Better Off Undead

by D. R. Perry

  “Wow, thanks.” I grinned at the imp. I'd met them before, of course.

  “Don’t mention it.” The imp smiled, tugging their fake beard.

  “Margot sent you, Ziggy.” I blinked. I’d almost forgotten that she was a Summoner as well as a reporter.

  “Yes, and she paid for your miracle, too.” Ziggy snapped their fingers again and vanished.

  “Um, Lane?” Irina stood with her back against the rail of the steps leading from the stage. She trembled like water when someone threw a stone in and pointed her bow at the floor in front of me.

  I opened my mouth, not sure what I would say about the dead woman on the floor under Pete’s paralyzed form. I knew for sure she was dead, too. I could smell it, and the only heartbeat I could hear was Irina’s.

  “Freeze!” I looked up at the newcomer. He didn’t have a pulse, either.

  “Detective Klein, hi.” I murmured, running one hand down my face.

  “This isn’t what I expected to find when I came to congratulate you on that performance.” He slapped cuffs on Dave, then sniffed the air. “That’s weird.” He blinked, then looked down at Pete.

  Instead of cuffing the drummer or checking the stake to make sure it hadn’t gone all the way through, Klein pushed my paralyzed friend out of the way. He leaned down and inhaled through his nose again. He opened his mouth and licked one of his fangs, which looked about as long as mine felt.

  “Hmm.” Klein tapped his left ear, and I heard his partner’s tinny voice respond. “Backup. Now.”

  Detective Weaver appeared so fast I would have thought she’d teleported if I hadn’t smelled the air of her passage. She’d come through the same way Klein had, just quicker than my eyes could track without enhancement.

  “What is it?” Weaver glanced at each of us. I understood why she looked more peeved than usual since all of us were incapacitated. Then she looked at Klein.

  “Subdue me.” Klein’s fists clenched, and he stood entirely too still. “Now.”

  Weaver didn’t bother with cuffs. The stake sprouted instantaneously from Klein’s chest. Whatever Weaver was, her insane speed freaked me out to the extreme.

  “You’re all coming with me to the PD.” Weaver eyed Irina. “Even you, Kazynski.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Gatto Go

  “I told you already, we were onstage.” I sighed.

  “Time of death is still unconfirmed.” Detective Weaver’s narrowed eyes shot the attitude equivalent of death rays at me. She was no moon. “You and everyone else on that stage is still on the hook.”

  “Even Irina?” I raised an eyebrow. She nodded. “You can’t be freaking serious.”

  “I am.” Her face barely moved when she spoke. “Just ask Klein. He’ll tell you my attitude’s more serious than my venom. I turn into a spider, you know.”

  I gulped, even though vampires don’t have to do that kind of thing. I had no idea whether Weaver was the poisonous kind of spider shifter or just bluffing. It’d probably be safer to fight lion-shifting Gatto guys than her. I closed my eyes, thinking about how I’d gone right from the frying pan into the fire.

  “Yes, you have.” The dry chuckle that followed Weaver’s statement meant I’d clichéd aloud. That was the opposite of freaking awesome.

  “But how could you guys even suspect Irina?” I tried to put my head in my hands, but the chains between the cuffs and the table didn’t reach. I turned my head and scratched the back of my head instead. It wasn’t itchy, just an old nervous habit. “That lady was definitely a vampire victim. I could smell it.”

  “It’s related to another case where alive-for-real accomplices were involved.” I looked down, listening to Weaver’s shoes tap across the stained linoleum as she approached me. I didn’t want to look up at her.

  “Really? Would you mind telling me about it?” I figured information like that might help Tinfoil Hat fix this mix-up, but even if Weaver said something, how would I get it back to any of my friends?

  “I’m not answering any more of your questions.” I felt a slight shift in the air and heard a rustle of fabric behind me. “There.” When Weaver came back around to the front of the table, she held an evidence bag that looked empty. I knew it wasn’t before she sealed it up, though. I could smell what she’d put inside.

  “My hair?” I blinked. “I didn’t give you permission to take samples.”

