Rock 'n' Roll is Undead

By Rose Pressey

Veronica Mason—lead singer of the rockabilly band The Voodoo Zombies—discovers her vampire bass player staked through the heart. A vision of the murder flashes in Veronica’s mind and she wonders if she’s going bonkers. Up until now her supernatural skills consisted of a few botched love spells.

Using her sexy voice and pin-up style has paid off, she’s about to land a record deal. But suspicion soon turns to her when another vampire turns up as nothing more than a pile of ashes a vacuum would have a hard time sucking up. Veronica has another vision, and she has to hone her paranormal powers or lose her deal—and possibly her life.

When an utterly delicious mystery man steps in as the new bass player, Veronica can’t figure out if he’s there to help or cause more problems. What she does know is she can’t resist his good looks and sex appeal. She wonders if they’d make rockin’ music together. But helping the undead could stop her from finding out and leave Veronica dead—permanently.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rose Pressey
• Release date: Jul 1, 2011

Rose Pressey

Rose Pressey is a USA Today bestselling author. She enjoys writing quirky and fun novels with a paranormal twist. The paranormal has always captured her interest. The thought of finding answers to the unexplained fascinates her. When she’s not writing about werewolves, vampires, and every other supernatural creature, she loves eating cupcakes with sprinkles, reading, spending time with family, and listening to oldies from the fifties. Rose lives in the beautiful commonwealth of Kentucky with her husband, son, and three sassy Chihuahuas.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Lookin’ good, baby, the guy yelled from across the room, exposing his bright white fangs. His black hair was slicked back in an impressive pompadour and his jeans rolled-at-the-cuff. No doubt he had used a fake ID to enter the place. He couldn’t have been over eighteen. The girl beside him scowled, smacked him in the head, then leaned against the bubbling jukebox and took a sip of blood from her martini glass. The routine of her motions let me know it wasn’t the first time he’d ogled the opposite sex in her presence.

Across the dance floor dresses swirled, Bettie Page style bangs flipped, candy apple red covered lips smiled and Sailor Jerry tattoos flashed under the bright lights. The hot spotlights overhead produced beads of sweat on my forehead. Johnny pounded out the last chords on the upright bass. Couples moved backward and forward in rhythm to the beat, then the song ended to a thunderous round of applause. This was the first time I’d performed at an all-vampire bar. Sure, I’d been to bars with vamps, but this place had a strict vampire only policy. They only allowed me in because I was the entertainment.

Vampires came out of the paranormal closet a few years back. The werewolves, not to be outdone, followed in their creepy footsteps not long after. Witches have always been out there, what with the Salem thing and all. Rumors of the supernatural had been around for years, but when they invented SPF five hundred sunscreen, the vampires were no longer confined to a coffin from sun-up to sun-down.

To ease my nerves, I thought about picturing the audience in their underwear, but figured it would only cause nightmares. Yeah, the fear of having the blood sucked out of my body wasn’t nearly as bad as the horror of being approached by a sweaty, hairy guy in Speedos.

Vampire bars weren’t unlike human bars, just sharper teeth, and blood instead of beer. All those gleaming fangs could be a wee-bit disconcerting, though. But my veins were safe—at least, I hoped. Being a witch meant they’d leave me alone. They didn’t need to know I sucked at being a witch, just as long as they knew I was one. Vampires, along with every other supernatural creature, had certain aversions to being turned into zoo animals, or insects. Okay, I couldn’t turn them into anything, but there was this rumor going around and I sure as heck wasn’t telling them differently.

As of late, an unspoken rule not to mess with other paranormals had been set in motion—after that little snafu involving a crazed werewolf at the Booby Bungalow out on Highway Twenty-Two. So I guess I felt safer. Maybe. My brother had always said to act tough around the people who have the potential to rip off your arms, and then beat you to death with them. He was full of terrible advice, but this one bit of brotherly guidance I thought may hold some merit.

Charlie Smith jumped on stage, but the extra weight around his middle made the leap appear as if in slow motion.

He grabbed the microphone. Thank y’all for coming out tonight. Ladies and gentlemen, a big round of applause for Veronica Mason and The Voodoo Zombies.

The bar owner clapped and motioned for more, encouraging the crowd. It was a full house tonight and by the smiles on faces, I thought they enjoyed the show. At least, I hoped so.

Thank you. I bowed. Johnny David’s on bass, Craig Thorp on the drums and Frank Perry on guitar. Take a bow, guys. I clapped. Thanks for having us tonight.

