Second String Savior

by Rick Gualtieri

  Another text interrupted my stewing, this one from Phil. Checked with a few friends up that way. All sounds quiet on the vamp-front. Just remember what we talked about. Don’t go looking for trouble.

  “Yes, Mom,” I whispered to myself, shutting off the screen before anything else could ruin my night.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Once we had been through the umpteenth discussion of our college plans and ingested an obscene amount of carbs, we decided to brave the drizzle and walk. The mix of hazy lights and whistling breeze certainly added to the spooky vibe as we meandered around the little waterfront area and into the imposing monoliths of the skyscraper-filled Financial District.

  Despite its boring name, the financial district of Boston contained a bit of everything, including a modern steel and glass tower with a marquee in front advertising the state-of-the-art gym facilities for everyone from try-hard businessmen to CrossFit bros.

  A crowd milled beneath the lights. I instantly recognized one steely giant attracting a small crowd of his own. “Papa!” I called as we got closer. My grandpa, Uncle Rico, and Dylan all waved back, and they weren’t alone. I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw pink and platinum spikes of hair in Grandpa’s entourage.

  “So glad you could make it to your cousin’s big night. There’s scouts all the way from New York City in there.” Papa gave Dad a hug as well. “Viktor, you got off work! Did hell freeze over?”

  Dylan punched my arm. “Hey, you brought the shrimp again. Must be getting serious.”

  “Good to see you, too,” Gary said, smiling awkwardly.

  Uncle Rico shoved a bright pink sweatshirt into both our hands. “What’s this?” I asked.

  “There are gonna be cameras, Jessie-girl. We all need to represent,” he said, pointing to the Seven Hills Gym logo on his chest, his in a much cooler red. We dutifully layered up with the team gear as some fight groupies recognized Grandpa from his wrestling days. A small camera crew walked in, making Papa smile even wider. “I’m telling you, it’s Diego’s night. Some of the guys here are bigger but no one has more showmanship.”

  Sensei McAdams, also sporting a bright pink sweatshirt, leaned my way. “So far, it’s all quiet. Just put this on for me.” She slipped one of those rubber support bracelets around mine and Gary’s wrists—a hot pink breast cancer awareness band with a strange little rune stamped by the ribbon.

  “I hear you’re teaching at the gym again, Sienna,” my dad said. “I know Jessie always loved your classes.”

  “To be honest, she’s one of the reasons I came back. How have you been, Vik? Still burning the midnight oil?” Sensei was smiling at my dad more than I remembered her ever doing. What’s up?

  The doors opened and we were led into a massive gym, decked out with bleachers and an octagon. The Seven Hills Gym section ended up being the first row, not even behind the announcers and film crew—close enough that it was highly likely we’d be covered with sweat or blood before the night ended.

  A sizable crowd of gym owners, scouts, analysts, and other insiders filled the arena, talking excitedly about the upcoming bouts. I might not have been the biggest MMA fan there, but gosh darn it, the excitement was infectious.

  Gary and I settled back into our seats and perused the title card. Diego was fighting second to last against someone I overheard being referred to as the Weymouth Wanker, whatever that meant.

  “This is so cool,” Gary gushed.

  Sensei sat on the other side of my dad, chatting away and now he was . . . smiling, too, like genuine, no stress lines along his jaw, smiling . . . and giving her his number . . . and asking about coffee. Suddenly I didn’t need vampires around to make this feel a bit strange.

  Just as I was considering this unexpected flirtation on their behalf, I felt warmth rising from the back of my neck. I poked at the hairpins behind my ear. Phil had enchanted two extras to make sure my flaming red mane was kept under control tonight. Still, the feeling persisted. Stay cool, Jessie, literally. The hairs on my arms stood on end even under all the layers. What the?

  Across the octagon a group of men took the opposing ringside seats, looking more like a group of tenured professors than MMA fans. They weren’t slick enough to be agents either. Who in their right mind wore argyle and tweed to a place like this? The group of professors all stood and bowed as a trio took the seats next to them. If those first guys looked like Cambridge escapees, this new group looked like they’d just left a board meeting. Maybe these guys were those agents Papa had mentioned, but if so, why had that first group acted like they were in the presence of royalty?

