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 sure-fire 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, DC
“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.” (Editor’s Pick of the Month and One of 2008’s Best Vampire Books)
—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
DON’T MISS THE SEXY BEGINNING TO CIARA’S TALE. . . .
Wicked Game
Available from Pocket Books
Bad to the Bone
JERI SMITH-READY
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 © 2009 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 America, New York, NY 10020
First Pocket Books trade paperback edition May 2009
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Manufactured in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Smith-Ready, Jeri
Bad to the bone / by Jeri Smith-Ready. — 1st Pocket Books trade paperback ed.
p. cm. — (WVMP Radio ; 2)
1. Vampires—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3619.M59246B33 2009
813’.6—dc22 2008054695
ISBN: 978-1-4165-5178-2
eISBN: 978-1-4165-7924-3
To Cecilia, for always listening.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to my family for their support, enthusiasm, and understanding during this crazy year. I swear I’ll see more of you in 2009. (Well, maybe not the first half, but definitely in the summer!)
Thanks to my beta readers Adrian Pastore, Adrian Phoenix (yes, I collect Adrians), Terri Prizzi, Cecilia Ready, and Rob Usdin for their insights and corrections; to Jana Oliver for her magical brainstorm; and a long-overdue thanks to Shaunee Cole for feedback on the original proposal.
To the WVMP Street Team, for getting the word out in big and little ways. You all rock.
To the hardworking folks at Pocket Books for getting the book from my hands into those of readers: Louise Burke, Anthony Ziccardi, Erica Feldon, Jaime Cerota, John Paul Jones, and Lisa Litwack.
A million thanks to my editor Jennifer Heddle and agent Ginger Clark for their continued brilliance, patience, and support. I’m the luckiest author in the world.
Most of all, thanks to my husband Christian Ready, for his love and faith, and for letting twenty-three dogs come in and out of our lives.
Playlist
“Wild One,” Jerry Lee Lewis
“Flying Saucer Rock ‘n’ Roll,” Bill Riley and His Little Green Men
“Me and the Devil Blues,” Robert Johnson
“Bloodletting (The Vampire Song),” Concrete Blonde
“Dragula,” Rob Zombie
“Happy Phantom,” Tori Amos
“Under Ice,” Kate Bush
“Everyday Is Halloween,” Ministry
“Lake of Fire,” Meat Puppets
“Black Dog,” Led Zeppelin
“Babylon’s Burning,”
The Upsetters with Max Romeo
“Stay,” Marcia Griffiths
“I’m Free Now,” Morphine
“You Know I’m No Good,” Amy Winehouse
“I Wanna Be Your Dog,” The Stooges
“In My Eyes,” Minor Threat
“Beyond the Surf,” The Tornadoes
“Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby,” Counting Crows
“Mother,” Pink Floyd
“Whiskey in the Jar,” The Dubliners
“Feel the Pain,” Dinosaur Jr.
“Fools Gold,” The Stone Roses
“Heresy,” Nine Inch Nails
“I Can’t Be Satisfied,” Big Bill Broonzy
“Breed,” Nirvana
“Little Saint Nick,” Beach Boys
“Father Christmas,” The Kinks
“Christmas Sucks,” Peter Murphy and Tom Waits
“Where Are You Going,” Dave Matthews Band
“Pay to Cum,” Bad Brains
“Message in a Bottle,” The Police
“Shove,” L7 “Doll Parts,” Hole
“As Heaven Is Wide,” Garbage
“Jet Ski,” Bikini Kill
“Jet Black New Year,” Thursday
“A Child’s Claim to Fame,” Buffalo Springfield
“CCKMP,” Steve Earle
“Bring Me to Life,” Evanescence
“Graveyard Dream Blues,” Bessie Smith
“Walk This Way,” Aerosmith
“Pressure Drop,” Toots and the Maytals
“Hidden Charms,” Howlin’ Wolf
“Let the Good Times Roll,” Roy Orbison
The truth is rarely pure and never simple.
—Oscar Wilde
1
Whole Lotta Shakin’ Going On
The things I believe in can be counted on one hand—even if that hand were two - fifths occupied with, say, smoking a cigarette, or making a bunny for a shadow puppet show, or forming “devil horns” at a heavy metal concert. The things I believe in boil down to three major categories:
1. Rock ‘n’ roll.
2. Vampires.
3. A damn good pair of shoes.
Number two came about when one bit me, in the middle of what could nonskankily be called an “intimate encounter.” Number three came later, when I gained the identity and thus the possessions of my dead - undead boss Elizabeth Vasser, owner of WVMP, the Lifeblood of Rock ‘n’ Roll.
I’m two people, but only on paper. In real life, I’m just Ciara Griffin, underpaid marketing manager and not - paid miracle worker for a vampire radio station.
On nights like this, marketing is a miracle in itself.
The Smoking Pig is packed with fans who chose to spend Halloween Eve—aka Hell Night, Mischief Night, or Tuesday—in a bar with their favorite DJs, the ones who whisk them through time into another era, and into a world where vampires just might exist.
I lean back against the brass bar rail to avoid getting trampled by a couple dressed as Marilyn Monroe and Marilyn Manson. The guy in the Monroe costume can’t be more than twenty - one, but he’s twisting to a fifty - year - old tune with as much enthusiasm as his grandfather probably did.
Above me, the station’s long black banner hangs on one of the rustic pub’s long wooden crossbeams. Draped with fake cobwebs, it features our trademark logo, an electric guitar with two bleeding fang marks.
The two Marilyns jostle me again, and I reach up to check the status of my mile - high dark blond ponytail. Wearing a floral blouse and matching “skort” as twenty percent of the Go - Go’s (the Belinda Carlisle percent), I’m glad the crowd provides plenty of heat. October in Maryland shows no mercy to beachwear.
