by Nico Rosso
Its shriek was shattered by Trevor’s fist in its face. The impact even shook Misty as she held the Shroud. The creature didn’t give up and raked its other claws along Trevor’s chest. His shirt tore, but his flesh was hard as stone.
Rock stars kicked over amps and punched holes in hotel walls. Trevor was a warrior. He brought his stone fist back and punched the creature in its skull. Again. And again. The limp beast pulled from her grip and slumped on the floor.
Trevor took a step back, his mouth turned down, nostrils flared. His fist uncurled slowly. Rage drained from his face as he turned to Misty.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded.
Her fist was still solid as stone. She shook her head. “I hurt that son of a bitch.”
His grin was as wicked as she felt. The dead Shroud dissolved at their feet. Trevor came close. They shared a kiss. Her strength and his combined. Even with her eyes closed, she saw the glow of colors passed between them.
All she’d been looking for was one night out of the ordinary. She got a revolution. But with each step forward, it seemed she belonged. The fate of it all might be a mystery, but at least she was on her feet, making an impact on her world.
The kiss ended naturally. They turned toward the door to the outside.
“There are more surprises, right?” she asked.
“Always.” He strode toward the door. “You’re the biggest surprise. Taking on all that power and not crumbling.”
“It just feels so...fucking good.” She never considered herself a violent person, but to fight for her life, and for Trevor’s, and actually make a difference was a unique pleasure.
He chuckled and put his hand on the release for the door. “I guess a Muse isn’t just there to look pretty and inspire songs. You’re learning to use the elements. I think there’ll come a point when you can control them enough that these simple monsters can’t hurt you.”
“Which means they’ll press their opportunity now.”
Clanging metallically like a guillotine, the door unlatched and swung open. The loading dock extended into a short alley that dead-ended to the right. There was just enough space for a small truck to turn around. A weak sodium lamp cast yellow light over the dingy counterpoint to all the glam of the Strip. Against a retaining wall on the far side of the alley were a couple Dumpsters and stacks of crates. Farther up were the dark Hollywood hills, rising into the night sky.
As soon as the loading dock door swung shut, they only had one exit. The alley led to a small steep side street to the left. They headed in that direction.
But what was safe in this city? “Where are we headed?” she asked. “You have to have a lair or something, a castle of rock and roll.”
He smiled. “We live on the road. On foot, carrying our instruments. Or horse and cart. Buses, airplanes. I own property but don’t live there. Few of my kind do. We book our own gigs. After hundreds of years of experience, no one is better than us at negotiating our contracts.”
“No brown M&Ms.”
“A trick to make sure the venue’s paying attention to all the details of the contract.”
“What do you do with all that rock star money?” she wondered.
“We tip big.”
Two Shrouds blocked the end of the alley, cutting them off. There was no escape. The beasts’ hate rippled the air. But the cold fear didn’t clutch Misty this time. She felt tension and danger, but less fear. She braced herself for the fight, glancing at Trevor and seeing he did the same.
Stone in her fists, she whispered, “I can’t tell if it’s good or bad that I’m getting used to this.”
“It’s yours now. Make it what you want.”
The Shrouds approached silently, talons ready to shred. They bared their glassy teeth.
She shook the tension from her arms. “At least we’re not cornered by Hollywood producers.”
Rage seemed to fuel these beasts. But their singular focus could work against them. Misty remembered the crossover dribble move she put on the jerk at the Rascal. Fake one way, go the other.
The Shrouds attacked. One engaged quickly with Trevor, who threw hard punches and elbows into the tall creature. The other was hers. It dragged its claws along the ground, digging three stripes in the asphalt. Those wounds would be death to a human.
It loomed close enough for her to smell its rotten breath. When the beast was almost upon her, Misty pretended to lunge to the left. It was eager to kill. Its black eyes went wide, and the creature followed her feint. Staying light on her feet, she brought herself back to the right, avoiding the attack.
Flowing robes brushed past her. The Shroud turned to face her again. But she was already bringing down a stone-hard fist into its face. How many times had she wanted to punch her way out of a meeting with idiots who held all the control and money? Those bastards took her time, her creativity. This son of a bitch wanted her life. Finally, the control was in her hands.
The impact with the beast was jarring. She staggered back and the Shroud stumbled to the side. Trevor’s struggle went on behind her. This was her fight to finish.
Or it would finish her.
The Shroud swiped back with its claws. She could make her fists hard as stone, but she wasn’t sure if the rest of her body was that hard. Experimenting with the attacking beast meant bleeding, a lot. She leaned back, just in time to avoid the razor-sharp talons.
The attack left the Shroud exposed. She grabbed the beast’s wrist and swung her left fist into its face. As the beast spun to the ground, the talons of its free hand slid across her shoulder, leaving three burning stripes of pain.
She hissed in agony through gritted teeth.
“Misty!” Trevor shouted. From the corner of her eye, she saw he struggled to get to her, but his Shroud grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him to the ground. Trevor rolled quickly and kicked the beast in the face. “Break his neck,” he called back to her.
