Tombs of Endearment

by Casey Daniels

  My stomach went cold. Good thing the piano bench was nearby. I dropped down onto it. “You’re writing a song!” I don’t know how I pulled it off, but when I turned to Vinnie, I sounded impressed rather than suspicious. I ruffled my fingers over the piano keys. “Go on,” I said. “Show me how you do it.”

  “All right!” Vinnie cracked his knuckles and played a couple of chords. “Here’s the setup. We’ll start with a killer guitar solo, you know, something mournful and high drama. That always gets to the chicks and hey, chicks buy a lot of music. Then we’ll bring Alistair in on the drums. Nothing too heavy, just slow and steady. You know, like a heartbeat. Little by little, it will pick up speed. Like my heartbeat when I’m close to you.”

  When he leaned a little nearer, I hardly noticed. My gaze was still on the black candle, the picture of Damon, and Damon himself, who was standing at Vinnie’s right shoulder, watching the whole thing.

  “Then the melody starts up,” Vinnie said. He played it, and when he was done, he turned to me. “So, what do you think?”

  “It’s…good.” The song sounded more Barry Manilow than it did Mind at Large. The look of disgust on Damon’s face told me he wouldn’t be caught dead (if he wasn’t already, that is) within a mile of that song.

  And that made me wonder…

  Maybe the guitar and the candle were nothing more than some weirded-out tribute? Maybe Vinnie wasn’t channeling Damon after all?

  There was only one way to find out.

  I slid a little closer to Vinnie and tried for the kind of sultry rumble I figured would appeal to him. “Show me how you do it,” I said.

  It worked. He practically melted into a puddle of mush. “How I do what, baby? Because let me tell you, I can do all kinds of things. And I do them all real good.”

  None of which I wanted to know about. My smile was coy. “We’ll get to all that later. First show me how you write a song.”

  He hesitated.

  Clue number one: If he didn’t want to show me how it was done, maybe he really was doing something he shouldn’t have been doing.

  Then again, sex is a powerful motivator.

  And I could tell from the glow in his eyes that Vinnie was convinced if he only did this one thing for me, he’d finally get me in the sack.

  “I have a little ritual.” He gave me a wink and reached for the lighter that was on the piano near the candle. “You know, a little something to get me in the songwriting mood.” He lit the candle.

  Damon blinked out. He was back again in a second, and I sat up and watched him carefully.

  “I have this sort of mantra I repeat, too,” Vinnie said, and from the way he tried to make it sound like it was no big deal, I knew it was a line of bull. This was no mantra, it was a spell. Vinnie was counting on the fact that I was too dumb to know the difference. “It’s sort of a tribute. You know, to my old friend, Damon Curtis.”

  Vinnie closed his eyes and laid both his hands on the battered guitar.

  Damon got fuzzy.

  Okay, it wasn’t exactly subtle, but I couldn’t help myself. Watching Damon fade out, the question just sort of popped out of me. “The same Damon Curtis who you’ve been stealing songs from all these years?”

  Vinnie’s eyes flew open.

  Damon came back into focus.

  “What are you smoking?” Vinnie laughed. “That’s crazy.”

  “But it’s something I’ve heard. You know, one of those urban legend things. I’ve seen it on the Internet.”

  “Well, that doesn’t keep it from being crazy. I wouldn’t do that to Damon. He was my friend.” Vinnie needed a shave. He scraped a hand over the stubble on his chin. “What I’m doing now is honoring him.” He glanced away.

  Clue number two: Why would a man who thought he was honoring a friend look so guilty about it?

  I had to know for sure.

  “Go ahead,” I said, and when I did, I was looking at Damon, not at Vinnie. “Show me.”

  Again, Vinnie closed his eyes. Again, he touched the guitar. He sat in quiet contemplation for a couple of moments, and all the while he did, Damon didn’t flicker.

  I had just about convinced myself I was barking up the wrong black magic tree when Vinnie jerked up as fast and as straight as if he’d touched a finger to an electrical line. His eyes flew open. They were wild and they burned as if a fire had been lit inside Vinnie’s brain. When he started to chant in a language that was thick and guttural and use words that had way too many syllables, his voice was distant and hollow. Like it came from another world.

  Did I pay attention to what he said? Not a chance! I didn’t understand a word of it, and besides, I was too busy watching Damon writhe in pain. Don’t ask me how I thought I could help, but I sprang from the piano bench and rushed toward him. Before I got there, he winked out completely.

  I heard music, and it wasn’t in my head or even in my ears. It wasn’t coming from Vinnie, either. His hands were poised above the piano, not touching the keys. The music was all around me and I was part of it. Driving guitars, and Damon’s sexy baritone singing in words loaded with symbolism. They made no sense. I didn’t care. It was pure poetry and it flowed through my bloodstream and tangled around my heart.

  I am a shape-shifter, a creature of the night.

  Overgrown and elder, too big for your world.

  Unquiet, foreign in your accidental lands

  Disdaining human life.

  Existing on nothing.

  Feeding on your love.

