Urban Fantasy Collection - Vampires

by Adrian Phoenix

“Pretty much,” I answered truthfully. My words hit him hard and it was clear from the insane look in his eyes that he couldn’t quite grasp how that could be possible. I didn’t want our friendship to be over. I was willing to believe that he was going through some kind of vampiric midlife crisis, that what he was saying about watching me die was bullshit or that he’d been in shock. I wanted him to have a reason, any reason, other than stupid jealousy.C’mon, Roger, I thought at him,just make something the fuck up!

  I didn’t see him move. The stake ripped through my T-shirt and lodged in my heart, a familiar feeling for me. Every time it feels exactly the same. Some vampires say it hurts, but to me, it only hurts on the way in and out. While the stake is in there, I just have an overwhelming urge to burp.

  “You thought I’d share it with you, that I’d let you buy into the project? After all the shit I’ve put up with, do you really think I’d let you in? When Orchard Lake becomes Midnight Lake it’s going to be the next Highland Towers, Eric, and I can’t have you fucking it up. I’m going to be the next big thing! The big kahuna!” Drops of blood stood out on Roger’s brow, rivulets of vampire sweat.

  Nope, I thought at him, overwhelmed more with apathy than sadness, what you get to be is dinner.

  He heard the first howl and staggered away from me. The wolves romped in like the Magnificent Seven and the Seven Samurai all rolled up into one big bad case of old-school whoop ass. All wore their human forms, but with lupine grins. William strolled out of the entrance to the Pollux parking deck holdingEl Alma Perdida .

  Roger backed away slowly, not running. Was he expecting backup? Ten more of the pack walked out of the deck behind him and another ten stalked from around the corner of the Pollux, all dressed in exactly what they’d worn at their Orchard Lake homes, everything from sweatpants to jeans.

  William yanked the stake out of my chest and pressed the gun into my hands. He grinned at Roger. “Hello again, Mr. Malcolm.”

  “You can’t kill me, Eric. I’ve got connections.” Roger stepped into the road, fighting off panic, keeping all of the werewolves in his field of vision. “And I may not be able to kill you, but now I know what you are and I’m going to take that, too—”

  I firedEl Alma Perdida . The bullet struck him in the shoulder and the wound began to sizzle.

  “I’ve been waiting all night to shoot somebody with this gun, Roger,” I said. “And there’s just nobody I’d rather shoot with it than you.”

  “I—” Roger tried to speak, but I shot him twice more, the reports ringing out sharp, clear, and satisfying. You see, I’ve never liked vampires, not even myself. I’ve never made any bones about that. While I thought Roger was my friend, I’d made exceptions, but now…that made him just one more high society vamp in my territory, on my front fucking doorstep. The impact spun him around and he hit the asphalt. His arms flapped up and down as if he were a bat. “Can’t change…”

  “Same thing happened to me earlier,” I explained, not the least bit sympathetic as I walked over to him. “Magbidion explained it to me.”

  “The bullets fromEl Alma Perdida shape-lock anyone they strike,” William said. “It kept any werewolves Courtney killed from reverting to human form when the sun hit them.”

  “He made sure to leave one bullet in the werewolf until the local law enforcement showed up. He’d let them see the monster, and then dig the last bullet out so they could watch it change back into a human with their own eyes,” I explained. “That way he could get hailed as a monster killer, not hanged as a murderer.” Flames licked out of Roger’s wound, and I kept talking as he swatted frantically at the fire. “It was a nice touch when you had Froggy leave one bullet behind to make it look likeEl Alma Perdida was back in Courtney’s hands. Too bad the bullets are all linked. Talbot and Tabitha followed the trail right to your bedroom door. Oh, and it’s official…Froggy was a Soldier. When Tabitha staked her:Poof .”

  Roger tried to speak. “I have a hos—” Tongues of fire climbed up his chest and his words were choked off by cries of pain. Once the flames began to spread, they quickly engulfed him, and the pack, now in werewolf forms, descended on him, heedless of the fire, tearing still-smoking chunks of flesh free with their teeth. Does getting eaten by werewolves count as total destruction? I assumed so. He didn’t stop screaming even when he no longer had a throat, the sound echoing out of the empty space at his neck where his throat had been.

