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He had searched the rooms, the gift shop and the lobby. He had checked the hotel restaurant, to no avail. When Ricky stepped out onto the pool deck, it was with no real expectation that he'd have better luck here. He was about to leave in frustration and search the grounds, when something caught his eye.
There he was. But what was he doing standing in the corner, head tipped back, looking at the rain gutter with a goofy grin on his face?
Ricky walked over. "Nevin."
"Hi, Ricky."
"The equipment is loaded and everyone is on the bus, waiting. What are you—"
Nevin motioned for silence. "You'll scare her."
Ricky looked where Nevin indicated. Behind the rain gutter, he could make out bits of twig and grass, and a few pale feathers. "You're holding up the tour over a bird?"
"It's not just any bird. It's a dove. And she has a nest."
"All birds have nests," Ricky said. "It's what they do."
Nevin turned around. "Don't you see? She made it here, in a dangerous place. The gutter could break and the rain could destroy her eggs. A maintenance person could remove her nest and throw it away. Children playing at the pool could come over and find it, and think it's some kind of game or toy." He turned back to the bird with a sigh of pleasure. "She has faith in the world, Ricky. Isn't that lovely?"
Ricky kicked a pebble in annoyance. Birds didn't have faith, only instincts. And even if this particular bird had faith, what of it? "We don't have time for doves, trusting ones or otherwise. We have a gig to get to."
"Oh, Ricky." Nevin looked at him again, but this time with sadness in his eyes. "Where's your sense of wonder?" Without waiting for an answer, he walked away.
Ricky stood for a moment, looking after him, then glanced up again at the bird. She had shifted on her nest and was now eyeing him calmly, as if she knew she was being talked about and that she was safe.
Amazing, really. How did she know Ricky wouldn't hurt her?
"Good luck to you," he said softly. He walked away smiling.
Tour: Day Eight
Saturday, May 30, 2009
reviews (Comments): 2
Stranded in New Mexico
I’m afraid we’ve encountered a new difficulty.
We’re stranded south of Albuquerque. The tour bus broke down and the “no magic” rule means none of us can fix it. We were able to get it towed to a small town nearby, but we’re really in quite a desolate place and we won’t be able to make our gig in Las Cruces tonight.
Ricky is very upset, and in fact the whole band is angry, but I’m not sure being negative is going to help matters. We’ll just have to hope the nice man at the auto shop can repair the bus quickly.
This has all been good for Bo, since everyone is too busy being worried about the tour bus to continue being angry at him for his party at the tramway last night. I’m not sure of the details, but it would appear that he and some of his new friends rode up and down the mountain several times, even though the tram was closed. They were caught by a security guard, who accused them of stealing the car and was mad that they had no clothes on. Bo pointed out that they hadn’t stolen the tram car because there it was, right where it was supposed to be, attached to the cable that runs up the mountain. The security guard called him a smart-ass and Bo agreed. Then Bo turned on that incubus charm of his and…well, an hour later another security guard came along and was quite surprised to find the first one with no clothes on, riding up and down the mountain with all the others.
Ricky says it’s a public relations disaster. Bo disagrees, and I’m not sure what to think.
I just want our tour bus fixed.
I’m afraid we’ve encountered a new difficulty.
We’re stranded south of Albuquerque. The tour bus broke down and the “no magic” rule means none of us can fix it. We were able to get it towed to a small town nearby, but we’re really in quite a desolate place and we won’t be able to make our gig in Las Cruces tonight.
Ricky is very upset, and in fact the whole band is angry, but I’m not sure being negative is going to help matters. We’ll just have to hope the nice man at the auto shop can repair the bus quickly.
This has all been good for Bo, since everyone is too busy being worried about the tour bus to continue being angry at him for his party at the tramway last night. I’m not sure of the details, but it would appear that he and some of his new friends rode up and down the mountain several times, even though the tram was closed. They were caught by a security guard, who accused them of stealing the car and was mad that they had no clothes on. Bo pointed out that they hadn’t stolen the tram car because there it was, right where it was supposed to be, attached to the cable that runs up the mountain. The security guard called him a smart-ass and Bo agreed. Then Bo turned on that incubus charm of his and…well, an hour later another security guard came along and was quite surprised to find the first one with no clothes on, riding up and down the mountain with all the others.
Ricky says it’s a public relations disaster. Bo disagrees, and I’m not sure what to think.
I just want our tour bus fixed.
Tour: Day Four
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
reviews (Comments): 1
Pagosa Springs, Colorado
We had quite a drive today, all the way to Pagosa Springs, Colorado. But it was such lovely country that it was hard to complain. I immediately fell in love with this little town, with its green hills and hot springs, surrounded by snow-capped mountains. Could anything be more beautiful?
Bo wanted to check out the hot springs right away, but we were running late and Ricky said no. So we went to the venue and took a look around. Ricky kept a very close watch on Bo so he wouldn’t seduce the manager like he did in Santa Fe. Bo was upset about this, but said nothing. I could tell he was plotting, but Ricky didn’t want to hear anything I had to say. Typical human behavior, I’m afraid. I’ve never met a human who wanted to know the truth if there’s a delusion they’ll like better.
Next we got checked in at the resort on the river.
Ricky made us all promise to be on our best behavior. We did very well before the show, but after we returned, Bo hosted a big party down in the hot springs. He wasn’t supposed to do that, I think. I’m also quite certain the rules say humans must wear clothes.
Ricky was very upset.
We had quite a drive today, all the way to Pagosa Springs, Colorado. But it was such lovely country that it was hard to complain. I immediately fell in love with this little town, with its green hills and hot springs, surrounded by snow-capped mountains. Could anything be more beautiful?
Bo wanted to check out the hot springs right away, but we were running late and Ricky said no. So we went to the venue and took a look around. Ricky kept a very close watch on Bo so he wouldn’t seduce the manager like he did in Santa Fe. Bo was upset about this, but said nothing. I could tell he was plotting, but Ricky didn’t want to hear anything I had to say. Typical human behavior, I’m afraid. I’ve never met a human who wanted to know the truth if there’s a delusion they’ll like better.
Next we got checked in at the resort on the river.
Ricky made us all promise to be on our best behavior. We did very well before the show, but after we returned, Bo hosted a big party down in the hot springs. He wasn’t supposed to do that, I think. I’m also quite certain the rules say humans must wear clothes.