  The one in the middle all but oozed snake oil from his slicked-down hair. I felt my stomach lurch as I looked at him, as if the very sight of him was enough to cause indigestion. Oh no, he looked back my way. I averted my gaze but not before he blinked. It was only for the briefest of moments, but I could’ve sworn his eyes had turned totally black. I dared a tiny look back, but his eyes looked normal again as he listened to the professors yammer away.

  “Gary,” I hissed, but he was too engrossed in talking to my cousin. The room had gotten loud, and I needed a subtle way to alert him without tipping off the scary people across the arena. Relax, Jessie. You’re in the middle of the city. Weirdos abound. Just because you think they feel out of place doesn’t mean. . .

  For a moment I felt a shiver in the air, for lack of a better word. The noises faded away and I became acutely aware of the beating of my heart. Every hair on my body vibrated and the heat on my head rose to near unbearable levels. Something was watching me. Don’t ask me how I knew. I just did.

  “Excuse me, need to use the ladies’ room before the fight.” I stood and shuffled off to the side. It wasn’t a total lie. I needed to adjust my wig soon before I spontaneously combusted. I made sure to keep my phone in hand and strode as casually as I could towards . . . damn it, where were the restrooms in this place?

  I followed a loose line of people and eventually found them, not that it did me much good. Even in a crowd that was ninety percent male, there still managed to be a line for the ladies’ room. I let out a deep sigh and leaned against the wall. When in doubt, look at the phone. Who knows? Maybe Julius had sent more selfies of him with Tony.

  Before I could check my messages, that feeling of being watched returned, coupled with what felt like a sunburn beneath my scalp. I looked up and found a stranger mimicking my posture, leaning against the opposing cinderblocks. His lips curled into a smirk as his eyes met mine, and he tipped the brim of his soldier’s cap.

  He tapped his combat boots against the concrete in time with something, then looked away. It was then that I noticed the headphone cords draping from his ears into one of the pockets of his black duster. False alarm.

  I should have turned away but didn’t. This guy might not have had the picture-perfect bone structure of a Tony Castorini, but with his rugged stubble and wild hair, he gave off a sexy-trucker vibe that short-circuited the logical parts of my brain. Lucky for me, the bathroom line picked that moment to start moving. I bolted straight for the sink and splashed my face with cold water.

  “Truck-stop hot is not your thing, Jess,” I whispered to myself, adjusting the wig atop my head which, despite the heat pouring off my scalp, was still cool to the touch. Magic hairpins for the win!

  I triple-checked everything, breathing a sigh of relief as the flame-on urge seemed to have passed for now, then decided to head back before I missed anything.

  “‘Scuse me, miss?” I stopped dead in my tracks as I heard the words echo softly from behind me the moment I stepped out. Please don’t be talking to me.

  I blinked and the corn pone hipster stepped into view, tipping his hat again. “I said, ‘scuse me, in case you couldn’t hear over the ruckus in there.”

  Where was this guy from? It wasn’t quite Texas, but there was a distinct laid-back twang to his voice, not to mention an aversion to pronouncing every syllable.

  “You’re excused.”

&n
bsp; He put on that smirk again. “Do I know you from somewhere, miss?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  His nostrils flared just a bit and he studied me again. I didn’t have time for this. I tried ducking to the left, but he shifted to block me. He tapped his finger to his chin, studying me, and smiling broader. I tried to duck to the right this time and ended up bumping into him. He caught me by the arm before I could fall, but then jerked his hand away as if he’d been burned. I glanced down. The weirdo wore fingerless gloves like this was 1985 and we were in the Breakfast Club.

  “Must be staticky in here.” The jerkface gave me a wink. “You got a name, miss?”

  “Yes, yes I do.” This time I managed to sidestep him and slip into a gaggle of women returning from the bathroom. I looked back to see him tip his hat to me again. Mercifully, though, he didn’t seem interested in a chase. Instead he sauntered down the hall and was soon lost in the crowd.

