#though the otherworlders showing up to haunt them both about their past around the same time frame really has me hooting and howling lol

[bigkickguy]

[thiskryptonite]

Love

I thought for a moment that maybe there was a man beneath the beast, that I could learn to love the thing that haunted my steps and eroded my mind. I thought that I could escape, that I could be free. I thought that I could outrun myself, I thought that maybe, I belonged.

Tagging: August Knight, Cassandra (NPC), Elfain (NPC)

Timeframe: September 2014 - February 2015

Word Count: 3230

Notes: August arranges to fall in league with a coven he believes might have an elusive cipher for his mother’s grimoire. Unexpectedly, August finds himself considering leaving his current life behind and pledging himself to the coven, but things don’t go according to plan.

It was late afternoon by the time August got in from the night before, the stench of his deeds stuck to him now like the matted, blood-soaked hair that stuck to Cassandra’s face as he poured dirt over her still corpse. He didn’t know how it happened. He didn’t know how they’d gone wrong. Nobody was ever supposed to get hurt, especially not her. It had been her idea to break-in, she’d been the one who told him of the collection hoarded by the local coven. Her coven.

He’d never killed anyone before, not directly anyways, not like that. But had he really had any choice?

In the back of his mind, Aunt Lisa whispered: you always had a choice, boy.  

14 hours previously.

“Don’t be such a wanker, Gus,” she had a way of saying his name in a manner that took the edge off, she was carefree, wild, resilient. Her coven had a reputation for old ways, and it was that reputation that had drawn him to her company. Selfishly at first. He’d hoped that she could lead him to knowledge regarding his mother’s grimoire, and she had, but now the young witch was beginning to get cold feet.

They had gotten as far as the vault before August’s stomach had begun to churn, these people had been strangers to him, and truthfully, they weren’t supposed to be anything but another in a series of supernatural that would further him along towards his goal. Finding a coven that would speak to him on blood magic, on the old ways had taken years, and what he’d expected was what his aunt had raised him on.

But the truth was they were kind, normal, functioning people with different views on magic and the dark arts. While corruption had sprung up among them in the past, most recently Cassandra’s mother, but the coven did not succumb to the wild inclinations that the worst of the practitioners had given the practice over the centuries.

And despite what August might have thought would happen, they welcomed him in and after spending the last six months with them there was even talk of being claimed by them.

But then Cassandra told him of the cipher that her family kept locked away with other dangerous artifacts.

“Do it Gus.” He should have told her months ago that he hated that name.

“Do it!”

There was the muffled sound of a minute explosion as red static crackled around and dust filled the chamber, August turned away from it, but Cassandra had caught bits of fragmented dirt in her eyes.

“Fucking – a little warning might have been nice. Dick.” Cassandra dropped the muffled spell she’d placed around them and pushed past as the energy dissipated. August let out a small, exasperated sigh before he followed her, trying still to shake off his hesitation. This is why he was here.

Now she was just in his way.

Except that only a few hours ago she’d whispered across his chest: I love you from between half lidded eyes that needed to just stay for a few moments longer, to delay the falling sun from bringing forth the night. He thought that he should tell her then: I’ve changed my mind, or I love you too. But he said neither, instead he whispered back: we should go soon.

The vault had walls of books with pages older than anything he’d seen, absently they reminded him of the library in his childhood home, except these grimoires did not have anything censored out by his aunt. His fingers grazed the edges of the spine of a book, its bindings seemingly made from the strong white curvature of real bone. His fingers, electrified at the contact, like a current running beneath his skin it was invigorating but before he could seize the rest of the book Cassandra grasped his hand.

“Don’t touch that one.”

Cassandra had said the same thing about some old CDs she’d forgotten to tuck away on another afternoon when he’d snuck into her room. They were sprawled across the top of the stereo as if the idea that someone might see them wasn’t the most offensive thing in the world. But he’d teased her because of the Spice World record that was sitting neatly on the stack, the disk still in the player.

Cassandra had laughed and made fun of August’s freckles before wrestling the plastic case from his hand, and then they kissed, landing on her bed and laughing in unison. Afterwards she’d asked him if he was really planning to stay, and for some reason, August had said yes, because the truth was harder for him to get out. The truth was it didn’t, and his confirmation only seemed to dishearten her.

August asked why. She should be happy he was staying, right? Even if it was a lie.

“That belonged to a witch in the 15th century, our coven betrayed her and turned her over to the humans that were persecuting us at the time.” Cassandra was bothered, but she released his hand and kept looking through the stacks, she had her own reasons for wanting to enter this place. The cipher was to be a boon that they’d both share, none of these treasures were August’s to take. She’d been sure to let him know.