Ricky was very upset.
Maelstrom Tour: Preparations
Friday, May 22, 2009
reviews (Comments): 2
I spent today packing my equipment and watching Calvin and the other werewolves load the tour bus. They’re very particular about how they do it, which is a good thing because some of the band members worry. Like Lazaro. He would rather his drums be on the bus where he can see them, but this time Kalila said no and meant it, so he had to watch everything Calvin did as he stowed them underneath. It was quite exasperating for Calvin, and Ricky had to go the store twice for hamburger meat to calm him down.
Some of our guitars. Lazaro didn't want me taking pictures of his drums.
Finally we were all packed and everyone is happy now. Ricky is the only one who seems a little nervous. He thought we should have a tour manager so he could stay home and work on our publicity. Last month he was all ready to hire one, but then Kalila reminded him what happened to the last one. (It was so unfortunate, and I do hope Thomas is found someday.) Then she took Ricky into a rehearsal room for awhile, just the two of them, and when they came out he was much happier. He’s worried again now, though. I'm sure it will all be fine, though.
We're going to have a great tour!
Some of our guitars. Lazaro didn't want me taking pictures of his drums.
Finally we were all packed and everyone is happy now. Ricky is the only one who seems a little nervous. He thought we should have a tour manager so he could stay home and work on our publicity. Last month he was all ready to hire one, but then Kalila reminded him what happened to the last one. (It was so unfortunate, and I do hope Thomas is found someday.) Then she took Ricky into a rehearsal room for awhile, just the two of them, and when they came out he was much happier. He’s worried again now, though. I'm sure it will all be fine, though.
We're going to have a great tour!
Maelstrom Extra: Bunnies Rock! (Part 1)
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
reviews (Comments): 12
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the first in our Bunny Benefit Bash series. Read on to find out how you can help save the bunnies and make your rabbit a rock star!
Ricky struggled with the studio door, encumbered by a laptop slung over his shoulder and a box of promotional materials from the Lupine Defense League. He stumbled inside, only to drop the box on his foot.
A few feet away, Calvin looked up from watching Werewolf Recluse II: New Moon on a portable DVD player. “You should be more careful, human.”
“I don’t suppose you could’ve held the door.”
“I didn’t feel like it.”
Ricky set the box on the desk. “It was your idea that we sponsor a wolf charity. If you’re not going to help, I’ll tell the band they should do something else—Toys for Tots, maybe.”
While Calvin grumbled and tore open the box, Ricky went to check on the band. They were supposed to be practicing, but it sounded like someone had lost their temper. He paused outside the rehearsal room.
“Just play the stupid song, Nevin.”
“I’m not feeling it.”
“Fake it.”
“I can’t. I want to play slow, sad songs today.”
“You’re in the wrong band for that, so try again. Carrion Road, from the top.”
“But Vic—”
Ricky pushed open the door. “Okay, guys. What’s going on?”
Vic stepped away from the mic and waved an arm in disgust. “Tinkerbell here keeps missing notes.”
“He’s being a prissy whiner,” Bo added.
Kalila nodded. “He’s not up to par, and he’s not even making a good faith effort.”
“Something’s wrong with his brain,” Lazaro muttered.
Ricky looked at Nevin in concern. “What’s up?”
Nevin traced a finger across his keyboard. “I’m very depressed.”
Ricky waited for a moment, hoping he would elaborate. “Maybe it will cheer you up to know our promo materials arrived today. We’ll be able to start pitching the wolf charity again. Think how many wolves you’ll be saving.”
Nevin’s lower lip trembled and he dropped to the floor in tears.
Ricky turned to Kalila in alarm. “Did I say something wrong?”
She set her guitar in its stand and crouched by Nevin’s side. “He finished reading Watership Down last night. He’s worried about rabbits now, and the wolf charity—”
“Wolves eat bunnies!” Nevin wailed.
Ricky took a deep breath. “Well, yes. But it’s all part of nature, you know, and there’s plenty of bunnies left.”
“They breed like rabbits,” Bo pointed out.
Nevin sobbed harder, and Kalila tried to soothe him.
“Now he thinks every rabbit has a unique personality,” Vic sneered. To Nevin, he added, “Didn’t I tell you not to read books? They only give you ideas.”
“That’s not always a bad thing,” Bo told him. “I got a lot of good ideas from The Story of O.”
“Enough,” Ricky told him. He sat by Nevin’s side, hoping to cajole him into a better mood. “There’s lots of rabbit charities. I could find a few for you to choose from, and at your next show—”
“Forget it,” Vic said. “I’m not doing a ‘Save the Bunnies’ campaign.”
Bo gave a little shrug. “I could go for it. They like sex, I like sex…rabbits are cool.”
Lazaro stomped on his bass drum pedal. “They eat vegetables and have tiny brains.”
“How does that differ from Ricky?” Bo said. “I’m telling you, this could work.”
By now Nevin had quit crying and was wiping his eyes. “You guys really think so?”
“We’ll do a bunny benefit, just for you,” Kalila said.
Vic scowled. “But only this once, glitterboy. After that, your rodents are on their own.”
“They’re not rodents,” Nevin said. “Rabbits are lagomorphs.” He gave Ricky a tenuous smile. “So you’ll find us a good rabbit charity? You really want to help?”
Ricky met Kalila’s eyes to confirm it was what she wanted. Then he patted Nevin on the shoulder. “I’ll find some reputable charities for you to choose from, and we’ll organize a…Bunny Benefit Bash. How does that sound?”
Vic threw himself into a chair and pouted. “It sounds ridiculous.”
“No,” Nevin said, “It sounds wonderful.”
To Be Continued...
Attention Bunny-Fans! Do you have a favorite rabbit charity? Ricky needs your recommendations! Leave details in the comments below or in the tag box on the right. You can also email your recommendation to uhamp "at" yahoo "dot" com. Do you have a bunny who'd like to be a rock star? Tell us where to find lapine talent for the upcoming Bunnies That Rock music video!
Ricky struggled with the studio door, encumbered by a laptop slung over his shoulder and a box of promotional materials from the Lupine Defense League. He stumbled inside, only to drop the box on his foot.
A few feet away, Calvin looked up from watching Werewolf Recluse II: New Moon on a portable DVD player. “You should be more careful, human.”