A rockabilly band of vampires led by a witch—we were the ultimate Halloween cliché. As I took one more bow, a bottle zinged past my head. I heard the whiz as it flew by.

Hey, watch where you’re throwing your blood, jerk, I yelled.

This was not good. Not good at all. I’m not highfalutin or anything, but I was kind of partial to my eyes. Not since Grandma Annie’s last Halloween party had a glass container come that close to taking out my eyeball. Looking out over the crowd, I realized the bottle probably wasn’t meant for me, but whoever had thrown it didn’t care if it whacked me in the head. Pandemonium had broken out across the nightclub. Glasses and bottles shattered. Chairs were hurled across the dance floor, bottles zinged through the air at warp speed and bodies tumbled on the floor.

The girl beside the jukebox smashed her martini glass over the young guy’s head. I scanned the dimly lit space, stunned by the lunacy. Men punched other men, while women pulled other women’s hair. This wasn’t the normal knock-down-drag-out, though. It was as if someone had hit the fast forward button on this bunch. I’d heard about vampires’ super speed, but this was the first time I’d seen it in person. Talk about a motley crew. I’d seen shady-looking characters before, but this crowd made leather-clad biker gangs look like a group of prep school graduates.

Before the eager young vampire or his angry girlfriend attacked me, I shoved my way through skirmishing bodies, taking a punch in the side, and slipped backstage. Last call was announced over the chaos as if this was a nightly occurrence. My tired muscles could have made that call two hours ago. My dressing room wasn’t much larger than a closet, but at least it was a refuge from the madness. I eased into the space, trying to avoid banging a knee. A small table set against the wall, with a plastic chair in front, served as my makeup area. No mirror and no light. Vampires seemed to forget the rest of us still saw our reflections. My face probably looked like a deranged clown when I went on stage.

Dirty white walls blended into the dingy color of the floor. I eased down onto the small red velvet loveseat tucked into the corner of the room. Four hours performing in heels made my feet scream like pre-teen girls at a boy band concert. As painful as if I’d walked over hot coals mixed with shards of glass. All right, maybe not quite as bad, but painful, nonetheless. The mere fact I’d escaped unscathed amazed me.

I slipped off one shoe and massaged my aching foot. Music from the radio now spilled out from the speakers throughout the club, drowning out the bar-room brawl. I grabbed the iPod from my bag and slipped the earbuds into my ears. If I didn’t learn this new song by Saturday night, I’d be screwed, and not in a good way.

A loud knock rattled the door. I was surprised I heard it through my own blaring music. Come in. I pulled out the earbuds.

Frank poked his head through the cracked door. Musical notes dotted the front of his black shirt. It matched the guitar case he held. Black and white shoes and black pants completed his outfit. He looked like a bloodsucking version of Johnny Cash.

Frank, what the hell was that out there?

His gaze moved up and down the length of my body, and came to rest at my chest. What do you mean?

The utter mayhem that broke out. The insane asylum clearly needs to reevaluate their outpatient therapy. I thought you said this place is safe. I almost lost an eye, at the very least, a tooth.

It is safe. You weren’t hurt, were you? What you saw is mild. You should see a Saturday night.

Um, no thanks, I’ll pass. Did they even call the police?

Hell no. They’ve already stopped. I’m telling you, they do this all the time.

He stared for a second, this time focusing on my face. Why don’t you get out of here? We’ve got everything under control. His dark hair was wet from perspiration.

You know I don’t like leaving you guys to pack up the equipment. I just need a minute to rest my feet, maybe find a helmet to protect my head from whizzing bottles, and I’ll be good. I slipped off the other shoe. What a night.

What’s the matter? Broke your broom?

You know, those witch jokes weren’t funny the first hundred times. I didn’t sleep well.

Bad dreams again? He frowned.

I shrugged, then leaned back against the cushion. A little. I should’ve never told him about my dreams in the first place.

Chapter 2

You need rest. It’s Thursday night, you know?

Considering you’ve been reminding me for a week, yes, I know what night it is. My own personal undead talking calendar.

Frank stepped into the tiny space. So that gives us less than forty-eight hours. You don’t get a record producer coming to your show every night, you know.

So I’ve heard. I set my high heels on the floor.

Go home and relax. Frank pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead.

You still use those? My grandfather used those. You really are a greaser.

I’m not ashamed. Used them back in the Fifties. I was really there, remember? That’s when I was turned….

