by D. R. Perry
But no. I couldn’t imagine Jack Steele letting anyone dump him. I wondered whether Della was down at the good old Newport PD. I tried imagining her with Weaver and Klein. Something didn’t add up when I pictured her face. Then, it computed like LORA on steroids.
I thought back to that poster with the face that had bothered me so much, realizing it was over ten years old. The missing little girl was Della. Della Dawn, who smelled particularly good to vampires for some mysterious reason but even better lately. Where could she have been from age ten to age twenty-something? Human trafficking had been rampant back then. The especially appealing people got turned into dolls, time with them illegally sold to old vamps who longed for something besides bagged blood.
Could Della have been one? She definitely smelled good enough. That would have meant years of being bled, then fed just enough vampire blood to recover for the next shady buyer. I stood there, blinking behind the black curtain, almost forgetting why I was there and that an audience waited on the other side.
“Lane, what’s wrong?” Margot’s hand waved in front of my face. “It’s almost time for curtain up, and you’re out to lunch.”
“I…It’s the new vampire. The one who killed that woman. I think I know who it is.” In my mind's eye, I saw Della break up with me, her left hand holding her untouched coffee over the trash can. She was a southpaw.
“Oh, no!” Margot put her hands to her cheeks. “Tell me so I can pass it along to— Crap.”
It was too late; the curtain rose. Margot trotted offstage as fast as she could in heels that high. We just stood there, waiting. The Jack Steele Band went first, because we led them by two points, making them the challengers for the evening. I’d have been ecstatic if it weren’t for the mystery on my mind and the gazes of the Gattos in the front row. Paul and John smirked at us, and I already knew what they could do. We wouldn’t have any “unfortunate accidents” on stage, but afterward, who knew?
Our rivals did a song about the moon; how it took the place of the sun when you’re a vampire, how all the changes were beautiful. The sappy lyrics had me incensed. How could Jack, knowing what unlife had been like before the Reveal and after, still play something that out of touch? I had to counter with something that’d drive home the fact that we knew more than those dinosaurs.
I went to each of the guys, telling them my plan. We’d open with the ideological opposite of romanticizing vampirism. Finally, it was our turn. I half-crooned a count of three into the microphone, then strummed chords under Matt’s jangling intro. I went through the entirety of Points in a state of full immersion.
“Without a doubt, I knew it sucked that night
We’ll never win, ‘cause no one thinks we’re right
We had to walk away, and give up all our plans
Why do I stop and turn around?
And every time I smile they walk away from me
A loser just because I’m fanged, you see
And I'm seen as a guy with blood-lust rage
Why am I stuck on this page?
Eternity spent in a cage
What's the point again?
What's the point again?
And every night, I know I’m not alone
Needing a glove to use a smartphone
I have to deal with cops
Just throwing us in jail
Suspected for my fangs, you see
And every time I smile they walk away from me
A loser just because I’m fanged, you see
And I'm still trying just to find what’s mine
Why do people think it’s fine?
Eternity spent in a cage
What's the point again?
What's the point again?
And every time I smile they walk away from me
A loser just because I’m fanged, you see
At forty-five I look like twenty-three
Why do you look down on me?
Eternity spent in a cage
What's the point again?
What's the point again?
Spending all my money on the blood bank fees
Like we’re mosquitoes maybe even fleas
The blood suppliers love that bottom line
Are we just a new economy?
Eternity spent in a cage
What's the point again?
What's the point again?”
I couldn’t be sure, but the crowd seemed to cheer louder for us than they had for the Jack Steele Band. Our rivals were the better musicians in a technical sense, but events over the past month, especially the last few days, had Night Creatures buzzing with a raw emotion the other group just couldn’t match, especially when it came to the cold, hard facts of being undead.
We waited through another of Jack’s originals. I immediately recognized it as something he’d written and polished while I’d been his student. It was all about grief and outliving mortal loved ones. Still a sappy, sentimental song, though. I knew exactly which one of ours would kick its ass.
Jack’s song was about lying down and letting grief roll over you. Ours was all about fighting back because I’d written it right after Dad’s diagnosis. I didn’t think they’d find a cure for Alzheimer’s before his time was up, but I knew damn well I wasn’t giving up on him because of it. I’d made a promise and stuck to it, and him. And that was what our second song was all about.
“This one’s for you, Dad,” I said over Dave’s bass intro. Cheering started in the Tinfoil Hat section and cascaded across the crowd. I wondered how they knew about my father. Had Margot told them? It didn’t matter. I sang in defiance of Dr. Alois Alzheimer and his damn disease.
“So your mind is falling to pieces
Memory just temp like leases
You need family, help with your head
Older, stronger, but not wiser
I’m there when your mind plays miser
No more rote, you time warp instead
I can’t predict your mind or headspace
Even if you don’t remember my face
I promise to be there for you
Even nights, you ask, “Who are you?”
I'll never give up because it’s true
Your mind’s changed but your heart’s the same.”
