Chapter 1

"I've arranged a tour of the UK for you—thirty dates," our manager, Aelswith said.

Immediately, the five of us sat up straight in our chairs, waiting to hear more. Pagan Rock had been playing bars and tiny clubs in Winchester and the surrounding small towns for two years, trying to gain a following. We had an album out although it was only available for download and was way down at sixty-seven in the rock charts. A proper tour was what we had been longing for.

"You won't be headlining of course," Aelswith went on. "But this will put you on the map. If it goes well enough, I'll be looking at booking headline dates for the end of the year."

"Who are we supporting?" Gisela asked.

"The Vikings have reformed. You'll be their support."

"The Vikings?" Mildrith frowned. "Who are they?"

"Before your time, kid," Brida said, tapping the drumsticks she carried everywhere against her boot.

"I'm only four years younger than you," Mildrith muttered.

I glowered across the desk at Aelswith. "Are you serious? The Vikings? My dad used to listen to them."

"They have a big following."

"Mostly old farts, probably." Brida huffed. "Why would their audience want to see us?"

"When I said reformed, I didn't mean with all of the original members," Aelswith explained. "In fact most of them are new, young guys of about your age. Except for—"

"Skorpa." Brida scowled now. "That dickhead."

"Do you know him?" I glanced at her.

"No, but I remember all the shit written about him in the press a few years ago."

"I'm surprised he's still alive." Gisela rolled her eyes.

Brida snorted. "I saw a picture of him not that long ago. He looked like he'd been dead and buried, then dug up again."

"Shit," I said under my breath.

"Girls!" Aelswith slapped the desk with both hands. "You have to take what you can get in this business. Besides, contrary to what you might believe, the Vikings are becoming popular again right now. They have a new record out and if you bothered to look, you'd see it rocketed past yours in the charts this week. They're up to thirty-six. Now, I've written a set list for you." She pushed a sheet of paper across the desk towards me. "Get practising. You have two weeks. The tour starts in Exeter on February the twentieth. I'm arranging the transport and accommodation and I'll get the information to you by email within the next couple of days. That's all."

Three hours later in our ratty little studio, we took a break from practise. I pulled out my Smartphone and looked up the Vikings immediately. There didn't seem to be a lot of new information, but a couple of rock music magazines had posted their tour dates with the support band noted as "to be advised." And Brida had been right—the recent picture I found of Skorpa showed him looking rough. He had a longish beard, mostly grey, tied in a tail with a metal clip, and thick black kohl around his eyes. A long scar from his right temple down to his cheek, narrowly missing the corner of his eye marred his thin face.

I searched farther back for anything relating to what Brida had said, and quickly found news reports from years earlier. Around ten years ago, Skorpa had been heavily into drugs and been arrested and charged with possession more than once. He'd been in rehab, fallen off the wagon, and then—I gasped—been arrested for sexual assault?

"What the fuck is Aelswith thinking?" I muttered. I read on. Later, he seemed to have cleaned up his act by having another stint in rehab. There were no more reports until about five years ago when he overdosed and was clinically dead for three minutes. "Brida, you were spot on," I said.

"What about?"

"I found some stuff about Skorpa. Says here he overdosed in 2010 and was dead for three minutes."

"Shame they resurrected him," Mildrith said. "I read that he assaulted a girl."

Aethelflaed gasped. "And we have to tour with this man? Ugh."

"Hey, Skade." Brida grinned suddenly and turned her phone around to show me a picture of a young blond man with the sides of his head shaved, and a beard tied in a tail like Skorpa's.

"Who's that?"

"Their bass player, Ragnar. Damn, he's hot. Maybe it won't be such a hardship touring with them after all."

"The drummer is gorgeous, too," Aethelflaed added. "He's called Erik. Look." She showed me another picture. Erik, too, was blond with the sides of his head shaved, and a beard. The hair he did have was braided.

"They're all pretty hot," Gisela said. "The other two are called Uhtred and Sihtric. I wonder if they're single? We might have a lot of fun."

"You know the singers usually end up thrown together," Brida teased. "Skade, you'd better get ready for Skorpa."

"Get lost." I scowled.

"You never know, he might be nice underneath," Gisela said doubtfully. "He's just old."

"He looks older than he is. He's only forty," Aethelflaed put in.