“I don’t suppose you could’ve held the door.”
“I didn’t feel like it.”
Ricky set the box on the desk. “It was your idea that we sponsor a wolf charity. If you’re not going to help, I’ll tell the band they should do something else—Toys for Tots, maybe.”
While Calvin grumbled and tore open the box, Ricky went to check on the band. They were supposed to be practicing, but it sounded like someone had lost their temper. He paused outside the rehearsal room.
“Just play the stupid song, Nevin.”
“I’m not feeling it.”
“Fake it.”
“I can’t. I want to play slow, sad songs today.”
“You’re in the wrong band for that, so try again. Carrion Road, from the top.”
“But Vic—”
Ricky pushed open the door. “Okay, guys. What’s going on?”
Vic stepped away from the mic and waved an arm in disgust. “Tinkerbell here keeps missing notes.”
“He’s being a prissy whiner,” Bo added.
Kalila nodded. “He’s not up to par, and he’s not even making a good faith effort.”
“Something’s wrong with his brain,” Lazaro muttered.
Ricky looked at Nevin in concern. “What’s up?”
Nevin traced a finger across his keyboard. “I’m very depressed.”
Ricky waited for a moment, hoping he would elaborate. “Maybe it will cheer you up to know our promo materials arrived today. We’ll be able to start pitching the wolf charity again. Think how many wolves you’ll be saving.”
Nevin’s lower lip trembled and he dropped to the floor in tears.
Ricky turned to Kalila in alarm. “Did I say something wrong?”
She set her guitar in its stand and crouched by Nevin’s side. “He finished reading Watership Down last night. He’s worried about rabbits now, and the wolf charity—”
“Wolves eat bunnies!” Nevin wailed.
Ricky took a deep breath. “Well, yes. But it’s all part of nature, you know, and there’s plenty of bunnies left.”
“They breed like rabbits,” Bo pointed out.
Nevin sobbed harder, and Kalila tried to soothe him.
“Now he thinks every rabbit has a unique personality,” Vic sneered. To Nevin, he added, “Didn’t I tell you not to read books? They only give you ideas.”
“That’s not always a bad thing,” Bo told him. “I got a lot of good ideas from The Story of O.”
“Enough,” Ricky told him. He sat by Nevin’s side, hoping to cajole him into a better mood. “There’s lots of rabbit charities. I could find a few for you to choose from, and at your next show—”
“Forget it,” Vic said. “I’m not doing a ‘Save the Bunnies’ campaign.”
Bo gave a little shrug. “I could go for it. They like sex, I like sex…rabbits are cool.”
Lazaro stomped on his bass drum pedal. “They eat vegetables and have tiny brains.”
“How does that differ from Ricky?” Bo said. “I’m telling you, this could work.”
By now Nevin had quit crying and was wiping his eyes. “You guys really think so?”
“We’ll do a bunny benefit, just for you,” Kalila said.
Vic scowled. “But only this once, glitterboy. After that, your rodents are on their own.”
“They’re not rodents,” Nevin said. “Rabbits are lagomorphs.” He gave Ricky a tenuous smile. “So you’ll find us a good rabbit charity? You really want to help?”
Ricky met Kalila’s eyes to confirm it was what she wanted. Then he patted Nevin on the shoulder. “I’ll find some reputable charities for you to choose from, and we’ll organize a…Bunny Benefit Bash. How does that sound?”
Vic threw himself into a chair and pouted. “It sounds ridiculous.”
“No,” Nevin said, “It sounds wonderful.”
To Be Continued...
Attention Bunny-Fans! Do you have a favorite rabbit charity? Ricky needs your recommendations! Leave details in the comments below or in the tag box on the right. You can also email your recommendation to uhamp "at" yahoo "dot" com. Do you have a bunny who'd like to be a rock star? Tell us where to find lapine talent for the upcoming Bunnies That Rock music video!
Maelstrom Extra: Artistic Vision
Sunday, February 8, 2009
reviews (Comments): 5
Vic strode into the rehearsal room, then stopped and looked around. Empty. He considered for a moment, then went to check the smaller practice rooms. There was no one in the first, but in the second, he startled Nevin sitting at an easel, sweeping blue sky across textured paper with a sable brush. “What the hell are you doing, fairy?”
Nevin smiled. “I’ve been feeling tense lately and thought it would be nice to take up watercolors again. It’s been a long time, but…” he edged out of the way so Vic could see. “What do you think?”
Vic stalked up to the painting as if it might be dangerous. After examining it carefully, he pointed to a gray stone building in the scene. “You should put bats here. And make the sky darker.”
“But I don’t want bats in my painting. And it’s supposed to be daytime.”
“I guess that’s why it’s no good, then.” While Nevin sulked, Vic tapped on Kalila’s lamp and waited while she poured herself out in a cloud of blue smoke. “I thought we were supposed rehearse tonight,” Vic reminded her. “And look at what your useless fairy is doing.”
Kalila glanced at Nevin and shrugged. “If it makes him happy, who cares?”
Before she could say anything else, Bo walked in with Lazaro on his heels. Bo immediately noticed the painting and went to look over Nevin’s shoulder. After staring in silence for nearly a minute, he asked, “Why did you paint the humans with clothes?”
“Humans always wear clothes in public,” Nevin reminded him.
“And that’s one of the problems with them,” Bo said. “So what are you trying to do, be real to life or show how it can be better?”
“I don’t know that nudity would make my painting better. It’s a sunny day and they would get sunburn.”
“I told you to make it night,” Vic pointed out.
“See?” Bo clapped a friendly hand on Nevin’s shoulder. “We’re looking out for you, showing you how to be the best you can be.”
“But guys, I don’t know if darkness, bats, and naked humans are a true expression of my artistic vision.”
Lazaro shoved his way in front of Vic and Bo and stared at the painting. “Sucks,” he finally said. “It needs drums.”
Nevin threw down his brush in frustration. “Why are you being this way? I’m painting what has meaning to me.”
“Since when did sunshine have meaning?” Vic shuddered. “I never could understand you diurnal types.”
Kalila approached Nevin and held out her hand. “It’s not the end of the world that they don’t appreciate your kind of art,” she reminded him. “And they do like your music. Music is art, too, so let’s go rehearse.”
