Better Off Undead

by D. R. Perry

  “Della.” But no one was there. That other hall was empty and quiet. Well, not exactly quiet. I heard a low murmur from one of the doors. It was the same one with Della’s uniquely appealing scent, and there was something else—someone else—in there with her. Familiar, too, but cold. “Jack.”

  Before I could head toward my friends or up the stairs to the lobby, that door clicked, opening to reveal my old music teacher holding an empty ice bucket and wearing nothing but a towel. I lucked out when he turned his back to me, striding down to the other end of the hall and the ice machine.

  I’d never felt like such a chump in either of my lives, living or undead. Where I was lean, Jack was broad and muscular. Where I was lanky, Jack was built. And of course, I knew his musical talent surpassed my own without question. I might have been graced with the better vocal chops by Mother Nature, but his experience made even that one advantage tiny. Jack outclassed me in every way, and he’d ended up with my ex the same night she’d dumped me.

  There was no way I’d win against him in any way, shape, or form. I was doomed; the Gattos could ash me once Night Creatures lost the Battle of the Bands. At least I wouldn’t have to imagine Jack nude with Della if that happened. I headed up to the lobby and asked Siri to dial Tony. That AI was the best thing to happen to vampires with smartphones. No need to put on a glove just to make a call.

  “Hey, Doctor Teeth.”

  “Hey, hep cat.” The old joke greeting couldn’t lift my spirits.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Just discovered Jack and Della have progressed well past the speed-dating stage.”

  “Oh. Well, that takes the cat box.” Tony sighed. “It can’t be that serious, right?”

  “It’s Jack-wearing-a-towel-to-the-ice-machine serious.”

  “Harsh.”

  “Yeah.” I closed my eyes, trying to shake off the foul mood. “But enough about me. Lynn Frampton just told me you aren’t allowed at the hotel.”

  “Yup.”

  “You got a decent place to stay?”

  “Oh, I sure do.” Tony chuckled. “I’ve got some friends in Newport who have nothing to do with the Harcourts.”

  “Really?” I hoped my skepticism wasn’t showing.

  “Truly.” Tony sighed. “Look, I told you last week not to be too concerned about me or anything I say. No one else is.” As it turned out, Tony was wrong.

  “Um, Lane?” I looked up into a pair of big amber eyes framed by platinum blonde hair in a feathery cut.

  “What’s up, Olivia?” I pushed down the impulse to cover the phone with my hand. That wouldn’t do any good. All shifters had hearing nearly as good as a vampire’s.

  “Olivia?” Tony actually gasped on the other end of the line. “Oh, no.”

  “That’s Tony Gitano on the phone.” She stifled a yawn. “I want to talk to him.”

  “Do not give her the phone.” I didn’t take Tony’s advice. For some reason, I thought he needed all the goodwill he could get. And a blind man could have seen that Olivia cared.

  “Hey, you’re the one who said I shouldn’t listen to anything you say.” I handed the phone to the sleepily-blinking owl shifter.

  I smiled as I watched her shuffle toward a comfy chair in the lobby’s corner. Her slippers looked like big white paws. She sat down, chattering into the phone with a grin. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one who did more than tolerate Tony. All the same, his recent behavior sure was suspicious. I couldn’t even imagine what he might be saying on the other end of the line. Just as I was about to listen in, something bright green caught my eye at the front entrance.

  I turned my head to see who or what came through the lobby door and my jaw hit the floor. A goddess in a kelly-green Mod-style dress swayed by. The woman had a face like an angel, curves to shame the devil, and hair like fire. If I’d been able to move, I might have been drawn to it like a moth to the most dangerous light source ever. But I was glued to my seat. Good thing, too.

  All I could do was watch as the epitome of womanhood stood at the desk, one pointy-toed shoe tapping on the marble floor as she checked in. The lady behind the counter didn’t play games with her key. Whoever she was, the redhead commanded respect. She certainly had my full attention.

  My ears perked up as she asked for Irina Kazynski. Irina knew this vision of perfection? I wondered whether she could set us up on a date. The desk lady dialed the landline phone hovering over its number pad, waiting with me. Once Irina got up here, I’d have an in on their conversation. I willed my legs to function again. The last thing I wanted was to trip over my own feet on my way over to introduce myself.