  Absent the meat, Roger’s skeleton writhed on the ground. Several of the werewolves drew back, but William and his core followers devoured even the bones. Roger’s cries finally ceased when William crushed his skull between those massive jaws and started chewing. I guess he couldn’t have tasted too bad, because they didn’t leave anything behind. Note to self: That is not the way I want to go out.

  William’s pack loped away to their trucks, leaving William alone with me. He laughed when I put the barrel ofEl Alma Perdida against his furry chest. “Now, about Greta.”

  “Your spawn will be returned to you unharmed,” he replied. “I am as good as my word.”

  “Fair enough.” I lowered the gun. “I’m sorry about—”

  “Don’t come back to Orchard Lake.”

  So much for apologies. “Keep your pack away from Void City and you’ve got a deal.”

  “What would you have done if I hadn’t listened to you back at the lake and your magic gun didn’t kill me?” he asked.

  “I’ve got an old mercury thermometer in my back pocket,” I lied.

  William smiled. “And if that failed you?”

  “I’d have figured something out,” I assured him. “Don’t you worry about that.”

  “I believe you,” William said, nodding. “Out at the park, when you commanded the bats to block out the sun, I was afraid you would destroy us all.”

  “Nah, I only wanted my little girl back.”

  “She’s a monster,” he protested.

  “Now you’re just being mean. Besides, she’s no worse than I am.”

  “I beg to differ,” William said. “I didn’t see it until I watched you gun down your friend.”

  “Friend?”

  “Fellow vampire, then,” he amended. “The look in your eye was the same look I see in the eyes of my pack when they exterminate a vampire. You know they are monsters.”

  “It’s kind of a no-brainer.”

  “So you say, Eric of the revenant’s eyes.”

  “Huh?” I asked, startled. “Revenant’s eyes?”

  “When you grow angry, angry enough to grow wings of hate and a skin black with rage, the purple eyes from which you stare are not the eyes of a vampire, but of a revenant, a murdered soul.”

  “Murdered?” I echoed, not wanting to think about it too closely.

  “I only tell you what I saw, Eric.”

  “All right, so maybe I was murdered, but I’m a vampire, not a frickin’ revenant, okay?”

  “As you say, vampire. May the Lord have mercy on your soul.” I watched him lope off into the distance.

  Not a bad birthday, all in all. The werewolves weren’t after me anymore, my best friend who really hadn’t been my best friend was dead, and I could go back into the Pollux and have my way with Rachel guilt-free, more or less.

  “Revenant’s eyes,” I scoffed and sat down on the bench where old what’s-his-name had admitted his betrayal. Roger. Forget him, I told myself. Just let him go. But my memories of Roger were too tangled up with memories of Marilyn. I couldn’t let go of one without sacrificing the other.

  Her familiar heart beat across the street at the Demon Heart, a weary skittish beat in comparison to the steady rhythmic thump of Rachel’s. I let them both serenade me, Rachel upstairs in my bed at the Pollux and Marily—What was Marilyn doing at the Demon Heart this early?

  I crossed the street at a trot and unlocked the front door of the club. She was probably getting things ready for our grand reopening. We could open back up tomorrow, I thought.

  Serves me right for bei
ng optimistic.

  The hair on the back on my neck stood up. Cold white light from the street illuminated Marilyn, tied to a chair in the middle of the room. Blood trickled down her arms and legs where piano wire had cut into her wrinkled flesh. A large band of duct tape covered her mouth. It was frayed along the bottom, tucked under and stuck to itself on the upper right corner. All the little details.

  Her eyes screamed at me to run, but I didn’t. I’m stupid like that. I never know when to run or when to leave someone behind. That I do, on occasion, manage to do one or the other just goes to prove the age-old adage: “The sun even shines on a dog’s ass some days.”