I bopped all over the stage during Matt’s guitar solo and Pete’s drum-fest, pumping my fist in the air, because Dementia was a freaking anthem, not a ballad. When we came back around to repeat the chorus, I snagged the mic from its stand and continued my trajectory. At the center of our section of the stage, I squatted and leaned forward, directing my defiant attitude at the Gatto goons in the front row. They might not be a mind-stealing disease, but they’d do as targets to rail against.
The Gattos had to know we were just going to do our thing and damn their threats and consequences. Now, they understood that we wouldn’t take that bucket of crap lying down. Punks like us never did, not from big-cat Mafiosos or horrible mind-sucking diseases.
The crowd definitely loved us more after song number two. As I set the mic back in the stand, I caught Jack looking at me. His grim grin also came with a short nod. He saw how things were going. If we countered him like this again, we’d win the whole shebang, and my old mentor knew it. It was weird, noticing his distinct lack of hostility, which made no sense to me at that point. It was like some morbid viral video of watching someone smile for the camera just before tumbling headlong into the Grand Canyon.
Jack’s third song almost felt like he’d conceded and passed us a torch. I wondered why he’d picked another ballad to do, then it dawned on me. He’d decided to play what he loved this time. He didn’t care anymore what was popular or what would win. Like Olivia had said back on the first night, Jack wasn’t hungry. All the guy wanted was to do what he loved. I realized then that all of The Jack Steele Band’s popularity, all their acclaim, had been a necessary evil to Jack. He’d had to adjust to the Reveal and help all of us by blazing a trail, making a case through music that vampires weren’t always
villains.
That was why our third song felt so bittersweet. I knew we’d be blowing them away and taking up the mantle of champions. I hadn’t expected Jack to treat me like an equal instead of his student in this final contest. He moved on as we moved up, determined to surpass what had come before. I wondered whether the crowd had any idea. I knew that at least one person out there did: Irina. She stood there, holding up a phone as she recorded the whole thing, probably so she could take it to the Under and show Fred. A pang hit my heart; I wished my best friend could be here.
“What’s this unlife without you around?
Oh, I don’t really live, now.
Should be in the ground.
I try existing like I did before,
Need permission to walk in your door,
And I ask, where’s my crazy life?
Can’t drink beer or wine, don’t taste alive no more,
And you won’t see me anymore,
Since I turned,
But the life I want still has you in it,
I’ll have to find one with a moonlit view,
And I'm haunting all the places that we used to,
I hold those days so tightly, ones I spent with you,
I wait hoping you’ll come around,
But I should be in the ground.”
As the last note of Grounded faded, the crowd was nearly silent. I worried for half a moment, but then sound erupted, volcanic cheering. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine a warm summer downpour in place of the sound, but the image that conjured itself instead was an embrace like an autumn blanket. It was the sort of applause that begged for an encore. Too bad that was against the contest rules.
Pete, Dave, and Matt stepped up beside me. We stood in a line, shoulder to shoulder like undead soldiers of rock. When the judges made their announcement, we all hung our heads at first. It wasn’t until Jack clapped me on the shoulder as he headed offstage that I understood. We’d won.
I stared out at the crowd, unblinking, mouth open. The moment before the lights went down, I noticed the empty space where the Gattos had been. I dashed offstage, tumbling over Jack at the foot of the steps.
“Oof!” I had a face full of dirt but saw the reason Jack had stopped anyway. “Oh, no. No way.”
“Do you know whose bag this is?” Jack pointed at the overturned green handbag.
“Margot Malone's.” I closed my eyes.
“The Summoner reporter?” Jack’s voice wavered.
“Yeah.” I opened my eyes again. I wouldn’t just give up or turn this over to the police, but I had too many suspicions and not enough information. I looked, really looked this time. “That poster.” I pointed at the glossy eight by ten print I’d last seen in the Newport PD lobby. “You saw it before, Jack?”
“No, but I know who it’s a picture of.” He shuddered. I waited, wondering whether his answer would match my guess. “Della.”
I had no idea what that shudder was about, so I looked at Jack’s face to find his eyes misty with tears. I caught a whiff of something familiar on the poster in his hand and understood everything. It all fell into place. Well, all but one piece about my ex-girlfriend did, anyway.
“You’re destined.” I stood up and dusted myself off. “You and Della.”
“Lane—”
“You’ve known it for years, too.” I shook my head, cutting him off before he could get another sound out. “That was why you tossed that magic lure perfume she had.” His mouth dropped open. “Yeah, I always knew she used it. Della didn’t need that stuff to pull you in, though, and you didn’t want competition. But you didn’t think the hotel staff would actually use it.”
“Okay, you figured it out.” Jack hung his head even lower. “I’m sorry you got blamed for that poor woman last night since it was actually her.”
“So, Della is a vampire.” I narrowed my eyes. “Did you turn her?”
“No.” Jack peered at me, clearly puzzled. He must have wondered how much I knew. “I’m crazy in love, not just plain crazy.” Jack closed his eyes, one of those lone manly tears trickling down his cheek.
“How’d it happen, then?”
