Chapter 4: Chapter Four

As he zipped and zapped through the tunnel, Darren recalled another time he moved fast. It was when McGregor brought him and Daniel to New York. He loved their place and wanted to start a fire in the hearth. He knelt with the box of matches in his hand and struck one up. Next thing he knew he was in the back living room perched on Daniel’s piano looking like a crazed man. Daniel laughed and hooted at the display. Darren learned that some vampires were afraid of fire, especially young ones. He watched from the kitchen as Daniel lit the fire. Daniel then relayed to him that he and his brothers had been little pyromaniacs. When asked what they used to burn, Daniel just gave Darren that sweet-lipped smirk and said nothing. Psychopath.

Though he was moving at rapid speed, everything around Darren was moving like Heinz ketchup. Drops of water trickling from the ceiling seemed to be hanging in suspension and he was sure he had squished a couple of rats beneath his feet. He did sincerely hope that they survived and hated that he had little time to react. One minute there wasn’t anything thing there and the next he heard a painful squeak.

The sound of braying, cheers, cat calls, music, and debauchery was ranging through the tunnel as Darren neared Raw. He wasn’t the only vampire in the tunnel, of course, but someone was close and gaining on him. The smell of lush green moss surrounded him transporting him to a foggy countryside while around him, black swarms of shadows crept and crawled along the walls, ceiling, and floor. Abruptly he planted his feet on the dirt floor and stopped. Beside him, the shadows accumulated into a swirling pillar that when it dissipated left an older British man dressed in late 1800s garb, complete with an outer coat, top hat, gloves, and a cane. On his shrewd face was a pair of round dark blue tinted sunglasses which matched the shade of blue in his clothes that were accompanied by burgundy or maroon stripping. His facial hair and that on his head were deep brown and over his glasses, he watched Darren as if he were assessing him like he did everybody.

“McGregor?” Darren frowned.

“Aye, boy, aye,” the gruff voice came out of the man’s mouth as he shifted his weight, using his cane to support him.

As it was told to Darren, if a person had a disability or impairment before they were embraced, they would have it afterward. McGregor had a lame leg, and his eyes were sensitive to light. Permanent injuries could also be made if the vampire was harmed with silver.

“What are you doing here?” Darren asked. “Thought you were still in Australia.”

“I get a bit of a vacation, boy,” McGregor replied. “We’re dead, not robots and fucking androids.”

Darren’s lips pulled to the side as he gave a slight smile.

“I came to check up on my boys,” McGregor replied and nodded forward.

Looking forward, Darren saw they were close to the doors of Raw. He could see the two hulking forms of bouncers standing at the stone steps and party lights flashing on the wall from the open door.

“Thanks…I guess…” Darren replied and started forward at a slow pace with McGregor hobbling along.

“Well, how the hell are you, Hayes? How’s Jones?” McGregor probed.

“We’re fine,” Darren replied and anyone listening knew there was shit hanging under that response.

“Fine?”

“Yea,” Darren nodded though he didn’t meet the other man’s gaze.

“Son don’t shit me,” McGregor pressed. “You got dishonesty, sadness, and frustration running off of you like a drunk got piss running down his leg.”

If Darren were in a better mood, he might have laughed, but he just shook his head. “Isn’t worth mentioning.”

“Goddamn kids,” McGregor grumbled. “You keep that shit bottled up and you’ll end up coarse and raw. I’m telling you, boy, shit’ll eat you alive…well…in our case, I suppose it would be, eat you dead.”

Darren looked at McGregor for a bit and pictures of maggots crawling over his face flashed through his mind. Quickly, he looked away. That always creeped him out. They were dead but their bodies were so fresh. He always half expected to wake up one night with maggots chewing on him and filling his orifices. There was another reason why Darren hated maggots. It had to do with being a little gay child in Brisbane. That thought got shoveled to the back of his mind, at least for now.

“Something going on with you and Jones?” McGregor pressed.

“No,” Darren shook his head.

“Bullshit!” McGregor snapped and Darren jumped before halting. “You think I don’t hear rumors about that boy taking a permanent spot at Hema every night?”

“He goes to Hema. Every night?”

“Yea,” McGregor replied as he examined Darren. “How the hell could you not know that?”

“Hema isn’t the only place in Rafinesque Place.”