  Stuck to her chest was a Post-It note with the words:Happy Birthday, you stupid fuck! It was signedHugs and kisses—Roger. My vampire speed kicked in and I think I might have made it if Roger hadn’t been the one who’d set the trap for me. He’d known me too well.

  My claws raked through the piano wire, severing it on both sides simultaneously. I clutched Marilyn close, the smell of stale cigarettes and old age filling my nostrils. The intro music from the oldSuperman radio show flashed through my head. I heard an electronic whine that didn’t sound like the alarm system. I rolled away from it, hoping to shield Marilyn from the blast. More than one bomb went off.

  I’d never moved with such urgent speed before. We shot past the first explosion as it happened, outrunning it like in the movies, dodging over the runway and into the dressing room. The next explosion went off in there, my every move anticipated, creating a circle of fire, shaped charges designed to hit me from all angles. It wasn’t normal fire, either; the way it burned and pierced was a sensation I associate only with crucifixes and holy water.

  He’d paid someone to bless the damn explosives. Even so, I lasted longer than Marilyn, watched her burn away. The only thing that eased the pain was knowing that I got Roger first. He was a Master, easy to kill. I’m not.

  We Vlads keep coming back unless you find that one special way that will take us out forever. It didn’t feel like Roger’s method was it for me, but it felt damn close. My body was completely gone; not even a speck of ash remained. I’d been melted before, but there, in the goop, I’d still had a body, just an icky liquid one. Now, I was totally disconnected, a floating ghost.

  I hate ghosts.

  I hovered over the burning ruins of the Demon Heart, pleasantly surprised to see that the explosion hadn’t harmed the Pollux Theater across the street, waiting for my body to re-form and wondering how long it would take. And waiting. And waiting. You know, when I get my self back together, I’m going to find the guy who thought up blessed C-4 and kick his ass.

  Happy fucking birthday to me.

  Praise for Jeri Smith-Ready and

  WICKED GAME

  A nominee for the American Library Association Alex Award

  “Smith-Ready’s musical references are spot-on, as is her take on corporate radio’s creeping hegemony. Add in the irrepressible Ciara, who grew up in a family of grifters, and the results rock.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “This truly clever take on vampires is fresh and original. The characters have secrets and questionable backgrounds, which makes them intriguing. The use of music as the touchstone for life is sharp and witty. Smith-Ready proves that no matter what the genre, she has what it takes.”

  —Romantic Times

  “A colorful premise and engaging characters . . . a fun read.”

  —Library Journal

  “Just when I think the vampire genre must be exhausted, just when I think if I read another clone I’ll quit writing vampires myself, I read a book that refreshed my flagging interest. . . . Jeri Smith-Ready’s Wicked Game was consistently surprising and original . . . I highly recommend it.”

  —A “Book of the Week” pick by Charlaine Harris at charlaineharris.com

  “An addictive page-turner revving with red-hot sex, truly cool vampires, and rock ’n’ roll soul. Jeri Smith-Ready is a major new talent on the urban fantasy scene.”

  —Kresley Cole, New York Times bestselling author of Kiss of a Demon King

  “Wicked Game is clever, funny, creative, and way too much fun. . . . A surefire winner.”

  —The Green Man Review

  “Jeri Smith-Ready has created a set of strikingly original, fascinating characters, rich with as much style and rhythm as the music her vampires love. Lyrical and uncompromising, Wicked Game is a winner I’ll be reading again.”

  —Rachel Caine, bestselling author of Thin Air

  “Jeri Smith-Ready’s Wicked Game is a wicked delight. Peopled with fantastic characters from across almost a century of American music, this is urban fantasy that makes an irresistible playlist and an irresistible read. I await the next book with growing impatience!”

  —C. E. Murphy, bestselling author of Urban Shaman

  “Sharp and smart and definitely not flavor of the month, Wicked Game is wicked good. Jeri Smith-Ready will exceed your expectations.”