  “I know.” She looked down her nose at me. I realized I’d have felt much more comfortable if she smirked like a normal person, but then again, she was the bad cop to Klein’s good one. Smirking on the job was probably a no-no as far as she was concerned. “This hair was on our floor.”

  “Well then, how can you be sure it’s mine?” Hope rose in my chest. “Isn’t there some kind of law against using compromised evidence?”

  “You’re the only vampire in Newport with green hair.” Weaver paused at the door, her free hand hovering over the knob. “Also, I had the janitor scrub this room thoroughly enough for a surgeon to do organ transplants in here.” She opened the door. “See you later, Meyer.”

  I stared at the scarred tabletop, sure we’d lose the Battle of the Bands now. But that was what the Gattos wanted at this point. The Mafia shifter boss needed the underdog to win, but after our performance earlier, that was Jack’s band, not mine. The wheel of fortune sure liked to run me over.

  The door opened again. I didn’t want to look up and see Detective Weaver’s Gloaty McGloatface. Something jingled nearby, and I would have fallen on the floor if I hadn’t been cuffed to the table when a room-temperature hand settled on my shoulder.

  “Chill out, Meyer, or I won’t be able to unlock these.” Detective Klein made good on his words as soon as I stopped freaking out.

  “What happened?” I rubbed my wrists even though I didn’t have to. “Weaver was all gung-ho about getting a hair sample.”

  “Yeah, she really loves this job.” Klein fluffed the party section of his mullet. “But we got some new information, so you’re free to go.”

  “What about the rest of Night Creatures? Irina Kazynski?” I stood up.

  “Yeah, we’re releasing them, too.”

  “Do you mind if I ask why?”

  “Nope, I don’t mind you asking.” He smiled, fangs and all. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna answer, though.” Klein dropped a wink. I laughed.

  “You could have been on a sitcom, you know that?” I headed out the door he opened for me.

  “Yeah, I get that a lot.” Klein chuckled. “The only thing people say more is that I should be in one of those detective books.”

  “Well, why not write one?”

  “Nah. I’m no author.” The detective responded. “Maybe I should collar one just to see if they would publish a book about me.” He elbowed me in the ribs. “Just kidding.”

  “Yeah, I kinda figured.” I did a double-take in the hall as I watched Bianca Brighton head past with a tray of coffee. Now I understood why we’d all gotten released. “She working here or something?”

  “Yeah, or something.” Klein shrugged. “Trying to get an in for some kind of internship, but we’ve already got a Tanuki in the technical CSI department this fall. We haven’t had a medium since Delilah Redford volunteered on a case in 2001. We’re not sure what to do with them, so we’re writing Bianca a recommendation to Providence PD.” Klein glanced at me. “Hey, isn’t she a classmate of yours?”

  “Yeah, she is.” I nodded. “Hard worker, always helping people without caring whether they’re alive, dead, or none of the above.”

  “Sounds like you should write her a letter, too.”

  “Maybe I will, but I’m just a student like her.”

  “Nah.” Klein snorted out a laugh. “You’re a rock star. Did you know kids in Newport have your posters all over their rooms? My own daughter would have loved you guys even though she’s—she would be older than you.”

  “Really?” I was more surprised about the posters that Klein had a daughter. Vampire k
ids were hard to come by, and only ever got conceived between a destined vampire couple. I wondered who the mother was, especially since I’d never seen Detective Klein wearing a wedding ring. I hadn’t heard of a destined pair who wasn’t hitched. Maybe he just didn’t wear the ring at work.

  “Yeah. You and your band are going places, Lane.” Klein smirked. “Someday, I’ll get good money for the story of how I arrested your guitarist. And the rest of you, too.”

  Everyone else was already out in the lobby. I sat down because none of them stood up.

  “What are we waiting for?” I fidgeted. “We have to practice our originals for tomorrow night.”

  “Blaine.” Irina leaned back, her violin case resting across her lap. “He’s picking us up before Margot gets here. She’s lending a Spite to the police investigation.”

  “Holy moly, a Spite?” I blinked. “Spites are some seriously scary business.”