McGregor contemplated for a bit then continued to hobble along silently and Darren followed.

“McGregor,” Darren hesitated not sure if he wanted to ask the question, but he needed to know, or it would plague him forever. It was best to know than to keep assuming.

“Yea, boy?”

“How does one go about masking their scent?”

McGregor swung on Darren, and they stopped again. The older vampire leaned into him, his dark eyes dissecting his brain as though he was allowing Darren the privacy of his thoughts.

“What the hell kind of trouble are you trying to get into?” McGregor chewed.

“N-n-n-no,” Darren shook his head. “Not me. Not for me. I was just curious. If someone wanted to keep someone from detecting their scent or cover up a scent on them, how would they do it?”

“Hmph,” McGregor snorted and rested back from Darren. “Lots of ways to do it. Voodoo women and other Magic Folk sell all kinds of shit for it. Mostly a mixture of herbs. Let’s see…saffron, skunk's cabbage, and trillium, all mixed with goofer dust.”

“What do you do with the mixture?” Darren pressed.

“Well, some bath in it…” McGregor watched Darren’s face with keen eyes.

“Okay,” Darren calmed a bit. Perhaps Daniel wasn’t cheating because that meant that he would have to bathe to use the concoction.

“Or…” McGregor continued, “you can use a hex bag or a putsy bag. Stick it in your pocket.”

Darren tensed again. “How would I know if I see one.”

“Nothing special about them,” McGregor continued to explain. “Just a ratty ass cloth with some herbs and shit in it…I think skunk bones too…and they tie the end…Son, what the hell are you and Jones getting into?”

“Nothing, McGregor,” Darren said with reassurance. “It’s…it’s really something personal…between me and Daniel.” The sadness at the end of his words caused McGregor to step back and ease up on him. “Well, boy,” he started. “Whatever it is, I hope you two work it out.” Darren just nodded.

“Now, I heard you going to be showing at this dingy ass hole in the wall,” McGregor switched up the subject.

Looking up, Darren saw they were a few steps away from Raw. He nodded his head to McGregor.

“You watch yourself, boy,” McGregor advised. “I see too much shit happen to celebrities that have been embraced by the supernatural. Crazy shit, sad shit, stupid shit…You wouldn’t believe it.”

“I promise I’ll keep my head out of my ass,” Darren muttered.

McGregor smiled and pat Darren’s shoulders. “You take care, boy, and don’t worry, I’m sure whatever it is will blow over.”

Darren nodded and he didn’t have to look to know that McGregor was leaving. All it took was the flow of shadows and the fading scent of rainy moss. His mind surged with thoughts. Fast and running. He wanted to tear through Daniel’s clothes and look for magical bags of scent-masking herbs. A glance over his shoulder at the dark path behind him and a decision was made. He approached the entrance to the club only to have a solid arm block his way.

“Can I help you?” One of the muscle freaks standing guard questioned Darren.

‘I’ll Beat Your Ass Raw!’ was scrolled across the black tee-shirt the two bounces were wearing with the club’s insignia of a neon sign of a blond woman sucking a thumb. Pretty much copied from Madonna’s Erotica album.

Darren stepped back and sighed. He was resisting yelling and stomping, “Do you know who I am?” But then again, no one really knew who he was. It had been twenty-two years since he and Daniel went underground. Anyway, that just wasn’t the type of person he was. That was more Daniel’s style…

“I just wanted to come in and get a drink,” Darren replied.

“This doesn’t seem like your kind of place,” the other bouncer joined in.

“Yea, you look like a fucking Sesame Street motherfucker.”

The two brayed and Darren felt mortified.

“You got a name, toots?” The biggest one asked and Darren couldn’t resist the face he made. Toots?

“Darren,” Darren replied. “Darren Hayes.”

“Darren,” Tiny, only because he was smaller than Gigantor, smirked. “Darren, yea, like Tuxedo Mask.”

The two guffawed and Darren wanted to turn around and fade into the darkness. He could do that, but…eventually, he would have to get in there if he wanted to perform on stage.

“I know Pigglewid…Piggles,” Darren tried to act professional and not show that their comments bothered him. “He actually hired me to put on some shows.”

