The Duke and the DJ (The Rebel Royals 3)

“But I’ll tell you this,” Lark said looping her arm through Spin’s, “I am tired of pulling weight for men.”

“Amen to that, sister.”

It was the same in the music industry. Men held most of the power be they producers, promoters, artists, or DJs. The entertainment industry was tough for those of the female persuasion.

"You could go back to dancing,” Spin offered as they turned the corner that would take them to their street.

It was another rhetorical statement which didn’t warrant a real response. Spin knew her friend had been bitten by the magic bug. Lark was in it for life. Her dancer’s body was what got her jobs with magicians who wanted to stuff her in small places, slice her in half, and use her looks to distract the audience. The problem was that Lark was more talented than each man she’d ever assisted.

"I just need someone to see my talent and want me alone on a stage,” Lark said. “Not as a sidekick."

"Well, you're my heroine."

“Ahhhh.” Lark pressed a fierce kiss onto Spin’s cheek. “Love you too, girl."

Lark was the first real friend Spin had had in a long time. Both girls were American transplants in a foreign land. Well, Spin was only partly American. But it was the part she claimed. The other half of her didn’t exist as far as she was concerned.

"You need a break of your own," Lark said, changing the subject. "Don't you want to be on the big stage? To sell out crowds like Paris Hilton?"

“How dare you." Spin came to an abrupt halt, making Lark stumble. Good. She deserved it for that tasteless crack.

Lark chuckled at Spin’s reaction to being compared to the socialite turned DJ. One night the two women had gone to one of the heiress’ shows, preparing to heckle and make fun. They both had been shocked when they found themselves having a good time and vibing to the tracks the Manhattan debutante mixed. Lark had never let Spin live that night down.

"I don't need a big stage," said Spin. "Small clubs and secret raves are all I want."

She had no desire to make a name for herself. Since the name she was currently using wasn't her real one. She didn't want those who knew her true identity to ever find her.

The two women crossed the street to arrive at the hostel they both were staying at. The building had never seen better days. Spin was sure it had been designed with crumbling brick and rusted metal. But it was cheaper than renting a flat. And it came furnished with everything they needed; a bed and a closet.

“You coming out tonight to the rave?"

"Yeah," said Lark. "I just need a disco nap if I'm gonna roll with you all night and into the dawn."

"See you in a few hours, sleeping beauty. I'm gonna grab something from the shop before heading up."

Lark slipped into the back door while Spin circled around front. She was looking forward to tonight’s party. She was looking forward to showing off the new beats she’d been playing around with earlier in the day.

Spin liked to push the boundaries and mix old tracks from the eighties and nineties with new hits from today. She liked crossing musical genre lines and sneak in a country ballad with hip hop. She joyed in fusing a classical piano riff with an electronic beat.

"Her name is Eleanor Trent."

Spin froze in place. She took a step back and pressed her form into the crumbling brick at the side of the building. She was just under the manager’s office. The cheapskate had the windows thrown wide open because air conditioner wasn’t a word in his vocabulary.

"You know anybody by that name?"

Spin didn’t recognize the voice of the speaker. But she did recognize the accent. The man was Austrian.

"Never heard of her," said the owner.

Slowly, carefully, Spin inched her body up to peer into the window. Standing on her tiptoes, she got a good look at the Austrian man. He was tall and thin as a crepe. She didn’t recognize him. She didn’t need to. She knew what he was looking for.

Spin pressed her hand to her heart. When the cold gem made contact with her skin, she felt a second of relief. But only a second. She would not let this man find what he sought.

"But you don't need a birth certificate or identification to rent here,” the owner was saying. “Just cash.”

The crepe-shaped man pursed his lips. He looked left and right. Spin ducked down, pressing herself against the building. A few seconds later, she saw him crossing the street to the next hostel. He'd get the same reaction from them. No one here knew the name he’d used because she never used it. Still, her heart beat fast to know that she’d have to leave soon.

Chapter Five