Chapter 2

Darci fumbled with the fastening at the back of her dress, squirming and twisting, tugging at the zipper until it finally slid down. She gingerly stepped out of it, trying not to tread on the material, gathering up the mass of burgundy faux-silk in her arms and replacing it neatly on its hanger. Her hands smoothed out the creases, fingers running across the sheen of the material in a gentle arc. Satisfied that all was in order, she zipped it into its carry bag and deposited it on the hook behind her, reaching for her other clothes.

She loved her stage costume—it made her feel glamorous and it looked good under the lights despite only being an imitation of the real thing—but she much preferred her comfy, worn-in, and desperately faded jeans any day. Once she was dressed in more suitable attire, she grabbed up her bags and made a beeline for the door.

She proceeded down the steps of the Conservatorium, taking quick, easy steps. She instantly felt the night air against her face, a pleasant change from the blasting cold of the air conditioning inside, which had been cranked up too high as usual. Her concert had been an early evening performance, so it was only just dark, hints of orange-pink hues still kissing the horizon as she made her way round the building and on to North Terrace.

"Sorry!" She had been so lost in thought she had stepped out into a surge of on-coming pedestrians and had to shuffle back out of their way. The girl she'd nearly walked into scowled at her, but the rest of the teenage hoard crossed in front of her without a second glance, chatting and laughing amongst themselves. She wondered what plans they had this Friday night, and she suddenly felt every one of her twenty-six years bearing down on her in the face of their youthful exuberance and nonchalance.

Her fingers toyed with the buttons on her jacket as she waited. Finally, the last of the stragglers and hangers-on at the back had passed her, and she was free to move again. She had considered some late-night shopping—well, browsing anyway—in the last half-hour before the stores closed their doors, but she found that the mood had left her, and instead she turned in the direction of the bus stop.

The seat in the bus shelter stood empty, informing her that she had just missed one bus and would have to wait. She settled herself as well as she could on the uncomfortable bench, resting her bags beside her.

While she waited, she replayed the concert in her mind. It went well. Perhaps they'll book me again. Thoughts of money and bills, unbidden and unwanted guests, began to slip into her mind and she fought to find something else to occupy her. That guy at the back was attractive. Her mouth curved into a gentle smile as she remembered how he'd looked straight at her. Somehow, she had sensed his gaze and found her own drawn towards him, the intensity of his appraisal capturing her attention completely.

"May I join you?"

Darci started, leaning away as she looked up to find the owner of the voice. Heat rushed to her cheeks, her embarrassment rising when she recognised the very man she had just been thinking of.

"Of course," she answered at last, stumbling over the words as they caught in her throat. She shifted farther along the bench to allow him room to sit down.

"An enjoyable performance," he said.

"Thank you." A sudden shyness made her want to lower her gaze, but she found herself unable to stop staring. Up close, his eyes were amazing. She had never seen anything quite like them: a bright ice-blue that melted inwards into gleaming sapphire. They must be contacts No one has eyes like that.

"Do you have any other concerts soon?"

"I'll be at St Peter's on Thursday—a lunchtime recital."

"Perhaps I'll be there then." He smiled widely, dimpling his cheeks and unleashing a swarm of butterflies in her stomach. "I don't often go out much during the day, but for you, I might make an exception."

Get a grip. You don't even know this guy, she told herself sternly, though she couldn't help but return his smile. "That would be great… I mean, it's always good to fill the seats."

She didn't notice the bus, a garish yellow hulk that invaded the twilight, until it pulled up beside the stop. The doors creaked their slow way open, and she hastily grabbed at the handles of her bags, trying to hold them all in one hand as she fumbled in her jacket pocket for the ticket. She took a determined step up into the bus before the driver could leave without her.

"Are you catching this bus?" She turned back, one foot still on the pavement, hoping she didn't sound too hopeful and infatuated.

"Sadly not. But I'll see you at the concert."

"Are you coming, love?" The driver peered at her, his tiny eyes buried in deep wrinkles of skin, a thick, stubby finger tapping against the wheel.

"Yes, just one moment," she said, twisting round to ask the stranger his name. The bus stop was empty. She looked both ways down the street. North Terrace was teeming with people. They swarmed like ants on the pavement, heading to the restaurants and bars. The man was long gone, lost amongst the Friday night crowds.

"Last chance, love, I really have to get going."

Reluctantly she climbed aboard, grabbing hold of the rail to steady herself as the doors slammed shut behind her and the vehicle lurched away from the stop, kangarooing into the traffic. She punched her ticket, the sound loud and incongruous in the half-empty bus, then flopped into the nearest empty seat before the erratic driving had her on the floor. She peered out of the window for several minutes, scanning faces through the ever darkening evening gloom, but there was no sign of her mysterious new acquaintance.

* * * *

What was I thinking, talking to her? He watched as the bus jerked away from the curb with her safely ensconced inside. Up close, the scent of her skin had been overpowering: sunlight and citrus, part nature, part artifice. He was thankful the bus had arrived when it did, taking her far away from him before he'd done anything… regretful.

He slowly turned and walked away, allowing himself to be enveloped by the throng. Life teemed around him. People hurried past. Some brushed his arm in their haste; most didn't bother to apologise. Ahead, the neon lights on the corner of Rundle Street flickered back and forth, bright electric beacons, drawing people towards them like moths to a flame. At this time of night, the city was always abuzz. His own thoughts were steadily drowned out by the noise: snippets of conversations, laughter, and the music that blared out indiscriminately, each song vying for supremacy, from all the restaurants, pubs and clubs from here to Hindley Street.

It was towards Hindley Street he began to walk. If he'd stayed in the East End, he could easily have found some young yuppie, some waif in a skin-tight skirt and designer shoes who would have been drawn to his handsome face and remembered nothing of their encounter the next day. But no matter who he picked, no matter how different from her they were, he would have seen Darci Madison when he looked at them. No, Hindley Street was the better choice tonight. Tonight he needed to find a low-life, someone in search of the next high, someone he could follow down a dark side street. He would feed under the dismal flicker of a broken streetlamp, and he would forget about her as the sun rose.