Her Shroud slowly rose from the ground. She leaped on its back, driving it back into the pavement. To her right, Trevor growled and the monster’s bones broke. What better encouragement could she ask for? She grabbed her beast by the shoulders and smashed its head against the ground. Still it writhed, trying to twist out of her grip. She gave it another blow onto the pavement. Pinning it down with one hand, she drove her rock-hard fist into the base of the Shroud’s skull. If this wasn’t kill or be killed, the crunching and snapping of bone would’ve made her sick.
She stood from the dead beast. Just a few feet away, Trevor did the same. He kicked through the dissolving robes and hurried to her.
“How bad is it?” he asked, trying to look at her arm.
She remembered the wound and pain stabbed again into her shoulder. “Don’t know.” Looking at it made the injury too real. Blood cooled down her arm, revealing it wasn’t just a scratch.
Gingerly, he turned her so the shoulder faced the dim light. “Deep.”
“Can you heal it?”
He frowned. “Don’t have those kinds of powers. If I did, things would’ve turned out differently for Jimi Hendrix.”
“You were there?”
“Been a lot of places.” He frowned with frustration. “I wish I could cure this. But maybe you have the power.”
“If you don’t...”
“Stone can’t heal. But trees can.” His gaze moved from the wound. He looked into her eyes, that soulful look she’d first seen on an album cover was hers alone. “Think of the oak, its bark and curled leaves.”
Like hypnosis, he etched the images in her head. “I’ve seen them, when I was hiking in the hills around LA. Like they’re holding the mountains together.”
“That’s you,” he encouraged. “In you. Bring it up, to the surface. In your shoulder.”
Her eyes closed. She imagined the hot wind through the mou
ntains. The leaves shook, sun flickered. But the trunk of the tree stood strong. Just as she did.
“It’s working,” he whispered.
The dry summer wind continued to waft over her. She swayed with it for a moment more then opened her eyes. Trevor stood close, staring with awe.
“Mortal no more,” he said softly.
She tentatively reached for her shoulder. What would she feel? The pain had diminished. No new blood fell. The tips of her fingers just brushed against her skin. Instead of torn flesh, there were three raised scars. Only then could she bring herself to look.
“Healed?” The word hardly conveyed her surprise. Dried blood surrounded three waxy scars. “Holy hell.”
“Neither.” Trevor grinned.
Her mind reeled. “But I’m just a girl from KC with a shitty car and unfinished projects in the computer and no plans for the weekend and I’d only been in a couple of fights and now I’ve killed a supernatural giant and healed my own damn skin.”
“How many times do I have to say it? You’re not just anything.”
Her laugh bounced off the hard concrete around them. “Fuck making movies, I want to live this real life.”
His grin widened. Then disappeared.
Four more Shrouds descended from the roof of the club behind them, landing in the alley and cutting off all exits.
Healing her skin was possible, but it took some concentration. A deeper wound could still kill her. Which was what the Shrouds must’ve been thinking. They gnashed their glassy teeth and bared their talons.
“Stay close,” Trevor told her. “They’ll try to separate us.”
She circled, back to back with him. Like giant vultures, the Shrouds darted in and out, testing Misty and Trevor. Closer, their claws raked the air. The monsters’ teeth snapped, wanting flesh. She readied herself for another fight. And more pain.
Fresh footsteps broke the moment with staccato rhythm. Two men rushed into the alley. They were immediately behind one of the Shrouds. She almost called out to warn the men. To normal people the monsters were invisible.
But the men weren’t normal people.
They attacked fast, pummeling the beast with their fists. It was driven, screeching, to the ground. When its cries fell silent, the other three creatures howled in rage. The men didn’t hesitate to charge the rest of the beasts.
Only when they rushed past her did she recognize Lee and Wolfgang. They lit into another Shroud. Two more remained. The beasts saw their advantage disappearing and quickly attacked Misty and Trevor.
Trevor anticipated the first blow, ducking under and driving both his fists into the monster’s chest. It fell back just as the other creature arrived. Misty let it slash wildly until it was off balance. She punched once, missing its jaw and hitting a hard shoulder. But at least the creature staggered to the side.
Right into Trevor’s grip. He hauled it into the air and slammed it hard on the ground. The second Shroud tried to attack, but stumbled over its fallen comrade. As it fell, Misty grabbed it by the back of the neck and shoved it hard into the concrete. The beast’s head snapped sideways at an unnatural angle and the body lay still.
The other Shroud lunged from the ground, wrapping its claws around her ankles. Trevor stomped down on its back until the hands fell limp. They both turned to see Wolfgang and Lee finishing off the last Shroud.
She spoke after the last of the monsters’ cries had died away. “Of course you guys are also...demons.”
Wolfgang narrowed his eyes on her. “How much does she know?”
“Not enough,” she replied.
Trevor stood beside her to face his bandmates. “She’s part of us. She’s with me.”
“Fuck.” Lee shook his head. “It’s fucking real.”
The dead Shrouds dissolved.
“You have a mental bond, a connection?” she asked. “That’s how you knew where to find us.”
Lee held up his phone. “Twitter. The people in the club were pretty amped to see you.”