She coaxed him to his feet and led him out of the room, with Bo and Lazaro trailing after. Vic remained behind, considering the painting once more. He picked up a brush, examined the tip, then selected a smaller one and dabbed it in some of the paint left on Nevin’s palette. Then, after a furtive glance over his shoulder, he leaned in close and added a bat.
He stepped back and was admiring his work when Bo poked his head in the room. “You coming, or what?”
“Huh? Oh, sure. I was just thinking maybe this wasn’t such a bad painting after all.”
Nevin smiled. “I’ve been feeling tense lately and thought it would be nice to take up watercolors again. It’s been a long time, but…” he edged out of the way so Vic could see. “What do you think?”
Vic stalked up to the painting as if it might be dangerous. After examining it carefully, he pointed to a gray stone building in the scene. “You should put bats here. And make the sky darker.”
“But I don’t want bats in my painting. And it’s supposed to be daytime.”
“I guess that’s why it’s no good, then.” While Nevin sulked, Vic tapped on Kalila’s lamp and waited while she poured herself out in a cloud of blue smoke. “I thought we were supposed rehearse tonight,” Vic reminded her. “And look at what your useless fairy is doing.”
Kalila glanced at Nevin and shrugged. “If it makes him happy, who cares?”
Before she could say anything else, Bo walked in with Lazaro on his heels. Bo immediately noticed the painting and went to look over Nevin’s shoulder. After staring in silence for nearly a minute, he asked, “Why did you paint the humans with clothes?”
“Humans always wear clothes in public,” Nevin reminded him.
“And that’s one of the problems with them,” Bo said. “So what are you trying to do, be real to life or show how it can be better?”
“I don’t know that nudity would make my painting better. It’s a sunny day and they would get sunburn.”
“I told you to make it night,” Vic pointed out.
“See?” Bo clapped a friendly hand on Nevin’s shoulder. “We’re looking out for you, showing you how to be the best you can be.”
“But guys, I don’t know if darkness, bats, and naked humans are a true expression of my artistic vision.”
Lazaro shoved his way in front of Vic and Bo and stared at the painting. “Sucks,” he finally said. “It needs drums.”
Nevin threw down his brush in frustration. “Why are you being this way? I’m painting what has meaning to me.”
“Since when did sunshine have meaning?” Vic shuddered. “I never could understand you diurnal types.”
Kalila approached Nevin and held out her hand. “It’s not the end of the world that they don’t appreciate your kind of art,” she reminded him. “And they do like your music. Music is art, too, so let’s go rehearse.”
She coaxed him to his feet and led him out of the room, with Bo and Lazaro trailing after. Vic remained behind, considering the painting once more. He picked up a brush, examined the tip, then selected a smaller one and dabbed it in some of the paint left on Nevin’s palette. Then, after a furtive glance over his shoulder, he leaned in close and added a bat.
He stepped back and was admiring his work when Bo poked his head in the room. “You coming, or what?”
“Huh? Oh, sure. I was just thinking maybe this wasn’t such a bad painting after all.”
Maelstrom Extra: Tribute
Sunday, January 25, 2009
reviews (Comments): 7
Normally Ricky enjoyed hanging out with Nevin and Kalila while they were writing a new song, but today he found himself gazing into the distance, forgetting where he was, returning to the moment reluctantly, as if it was a chore.
Nevin’s hands paused over the keyboard. “Is something wrong?”
“You’re acting like you’d disappear if you knew how to do it,” Kalila added.
“No,” Ricky sighed. “I’m fine. This session is going really well, and…” he met their eyes and realized they knew he was lying. “It’s just that today is the anniversary of my father’s death. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
Nevin came over and gave him a hug. “I’m sorry. You must miss him a lot.”
“I never really had a father,” Kalila said, her voice soft with sympathy, “But I know how special they are to humans.”
“It’s been ten years,” Ricky said. “And it’s a lot easier than it used to be. I think the hardest part is that he was the only person in the family who understood me. My mom and brother are all about status, but Dad didn’t care about things like that. He would’ve been proud of me no matter what I did with my life, even if I was a ditch-digger, as long as I was a happy one.”
Nevin frowned in confusion. “But you aren’t a ditch-digger. And you’re happy, so…?”
“What he means,” Kalila said, “Is that his mom and brother are embarrassed that he manages a rock band instead of working in a bank or something.” She glanced at Ricky. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
Ricky nodded. “Sometimes I think they’re jealous because Dad and I were so close. It’s depressing to think how one mistake on a dark road can change everything. My life could’ve been so different.”
“No offense,” Kalila said, “But we’re pretty happy things worked out like they did so we can have you here. But if it’ll make you feel better, I can blank out some of those memories for you.”
“That’s a nice offer, but I don’t think so.”
“How about your mood?” Nevin asked. “I can fix that up without altering any of your memories.”
Ricky shook his head. “Thanks, both of you, but I’ll get over it.”
Kalila looked at him in confusion. “But why would you want to keep memories that cause you pain?”
“I guess it’s one of those human things,” Ricky said. “The memories hurt sometimes, but they make me happy, too. It’s like having souvenirs of a place that isn’t there any more. The memories help keep my dad special and alive.”
Kalila and Nevin pondered this.
“Would you like us to write a song for him?” Nevin asked.
Kalila agreed. “It's not much, but it’s what we're good at.”
Ricky felt a sting in his nose and blinked back sudden tears. “Thanks, you two. That would be nice.”
Nevin’s hands paused over the keyboard. “Is something wrong?”
“You’re acting like you’d disappear if you knew how to do it,” Kalila added.
“No,” Ricky sighed. “I’m fine. This session is going really well, and…” he met their eyes and realized they knew he was lying. “It’s just that today is the anniversary of my father’s death. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
Nevin came over and gave him a hug. “I’m sorry. You must miss him a lot.”
“I never really had a father,” Kalila said, her voice soft with sympathy, “But I know how special they are to humans.”
“It’s been ten years,” Ricky said. “And it’s a lot easier than it used to be. I think the hardest part is that he was the only person in the family who understood me. My mom and brother are all about status, but Dad didn’t care about things like that. He would’ve been proud of me no matter what I did with my life, even if I was a ditch-digger, as long as I was a happy one.”
Nevin frowned in confusion. “But you aren’t a ditch-digger. And you’re happy, so…?”