That’s when you were turned, I said in unison with him.

He frowned.

You remind me of that little tidbit all the time. I let out a deep breath. Maybe you’re right. Frank’s brow rose. About the rest, I explained. I’m taking a long hot bath when I get home. I rubbed my shoulder. Frank’s lips curled into a grin. If you say one obscene thing, Frank, I swear….

He held up his hand. I didn’t say a word.

Yeah, but he was thinking it.

A little magic later might help my aching muscles, too. Little being the key word. Performing big spells wasn’t in the cards for me. Spells I cast, with the best intentions, resulted in things like accidental fires and other such chaos—but more about that later. What about you? You all right? I stared up at him.

Yeah, yeah. He waved off the question. Don’t I look okay to you? He grinned.

That was a loaded question I wouldn’t answer. Not touching that. I’m not going anywhere near that statement. But you do seem winded. Been chasing too many women?

I can never chase too many. No, no, I’m fine. Feeling good. As good as you look.

No comment. All women looked good to Frank. It wasn’t exactly a compliment.

I stared for a second, then began rubbing my foot again. Okay, if you’re sure you’re okay. I’ll take your word for it.

Frank dropped the guitar case, then looked at me. You need any help with the massage? He gave a cocky grin, exposing his fangs.

You’ve truly perfected the art of jackassery, you know? You never stop. No, I do not need help.

Frank wasn’t my type. Number one, he was married—big number one. In my book, that was kind of a big deal. Call me crazy, but I respected the marriage vows. Number two—if he hadn’t been married—music was the only thing we had in common.

Number three, he smelled like scorched popcorn and cheap cologne. I know, I know. It didn’t make sense, but honestly, that’s what he smelled like. Number four, he spent far too much time at the Booby Bungalow. How do you think I got so many juicy details about the nutty werewolf thing? Number five, I don’t date band members. Anymore. Not to mention I wasn’t sure dating a vampire was such a good idea. What if I married and started a family with a vampire? Vamps were capable of reproduction. Children of vampires grew until the age of twenty-five, then stopped aging—forever young. So, my question: would our children be vampires or witches? No. Too many unanswered questions. This was the reason why I didn’t date. My list of reasons ruling people out grew by the minute. Grandma Annie said I had issues, but she was one to talk. She and my grandfather divorced six times. They were currently off again, but I expected a wedding invitation any day.

I smiled but Frank’s eyes saddened with my words.

Is that a new flower in your hair? He never was good at hiding the desire in his eyes. And he never stopped hitting on women. No matter how many times he was told ‘no thanks, I’d rather have a bikini wax with duct tape,’ he still tried.

I touched the red rose clipped to the side of my hair and met his gaze.

I like the red against your black hair. Plus the color looks good with that black and white dress thing you’re wearing. Is it new, too? He pointed.

Frank, you know good and well I wear this rose a lot. And I wore this same dress last week. I gestured toward my outfit.

Like I said, he never stopped trying. In fact, he kind of creeped me out with the constant advances. Periodically, I tried to tell him delicately his come-ons made him a borderline creepy-perv, but how do you tell someone you think they’re weird? You don’t. Just like I don’t tell my cousin Dwight he’s creepy. He ran for county coroner last year, but he doesn’t even know what a coroner does. The sad part: he won. Anyway, Frank was a great guitarist and finding someone to replace him wouldn’t be an easy task, so I tolerated him.

I slid into my shoes and stood. Frank, you’re the best, but you need to stop.

I’ll walk you to your car. Did he not hear what I said? Only the good things? Selective hearing. My mama said all men had it.

No, no, it’s not necessary. I waved him off as I walked past.

I saw your little fan ogling over your lungs, he said as I reached the doorway.

I think his girlfriend would have something to say about that. I opened the door.

Probably so, but I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t waiting around for you.

I stepped into the hall. So now you’re protecting me? Where were you when the blood bottles were flying by my head?

He shrugged. I was a little busy with a vamp who is five hundred years older than me. He packs quite a punch. Frank rubbed his jaw. Bye, Doll. I’ll call you tomorrow.

No doubt Frank’s eyes watched my backside as I turned and waved over my shoulder. He was probably all talk in the bedroom anyway. The need to discuss sex so often usually meant men were overcompensating for lack of bedroom prowess and a teenie weenie, in my opinion.

