Page 46 of Angels Don’t Date

“Perfect!” Mirabel said, shaking my hand and then his, beaming between us slightly manic with her large eyes and wild golden curls. “Or good enough, which is practically the same thing. Obviously neither of you are professional singers, but people are still going to love this song. Classic waltz beat, so it’s even danceable! Okay. Drink some lemon water before bed, because you’re going to be singing with the fairy tomorrow, and he’s going to be a demanding diva. Okay isn’t going to be good enough for him, so he’ll probably push you towards some kind of technical ability, and then your voice can rest with the werewolf. You know that’s going to be weird, and then the finale will be with my brother. He’s technical precision and soul and magic. It's a sin that he never truly pursued music.”

I stared at her in horror. If Richard made Fellicci look like an amateur, how was I supposed to sing with him?

She saw my face and gurgled a laugh before she pulled me into a hug. “You’ll be fine. Just remember that he’s an idiot.”

As soon as she was gone I bit into the chocolate without waiting to see if it was poisoned.

I got back to my cottage without anyone trying to kill me, which might have something to do with the ogres that had joined the angels in the perimeter.

I drank my lemon water, and then released my wings because they itched under my skin, or magic, or whatever it was. The rune binding, I guess. I slept pretty well beneath the cover of their psychological shade, and then the next morning I put my wings away and I was ready to face the fairy.

He was arguing with Mirabel, arms crossed while Mirabel had her hands on her hips.

The fairy sneered. “Her tone is sketchy, and she has no support or breath control. What you’re asking her to do is impossible for an amateur.” Why did his gorgeous voice sound so annoying? Maybe it was the bad Italian accent. Also all the insults. Did he think my voice was so terrible? Is that why he chose to do a solo instead of another duet with me?

She nodded, but her hands didn’t relax their grip on her music. “Just worry about your part, okay? This isn’t a solo, but a duet. The definition of a duet is that you sing together. Her joining only the chorus isn’t going to work. Oh hey, Kat!” She beamed at me, but she smiled too hard. She was clearly struggling to not smack the fairy. I was just glad I didn’t find anything about him attractive anymore. Ever since he’d done nothing to help my poisoned angel, he’d been dead to me.

I waved at her and came closer, swirling my skirt back and forth. My outfit was pastel pink with green trim to match Fellicci’s wings. He gave me his automatic smile and slight bow.

“Let’s do this!”

It wasn’t a disaster because Mirabel had the will and patience of a bulldozer. That is she kept bulldozing over Fellicci. In the meantime, I was working really hard to support my diaphragm and put in volume and expression.

My voice wasn’t terrible, was it? I wasn’t an opera singer, but I could sing on key, and my whole life people had said I had a pretty voice.

Fellicci sighed heavily and took me by the elbow. “We are running scales until your face turns blue.”

So that was Tuesday. After we did the music video pieces we went to the home-made booth Mirabel had created using costume racks on each side so we wouldn’t echo. By the time I was stumbling down the path towards my cottage, I was dying. At the end, between Mirabel and the fairy, I’d pushed my voice to do things it wasn’t meant to do. Was it better? No idea, but it was definitely torture. Should beauty be torture? Probably, but I didn’t like it.

I tumbled to bed, released my wings, and slept like the dead.

Wednesday morning I woke up knowing that I’d be singing with Rafe-the-waxed-werewolf. I took my time dressing to look extra adorable just so I wouldn’t have to focus on the drama. I was still bone-deep exhausted from all the technical work with Fellicci and Mirabel the day before. I just hoped it sounded okay.

Working with the werewolf was…something. He kept throwing in random rap segments about how much weight he could bench. Seriously. Finally, Mirabel worked his rapping into the duet.

I started off singing this lovely soprano aria, all about my hope for finding true love, and then he came in with his weight skills rapping, and then it moved into whether two predators could share the night. He could actually do harmony when he wasn’t rapping, so after hours and hours, I was almost sure that the final recording wouldn’t be humiliating. Our voices didn’t exactly blend, but it’d be fine. Right. Totally fine. If I was smiling, things couldn’t be that bad, right?

When I took a break for lunch, Richard slipped beside me where I sat at the table with the healthy shake Mitt had made me.

“I made you a sandwich.” He pushed over a grilled masterpiece, but I was trying not to look at him.

I stared at the beautiful golden toasted sourdough bread, strips of bacon, juicy tomatoes, and crispy lettuce. Such a huge contrast to my own shady mental state. I poked the sandwich. “How do you keep the lettuce from wilting when you grilled it?”

“I put the lettuce in after.” He tugged on me, turning me so I’d face him. I stared at him while my heart beat faster and I tried not to get weird.

“What?” I asked, feeling exposed.

He pursed his soft lips. “You look tired. How was the duet yesterday? I’m worried that you aren’t having enough fun. You had a blast with the first spontaneous duet you did with the fairy, so why didn’t you have fun yesterday?”

I stared at him. “Seriously?” I was singing with a professional. I had to do my best and make it amazing, but at the same time… I thumped my fist on the table. “Exactly! The duets are supposed to be fun, my favorite part of this circus, so why aren’t they? Why do musicians have to suck the fun out of everything? I mean, I guess it’s sort of fun to not suck, but the pressure, the performance, it’s all so completely joyless.”

He thumped his fist on the table and nodded. “Exactly. We are going to have fun. I know Mirabel talks about me like I’m some kind of amazing musician, but I’m not. When it comes to music, I’m not interested unless it’s fun. So don’t stress, okay? Don’t stress with the werewolf, because…” He trailed off looking thoughtful. “He’s kind of a weird guy.”

I snorted and then looked around so no one heard me then leaned closer. “He waxes his legs,” I whispered then pulled back, hoping he wouldn’t be mean about it.

He pulled up his pants, revealing golden skin with pale hair. “What do you think? Should I wax? My hair’s mostly invisible, but if you prefer hairless…”

I put a hand over his mouth and giggled. “Don’t mock him.”