  I barely had time to get into my seat as the music swelled and an announcer all but yelled, “Let’s get ready to rumble!” I know he was calling the fights and I probably should’ve been listening, but I found myself far too focused on the audience across the way. The truck-stop hipster, along with some friends—a yuppie and a Wednesday Addams clone—slid into some open seats next to the professors. The used car salesman in the middle threw a sour glance their way.

  I nudged Gary, but he seemed too focused on the ring to notice me. I nudged him again to no avail. Dang it! I leaned in and whispered into his ear, “Bad guys!”

  What were the odds that my dad would look over at that very moment? Just wonderful. I cringed and sat back in my seat while Dad gave me a heaping dose of side eye. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice the growing coalition of creepazoids nearby.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. I slipped it out of my sweatshirt and breathed a sigh of relief that Gary had finally bought a clue. The weirdos across the octagon? sat on my home screen. Yup, I texted back.

  The first fight started with some guy from Jersey duking it out with a local. Both seemed more determined to dance around the ring rather than hit each other, but it was enough of a show for some. Across the way, the baddies looked decidedly unimpressed.

  Watch fght, ignore then, head homw, Gary’s gloriously typo-ridden text read. Easier said than done. Rather than text me again, he nudged me in the side and, when I looked over, handed me one of his earbuds.

  What the? “Why. . .?”

  “Listen,” he mouthed.

  I slid the hunk of white plastic into my ear. Then Gary wiggled his fingers over his phone, Vegas magician style. Oh yeah, magic.

  Almost immediately, the headphones crackled to life. “As I was saying, Professor Abernathy, it is not the Prefecture’s position to take sides in intra-coven affairs. I am merely here to arbitrate, nothing more.” The voice clearly belonged to the used car salesman, the words matching his mouth across the way. The professor he was talking to—Abernathy presumably—remained calm, but his expression suggested he’d just sucked a lemon. Another of his tweed crew piped in with, “It’s incredibly insulting that we should have to deal with the Worcester Coven’s complete lack of respect in this matter.”

  Worcester Coven? Was he talking about Phil? Or did vampires have covens, too? Talk about being unnecessarily confusing.

  The fight picked up a bit, as did the crowd, making it harder to hear the conversation across the way. I managed to just hear, “We are investigating it, and if we find Mr. Dalton at fault, you can be certain his insolence will be punished—”

  The cheers of the crowd mixed with bitter laughter in my ear. A really nasally, posh voice piped up with a sarcastic, “The Wanderer’s pet? Oh, I’m sure he’ll be punished.”

  “Are you doubting my—”

  Damn it, I had to hop to my feet and clap to blend in. The chatter got staticky and unclear. The crowd didn’t like that the Jersey invader looked poised to win.

  “I need not remind you, Abernathy, yours wasn’t the only coven to lose ranks in that mess in North—”

  The crowd picked that moment to go wild, as Jersey boy landed a stunning spin kick.

  North what? North Attleborough? North Andover? Northborough? Damnit, there were far too many norths in Massachusetts, even if the terrible feeling in my stomach told me exactly what I thought I’d heard. After all, where else did a couple vampires bite the dust recently? No, I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. I should—

  “Why was one of yours slumming in a high school anyway, Brainiac?” a girlish voice asked. I looked to see Wednesday Addams leaning over to taunt the professor. “Writing a paper on the finer points of toilet scrubbing?”

  “It’s an ongoing sociological study, one you couldn’t possibly hope to understand. Besides, I could also ask why your coven had an agent in the same school. One with a history of—”

  “Winner by technical knockout!” the announcer blared rather inconveniently. Thumping music drowned out the conversation. Why couldn’t magic have a volume control?

  Dad nudged me. “Fight two should be way better,” he yelled in my ear. I nodded and gave him a thumbs-up, mostly losing what was happening on the scry-phone.

  A bit of name soup spilled on me—Dalton, Abernathy, James, Wanderer, and Colin. I also got “recruit” and “feud” and what sounded like angry Latin. Why couldn’t this work like in the movies where you could hear everything crystal clear no matter the chaos around you?

