01 Rock 'n' Roll is Undead - Veronica Mason Read online

  Rock ‘n’ Roll is Undead

  by Rose Pressey

  Rock ‘n’ Roll is Undead

  Copyright © 2011by Rose Pressey

  Veronica Mason Series:

  Rock ‘n’ Roll is Undead

  Spells, Demons, and Rock ‘n’ Roll

  More books by Rose Pressey:

  How to Date a Werewolf (Rylie Cruz Series, Book 1)

  How to Date a Vampire (Rylie Cruz Series, Book 2)

  How to Date a Demon (Rylie Cruz Series, Book 3)

  Me and My Ghoulfriends (Larue Donavan Series, Book 1)

  Ghouls Night Out (Larue Donavan Series, Book 2)

  No Shoes, No Shirt, No Spells (Mystic Café Series, Book 1)

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form, (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, incidents, places, and brands are the product of the author’s imagination and not to be construed as real. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Dedication

  This is to you and you know who you are.

  Acknowledgements

  To my son, who brings me joy every single day. To my mother, who introduced me to the love of books. To my husband, who encourages me and always has faith in me. A huge thank you to my editor, Em at Proof of Romance. To the readers who make writing fun.

  Chapter 1

  “Lookin’ good, baby,” the guy yelled from across the room, exposing his bright white fangs. His black hair was slicked back in an impressive pompadour and his jeans rolled-at-the-cuff. No doubt he had used a fake ID to enter the place. He couldn’t have been over eighteen. The girl beside him scowled, smacked him in the head, then leaned against the bubbling jukebox and took a sip of blood from her martini glass. The routine of her motions let me know it wasn’t the first time he’d ogled the opposite sex in her presence.

  Across the dance floor dresses swirled, Bettie Page style bangs flipped, candy apple red covered lips smiled and Sailor Jerry tattoos flashed under the bright lights. The hot spotlights overhead produced beads of sweat on my forehead. Johnny pounded out the last chords on the upright bass. Couples moved backward and forward in rhythm to the beat, then the song ended to a thunderous round of applause. This was the first time I’d performed at an all-vampire bar. Sure, I’d been to bars with vamps, but this place had a strict vampire only policy. They only allowed me in because I was the entertainment.

  Vampires came out of the paranormal closet a few years back. The werewolves, not to be outdone, followed in their creepy footsteps not long after. Witches have always been out there, what with the Salem thing and all. Rumors of the supernatural had been around for years, but when they invented SPF five hundred sunscreen, the vampires were no longer confined to a coffin from sun-up to sun-down.

  To ease my nerves, I thought about picturing the audience in their underwear, but figured it would only cause nightmares. Yeah, the fear of having the blood sucked out of my body wasn’t nearly as bad as the horror of being approached by a sweaty, hairy guy in Speedos.

  Vampire bars weren’t unlike human bars, just sharper teeth, and blood instead of beer. All those gleaming fangs could be a wee-bit disconcerting, though. But my veins were safe—at least, I hoped. Being a witch meant they’d leave me alone. They didn’t need to know I sucked at being a witch, just as long as they knew I was one. Vampires, along with every other supernatural creature, had certain aversions to being turned into zoo animals, or insects. Okay, I couldn’t turn them into anything, but there was this rumor going around and I sure as heck wasn’t telling them differently.

  As of late, an unspoken rule not to mess with other paranormals had been set in motion—after that little snafu involving a crazed werewolf at the Booby Bungalow out on Highway Twenty-Two. So I guess I felt safer. Maybe. My brother had always said to act tough around the people who have the potential to rip off your arms, and then beat you to death with them. He was full of terrible advice, but this one bit of brotherly guidance I thought may hold some merit.

  Charlie Smith jumped on stage, but the extra weight around his middle made the leap appear as if in slow motion.

  He grabbed the microphone. “Thank y’all for coming out tonight. Ladies and gentlemen, a big round of applause for Veronica Mason and The Voodoo Zombies.”

  The bar owner clapped and motioned for more, encouraging the crowd. It was a full house tonight and by the smiles on faces, I thought they enjoyed the show. At least, I hoped so.

  “Thank you.” I bowed. “Johnny David’s on bass, Craig Thorp on the drums and Frank Perry on guitar. Take a bow, guys.” I clapped. “Thanks for having us tonight.”

  A rockabilly band of vampires led by a witch—we were the ultimate Halloween cliché. As I took one more bow, a bottle zinged past my head. I heard the whiz as it flew by.

  “Hey, watch where you’re throwing your blood, jerk,” I yelled.

  This was not good. Not good at all. I’m not highfalutin or anything, but I was kind of partial to my eyes. Not since Grandma Annie’s last Halloween party had a glass container come that close to taking out my eyeball. Looking out over the crowd, I realized the bottle probably wasn’t meant for me, but whoever had thrown it didn’t care if it whacked me in the head. Pandemonium had broken out across the nightclub. Glasses and bottles shattered. Chairs were hurled across the dance floor, bottles zinged through the air at warp speed and bodies tumbled on the floor.

