Vampire vs. Werewolves, Part Four

The sun set at 5:46 p.m. Jason got up at 6:05. “Hi, I’m, uh—oh. Hi, mom. Hi, dad.”

            They’d shown up at 5:30, just as I was waking up from a late afternoon nap. I was dreading this almost as much as the questions I had to ask later tonight.

            Rick Johansson got up and wrapped his arms around Jason’s shoulders in a big bear hug. His wife was right behind.

            I went into the kitchen for some coffee. When I came out, they were sitting around the table. “Coffee?”

            Rick nodded. Jason stood up. “Can I have something to eat? Real food, I mean.”

            I fetched coffee and cream for the Johanssons, and Jason made himself a sandwich with lots of meat. Then we sat down again.

            “We want you to come home.” Rose’s voice was small but firm. Rick folded his arms.

            Jason nodded with a sigh. “All right. But I have to go to this concert tonight.”

            Rose’s shoulders stiffened. “That vampire band again?”

            Jason glanced at me. “Yeah. One last time.”

            One last time? I wondered what that meant, but I’d ask later. “I’ll take care of him. And get him home.”

            Jason blinked. “You’re going? Is Rachel coming?”

            “Who’s Rachel?” Rose looked suspicious.

            “My girlfriend. Yes, probably. And I have some questions to ask. It’s on me.”

            “No.” For a second I thought Rick was talking to his son, but he shook his head. “We’ll pay for you to see him home. As long as he stays.”

            Jason nodded, tired. “I will.” Then he got up. “Can I take a shower?”

            “I put towels out for you.”

            Rose leaned forward, elbows on the table and hands on her face. “I don’t anything about—I know he’s not a child, I don’t have to raise him now, but this is . . . so different.”

            Rick squeezed her wrist. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

            I cleared my throat, feeling like an intruder. “Rachel used to run a support group for—situations like this.” Actually, it was for survivors of vampire attacks, but in the end it took in a lot of territory. “I’ll ask her if she knows anyone.”

            “Will it be safe?” Rick crossed his arms again. “At this concert?”

            Werewolves and vampires who hate each other? What could go wrong? I shrugged. “The band knows me. I wouldn’t go myself if I expected trouble.”

            That was mostly true.

“What did you mean, ‘one last time’?” I was driving. Rachel sat next to me in a denim jacket, and Jason slouched in the back seat. On our way to the Atragon.

            Anemone had called me back. Yes, it was possible for a vampire to become a werewolf. They were more dangerous than either vamps or werewolves, less able to control their impulses, harder to be killed. Did I need any help?

            No, I told her, hoping I was right.

            Jason leaned forward. “Did you ever read Catcher in the Rye?”

            In high school. I’d hated it, but I could see why Holden Caulfield spoke to a certain type of depressed, alienated high school or college student.

            “It was like that.” He sat back again. “I just needed to get out. Get away. I thought Vamperica could help me make sense of everything that was happening.”

            He sighed. “But they’re screwed up. I knew that before last night. But I kept hanging on, hoping it would get better somehow.” He leaned over. “Now I just want to go home.”

            I nodded and slowed the car. “I can take you there right now. If you want.”

            “No.” Jason sat up again. “I need to do this. I have to talk to them one more time.”

            I started looking for parking. “Just be careful.”

            Rachel nudged me again. “You too.”

The auditorium was even more crowded than last night. I wondered where the fire marshals were. We sat at the back, surrounded by hundreds of teenagers and college-aged men and women. The aroma of beer and weed made clouds in the air under the shimmering lights.

            The crowd ignored the opening act, shouting and arguing and throwing French fries at the stage. A few bouncers walked through the aisles, settling people down and occasionally dragging someone out to cool off.

            The opening act finally finished, and the lights came up. It was 10:30. Vamperica had been scheduled to start at 10.

            “They want to go first so they can go long,” Jason was standing between Rachel and me—a little closer to Rachel.

She’d dropped her denim jacket on a chair, and Jason was paying a little too much attention to her shoulders in her dark tank top. I didn’t blame him, exactly, but  I couldn’t help pulling him away.

“I know. Weregild always go long when they’re first.” That’s what Adam told me. But there had to be a lot more to their rivalry than that. “Why do they really hate each other?”

            “Because—because . . .”

            Suddenly the auditorium got dark again, except for lights flaring on a glittering disco ball hanging from the ceiling.

            Then spotlights hit the stage. Adam strode forward, his guitar strapped across his shoulder, wearing a leather vest and jeans. He strummed the strings and then leaned toward the microphone.

            “This is for Rigo.” His voice boomed through the speakers.

Black sun rising

            Black moon high

            Black day coming

            Dark clouds nigh

            Dark doom heading

            Across the sky

            Better get ready

            To live or die

            Live or die . . .

Brandon walked out, holding his guitar like an assault rifle. He faced off with Adam like a fencer. They grinned at each other.

Then Tina, in cutoffs and a T-shirt, barefoot, dagger still strapped to her leg, grabbed the microphone.