“What he means,” Kalila said, “Is that his mom and brother are embarrassed that he manages a rock band instead of working in a bank or something.” She glanced at Ricky. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
Ricky nodded. “Sometimes I think they’re jealous because Dad and I were so close. It’s depressing to think how one mistake on a dark road can change everything. My life could’ve been so different.”
“No offense,” Kalila said, “But we’re pretty happy things worked out like they did so we can have you here. But if it’ll make you feel better, I can blank out some of those memories for you.”
“That’s a nice offer, but I don’t think so.”
“How about your mood?” Nevin asked. “I can fix that up without altering any of your memories.”
Ricky shook his head. “Thanks, both of you, but I’ll get over it.”
Kalila looked at him in confusion. “But why would you want to keep memories that cause you pain?”
“I guess it’s one of those human things,” Ricky said. “The memories hurt sometimes, but they make me happy, too. It’s like having souvenirs of a place that isn’t there any more. The memories help keep my dad special and alive.”
Kalila and Nevin pondered this.
“Would you like us to write a song for him?” Nevin asked.
Kalila agreed. “It's not much, but it’s what we're good at.”
Ricky felt a sting in his nose and blinked back sudden tears. “Thanks, you two. That would be nice.”
Maelstrom Extra: No Magic in the Breakdown Lane
Monday, January 19, 2009
reviews (Comments): 3
Ricky sat at the kitchenette table, trying to catch up on his work. Going with the band in their tour bus wasn’t very professional, but it beat trusting them to get to gigs on their own. Luckily everyone was easy to deal with today. Vic and Lazaro were asleep, Kalila was in her custom travel bottle, Nevin was reading a book about endangered water birds, and Bo was in the lounge, watching porn on the plasma TV. As long as Ricky kept his earplugs in, there was nothing to distract him from—
The bus gave a lurch and a shudder.
“Everything all right up there?” Ricky called. When he didn’t get an answer, he went to the front, where he found Calvin cursing as he maneuvered the bus off the highway. “What’s going on?”
The werewolf waved a hand at the dashboard. “Says ‘check engine.’ Could be anything.”
Ricky peered out the windshield, then at the GPS. “Can’t we at least get to someplace with a gas station?”
“You want to push?” Calvin snarled. “Accelerator’s not doing anything.”
“Great.” Ricky went to the back of the bus, where Nevin had set his book aside and Bo was momentarily distracted from the heaving, silver-painted bodies of Space Orgy VII. “Something’s wrong with the bus.” Ricky looked at Nevin. “Go see what you can do to help.”
“I’m sorry, Ricky, but I know nothing about mechanics.”
“I mean, go do some magic or something.”
“It’s against the rules. We can’t use magic to get to or from a venue.”
“But you’d be using magic to fix the bus, not to transport us anywhere.” Seeing that Nevin was unconvinced, Ricky tapped on Kalila’s travel bottle. “Wake up. We’ve got a problem.” When she didn’t come out, he tapped again, harder.
This time, a thin stream of smoke drifted out of the bottle’s mouth. It took several minutes, but finally it coalesced into a shadow, then into Kalila, who stood blinking and scowling sleepily. “What do you want?”
“The bus is stopped,” Ricky said.
By now Calvin had joined them. “It won’t go at all. Engine’s dead.”
“Well, that’s not my problem.” Kalila started to waver as she prepared to go back into her bottle.
“Wait,” Ricky said. “You need to fix the bus. Nevin has some crazy interpretation of the ‘transportation by human means’ rule that says you can’t fix a breakdown with magic.”
“He’s right,” Kalila said, dissolving into a cloud of blue smoke. “Call Triple-A.”
Calvin gave Ricky a pointed look. “You heard the djinn. Get us some human help.”
Ricky called the service number, and was informed it would be at least an hour before someone could come to where they were. In exasperation, he went outside with Calvin, hoping he might see something under the hood that he could fix, but the big diesel engine was beyond his limited understanding. They would have to wait. Ricky walked away from the bus and called the venue manager in the next town to let him know they would be late.
Frustrated, Ricky walked the gravel shoulder of the highway. They were near a scenic overlook with a cleared area for admiring the valley below, so he wandered over, took a few pictures with his Blackberry, then leaned against the railing and gazed out over the lush landscape.
“Poor Ricky,” said a voice at his elbow. “You’re upset.”
Ricky turned to see Nevin eyeing him curiously.
“I’m sorry we can’t fix the bus,” Nevin said, “But you really don’t want us to forfeit the bet with Gotterdammerung, do you?”
“No, of course not.” Ricky leaned back over the railing. “Five hundred years in Hades would suck. But—” he turned to look at Nevin again. “Why the silly rule? ‘Human fame by human means’ is so much harder than just waving your magic wand.”
“That’s the whole point,” Nevin said patiently. “It’s supposed to be a challenge.”
“But why make it hard on yourselves? All of life is a challenge.”
“Not for us. This builds character.”
“Well, I could use a little less of that.”
“Oh, Ricky, you should look at the positives.” Nevin leaned out over the railing and pointed to the river below. “Isn’t it beautiful? It’s a sunny day, the sky is blue, we’re in a lovely part of the country, and just think—we almost missed this view.”
Ricky looked at his watch.
“Stop that. You need to learn to relax, let go, and just accept that some things are going to be how they are. You need to find a way to make the best of it.”
Ricky looked back out over the valley. Yes, it was nice, and if the tour bus hadn’t broken down, he would’ve missed it, but…. “Uh, Nevin? Does the ‘no magic’ rule apply to hurrying up the tow truck?”
Nevin met his eyes for a long moment, then shrugged. “I suppose not. But you know, if we were an ordinary human band, you’d be in this exact same situation. It’s only because we’re different that you expect more.”
Nevin walked away, leaving Ricky alone. What the keyboardist had said was true. He expected murder and mayhem after every show, but assumed that djinn and fairy magic could save the day when he was tired, in trouble, or simply wanted a waffle. His view of how the world worked was becoming so warped it was a wonder he could appreciate anything normal any more.
With that thought in mind, he looked once more over the valley, drew in a deep breath of the golden afternoon, and sighed. It really was a pretty day. It would’ve been a shame to have missed it.
The bus gave a lurch and a shudder.