  The girl beside the jukebox smashed her martini glass over the young guy’s head. I scanned the dimly lit space, stunned by the lunacy. Men punched other men, while women pulled other women’s hair. This wasn’t the normal knock-down-drag-out, though. It was as if someone had hit the fast forward button on this bunch. I’d heard about vampires’ super speed, but this was the first time I’d seen it in person. Talk about a motley crew. I’d seen shady-looking characters before, but this crowd made leather-clad biker gangs look like a group of prep school graduates.

  Before the eager young vampire or his angry girlfriend attacked me, I shoved my way through skirmishing bodies, taking a punch in the side, and slipped backstage. Last call was announced over the chaos as if this was a nightly occurrence. My tired muscles could have made that call two hours ago. My dressing room wasn’t much larger than a closet, but at least it was a refuge from the madness. I eased into the space, trying to avoid banging a knee. A small table set against the wall, with a plastic chair in front, served as my makeup area. No mirror and no light. Vampires seemed to forget the rest of us still saw our reflections. My face probably looked like a deranged clown when I went on stage.

  Dirty white walls blended into the dingy color of the floor. I eased down onto the small red velvet loveseat tucked into the corner of the room. Four hours performing in heels made my feet scream like pre-teen girls at a boy band concert. As painful as if I’d walked over hot coals mixed with shards of glass. All right, maybe not quite as bad, but painful, nonetheless. The mere fact I’d escaped unscathed amazed me.

  I slipped off one shoe and massaged my aching foot. Music from the radio now spilled out from the speakers throughout the club, drowning out the bar-room brawl. I grabbed the iPod from my bag and slipped the earbuds into my ears. If I didn’t learn this new song by Saturday night, I’d be screwed, and not in a good way.

  A loud
knock rattled the door. I was surprised I heard it through my own blaring music. “Come in.” I pulled out the earbuds.

  Frank poked his head through the cracked door. Musical notes dotted the front of his black shirt. It matched the guitar case he held. Black and white shoes and black pants completed his outfit. He looked like a bloodsucking version of Johnny Cash.

  “Frank, what the hell was that out there?”

  His gaze moved up and down the length of my body, and came to rest at my chest. “What do you mean?”

  “The utter mayhem that broke out. The insane asylum clearly needs to reevaluate their outpatient therapy. I thought you said this place is safe. I almost lost an eye, at the very least, a tooth.”

  “It is safe. You weren’t hurt, were you? What you saw is mild. You should see a Saturday night.”

  “Um, no thanks, I’ll pass. Did they even call the police?”

  “Hell no. They’ve already stopped. I’m telling you, they do this all the time.”

  He stared for a second, this time focusing on my face. “Why don’t you get out of here? We’ve got everything under control.” His dark hair was wet from perspiration.

  “You know I don’t like leaving you guys to pack up the equipment. I just need a minute to rest my feet, maybe find a helmet to protect my head from whizzing bottles, and I’ll be good.” I slipped off the other shoe. “What a night.”

  “What’s the matter? Broke your broom?”

  “You know, those witch jokes weren’t funny the first hundred times. I didn’t sleep well.”

  “Bad dreams again?” He frowned.

  I shrugged, then leaned back against the cushion. “A little.” I should’ve never told him about my dreams in the first place.

  Chapter 2

  “You need rest. It’s Thursday night, you know?”

  “Considering you’ve been reminding me for a week, yes, I know what night it is.” My own personal undead talking calendar.

  Frank stepped into the tiny space. “So that gives us less than forty-eight hours. You don’t get a record producer coming to your show every night, you know.”

  “So I’ve heard.” I set my high heels on the floor.

  “Go home and relax.” Frank pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead.

  “You still use those? My grandfather used those. You really are a greaser.”

  “I’m not ashamed. Used them back in the Fifties. I was really there, remember? That’s when I was turned….”

  “That’s when you were turned,” I said in unison with him.

  He frowned.

  “You remind me of that little tidbit all the time.” I let out a deep breath. “Maybe you’re right.” Frank’s brow rose. “About the rest,” I explained. “I’m taking a long hot bath when I get home.” I rubbed my shoulder. Frank’s lips curled into a grin. “If you say one obscene thing, Frank, I swear….”

  He held up his hand. “I didn’t say a word.”

  Yeah, but he was thinking it.

  A little magic later might help my aching muscles, too. Little being the key word. Performing big spells wasn’t in the cards for me. Spells I cast, with the best intentions, resulted in things like accidental fires and other such chaos—but more about that later. “What about you? You all right?” I stared up at him.

  “Yeah, yeah.” He waved off the question. “Don’t I look okay to you?” He grinned.

  That was a loaded question I wouldn’t answer. “Not touching that. I’m not going anywhere near that statement. But you do seem winded. Been chasing too many women?”

  “I can never chase too many. No, no, I’m fine. Feeling good. As good as you look.”

  No comment. All women looked good to Frank. It wasn’t exactly a compliment.

  I stared for a second, then began rubbing my foot again. “Okay, if you’re sure you’re okay. I’ll take your word for it.”

  Frank dropped the guitar case, then looked at me. “You need any help with the massage?” He gave a cocky grin, exposing his fangs.

  “You’ve truly perfected the art of jackassery, you know? You never stop. No, I do not need help.”

