jumped up and down and waved to their beloveds on stage. Thomas stuck his fingers in his mouth for an ear-splitting whistle.
The next ten minutes were going to be the longest in Ondine’s life as they waited for viewers at home to cast their votes. Marta came back on stage and held up her palms to calm the audience down. She was enjoying herself, as if the applause was for her.
“Remember. Viewers’ votes will be worth fifty percent, and the jury votes will be worth the other fifty percent. You have nine minutes left to vote.”
“’Scuse I.” Henrik nudged past them, Thomas in close pursuit.
Ondine climbed on her seat to make room for them. They had their ‘visitor’ passes clearly visible. “Give them our love,” Ma cried as they headed off towards the green rooms.
What now?
Ondine was on such a high she didn’t know what she’d do if Margi and Cybelle – Margibelle – didn’t win. Leaning into Hamish, she said, “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Ye need fresh air, lass.”
“Tell you what,” Da handed him a lanyard with a spare house key. “Why don’t you both go home and relax. There’s nothing more we can do now except wait. We won’t know the outcome for hours.”
The Ondine Collection Page 63