A gig in an alternative venue is not the usual Friday night out for final year students in Dublin's most prestigious schools, but Felice and Spike have effectively spread the word. A line, filled with faces I recognise, stretches the length of the street.

"Who are all these people?" Tully is stunned when a group of three girls I hardly ever speak to in school swoop on me, embracing me like a long lost best friend.

"Some of the day girls," I say.

"What about the boarders? Will any of your dorm be here?"

"No, they've gone home for the weekend."

"They all live down the country?"

"Duh, if they lived in Dublin, they'd be day girls."

"Smartass!" Tully grins and pokes me in the ribs.

At that moment, I'm enveloped in a mass of blonde curls and expensive perfume.

"Kit, I never expected to see you here. Who's this?" She eyes Tully up and down.

"Tully Cabe, Liz Quinn," I say.

"Is this the new boyfriend?" Unfortunately looks can't kill, or Liz would be dead on the spot.

"Hey," Tully stretches out his hand. "Nice to meet you Liz."

"Yeah, you too, Tully." She flashes a smile and goes off to join an older group further down the line. She must be staying with her big sister, who's studying architecture and has a flat in town.

Tully watches her walk away. "She seems nice. You two know each other well?"

"Her dad knows my dad. They are both solicitors. Liz is going to do law after school too."

"How does she feel about that?" Tully cocks an eyebrow at me.

"Oh, she can't wait!" It comes out more bitter than I intended and Tully laughs. After a moment, I join in.

"Oy, what's so funny?" Spike pokes me in the back.

Doubled over, Tully and I are laughing too much to answer.

We arrive at the door, pay the entrance fee and deposit our coats in the cloakroom. Paranoia started out as the first ultra-cool, alternative, gay club in Dublin. It's my first time inside, though I've heard Spike wax lyrical about it. Inside, the space is huge and so dark, I can hardly see a thing. Spike plunges into the crowd and is instantly lost.

"Come on!" Felice pulls Tully and I in after him. We dance our way right up to the front, where we can't be missed. Tucked away, in a corner at the back of the stage, a nebulous figure scowls behind the mixing desk.

"Is that Mike Meara?" I nudge Spike.

"Wow!" Spike squints into the purple shadows. "I think you might be right."

"Is he working for Black Death now?"

"No," he chuckles, "they're not doing that well. My guess is Paranoia hired him for this gig."

What Spike says makes sense. There is no rational reason to think there is anything sinister about Mike Meara's presence or that he is in any way connected to Aonghus. This is his job, he's a sound engineer. Yet I can't shake the uneasy memory of the night Tully disappeared, the sense that we've inadvertently started something we can't control.

The backdrop lights go on and six of the band members silently move into position. With a warlike roar, Mac Whitehead bounces out of the shadows into the spotlight and launches into Tick-Tock, the latest single off their hit album.

But Black Death's core fanbase is a little older, students and people in their twenties. They prefer to watch the band from the back, where they have easy access to the bar. The seventeen and eighteen-year-olds swelling the crowd at the front are not the band's typical audience and they don't recognise the opening song. A murmur builds among them, growing louder, gaining momentum, becoming insistent. My ear finally makes out the words.

"Tully, Tully, Tully!"

This is Felice's doing.

She started it.

This is what happens when you mess with my girl.

A gleeful smile spreads across my face as Mac freezes in shock. His questioning gaze sweeps the crowd until he catches sight of us, and his brow darkens in understanding. He keeps singing but the chant increases in volume, ringing across the venue, almost drowning him out.

"Fine," he rasps when the song comes to a close, "Tully, come on up."

Tully pauses, uncertain.

"Come on Tully," Mac beckons him, cajoling, teasing with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Tully, Tully," the crowd roars louder.

"You'd better go!" I nudge him towards the stage.

Dazed with disbelief, Tully moves forward as though sleepwalking. An eternity seems to pass as the crowd opens up to let him through, but it only takes a minute before he clambers unsteadily up the steps at the side of the stage.

