Page 17 of Inferno (Chronicles of Nick 4)
Casey pulled him to her car, then put his backpack in her front trunk.
“Where are we going?” he asked as they got into the car.
“You really don’t like surprises, do you?”
“Not even a little.”
Sighing, she started the car and waited until they were on their way before she answered. “Did you hear that Alex Peltier is starting a band?”
“Yeah, I heard him say something about it. Why?”
“They’re looking for a drummer.”
He still wasn’t following her train of thought or overly perky attitude about it. “Okay…”
She turned her head to pin him with a pointed stare.
That didn’t help him guess at all. His telepathy only worked with other telepaths. And since Casey was normal, he was clueless. “I’m apparently missing a vital clue. Can I buy a vowel, Pat?”
To his utter relief, she turned her head back toward traffic before they crashed and became a hood ornament for a semi. “They’re looking for a drummer, Nick. You’re a drummer, right?”
Was she insane?
“Uh … no. No, I’m not.”
“You played in band. I remember it.”
So did he, even though he’d tried his best to forget it. “Three years ago for six weeks, and then I had to drop out.”
“Why?”
He clamped his jaw tight before he admitted to her that they hadn’t been able to afford drumsticks. How embarrassing was that? Drumsticks were only a couple of bucks, and until Kyrian had hired him, they hadn’t even had a buck and change left over for him to stay in band.
Sadly, the whole reason he’d picked drums was because it was the only instrument he didn’t have to buy or rent. He’d used his schoolbooks as practice pads. And even that had been more than his mother could afford.
But he would never admit to that poverty out loud. He had too much pride for that.
“I didn’t have time for it,” he lied.
“You still learned how to play.”
“Not well,” he added quickly. “You know, there’s a really big difference between learning what a note is, and being Tommy Lee.”
“Yeah, but I bet you remember a lot more than you think you do.”
He appreciated her confidence in him, but at some point, common sense had to make an appearance in this conversation. “No, Casey, I don’t. I barely learned anything.”
“Seriously, Nick? You need to learn to believe in yourself. There’s nothing you can’t do if you put your mind to it. That’s why I’m taking you to the audition.”
He glanced at the road and actually considered jumping for it. He’d rather be a stain on the pavement than endure the horrors of what she had planned. “I tell you what I believe.… I believe I’m going to highly embarrass myself … which is something I can do without.”
“No, you won’t.” He heard the deep aggravation in her tone as she snapped at him.
Even though his ribs protested it, he raked his hand through his dark hair. “Why are you doing this to me? What did I do to you to make you hate me like this?”
She gave him a peeved glare. “I don’t hate you, baby. And I’m not doing anything to you. You said just the other day in class that you’d love to be in a band.”
“I also said I’d love to be an astronaut. I hope that don’t mean you’re going to throw me in a rocket and launch my butt into outer space.”
“Stop being ridiculous.”
Nick wanted to beat her. He wasn’t being ridiculous. She was. And unreasonable too.
I don’t need this crap. He really didn’t. The day had been bad enough, and after barely escaping death yesterday—twice—he didn’t want to go through anything horrible today.
Was it really too much to ask for a twenty-four-hour period of normality? His stomach heaved as a wave of terror consumed him.
That feeling didn’t get better as they pulled up in front of Madaug St. James’s house and she parked her car on the curb. She turned in the seat to face him. “They’re auditioning in Eric’s garage. Eric and Alex are the guitarists … or one’s a bass or something. I can’t remember. But you know Eric, right?”
He nodded. Eric was Madaug’s older brother Nick and Bubba had helped to save from zombies last year. “Casey—”
“Shh! No argument.” She got out, then literally pulled him from the car and up the driveway with him dragging his feet the whole way. He hadn’t been this big a baby since he was ten years old and his mother had pulled him into the lacy panty section of Walmart in front of one of his teachers and her daughter who was in his class while the two of them had been shopping for Tina’s training bras.
Oh the humanity and degradation of that nightmare!
Nick felt like he was going to hurl. Why couldn’t Mason have killed me during practice?
As they neared the garage, he heard someone attempting to play … a song he couldn’t even begin to identify. It reminded him of a two-year-old with an overturned pan. The poor kid was hitting the drums very deliberately while counting the beat out loud. He’d stomped the bass pedal with his foot, then counted and hit the snare and floor tom.…
And the serious torture that was going on with the hi-hat and crash cymbals made the hair on the back of his neck rise.
Yeah, okay, Nick could probably play better than that. But the kid didn’t seem to care as he kept going in an awkward style that froze Nick to the spot as soon as they came into view of the drummer. Nick didn’t recognize him from school, but since Eric didn’t go to St. Richard’s with him, Alex, and Madaug, he could be from Eric’s high school instead.
To the credit of the band, none of them laughed or jeered at the guy’s poor skills. Of course, their expressions basically said they were too horrified or shocked to move, never mind speak.
Except for Alex, who had one hand over his mouth while his blue eyes were wide and round as he watched the kid play. Tall and blond, Alex Peltier was a member of the bear clan that owned and ran Sanctuary on Ursulines, where Nick’s mom worked. He and Nick had been cursory friends for a couple of years, and in all honesty, he liked the bear.
Nick really only knew Eric through Madaug and his ritualistic bitch sessions about how much Madaug hated his older brother and the emo stage that Eric seemed to be locked into.
A lot on the odd but extremely brilliant side, Madaug was the certifiable genius who’d created the Zombie Hunter game that had turned half their football team into zombies almost two years ago. Luckily, they’d stopped it, but it hadn’t been easy.
