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 asse
rts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

T
his 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

T
he 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 paper
s 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.