  No sooner did the words and the heartrending emotion tear through me than Vinnie picked up the beat. His hands came down on the keys, and the resulting chords drowned Damon’s music.

  It was Damon’s song but it wasn’t. It was watered-down, mushy. I could practically hear the violins that would be part of Vinnie’s final recording.

  I’ve changed, baby.

  Don’t need you no more.

  You’re strange, baby.

  Don’t want you for sure.

  No wonder Damon was pissed. Vinnie was taking the songs inside Damon’s head and turning them into lite rock.

  That was bad enough. Even worse was that all the while Vinnie sang, Damon’s image came through behind him like a snowy picture. It buzzed and flickered and broke apart. In fact, the only thing constant was the look in Damon’s eyes.

  A look of total, mind-numbing torment.

  “Stop!” I screamed the word, but a lot of good that did me. Vinnie didn’t hear me. I don’t think he could. His eyes were fiery and fixed on the flame of the candle. And the candle?

  The flame didn’t flutter like a regular candle. It sizzled like a Roman candle, and sparks shot out and sprinkled the piano keys where Vinnie’s fingers danced, machinelike.

  “Stop!” I tried again, but I was wasting my breath. Even when I grabbed his arm and shook him, Vinnie didn’t respond.

  I had to do something, and I didn’t know what. I blew out the candle.

  As if he’d been dropped from a high place and landed hard, Vinnie jerked. He stopped singing and playing. Behind him, Damon came into focus. I don’t think ghosts breathe, but he looked like he was trying, and struggling for each breath.

  I didn’t even realize I was crying until I wiped tears off my cheeks. My knees were rubber. I sank down on the bench. “You have to stop,” I told Vinnie. “You can’t do this anymore.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “Not do what? What the hell are you talking about, woman? This is great shit. Why would you want me to stop writing songs?”

  There was probably a more polite way to broach the subject, especially if I wanted Vinnie to agree to leave Damon—and his songwriting spirit—alone. At this point, I didn’t really care.

  “Not the songs,” I sobbed. “I’m not talking about the songs. You have to stop channeling Damon. Don’t you realize what you’re doing? You’re destroying him!”

  Chapter 8

  Clue number three: Vinnie didn’t laugh when I said this. He didn’t tell me I was n
uts, or ask what I was talking about, either.

  In fact, his spine folded, his shoulders sagged, the air rushed out of him with a whoomp. His hands shook and his eyes, lit with the fire of inspiration such a short time before, were cold and empty. The blood drained out of his face, and when he hung his head, his hair fell in his eyes. Even that didn’t hide the lines on his face that accordioned into a network of wrinkles. He looked tired, worn out, and older than ever.

  His shoulders heaved, and Vinnie wept softly. “I couldn’t help it. You’re not going to tell anyone, are you? You’ve got to understand, I couldn’t help it. I had no choice, Pepper. I had to channel Damon. I needed those songs.”

  I guess I wasn’t expecting him to come clean so fast or so easily. I looked over to where Damon was still struggling to catch his breath. “You’re admitting it?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, it’s true.” He dropped his head in his hands, sobbing harder than ever.

  Vinnie might have been a dirty old man, and he was stealing Damon’s songs. But I couldn’t stand to watch him suffer. I rubbed his back until he settled down.

  When he did, he sniffled and dared a look at me. “How did you know?” he asked. “I mean, about Damon? About the songs?”

  Since we were already discussing black magic like it was the most ordinary thing in the world, I didn’t see any harm in telling him the truth. “He’s here,” I said, and I looked over to where Damon was standing. He was pale and as burned out as Vinnie’s candle. The air around him, though, still crackled and fizzed, like the distant lightning that foretells a summer storm. “I met Damon at the Rock Hall. Or at least, I met his ghost. He told me what you were up to.”

  Vinnie looked over his shoulder. “I don’t see him.”

  “I’m the only one who can.”

  “And he told you—”

  “About you stealing his songs, yeah. He’s pissed about it and I don’t blame him. But it’s not just that, Vinnie.” I had a feeling Damon wouldn’t like me to reveal this part of the equation, so rather than sit there and watch him look unhappy, I stood. “You’re hurting him,” I told Vinnie, pointing to the place where Damon was standing. “Every time you channel one of his songs, it causes him excruciating pain.”

  I didn’t think it was possible for Vinnie to get any paler. He swiped a hand over his cheeks. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I thought—”

  “And you’re holding him here,” I added, because I figured he might as well know the whole story. “As long as you’re channeling his songs, Damon can’t leave to go to the Other Side. He’s fading, Vinnie.” I refused to look at Damon when I said this. I didn’t want to see his left hand and the way it was blurry, as if an eraser was slowly wiping away every trace of him. “Pretty soon, there’s not going to be anything left of him, and then he’ll never be able to cross over.”