“I don’t know.” He sighed. “But all that perfume, a hotel full of vampires. One of them must have drained her by accident.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” I sat up, gathering Margot’s scattered things and stuffing them back in her bag. I decided to play dumb. “Unless someone gave her their blood before.”
“But they did.” He held up the poster, then dropped it. “Where do you think she was for ten years?”
“Oh, boy.” I watched the card stock see-saw its way through the air to land on the ground. “So she really was a doll.”
“Yup, kept for the old-schoolers who think the new laws are guidelines.” Jack closed his eyes.
“Old-schoolers like you.” I narrowed my eyes and bared my fangs, prepared as much as I could for a fight I probably wouldn’t win.
“No.” Jack let out a long breath. “It wasn’t like that. I owed the police a favor. I helped them uncover the place they had her and a bunch of other kids in. When I saw her, I knew, but she was so young and so weak. I waited, maybe too long. I’m sorry about how we got together, right after you two dated and all.”
“It’s okay, Jack. I understand about you and Della. Destiny happens.” I noticed what looked like an amber marble next to Jack’s foot. “Where are they, then?”
Chapter Thirteen
Dawn with the Sickness
“I don’t know where she is, Lane.” He shrugged. “But look at that.” Jack pointed at a bare patch of ground. I saw the imprint of Della’s boots, Margot’s pumps, and what looked like wingtips. No one I knew wore those, but they seemed like stereotypical mobster shoes.
“Okay, three sets of footprints.”
“And they don’t go anywhere.” Jack clenched his hands into fists. “If they did, you sure as hell wouldn’t have tripped over me.”
“I think I have a solution to that problem. Margot’s a Summoner, and these are her friends’ anchors. Two years at PPC have taught me that much, at least.” I grabbed the marble and closed my hand around it. “Margot needs help,” I said to no one in particular.
I saw probably the last thing I wanted to right then—a Spite. The Seelie hunting hounds were warped and twisted creatures. When the Sidhe Queen wanted to punish a Sprite, she shredded their wings and turned them into a Spite. They could track anything, were virtually tireless, and ate magic.
This one had to be Daryl, the Spite Irina and Fred had borrowed in the Under. They looked me in the eye, then sniffed around the room, paying particular attention to the footprints. They whined, then pointed just like a normal hunting dog might. I nodded at them and stood up. Jack got off the stairs, finally letting the rest of Night Creatures pass.
“We’d better go with you.” Matt stepped up next to me. Pete and Dave nodded their agreement.
“No way.” I shook my head. “That Extramagus is still around. Find the rest of our friends and stay safe. I think three vampires, a Summoner, and a Spite can handle a couple of big-cat shifters.”
“The Gatto Gang?” Jack bared his teeth. “You think they’re behind this?”
“Well, they’ve been harassing us the whole time since we got into this contest, so they must be. Wanna rescue your girl?” I smirked at Jack. “Follow that hound!” I took off after Daryl with my old mentor on my heels.
We followed the Spite toward the Fort Adams Redoubt. The night was humid and sultry, with air that almost felt too heavy for the sea breezes to lift. The faerie hound didn’t run up to the entrance. Instead, they made a sharp left, baying as they took off across an athletic field toward Sail Newport on Brenton Cove.
Daryl's feet clicked on the wood our feet thudded on. At the end, a rowboat was waiting. The Spite leaped in, and I went with them cautiously. Jack just stood there, staring at the water.
“Come on, already.” I beckoned him over with one hand, the other rummaging
in Margot’s bag for the anchor I hoped was still in it.
“This is theft.” Jack pointed at the boat.
“I don’t care.” My fingers snagged something woody and weathered. Driftwood? A water faerie then, one I knew. I pulled it out and conjured up the memory of clothes made from fish scales.
Jack sighed, shaking his head as though it weighed a ton. Before he could say more, I heard someone clearing their throat behind me. I turned and saw exactly the familiar face I’d hoped for.
“Nixie!” I smiled at Margot’s other pure faerie friend.
“Hi, Lane.” They looked up at Jack. “We’re not stealing this boat, Mr. Steele.” Nixie giggled.
“What? ” Jack scratched his head.
“Check it out.” Nixie pointed at the name on whatever nautically inclined people call the back end of a boat.
“The Dragon Man,” Jack read.
“It’s Blaine Harcourt’s boat!” I waved my arms, more like I was drowning than sitting in a seaworthy craft. “We're friends. If there’s a problem, he’ll say he let us use it. Get in, already!”
Jack got in and sat in the center of the boat with his hands folded, looking like a model for the directive “keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times” that always got tossed around at amusement parks. I wondered for a moment whether he was afraid of the ocean or something, but then Nixie clapped their hands and the boat started moving. Jack shuddered. Maybe he was hydrophobic.
I wasn’t sure where the boat headed, exactly, not even with my vampiric ability to see better in the dark than regular folks. The salt air drowned out just about every other scent, too. That didn’t seem to be a problem for Daryl. The Spite stood in the front of the boat, pointing with their nose while Nixie made course corrections every time the queen’s hound turned. I thought about all the nearest land masses and hoped it wouldn’t take long. It didn’t. And Daryl didn’t lead us to land.