“Everything all right up there?” Ricky called. When he didn’t get an answer, he went to the front, where he found Calvin cursing as he maneuvered the bus off the highway. “What’s going on?”
The werewolf waved a hand at the dashboard. “Says ‘check engine.’ Could be anything.”
Ricky peered out the windshield, then at the GPS. “Can’t we at least get to someplace with a gas station?”
“You want to push?” Calvin snarled. “Accelerator’s not doing anything.”
“Great.” Ricky went to the back of the bus, where Nevin had set his book aside and Bo was momentarily distracted from the heaving, silver-painted bodies of Space Orgy VII. “Something’s wrong with the bus.” Ricky looked at Nevin. “Go see what you can do to help.”
“I’m sorry, Ricky, but I know nothing about mechanics.”
“I mean, go do some magic or something.”
“It’s against the rules. We can’t use magic to get to or from a venue.”
“But you’d be using magic to fix the bus, not to transport us anywhere.” Seeing that Nevin was unconvinced, Ricky tapped on Kalila’s travel bottle. “Wake up. We’ve got a problem.” When she didn’t come out, he tapped again, harder.
This time, a thin stream of smoke drifted out of the bottle’s mouth. It took several minutes, but finally it coalesced into a shadow, then into Kalila, who stood blinking and scowling sleepily. “What do you want?”
“The bus is stopped,” Ricky said.
By now Calvin had joined them. “It won’t go at all. Engine’s dead.”
“Well, that’s not my problem.” Kalila started to waver as she prepared to go back into her bottle.
“Wait,” Ricky said. “You need to fix the bus. Nevin has some crazy interpretation of the ‘transportation by human means’ rule that says you can’t fix a breakdown with magic.”
“He’s right,” Kalila said, dissolving into a cloud of blue smoke. “Call Triple-A.”
Calvin gave Ricky a pointed look. “You heard the djinn. Get us some human help.”
Ricky called the service number, and was informed it would be at least an hour before someone could come to where they were. In exasperation, he went outside with Calvin, hoping he might see something under the hood that he could fix, but the big diesel engine was beyond his limited understanding. They would have to wait. Ricky walked away from the bus and called the venue manager in the next town to let him know they would be late.
Frustrated, Ricky walked the gravel shoulder of the highway. They were near a scenic overlook with a cleared area for admiring the valley below, so he wandered over, took a few pictures with his Blackberry, then leaned against the railing and gazed out over the lush landscape.
“Poor Ricky,” said a voice at his elbow. “You’re upset.”
Ricky turned to see Nevin eyeing him curiously.
“I’m sorry we can’t fix the bus,” Nevin said, “But you really don’t want us to forfeit the bet with Gotterdammerung, do you?”
“No, of course not.” Ricky leaned back over the railing. “Five hundred years in Hades would suck. But—” he turned to look at Nevin again. “Why the silly rule? ‘Human fame by human means’ is so much harder than just waving your magic wand.”
“That’s the whole point,” Nevin said patiently. “It’s supposed to be a challenge.”
“But why make it hard on yourselves? All of life is a challenge.”
“Not for us. This builds character.”
“Well, I could use a little less of that.”
“Oh, Ricky, you should look at the positives.” Nevin leaned out over the railing and pointed to the river below. “Isn’t it beautiful? It’s a sunny day, the sky is blue, we’re in a lovely part of the country, and just think—we almost missed this view.”
Ricky looked at his watch.
“Stop that. You need to learn to relax, let go, and just accept that some things are going to be how they are. You need to find a way to make the best of it.”
Ricky looked back out over the valley. Yes, it was nice, and if the tour bus hadn’t broken down, he would’ve missed it, but…. “Uh, Nevin? Does the ‘no magic’ rule apply to hurrying up the tow truck?”
Nevin met his eyes for a long moment, then shrugged. “I suppose not. But you know, if we were an ordinary human band, you’d be in this exact same situation. It’s only because we’re different that you expect more.”
Nevin walked away, leaving Ricky alone. What the keyboardist had said was true. He expected murder and mayhem after every show, but assumed that djinn and fairy magic could save the day when he was tired, in trouble, or simply wanted a waffle. His view of how the world worked was becoming so warped it was a wonder he could appreciate anything normal any more.
With that thought in mind, he looked once more over the valley, drew in a deep breath of the golden afternoon, and sighed. It really was a pretty day. It would’ve been a shame to have missed it.
Maelstrom Extra: Forfeit
Thursday, January 15, 2009
reviews (Comments): 2
Ricky handed Connor the check and waited while he examined it. “This is irregular,” Ricky reminded him. “We shouldn’t have to pay in order to play here.”
“After what Maelstrom did at SineWave last year, you’re lucky anyone will book them.” Connor tucked the check into an envelope and dropped it in the safe. “Besides, a security deposit isn’t the same as paying to play. If they don’t do anything crazy, they’ll get it back at the end of the night. Now come on,” he stuck out his hand. “It’s nothing personal, so let’s shake on it and I’ll get you a drink.”
Ricky shook the manager’s hand and followed him out of the cramped office. The club wasn’t much of a place, just a gutted warehouse with a bit of drywall tacked up and covered with dark curtains to give the impression of rooms and substance. Connor's girlfriend Meredith was supposed to be doing bar setup, but since she wasn't around, Connor went behind the bar and poured them each a scotch.
Ricky accepted his drink and tried not to glance too often at the stage. Lazaro was setting up his drums, Nevin was letting Calvin help with his keyboards, and Vic and Kalila were taping down the electrical cords to their amps. They looked like any other band. Harmless.
Ricky took a sip of his drink.
Connor disappeared into the liquor room at the far end of the bar, then returned, frowning. “I wonder where Meredith went?” Muttering, he flipped open his cell phone.
While Ricky waited to see if he would get an answer, he looked again toward the stage. All busy and accounted for, acting like humans, except…where was Bo? Ricky scanned the stage again, hoping his eyes had deceived him. Vic and Kalila were tuning their guitars and Lazaro was adjusting a cymbal. But Bo?
“Dammit, she was just here a minute ago,” Connor said.
“Restroom?” Ricky offered.
“She would’ve answered.”
“Maybe she went out to her car for something,” Ricky said. He tossed back the rest of his drink. “Excuse me. I’m going to see if my guys need anything.”
