Ondine shook her head. “Hours? But the voting ends soon.”
Da gave her a wink. “Yes, but remember they said it would be delayed so they could put the ads in and all that. Proper voting might not start for another hour. This way, you have time to get home and get on the phone.”
A thrill charged through Ondine at the thought she could actually do something productive to help her sisters.
“Aye, I’ll keep the pub safe till ye get back.” Hamish looped the key around his neck and ushered Ondine towards the exit.
The cool evening air slapped Ondine’s cheeks. “I’m not cut out for this. It’s too intense!” Keeping her breathing even, her pulse finally stabilised. The nausea that had earlier threatened to swamp her eased away. Chills moved in and she shivered involuntarily. “If I’m this nervous now, what will I be like if they actually make it to PopEuroTube?”
With a chuckle, Hamish squished her sideways and kissed her on the cheek. “Ye’ll be a mess.”
“Aww. Have I told you lately how wonderful you are?”
“Aye.” He tilted her face and properly kissed her on the lips. “And I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”
Just as they were about to walk away from the studios to catch the next train home, Lord Vincent came around the corner.
All three stopped and stared at each other.
Hurk, went Ondine’s stomach. Luckily nothing but air flew out, although in hindsight she wouldn’t have minded throwing up on him. A moment’s hesitation, then Vincent confidently smiled. “Ondine, Hamish, how lovely to see you both. How have you been?”
Nothing came to Ondine, as she looked around to make sure there were no cameras or other people nearby. It wouldn’t do to have witnesses if this ended badly.
“Aye, Vincent, yer the secret judge then?”
He winked. Actually winked, as if they were old chums in some kind of prank together. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret, would it?”
“Shouldn’t you be back in there, judging or something?” Ondine said, massively impressed with how sensible she sounded considering the emotions tumbling inside her. Vincent was a slimy toad of a person who had caused her nearly a year’s worth of strife. This was as polite as she could possibly be.
Vincent kept his gaze locked with Ondine’s. “The public voting will be close. Very close. It might come down to the wire. It may come down to my vote deciding who goes to PopEuroTube and who misses out.”
“Why are ye talking tae us then, lad?”
He sighed. “Time was, I could order you to call me ‘My Lord’ and you’d have to. Now I must endure your Scottish insults. You might not believe it, but I have matured. I harbour no ill feeling towards either of you, or your family. Everything I do now is for the good of Brugel, not myself. It’s ironic, don’t you think, that I have lost my title and yet become a more responsible man?”
He really expected them to believe that? Ondine stilled her eyes so they wouldn’t roll in contempt. She cast a look to Hamish to see if he believed any of this either.
“I deserve your derision,” Vincent said. “And your pity, if you have any. There is no easy way to build up to this so I may as well straight-out ask. I need your help.”
Jolt! Ondine had to take a step backwards to steady against the shock. “You –?” she started
“– Need our help?” Hamish finished.
“Yes,” Vincent confirmed.
Stunned, Ondine shook her head. “Saturn’s rings! Why would I help you?”
Palms forward in surrender, Vincent said, “For the good of Brugel.”
“Fer the good of yerself ye mean,” Hamish said.
“Let’s not be churlish. Ondine, you and Hamish helped my Aunt Anathea become loved and popular. I saw what you did and despite having scant resources, you managed to make my batty auntie respectable to the majority of people. Now I find I’m in need of something similar.”
The images of the cadets at Fort Kluff, which Melody had terrified her with via astral projection, chilled Ondine more than the cold evening air. Not that she could say anything right now, because Vincent would then know Melody had blabbed.
Hamish scoffed. “Ye want to bump yer auntie off and ye want everyone to love ye while ye do it?”
Careful, she wanted to say to her beloved.
“Nothing of the sort. I truly believe Anathea is good for Brugel. She’s had a steadying influence on the nation, and the public has a fondness for her, which would have seemed unfathomable only a year ago. I have absolutely no intention of curtailing her reign either.”