Black day, black day, coming for a black day

Midnight on a black day, block out the sun for another black day

Make another black day, hide us from the bright day

Make it all black, all black . . .

The crowd, as they say, went wild. Even Rachel. She smiled at me and dropped her jacket on

            Vamperica was scheduled to play a 45-minute set. They went on for an hour and five minutes, finishing with a 10-minute epic called “Deathbird” that ended with shrieking guitars and a shrieking Tina as half the fans around us howled in delight and the other half howled out for Weregild.

            Finally the stage lights dimmed, and the auditorium lights rose. I checked the time. After midnight.

It was going to be a long night, and I’d have to drive Jason back to the suburbs after it was over.

I looked at Jason. “How long until they come on?”

            “Soon.” Jason’s face was flushed. “They won’t want to—”

            The lights in the auditorium went dark again. The floodlights over the stage flared.

            Quentin, without a shirt, stalked forward in leather jeans. “Get ready, wolves,” he growled into the microphone. “Full moon’s coming.”

            He stood silent in the middle of the stage, his guitar slung over his back as the crowd growled and hooted in response. Then the rest of the band came out and hooked up.

            Valentine wore a short skirt and a tight tank top. She shook a tambourine, raising it above her head as Quentin unslung his guitar from his shoulder and the rest of the band took their positions.

            “We are . . .” Quentin strummed a loud chord.

            The crowd responded with a deafening roar. “WEREGILD!”

            The onslaught of sound pouring from the amps felt like a hurricane wind. Rachel grabbed my shoulder as I staggered against my chair. “Best date ever!”

            I tried to keep my mind on—oh, hell. I kissed her, and we didn’t exactly dance in the crowded aisle, but we made out a little bit while jostling against Weregild fans jumping up and down on all sides.

            Full moon in the sky

            Full moon, will you die?

            Watch out for the moon

            It’s coming . . . soon . . .

Rachel pushed me away. “You’re working, aren’t you?”

            “Oh, right.” I turned. Jason was still there, dancing, not as enthusiastically as he had to Vamperica, but still enjoying the beat. I turned reluctantly away from Rachel to watch Weregild. I didn’t much care for the music, but I didn’t want to miss Quentin as a werewolf.

            It didn’t happen until near the end of their set—50 minutes or so. They were playing a long loud song that squashed my brains, and in the middle of a lengthy guitar solo Quentin disappeared backstage. Lights flashed in a strobe effect, and when the guitar solo finished, Quentin—werewolf Quentin—leaped back onstage with a roar that shook the floor.

            Bare-chested, covered in dark fur, Quentin waved his claws and snarled, revealing jagged yellow teeth. Valentine danced around him, taunting him with his tambourine.

            The crowd roared in response to Quentin’s howls. The band played louder. I held Rachel’s hand, not sure if I was supporting her against the onslaught of noise or she was supporting me. But Jason kept dancing, flirting with girls and boys recklessly, like he was shipping out for Afghanistan in the morning.

            The set ended after an hour, with Quentin still in werewolf mode, Valentine sweating through her tank top, and the rest of the band thrashing their guitars into a crescendo of tortured sonic ecstasy.

            Lights came up, then down, then up again. Quentin, back as a human, bowed, his chest streaked with sweat. Valentine pumped a hand up and down. Then they exited the stage.

            The lights slowly came up. And the throng started heading for the door.

            I grabbed Jason’s arm. “Stay right here.”

            “I know.” He was gasping for breath. “I just hope . . .”

           

The crowd thinned out. We made our way around the stage.

            A bouncer stopped us. Female, in a tight black T-shirt and jeans. “Are you on the list?”

            “Uh, I’m Jason Johansson. JJ.” He ran a hand over his sweaty hair. “Just check, please?”

            I handed her my card, aware that she had enough muscles in her arms to kick my ass into next Tuesday. Rachel might have given her a good fight, but I was hoping to avoid violence.

            She checked the list, looked at my card, and then stood aside, pulling the door. “Go ahead.”

            Adam was in jeans and socks, his skin gleaming with sweat. Brandon gulped water from a gallon-sized bottle, and then poured half of it over his face.

            Tina stood in her underwear, doing stretching exercises. The knife was there on her leg.

            Rachel jabbed an elbow into my ribs. “What are you looking at?”

            “Nothing.” I leaned over. “I need you to pay attention. I’ve got questions to ask. Can you do that?”

            She smirked. “If you stop leering at her body.”

            That was going to be tough. But I nodded.

            Adam stood up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

            “I just wanted . . .” Jason shrugged. “To say thanks. For everything. I won’t bother you again.” He backed away, bumping into Rachel.

            Brandon set down his jug of water. “You didn’t bother us. Much. It’s just—”

            “Oh, stop.” Tina grabbed a sweatshirt. “It’s been a long night. I just want to go home. Good night, Jason.”

            “Okay.” Jason shrugged. “That’s all I wanted—”

            Then a door in the back of the dressing room broke open. And all of Weregild stomped in.

            “We won!” Quentin, in his human form again, still shirtless and sweaty, raised his arms over his head. “We totally won! Did you listen to that crowd?”