  Frank wasn’t my type. Number one, he was married—big number one. In my book, that was kind of a big deal. Call me crazy, but I respected the marriage vows. Number two—if he hadn’t been married—music was the only thing we had in common.

  Number three, he smelled like scorched popcorn and cheap cologne. I know, I know. It didn’t make sense, but honestly, that’s what he smelled like. Number four, he spent far too much time at the Booby Bungalow. How do you think I got so many juicy details about the nutty werewolf thing? Number five, I don’t date band members. Anymore. Not to mention I wasn’t sure dating a vampire was such a good idea. What if I married and started a family with a vampire? Vamps were capable of reproduction. Children of vampires grew until the age of twenty-five, then stopped aging—forever young. So, my question: would our children be vampires or witches? No. Too many unanswered questions. This was the reason why I didn’t date. My list of reasons ruling people out grew by the minute. Grandma Annie said I had issues, but she was one to talk. She and my grandfather divorced six times. They were currently off again, but I expected a wedding invitation any day.

  I smiled but Frank’s eyes saddened with my words.

  “Is that a new flower in your hair?” He never was good at hiding the desire in his eyes. And he never stopped hitting on women. No matter how many times he was told ‘no thanks, I’d rather have a bikini wax with duct tape,’ he still tried.

  I touched the red rose clipped to the side of my hair and met his gaze.

  “I like the red against your black hair. Plus the color looks good with that black and white dress thing you’re wearing. Is it new, too?” He pointed.

  “Frank, you know good and well I wear this rose a lot. And I wore this same dress last week.” I gestured toward my outfit.

  Like I said, he never stopped trying. In fact, he kind of creeped me out with the constant advances. Periodically, I tried to tell him delicately his come-ons made him a borderline creepy-perv, but how do you tell someone you think they’re weird? You don’t. Just like I don’t tell my cousin Dwight he’s creepy. He ran for county coroner last year, but he doesn’t even know what a coroner does. The sad part: he won. Anyway, Frank was a great guitarist and finding someone to replace him wouldn’t be an easy task, so I tolerated him.

  I slid into my shoes and stood. “Frank, you’re the best, but you need to stop.”

  “I’ll walk you to your car.” Did he not hear what I said? Only the good things? Selective hearing. My mama said all men had it.

  “No, no, it’s not necessary.” I waved him off as I walked past.

  “I saw your little fan ogling over your lungs,” he said as I reached the doorway.

  “I think his girlfriend would have something to say about that.” I opened the door.

  “Probably so, but I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t waiting around for you.”

  I stepped into the hall. “So now you’re protecting me? Where were you when the blood bottles were flying by my head?”

  He shrugged. “I was a little busy with a vamp who is five hundred years older than me. He packs quite a punch.” Frank rubbed his jaw. “Bye, Doll. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  No doubt Frank’s eyes watched my backside as I turned and waved over my shoulder. He was probably all talk in the bedroom anyway. The need to discuss sex so often usually meant men were overcompensating for lack of bedroom prowess and a teenie weenie, in my opinion.

  With my bag slung over my shoulder, I headed out the door toward my fully restored ‘57 turquoise and white Bel Air—my baby. I’d parked in the employee lot behind the bar. The backdoor opened out directly into the parking lot. Maneuvering in four-inch pumps and a pencil skirt proved difficult as I eased down the steps. The darkness didn’t help, either. So far, I’d only fallen on my butt once in my killer heels and managed to escape with only a coupl
e scratches. Odds were I was due for another tumble soon. I’d suffer a ton for a pair of crazy wicked leopard print high heels.

  A few stars twinkled about a mostly cloudy night sky and the moon was only a sliver, not providing ample light. Only a few employee cars dotted the lot. My heels clicked against the wet pavement. The forecast had called for storms, and apparently, one had passed through. Rain puddles dotted the pavement and flashes of light flickered in the distance, but the clouds were beginning to break up.

  I’d stepped into a clichéd scene from your typical scary movie: girl goes into dark alley and killer chases her with sharp object. I needed to stop having such horrific thoughts. Just because I’d recently had dreams with this scenario didn’t mean my dreams would come true. This wasn’t a movie and a killer didn’t linger in the distance waiting for me.

  I spotted my car and hurried my steps, glancing over my shoulder. Funny how your eyes can make human shapes out of everything from trash cans to shrubs. I said a silent prayer that I’d let the top up on the old Bel-Air. During the summer months, I usually left it down. A habit I needed to break, but I loved being able to hop in and drive around with the wind blowing through my hair. I kept one of those cool vintage scarves in the glove compartment to tie my hair back. But tonight I liked the idea of being safe within the Bel-Air’s surroundings. Kind of like being wrapped in a cozy sweater made of metal, or ensconced within a big tank.

  A few trees sat beyond the parking lot, and behind those, more buildings. I wondered if the people living in the apartments above the businesses could hear the music from the club. They were probably used to downtown living. Next door to the bar was a tattoo shop and on the other side a voodoo paraphernalia store. Beale Street in Memphis was an eclectic mix. I loved it because of that—the music and the laid-back attitude was where I fit in.