He had to be lying so she’d lie right back. “I’ve got news for you Vincent. We can’t make people’s dreams come true any more. Look, I’ll prove it.” She kissed Hamish squarely on the mouth and it felt . . . weird! Not exactly wrong, but the zings and rushes of blood she normally felt were curiously absent. Pulling away, she checked the traffic. No double sets of green lights. The weather didn’t become warmer. The people walking on the other side of the street were not suddenly drinking hot chocolate. Vincent was still standing in front of them, and he didn’t have the smug expression of someone who had everything he wanted.
No magic.
Wow, Auntie Col’s dampening spell must be doing double-time.
“Told you,” she said, needing to appear triumphant while her belly swooped with fear. Old Col’s extra spell was working, but what if it kept on working and she and Hamish lost their love for each other? That would be terrible! “I don’t want to get involved in political intrigues any more, I just want to be normal and boring.”
“Your sisters don’t,” Vincent said.
His words were like an arrow to her heart. If Ondine didn’t help him, would he vote Margibelle down? Just because he could?
“But how could I help you?” Ondine asked.
“Oh goodness,” Vincent’s face brightened, “you came around much faster than I thought.”
“No!” Ondine spat the word out like bad food. “I didn’t mean how can I help, I mean, how, exactly? Logistically and all that, because we don’t have magic any more.”
“The irony is, I don’t actually need magic.”
“No?”
“No. What I need is a miracle.”
Morbid curiosity took hold. As much as Ondine didn’t want to help Lord Vincent, she couldn’t stop wondering exactly what he needed their help for. Plus, he held Margi and Belle’s future in his palm. Competing in PopEuroTube was Margi and Cybelle’s dream. Could Ondine really stand in their way because of her antagonism towards Vincent?
Against her better judgement, she found herself saying, “Show me what you need.”
Chapter Seven
Ondine’s muscles felt as weak as failed soufflé as Lord Vincent guided her and Hamish back into the studios. Knowing all she knew about Vincent, she must be insane or have some kind of death wish to be helping him. The second she thought about turning around and running out of there, an image of her sisters shone brightly in her mind. If she walked out on Vincent, she’d be walking out on Margibelle too.
Vincent led them through a rabbit warren of narrow corridors until they arrived at his private dressing room. “Brace yourselves. This is messy.”
He opened the door. Ondine’s jaw dropped as there, in front of a mirror sat the orangest looking woman she had ever seen. Who was this citrus creature? On the sofa, sitting behind her, sat Melody with her face in her hands, quietly weeping.
With a firm ‘snick’, Vincent closed the door on the five of them. “You see my problem now?”
Turmoil churned Ondine’s stomach. She moved to the couch and gave Melody a hug. It was good to see her, and if there was any chance she could get Melody alone, she might be able to get her away from Vincent.
“I failed,” Melody said.
Ondine hugged her friend and whispered low, “You’re doing great. We’ll get you out of here.”
Vincent cleared his throat. “This is my fiancé Ruslan
a Balakhan.”
Ondine looked at the woman whose skin bore a striking resemblance to a glass of breakfast juice.
Vincent nodded and made something of a grimace. “She needs to look the part of a proper Brugel bride-to-be.”
“I see what ye mean,” Hamish said, casting a worried grimace towards Vincent and then Ondine.
Ondine had heard the name Balakhan from somewhere. Melody murmured, “Her father owns a football club.” A twig figuratively snapped in her head as Ondine made the connections; Lord Vincent with all those cadets, plus the Balakhan money, would be unstoppable.
With Melody here in the room, they already had a powerful witch. Yet she obviously hadn’t been able to help transform Ruslana into something presentable. Vincent was right, they’d need more than mere magic to convince the people of Brugel to accept Ruslana as their next Duchess.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but what have you done to your face?” Ondine asked. [309]
Ruslana looked up. “My face is my fortune.”
The twig snapped again. Ondine – and Melody – knew magic could only work if the magic-ee willingly went along with it. Or deep down believed it to be true. Free will always won out against magic. How could they change Ruslana if she wasn’t willing?
Hamish piped up. “At Margi’s weddin’ ye all looked like royalty, so ye did.”