August moved towards some of the artifacts that were arranged nearer the entrance, his senses fully drawn though the overwhelming presence within the chambers was more than he’d ever felt in one location. When August was sure Cassandra was fully preoccupied, he set his sights higher and climbed the stone steps to the upper landing. Silently through hushed breaths he wove a spell to shroud his actions, he was a shadow climbing the wall, he was a specter in the peripherals, should she call to him, August would appear.

“My grandmother had it last,” Cassandra said as she showed him the photo of the diadem that had been in her families’ possession since a time long before the founding of their already ancient coven. “She was supposed to pass it on to my mother, but she never did. It’s in the vault, it has to be.” August asked immediately what made this object so special, but it was said to allow someone of her bloodline to pass through to the Otherworld and confer there as a Seer would, but just as a Seer they would suffer the physical repercussions of the act. It was what had killed her grandmother, though the woman had only used it a small handful of times throughout her life, she’d refused to entrust it to Cassandra’s mom.

“Maybe it’s better off there? Sounds pretty risky.” August said, “you could end up blind, or deaf, or paralyzed if you even tried.” She hated being told what to do.

They sat then in the back of a local haunt, a backroom in a café that they had spelled to keep their secrets contained. She leaned forward, and her knee brushed against his as her eyes went alight, Cassandra had been waiting for someone like him, and August had known from the moment they met that he had found his in. “Fuck that it’s mine. My gran died before she came of age, she wanted me to have it I know that. It’s my stupid dad keeping it from me, if it were up to him I’d have married Jean already and already be on my way to giving him the grandkids he’s always wanted.” She reached forward and grabbed August’s hand as he let out a sigh, pretending that this wasn’t something he wanted any part of.

“Please, will you help me.” She’d asked before August’s thumb moved across her hand and he whispered back, “Of course.”

Then there it was, the diadem. Useless to him, but there was a fae who had an interest in seeing the diadem brought to the Otherworld where witchkind could no longer use it. It looked far grander than the picture allowed, a simple tiara to the untrained eye, it was fixed with gems of a fantastic range of colours, hues of red and gold and silver and blues that shimmered with a light that was almost irreverent.

Then it was in his hands, under his jacket and he was moving down the stairs to see what progress Cassandra had made on the cipher.

“I just feel like I never got the chance to know her, she was this whole other person, and looking back even – it was fucked up.” August was drunk because Cassandra had insisted on taking him out, she’d said it was hazing but really, she just hated being cooped up under her father’s watch. “I don’t know, my dad killed my mom, and now he’s dead too.” He winced at the memory of bones breaking against the kitchen floor, at the sound of heavy boots that landed outside his door, the man he’d later hired to break into his father’s prison cell.

“Did your mom try to imprison you within an urn and channel your life essence to fuel her magic forever?” Cassandra asked pointedly, to which August smirked, why was it easier to compare scars than simply show them? She wasn’t the first person he’d met whose past was like whiteboard waiting to be wiped out, but Cassandra was the first who August felt he could relate to. Or could understand. Or maybe even be understood. It wasn’t a romantic feeling, it was just nice to have someone he could talk to.  “Nah, guess you win.”

August felt something was off from the moment his feet landed from the last step to the base of the stairs, a presence crackled in the air that sent chills up his spine. Cassandra stood in front of the book case, a vacant expression on her face, it was not that she was being spoken through, but that she was spoke with such an ethereal tone that August thought it could not possibly have been her.

“You… are, such a delight.” Came Cassandra said as she began to close the distance between the two of them, her posture had shifted, her facial expressions, even the way her clothes clung to her body had changed in some way. August could sense her magic within her, but it was changed like her very chemistry had shifted. He took a step back and his foot hit the stairs. “What’s wrong, Gus? You seem distressed.” A yowl in the shadows and a black cat shot from the dark between them. A familiar.

“Who are you? What have you done to Cass?” August asked, standing his ground as a static crackled across his body, his eyes fixed as his pupils wavered slightly. He hadn’t recovered fully from entering this tomb and whomever was inhabiting his girlfriend’s body, felt much stronger than him.

“Foolish boy,” She whispered before she was suddenly only a breath away from him, she’d moved through the air as if it was nothing, as if she was air. “My daughter believed me gone, but I was here, and I was also in her, I should really thank you. You were kind enough to reunite us,” Cassandra patted her chest where her heart should have been, “now she can sleep. Forever.”

August felt a strike across his face before he slid across the room, he moved to stand but he was gripped by his neck telekinetically and hoisted off the ground.  “Cass,” August whispered, his hazel eyes almost pleading, but there was nobody there, just dark eyes and a smile that could pull the flesh off his face. She stood across the room with her palm outstretched, grinning as she left him there, fixed and stagnant before she used her other hand to outstretch his limbs, further and then further.

