Songbird

  Songbird

  Also by the Author:

  A Hairy Tail

  Cinderella is Evil

  Saving Rapunzel

  Killing Snow White

  Ashes to Ashes

  A World Without Angels

  Angel’s Uprising

  Gifted

  Ignite

  Unite

  Divide

  Conquer

  Dark Eyes: Cursed

  Through a Tangled Wood

  Trouble

  The Star Kissed Series

  Songbird

  JAMIE CAMPBELL

  Copyright © 2014 Jamie Campbell

  Jamie Campbell asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

  ISBN: 1494978121

  ISBN-13: 978-1494978129

  “Instead of weeping when a tragedy occurs in a songbird’s life, it sings away its grief.”

  William Shakespeare.

  Chapter One

  The guitarist moved in for a final chord strike. He raised his arm, the pick firmly gripped between his fingers, and dropped it over the strings in one sweeping motion. He stood in the rock star pose, ready to take his applause.

  “Next,” I declared.

  He raised an eyebrow at me, the silver stud hanging from it moved too. That one movement was more interesting than his entire audition had been.

  “I said next,” I repeated, a bit more grumpily this time. I was so over all those guys. They were all the same. They would strut out in front of us, play something predictable on their fancy guitar, and then expect us to fall all over them. None of them were special but they all thought they were. Their mommas probably told them every day how unique they were. Yeah, well, unique just like everyone else.

  “We have to choose one,” Demi whispered in my ear, a hint of urgency in her words. “What was wrong with him?”

  “I didn’t like the way he struck E Minor.”

  She rolled her eyes at me. “You haven’t liked any of them and all of them would have done.”

  Clearly, my manager didn’t understand music. But, then again, I didn’t hire her for her musical ear. I hired her to keep me sane… and eating.

  “A lead guitarist is the most important member of the band,” I pointed out, trying to explain why the decision was such a huge one. “He sets the tone for the entire song. I need a good one or this entire tour is going to be terrible. Trust me, we need to wait for the right one.”

  “And how will we know when it’s the right one?” Demi was getting exasperated. I was right there with her.

  “We’ll just know.”

  She shuffled her paperwork, probably trying to hold her tongue and not tell me how she was really feeling. I knew I was being difficult, I didn’t need anyone to say it out loud. But I also knew how important the decision was and I couldn’t spend the next year with a hopeless lead guitarist who didn’t know their A Flats from their F Majors. It just wasn’t going to happen.

  Demi waved in the next guy and crossed her fingers. I looked him over, from head to toe. I guessed he looked the part. He had brown hair which wasn’t remarkable until the sunlight caught it, showing all the honey colored streaks running through it. They had to be natural, you couldn’t pay a hairdresser to get that kind of effect. His eyes were dark, almost black, as they shined in the spotlights. I hoped he played terribly.

  “Start when you’re ready,” I said, giving him his cue. A normal person would have taken a deep breath and then began. This guy, however, took a little longer as he adjusted his strings. Shouldn’t he have done that before coming out? Seriously, was he trying to waste our time? I poised my marker, just waiting to put a big cross through his number.

  Finally, the guy started playing. I didn’t recognize the song. His fingers moved quickly through the chords. If it was a cartoon, they would have been blurry he was moving so fast. Even though I didn’t know the tune, I found myself actually enjoying it. The guy could play, seriously play, I had to give him that.

  Halfway through the song, he changed. Instead of rock, he was now playing something entirely different. It sounded like a Spanish flamenco song or something. He plucked at the strings with his fingers, holding the pick in his mouth while he concentrated.

  It was beautiful, melodic, and precise. If I did know the tune to compare it, I’m sure it would have been a perfect rendition.

  Just as I was really getting into the soft harmony, he changed again. This time, it was a ballad. Slow and strong, the guitar hummed through the notes.

  I closed my eyes, just letting the music filter into my brain. I wanted to block everything else out and just be at one with the notes. I needed to hear each one he struck, letting it vibrate through my eardrums with pure perfection.

  He stopped before I was ready for him to. I wanted to keep listening, I could seriously have found myself lost in that song. And I didn’t even know what it was.

  My eyes sprung open instantly. The guy stood there, taking off the guitar strap from his shoulder. He held it out with his right hand and bowed. He actually took a bow. He left the makeshift stage before any of us could say anything.

  “Who was that guy?” I asked, annoyance in my voice. Who bowed after their audition? Seriously, did he think he was that good? And not even waiting around to hear what we had to say? He had an attitude, I didn’t even have to hear him speak to be certain of that.

  Demi checked her run sheet. “His name is Forest Knight. What did you think about him? He was good, right?”

  “I think we should keep looking.”

  “But he was great,” Demi whined.

  “He’s got an attitude, I don’t like it.” I had known guys like that before and they were nothing but trouble. I definitely didn’t need one on my tour. I had left that kind of drama behind and wasn’t ready to invite it back into my life. Over my dead body would that happen again.