  “Well, thanks to the dragon man, you guys don’t have to stick around to meet them.” Irina rolled her eyes. “I’ve already met Margot's, though. I wouldn’t mind seeing Daryl again and saying hi.”

  “Daryl?” Pete scratched his head.

  “Irina learned the name of Margot’s Spite when they helped her and Fred in the Under.” I could have sworn Pete had heard the story, but if so, he sure hadn’t paid attention.

  “Oh.” He peered at Irina. “And you remembered? You’re a weirdo.”

  “Yup.” She smiled back. We all laughed.

  “So, does anyone know how we got released?”

  “Yeah.” Matt had just walked back through the door. I studied his appearance, because something was different, off, since I’d last seen him before the arrest. He looked unharmed, but the fresh rips and tears in his clothes told me he’d been in yet another unexplained fight and had already healed the wounds.

  “Okay, so tell us already,” grumbled Pete. Dave nodded his agreement, then pushed his glasses up his nose.

  “That medium chick, Bianca? She talked to the dead woman’s ghost.” Matt leaned against the wall next to a missing person poster of a ten-year-old girl. Something about her face looked awfully familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “A vampire killed her, but she didn’t fit the description of anyone in either band.”

  “Wait, she?” I blinked. “The mysterious biter is a woman?”

  “Yeah, or at least the biter who killed this woman is.” Matt twirled one of his dreadlocks. “She was left-handed, but the vampire who bit the blood-loss victim was right-handed.”

  “Tiamat’s scales!” I looked up to see Blaine in the doorway. He tapped the tablet in his hand. “LORA, did you get that?”

  “Data accepted,” the voice from his device said. “Calculating.”

  “Okay, let’s see what she comes up with.” Blaine puffed out a couple of smoke rings.

  “No matches found.”

  “What does that mean, LORA?” I felt weird asking a computer, but I just had to know.

  “No registered vampires on Newport this evening are left-handed,” LORA stated. “Conclusion, murder perpetrated by an unregistered vampire.”

  “Stop upstaging me, infernal machine!” Blaine pressed the sync switch and tucked the tablet away in a satchel. “That info’s going straight to Kimiko.” He jerked his chin at the hall. “She’s in there, working. Anyway, I’m here to take you guys back to the hotel before it gets all crispy critters with a chance of Spite out there.”

  We all waited while Blaine sent LORA’s update to Kimiko’s phone. An unregistered left-handed vampire? Unregistered vamps were nearly nonexistent. Unless someone had recently unearthed a sleeping one from twenty or more years ago, this one had to be illegally turned. But who would do something like that?

  A chill went down my spine as I remembered that Rick the Extramagus supposedly had Mind magic. He’d allegedly used it on the Summoning Professor during the winter, sending creatures to assassinate Henry Baxter. But mind magic only worked on people in a weakened mental state. That meant drugs, which didn’t affect vampires or some kind of blood deprivation.

  I glanced at everyone, remembering how we’d all rushed that bell-hop in the hall. We’d been drinking bagged blood, though. The hotel provided it as part of the accommodations. No vampire staying there should be hungry enough to accidentally turn someone.

  I remembered that first night and seeing Jack go get ice in the middle of his night with Della. We didn’t use ice for anything. But a human might. A human bitten enough times in a row might want some ice to take down the swelling. And then there was Nixie’s story. Jack had definitely been getting that kind of freaky with Della, and it would leave her vulnerable.

  We all piled into the car in front of Newport PD. Something was still bothering me, but not about the hunger or the potential new illegal vampire. No, it was the familiar face on the missing person poster in the police station lobby. I knew that little girl with the bland expression but had no idea where from. I didn’t hang out with kids. Even when I was that age, I’d gravitated toward children a couple of years older than me.

  I tried thinking about it, but the connection just wouldn’t come. Irina went to a quieter room to sleep while the rest of us set up for practice. Maybe music would get my mind in the right state to figure the detail out.

  But it didn’t come to me until after the Battle of the Bands ended.