August cried out in pain as he felt the force of her own sick form of medieval torture. He struggled out a few words and the ground where she stood shifted, suddenly Cassandra suck into the floor up to her knees before it quickly solidified. August hit the floor again but scrambled to his feet and ducked behind the nearest book case, flames engulfed the tomes as she roared with laughter. She was toying with him.

His eyes were on the exit when he broke for it, but before he could get through the crumbled opening a field forced him back, again she laughed as he fell for her obvious trap. She would not allow August to leave so easily, and if he was backed into a corner then she wasn’t giving him any other option. He’d have to try and separate them, himself.

You always have a choice, foolish boy.

August had never played the part of hero before, but for Cassandra he was willing to try.

“August Knight, of the Knight Coven?” Efrain asked, his long beard encircled his mouth and though it may have once been a strong, solid colour it had faded in wisps and at its edges. Its frazzled and greyed edges made the man look older still than he was, but the deep circles beneath his eyes, the hunger that lurked behind, it all told him one thing: darkness.

“No sir, I was never claimed.” It was a tired question.

To Efrain’s right stood his eldest child, until the seventh on the end was Cassandra, August could tell immediately she had no interest in attending this – whatever it was. August had been caught trying to enter their library and while it wouldn’t have been out of the question for Efrain to take the hands of an unclaimed witch who dared to try and steal knowledge from his coven. He showed mercy in the light of what August’s aunt had always called charisma.

He was simply a misguided witch, one whose coven had shunned the darkness of their past, a past he wholly embraced. And Efrain decided then to allow the young man to stay, permitted he earn his keep, and proved himself worthy.

The older witch brought forth each of his children, and at last when he called forth Cassandra he said, “and this, my youngest, she’s to be married this spring to Jean,” he gestured towards one of his inner circle, a witch who did not appear to be more than a decade younger than Efrain himself.

“Sorry for the trouble,” August offered, a greeting that apparently caught her off guard, to everyone in the chambers it must have appeared that he’d simply apologized again for the breaking and entering. But to her, he’d seen how miserable she was to be gathered in this place, with all these people, including the man that, in less than a year, she’d be made to marry.

August managed around the room enough times to trace the outline for a binding, though he was now having a hard time keeping the elder witch within Cassandra contained. She was stronger than he, and her familiar was lurking around the bookshelves somewhere, he was little more than an unclaimed witch with power he had stolen from elsewhere, and he was fading.

She stood within a runed circle as chains bound either arm and forced them apart, the chains connected through the now broken floor of the vault, static crackled along the chain and across the woman’s skin, weaving its way through her. He was trying to force the woman within back so Cassandra could come forward, but it wasn’t enough and with a fwoosh as the air was sucked towards the center of the room where Cassandra was bound, the circle vanished and the power he’d put forth vanished, all that remained was a few residual cracks that still clung to the air.

August fell shortly afterwards, his back near resting on his feet as he tried to keep it straight, deep breaths shook him as a thick film of sweat matted his hair and made his clothes cling to him. She closed the distance between them calmly, shushing him as she did, the struggle was over Cassandra told him,

You don’t need to fight anymore. Your mother wanted this life for you, too. I know how hard it must have been for you – growing up the way you did. Half human, half witch. It’s no wonder Lisa hated you when you look just like your father.

“Fuck you!” It was cliché, but it was all he could muster. August kept his eyes trained on the woman. She wanted to see him beg, to break, she wanted to know that she could get to him, here and now, looking like the ghost of Cassandra. But she did not know him, and frankly, he’d been through worse.

He threw the nearest thing he could find and missed the woman by a mile, she smirked before a residual smash as the book collided with a brittle porcelain urn. There was a boom that sounded something like a gunshot that immediately followed, August smiled, expecting to see Cassandra’s face looking back at him, but there was just the vacant ghost of the smirk her mother had left behind before forcefully fleeing her daughter’s cerebellum.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

August had never met this fae before, but word of mouth had brought them together. The fae’s deal had been simple, they would ensure that August made it in front of the court, that August would get the opportunity to join the coven, and August would need to retrieve one simple artifact. A diadem of fae origin, that was all that the witch would be told.

He’d fled the vault with the corpse, August didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t been able to leave it behind, though dawn was fast approaching and Cassandra’s absence from her chambers would be noticed. August told himself that she deserved better than being abandoned in the dark, among the things that had claimed her. The truth was too hard for him to say, but the evidence was in the shallow grave at the bottom of a hill: he’d killed her.

“And what of the diadem?”

The fae asked, having observed the shallow burial from a distance.

“Here. Take it.”