The two looked at each other and Tiny nodded. Darren watched as his eyes glossed over and he knew he was communicating telepathically with someone. Darren looked at the other guy and started a bit as his face was too damn close for comfort. Now, Darren didn’t care for huge muscle head men, but he also wasn’t stuck up and believed anyone with the right personality could make a great partner, but these guys, with their childishness coupled with the humongous biceps which had to make it hard for them to wipe their asses when they were human, just were not doing it for him.

“Piggles likes them, sweet,” Gigantor smirked. “He wants to keep all the hot little bitches to himself.”

“All right, let him in and stop trying to fuck him,” Tiny said unexpectedly.

“Dude, I wasn’t going to fuck him,” Gigantor replied as he stepped aside. “Make him think I was going to fuck him…”

Darren just rolled his eyes and stepped into the club and was completely surrounded by the frenzy of flashing lights, blaring music, thrusting bodies, and the scent of alcohol and blood. He skirted around the dance floor not wanting to get caught up in that mess and made a line straight for the bar. Every now and then a belle or beau sang would aim for him and try to get his attention. They wore tee-shirts that said, “Fuck Me Raw” with that same insignia, plus, they had their sang marks on display which was a black rose with a drop of blood running down its petals in the form of jewelry or a tattoo. Some of the sang looked too young to be in there working though he had to remind himself that he came from a country where the age of consent was seventeen and, in some places, sixteen. Though he was sure these kids were at or above the eighteen-year-old mark. It was just the look about them and how they projected themselves. Still, too young for Darren, not that he ever bothered with sang. He didn’t need a pet. He needed a man at his side. He thought he had that.

There was one belle sang working the bar and Darren frowned at her. She was very pregnant and wearing a midriff tee-shirt with the company slogan and insignia on it. He had to blink a couple of times to make sure he was seeing what he saw. He was all for a woman’s right to do what she wanted, but Jesus, the girl looked like she needed to be in her second or third year of college working on a better future for her and her kid, but then he picked up the conversation she was having with the trio standing in front of her. She was a breeder and had been bred to the couple’s beau sang. Darren focused on the trio, and he could feel their age weighing on him.

One of the first things that McGregor taught Darren and Daniel was how to carry the weight of an older vampire’s age. It was like an invisible force pressuring you and it could knock you to the floor if you didn’t know how to handle it. This weight allowed vampires to know each other’s age so they could use the correct mannerisms when interacting.

The two vampires at the bar were dressed to the nines in black and red leather. The woman looked severe with a dominatrix’s braid hanging to her waist and Darren was sure she had a strap-on just as long. The guy was an obvious bitch, a richy rich, snooty hooty bitch with his pencil nose in the air with his sharp chin jutting forward. With them, the third member of the party was a lycan slave.

Lycan was short for lycanthrope also known as a werewolf. Darren could smell canine on him and looking up, he met his gaze. He was a beautiful boy, could possibly be in his mid to late twenties, but it was hard to tell with lycans. He damn well could be two hundred years old. He was beautiful and tall with a muscular build. He wore a black knit duster with a fur large fur collar, black slacks, and boots. He was topless and gorgeous. Around his neck was a leather spiked collar. His hair was inky black, long past his chin, and got shorter toward the back with the hair on his neck tapered. He wasn’t trying to, but damn, Darren was blushing. The lycan gave a soft smile and Darren looked away.

“Donny, what are you doing?” The woman snapped viciously.

“Nothing, Mistress,” the lycan replied in a strong Italian accent and looked away.

Darren looked up guiltily and caught the woman’s glass-shard gaze. She stared at him for a moment before dismissing him and looking away. Though he should take that as a cue to fuck off, Darren instead cleared his throat and dared to say, “Excuse me, I just want to get a drink.” The only attention Darren got that time was a sidelong glance from the prissy gimp.

“Christ,” Darren muttered and leaned his back against the bar. The pregnant sang was the only one working the bar and she wouldn’t dare step away from the vamps who owned her unborn child. He would just have to wait.

Leaning against the bar, Darren folded his arms over his chest. He had half a mind to jump over the damn counter and pour his drink. The nerves of this place. There were times in the nineties when people would break their fucking necks trying to wipe his ass. Not that he would have let them. Now, he was nobody. Simply a child vampire. Whatever was before meant nothing.

