Chapter Seventeen
We were playing the bows and almost home free when the doors slammed open and thugs flooded the club. In hoodies and Matrixy sweeping black leather, they were dozens of the meanest vampires I’d ever seen.
I’d known Camille would call for backup, but hoped the two-hour show would be too short for the Coterie to gather help. Or no, the thug branch was called something else.
“Lestats,” Bo bellowed.
Oh yeah. The Lestats’ vampire muscle attacked with mundane switchblades and guns, but their hard-shell faces, red eyes and pointy mouths were definitely not. Audience screamed and ran. Cast, crew and pit froze at the sight of so many armed and fanged attackers. Rocky turned sheet white. Another call to Iowa would be in order.
As if the good-guy vamps had trained for it (and maybe, considering General Ancient, they had), Mishela and Gretchen’s husband Steve gathered the frozen humans and escorted them out while the remaining six Alliance vampires, in a rather compelling show of cool, clicked open switchblades and calmly met the charge.
Elena roared, “Kill the Lestats!” and threw something at Nixie before whipping out her even-way-bigger gun. Nixie caught the tube Elena threw her (was that a bazooka?) and, yodeling like Xena, waddled into the fray.
I knew I’d better get in there and fight because it was eight of us and thirty-plus of them with Camille and her goons. Several of the younger Lestats fell almost immediately, but the odds were still more than two to one. Besides, I needed to get my feet wet since vampire Armageddon would only be worse.
But how, without a weapon?
From what I knew, and the size of guns Elena and Nixie were wielding, vampires were hard to stop. The head-chopping Glynn had done on Shiv wasn’t easy. Necks were thin, sure, but bone and meat weren’t easy to manage on a cooked chicken, much less a raw, bloody…yeah, getting gross even for a sausage queen.
Anyway, I probably needed major equipage. Something big and scary that would cut— I snapped my fingers, remembering the extreme juggler.
I ran for the doors behind our impromptu stage. Fangs, Blood, The Dungeon and…I found the door marked Storage and flung it open.
The lights cut.
I froze. Emergency lighting clicked on, glowing softly behind me.
The storage corridor remained pitch black, except for the red exit light above me. Shoot me, I didn’t remember which door was Props. I hunted with my hand, found and flicked the light switch just in case it cued the emergency light. Nothing. I wondered if the blackout was coincidental or a tactic by Camille to gain the upper hand. The vampires might not care much, but Elena and Nixie would definitely be at a disadvantage.
And me.
Still, I’d be helpless without a weapon. I inched in as far as I could without closing the outer door. Still couldn’t see, so with a deep breath I let go. The door swung shut with a fatal-sounding clang.
In the dark, all sounds intensify. My rasping breath filled my ears. The whoosh of my speeding heart thundered. The adrenaline pumping through my system didn’t make it any easier to think. Air circulation was nonexistent. Sweat popped on my scalp, trickled between my breasts. I tried to picture where the doors were through the rush of blood but couldn’t.
I took a deep breath, pressing it out slowly to ease my heart rate. Thumpity-thump slowed from hummingbird to chicken.
Outside, the sound of fighting seemed closer, the defenders falling back. Not good. Ready or not, I had to move. I took a step.
And promptly went sprawling over sharp cardboard edges. Pain nicked my shins, my flailing palms. A thud, followed by a muffled crash-tinkle-tinkle and the sting of liquor biting my nostrils told me the bottles weren’t packaged nearly as well as our sausage. Hopefully only the cheap stuff had spilled.
Very hopefully it wasn’t the “Bomb your blood!” Vamka. I’d looked up mannitol hexanitrate. It was a vasodilator for heart conditions, which explained the blood part of the slogan. But the bomb part was quite literal too. Mannitol hexanitrate was an active ingredient in explosives.
I righted myself. Waving my hands in front of me, I advanced again, bumping another stack of boxes with a more expensive-sounding crash before finally hitting a door.
