Page 12 of Star Witch
The bus trundled its way out of the town and down a single-track road. I shook out my hair and craned my neck round to look at the other passengers, wondering whether there was anyone I could recognise on board. It appeared that Belinda Battenapple, the host ofEnchantment, and the other on-screen regulars, including the enigmatic Trevor Bellows, enjoyed other transportation. I hadn’t missed a single episode ofEnchantmentin my life and I would have blithely walked past any of these people on the bus without recognising them. That was probably a good thing.
Warning myself that acting star-struck probably wouldn’t be a good idea even if I did meet Belinda, I settled back into my seat and closed my eyes. I was just drifting back to sleep again when the bus came to a juddering halt.
‘Briefing in two!’ yelled an overly enthusiastic bloke towards the front. ‘Let’s get moving, people!’
I heaved myself up and followed everyone else off the bus, trying to appear as if I knew exactly what I was doing. It didn’t last long. The second I stepped outside and got a good look around the set, all my attempts at looking nonchalant fell by the wayside.
People were scurrying about everywhere, some carrying equipment, others clipboards. There had to be at least forty of them, and every single one was busy. From almost every angle, I could see the trademarkedEnchantmentsigns emblazoned across lorries and cars and strung up between trees. I stood in the centre of it all, gawking like an idiot with my mouth hanging open.
‘The main quad!’ the man from the bus shouted. ‘Now!’
All at once, everyone seemed to stop what they were doing and head off. There were some grumbles; it appeared I wasn’t the only one who didn’t appreciate early rising. I kept hoping someone would tell me where I could find the industrial-strength coffee; instead we were ushered forward where an elaborate stage was already set up.
A harried-looking woman clambered up with the aid of a few of the others before grabbing hold of a bullhorn and facing all of us. ‘Good morning!’ she bellowed. ‘And welcome to the very first day of filming forEnchantment: Highlander edition!’
If she’d been expecting a raucous response, she was sorely mistaken. There was some ragged applause but no one appeared particularly thrilled by her words. Unlike me: I whooped loudly, ignoring the frowns I received from the people around me. There were a few eye-rolls as well but I smiled happily. This was brilliant. It took a lot to get me to smile before 11am but being on set forEnchantmentwas definitely enough.
Someone from the side of the stage called up to the woman. She nodded and yelled into the bullhorn again. ‘Now for our esteemed director and man of the hour, Morris Armstrong!’
This time, the applause was slightly more enthusiastic. For some reason, however, I still got the impression that it was because of what was expected rather than out of any real desire to cheer on the supposed captain of the most popular show on television.
I watched with interest as a large man leapt onto the stage. With his back to the crowd, he murmured something to the woman. From behind me, I heard someone else mutter, ‘Apparently he’s in a bad mood. He was down south completing some last-minute budget negotiations and couldn’t get first-class tickets for the train yesterday, so he had to join the rest of the cattle instead.’
There was a choked snigger. A bout of snaking dread assailed me. Uh-oh. Then, when Morris Armstrong turned round to face us, I bit my lip and raised my eyes to the heavens. Of course, the new director was the man who’d sat beside me on the train and who I’d managed to chase away with my supposed bad smell. Not only had I missed the perfect opportunity to find out more about what was going on, I’d made him think I was walking petri dish that should be avoided at all costs.
I slumped my shoulders in a bid to hide from his roving eyes. The chances were that I wouldn’t have to go near him; I was just a lowly runner and completely beneath his attention. The likelihood that he was involved in the murder was slim to none.
I dreaded to think would Winter would say if I was given the boot before I even managed to open my mouth – although his icy irritation on the train was now making more sense.
Armstrong didn’t bother with the bullhorn. ‘I know most of you have been here for a few weeks already completing pre-interviews with the talent and setting everything up. I also know that things have been more difficult than they should have been and that there have been … complications.’ Complications? Well, that was one way of describing a horrific murder, I thought. ‘The police are still investigating the matter and I urge you to give them your full cooperation.’
He nodded over to a small contingent at the side who, now I looked at them more closely, did appear more grimly official than any of the film crew. ‘However,’ Armstrong continued to shout, ‘nothing will stopEnchantment. We are the best television series on this planet! We have millions of viewers! We are going to go from success to success and nothing is going to stop us.’
There should have been someone in the back with a drum kit. At the very least he deserved a cymbal crash to add to his dramatic flair.
‘You all know what to do and what needs to be done. At precisely midday the talent will arrive and the cameras will start rolling. We are making history, people! Don’t you forget it!’ With that, Armstrong punched the air and left the stage.
Mrs Bullhorn returned to her spot, clapping the director ostentatiously as he walked away. ‘Wonderful, just wonderful! We’re so lucky to have such a hands-on director. All runners need to report directly to Armstrong’s trailer now as he wants to brief you all in person. The rest of you get back to work!’
Arse.
Chapter Four
There were three other runners besides myself. One was Amy, my helpful room-mate, while the two others looked young enough to have just stepped out of high school. I eyed the first one’s acne and shook his hand when he introduced himself with a mumble as Mazza. I sincerely doubted that was the name his parents had christened him with.
The other one was almost as posh as Tarquin, with the kind of floppy hair and expensive clothes that marked him out as defiantly upper class. I was betting that he was called George or William or Henry but, when he gave his name as Moonbeam, it took everything I had to maintain a straight face. That couldn’t be his real name – could it? He was clearly used to painful reactions at his name, judging by the way he rolled his eyes at my stifled smirk, but at least he seemed to be enjoying himself.
We hustled towards a large silver contraption that I took to be Morris Armstrong’s trailer. I did my best to stay behind the others but, with only four of us, it was obvious that I couldn’t stay hidden for long.
Moonbeam took the lead, marching up the steps and knocking on the door. There was a muffled yell from inside and he shrugged then entered with the rest of us on his heels.
The trailer’s interior was considerably more spacious and luxurious than I imagined. I gazed round in awe at the plush decorating and shiny surfaces. I could easily live like this, I decided.
I wasn’t the only one who was impressed. Mazza’s expression was something akin to a small child being introduced to ice cream for the first time. He let out a low whistle and then blushed immediately. He flicked a quick look at Amy and blushed even more. I decided that I liked him the most.
Armstrong appeared from the far end, wiping his hands on a towel. He tossed it to the floor and stared at our little group as if he’d completely forgotten the reason why he’d asked us here. Then his expression cleared. ‘You’re the runners.’
Moonbeam again stepped forward. ‘We are.’ He put out his hand. ‘I’m Moonbeam.’