Darren was getting ready to call it a night when a twink came dancing out of the crowd toward him. He wore his sang tee-shirt and from his ear dangled a black glass rose hanging from three small rubies with a ruby blood drop dangling from the petal. The boy had stretched the collar of his shirt so that it would hang off one shoulder and he had ripped the bottom off to make it a midriff. He wore tight leather pants, high-top black sneakers, and a ton of belts slung around his narrow waist. He got an A for an eighties vibe effort, but he was close, but still no sea biscuit.

“Oooo,” the boy cooed at Darren. “Do you want to dance with me?” He continued to make pretty batting eyes at him and did little twists and turns to be sexy.

“Ah, no,” Darren said.

The kid must have taken Darren’s answer as indecisiveness because he dared to walk up on him and thrust his head back to display his throat.

“Hungry? First sip is five bucks, second and third are three, then…if you fuck me, you might get another sip for two depending on how I feel, like if I’m worn out,” the boy explained.

Oh, God, Darren thought. Solicitation.

“I’m…not inter…”

“Well, we don’t have to fuck,” the boy cut him off and continued to chatter about all the other things they could do. Darren just shut down and just kept watching his mouth as his lips flapped about nothing whatsoever. Darren wondered how someone could just talk about absolutely nothing at all and more so, how they could just ignore the fact that the person they were talking to didn’t want to be bothered with them. “Hey!” Darren snapped alive. “Can you get me a drink?”

“Huh?” The boy blinked and slowly he realized that Darren had finally spoken to him. It settled in what Darren had requested and the boy grinned saying, “Yea, sure!”

“A glass of junior blood wine, sauternes, vintage doesn’t matter,” Darren ordered.

“Oh, you like them sweet!” The boy perked up and then darted behind the bar.

Darren smirked and glanced over at the snobby couple and their slave. They were still chatting with mother of the year, and they must have chided their lycan slave because he was standing like he was afraid to look in Darren’s direction.

“Here you are, love,” the boy bounced back to Darren and handed him the glass of wine. “He he, that’s what they say in Aussie, right?”

“What?” Darren frowned as he took the glass from the boy and sipped it.

“Love, you know, Aussie, that’s an Australian accent, right? I just love…”

“Yea, hang on.” With his drink now in hand, Darren zipped away from the boy vanishing in the crowd. He made it to the other side of the club without spilling one drop of his sweet blood wine.

You are reading story Sanguine Symphony at novel35.com

Settling at an empty table, Darren relaxed. It was really nice being alone. It was a bit strange going to a club to be alone and get peace, but after living with Daniel’s alcoholic abuse this was heaven. Looking at the glass of blood wine, he smiled and ran his finger around the rim. He had tried several times to do the trick where a person could make a glass of water chime, but he was never successful. The only thing he was ever successful at was singing. His marriage was a failure, and though that was his fault, he took full responsibility, and now his relationship with Daniel was falling apart. Again, his fault. He should have left him dead.

Taking a deep sip of wine, Darren closed his eyes, but when he did, he saw Daniel at his ramshackle keyboard banging out “Two Beds and a Coffee Machine” butchering the lyrics just for his sadistic merriment. He knew what that song was about, he knew what type of father Darren grew up with and everything that happened to him. Everything his father did and everything he took away. “Two beds and a coffee machine. One decaf, and one with caffeine.” The words kept pounding in Darren’s head in Daniel’s voice laced with spite and drunkenness. Things only got worse. The image of Daniel morphed and a little blond curly head boy in his school uniform was being held down with a foot on the back of his neck as his peers crammed maggots into his mouth forcing him to eat them, calling him the F word, kicking, and beating him, spitting on him and telling him that semen tasted like maggots. That always seemed like some weird shit for them to say. No matter, for a long time, Darren believed it and he had a hard time performing oral sex on Daniel because of it.

Parting his eyes, Darren ran the back of his hand over them. He wasn’t crying but he wanted to make sure he wasn’t. The little blond curly-haired boy in his memory was him. He had thought about wearing his natural hair texture and color, but he was sure that Daniel wouldn’t like it, so he abandoned the idea. He just wanted Daniel to be happy, but he never was. So why was he still hanging on? Maybe, some sick rationale stated that because he had nothing to hang on to, then he should keep on because that was worse than having nothing to let go. Totally fucked up rational and flawed logic.