August passed it off, feeling wholly spiteful over the entire exchange. The fae only seemed amused, but elated when their fingers closed around the diadem, naturally, August had to ask what they intended to do with it.

The fae laughed and refused to tell the insolent child anything, August had done his part, and the fae had done theirs. Enraged, August demanded to know, that everything he’d gone through to obtain it, he’d still been left short of what he’d really been after. Mournfully, the fae told him.

“It was mine first to give, and so it was mine by rights to take back.”

For the first time in seven days, August checked his phone. He’d spent the last week in some pit in Vegas, he was in the dark, and then there was light again. There was a witch, one from Cassandra’s coven that had escaped with the cipher from the vault previously, if he could find him, then August could at last unlock the secrets of his mother’s grimoire. Absently, the words of Kassandra echoed in his mind: Your mother wanted this life for you, too

[nowitsdarkfic]

epilogue

January 15, 1989. Oswego, New York.

Four days. It's been four days since I shut off the power and everything is far from normal. Apparently, shutting off the power means everything is at a standstill now and everything and everyone across the country is having to scramble about to bring the whole infrastructure back together.

Lars had insisted on mastering my demo tape for me back in Rochester, so he's been over there the past three days, since we came back to upstate New York. I guess I'm gonna have to find something else to do besides that. Maybe I'll do a cover band. It'll put my drumming skills to good use. That'll keep me occupied for a bit, at least until we head on back to Portland for Sonia's stage production and maybe a bite or two of muffin at Smell the Magic.

It's a crisp chilly day here on the shores of Lake Ontario: I think it might snow again at some point. I'm about take a walk up to the House of Grey to see if Barney and Billy are home at the moment when I recognize Spence's car parked at the curb, and Spence himself leaning against the side panel.

“Hey!” I call out to him.

“There he is!” he replies as I come within earshot. “Look who I brought—” He steps aside to show the woman in the front seat. I recognize the frightened look on her face.

“Hey, it's Candace!” I declare to her. He then reaches over to open the back door on the driver's side. I recognize wavy black hair spilling out of the back seat. She blinks several times at me.

“Joey?” she breathes out. I gasp at the sight of her and the look as though she's about to fall right out of the back seat.

“Maya!” I lunge for her to help her out and also to hold her. The skin on her face and neck is still pale, but at least this time she's got a little blush returning to her. The scar on her forehead is starting to fade away and become part of her skin. I can only imagine what the enhancements inside of her are going to do from here on out, but that's her problem to deal with, not mine. She blinks several times at me before her lips curl up into a little smile.

“I want to thank you,” she whispers to me.

“Of course,” I say to her in a gentle voice. “Of course, of course.”

“Thank you for saving me—and my sister.”

“And everything,” Candace adds from the front seat. “Did you know Mom knew nothing about what Mike was doing?”

“Really?” I gape at her.

“Really. She knew absolutely nothing about Maxwell Industries, about any of it. I brought it up to her a couple of weeks ago after I left your place and she said it was all news to her.”

“Crazy, right?” Spence adds.

“Yeah! Wow! By the way, where'd you find her?”

“Candace found her,” Spence explains. “I just so happened to be over in the City looking for you 'cause Morgan and Cindy told me you were there, and I recognized Maya. They were walking together in the heart of Manhattan. I offered to take them home to Candace's apartment.”

“Oh, God, Spence, you're a life saver.” I'm gentle to lean Maya back into the seat and then I stand up to shake his hand and give him a hug.

“Anyways, we're gonna get something to eat,” he says again, “wanna join us?”

“I'd love to—” And then I remember what I had told Cindy the other day. “—but I've gotta catch up on some things first.”

“Okay! That's alright. And by the way, Brick and Anthrax are doing a lot better. The doctors say he should be released on Friday, and we can play a round of hockey as the Circle Jerks come next Sunday.”

“Alright, sweet!” Well, I just had a two ton weight lifted off of my shoulders. “But what about them?”

“Don't know yet. But keep an ear out. And we'll catch you later, though.” He climbs back into the front seat next to Candace and buckles himself in. He starts up the car.

“Thank you again, Joey!” Candace calls from the passenger side.

But as they're pulling away from the curb, I notice Maya moving over to the other side of the seat. As they're rolling along the garage, and there's a young couple walking along the other side of the pavement, I catch the sight of a pair of shoes flying out of the passenger side window of the car. Maya threw a pair of shoes out the window.

“DUCK!” I yell out to the couple, and they lunge down to the ground. I hope Spence or Candace say something to her about that because there's nothing I can do about it. I shake my head and I'm about to walk down to the street when I recognize a fine mist floating over the sidewalk. I turn around right as the shape of his body is coming intact. I recognize that heavy pilot coat and that cap atop his head.

“Hey, Mr. Lang,” I greet him.