  —Laura Anne Gilman, bestselling author of Free Fall

  “Jeri Smith-Ready’s vampire volume Wicked Game will make your corpuscles coagulate with corpulent incredulity. It’s for young bloods and old jugulars alike. Whether you devour it on ‘Sunday Bloody Sunday’ or just before ‘Dinner With Drac,’ simply turn off the 50-inch plasma, lay back, and ‘Let It Bleed.’”

  —Weasel, WTGB 94.7 The Globe, Washington, D.C.

  “Once in a while someone writes a book that surpasses genre conventions and expectations, turning established ideas into something fresh and new. . . . Wicked Game is original and unique . . . it’s also a fantastically good read.”

  —Love Vampires

  “Smith-Ready weaves an imaginative tale that adds new dimension and limitations on the otherwise long-lived lives of vampires. . . . This is a fun escape in a world that readers will look forward to visiting again.”

  —Darque Reviews

  “With meticulous detail to character and plot development, Jeri Smith-Ready has created a unique and lyrically entertaining story. . . . Beyond the excellent dialogue, skillfully crafted characters, and unique plot, Ms. Smith-Ready has achieved the almost impossible—she made me fall for each and every dysfunctional member of the WVMP family. This is my first novel by Ms. Smith-Ready, but it certainly won’t be my last.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “Wicked Game starts out strong and just keeps going . . . There’s humor and pathos, evil and not so evil, love and betrayal, and friendship and loyalty—plus a really solid story to hold it all together.”

  —SFRevu

  “A fun novel . . . it definitely stands out from the crowd of Anne Rice wannabes.”

  —Pagan Book Reviews

  Pocket Books

  A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2008 by Jeri Smith-Ready

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  First Pocket Books paperback edition April 2009

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Cover design by Melody Cassen

  Cover photograph by Sydney Shaffer/Getty Images

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4391-0134-6

  ISBN-10: 1-4391-0134-5

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4516-5215-4

  To Donna and Ted, my first rock ’n’ roll gurus.

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to my fa
mily, for encouraging my love of music despite my almost preternatural lack of talent.

  Thanks to Rob Staeger, Cecilia Ready, Tricia Schwaab, Barbara Karmazin, Rob Usdin; William Parris, President, Radio Broadcast, Inc.; and Gerard W. Weiss, Lt. Col., U.S. Army (Ret.); for their story comments and research assistance. Any remaining errors are mine, and probably due to a momentary lapse of caffeine.

  To the hardworking folks at Pocket Books for bringing this novel to life: Louise Burke, John Paul Jones, Josh Karpf, Lisa Litwack, Jean Anne Rose, Erica Feldon, Don Sipley, and Anthony Ziccardi.

  Much thanks to my editor Jennifer Heddle, for her extraordinary vision and brilliant insights (and forbearance in overlooking the muscle shirt); and to my intrepid agent Ginger Clark, for believing in this series from the get-go. You both rock.

  Most of all, thanks to my own guitar man Christian Ready, for his love and support, and for proving that some things don’t burn out or fade away.

  Playlist

  “I’ll Never Get Out of These Blues Alive,” John Lee Hooker

  “Read My Mind,” The Killers

  “About a Girl,” Nirvana

  “Flower,” Liz Phair

  “Hard to Handle,” The Black Crowes

  “Eight Miles High,” The Byrds

  “Blue Suede Shoes,” Carl Perkins

  “Helter Skelter,” The Beatles

  “Uncle John’s Band,” Grateful Dead

  “I’m So Glad,” Skip James

  “Baby Please Don’t Go,” Big Joe Williams

  “Gallows Pole,” Lead Belly

  “Dreadlocks in Moonlight,” Lee “Scratch” Perry

  “Three Little Birds,” Bob Marley and the Wailers

  “Ciara,” Luka Bloom

  “Two Hearts,” Chris Isaak

  “Drain You,” Nirvana

  “The Rain Song,” Led Zeppelin

  “Isis,” Bob Dylan

  “Fearless Heart,” Steve Earle

  “The Old Main Drag,” The Pogues

  “Rock ’n’ Roll Lifestyle,” Cake

  “More Human Than Human,” White Zombie