The other two guys who sat in stunned silence with Eric and Alex, Nick didn’t know at all.
Screwing up her face, Casey pressed her finger into her left ear and shuddered.
Finally, the kid stopped abusing the drums. He got up and made a grandiose, formal bow to Alex and company. “Thank you. Thank you very much,” he said, even though no one was applauding. “For the record, I can practice any day but Sunday.” He came forward and handed each band member a card. “That’s my name and number for your convenience. I know, to be fair, you’ll want to hear everyone else audition for the band. Once they’re done and you realize how great I am, you can reach me there until nine. I’m not allowed to take calls after nine or else.” He smiled at each of them. “I can’t wait to hear from you.”
Alex’s mouth opened and closed several times before he finally spoke. “Thanks…” He looked down at the card. “David. We really appreciate you coming by.”
“See you soon.” David drew near Nick and raked him with a sneer. “You should go on home. They already have a drummer.… Me.”
Nice ego there, buddy.
But Nick didn’t say anything out loud. Who was he to hurt someone else’s feelings? Honestly, he envied the kid that kind of confidence. God knew he’d never had a drop of it.
“Hey, Nick,” Alex said, rising to his feet as he realized they were there. “Casey. What are you doing here?”
“I have no idea,” Nick mumbled.
Casey scoffed at him, then she stepped forward, dragging Nick in her wake. “He’s here to audition.”
Alex’s eyes widened. “You play drums?”
“Play the radio, mostly.”
“Stop, Nick,” Casey chided as she pushed him closer to Alex. “He plays incredibly well. He’s just bashful about it.”
Still, he kept fighting her. “Really don’t. I suck, big time.” He gestured over his shoulder to the tiny Chihuahua who wouldn’t get her teeth out of his heinie. “Casey hit her head earlier when they dropped her off the top of their cheerleader pyramid, so I think I’ll take her for a CAT scan and—”
“Nick!” she snapped. “Stop it! Now get over there and play.”
Alex bit back a laugh. “I don’t think she’s going to let you escape until you play something.”
“Yeah, ’cause I have not been embarrassed to my bones enough times today. Thanks, Case.”
Alex gestured to Eric. “I know you know Eric already.”
Dressed black on black, Eric had a blond streak in the middle of his dyed black hair that he wore spiked all over his head. He jerked his chin in greeting. “What up, Gautier?”
Not my dignity. That’s for dang sure. “Eric.”
Next, Alex indicated a guy who looked closer to Eric’s age than Nick’s. “Our lead singer is Marlon Phelps.”
He stood up to shake Nick’s hand. With dark skin and black eyes, Marlon was several inches shorter than Nick. And as he drew close, he raked a hungry look over Nick that quickly told him they were on entirely different teams when it came to pursuing prom dates.
“Hi,” he said in a wispy voice as he extended a hand toward Nick. “Please, call me Marla or Marls.”
“Hi, Marls.” Nick shook his proffered hand.
Alex continued his introductions. “And the silent, moody one over there, with the sunglasses he won’t take off, is our bass player, Duff Portakalian.”
Duff had short, jet-black hair and an aura around him of a street punk who’d rather rip your head off than shake your hand. But as he gave a nod toward Nick, Nick saw his real form flash through his mind. Like Alex, he might appear to be a guy in his teens, but in reality, he was in his early thirties … and a werepanther. One of the most peculiar things about Were-Hunters was that they aged a lot slower than humans. Their adolescence hit them in their late twenties and early thirties. At which point they were put in human schools to help them learn how to interact with nonpreternatural beings.
Something that didn’t always work out to everyone’s benefit.
“Hi, Duff.”
Duff ignored him completely.
Alex sighed. “You’ll have to forgive him, Nick. He has perpetual PMS.”
“Hey!” Casey snapped indignantly. “That’s a sexist thing to say!”
Alex laughed. “Not your PMS. His PMS. Premeditated Mental Sickness.”
Scowling, she looked back and forth between them. “What’s that?”
“He’s pretending to be clinically antisocial. Right, Duff?”
Duff flipped him off.
Ignoring the gesture, Alex turned back to Nick. “Anyway, we’ve been asking everyone to play ‘Wipe Out’ if they can … or whatever else you might know that’s rock.”
“Okay…”
Wipe out. How apropos, since that was what he was about to do.
Nick looked to Casey, still wanting an out, but she wasn’t about to give him one. She appeared even more determined than before.
Thanks, Case.
Nick scratched nervously at the back of his neck. “You wouldn’t happen to have an extra set of drumsticks I can borrow … would you?”
Duff curled his lips. “He doesn’t even have his own sticks? C’mon, Alex. This is a complete waste of my time.”
“Oh shut up,” Casey snapped at him. “Like you have anything better to do than feel sorry for yourself.” She reached down and snatched a set of sticks from the guitar case at Eric’s feet.
Nick wasn’t sure which of them was the most stunned by her actions. He didn’t know if he should apologize or run.
She pressed the sticks into his hands. “Show them what you can do, baby.”
Nick still wanted to vomit. But what the heck? He’d suffered far worse humiliations in his life than this one. At least she wasn’t bra shopping with her mom while his mother oohed and ahhed over lacy panties in public while he held her pink purse.
Wanting a giant black hole to suck him out of this, he went to the standard five-piece red drum kit and took a few minutes to adjust the throne and pieces for his height. He put his foot on the pedal and took inventory of what he was working with. One floor tom, two rack-mounted toms, the snare and bass. Hi-hat and cymbols—two crash and one ride.