“Hello, son,” he replies to me as he's drifting in and out of the mist.

“What's happening?” is all I can think of.

“The ghosts are returning to their rightful place. Mrs. Snow, Vera, Nerissa, and I will be heading for the otherworld very soon.”

“You're leaving me?” I won't wake up to Nerissa's lush body anymore, fuck! Vera won't scare the shit out of anymore, either. Neither will Mrs. Snow.

“You closed the portal.”

“I—did?” I raise an eyebrow at him.

“The industry was about to build on the reservation, but also on the graveyard where the four of us are buried.”

“The mausoleums,” I mutter to myself. “That's—where your corpses are buried?”

“It was all to cover up the reason for it all being there in the first. When I was alive, I knew your grandfather as well as the Grey, the Maxwell, and the Morlente families. After the war, we all went into business together in this new idea that Michael had invented. We all had hope for it, but he wanted to desecrate what's precious to your family. To the indigenous side of the family.”

“So—that's why you haunted my apartment? To try and tell me what was going on?”

“Yes. But we never could because we faded in and out with the radio waves.”

“So that's why you never told me.”

“Exactly. And to seek revenge, Michael and Victor, his reverend, threatened to kill us all if we refused to comply.”

“So you—went with it and made the huge fucking mess that I had dismantle and almost get my scrawny ass vaporized because of it.”

“Precisely. But they ended up taking the Maxwell name and expelled Grey, Maxwell, and your grandfather.”

I gape at him.

“Maxwell Industries!” I say to him in a hushed voice.

“Exactly. And to keep us quiet, he had me murdered as a warning. I knew Mrs. Snow and Nerissa, too. They were both members of the congregation and when word got out that I had been murdered, they took their own lives because those two men were on a rampage.”

“…probably to… get out of it.”

Mr. Lang lingers close to me and I shiver from the lacy tendrils that are unraveling from his ghostly body. That explains the pieces of lace I kept seeing.

“Victor often had his way with Nerissa, too.”

My mouth drops open and I grimace at that.

“Oh—my—fucking—god,” I sputter. And he nods his head.

“Just wanted you to know before I leave.”

“Well… thank you, Mr. Lang. See you on the other side.”

And without another word, he drifts away into the morning sunlight and vanishes. He's gone. I'm never going to see Mr. Lang again until I go myself.

I fetch up a sigh and make my way to the sidewalk. But I go to the House of Grey, I've got to take care of something first. I walk on down to the bus stop and catch the next one over to Black Orchid.

I walk on up to the front step again and knock on the door panel. Cindy answers the door.

“There he is!” she declares and the other girls cheer out behind her.

“Aside from the obvious, how are my girls doing?” I greet them as I walk inside of the warm joint.

“A lot better, baby boy,” Gwendolyn replies as she puts her arms around my waist. She and Morgan plant kisses on either side of my face and then Mrs. Hamilton puts her arms around me.

“Don't tell my parents,” I tell all of them.

“We won't, baby,” Mrs. Hamilton vows, brushing some of my hair out of my face. “That's the whole beauty of Black Orchid is what happens here stays here. We're the hub in the nub of New York.”

“So you wanna have a little fun this morning?” Lizzy offers, stroking my arm.

“I actually came to see Cindy,” I tell her, and Cindy herself steps forward with her arms behind her back so to emphasize her chest. They all stand back from her.

“Joey, I wanted to tell you that—I know Maya,” she says.

“Know her?” I repeat that, feeling my heart skip a few beats. “Like—know her know her?”

“Yeah. She and I went to the same congregation together over in Syracuse. I've just been… wanting to tell but I never could. I knew it was her when you brought her over on that first night.”

“Cindy actually tried to stop her,” Mrs. Hamilton points out. “Because I guess she and Maya were rather close for a while.”

“Yeah, like she turned into this weird dragon thing,” Lizzy joins in, folding her arms over her chest. “And Cindy was like 'stop it! Stop it!' and that was when the rampage began.”

“I didn't get her but I was able to throw her out of here,” Cindy continues with a break in her voice.

“Hey,” I console her, putting my arms around her. “Hey—Hey—it's okay. It's okay. You did good. And—” I hold her back to look at her in the face and the tears in her eyes. “—don't worry about Maya. She's in good hands.”

She sniffles and shows me a smile: a tear streaks down her cheek.

“You're so sweet.” She lifts herself closer to me for a little kiss on my lips. It's a gentle kiss, and it's a little damp from her crying, but it is a kiss from Cindy no less. And then she hovers before me for a second, and then she open hand slaps me across the face.

I clasp a hand to my cheek, disoriented.

“What was that for?”

