Second String Savior
False Icons – Book 1
R. E. Carr
Rick Gualtieri
Copyright © 2019 Rick Gualtieri / R.E. Carr
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author. Your support of authors’ rights is greatly appreciated.
All characters in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The use of any real company and/or product names is for literary effect only. All other trademarks and copyrights are the property of their respective owners.
Edited by Megan Harris:
www.mharriseditor.com
Cover by Mallory Rock at
www.rocksolidbookdesign.com
Published by Freewill Press
Freewill-press.com
Contents
Title Page
Author’s Note
Chapter Zero: Ubiquitous Prologue
Chapter One: A Crank Call from Destiny
Chapter Two: The New Guy
Chapter Three: I had to Ask
Chapter Four: Nerd Herding
Chapter Five: Maybe She’s Born With it, Maybe it’s Destiny
Chapter Six: The Hair Dye of Doom
Chapter Seven: Origin Story
Chapter Eight: Bibbity Bobbity Boo Hoo
Chapter Nine: Everything’s Fine
Chapter Ten: The Blessing of What?
Chapter Eleven: Fast Times at Pennacook High
Chapter Twelve: Busted
Chapter Thirteen: Back to the Beginning
Chapter Fourteen: Chosen…Crap
Chapter Fifteen: The Magic of Montages
Chapter Sixteen: The New Normal
Chapter Seventeen: Two Places at the Same Time
Chapter Eighteen: Big Trouble in Little Chinatown
Chapter Nineteen: The Outlaw Jessie Jameson
Chapter Twenty: A New Face Joins the Philharmonic
Chapter Twenty-One: How I learned to Stop Worrying and Date my Nemesis
Chapter Twenty-Two: It’s Always Darkest before Dawn . . . Duh
Chapter Twenty-Three: Grounded
Chapter Twenty-Four: Time Off for Bad Behavior
Chapter Twenty-Five: The Magical Mystery Tour
Chapter Twenty-Six: Hairy Prattle and the Hot Tub of Wonders
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Meet the Neighbors
Chapter Twenty-Eight: It’s Ancient Greek to Me
Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Kegger of the Gods…
Chapter Thirty: Dionysian Disaster Strikes
Chapter Thirty-One: The Quest for Peace
Chapter Thirty-Two: You Have to Fight for your Right to Party
Chapter Thirty-Three: Azkaban Would be so Much Scarier With
Chapter Thirty-Four: Kushtaka Rhapsody
Chapter Thirty-Five: Party Favors
Chapter Thirty-Six: Universal Education
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Freewill is an Illusion too
Chapter Thirty-Eight: More than Meets the Eye
Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Moment of Half-Truth
Chapter Forty: Flower Power
Chapter Forty-One: It was all Going so Well
Chapter Forty-Two: Until it Wasn’t
Chapter Forty-Three: Peace Finds a Way
Chapter Forty-Four: Alea Iacta Est
Chapter Forty-Five: Falling Forever
Chapter Forty-Six: Sick Day
Chapter Forty-Seven: Homecoming
Chapter Forty-Eight: The Last Dance
Chapter Forty-Nine: Can’t go Home Again
Bonus Chapter
About the Author – Rick Gualtieri
About the Author – R.E. Carr
For our Norn Iron King, Bite Club Member, and gallant friend. You shall be missed, Don.
The authors would like to thank everyone who made Second String Savior possible. They would like to give a big shout out to Megan Harris for editing and Mallory Rock for her brilliant cover design. Both of you managed to even make two crazy urban fantasy authors look good.
This book is only possible with the help of our amazing beta readers: Kristi, Simon, Michael, April, Chris, Ron, Ruby, and Terry; as well as R. E. Carr’s bite Club: DJ, Hezzo, Walter, Deb, RH, Emmers, and Don.
Furthermore, Rick would like to give a big shout out to his Patreon peeps: Vikki H, Nicole J., Lee, AJ H., Patrick, Shari L., Michael L., Tina H., David H., and Kenny R. Your support means to the world to me!