My hands slid down and found knob. I twisted it and cracked the door, was overjoyed to see dim emergency light, just enough to make out the cases marked Gorgon’s Ola—I was nasally sucker-punched.
“Piquantly Pungent” my ass. This stink was Limburger eaten by a skunk and excreted into a vat of cow farts. In fact it smelled like—I mentally slapped forehead. GObubbles, G-O as in tiny chips off the old Gorgon’s Ola block. My eyes were watering from the fumes. I breathed through my mouth and my tongue started to bleed. Not really, but in massive quantities the stuff wasn’t enticing in the least, but toxic with a capital Ick. I couldn’t imagine how it was the Cheese Dudes’ big seller unless they used it as paint stripper.
I backed out and slammed the door. I needed to destroy that stuff. I mean, what if the military got hold of it? Or worse yet, LLAMA? Cow-fart cheese balls with a hallucinogenic side effect? Definitely Weapons of Mass Destruction.
The fighting was rattle-me loud. Okay, destroy killer cheese later, hunt weapon now. I felt along the wall for the next door, knocked into another stack and nearly puked at the crash tinkle. I hate the sound of product breaking. To a retailer, it’s as bad as car metal crunching. So I was inordinately grateful when I located a knob, opened the door and saw The Chainsaw.
It was in back, resting on the top shelf of a rack full of juggling saws, just under the emergency light. Huge, gleaming, The Chainsaw was the kind of equipage that conjured up a full soundtrack of messily dying violins.
I ran in, wrestled over a ladder, clambered up it, grabbed that sucker and raised it high. Now I’d get me some vampires. Bone and meat was easy with this little—I lowered it and took a gander at its label. Well, talk about things going my way. With this little FRDe 5000.
Hugging Freddy, I started out, realized I’d be blind in the corridor again unless I could prop the door open and went back to deposit Freddy on his shelf. Back at the door, I popped it open with my hip and scanned the hallway for something to…hell.
The boxes I’d knocked into had been a tiny bit bigger and an eensy mite fuller than I’d thought.
Liquor streamed from broken bottles, pooling on the floor. Soaked bottom boxes sagged, stacks of product leaning like old drunks. Oily strings of vampire rotgut glistened malevolently on liquid and cardboard. Without fresh air, the alcoholic fumes topped by residue de stinkbomb was overwhelming. Feeling faint, I dropped my head to my knees.
Naturally that was when the battle broke through the outer door.
Clawing, yowling, stabbing vampires rolled in, red eyes flaming and talons slashing. The shrieking balls of destruction were headed straight for me.
I jerked up. Ran for Freddy. The door swung shut behind me.
It slammed opened. I spun.
Oh, God.
The dark form of a vampire filled the door, eyes glowing red, huge chest sawing like bellows.
I was too far from the chainsaw. I was going to die.
The vampire spoke. “What the hell are you still doing here?”
Blessedly, thankfully, stuff-my-heart-back-down-my-throat, it was Glynn. My first reaction was to leap for him and throttle him with a hug.
But the way he reached for me, he was going to grab me and skedaddle. Not going to happen. I was born to carve up vampires and this was my chance.
I swayed just out of reach. Faked right, then scrambled up the ladder. Or more staggered, since I was still under the effect of fumes so toxic my brain was slime, but I managed to snag Freddy and yank the starter rope just as Glynn shimmered to my side.
He scowled great thunderstorms at me. “What the fuck is that?”
I swung it up to show him—and shoved a couple hundred rotating steel teeth of death right in his face. He gave an infinitesimal flinch. Oops, but that flinch proved I could do some vampire hurt. I grinned. “It’s a chainsaw.”
“I can see that.”
“I’m going to decapitate vampires.”
“The hell you are.” His tone was quite mild, but his teeth were clenched.
“No, really, I am. Elena has a huge gun and Nixie has a bazooka. I’m going to use Freddy here. Zip, zip.” I demonstrated with a figure eight, nearly slicing off both his arms and my leg. He was nimble; I was just lucky.