“You're a scoundrel. You're sweet, but you are a bona fide scoundrel. Coming here without your parents knowing. But that’s also why I don’t go to church anymore. I feel better stripping and dancing and pleasuring scoundrels such as yourself.”

“Bad boy,” Lizzy scolds me, and they all giggle at that. But I give her a shrug.

“Fair enough. But don't get too comfortable, though—there's something else I gotta take care of.”

“We'll see you later, handsome,” Morgan tells me, blowing me a kiss. I flash her a wink and I head on out of there and back to the bus stop.

I catch the next one back to my neighborhood. I walk on up the sidewalk, past my complex. And I reach the House of Grey in no time and notice the light on in the front windows. The door swings open before I reach the front step.

“Hey, Barney,” I greet them in a flat tone. “Billy.”

“Yo,” Barney replies.

“Yeah?” Billy follows up from behind him.

“Did you hear about Brick?” Barney asks me as I step inside.

“I did.”

“Great news, is it not?”

“It is.” I turn around to face them. I never take my hands out of the pockets. Billy eyes with me a baffled look on his face.

“Is—everything alright?”

“Yeah, I had an interesting talk with Mr. Lang just now. Not just about himself—I'll get to that in a minute. He told me some things about your parents—Spence's aunt and uncle no less—Brick's dad, and Grandpa—my grandpa—about they all went into business together with all the cyber shit with old man Morlente and his cronies.”

Billy's mouth drops open. Barney raises his eyebrows at me.

“Really?” the former stammers.

“Yeah. Apparently, the ghosts have been tryin' to tell me this whole time but they couldn't because the damn technology was faulty no matter what happened. They were going to base the whole shebang on the Iroquois reservation over in Syracuse and old man Morlente was going to have them killed if they refused.”

They gape at each other.

“Why the—four of them, though?” Barney asks in a small voice.

“Their graves are over there.”

“So they were trying to take you out, not because you were the guy who found Maya—” Billy follows along.

“—but because I'm a damn Injun whose land is being desecrated. They were trying to take me out from paranoia on their part. To keep me quiet, because I found blueprints to build a headquarters when I was over there with Lars the other day. Tryin' to keep me quiet, even though there's still a ton I don't know about all of this.” I sigh again and bow my head. And then the phone rings.

“Jesus, dude,” Barney remarks.

“Yeah, I know.”

“God, to think, if they refused, neither of us would be here right now.”

I lift my head to look on at him. He's right. I wouldn't be alive right now if not for Grandpa's compliance to dirty money. Fuck.

“Joey?” Billy calls from the kitchen.

“Yeah?”

He pokes his head out.

“Phone's for you.”

I knit my eyebrows together at that.

“Who's calling?”

“Lars.”

I make my way into the kitchen and pick up the phone laying on the counter.

“Hello?”

“Hey!”

“Hey, man, what's up?”

“A couple of things. I got off the phone with Chris, apparently Soundgarden are so inspired after everything that they’re going to make a new album sometime this year.”

“Ah, sweet! What’s the other thing?”

“The other thing... I was just talking to Jonny Z—Anthrax's manager—he came over here to Music America to see if you were here because...”

“Because?”

“...because he wanted to tell you that Anthrax wants you to sing for them again.”

I almost drop the phone.

“Seriously?” I can hardly contain it.

“Seriously.”

“So I'm back in the saddle?” I ask him.

“You sure are! You saved their lives, man. And I guess John got tired of their bullshit, too.”

“Oh, my fuck, man, that's incredible! Best news I've heard all day. I'm gonna call my parents—”

“Please do. It's a new era, Joey. A new era to celebrate.”

[uterusclub]

As any Native Chicagoean can attest, the winter never fails to destroy our souls – at least temporarily so. But as that weary tail-end concludes, one gradually regains hope, energy, and enthusiasm. These are the trappings of no more woe. 

Our first expedition involved a visit to the Otherworld Theatre Company to see a choose-your-own adventure style production of ‘Quest for Thrones.’ We were beckoned to make several decisions for the Game of Thrones characters which mostly involved death or killing and to no surprise of mine, our crowd was an outwardly, murdery bunch. So we got along just great. The only downside to the show was the mold-induced smell of the lobby area where I quite literally gawked around the room to see if anyone else was just as disturbed as I. They did not appear as such which daunts me even more. Following the very short but delightful show, we made our way home but the night just didn’t feel complete. So we made a stop-off. Well, 2, actually. Sharon had demanded a hot dog the entire day so we stopped at my beloved Susie’s and then headed a few blocks down to my treasured karaoke joint, Sidekicks! It had been quite some time since my last sing so it was well-overdue. Upon arrival, we noted several people already singing which took me by surprise. While Sharon hit the bano, I was met by my long-time waitress friend who’s name I can’t completely remember – Christine – Christina? Christy? Something like that. I’m horrible. In any case, she offered me a mis-remembered test-tube shot (Sex on the Beach) to which I declined (my favorite is the Buttery Nipple) and ordered us a few drinks. I immediately trolled through the song book to figure out my agenda which, let’s be honest, is usually the same couple songs. Due to low attendance, I was announced very quickly. The night continued much the same aside from several interruptions from ‘the mutants at table 9’ who attempted to Facebook us (we DID give them Uterus Club as our contact but perhaps they considered this a joke as nothing ever came of it). We had met our end all be all of interactions with these folks when one of them dedicated a song to me. It was at this point, we slipped out, past the bouncer and I quite literally ran to my car even though Sharon had my keys and fumbled around for horror-movie record time. Surely, we would have been killed. Regardless, wonderful, hilarious night.