            Adam rose up from his chair, his shoulders taut. “We both played. That was the deal. End of the night, we all get paid and go home.”

            “But we were better.” Quentin was panting. “Admit it.”

            Adam shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

            “No!” Jason stepped forward. “Vamperica was better. They’re always better!”

            Valentine grinned. “You again? Always hanging around. You’re so cute. I could eat you up.” She giggled.

            “Stay away from him.” Adam pointed at the door behind Quentin. “Just go back to your room and go home.”

            “Oh, it’s a long night tonight.” Quentin licked a long tongue over his lips. “Full moon tomorrow.”

            This could go out of control quickly. Unfortunately, I could think of only one thing to do.

            With a deep breath and a dry mouth, I stepped between the bands. “Before you, uh, start killing each other? I’d like to ask a few questions.”

            Adam glared at me. Tina looked away. Quentin laughed. “Who the hell are you?”     

            “Tom Jurgen.” I fumbled for a card. “We talked on the phone. Nice to meet you in person. Nice show.” I glanced at Adam. “Both of you. Really.”

            Rachel hid a snort.

            “Ooh, a real P.I.” Valentine sidled up to me. “Do you pack heat?” She ran a hand up and down my side.

            I backed away before Rachel started getting territorial. “No, sorry.” I backed up, making sure I had everyone in my sight.

            Oh god. I was playing Hercule Poirot. All the suspects in one room. I only hoped I was right.

            “Look.” I lifted a hand. “Rigo got killed. But the cops found a body. And fur, with Rigo’s blood type. And the only way to kill a vampire is to stake him. Right?” I looked at Brandon.

            “Uh . . .” Brandon looked around the room. No one looked back. “I guess.”

            “Yeah.” I lowered my hand. “But vamps can become werewolves. Right?”

            “What the hell are you talking about?” Quentin lurched forward. I could see fur starting to sprout on his forearms.

            “Yeah.” Tina pulled her sweatshirt down to her hips. “What are you saying?”

            I glanced at Rachel. She nodded. So I asked my next question: “Did Rigo turn into a werewolf?”

            “Hold on, hold on!” Adam pushed himself forward, grabbing at Tina’s arms. “What are you—what’s going on?”

            I shot a look at Rachel. She nodded, her face pale, stepping backward toward the door. Let’s get out of here, her eyes said.

            I nodded. “We’re going now. But one last question?” Now I was channeling Columbo. “That knife.” I pointed to Tina’s leg. “Is it made of silver?”

            Tina didn’t answer, but her eyes gave me the answer anyway.

            I looked at Quentin. “Can a silver knife kill a werewolf?”

            He didn’t answer either. But Tina did. “Yes.” The word was a hiss.

I gulped. My throat was a dry as yesterday’s news. I wanted some water. I wanted to run away.    

But I couldn’t quit before I finished the story. “So here’s a theory. I think Rigo did it with Valentine, became a werewolf, and then Tina . . . uh, found out.” I spread my hands. “I can’t go to the cops with it, and I don’t really care what you do between yourselves, but—”

            “Yeah.” Valentine laughed. “Yeah, we did it. It was good. Not the best, but—”

“You whore!” Tina pulled her knife, her jaws wide and her fangs extended. “I’m going to drink every last drop of your blood, and then—”

Many things happened at once:

Rachel grabbed Jason’s arm and pulled him toward the door.

Tina lunged forward, her face twisted in fury.

Valentine jumped back, and Quentin pushed at Tina, his arms furry and strong.

Brandon jumped behind a chair.

Then Tina transformed, almost instantly. Instead of a short female tambourine player, she was a seven-foot tall wolf.

Quentin transformed too. Not to the shape he’d used in the show, but something bigger, more menacing. I remembered that a full moon was coming soon.

Adam lurched up, growling, ready to take him on.

Then the rest of the Weregild band transformed too.

Vamps versus werewolves. And the vamps were outnumbered.           

Valentine screamed in glee as she slashed her claws at Tina’s throat. Tina screamed back, lunging at Valentine’s chest with her dagger.

Rachel yanked on the door and pushed him through. I followed, my heart pounding.

The female bouncer outside took one look into the dressing room and then shut the door. “They pay me to keep people out, not for what goes on inside.”

“You might want to call the cops once the noise dies down.” I staggered toward the stairs. “We have to go.”

I drove Jason home. He didn’t talk much, but his parents were awake and they thanked me again.

            “You want me to drive?” Rachel sat next to me as Jason and his parents walked into the house.

            “I’m fine.” I stared at the street. I could still hear the screams.

            But there wasn’t anything I could do. If they wanted to kill each other . . .

            Rachel put a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

            “I started a massacre.” I laid my head down on the wheel. “Are any of them still alive?”

            Rachel put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re taking the pills, right?”

            The medications for depression, anxiety, and PTSD. Dr. Neral was going to enjoy our next session. “I’m fine. I think.”

            “Okay.” She sat back in her seat. “Let’s go home and get some sleep.”

            “Yeah.” I started the Honda.

             Yeah. Best date ever.