“Junior.” His mouth clamped so tight his fangs drilled holes in his lower lip. “Guns and bazookas kill from a distance. You would have to get close. As a human, that’s not possible.”
I considered that. “You could get me close though, right?”
Blood trickled from his lip. I could practically hear enamel cracking.
“Please?” I batted my eyelashes. When that ad campaign didn’t work, I turned off Freddy. I needed better marketing.
One-handed, I lifted my top.
Glynn’s jaw didn’t so much ease as unhinge. Then he simply closed his eyes and nodded.
Note to self. Breasts make great sales tools.
I grabbed his hand and headed for the door. We swung out into the hallway just as the rolling mass of vampires knocked over the tallest tower of liquor boxes.
At the top was a case of Grand Marnier, the pricy special-edition stuff. It hit with the thock of thick glass shattering, tinkled with the nerves-edge flaying of almost ten dollars an ounce.
On the plus side, a pleasant orangey smell covered the stench of vampire rotgut and the lethal injection of Gorgon’s Ola (leaking past the room’s seal, another sign of shoddy construction. Cousin Herbort in the assessor’s office would have to have a little sit-down with Camille).
That’s when it hit me. I could actually see. Which meant… I looked up. The door at the far end of the hallway was open, held by Camille’s red-tipped claws.
She stood like some heathen idol, golden hip cocked, liquid-gold-covered breasts heaving. “Kill them,” she ordered in a ringing contralto. “Kill them all.”
Glynn whipped into fighting stance.
Redoubling their efforts, the rogues rolled nearer. Snarling, Camille herself entered the fray. Before the door swung shut, I saw her jerkily slashing, like a monster in a sixties Hercules movie.
I pulled the start cord on Freddy and…
Nothing.
The door clanged shut. A flame flared in the darkness near me. One of the vampires, lighting a match. I wondered what kind of vampire couldn’t see in the dark, decided it had to be a newbie, confirmed when the light flicked his claw of stylish gelled bangs into view before sputtering out.
In the darkness, I pulled on the cord again, harder. Nothing.
Maybe I’d flooded the engine. I set Freddy down on the wet floor to get purchase, put my foot on him and pulled that starter rope with everything I had.
Just as the vampire lit another match too close to his bangs. His hair caught like dry grass. He yelled and dropped the match to slap his fiery do—Freddy started up.
I’ll never know if Freddy sparked, or if the dropped match did it. Glynn said it was the match and his vision was superior.
But a liquor-infused box caught fire.
Liquor doesn’t normally burn very fast. Mixed with cardboard in that hot, enclosed space—well, even then we might have been okay. Even when the burning newbie Lestat panicked and tried to escape into the cool room, releasing noxious hydrogen cheesefarts, we might have been fine.
But mannitol hexanitrate is an explosive.
I heard a whoosh from the cool room, the rush of H2-charged air toward the flame-licked vampire rotgut. I released the FRDe 5000 with my suddenly nerveless hand.
Bo and Julian shouted. Seized their pregnant wives and ran for the exit.
The only exit. My exit—except a dozen Lestats clogged the way.
Glynn lifted me off my feet and set out at a dead run. I screamed at him. No matter how strong he was, he couldn’t bowl through the sheer mass of vampires in our way.
He was running the wrong way. Away from the exit, toward the boxed canyon end of the hallway.
Yellow flame burst behind us. Lestats scrabbled like cockroaches, screamed as they caught fire. Nikos grabbed the three slowest and simply tossed them out of danger before shimmering away. Thor and Rebecca, inside the storage area, dissolved into mist and shot out the door.
Glynn couldn’t mist and get away, not with me. I shouted something stupid like, “Leave me and save yourself.”
He ignored me. Spun, curled protectively around me and hit the wall with his back. He blasted through, wallboard and wood rupturing like paper, brick shattering like sand. More shoddy construction. Cousin Herbort was going to have a field day.
Glynn hit the alley running.
