Vampire Weekend by Mike Chen EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: Mike Chen
- Language: English
- Formats: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Available For Free Download
- Genre: Humorous Science Fiction, Coming of Age Fiction
- Price: Free
- File Size: 2 MB
There’s one rule we vampires live by: Never reveal your true nature to a
Which made sneezing blood during band practice kind of a problem.
Nose tickles are rare for vampires, but something triggered it here, at a
really inopportune moment. My face squinched, a full-body tension to
successfully hold it in, and I continued without missing a beat. My left hand
pressed guitar strings taut against frets, my right hand strummed at a steady
rhythm, switching to single plucks as notes rang out until going back to
chords for the song’s outro.
For the moment, I abided by the cardinal rule for vampires. Because as
scattered as we were, exposure was really frowned upon, enough that rumors
of so-called “fixers” swirled—vampires that put others back in line if they
got a little too flippant with community secrets. So it probably wasn’t great
that I’d revealed the truth twice already, first to my late aunt Laura, and
second by being honest with my best friend/bandmate, Marshall.
And though that last time ended in all sorts of heartache and misery, I
vowed this time would be different. I’d get close enough to humans to play in
a band while being a good vampire citizen.
Because for a vampire like me, music was nearly as important as blood.
And I’d starved myself of it for too long. That’s why I was here, trying out
for Copper Beach—the third band I’d auditioned for in two months.
We sped through the audition set, every beat and note building dreams of
jam sessions, set lists, earsplitting drums, and crashing guitars in a shitty
empty bar. With each passing second, my whole body felt more in sync, the
vitality of band life becoming part of me once again. In movies, vampires
were desiccated husks until they drank gallons of blood; I’d starved myself of
other musicians for so long that I felt that way, and every chord strummed
restored me to full strength.
A cymbal crashed to end the set’s final song and our collective noise
faded, leaving only the muffled rumbles from adjacent rooms. The run-down
Oakland warehouse was filled with bands stuffed into similarly tiny practice
rooms, sound-insulated spaces where magic happened despite bad ventilation
and faulty electrical outlets. Glances exchanged, an unspoken vibe that
seemed to acknowledge that my guitar work fit them well.
The drummer, a scientist-looking guy named Josh, nodded at me while
adjusting a snare bolt, and I offered a smile so pleasant my fangs likely
“I think that sounded pretty—” I started before the worst possible thing
Another sneeze came. A full explosion, a clear allergic reaction to
something in the air too powerful to stifle.
Suddenly, blood sprayed all over David—David, as in my white Epiphone
guitar. I named all my guitars, and in this case, the Epiphone’s bright crunchy
tone matched the glam sound of David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust/Aladdin Sane
period to earn the name. And, in that moment, covered in blood: a light
splatter over David’s smooth body and the black pickguard.
For More Read Download This Book