Rock 'n' Roll is Undead (Veronica Mason

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.