Mac holds out a hand to greet him and pulls him into an embrace.

"Everyone, give a big welcome to Tully Cabe," he shouts to the excited crowd. "For the first time ever, we're going to perform 'Plagued By You' as a duet."

No way, Mac is too good at this. He's totally outplayed us.

'Plagued by You' is his song, the one that's made him famous. It started climbing the Irish charts in June and since it hit Number 1 in August, the song has been played constantly on radio. Unless they've spent the summer under a rock, there's nobody in this room who isn't familiar with the distinctive rasp of his voice. Many will know the lyrics and everyone will know the chorus.

Tully is a guitarist, not a singer. There's no way he can match Mac Whitehead on vocals, as Mac knows all too well.

At the back of the stage, Mike Meara looks up from the sound desk. He catches my eye and winks, turning my blood cold.

But Tully can't back out now. He's onstage, caught like a frightened deer in the flood lights. He searches for me in the crowd below.

I give him the thumbs up, hoping, praying he can see me.

The band play the intro and the lights turn purple as Mac launches into the first verse, confident and assured, pulling the audience in. The crowd floats in ecstasy and I remember how Mac used to make me swoon too, how it felt as though he was singing to me and only to me. That was before I found out what he's really like and learned to see through his performance. Even now, I can't deny he's incredibly attractive, his rugged, masculine appearance in sharp contrast to Tully's handsome, boyish looks. Thank god we persuaded Tully to dress up. He looks surprisingly good onstage, almost able to hold his own with Mac.

And then he starts to sing. Tully's voice is stronger and deeper than I expected, his interpretation of 'Plagued by You' more poignant and sorrowful than Mac's angry rant.

The crowd goes quiet and listens spellbound.

At the chorus everyone joins in, belting out the lyrics and almost lifting the roof off the venue.

Mac sings again and Tully completes the final verse. The combination of the two is incredible, their voices complementing each other perfectly. It's not what either of them expected, not what any of us expected.

Mac pulls Tully close at the end of the song and murmurs something in his ear. I watch as the colour drains from Tully's face, but when they take a bow, Tully is smiling again.

The crowd goes wild cheering and stamping their feet. Mac has won them over and they are ready to eat out of his hand.

Tully comes down off the stage and nods at me, gesturing towards the back of the venue. It's almost empty down there. Everyone has been drawn upfront by the music and the intoxicating vibe.

"What did Mac say to you?" I mouth over the volume of the music.

Tully sighs, "He said, 'Fuck off and don't ever think of doing anything like that again. This is my band and you are not part of it. Now bow and smile.'"

"Oh!" There's nothing else to say. The taste of disappointment is bitter in my mouth. All our efforts have ended in disaster. We screwed up any chances Tully might still have had.

"He was never going to take me on anyway," Tully says, reading my thoughts. "I see that now."

"Joe Killeen is exactly what Mac wants," I say. "A tame sidekick."

"Not that tame!" Tully sends a pointed look at Joe's shaggy hair and leopardskin top. But my eye falls on Mike Meara, hunched over the mixing desk, bathed in a purple light.

"Joe looks the part," I find myself saying, "but he doesn't challenge Mac, not the way you do. The energy is different. When you and Mac are onstage together it's really powerful, like a duel between you."

"Do you think so?" Tully asks.

"Yes, and it's almost like you could win. You could beat Mac Whitehead."

In the background, I could swear Mike Meara nods, though he's too far away and the light is too dim to be sure.

"Beat Mac? You really think so?"

"Yes, you're better than him."

"What would I do without you Kit?" He pulls me in close and kisses the top of my head. "That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

I squeeze his hand and look up at him. "It's true."

He reaches for me and when his lips meet mine, I forget all about Mac Whitehead and the lingering presence of Aonghus in the purple shadows that surround Mike Meara.

Author's Note

Thanks so much for checking out this story. If you would like to continue reading, FIRST VALENTINE - Kit & Tully Book 2 is available on all your favourite online stores. (Link in Bio)