  “Irina!” My goddess held her arms out, reminding me of mannerisms I’d seen on 1960s sitcoms. I noticed the little pill-box hat perched sideways on her head. She was clearly into retro stuff. Maybe a vampire like me had a chance.

  “Oh, thank goodness you made it.” Irina took both of the redhead’s hands, then turned her head. I caught her eye easily. “I have someone to introduce you to. Lane?”

  “Hello there.” I stood up and sauntered over, grinning and thanking the powers that be for the fact that vampires couldn’t have sweaty palms. And I held out my hand. “I’m Lane Meyer.”

  “Oh, yes.” The woman smirked, her eyes narrowing. Instead of shaking my hand, she reached into her little purse and pulled out a small notebook and pen. “It’s so good to finally meet you in person.” My stomach dropped at the sardonic weight she gave the word “good.”

  “Good to meet you, too, Miss,” I glanced at Irina. "Um."

  “Oh, this is Margot Malone.” The violinist chuckled. I went from wanting to hug Irina to wishing the floor would swallow her. “You know, the reporter?”

  Oh, I knew, all right. The knowledge that I’d been blowing off probably the most interesting woman in the universe hit me like a five-thousand-megaton warhead. I’d get to spend time with her, but she didn’t exactly seem happy to see me. In fact, Margot looked distinctly unimpressed. She’d had to do major Psychic feats as favors for a shot at meeting me after seven years of mundane effort. I shouldn’t be surprised if she ended up hating me.

  “Hoo, boy,” murmured Olivia from just behind my left shoulder. She tucked the phone in the left pocket on my flannel shirt. “Good luck, Lane.”

  I listened to the owl shifter’s shuffling footsteps as she headed toward the lobby coffee machine. I remember thinking, maybe I should be the one to get swallowed up by the floor.

  Chapter Five

  Margot A Go-Go

  “So, if you want it, I can give it to you right now.” I instantly covered my mouth like an idiot instead of apologizing like a gentleman. I’d meant the interview, of course. But that wasn’t how it sounded. Curse Freud and the slips he wrote books on.

  “Wow, Lane.” Irina shook her head. “And Fred told me you had class.”

  “When did he say a thing like that?” Margot looked down her nose at me.

  “Oh, the other night, when you brought Ed and me to the Under for a visit.” Irina shrugged. “You were there, remember?”

  “I wasn’t really paying attention.” Margot nudged Irina with one elbow. “Figured a Knight and his Bard ought to converse without a vampire breathing down their necks.”

  “Yeah, I appreciate it.” Irina smiled at Margot, offering her an arm. The redhead took it with a giggle. I blinked. I’d had no idea Margot and Irina had gotten so friendly.

  “Well, I figured you’d need a break from Sir Al escorting you around.” Margot rolled her eyes just before both ladies turned their backs to head down the stairs.

  “Oy vey!” Irina chuckled. “It’s like having a chaperon, visiting Fred with him around. How old is Albert Dunstable, anyway?”

  “Oh, he’s twenty-something.” Margot’s voice receded, but I couldn’t stop myself from listening to her as long as I could. “Just from the most formal and stuffy Sidhe family in the entire state. Possibly even the entire eastern seaboard. Poor kid.”

  “He’
s the guy Lane had over to help the band learn the rules, you know.” I heard Irina’s laugh echo along the hall.

  “Wish I could have seen that.” Margot’s voice sounded almost out of my range of hearing. I reached for the railing and took the stairs two at a time, intending to head after them even though I’d been blown off.

  “Um, Lane?” I didn’t recognize the soft voice behind me. I turned, stopping on the last step. A pale hand held my phone out to me. I took it.

  “Olivia?” We blinked at each other, and the shine in her eyes increased as tears rolled down her cheeks, adding salt to her coffee. I’d never seen her like this and wondered whether her emotional state had to do with weaning herself off the meds that made her diurnal during school, or her conversation with Tony. Either way, it was probably none of my business, but there was only one way to test that theory. Ask. “What’s up?”