Author’s Note
Welcome to Second String Savior, the first new story in what I’m calling the Tome of Bill Universe. I realized a while back that this world I created some years ago has a lot more tales to tell aside from that of a nerdy, foul-mouthed vampire – more than I could ever possibly hope to tell by myself. And I believe it's high time we started to explore some of them.
I’m privileged to have along with me for this adventure R.E. Carr, author of the excellent Rules Undying series. If you haven’t checked it out yet, please do so. It’s quite the wild ride. Together, we’ve crafted a new beginning, one that I believe stands on its own yet, at the same time, should feel familiar to those of you who’ve joined me for Bill Ryder’s adventures through the paranormal.
The story you’re about to read takes place roughly concurrent with the events of The Mourning Woods, for those of you who’ve read my Tome of Bill series. If not, no worries. Jessie Flores’s tale is perfectly capable of standing on its own two feet, as is she.
Welcome to a world of vampires, witches, and giant hairy monsters – a world of infinite possibilities. It is my sincere hope you enjoy reading this story as much as my co-author and I did writing it.
Rick G.
Chapter Zero: Ubiquitous Prologue
“Excuse me, but I don’t think you have a hall pass.” The creature by the trophy case turned slowly, eyes solid black and claws extended. Somehow I’d hoped that my first encounter with a vampire would involve sparkling and smoldering glances, but alas, I had to make do with a goon in a trench coat who looked intent on ripping out my tasty throat.
The monster cocked his head at me and gave one of those fangy smiles straight out of Hammer House of Horror. My grip tightened on the makeshift stake in my hand. Technically it was just a drumstick I’d snagged from the band room, but beggars can’t be choosers. It then occurred to me that I had absolutely no idea what to do next.
The creature of the night paused as well. He inclined his head at the weapon in my hand. “Cute. Band practice run late, little girl?”
I wanted to quip the perfect witty comeback, worthy of my favorite heroes in comics and the silver screen, but instead let out an awkward giggle and shrugged.
The monster rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time for this shit. How about this? I’m going to ask you some questions. Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll make your death mostly painless.”
“Not really motivating me, Nosferatu.” The vampire raised a brow. I’d finally found the perfect bit of shade to cast in his general direction. “Maybe if you sparkled—”
That seemed to push a button. I blinked, and the vampire was practically on top of me, and not in any fetish fantasy way. I shoved the drumstick upward and discovered exactly how effective the human ribcage was in protecting the delicate inner stuffing. The monster laughed and knocked it out of my hand.
“You know, you’re kind of cute,” he said with a snarl. “Maybe I’ll fuck you before bleeding you dry. How’s that sound?”
I hesitated, stuck between the horror of what he’d suggested and wanting to point out
that I was only sixteen, but even mid-fight, I realized how ridiculous that was. This dude wanted to kill me. I somehow doubted that being jailbait would dissuade him.
The vampire shoved me away with contempt, reinforcing the stereotype that I was “fighting like a girl.” I crashed into the lockers opposite of Mrs. Paczkowski’s homeroom. Stars swirled around the fluorescent lights, and I could smell nasty, metallic breath as the monster leaned in to get a good, old-fashioned gloat.
“Aww, did that hurt?” he teased before slamming me against the metal with enough force to dent some poor schmuck’s cubbyhole. “Now, tell me, have you seen a ginger bitch around here?”
“I really, really hate that word.”
“What . . . bitch, little bitch?”
“No, ginger,” I deadpanned as I yanked the brown wig off my head. Finally, a decent comeback! Well, okay, not really, but that was fine. I found myself at a loss for further banter as my big reveal turned out far more dramatic than I anticipated as my Day-Glo red locks quite literally glowed. Note to self: shiny one was not a metaphor.
The vampire hissed and went hardcore for my jugular, my only response being a not so heroic cringe and a desperate lunge to rack him in the balls. I seriously hoped vampires had balls. I hadn’t thought to ask in my rapid-fire briefing from Gary and Phil. On the upside, the high-pitched wail erupting from my enemy confirmed that one useful fact—vampires certainly had nuts.