“Excuse me,” shouts a voice to my left, straining to be heard over Jerry Lee Lewis’s slammin’ piano.
I peer over rosy - lensed sunglasses at a young man about my age and height—midtwenties, five - eightish, with a lanky frame verging on heroin - chic thin.
“The bartender said I should speak to you,” he says.
I examine his swooping bleach - blond hair, skinny jeans, and faded Weezer T - shirt. The smudged black guyliner makes his hazel eyes pop out behind a pair of round glasses.
“Billy Idol meets Harry Potter. I like it.”
He puts a hand to his ear. “What?”
“Your costume,” I shout, my voice already raw after only an hour of partying.
He gives a twitchy frown and shifts the messenger bag slung over his left shoulder. “I’m Jeremy Glaser, a journalism grad student at University of Maryland. I came up to do a story on your station.”
Oops. I guess it’s not a costume.
Jeremy extends a heavily tattooed arm toward the rear wall of the Smoking Pig, away from the stage and the speakers. “Can we talk?”
I reach back to the bar for my ginger ale. “Interviews by appointment only. Give me your e - mail and—”
“It’s a freelance assignment for Rolling Stone.”
My glass slips, and I spill soda down my arm. “Whoa!” I shake the liquid off my hand and grab a bar napkin. “I mean, wow.”
He gestures for me to join him at the back of the Pig. This time I don’t hesitate.
We weave through the crowd toward a dark corner, my espadrilles sticking in the booze puddles. I take the opportunity to rein in my galloping ambition and figure out how to play my hand.
Why didn’t this guy call ahead? Either he’s an imposter (always my first guess, due to my own former occupation), or he’s committing journalistic ambush to see if we’ll embarrass ourselves.
“So what’s the angle?” I ask him over my shoulder. “The first issue of the New Year will focus on the death of independent radio.” He turns to me as we reach the back wall. “You guys are putting up a valiant battle against the inevitable.”
“Thanks. I guess.” I hand him my business card. “Ciara Griffin, marketing and promotions manager.”
“I know who you are.” He examines my card in the light of a dancing skeleton lantern, then jots a note under my name. “Keer - ah,” he mumbles, noting the correct pronunciation.
I keep my smile sweet. “Could I take a peek at your credentials?”
He pulls a handful of folded paper from his bag’s outside pocket. “The one with the letterhead is the assignment from Rolling Stone editorial. The other pages are e - mails discussing the nature of the story.”
I angle the paper to the light. “How does a journalism student snag such a major gig?”
“My professor has a connection.” He adjusts his glasses with his middle finger. “Also, I can be pushy.”
“I like pushy.” I hand him back the papers. “In fact, I’d like to buy pushy a drink.”
My best friend Lori swoops by with a trayful of empty glasses and “horrors d’oeuvres” plates. I reach out to stop her—gently, due to her momentum and the breakable items. She’s dressed as another twenty percent of the Go - Go’s, a small black Jane Wiedlin wig covering her white - blond hair.
“Hey, Ciara.” She sends her words to me but aims her perky smile at Jeremy.
“Lori, I know you’re busy, but can you get this gentleman from Rolling Stone”—I emphasize the last two words— “whatever he’d like to drink? Bill it to the station.”
“I can’t accept,” he says, impervious to her cute. “Conflict of interest.”
“Put it on my personal tab,” I tell her. “A drink between new friends.”
She beams at him. “There’s a dollar - a - pint Halloween special on our dark microbrew.”
He hesitates. “Do you have any absinthe?” “Um, I’ll check.” Lori tries not to laugh as she looks at me. “Another ginger ale?”
“Definitely.”
Lori winks before walking away. She knows I always stay more sober than my marks.
I take the last sip of my flat soda to wet my drying mouth. Dealing with the press is usually the jurisdiction of my immediate boss, Franklin, the sales and publicity director. Despite great effort, he’s never raised the inte
rest of a national publication, much less Rolling Stone. And now they’ve fallen in our laps, waiting for me to fill them with fascination.
Jeremy crosses his arms and examines me, in a skeptical pose right out of All the President’s Men. “So what gave you the idea to start this vampire DJ gimmick?”
“It’s not a gimmick. They’re really vampires.” I offer an ironic smile. “They’re each stuck in the time they were ‘turned,’ which is why they dress and talk like people from back in the day.” I point to the stage, where a tall man with slicked - back auburn hair surveys his poodle - skirted, pony-tailed groupies through a pair of dark sunglasses. “Spencer, for instance, became a vampire in Memphis in the late fifties. He was around when Sun Records discovered Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins, all those guys.” He sends the girls a fake - shy smile as he arranges his stack of 45s. “Spencer was there at the birth of rock ‘n’ roll. You could even say he was one of its midwives.”
Jeremy looks at me like I’ve just recited my grocery list. He hasn’t written any of this down. “My research says you came up with this Lifeblood of Rock ‘n’ Roll thing in a desperate effort to boost ratings.”
“It was either that or get bought out by Skywave.” I still have corporate - takeover nightmares, where my fanged friends are forced to spin Top 40 hits until they stake themselves in despair. “Something wrong with trying to survive?”
“No, it’s genius.” He checks out the Lifeblood of Rock ‘n’ Roll banner. “But how long can it last?”
“Well . . .” I scratch my nose to cover my wince. Despite our rabid fan base, ratings since the summer have tanked. The public at large is beginning to yawn and look for the Next Big Thing.
It doesn’t help that the DJs don’t look or act like stereotypical vampires. They wear blue jeans instead of capes. They’d rather guzzle beer, bourbon, and tequila than sip red wine. They don’t brood, except about having to record promos for car dealerships and power vacs. They never attend the opera.
Bad to the Bone Page 1