With my bag slung over my shoulder, I headed out the door toward my fully restored ‘57 turquoise and white Bel Air—my baby. I’d parked in the employee lot behind the bar. The backdoor opened out directly into the parking lot. Maneuvering in four-inch pumps and a pencil skirt proved difficult as I eased down the steps. The darkness didn’t help, either. So far, I’d only fallen on my butt once in my killer heels and managed to escape with only a couple scratches. Odds were I was due for another tumble soon. I’d suffer a ton for a pair of crazy wicked leopard print high heels.

A few stars twinkled about a mostly cloudy night sky and the moon was only a sliver, not providing ample light. Only a few employee cars dotted the lot. My heels clicked against the wet pavement. The forecast had called for storms, and apparently, one had passed through. Rain puddles dotted the pavement and flashes of light flickered in the distance, but the clouds were beginning to break up.

I’d stepped into a clichéd scene from your typical scary movie: girl goes into dark alley and killer chases her with sharp object. I needed to stop having such horrific thoughts. Just because I’d recently had dreams with this scenario didn’t mean my dreams would come true. This wasn’t a movie and a killer didn’t linger in the distance waiting for me.

I spotted my car and hurried my steps, glancing over my shoulder. Funny how your eyes can make human shapes out of everything from trash cans to shrubs. I said a silent prayer that I’d let the top up on the old Bel-Air. During the summer months, I usually left it down. A habit I needed to break, but I loved being able to hop in and drive around with the wind blowing through my hair. I kept one of those cool vintage scarves in the glove compartment to tie my hair back. But tonight I liked the idea of being safe within the Bel-Air’s surroundings. Kind of like being wrapped in a cozy sweater made of metal, or ensconced within a big tank.

A few trees sat beyond the parking lot, and behind those, more buildings. I wondered if the people living in the apartments above the businesses could hear the music from the club. They were probably used to downtown living. Next door to the bar was a tattoo shop and on the other side a voodoo paraphernalia store. Beale Street in Memphis was an eclectic mix. I loved it because of that—the music and the laid-back attitude was where I fit in.

As I approached my car, I spotted Johnny’s old white van. It was the kind of van that looked as if it belonged to a serial killer—no windows and plenty of room for several bodies stacked in the back. Perfect to pull up next to an unsuspecting victim with. He said it added to his ‘vampire mystique.’ Like he needed any help in that department. I think he liked freaking people out. He strolled around town dressed in all black, and in the winter months, he wore a freakin’ cape. A cape. Johnny loved seeing the expression his getup produced on humans’ faces as he approached.

The van’s back door was open, but I didn’t see Johnny.

I stepped toward the serial killer mobile. Hey, Johnny, awesome job tonight.

He had kicked butt on the bass and I needed to thank him for doing such a great job.

Johnny? You there? I called again.

As I rounded the corner, I saw it. Johnny’s charred body lying on the pavement—or what was left of him.

Chapter 3

I knew it was him. A vision flashed through my head the second I saw him. As if in slow motion, in my mind, a dark figure stepped from around the front of the van, raced toward Johnny, then shoved a stake through Johnny’s heart before he even had time to register what was happening. Having the event play out like a movie in my mind wasn’t the only disturbing thing, though. With the vision came emotion and overwhelming thoughts, not only Johnny’s thoughts, but the killer’s, as well.

The swell of feelings came in waves across the pavement, slid up my feet and spread through my body. Heat pulsated inside me with every heartbeat. The night air seemed hotter. I swiped my forehead with the back of my palm, then rubbed my flushed cheeks. Rolls of pain churned through my abdomen like a tugboat in a storm at high sea. My legs trembled and I stumbled a couple steps forward. A flashing light blinked with each throb that pounded in my head. Every one of my limbs tingled as thoughts flashed in my mind, only they weren’t mine, and I had no control to make them stop. I wanted to push them away, force them out of my body, but without knowing why this was happening, I was helpless.

Johnny’s thoughts, that he’d been excited to bang a hot chick after the gig. A blonde he’d seen before—not his wife. Next, his thoughts popped to our show this coming Saturday night and he felt if it worked out, it would mean a butt-load more money for him. I wasn’t sure that was the case, but he’d never find out now. Without warning, the thoughts were back to the blonde. Typical man.

As quickly as they came, Johnny’s thoughts floated out of my mind, replaced with images more appalling than any horror movie I’d ever seen. Rage filled the killer’s mind. My stomach turned worse than I’d ever experienced before. Small blips of playing bass filtered through the murderer’s thoughts, but behind those, underneath everything, darkness and ugliness remained. Images of fire, blood, and fangs.