  Vinnie drew in a calming breath and turned. He was looking at an empty spot six feet to the left of where Damon was standing, but I didn’t bother to point that out. When it comes to talking to ghosts, I figured close counts. “I’m sorry, buddy,” he said, his voice rough with tears. “I never meant for any of that to happen. You get it, don’t you? Shit, I just thought…” Vinnie pushed both his hands through his hair. “When I first tried channeling you…well, man, I gotta tell you, I was scared shitless. But I was high so I tried anyway, and when it actually worked, man, it was better than sex! And it saved my butt. It saved the band. Without you, man…” Shaking his head, Vinnie turned back to me.

  “Damon was the lifeblood of the band. You know that, don’t you? When he died, we were in the crapper. Our old stuff kept selling but the band…shit, nobody wanted us. We used to fill stadiums! Without Damon, we couldn’t even get a booking in a bar. We needed songs and we needed them bad.”

  “So you got that first song from Damon and Mind at Large recorded it.”

  It wasn’t a question. Vinnie nodded, anyway. “That song put as at the top of the charts again, even without Damon. It made us millions. I got all the credit for writing it, and the chicks, well, let me tell you…” His eyes were red and swollen but he managed to wink anyway. “Chicks will do anything for songwriters.”

  Not something I wanted to think about.

  My arms wrapped around myself, I went over to the couch. Though I hadn’t noticed him move, Damon was already there. When I sat down, I made sure I kept my distance even as I thought about what a shame it was that I had to. What with watching Damon suffer and listening to Vinnie spill his guts, I needed a hug and I needed one badly. I sure didn’t want to encourage Vinnie, and I couldn’t get close to Damon or I’d freeze up like a snow cone. The realization left me chilled.

  I chafed my hands over my arms. “So you recorded that song and—”

  “And then I couldn’t stop!” As if this was all the explanation he needed, Vinnie nodded. “I mean, it was like a drug, you know? Not just the songs, but the power. Imagine it, Pepper! Think about how cool it is to call on a dead man and actually have him come to you. Especially somebody like Damon.” Vinnie’s laughter was rough with tears. “The great Damon Curtis! The face and the voice everyone thought of when they thought of Mind at Large. The guy every chick wanted. We were all stars, sure. But Damon, he was a supernova. We had groupies, as many as we wanted. But they only stayed with us so they could have the chance of getting close to Damon. And then…”

  Like they had when he was deep in his trance and channeling Damon, Vinnie’s eyes lit with an otherworldly fire. “And then I found out that I could actually raise his spirit, this guy who was the supreme being of music. I could make him obey me! For a while, I channeled him just because I could. The songs, they were a bonus. But then the songs turned into hits, one after another. And not just with our usual crowd. I was able to take us one step further, and we got popular with the middle-of-the-road crowd. Hey, they may not be as hard rockin’ as the kids, but they’ve got plenty more money to spend. After that, well, then everyone just expected me to keep writing hits. You know, Ben and Alistair, Mighty Mike and Pete. Even Gene Terry, our agent. Especially Gene. He was thrilled. He said he’d been paying so much attention to Damon, he never realized I had it in me to write great songs, too. The band, our agent, our fans. How could I stop when everyone was counting on me? I couldn’t. I didn’t. Not until…Not until now.”

  I gave him a penetrating look. He didn’t even notice, so I spoke up. “Pardon me for sounding like the voice of reason here, but what I just saw, that didn’t look like you stopping.”

  “But that’s just it!” Vinnie hurried over to where I was sitting. He shuffled from foot to foot, his voice tight with desperation. “This was going to be the last time. Honest. The last song. I just need one more, one new song for the big concert. I swear…I swear, even before you told me about what I was doing to Damon, I was never going to channel him again.”

  It was the whole thing about me sitting and looking at a guy’s crotch again. Considering the crotch in question belonged to Vinnie, it was pretty gross. I got up and stepped to the windows. “I don’t believe you,” I told him, and when Damon mustered up the energy to shake his head, I added, “Damon doesn’t believe you, either. Something tells me maybe you’ve promised before.”

  “I have tried to stop before. You’re right. I just never…” Vinnie’s shoulders rose and fell. “I couldn’t help myself.”

  “And you expect me to believe that this time is different?”

  “It is.” Before I even saw him coming, Vinnie raced over and clasped his hand around my arm. He pulled me down a hallway, opened a door, and dragged me inside a room. There were no windows in there and the walls were painted black. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust, and after they did, I saw that there was a pentagram painted on the hardwood floor in glowing white paint.

  Creepy, creepier, creepiest.

  Even I didn’t know I could move that fast. In a heartbeat, I had myself untangled from Vinnie’s grasp and was back out in the hallway.

  “Hey, not
to worry, babe!” When he gave me an anemic smile, Vinnie’s teeth glimmered in the gloom. It wasn’t very comforting. “It’s only my magic room. I have one everyplace I stay. Nothing bad can happen to you just from coming inside.”

  “And that’s supposed to make me feel better how?”

  “Because, don’t you see? There’s nothing left in here.” Like Vanna in front of the letter board, Vinnie waved his arm.

  I kept my feet firmly planted in the hallway and took the chance of leaning into the room for a better look. He was right. The walls were bare and there wasn’t a speck of furniture in the room. In fact, there wasn’t anything in there at all except that glowing pentagram and two big cardboard boxes.