Fangs To You exploded.
He cradled my spine and put on a burst, was out of the alley in milliseconds. When he finally slowed a couple blocks away, we were both breathing hard.
Black smoke plumed in the sky. Flames started showing above the surrounding buildings. Fangs To You’s marble wouldn’t burn, but anything frame was toast. Sirens shrieked.
“My folks!” I struggled to get down.
Glynn set me down and misted away. I ran after—straight into his chest. He’d returned in seconds. “Your parents are fine, Junior.”
“But the explosion…the fire—”
“The explosion was in back of the club. Bo opened the fire hydrant in front almost immediately. The fire department’s arriving now, getting the worst under control. There’s some smoke damage to buildings next door, but the ones across the street weren’t even touched. Everything’s fine.”
“Except Fangs To You.”
He grinned, savagely. “Except that.”
I took Glynn’s hand and we walked to my place, stood on the street for a bit, watching the fire department work.
Camille stormed by, eyes red in her sooty face. I would have tackled her to see if she’d rescued Glynn’s tchotchkes, but I could see from here she wasn’t carrying anything, not even a purse, and her clothes were so tight they wouldn’t have hidden a credit card. Catching sight of me, she shouted, “I’ll sue. I’ll sue Meiers Corners, I’ll sue the Alliance. I’ll sue every-fucking-body!”
Behind her trotted Toto. In all the fuss, I’d forgotten about him and was glad to see he’d made it out all right.
“I’ll sue the makers of Gorgon’s Ola,” she shouted. “And I’ll sue the pants off that show of yours.”
Toto nipped her heels.
Camille shrieked, started running. “I’ll sue you—and your little dog, too!”
Toto made a truly prodigious leap for such a small dog. Teeth bared, he caught her in her golden globe.
Heh. Our first award.
Whether it was my plan bringing Meiers Cornersitians back to their senses or the sudden lack of competition, Saturday’s show (in the PAC with five thousand bucks of newly bound insurance) played to a sold-out crowd. We had money to make up, so we added a Sunday night show to the matinee. I was worried we wouldn’t have enough people, but word of mouth advertising whooshed faster than even the fireball. Sunday’s matinee was packed and the evening was SRO. Not only was it SRO, ticket scalpers were getting fifty bucks a head until Mayor Meier scolded them, guilting them into returning all the money.
Meiers Corners was back, baby, and it was good.
During the runoff music, as the house lights started coming up, I caught sight of the backer himself. Big bushy eyebrows and the kind of smile you find only on a Texan. Gene Roddenberry looked a lot like the Star Trek producer Gene, but of course couldn’t be.
Director Dumas, watching from the wings, saw him too. Dashed out onto the stage, waving at the Roddenberry clone. “What’s the good word, Gene?”
Mr. Backer made no indication that he heard Dumas. As the house lights rose, Gene shimmered, his body twinkling in the half light as if he were caught in an alien beam or a transporter effect or was a vampire misting—and disappeared.
What kind of life did I lead, that of aliens, future technology and vampires, the last was the most believable?
Just before Mr. Backer disappeared, he raised two thumbs up.
We were going to New York.
Camille made good on her threats to sue everyone and anyone, but Julian managed to hold off any proceedings for several months.
A glowing review of the show in the Tribune brought in advance money for the next PAC production. Someone leaked the story of Camille’s club and her addictive cheese curds to the alternative press, bringing in tourists on the weird-places circuit. We never found out who told, but the headline was “Explosion Has Der Vampire Drug Club Ge-Leveled”, in the mayor’s best Eng-Glitch. A video of the fire had gone viral on YouTube. Curiosity seekers came from as far away as Japan and left laden with all things Quainte and Costlye. Money poured into the coffers and Elias called off his war. The only bad thing was I didn’t have time to recover Glynn’s tchotchkes. I hoped they weren’t destroyed in the explosion.