  “Now they need to have the right attitude too? Is anyone ever going to be good enough?”

  “I told you, we’ll know when they’re the right person,” I insisted. Surely we had to find a guitarist one day.

  Demi let her head fall to the desk, banging it a few times to make her point. Her blood sugar levels were starting to get low, mine were too. We had been auditioning all day without a break. She was supposed to be the one that made sure I ate.

  “How about a five minute break?” I suggested. She nodded. Before I got up, I placed a big red cross over Forest’s number. I definitely didn’t need that kind of drama on my tour.

  The afternoon didn’t get any better. Wannabe after wannabe auditioned for us. They all became a blur, just red strikes over my run sheet. The performer with that factor X never came.

  My driver took me home, Demi insisted on coming with me. I didn’t mind really, the house could get so lonely when I was alone. Sometimes I found myself finding the housekeeper and talking to her just so I had someone to talk to. Giuliana was a good listener but I always wondered if she was only conversing with me because I paid her. Of course, I could say the same thing about Demi.

  “We have to lock down costumes and finish the set list. Ryan is going to go ballistic if we don’t finish all the details.” She stomped along behind me, not realizing I had stopped listening. “Do you want a streamer canon at the end of the show? I think the
crowd like it when there’s confetti.”

  “No streamer canon.”

  “But people love streamer canons.”

  “They don’t have to sing while the papers get in their mouths and chokes them to death,” I pointed out, a little harsher than I needed to. “Try belting out a note when you have streamers pushed down your throat.”

  Demi stopped, making a note in her phone. “Okay, so no streamer canon. Look at that, you’ve made a decision! One down, only a hundred to go.”

  “I’m going to the music room.”

  “But we’ve got-”

  I cut her off. “I need to chill out for a while. Seriously, Demi, I need some time off.”

  She knew when to push me and when to back off. Thankfully, Demi realized it was time to leave me alone. I walked up the staircase by myself, closing the door to the music room when I was safely ensconced inside.

  The music room was by far my favorite room in the entire mansion. It was filled with every musical instrument you could imagine. My favorite was the white grand piano that stood on a small platform in the center of the room. Guitars lined the walls on one side, percussion instruments were laid out on a bench opposite. Filling the remaining spaces were violins, a cello, flute, trumpet, and anything else that could make noise. I couldn’t play them all, but I at least made sure I had a go.

  Music was in my blood. Not literally, I actually had no idea who my biological parents were. But my adoptive parents were both talented musicians in their own right. My mom played the violin and my dad played the piano. They sometimes filled in when I was recording if I didn’t have time to find a replacement when someone dropped out. They were good sports – and didn’t ask for a royalty.

  I started playing a tune, my fingers sweeping over the piano keys. I didn’t know what melody I was going to play, I just let my fingers do their thing. Sometimes I wrote the best songs that way.

  That day though, I wasn’t looking to write anything. I needed to relax or I was going to go crazy. My upcoming tour was supposed to be the best one yet. Everyone expected me to be bigger and better than ever. I was supposed to be reinventing myself, coming back with a vengeance. Everyone seemed so sure of it, except me.

  Music was the only thing that had kept me going over the last year. Whenever I felt like giving up or that I wasn’t worthy to keep going, I would start playing something. They let me have my guitar in the hospital and sometimes it was my only friend. It wasn’t being paid to listen to me.

  I was sure music was going to be the only thing to get me through the tour too. There were so many decisions to make and there never seemed like enough time to get things right.

  Demi and my tour director, Ryan, were supposed to help me sort it all out. Sometimes I wished they would just do whatever they liked and make all the decision. But every time they tried to do that, I would get angry about not having any control over my show. I was my own worst enemy, I’m sure.

  The sweet melody from the piano was soothing me, calming all my frazzled nerves. I could do the tour. Everything would come together and it would be a great show. The fans would love it and my voice would be perfect. Nobody would be talking about the past year afterwards, all the gossip would be about my bright future. I could do that.

  “Brierly,” Demi called through the door. I shouldn’t have stopped playing, even for a moment. She was probably waiting for a quiet lull. “The designer needs your decision tonight. Pink or white for the finale dress?”

  I sighed. Nobody cared if the dress was pink or white. I knew I should have cared more, but it was hard. I wanted to sing, not be a fashion designer.

  “Brierly?”

  “Pink. Make the dress pink, it will match the streaks in my hair.”

  “Got it. Now about the streamer cannon-” I cut her off with the piano keys, not wanting to discuss it again. I had made one decision that day, I’m sure that was my quota. Any more and I might go off the deep end – again.

  Chapter Two

  The piercing screech from the microphone feedback almost deafened me. I quickly pulled out my earpiece, letting it fall onto my shoulder.

  “What was I doing wrong?” I asked Ryan. He was standing in the empty stadium where we were rehearsing. Demi was lost to her phone beside him.