What the hell was wrong with me? Nothing like this had ever happened to me. Was I hallucinating? What I saw and felt wasn’t normal and I wanted it to go away. My body trembled, making it difficult to remain upright.

Johnny, I screamed.

A pile of ashes was all that was left of Johnny. He was gone. Really gone. No longer undead. Without warning, the images of the horrific event returned, causing the pulsating heat to return and run through my limbs again. When I neared Johnny’s body, the pain moved upward and ran through me. The dark figure appeared in my mind again. The vision was on a freakin’ loop in my head.

My mind raced and I couldn’t believe the scene in front of me. The only thing not in my vision was the killer’s face. Why was this happening to me? My heart thumped louder than Johnny’s bass at the rowdiest of honky-tonks. Adrenaline coursed through me. I clutched the van door, steadying my shaky legs. Thank goodness the van was there, because otherwise my face would’ve gotten an up close and personal view of the blacktop. Running or screaming again seemed like my only options. I opted for screaming. My screech echoed through the alley as I knelt down beside the remains, avoiding the ashes as much as possible.

Oh my God. This is unbelievable. This is definitely not good. Who did this to you? Why? I asked, as if he’d answer. He was nothing more than ashes, some bones, and not much else. Some parts more intact than others.

Frank burst out the door. Veronica, are you all right? What’s wrong? He ran toward me, stopping in his tracks before he reached the van. What the fuck? His eyes widened and his face blanched.

Call the police. My words came out in short gasps. I struggled for air, but managed to choke out the words. It’s Johnny. He’s been staked. The words turned on me like a boomerang, sounding so final. Dead. Expired. No more. Kaput. Sayonara. Buh-bye.

Are you sure it’s Johnny? Frank leaned down to Johnny.

Well, yeah, the crumpled up remnants of his body is one indication. I pointed as he neared what was left of Johnny. The lack of movement, ashes, charbroiled body parts, etc. are others.

I mean, how do you know it’s him? he asked.

Hmm. How did I know? He posed a good question. Now which lie should I tell?

The pants. See the bottoms. And his shoes. I’d always been a fast thinker. Thank goodness for little talents; sometimes they weren’t entirely useless.

Why are you breathing so hard? I asked.

I have allergies. Frank paced around the perimeter of Johnny’s remains, looking down at what was left of our bass player.

What? I didn’t think—

Yeah, yeah. You didn’t think vampires could get allergies. I’m standing next to the trees, aren’t I? Look at the pollen. We may be dead, but we still breathe that shit. Frank pulled his cell phone from his front pocket.

Yeah, okay sure. I’d never get the hang of the vampire life. Just the same as they didn’t understand the witches. They were technically dead, but still had all living functions. Immortality as well. Sounded good until the cons were listed—drinking blood and the whole ‘mob with torches and pitchforks’ thing. When would people stop carrying crucifixes and wearing garlic around their necks, anyway? I guess drinking blood was the least of vamp problems.

The bar owner lunged out the back door, barreling toward us like a bull and I was the one holding the red torero cape. What the hell is going on? Charlie asked.

Frank was on the phone with nine-one-one, leaving me to answer his question.

Johnny, our bass player has been staked. Or at least, I’m guessing. Again, I held back the truth. No one needed to know how I knew the means of death. How would I explain the missing stake? Plus, I was the one who’d found him. I didn’t even understand how I knew. But maybe he was burned? I added so they wouldn’t be suspicious. I looked at Frank and he arched a brow. I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s horrible.

I’ve seen it before, Charlie said.

Chapter 4

To ask or not to ask. Curiosity would nag at me worse than my mother badgered me for info about my dating life if I didn’t ask, but did I really want to know? Then again, how much worse than looking at the corpse in front of me could his answer be?

Screw it. You’ve seen it before? Where did you see a dead vampire? A dead vampire? If vampires were already dead, what were they called when they had been permanently dead? Re-dead? Dead-again? Dead part two?

Yeah, over at Ruby’s Blues Club. Same thing happened there just last month, Charlie said.

Why hadn’t I heard about this? Had I been so busy with my music I didn’t know a vampire had been murdered? Do they know who did it? I asked.

He shook his head. As far as I know it’s still unsolved.

Do you know who the vampire was? I crossed my arms in front of my chest. In spite of the warm weather, a chill ran down my spine.

"Nah. Some vampire dude, I’m not