“My sisters!” Ondine suddenly remembered they would be in their dressing room. And they’d looked stunning on stage. Even better than on the day of Margi’s wedding. They must have had help. “I’ll be right back.”
With that, she darted out of Vincent’s dressing room and charged towards the performers’ green rooms. Excellent! There was Margi and Belle, and Thomas and Henrik. She rushed forward and hugged them all. “You were perfect tonight. Beyond amazing!”
“I’m so nervous I could puke for Brugel,” Cybelle said.
Seeing their faces, knowing how much they wanted this, galvanised Ondine’s decision. She’d already agreed to help the hideous Vincent, if it meant her sisters’ dreams came true. Yes, it was cheating, but if she didn’t do it, Vincent could just as easily vote her sisters down out of spite. It didn’t make it right, but she’d have to live with it. The sooner she put this incident behind her, the better. The make-up lady they’d hired for the wedding was in her sisters’ change room, in her familiar pleather pants and jacket. Excellent. [310]
“You were great, but I need to borrow her for a bit. S’cuse me,” Ondine grabbed the woman’s pleather-clad arm and said, “Your country needs you.”
Her sisters, brother-in-law and brother-in-law-to-be all shouted at once,
“What’s going on?”
“Steady on.”
“What?”
“Ondi, what’s the –”
“Sorry everyone,” Ondine said as she guided the confused make-up lady out of the dressing room. “State secret.” With that, she bundled the woman down the corridor towards Lord Vincent’s dressing room.
“Thank you for coming along. You can’t tell anyone about this, OK?”
“Where are you taking me?”
“You’ll see soon enough. It’s all above board, nothing dangerous, but you’ll need every skill you possess . . . and maybe even some you don’t.”
The woman pulled up. “Is this dangerous?”
“Oh, not in the least,” Ondine grabbed her arm again and marched her down the corridor, then stopped and said to her, “Although you might end up traumatised.”
Bursting in to Lord Vincent’s room, Ondine found everyone where she’d left them. Melody, on the couch, hiding behind a curtain of hair. Vincent pacing the room. Hamish leaning against the wall. Ruslana sitting in front of the mirror, pressing on a set of false eyelashes.
“Everything is going to be OK,” Ondine said, then turned to the make-up lady and lowered her voice. “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Charlene,” she said.
“OK.” Ondine quickly made introductions, then guided Charlene towards Ruslana. The faster she did this, the less time she’d have to acknowledge how much she was helping her sworn enemy. “This er . . . lovely . . . young woman is engaged to Lord Vincent. Please do your very best to make her look like a future Duchess of Brugel.”
With a sideways tilt of her head, Charlene took in Ruslana and said, “I’m not used to working with such a ... colourful canvas.”
Ruslana ignored her, turned to the light-studded mirror and brushed a layer of glitter across her décolletage.
Charlene took a few steps towards Ruslana and narrowed her eyes, then lifted her hair in places and studied her features. “I’m going to need help. I don’t suppose anyone in here is a witch?”
With a sigh, Melody raised her hand. “I’ve tried, but she’s too wilful for the magic to work.”
“Let’s start with the face, shall we?” Charlene picked up a swab. “We’ll get the layers off first and see what we have to work with.”
“You’re not touching my face!”
“Wait a minute,” Ondine beamed at her own cleverness. “Ruslana might be fighting the magic, but Charlene’s the one who needs it. Melody, if you cast a spell on Charlene, it won’t matter how much Ruslana complains or tries to fight it, right?”
Hamish grabbed her in a hug and kissed her cheek. “Have I mentioned lately how clever ye are, lass?”
Ondine glowed from the compliment.
Sizing up the situation, Vincent rubbed his chin in thought. “Melody, can you do it?”
“Of course I can do it. Take a look?”
While they’d been asking Melody to perform, she was already on it. Buzzing vibrations and sprinkles of green light infused the room. Charlene worked at mega-magical speed, spinning Ruslana around in her chair, dabbing cotton pads into industrial strength make-up remover and scraping off layers of slap from Ruslana’s face. As each stripe of bronzed orange came away, they caught a glimpse of Ruslana’s pinked skin underneath.