Darren was doing just fine waddling in self-pity and pathetic rationale until a horrid scent rolled across his nostrils. It smelt like someone was shitting cherries and setting them on fire. He gagged and looked up as a red flaming eye jutted in his face. He jumped up from his seat knocking it over and clamored against the opposite table.

As he calmed, he realized that the flaming eye was attached to a cigar protruding from a fat roast beef head with a bald spot at the top. The person chuckled with his corpulent form jiggling much like Jabba the Hutt. He was bent so far back under the weight of his stomach that Darren thought he might accidentally slip and disappear up his ass.

“Christ, Piggles,” Darren exclaimed. “Those things smell like shit.”

“Yea, so you’ve said,” Pigglewidth kept laughing and as he did, his many chins would jiggle. “You all right now there, Hayes?”

“Yea, mate,” Darren replied as he walked back to his table and took a sip of wine. He was about to sit back down but Pigglewidth stopped him. “Don’t grab that seat too quickly, now. The owner wants to see you.”

Darren blinked and frowned at Pigglewidth. “What?” He asked.

“I thought you were the owner,” Darren voiced.

“Oh, shit no,” Pigglewidth laughed. “I’m just the manager. Plus, I can show you to your dressing room. You’ll love it.”

“Okay,” Darren replied. He grabbed his glass and prepared to follow Pigglewidth and as he did, he tried to keep his eyes off his ass with its cheeks pinched so close together he wondered how he took a shit.

Darren did not like Pigglewidth and didn’t know how anyone could. He was just…gross and it had nothing to do with his weight. He just reminded Darren of the vampires in some movies that ate shit like roaches, worms, and centipedes. A fucking regular ol’ Oogie Boogie. Besides, Darren hated when he looked at him. His beady eyes ran all over him from head to toe like he was undressing him. Damn, he actually knew how women felt.

Through a door marked employees only, Darren followed Pigglewidth to an area that partygoers had no idea existed. There were offices, dressing rooms, storage, paths to the stage, and all types of behind-the-scenes shit that kept the party going at Raw. It was like its own little community with sangs running back and forth. Oh, and there were rooms where you can take purchased sangs.

“All right, here he is,” Pigglewidth announced as he entered an office. “This is your king of New York, King Ellis Reiher!”

Darren felt like he had hit a fucking brick wall and he couldn’t keep his eyes from growing bigger than they already were. Thank God for his sunglasses. It was too late for him to backtrack out of the office and why the hell didn’t he feel the fucking king in the club. Simple. He didn’t want him to. Rooted to his spot in the doorway, he felt like a fucking fool, but there wasn’t any chance he was going to move further into the lion’s den.

Ellis Reiher was not only the king of New York, but he was also head of the council. Not only a council of the many that were in the cities of New York but the one located in Albany, the capital of New York. All celebrities that were embraced had to be taken to the council in the state’s capital city and there they asked for entry into the area. Ellis made it clear from the beginning that he desired Darren and everything in his nature was sexual, liquid, and fine.

An uncanny beauty, King Reiher stood at exactly seven feet, and his entire body was devoid of pigment. He had been born an albino in his human life. His skin was stark white, his long flat hair shimmering like silvery gossamer strands, and his pale pink eyes were unnerving. He had to get his clothing made, of course, and he only wore the finest fabrics. He dressed in white from head to toe and occasionally added a pocket square or necktie with the barest hint of color usually in pink, purple, or blue. He kept his nails extended to their full length and they were painted in a white pearlescent color like nacre. Many rings decorated his fingers with diamonds, white stones, pearls, and white opals set in silver, white gold, and platinum metal and though he didn’t need a cane, he carried one. Well, excuse me, walking stick. It was made of white wood and looked more like a reeded leg from a Sheraton chair except the reeds were concave. On top of the walking stick was a large round white opal and yes, that was an expensive walking stick.

From what McGregor told Darren, King Reiher was around three thousand years old give or take and he was of Germanic heritage. Judging by his face, which was fine and delicate but still held masculinity with its sharp and cutting angles, he was in his early thirties when he was embraced.

That pink-tinted gaze rolled over Darren and gently, one mocking corner of his top lip lifted and he smirked. “Well, sit down Darren,” the king instructed with a voice that was heavy with regality and deeply accented with a time of three millennia ago.