  “Diego could kick your ass!” Dylan shouted at the winner. Gary, meanwhile, pressed the button to lock his phone. Sweat was dripping from his temples and he wheezed a little. I plucked out the earbud.

  “Sorry,” he mouthed before wiping his brow. I guess even a little magic tired the poor kid out.

  This was just my luck. Somehow the more I tried to mind my own business, the more a vampire conspiracy unfolded around me. It was almost like I had a destiny or something.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  I half paid attention to the next few matches, cheering when appropriate and blending into the crowd. I occasionally snuck glimpses at the used car salesman’s coterie, but my mystic powers sadly didn’t include reading lips.

  Soon enough it was intermission, and people started milling about. In this relative quiet I was able to check on Gary. “You okay?”

  “I’m gonna get some water,” he mumbled before excusing himself for the hall. Oh no, the hick vampire might be about. I started after him, but Dad tapped my shoulder.

  “Anything wrong, kiddo?”

  “Gary isn’t feeling too well. I’m gonna show him where the bathrooms are and make sure he’s all right.”

  Dad nodded, then scowled and pulled out his cell. “Sorry, I have to take this.” He was on the phone for maybe thirty seconds when he hung up and said, “They’re having an issue down at the station.”

  “Do you need to go in?” So much for family fun night. Still, if he went home, it would be one less thing to worry about.

  The moment he looked up with sad puppy eyes and the apologetic smile, I knew that our evening was about to be cut short. “I am so sorry, kiddo, but—”

  “Go be the hero,” I said before giving him a hug. He leaned over to talk to Papa. Sensei leaned in to join them as well.

  After a moment, she turned to me. “If you want, I can take you home. Unless you’d rather go with your grandfather, but I think they’re sticking around. Sounds like your cousin is already getting calls to meet with the execs here.”

  “Sienna, that’s awfully nice of you.” Dad looked relieved. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Not a problem at all.” She gave a quick side glance toward the convention of undead across the way. I guess we weren’t the only ones paying attention.

  “Thanks. I owe you one,” Dad said, gathering up his jacket. He turned back to me. “I’ll make this up to you, kiddo.”

  “You always do.” And then he left. I looked over to Sensei. “I’m gonna check on Gary. He looked kinda drained.”
r />   She nodded but before I could slip away, she grabbed me by the wrist. “Don’t wander far, okay?”

  “Roger, roger,” I said, saluting. Hopefully Gary wasn’t either sick or doing anything stupid. I tried to step casually into the hallway, but the volume of people milling about made it kinda tough.

  “Howdy again, miss. We have got to stop meeting like this.”

  Damn it! I kept walking. Was it naive of me to assume a male vampire would be dissuaded if I bolted into the ladies’ room?

  “Now come on, darlin’, I’m only trying to have a little polite conversation.”

  He sounded even closer this time. This one wasn’t giving up. Running was likely to only encourage him further. I needed to head the cowboy here off at the pass.

  I turned and faced a button-down flannel over a T-shirt. Say what you will, the dude believed in effective layering.

  “What do you want?”

  Truckstop Hipster shuffled a little. Was he trying some gee-whiz charm, or did he need to pee? “Just wanted to talk, miss. That so wrong?”

  “I don’t know you.”

  “Well, that is the God’s truth now, ain’t it?” He took off his cap and crossed it over his heart, making him look a lot younger, no more than a couple of years older than me. Almost as if on cue, my heart gave a little flutter again. “Name’s Wyatt, Wyatt Dalton, and you might be?”

  Wait, Dalton? That was the same name from the ringside conference of evil. Seemed a lot of people there hadn’t been happy with him for some reason. “Jessie,” I spat. Damn it, Gary, where are you?

  Truckstop Wyatt smiled. “Jessie, like Jesse James?” He grinned what I’m sure he thought to be a winning smile.

  “Only if you’re Wyatt Earp.”

  Rather than lose his temper and do something . . . vampire-like, he chuckled. “Now, that’s a good one. Might have to remember it. Tell me, Miss Jessie, are you what they’d call a fan of fightin’?”