Speaking of nuts, a toasty aroma filled the halls as smoke puffed out from under my target’s collar. Maybe I ate too much garlic, or the stake really did hit him. No, the smoke clearly poured out of a wound on the side of his neck, a burn in the pattern of a plait. It was at that moment I felt quite a bit of warmth radiating from my skull. Oh God, was I on fire, too?
“Holy shit, Jessie!” Gary’s familiar voice called from the end of the corridor. “Are you on fire?”
I so hated being right.
“What are you?” the vampire cried, his previous snark gone. He clawed at his own throat as the smoldering wound began to burn. “I . . . I—”
“That’s quite enough,” another familiar voice said.
The monster was engulfed in a pillar of flame the moment the raspy voice spat out those words. I gulped as the vampire exploded into a pile of ash. Amidst the flames a cigarette snapped into the center mass, and as the flareup died out, the lanky, exaggerated silhouette of a woman I’d come to fear filled my view.
“You know, smoking isn’t allowed on campus, Aunt Phil,” Gary said, running towards us.
Philomena Bates—Phil, as she insisted on being called—rolled her eyes and gave a wry smile. “What are you gonna do, Gare-bear, report me?”
“No, but you might wanna run,” I replied as the fire alarm blared and the sprinklers dropped their load. I could hear her rapid-fire swearing as we made a beeline for the west exit. Phil glowered as we burst into the parking lot.
“Why exactly are we running?”
“You set off the sprinklers!”
She let out a deep sigh, then grabbed both my arm and Gary’s. The world started to shimmer and get all swirly, like we were in a movie flashback.
“You have so much to learn, girl,” Phil said before everything got even weirder. Yes, weirder than fighting a vampire in my high school, or having hair that glowed, or even seeing a fireball turn said creature into nothing more than an annoyance for the new janitor.
In the blink of an eye, I’d gone from homeroom to the rooftop of a warehouse, and boy, it took all my effort to keep my pre-skirmish bag of pork rinds from spewing all over the tar paper.
“Did we just go bamf? Holy Nightcrawler, Batman. That was not pleasant.”
Gary plopped onto the ledge at the edge of the roof, shaking his head while Phil continued to give him a withering glare. She then turned to me, her runny makeup and limp platinum hair further amplifying her severe look. Unfortunately, I had no ability to teleport off the roof—that I knew of anyway—and somehow doubted glowing hair would protect me from a five-story drop. Mercifully, her face softened and she actually smiled as she approached. “Congratulations, Jessie, you survived your first tussle with the supernatural.”
“She probably wished it was Sam and Dean,” Gary muttered. I did the only mature thing and flipped him the bird.
Phil proceeded as if nothing had happened. “You might be the chosen one, but believe me, you still have a lot to learn.” She lit a fresh cigarette, this time using a flame that flicked off the tip of her index finger.
“Well, could you at least tell me one thing first?”
Phil smiled as warmly as she could considering the obvious amounts of Botox plumping her features. “Anything for you, dearie.”
“If I’m the chosen one, who exactly chose me?”
Chapter One: A Crank Call from Destiny
I never expected to end up bruised and shaking on the roof of a warehouse, with neon hair and a higher calling, but then who wakes up one day and checks off “superhero” on their bucket list? I know when it all started—well, at least when I finally noticed the weirdness—and no, it was not some puberty thing.
It all began in a rather innocuous fourth period AP physics class, although at the time I was far more concerned with the dashing profile of our varsity quarterback.
Tony Castorini was that rare combo of brawn and brains, an all-star on the field who could write a lab report without beating up some freshman nerd to do it for him. Throw in dark, wavy hair and broad shoulders, and he set an unrealistic expectation of what a high-schooler should aspire to be.