Darren swallowed and eased into the room. He slipped stiffly into the chair opposite King Reiher, only separated by a raggedy old desk. He was sure that this office was Piggles and that the king was only taking control over it while he was present.

“Darren Hayes,” King Reiher rolled his name off his tongue like he had dipped him in chocolate and was licking it off with the tip of his tongue. “You know, my girls, some of them, loved you and Daniel.” It was said that he only embraced women because men were absolute fucking trouble, though he professed to be gay through and through. Maybe it was wise not to embrace someone you love. The thought played in Darren’s mind. “I must admit that I don’t care for anything after the 1800s, except 80s and 90s music, which of course include Savage Garden. Now, when will you and Daniel be gracing our stage?”

“Oh,” Piggles piped up.

“Oh, what?” King Reiher snapped.

“It’s only going to be Mr. Hayes,” he explained. “Daniel wasn’t interested.”

Actually, Darren hadn’t told Daniel a damn thing. Why would he? He was a fucking drunk. It would be an utter embarrassment to have him on stage.

King Reiher looked at Darren. “Well?”

“Ugh,” Darren began. “Yeah, Daniel said he’s done with performing.”

“Hmm…” King Reiher tapped his nails on the top of the desk. He then said, “Take off those glasses, Darren. The sun isn’t shining in here and even if it were we’d all be a crisp now, wouldn’t we?”

Both King Reiher and Piggles laughed but Darren didn’t. Slowly, he reached up and gently removed the glasses. He looked at the king for a brief moment before lowering his gaze.

“Now don’t be a shy boy, Darren,” King Reiher said with amusement. “A boy as pretty as you should never be shy, especially with all the attention you used to get. You should be used to it. Or…is it just me you are shy around?”

Piggles leaned into the king and said, “I think it’s just you.”

As the two laughed, Darren felt like melting into the chair and disappearing.

“Look at me, Hayes,” King Reiher said with weight.

Lifting his head, Darren looked the king in the face as he dictated. It was uncomfortable as hell. As soon as their eyes would meet, Darren would slide his away to look at the ceiling, the floor, the desk, anything but the king. He could feel his eyes probing him, sexualizing him, he could literally feel his thoughts flowing over his form. Darren didn’t feel like a grown-ass male vampire. He felt like a shrinking violet of a girl who was being raped with her petals ravished and torn asunder.

“Just gorgeous,” the king said breathlessly. “The lips alone are a miracle. Lucious and divine, ready to please any man.”

“Right!” Piggles brayed.

Under other circumstances, Darren might have enjoyed someone gushing over his lips. Hell, he hadn’t wrapped his lips around a fat cock in what? One, two, four, six, wait, five years? He and Daniel hadn’t fucked in five years straight. The worst thing about all of that is that Daniel had a big summer sausage of a dick. Damn, Darren was lonely, but he had respect for himself, and he just felt like meat in front of these two.

“Take your hat off, dear,” King Reiher instructed.

“I’m…” Darren had to start again because his voice came out hoarse and scratchy. “I’m all right.”

“I didn’t ask if you were all right. I told you to take your hat off.”

Darren nodded his head and slip the beanie off of his silky soft puff of ebony hair. He ruffled his fingers through his hair to loosen the hat head and then sat the hat on the desk.

“And there he is,” the king sat back and rested his hand on the arm of the chair while the other kept a hold on the walking stick. “Darren Hayes. One of us.”

Yeah, one of you, Darren thought bitterly.

“Well, now on a more serious note, Darren,” King Reiher’s disposition changed. He switches to serious and professional. Lifting his walking stick, he laid it across his lap and tapped on it with his nails. “Now, you are used to being famous Darren, I’m sure McGregor, the good chap that he is, has told you the importance of maintaining secrecy at all costs. You will not be playing arenas and going on world tours. However, you can start here in this little hole in the wall, and we will see how that goes. Piggles and I have a few ideas we have been toying around with.”

“What kind of ideas?” Darren asked with curiosity.

King Reiher just smiled and continued, “Nobody in the human world knows where you or Daniel are and if you are dead or alive. We’ve actually been thinking about staging some sightings like Elvis.”

“Is he…?” Darren trailed and the king just offered a thin-lipped smile.