  “There is no point practicing when we don’t have a complete band,” Ryan said tersely. His salt and pepper hair looked like it was getting more salty by the minute. The tour director once told me I had caused each and every one of those white hairs. Apparently I was the only stressor in his life. His fourth wife would be pleased to hear that.

  “I tried to tell her,” Demi commented, her eyes never leaving the phone screen.

  “We need a guitarist, Brierly, and we need him now.”

  “I can play the guitar part for now,” I offered. I was just as good as any professional. All those months in hospital had seen to that. Who better to play my own songs but me anyway?

  “You need to rehearse your part,” Ryan insisted. “Make a decision about the guitarist, you’ve been auditioning forever. The perfect one isn’t out there, choose someone that will show up on time and play. That’s all we need. Everyone take five, I need a coffee.”

  I clipped the microphone into the stand and looked at the other band members. They were all over it too, I was sure they were thinking the same thing as Ryan.

  Demi hurried over with a lollipop, thrusting it my way before I could start ranting about how they didn’t understand music. It was raspberry flavored – my favorite. She might have just avoided a lecture.

  “So here’s the deal,” she started seriously. “Ryan is going to have a heart attack if we don’t get a guitarist in here pronto. So I’m thinking of giving Forest a go. He was the most talented of all those that we’ve seen. How does that sound?”

  “Not him.”

  “But why?”

  “Because he’s just like-” I stopped myself before I said his name. “Because he’s just like every other guitarist. I think we need someone else. The perfect one has to be out there somewhere.”

  If Demi noticed my slip up, she didn’t let on. She was a part-time actress so she was good at hiding things – unlike me. “Let’s give him a go, huh? I promise I’ll keep him in line. You won’t even know he’s there.”

  Across the room, Ryan was throwing a donut at one of the sound grips. The poor guy had to duck to avoid the missile. The longer I dragged out the decision, the more stressful everything was going to get.

  “How about the guy that played before Forest? The one with the eyebrow ring? He was quite good.” I tried racking my brain to remember one of the other guitarists. They had all merged into one mediocre performance after a while.

  “He’s already booked, I checked. I called them all to see who was still available, Forest is it. It’s a hot market out there at the moment, it’s tour season.”

  Did I even have a choice anymore? “Fine, do whatever you want.”

  “Great! Go get some real food,” she instructed me. “You can’t live on lollipops.” Demi nodded before bustling off, already dialing her phone.

  I headed for the food table, trying to see something that was appealing. They always insisted on putting out unhealthy food options, thinking we would need the sugar kick to continue. I took an apple, one of the few lonely pieces of fruit tucked into the corner. They probably considered it a garnish instead of real food. Considering Los Angeles was so obsessed with body image, it was kind of ironic.

  I took the apple to the audience seats and sat down, carefully peeling it with a knife. I cut off small bits at a time, chewing each mouthful carefully. I didn’t care that it took too long to eat it, that was how it had to be done.

  Demi returned a few moments later, flopping down in the seat next to me. “It’s confirmed, he’s on his way in. Ryan has called a lunch break and we can start to rehearse in earnest after that.”

  I inwardly groaned. So the arrogant show pony was going to be my lead guitarist. Was it wro
ng to wish he would completely stuff it up so I had a reason to fire him? I would rather tour without any guitarist than with someone I couldn’t stand to be around.

  “How about I make you a sandwich for lunch?” Demi offered. She had obviously checked out the catering table too. “I can whip up something really good.”

  “I just had an apple.”

  “Which was a good appetizer. You’re going to need more than that to get through the afternoon. You have a show to put on.”

  The consequences of saying no to Demi were vast. If she thought for a moment I was relapsing, she would have me back at the hospital in the click of a finger. Which was exactly why my parents trusted her to get me through this tour.

  “A sandwich sounds great,” I finally replied, trying to plaster on a smile. I hid everything with a smile, it was so easy to do. Until the day you woke up and realized you couldn’t even smile anymore. That was not a good day.

  We had lunch together, making sure we both ate everything on our plate. When Forest Knight finally turned up, we were chomping at the bit to get going.

  Demi brought him over to me, excitedly introducing us formally. “Brierly, this is Forest Knight. Forest, I’d like you to meet Brierly Wilcox.”

  He nodded my way. “Hey.”

  Clearly this guy wasn’t adept at manners. Whatever happened to a handshake? Was he too cool for that? It instantly made me forget my manners. “I need someone to do their job and show up on time. Can I count on you for that?”

  He grinned, flashing a set of perfect white teeth. Why did he have to have such a nice smile? “You can count on me. Yes, sir.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Just play the damn guitar.”

  I walked off and stood in front of the microphone, where I felt most at home. With the band behind me, at least I didn’t need to look at Forest. If I tried hard enough, I could pretend he wasn’t even there.

  We kicked off with the first song on the set list. I wasn’t sure if it was the final list yet, but the songs were starting to jell together nicely. I wouldn’t have to tweak them much more to get the effect I was hoping for.