Onward. Sharon has been madly obsessed with a man by the name of Max Frost whom she played a few songs of a little while back. She missed a previous concert of his as my schedule wouldn’t allow it but recently discovered he was once again, back in Chicago! Naturally, she grabbed tickets and demanded (or rather, asked super nicely) we go. The last time we had been to Subterranean in Wicker Park was for Allison Weiss which was a blast! I recalled our hanging out on the upstairs area and peering down at the entire performance. Max Frost was equally rewarding in this sense. Unfortunately, getting awesome seats around the threshold of the upstairs area meant getting there early and listening to the opener – a girl we had already pre-researched and were not impressed with. Ironically, she ended up sounding way better live. Further irony kicked in when we discovered there was an ADDITIONAL opener who no one knew! THIS guy? Oh man. This was your stereotypical, dirty hipster trying-to-be-real with the ‘people’ who attempted to be deep and introspective while sitting on stage without shoes on. Absolutely horrendous! It should come as no surprise that we were a tad bit ecstatic when Max Frost FINALLY showed up on stage. Yes, we were ecstatic for approximately five songs and then all fizzled out into exhaustion. Capping the night and our very classy ride home via the most wonderful CTA, we listened to a homeless man reflect on his rejection of a plus-sized lady whom he compared to several, large animals. Always an adventure.

But wait. There’s more. ‘March madness’ couldn’t possibly be complete without a little festive shout-out to the Irish. And we went all out people. Having said that, I believe I’m some ridiculously low percentage Irish but I’ve also BEEN to Ireland so I think I get a free pass on that one. In any case, Sharon suggested we hit up the downtown dying of the river in the morning since neither of us had actually seen it live. Sure, the videos are fun but it couldn’t possibly be the same. So bright and early, we headed downtown to park and walk over to one of them many bridges to catch a peek. I had no goddamn idea shit was going to be that cray! Seriously, it was college town USA and like, early. The only good part of the situation is that everyone was very merry but not obnoxiously so (yet). The bad part of the situation is that the color saturation hadn’t exactly made itself evident enough from our viewpoint and therefore, we saw a little bit of green far off in the distance. Major fail. Our follow-up idea was to hit up Public House for their themed

cake shakes, however, we later realized it was already privatized for some wrist-band drinking event all morning and not open to the public! So we hit up the ‘poor man’s’ Public House ie. JoJo’s Milk Bar. The place was small and unimpressive to say the least. Sharon ordered us a ‘shake’ which was sad. We took a few obligatory sips before headed out. Next stop? Milwaukee! That’s right!

There’s absolutely no musical I love more than Phantom of the Opera. I legit have this shit memorized. On our way up to Milwaukee, I googled us a place to stop and eat nearby before the show. The Internet gods brought us to Ale Aslyum Riverhouse. It’s difficult to explain the complete awe of driving from a crazed downtown Chicago to a completely abandoned downtown Milwaukee. Streets were desolute! We had apparently come to the right place. Upon grabbing a quick lunch and Sharon randomly bumping into an ex-client of hers, we made our way to the Marcus Performing Arts Center. As usual, I had completely forgot what sort of seats I had purchased us but apparently I did well since we ended up in the back row on the end of the aisle. The performance was most enjoyable – although some of the singing was a bit inconsistent and I think we both spent a questionable amount of time wondering what the race of the Phantom was. We stayed long enough to hear by favorite trio part before seamlessly ducking out and venturing over to one last stop before home: Mars Cheese Castle. To say this place is anything other than completely overwhelming would be a lie. We came away with a few bags of curds and not much more due to ambivalence. Next time I’ll do some research.