Unfortunately for me, hordes of busty, brainless cheerleaders surrounded him at all times, except for in his advanced placement classes. There, and only there, I had a snowball’s chance of him noticing me. It’s not like I was a toad or anything, but while Mother Nature had blessed me with long legs, clear skin, and a glossy mane of shoulder length brown hair, she had forgotten to tack anything more than a short stack of pancakes onto my chest region.
“Flores?” That’s my name, but I had no idea why it was being called at that particular moment. I made a quick assessment of my notes, the teacher’s mildly perturbed face, and hedged my bets. “Um, ten meters per second.”
“Very good,” Mr. Turner replied. “It’s nice to know that some of you can pay attention while looking like space cadets.” He turned his focus to someone clearly doodling in the front row. With my hormonal haze interrupted, I finally noticed another set of eyes locked on to me.
While new students weren’t entirely unheard of at midterms, usually they didn’t show up in the AP classes. This guy looked at home with the ‘Borough rich kids that filled Pennacook Regional High School—polo shirt, khakis, and floppy, but not too emo, hair. I tried not to stare at the row of zits dotting his forehead, or how he kept sneaking looks at me, then scribbling little notes in his binder. By the time the bell rang, it was starting to creep me out, even as I tried to concentrate on jotting down our assignment.
I was ready to make a mad dash for lunch. After all, the sole redeeming aspect of Mondays happened to be fresh tater tots and nachos, lending itself to one of the greatest culinary traditions of the Pennacook Tomahawks—Tot-chos. Sadly, even the freshmen had discovered the crispy, cheesy goodness, so speed was of the essence.
“Um, hi,” the new guy started, but I was already on the move.
The entire defensive line was already heading for the caf, so I had to pick up the pace. Lucky for me, I had a secret weapon. Unlike either the big dudes or the average Joe’s filling the hall, I worked weekends at the Worcester Ninja Gym teaching small children how to get into all sorts of trouble. The new guy was left in the dust as I slid under a linebacker, skirted around a locker door, and barely avoided a sideswipe from an excited gleek. The exertion paid off as I managed to snatch cheesy delights mere moments before the lunch lady decreed the jalapeño stash had been depleted.
It’s the little things, like processed cheese spread slathered on crispy golden potato
nuggets, that get you through high school. Of course, the moment I managed to shove a solid cheekful into my mouth, the less enlightened jock-squad decided to make their presence known.
Now, I preferred to eat alone. I had a perfectly comfy table by the windows. It had a wonky leg, which drove most away, but I’d mastered its mysteries and, so long as my drink wasn’t too full, I was golden. Problem was, the bigger dudes had formed a semi-circle around the new guy.
“Hey, fuck-face! Going somewhere?” the biggest one—Harry or Larry something-or-other—growled.
The new guy, however, despite his slim build, seemed unfazed. He tried to push past them, seemingly determined to head toward my lunchtime fortress of solitude with a lunch bag in one hand and a pair of sodas in the other. One of the other guys, another Larry or Harry, stepped in and glanced my way before starting in the harassment. “Dude, fuck-face here is making a move on Backdoor Jess. He must’ve heard. . .”
I took a deep breath, willing myself to stay calm despite wanting to scream. On the one hand, the new guy might be a creeper but, on the other, here were three obvious bullies making the school a douchetastic paradise. Fortunately, I had a few more tricks up my sleeve, such as molten cheese.
I picked up a tot and flicked it with my finger. Bingo! Houston, we have neck contact on one of the Larrys. He let loose with a quick scream, probably higher pitched than he’d ever admit to, then narrowed his eyes as he turned to face me. I had the decency to kick my feet up on the next chair over and give my ponytail a defiant flip.
“Stay out of this, you backdoor bitch,” Tot-Wearing Larry warned.
“You know, I have a better idea. How about I tell Counselor Flake how threatened I feel right now?” I stated in my most innocent voice. The mere mention of our infamous guidance counselor’s name was enough to make them pause. The third in their merry trio, who was actually a Brian, decided that discretion was the better part of valor and waved Larry and Harry (or was it Barry?) onward toward easier targets, although Tot-head couldn’t resist shoving the new guy on the way out.
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