“Now, one thing you must understand is that this sort of thing with celebrities happens all the time, but if you fucked up, you will be dealt with. Do not lead hunters and Blood Reavers to my door. I will be held responsible and if I am being held responsible for something you have done, well,” he gave a toothy grin. “Anyway,” he tucked his fangs away. “Not all celebrities are fit for supernatural life. Look at those five baboons…Orgy?”

“Yea, that’s them,” Pigglewidth spoke up.

“That damn fool Jay Gordon snapped his goddamned spinal cord and killed himself. What the hell ever possessed anyone to wrap a microphone cord around their neck? And his poor partner, what is that boy’s name?”

“Paige,” Pigglewidth filled in.

“He’s been depressed. I hear he’s heavily into drugs, alcohol, and eating. He was always a little round one, but I’ve heard he’s packed it on. Something was wrong with them all.”

“Well, they were weres-.” Pigglewidth shrugged.

“Dogs, all of the bastards.”

“Not all of them.”

“Oh?”

Darren sat quietly listening.

“Uh, Bobby, the drummer, he was a panda.”

“The fuck? How did that happen?” King Reiher was outdone, and Darren was amazed himself. “What, when he changes, does he look like one of the Buddy Bears on Garfield when they were fighting?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Pigglewidth shrugged. “Let’s see, okay, Jay and Paige were lycans…”

“Dogs,” the king snorted.

“Bobby the panda, Ryan was a fox…”

“A fox is logical,” King Reiher nodded.

“And there is another one.”

“Amir, the beautiful one.”

“Yea,” Pigglewidth grinned. “He’s a leopard and I hear he’s beautiful. Nice black and gold coloring.”

“Wow…hmm…maybe I should get a leopard…maybe I should capture him.”

Pigglewidth shrugged.

“Maybe not,” King Reiher waved a hand of dismissal. “I bore easily.”

Darren had sat through the whole thing silently. He was surprised at hearing what happened to Jay Gordon. He wasn’t really much into rock, he was pop through and through, but he did keep in the know about music and Orgy was out in the 90s when he was. He remembered watching music videos and performances with Orgy and wondering why the hell would someone wrap a microphone cord around their neck, and they always word those huge ass platforms that reminded him of big black erasers. If they tripped…well it did happen. God rest Jay Gordon’s soul.

“Well,” King Reiher broke Darren’s train of thought. “You signed for a year and not two.”

“That’s right,” Darren nodded. He actually wanted to sign for six months but Pigglewidth said it was one year or nothing.

“I think you will find that we can help you grow into that star you once were. Things are different for you now, Darren, but you can still achieve stardom. We’ll get you everything you need. A band, backup singers, whatever.”

“What about a recording studio?” Darren asked. “I got some new material I’ve been working on.”

“Well, I’m sure we can work something out,” King Reiher assured him.

“Thank you.”

“Now, VamVu has been loving you, Darren,” the king continued to gush. “Have you seen all the thumb-ups you got on your live video?”

“Umm, no, sorry, sir, haven’t had the time.”

King Reiher rolled his eyes. “Well, anyway, people have loved it and later this week there is going to be a competition hosted by…” he looked at Pigglewidth. “Latoya La La?”

“She doesn’t go by that anymore,” Pigglewidth informed the king. “She goes by Savage Slut.”

“Ah yes, Ms. Savage Slut,” King Reiher addressed Darren again. “She’s going to host a competition later this week to see who can sing “I Want You” and get all the words right.”

Darren nodded and actually felt a bit lighter inside though he still wanted to tear the fuck out of that office. “That’s not easy.”

“Well, I think that will be all. Are we done here, Piggles?” the king looked up at Pigglewidth.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, good,” King Reiher waved Darren on. “You enjoy the rest of your night, lovely boy. I’ll be keeping a close eye on you.”

Darren cringed internally and felt dirty all over again. He would need a bath when he got home. He quickly said goodbye, tossed on his hat and sunglasses, and left as quickly as he could with his glass of unfinished blood wine still on the desk. He flew out of the club and into the tunnel. He was running again. He was just a ball bouncing between a rock and a hard place. He was a ping pong being jostled, tossed, and whacked back and forth. No good was going to come out of this situation. Nothing at all.

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