“There’s a real woman under there after all,” Vincent said.
Then Charlene’s hands flew through Ruslana’s hair, denuding the mass of synthetic extensions from the real tresses.
“Stop it!” Ruslana slapped at Charlene’s hands. “I look like I crawled out a crypt!”
“Don’t stop now, whatever you do,” Vincent said.
In mere seconds, the hair extensions were a skanky pile on the floor.
“Is it real hair?” Ondine leaned forward and massaged the fibres between her fingers. “It’s so dry.” Then she sniffed it and wished she hadn’t. “Smells worse than you, Hamish, when you’re a ferret.”
He inhaled the piece Ondine offered. “Urgh! That’s mockit!”
Meanwhile, Charlene kept up her pace. Ruslana’s face turned clean and shiny pink, her hair stripped of extensions and back to its natural length.
Ondine held her breath as she watched Melody, still sitting on the couch, still hiding behind her curtain of hair, muttering incantations to bind Charlene to the swirls of magic so she could get the job done.
“Moisturiser,” Charlene said, finding a tub of the stuff on the bench beneath the mirror. She slathered it all over Ruslana, turning her white. Then she wiped most of it off again and the last smears of mascara released their hold. “Let’s go for a more natural look, eh?” Charlene dabbed foundation on Ruslana’s jaw, then her hands vanished into a blur of activity as she applied fresh make-up.
Ruslana tried to climb out of the chair. Lord Vincent put his hands on her shoulders and pressed her down. “Sit.”
More magic swirls and activity continued until a triumphant “Done!” from Charlene, as she stood back to admire her work.
“I’m invisible,” Ruslana said.
Vincent looked at his fiancé in the mirror and shook his head, his words croaking with heartfelt emotion. “You look beautiful.”
Melody slumped on the sofa.
Ondine gave her a hug. “You’re doing great. I know you’re exhausted, but please k
eep going. We’re nearly there.”
“Stage two, the hair.” Charlene’s hands worked her magic – or more precisely, Melody’s Magic – styling Ruslana’s ‘do’ into a regal helmet of coiffidly curled perfection.
“You turned me into my mother,” she grumbled.
“Exactly,” Vincent said. “Keep going my good woman. Melody, you have my deepest gratitude.”
“I know,” Melody said with a sigh.
Although fascinated with the Charlene’s skills, Ondine noticed the lingering sadness in her friend. “Oh Melody!” Keeping her voice incredibly low so that nobody else would hear, Ondine said, “You love him, don’t you?”
With a dramatic sniff, Melody nodded and then wiped at her face, tugging her hair away in the process. Her eyes were red and puffy. “I’m such an idiot.”
“You poor, poor thing.” Ondine gave her another hug. “And you’re not an idiot. You’re amazing.”
Somebody rapped on the door. A stage assistant walked in before anyone could say, “Don’t come in!” [311]
“Five minutes until you and Ruslana are needed on stage, Sir,” he said to Vincent.
“We’ll be right there in a minute,” Vincent said, ushering the man out and closing the door behind them. Looking to Charlene and then to Melody, he said, “Hurry up.”
“I’m using all the magic I have,” Melody said.
“Then use more.”
Hadn’t he heard her? What did he want, the last breath in her lungs? Looking at her rapidly exhausting friend, Ondine wondered if Melody might end up giving him exactly that.
“Nearly there,” Charlene’s hands were utter blurs as she finished Ruslana’s makeup. “Do you have any better clothes?”
“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Ruslana could have broken the mirror with her daggered look.
Another quick double-knock and the stage assistant came straight back in. “Four minutes.”
Vincent tisked and said, “Yes, yes, I said I’d be there.”
“It’s just that it takes two minutes to walk from here to the stage. Let’s get the microphones hooked up.” The assistant walked over to Vincent and put his hand up the back of his shirt to connect a tiny microphone at the front of his lapel.
The Ondine Collection Page 64