Glynn didn’t mention them, but he was busy in the aftermath of Friday. It took him and the older MC vamps the whole weekend to convince Friday’s traumatized audience that they’d only seen bad dentistry.
We were both busy, so we didn’t talk much, especially not about us. But we were intimate several more times, the kind that’s more love than sex.
So as I packed instruments that Sunday evening, I was cautiously optimistic. I had another plan.
This one wasn’t cunning, but rather straightforward and sweet. After taking my stuff home, I’d go to Emersons’ townhouse. I’d talk to Glynn and convince him to come to New York. Not to stay, and definitely not to give up Wales, but to visit me. I figured all we needed was some time to come to an understanding.
Of course, if he balked at straight and sweet, I had a backup sales plan. No bra. And I’d written “New York” on my breasts.
If that didn’t work, well, I wasn’t flying out until Thursday. Four days, with that big bed at Emersons, would be plenty of time to convince him.
As I walked to meet my vampire, I wondered if he could smell me coming. If he’d meet me at the door. When I arrived, the door banged open. I raced the last steps to throw myself into the arms of—Nixie. Running into a pregnant one hundred thirty pounds was like hitting a sandbag. That wasn’t the only shock to my system.
“You should’ve been here earlier.” She hugged me. “The Iowa group’s already gone.”
“What?” Glynn’s sweetness loving me, his frequent glances and secret smiles…were all my imagination? Beneath trees and in alleys and in his bed…had it been only sex after all, no love required?
I nearly slapped my face. Of course it had. I was the one to insist on it. No commitments. No claim, no foul.
“Isn’t this kind of sudden?” My voice was disturbingly pitiful.
“Mishela had to get back to Iowa before dawn.” Nixie led me into a small den, pulled a beer out of a refrigerator and handed it to me. “Apparently, she’s got this stupidly strict curfew. Douchebag Ancient. Glynn went straight to O’Hare.”
“But…he didn’t…they didn’t say goodbye.”
She knew what I meant. “Glynn apologized for dipping out. He’s off to Wales for his two months.” She handed me a folded note. “He did arrange floodlights for your walkway before lamming. Said he knew you were jonesing for New York or he would’ve asked you along to Wales.” She paused, considered me. “You okay?”
“Dammit, Nixie, before Glynn, everything was black and white.” I rubbed the cold can against my forehead. “Duty was first, my dreams on hold. Now I have a chance to fulfill the dreams…but I can’t stop thinking about him.”
“That’s why you’re here? Good-bye sex?”
“I was going to ask him to go to New York with me.”
“Instead he’s gone home.” She watched me closely, her blue eyes shrewd. “Dorothy said it. There’s no place like home.”
“But what makes a home?” I popped the can, had a long, cool drink. Went on, a little calmer. “I was thinking about that during the show. To Dorothy, home is Aunt Em as much as the farm. Uncle Henry and the farmhands, people as much as place. Home is safe people who love you even if you’re you. Somehow, in the last couple weeks, Glynn’s become my safe place.”
I set down the beer and opened the folded note. It said simply, “Junior, Be happy in New York. I love you. Glynn” I drew a tearful breath. “I wanted a chance to become his safe place too. I was hoping…I wanted to be the place his heart called home.”
“Awww. Embroider that on a pillow. Call him, you moron.”
I managed a smile. “That’ll work.” I slid the note inside my shirt next to my heart, then pulled out my cell and punched up Glynn’s number.
It went straight to voice mail.
That wasn’t good. I left a terse, “Glynn. Call me,” clapped my phone shut and stuffed it into my pants. “His phone’s off. Why do you think his phone’s off? Do you think he got in an accident? You think he’s okay?”
“Settle, girl. He probably powered down for flying.” Nixie paused before adding, “But he may not turn it back on during vacation. Two months until you’ll hear from him.” She whistled. “Two months.”
If she did it for effect, it worked. “I’ve got to reach him. Does he have a land line in Wales?”