  Chapter Twelve

  Come Original

  We’d practiced most of the day, taking turns with the shower beforehand. None of us liked smelling like the Newport jail, even though it was nicer than the Providence one, according to Matt. I didn’t even want to know how he knew something like that. Well, actually, I did. I just didn’t want to ask in the middle of all that pressure. Something about his disappearances and apparent fights had me curious in a wincing sort of way, and I didn’t think either of us had the mental or emotional energy to deal with that conversation.

  Irina wouldn’t join us on the final night. She’d been awesome to perform with, but she was flat exhausted. I also didn’t want her backstage at any point if that hungry left-handed vampire showed up again. Matt, because he hadn’t gotten the chance to play with her, tried to argue about it. I put my foot down. He thought no one would be stupid enough to go back there after murdering someone. But he’d never been one to dwell on the early days after we’d been turned.

  It sucked, literally and figuratively. Even people who’d prepared to get turned for years didn’t fully understand the hunger they’d have to deal with for eternity. It felt like having a hole in the gut, cold and hollow, where there was supposed to be fullness and warmth. On top of all that, a vampire’s nose picked up the scent of blood, living blood, so easily. We’d gone back to the club where we’d been turned over and over, even though it was dangerous to be around that many living people.

  Imagine a plate of your favorite food. Now, imagine if you’d been starving for a week. What would you do in that situation if that dish appeared in front of you just then? You’d start stuffing your face until that plate looked like it just came out of a dishwasher. And that’s why dead bodies followed the newly turned like flies follow garbage trucks. The deaths were almost always unintentional, but death was final. I refused to risk Irina or any of our other mortal friends that way.

  Even worse than vampire stranger danger was the probable half-ton Mafia cat catastrophe. The Gatto Gang didn’t discriminate between living and undead. If they had it in for you, that was it. I took a walk up and down the halls, calling Tony to see what he might have to say about that particular issue. The phone went directly to voicemail. Texts went unanswered.

  I realized it didn’t matter one way or the other. I didn’t care anymore what the Gatto guys wanted, half-ton lion shifters or no. Night Creatures was in the Battle of the Bands, finally. We weren’t quitting just because some bookies picked different odds to run with. We’d play the final night and let the judges decide. Paul and John didn’t seem savvy enough to bribe the folks scoring o
ur performances, so it’d be as fair a contest as possible.

  And then, there was Rick the Extramagus. He was the reason for all the monkey-wrenches, the ghosts in our collective machine. But if we got through his tampering, he couldn’t mess with us directly anymore. The idea of him indirectly messing with us or hurting our friends sucked, but that hadn’t seemed to give the Tinfoil Hatters too much trouble. Then again, people like Lynn, Blaine, and Irina made anything look easy. I felt like Atlas, trying to shrug off my impending impostor syndrome. The others had managed to shoulder the world and pass it along. But I wasn’t them. All I could do was my best.

  Once we’d practiced as much as we could stand to, we took a short break before getting ready to head to the bandstand. That was when Henrietta Thurston called me. The headmistress of Providence Paranormal College was the last person I expected to hear from unless I’d flunked out of school.

  “I want to congratulate you, Mr. Meyer,” she said.

  “We still have one more set to play before the judges decide, Headmistress.”

  “I know. I’m not congratulating you for winning.” The noise she made was more of a cough than a chuckle.

  “Okay, then.” I shrugged even though she couldn’t see it. “Then what did I do?”

  “You made it this far, Lane.” Her voice sounded slightly wheezy. I remember thinking that was odd since she’d been recovering from a magical attack, not pneumonia or whatever. Then again, an awful lot of people got sicker from being in the hospital. “If you can handle this, you can make it two more years to graduation.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Headmistress.” I kept it formal. That made it easier to keep from choking up like a wuss.

  “You earned it. Give the rest of Night Creatures my regards.”

  “I will.” She hung up just before the alarm on my phone went off, signaling that it was time to go.

  The third night felt much more like an actual battle. Both bands shared the stage, us on the left and them on the right. Jack looked rough around the edges, like he’d been under at least as much stress as I had. I wondered what was wrong, then remembered I hadn’t seen Della backstage. Come to think of it, I hadn’t scented her around the hotel either. Could they have broken up already?