St. Patrick’s Day! The OFFICIAL! Our festivities for the day mainly included eating and drinking. Oh yes, we also threw in a little Boondock Saints as well and some Pandora Irish playlist to accompany our cooking. Menu included Guinesse drumsticks, spinach puff-pastry shamrocks, mashed cauliflower and corned-beef eggrolls. Don’t forget, topping off our day-drinking of Magners Hard Cider which was doused with a few drops of green food coloring! We completed the meal with alcohol cupcakes purchased the night before at the previously mentioned Mars Cheese Castle. And that’s a wrap!

So guess what? We loved Milwaukee SO much that we decided to visit it AGAIN! But THIS time, we really meant business. First stop? Plato’s Closet. It’s tradition after all. Next stop? A little Milwaukee Burger Company. Ginormous, Deep-fried cheese curd cubes, anyone? Stomach – my apologies but worth it. Where to now? Our most beloved Lost Valley Cider Co. where we met an Irish wolf dog who was HUGE and wonderful! We also got our hands on a peanut butter and jelly cider as well as a Hibiscus cider we enjoyed so much we ordered some to go!

Catching a nice buzz now, we made our way to Swing Park where a bunch of hoodlums roamed and I tried to do fancy moves for photographic integrity. Sharon captured what appears to be a child abduction in progress which is absolutely priceless. Our journey now took us to the Villa Terrace Decorative Arts Museum which, not gonna lie, I didn’t know anything about and frankly, still don’t. But it was pretty and had a cheap Groupon and had a fantastic view! Finalizing our self-guided tour here, we finally headed to our haunted (that’s right), Bed and Breakst: Brumder Mansion.

We were met by innkeeper, Tom who was an absolute joy! Unfortunately, he didn’t give us much intel to go on as far as ghosts were concerned – only to say there were 13 and none sounded menacing (how very disappointing). He also mentioned there being some children that tend to fidget with items left out if you ask them to which Sharon left out a ridiculous amount of things. I’ll save you the suspense – nothing was moved. In any case, we hung out for a little while before heading out for our dinner reservation at the Pasta Tree. This has always been a favorite of mine, however, both service and food was mediocre at best for some reason. We followed up dinner with drinks at a nearby Irish bar by the name of Paddy’s Pub which ended up being one of my favorite parts of our trip! Decor was beautiful and sweet and the employees were homey and gracious.

The pinnacle of this trip was our finalized stop-off at the Oriental Theater to see a viewing of the Room with actor/director/writer, Tommy Wiseau present! The line for this event was literally down the street and around the corner! It took me a second to realize that Tommy was signing autographs and taking pictures BEFORE the actual showing so we jumped ship from our spots in line to meet the man himself who was kind and sweet (and apparently dug my tattoos). After re-joining our original line, we eventually made our way back into the theater and  headed up to the balcony for anti-social viewing. Oh! And I mustn’t forget the spoons. While we had been in line outside, someone was passing out handfuls of plastic spoons which we didn’t take out of confusion – only to research and later discover it was a ‘thing’ that went along with the movie. Our bad. Next time! Show was scheduled to start at 9:30pm. Show started at, I’m going to say 10:45pm after all the delay and opening shenanigans. We were tired as all hell. And made it just about 15 minutes into the movie before calling it a night. Unfortunately, leaving out of the theater, Sharon predicted Tommy might be hanging out in the lobby and of course, lo and behold, there he blew! Goddamnit! So we attempted to casually saunter out only to be met with a very saddened, ‘Where you going? Home?” It actually broke my heart. Poor Tommy. Heading back to the B&B, we both eventually passed out and roused for our adorable breakfast. Parting fairly quickly after our meal, we had a final, triumphant stop off at the Potawatomi Hotel and Casino and endeavored in a little morning Bingo. Again, I’ll save you the suspense – we didn’t win. And I’m sure I demanded vengeance per usual.

Wrapping up the wonderful month of March was our visit to the United Center to see Mumford and Sons! I had purchased tickets for Sharon for her birthday back in February. She had been talking about wanting to see them for as long as I can remember. It was only after I had purchased said tickets that she vocalized her hatred of their latest album. Fortunately, they didn’t play much of it. As a precursor to the show, we stopped

off at Viaggio for some Italian dinner. Twas splendid! We then took a buzzed walk over to the show and awed over the comfort and view of our seats! No one in front of us and at the end of the aisle! Cat Power was the opener who I am familiar with but don’t know much about. I described her as ‘more depressing than Aimee Mann’ which Sharon could barely wrap her head around. Crowd became super anxious as a result but as soon as

Mumford showed up, the energy was electric! I’ve never been the hugest fan of theirs but I will say they put on a damn, fine show! Again, left after a handful of songs but know, I would have stayed til the end. And as we left, drenched in the cold rain whoring our make-up, I knew that this and everything else had all been worth the wait.

Oh Hi, March As any Native Chicagoean can attest, the winter never fails to destroy our souls - at least temporarily so.