Wolfgang added, “Figured if you’d come this fucking far down Sunset, it was trouble.”
“Thanks for getting out of bed.” Trevor nodded to the others.
“Anything, brother.” Lee nodded back. He eyed her warily. “How much bad news out there?”
Trevor put his hand on the small of her back. “Shrouds are coming after her. She dies, I die. But she’s getting stronger.”
“Saw it.” Wolfgang glanced at where she’d smashed the creature into the ground. “Drop-dead Anatolian warrior woman.” He gave her a wink. Maybe he was warming up to her.
“Thanks?” At least he didn’t look at her like an oddity. Lee just kept staring.
Until blue and red light glanced into the alley. Cops.
Lee pointed to the retaining wall and the hillside above. “Bounce. We’ll party.”
Trevor took her hand, leading them to the Dumpsters. They jumped onto the lid, then scraped their way higher onto the retaining wall. The cop car turned into the alley, sweeping the shadows with its invasive white searchlight. She and Trevor got over the top of the wall and into the thick bushes just as the electric daylight blasted under them.
“Turn off the fucking lights, man.” Lee stumbled like a drunk through the alley, shading his eyes. “Disco’s dead.”
Heavy shrubs broke up the view of the alley. She and Trevor held still, his hand on her shoulder. She wanted to tell him she hadn’t run from the cops since she was seventeen and drinking beers with friends on a golf course, but her heart was pounding so fast she was afraid she’d shout every word.
The cop car came to a stop and two LAPD officers stepped out, a black woman and a white man. Both kept their hands ready near their belts. With cautious poise, they moved around the car toward Lee and Wolfgang.
The female officer spoke first. “Having some fun tonight?”
Wolfgang swayed on his feet, scratched at his chest, then took off his T-shirt. “We have fun every night,” he slurred. He kept rubbing at his skin, as if the sensation would never be enough.
The male officer spoke. “A little too much fun.”
“No such thing, bro.” Lee took a staggering step toward them, then recoiled when they tensed. “You’re not here to kill my buzz, are you?”
“Looks like you could use a little sobering up,” the male cop answered.
Lee waved his arms like a clumsy folk dancer. “But tonight’s a special occasion.”
Wolfgang nodded wildly. “That’s right, our friend just found the lady of his life. That’s worth celebrating, right?”
The female cop scanned the area with her eyes. “And where’s your friend?”
Lee stumbled to a stop. “Fuck if I know. Wherever two fated people go when they want to be alone.”
“So it’s just the two of you partying?” The other cop also glanced warily throughout the alley.
Wolfgang sat down on the bare ground. “If I had a lady to occupy my mouth, I wouldn’t drink so much.”
Lee staggered to him and hooked a hand under his arm. “Get up, dude. Get up. Don’t be sad. We’ll drink another toast.”
The male cop held out a palm. “That’s not a good idea.”
“The best idea!” Wolfgang sprang to his feet.
“Oh, shit.” The female cop shook her head.
Her partner readied for action, his hand hovering over his sidearm. “What?”
“I recognize these two. They’re in a band. Some rock-and-roll bullshit. My aunt listens to them.”
Wolfgang grinned. “If she’s as good-looking as you, I’d be happy to sign her iPod.”
“Or a backstage pass,” Lee added.
“I like my aunt, Rod Stewart. No way I’m letting you two near her.”
“Rod Stewart?” Wolfgang ru
bbed his head. “What he did with Jeff Beck was the pivot point.”
“But if we’re talking guitarists,” Lee said, “we have to talk about Howlin’ Wolf.”
“We don’t have to talk about any of them.” The male cop took a step forward. His partner moved with him, corralling Wolfgang and Trevor. “Why don’t you two just take a seat on the loading dock over there and we dial this party down?”
Misty’s joints ached. How long had she been crouched in the bushes with Trevor? How much longer would she have to wait?
Lee and Wolfgang let themselves be herded toward the loading dock. The cops glanced at each other, shrugging off the routine bullshit of dealing with the drunks.
Misty burned to run, but commotion in the bushes would definitely draw the cops’ attention. How the hell did Trevor stay so still? Then she remembered the stone. The calm of granite. Slowing her breath, she tried to draw the weight and stillness of the rock into her. The fire cooled in her. She ventured a glance at Trevor and caught his appreciative gaze.
Their attention was drawn back to the loading dock when Lee blurted out, “While we’re singing the praises of guitarists, you gotta give it up to Freddie Green. Rhythms like that? Not getting buried by Count Basie’s motherfucking big band?”
“No more talking.” The male cop’s patience thinned. “You’re going to sit quietly until we figure out what to do with you.” He stepped close with his partner, speaking too low to hear.
The small door to the loading dock creaked open and the cops again readied for action. Misty had never thought about the constant tension of the police’s job. Every new face was a threat. Blind corners meant trouble until every shadow had been chased. Life had never been that dangerous for her. Until tonight.
Trevor stayed close at her side They were both poised to move when they could. The possibility of danger was real. But so was the potential with Trevor. A whole new world to discover in one man, who was much more than a rock star.