While Connor tried again to call his missing girlfriend, Ricky climbed up on the stage. In low tones he said, “Where’s Bo? And don’t make excuses.”
Vic raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like an incubus babysitter?”
“We don’t keep tabs on each other,” Kalila reminded him. “He’ll be set up in time for the show. Don’t worry.”
“It’s not the show I’m worried about.” Grimly, Ricky went behind the stage and followed the narrow hall to the makeshift room that served as both dressing room and storage. The door was closed, but he could hear enough through the thin walls to guess what had happened to Bo. And Meredith.
He paused, hand in the air, unsure whether to knock or walk right in when Connor appeared by his shoulder. “Hey, glad I found you. I was wondering if—” A moan from the other side of the door stopped him in mid-sentence.
Ricky tried to stop him, to no avail. Connor slammed open the door, and there on the dirty sofa, naked limbs entwined, were the bass player and the manager’s girlfriend. Connor roared, Meredith scrambled for cover, and Bo, his incubus hunger satiated by his afternoon tryst, simply looked confused.
There was no need for Ricky to stick around, since an incubus could take care of himself. He backed out of the room and ran down the hall, with the sound of crashes and shouting echoing behind him. When he got to the stage, he shoved his way through a mass of cheap black curtains and stood trying to catch his breath. The band had been playing a simple melody but they stopped what they were doing and looked at him.
“Problem, human?” Vic asked.
Nevin frowned in concern. “You look angry. Did you find Bo?”
“I found him, all right,” Ricky said. “Pack up. There won't be a show tonight.”
“But we paid a deposit,” Kalila pointed out. “And we’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You haven’t,” Ricky said as the howls and sounds of destruction grew louder. “But I think what Bo just did counts as a forfeit.”
“After what Maelstrom did at SineWave last year, you’re lucky anyone will book them.” Connor tucked the check into an envelope and dropped it in the safe. “Besides, a security deposit isn’t the same as paying to play. If they don’t do anything crazy, they’ll get it back at the end of the night. Now come on,” he stuck out his hand. “It’s nothing personal, so let’s shake on it and I’ll get you a drink.”
Ricky shook the manager’s hand and followed him out of the cramped office. The club wasn’t much of a place, just a gutted warehouse with a bit of drywall tacked up and covered with dark curtains to give the impression of rooms and substance. Connor's girlfriend Meredith was supposed to be doing bar setup, but since she wasn't around, Connor went behind the bar and poured them each a scotch.
Ricky accepted his drink and tried not to glance too often at the stage. Lazaro was setting up his drums, Nevin was letting Calvin help with his keyboards, and Vic and Kalila were taping down the electrical cords to their amps. They looked like any other band. Harmless.
Ricky took a sip of his drink.
Connor disappeared into the liquor room at the far end of the bar, then returned, frowning. “I wonder where Meredith went?” Muttering, he flipped open his cell phone.
While Ricky waited to see if he would get an answer, he looked again toward the stage. All busy and accounted for, acting like humans, except…where was Bo? Ricky scanned the stage again, hoping his eyes had deceived him. Vic and Kalila were tuning their guitars and Lazaro was adjusting a cymbal. But Bo?
“Dammit, she was just here a minute ago,” Connor said.
“Restroom?” Ricky offered.
“She would’ve answered.”
“Maybe she went out to her car for something,” Ricky said. He tossed back the rest of his drink. “Excuse me. I’m going to see if my guys need anything.”
While Connor tried again to call his missing girlfriend, Ricky climbed up on the stage. In low tones he said, “Where’s Bo? And don’t make excuses.”
Vic raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like an incubus babysitter?”
“We don’t keep tabs on each other,” Kalila reminded him. “He’ll be set up in time for the show. Don’t worry.”
“It’s not the show I’m worried about.” Grimly, Ricky went behind the stage and followed the narrow hall to the makeshift room that served as both dressing room and storage. The door was closed, but he could hear enough through the thin walls to guess what had happened to Bo. And Meredith.
He paused, hand in the air, unsure whether to knock or walk right in when Connor appeared by his shoulder. “Hey, glad I found you. I was wondering if—” A moan from the other side of the door stopped him in mid-sentence.
Ricky tried to stop him, to no avail. Connor slammed open the door, and there on the dirty sofa, naked limbs entwined, were the bass player and the manager’s girlfriend. Connor roared, Meredith scrambled for cover, and Bo, his incubus hunger satiated by his afternoon tryst, simply looked confused.
There was no need for Ricky to stick around, since an incubus could take care of himself. He backed out of the room and ran down the hall, with the sound of crashes and shouting echoing behind him. When he got to the stage, he shoved his way through a mass of cheap black curtains and stood trying to catch his breath. The band had been playing a simple melody but they stopped what they were doing and looked at him.
“Problem, human?” Vic asked.
Nevin frowned in concern. “You look angry. Did you find Bo?”
“I found him, all right,” Ricky said. “Pack up. There won't be a show tonight.”
“But we paid a deposit,” Kalila pointed out. “And we’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You haven’t,” Ricky said as the howls and sounds of destruction grew louder. “But I think what Bo just did counts as a forfeit.”
Maelstrom Extra: All Natural Ingredients
Sunday, January 11, 2009
reviews (Comments): 6
Vic shoved open the top of his travel coffin and sat up, blinking and trying to remember where he was. Ugly carpet, uglier bedspreads, and framed prints of ghastly Monet lilies on the walls. A human hotel. That meant he was still on tour.
He got up and wandered into the front room of the suite, where he found Nevin sitting on the sofa, eating something white and gelatinous from a bowl. Vic did a double-take. “Hey, fairy. You turning zombie on us or something?”
Nevin examined his bowl curiously. “This isn’t brains, it’s tofu. And it’s organic.”
“So it has something to do with brains, right? Or by ‘organic’ do you mean some other organ? It’s the wrong color for liver or kidneys.”
“Organic means it was made without pesticides, antibiotics, or other contaminants. It means it’s a clean and healthful product of nature.”
“Oh.” Vic went to the mini-fridge and opened the door.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Vic took out a plastic bag of blood. “A guy’s got to eat.”
“But you have no idea where that blood came from.”
“Sure I do. It came from the blood bank I broke into in Lowry. Don’t you remember how Ricky threw a fit?”