  “You’re kind of in my way.” She cut her eyes away, down to the marble floor or maybe my sneakers. And she was right. I’d completely blocked the stairs while eavesdropping.

  “Oh. Sorry.” I stepped aside, not sure what to do or say. But Olivia didn’t move. She closed her eyes again, inhaling the steam coming off the surface of the liquid in the paper cup between her hands.

  “I’m not talking about the stairs.” She sighed.

  “Huh?” I knew I was clueless, but this was ridiculous. “Well then, what is it?”

  “It’s Tony.” She shook her head. “He says he won’t talk to me again until this whole mess of yours is over.”

  “Wow, Olivia.” I bit my lower lip, then winced, feeling like the lamest vampire ever. And I probably was just then, too. “I had no idea you and Tony were an item.”

  “We’re not.” She closed her eyes again, displacing more tears from the corners of her eyes. “Because he's a big scaredy cat. So we won’t ever be if stuff like this keeps happening. And this time, it’s your fault.”

  “Okay.” I wasn’t sure what she meant, actually, besides my Gatto Gang problems. I couldn’t do a thing about the big bad Extramagus. At least, that’s what I thought at the time. “What can I do to help?”

  “Win.” The word came out on a sigh. “That won’t fix everything, but it’d be a start.”

  “Tall order.” I felt like a piece of garbage. So many people—friends really or they wouldn’t all be here—were counting on Night Creatures, and I was going to fail them by losing. “Jack’s the most talented musician in Rhode Island, and maybe New England. We’re gonna lose.”

  “If you think that, you will.” Olivia stared at the band emblem on my shirt. “Because talent isn’t everything in a contest like this.”

  “What do you mean?” I blinked. “It’s not a vote, so you don’t mean popularity. Besides, Jack’s got that in the bag, too.”

  “Hunger.” Olivia finally looked into my eyes. That word she’d uttered lingered in her gaze, but something in her eyes was distant, making clear that she wanted something or someone who wasn’t here. “You have to want it so bad you can barely think about anything else. Jack and his guys have done this ten times. Count on their boredom. They’ll underestimate how much you need this win.”

  “Believe me, Olivia, I’ve thought about how we have to win for weeks.” I shook my head, wondering how she couldn’t understand this. “But it’s impossible.”

  “I’m majoring in Extrahuman Law. One thing they teach us is this: attitude is everything.” The muscle at the side of Olivia’s jaw twitched as she clenched it. Then, she took a breath. “If you believe you can’t, you won’t. Besides, you have three other guys going for this. Don’t count their confidence out just because you’re down on yourself over other stuff.”

  “Look, if you’re talking about—” I stepped back, and would have toppled over if my epic vampire reflexes hadn’t kicked in. “Ow!” Olivia had tossed her coffee at my face.

  “I don’t give two hoots about Della Dawn and her fang fetish, or that you think Margot Malone’s hot and she’s pissed because you blew her off for seven years.” Olivia put her hands on her hips. I would never again forget that owls were terrifyingly perceptive predators.

  “Um, okay.” I put my hands up palms-out in a gesture of surrender. “So, what do you give a hoot about, then?”

  “The people on the chopping block if you lose.” She tilted her head and blinked. “Duh.”

  “I thought that was just me.” I tried to shrug but my shoulders wouldn’t move. That angry amber gaze had stopped me cold.

  “What are you, new?” Olivia’s nostrils flared. “Think about it. Who is Tony’s dad? And where do you think a crime lord got the idea to put your band up against Jack’s so he can game the inevitable gambling that goes with this contest every year? If the idea sinks, the guy who had it goes down with the ship.”

  “But Tony’s his son.”

  “Did you know his dad shifts into a giant lion?”

  “No.” My mouth dropped open. I’d always thought fluffy little kitty cat shifters came from other fluffy little kitty cat shifters, not big lion men. “So, Tony’s not heir to his father’s throne, then?”

  “Absolutely not.” She shook her head. “He’ll inherit a hole in the ground if he doesn’t pull out some kind of gain for his family soon, too.”

  “Why are you worried over how he feels about you when he’s told you all this?”

  “Because he hasn’t.” She shrugged. “Owl shifters are some of the most observant people in the world.”