Mildrith frowned. "What does age matter? He's a drug addict and a suspected rapist. That's hardly a promising history."

"I suppose it was a long time ago," I said grudgingly. "We don't know what he's like now."

"Probably worse, because he'll be desperate. Surrounded by four hot young musicians with the fans all wanting them and ignoring him." Brida grinned. "Watch your back, Skade, he might decide to carry you off to his fortress and ravish you."

"Shut up, bitch," I said good-naturedly. "I suppose we're stuck with it now anyway, so we'd better see what happens and make the best of it."

"Fair enough. Just so the rest of you know—Ragnar's mine. Keep your hands off, ladies." Brida smirked and waggled her eyebrows.

"Don't get too fond of him, they live in Denmark, remember," Gisela said.

Brida giggled. "Maybe he'll be so besotted with me, he'll move here."

"Dream on." I put my phone away and got up. "Let's get back to it."

…

The two weeks we had to practise passed much too quickly. The minibus Aelswith had arranged to transport us, collected us from her office on Friday just before noon. Aethelwold, the roadie she had hired—a short blond guy with a pock-marked face—stashed Brida's drumkit and all our guitars, amps and other equipment into the back of the vehicle where four of the seats had been removed. He was to be the driver, too. Mildrith sat up front and talked to him, while the rest of us occupied the remaining seats and complained about the cramped space.

The journey took almost four hours due to heavy traffic, and we were outside the club we were to play at by late afternoon. A full-sized coach was already parked behind the club and I assumed it must be the Vikings' transport. A club manager spoke with Aethelwold and while the roadie began unloading our gear and taking it inside, we were shown to a pokey dressing room that looked as if it had seen better days.

"They're really pushing the boat out for us," I grumbled, scowling at my reflection in a cracked mirror.

"Come on, Skade. It's our first nationwide tour. We're not going to be playing stadiums on the first outing," Gisela said. "It's five hundred capacity, though. That's not bad."

"Yeah, I suppose." I began dragging a comb through the knots in my hair.

"Where are we staying tonight? Anyone know?" Brida asked.

"A motel. We have two rooms."

"Great. Looks like me and Ragnar get an audience."

"You're obsessed with that guy. You haven't even met him yet. He might be an arsehole," Gisela said.

"But he's a hot arsehole."

"Brida, he probably won't look twice at you. Now, Aethelwold, on the other hand, would most likely be delighted with your attention," Aethelflaed teased.

The banter continued as we got ready for the show. We ate some of the pre-packed sandwiches we'd brought with us by way of an evening meal, then finished dressing. My outfit consisted of black lycra leggings, a leather bodice, and thigh-high boots. I went heavy with the eyeliner and painted my lips purple. The others wore similar clothes—lyrca, leather, dark makeup and silver jewellery. I put a couple of narrow braids into the sides of my hair and pinned them at the back of my head to keep my hair out of my face. I added hooped earrings, and several silver necklaces with assorted sizes of chain links, a couple with pendants dangling from them.

In the club, the Vikings' roadies began tuning their guitars and testing the mics. As soon as they finished, it would be our turn. Aethelwold had already set up Brida's drumkit in front of Erik's, and I'd taken a quick peek at he stage, discovering it to be at least twice the size of the ones we'd played before.

"I'm so nervous," Mildrith said then. "What if they hate us?"

"Why would they?" Brida tapped her drumsticks on the dressing table.

"Because they're here to see the Vikings and their music is so different from ours."

"It's not really," Gisela put in. "I listened to their new album. It's heavy but not as much as their old stuff. A bit dark, maybe, but I liked it." She tapped at her phone and moments later, the sound of guitars filled the small room, backed by a heavy bass and drumbeat, and Skorpa's deep voice growling over it. It sounded like something I would enjoy listening to, but I didn't say anything.

I stayed silent, sitting in a corner, while Aethelwold tested our drums and tuned the guitars. Then his voice came through my mic: "One, two, two, two, one, two, two, testing—"

Beyond that, a DJ started up the club's music system with a Bon Jovi song, and voices began to filter in as the doors were opened to the audience.

"An hour to go," Brida said. "I can't wait to get out there."

Mildrith sat quietly chewing her nails while the others talked. My pulse quickened with excitement and slight trepidation. I loved being on stage, but there was always that fear beforehand that something would go wrong. Once I was out there, it would disappear.