With the exaggerated patience of one explaining something to a child, Nevin said, “But the donor could’ve been taking anti-psychotics or have been exposed to lead or dioxin. There might be artificial preservatives in there, and there are certainly anti-coagulants.”
“I like anti-coagulants. They help it go down smooth and they have an interesting aftertaste.”
“And then there’s the plastic bag itself,” Nevin went on. “It could be leaking phthalates into your food.” He shook his head and bent back over his tofu. “You’re taking a terrible risk with your health.”
Vic tossed the bag into the fridge. “Okay, Tinkerbell. Since you’re so smart, what’s your idea for where I should find a meal?”
“I have no idea,” Nevin said. “But it should be someone who only eats clean organic foods. Like my tofu.”
“And where did you buy the tofu?”
“Compleatly Organic. It’s like a Whole Foods store.”
Vic pondered this, then grabbed his hat and leather coat. He had to entice one of the roadies with an offer to buy him a steak, but he found someone to drive him to Compleatly Organic. After staring in dismay at the bright lights and rows of fruits and vegetables, he grabbed a basket and started walking the aisles.
It took him awhile to find what he was after. The long-haired beauty browsing herbal tinctures reeked of patchouli, and the blonde at the meat counter had the unmistakable scent of AB negative. The women with children in tow were out of the question because he didn’t want witnesses, and the soulful-eyed young man foisting cheese samples on everyone seemed a little too eager to become friends.
Vic was about to give up and to hell with if his blood bags contained trace amounts of mercury, when he saw her. Dark and curvy, she was frowning at something on a high shelf. When she saw Vic round the corner, she waved him over. “Can you reach that for me?”
“What? The lemon soda?” Vic tried not to shudder.
“Yeah. I wish they wouldn’t put the glass bottles up high like that. I can’t reach, and I won’t eat or drink anything that’s been stored in plastic.”
Vic handed her the bottle and nodded wisely. “Phthalates. They’ll mess you up.”
“Yes.” She set the bottle in her cart. “It’s hard to live clean, isn’t it?”
Vic agreed and fell in beside her as she kept up an amiable chatter about how she had cleansed her body of plastics, preservatives, pesticides, and even prescription drugs. “If I get sick, I take organic herbal supplements. But I’m almost never sick. In fact, I’ve never been healthier in my life.”
“And it’s all because of organics?” he asked, moving a little closer so he could take a sniff. “You’re type A.”
“What gave me away? My groceries? You must follow the blood type diet, too.”
“Couldn’t live any other way.” He got into the checkout line with her and waited while she paid for her groceries. “So do you mind if I walk you to your car?”
She hesitated, but then shrugged. “I guess not. But where’s your groceries?”
“I found what I was looking for,” he said, forcing her to look into his eyes so he work his spell upon her. “And it’s all natural.”
He got up and wandered into the front room of the suite, where he found Nevin sitting on the sofa, eating something white and gelatinous from a bowl. Vic did a double-take. “Hey, fairy. You turning zombie on us or something?”
Nevin examined his bowl curiously. “This isn’t brains, it’s tofu. And it’s organic.”
“So it has something to do with brains, right? Or by ‘organic’ do you mean some other organ? It’s the wrong color for liver or kidneys.”
“Organic means it was made without pesticides, antibiotics, or other contaminants. It means it’s a clean and healthful product of nature.”
“Oh.” Vic went to the mini-fridge and opened the door.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Vic took out a plastic bag of blood. “A guy’s got to eat.”
“But you have no idea where that blood came from.”
“Sure I do. It came from the blood bank I broke into in Lowry. Don’t you remember how Ricky threw a fit?”
With the exaggerated patience of one explaining something to a child, Nevin said, “But the donor could’ve been taking anti-psychotics or have been exposed to lead or dioxin. There might be artificial preservatives in there, and there are certainly anti-coagulants.”
“I like anti-coagulants. They help it go down smooth and they have an interesting aftertaste.”
“And then there’s the plastic bag itself,” Nevin went on. “It could be leaking phthalates into your food.” He shook his head and bent back over his tofu. “You’re taking a terrible risk with your health.”
Vic tossed the bag into the fridge. “Okay, Tinkerbell. Since you’re so smart, what’s your idea for where I should find a meal?”
“I have no idea,” Nevin said. “But it should be someone who only eats clean organic foods. Like my tofu.”
“And where did you buy the tofu?”
“Compleatly Organic. It’s like a Whole Foods store.”
Vic pondered this, then grabbed his hat and leather coat. He had to entice one of the roadies with an offer to buy him a steak, but he found someone to drive him to Compleatly Organic. After staring in dismay at the bright lights and rows of fruits and vegetables, he grabbed a basket and started walking the aisles.
It took him awhile to find what he was after. The long-haired beauty browsing herbal tinctures reeked of patchouli, and the blonde at the meat counter had the unmistakable scent of AB negative. The women with children in tow were out of the question because he didn’t want witnesses, and the soulful-eyed young man foisting cheese samples on everyone seemed a little too eager to become friends.
Vic was about to give up and to hell with if his blood bags contained trace amounts of mercury, when he saw her. Dark and curvy, she was frowning at something on a high shelf. When she saw Vic round the corner, she waved him over. “Can you reach that for me?”
“What? The lemon soda?” Vic tried not to shudder.
“Yeah. I wish they wouldn’t put the glass bottles up high like that. I can’t reach, and I won’t eat or drink anything that’s been stored in plastic.”
Vic handed her the bottle and nodded wisely. “Phthalates. They’ll mess you up.”
“Yes.” She set the bottle in her cart. “It’s hard to live clean, isn’t it?”
Vic agreed and fell in beside her as she kept up an amiable chatter about how she had cleansed her body of plastics, preservatives, pesticides, and even prescription drugs. “If I get sick, I take organic herbal supplements. But I’m almost never sick. In fact, I’ve never been healthier in my life.”
“And it’s all because of organics?” he asked, moving a little closer so he could take a sniff. “You’re type A.”
“What gave me away? My groceries? You must follow the blood type diet, too.”
“Couldn’t live any other way.” He got into the checkout line with her and waited while she paid for her groceries. “So do you mind if I walk you to your car?”
She hesitated, but then shrugged. “I guess not. But where’s your groceries?”
“I found what I was looking for,” he said, forcing her to look into his eyes so he work his spell upon her. “And it’s all natural.”