  “Holy Hendrix, you figured all that out on your own?”

  “Don’t tell Lynn.” Olivia swished what was left of the coffee in her cup. “She’ll start trying to compete with me academically, and nobody’s got time for that.”

  “Okay. So I really have to win.”

  “’Have to’ isn’t good enough, Lane.” Olivia’s eyes narrowed until I wondered if lasers might shoot out of them. “I want to hear you say it.”

  “Huh?” I blinked.

  “Say you’re going to win.” She tucked her chin, reminding me again of how scary owls could be.

  “You’re going to—” I stopped when she threatened me with the other half of her hot beverage. “I’m going to. No, we’re going to win this. Night Creatures. Together.”

  “That’s right, you are.” Olivia turned her back and headed down the stairs. It wasn’t the flounce I’d expected, either. It looked like a battle march. Even though Olivia looked and usually acted like a nerd, she had the heart and soul of a rebel. How else could a future lawyer be secretly infatuated with a Mafioso’s son?

  I headed to my room to practice instead of joining the party across the hall. We had work to do if we were going to win.

  I’d needed that practice and the discipline that came with it. The next night, we stood backstage, glaring at the list of songs we had to choose from. For the first two events, both bands played covers in categories the judges chose.

  “Well, here it is. Our worst nightmare.” I passed the list around, letting everyone see the title as I read, “Songs Played at the Disco.”

  “Suckitude,” Pete grumbled.

  “We’re not a disco band,” Matt growled.

  “Guys, settle down.” I stared at Pete and Matt until they shut their traps. Dave was a special case since he hadn’t opened his trap. Instead, I waited through some sighing and a couple of eye rolls. “There’s some funk on this list, too, so it’s not just disco songs. Come on, Dave. We’re not an Emo band either, so quit the soundless whine.”

  “But which of these are we gonna pick?” Dave took a deep breath but at least he didn’t sigh it out this time. “I mean, do we all even know enough of them to make the set?”

  “I know this one.” Pete jabbed one big finger at the paper. He didn’t make eye contact with any of us.

  “Yeah, I do, too.” Dave nudged Pete with an elbow.

  “Same,” I said. We all looked over at Matt.

  “No freaking way.” Matt’s dreadlocks quivered like an E string wound too t
ightly. “I’m not playing that.”

  “But you know it.”

  “Yeah, but come on.” He peered at me, head down like a bull about to charge. Matt was oddly uptight for a guitarist in a punk band. “You guys can’t be serious. They televise this shindig. I don’t want you implying those kinds of things when my mom’s watching.”

  “Fine.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Find three more we all know.” I heard Matt mumble something. “What was that?”

  “There aren’t three more.” Matt shrugged. “I only know two on this list besides this raunchfest. This is the lamest contest ever, and unfairer than it is uncool.”

  “Well, we get a whole different genre tomorrow.” I shrugged. “That’s fair.” I smirked, unable to stop myself from getting another dig in on my cocky guitarist. “Maybe it’ll be Christian Rock.”

  “Yeah, man.” Dave shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Just think of it as getting the nasty medicine down. Or like eating broccoli before you can have dessert.”

  “Jeez, Dave.” Matt shook his head. “You got turned when your brain was still twelve or something?”

  Dave rolled his eyes, but I wasn’t fooled. The bass player’s lame analogy had been specifically designed to defuse the lead guitarist’s ego trip. He’d been doing it for over a decade, since we all got turned. I mouthed a silent “thank you” to him over Matt’s head.

  We had our three songs circled, so we handed the list to the stage manager. It’d make its way to the judges. After that, we spent a couple of minutes waiting through the emcee’s shtick before he announced us. As challengers, we got to go first, of course.

  Just before we headed up the steps leading to the stage, a familiar, irresistible scent hooked me, pulling my head around to glance over my shoulder. Jack and his five bandmates stood in what passed for the green room back there. Della hung on his arm and I watched him tilt his head, clearly sniffing her hair exactly like I used to. Ew. I knew he could have been her great-great-grandpa. That thought process was more than a bit hypocritical, even though my age difference with Della only put me in older brother or possibly youngest uncle territory. I turned my head back, watching my step up to the stage.