“Dunno. I can ask. Julian!” She bellowed the last, loud enough to make my ears hurt. She’s small, but as a punk singer, can drown out a whole barroom. Give her a mic and she’s been known to rupture eardrums.
Her husband shimmered into the room, solidified from a stream of mist. Even in the midst of my frustration I thought, Wow. Way cool.
“Ice cream?” he asked her immediately. “Chocolate? Or pickled artichokes this time?” His eyes closed. “Not the yogurt and smoked Thüringer hash again.”
“Junior was asking if Glynn has a land line in Wales.”
His eyes opened, blue lasers targeting me. “Probably. Do you want me to find out?”
“Please.”
He whipped out a phone, punched a speed dial. After a few terse words, he slid it away. “He does, but he’s going first to Vienna to make a delivery. I’m texting you his number in Wales. You’ll probably be able to call him within the week.”
“But I’m leaving for New York Thursday.” And after that I’d be neck-deep in my new life.
They exchanged a glance. Nixie said, “He might call before then.”
I’d be able to speak to Glynn in a week. He might even call me before then.
But the way he’d torn out of here didn’t give me a lot of hope. Didn’t suggest he’d leave the only home he knew for a potential new home in me, or even a visit.
Thursday marched closer and closer, and still no word from Glynn. In the vacuum, I chafed. Fretted. Dreamed up all sorts of possible scenarios, from Glynn declaring his undying (heh) love to him snubbing me with a terse “I never cared” to his simply not calling me at all.
Wednesday night I barely slept. When Thursday came, I was awake to see it. Still no phone call. My suitcase and instruments were all packed. Before dawn, I sat on my bed and stared at my posters. India, Japan, New York.
Part of me wanted to stay in Meiers Corners just because that was where Glynn knew to find me.
But my dreams were in New York.
Glynn had gone on with his life. It was time for me to go on with mine.
I stared at my ticket. Maybe I should stay for my parents’ sake. They were strong, but even with the money I sent home they’d never be able to hire help as good as me.
Then Mom and Pop came up to say good-bye, and even that excuse disappeared when I found out they weren’t as helpless as I thought.
“I love you.” I hugged Mom. “Don’t worry. With the show, I’ll have plenty of money to send you guys.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Mom said. “Just enjoy New York.”
“It is good you have a shot at your dreams,” Pop said. “Play well.”
“What?” I looked from one to the other. “You’ve said for years that I couldn’t leave. That everything I needed was here. Now you’re encouraging me to go?”
“These ‘dreams’ you had before were nothing but pipes.” Mom waved a dismissive hand at my posters. “You were not listening to your heart. ”
“I had ambition,” I countered.
“Nein,” my father said. “Ambition is hard work, making things happen. You were running away.”
“Now you are finally listening to your heart,” my mother said.
“But Mom. You, most of all, hated that I wanted to leave. You did everything you could to stop me.”
She smiled, the added soft touch of hand making it a little sad. “I didn’t want you to make my mistakes. Sometimes you want career or dreams. Sometimes you run for want so fast that you miss what you really need. Follow your heart, Junior. It will tell you what you need.”
“Junior.” Pop took my other hand, squeezed it briefly. “Be the best person you can be. And be happy.”
I sat slowly on my suitcase, staring at them. At these people I’d known all my life—or thought I knew. All these years I’d thought my parents needed me in their small pond, keeping me from becoming the big fish I knew I could be.
They were just waiting for me to figure out what being a big fish meant.
It was a bit freaky to realize they’d understood me all along, maybe better than I did.
“Of course we expect you to come home to visit,” my mother added briskly.
“And we know you’ll send a little money home,” my father said. Then he hugged me and added, “But most important, be safe and happy.”
“Now you must go.” Mom made shooing motions. “Or you will be late.”
I had to go. Glynn, if he came back, wouldn’t find me here.
Follow my heart… If I truly followed my heart, it would take me on the swim of my life. Maybe I could use a kayak.
Instead I picked up my suitcase and instruments, and reluctantly headed for the airport.
