The Fangover (The Fangover 1)

Saxon lifted his hair from his forehead again, jabbing his thumb toward the ugly, red burn. “I was a little distracted.”

“Let’s wake him up. Maybe he knows something,” Wyatt suggested, shouldering his way into the bathroom. He flipped on the light, but the priest didn’t rouse.

“He seems drunk or something. Maybe we should let him sleep it off,” Cort said, his first instinct being that he didn’t want to know what this priest might have to say. But then he realized he—and Katie—needed to know the truth.

He glanced at Katie, who worried her bottom lip, clearly as nervous about what the priest might say as he was.

“Don’t do that,” Cort said softly. “You could nick yourself with your new fangs.”

She stared at him for a moment, but stopped.

“Try to wake him,” Drake said, gesturing to Wyatt.

Wyatt stepped forward, only to stop again. “He has Stella’s purse.”

“What?” Drake said.

“He has Stella’s purse. Why would he have that?” But Wyatt didn’t wait for an answer. He reached down and tugged it out from underneath the priest’s limp arm. The man’s hand flopped to the bottom of the tub with a thud.

“This isn’t good,” Wyatt said, staring at the tatty old messenger bag like it was one of Stella’s limbs rather than just an accessory.

“I have to go look for her,” he said, again shouldering his way past the rest of them.

“Shouldn’t you wait and see what this guy has to say?” Cort called after Wyatt, who was already striding toward the door.

“Call me if he tells you anything.” The apartment door slammed.

“He’s too tense, man. It makes me weary.” Saxon sighed.

“You make me weary,” Drake said, then pushed Saxon into the bathroom.

“Hey! Dude,” Saxon muttered.

“Wake him,” Drake said again, gesturing toward the unconscious priest.

“Why me?” Saxon said. “I’ve already got battle scars. He could throw holy water on me or something.”

“Just do it,” Cort said, getting impatient.

Saxon hesitated a moment longer, then nudged the priest’s leg with his Vans-clad foot. The priest didn’t respond.

“Wake up, Father,” Saxon said and prodded him again. Nothing.

Saxon turned back toward them and shrugged. “What do we do now?”

“Three for one. Three for one. Craaazy. Craaazy.”

Everyone gaped at the parrot, which quite honestly Cort had forgotten was still perched on his shoulder. Clearly his memory still wasn’t working quite right. Who forgot about a large red bird on their shoulder? The same guy who very possibly forgot that he bit a woman then married her. Or vice versa.

“The bird must be talking about Krazy Korner. They have three-for-one specials,” Drake said, as if they all didn’t know that very well. “Maybe we were there last night? Maybe someone there remembers something.”

“That could be,” Cort agreed, although he wasn’t sure following the ramblings of a tropical bird was their best strategy.

“Going to the chapel and we are going to get married,” the bird said in its strange singsong voice.

“The chapel,” Drake said, seeming encouraged by the bird’s comments. “You two need to go to the all-night chapel on Burgundy.”

Cort gave him a doubtful look. “Really? We are going to wander around the French Quarter because a crazy bird is saying random things? He’s probably just repeating phrases he’s heard.”

“Crazy train. Crazy train,” the bird called.

“Do you have a better idea?” Drake said.

“But what about the priest?” Cort said.

“Like you said, he’s drunk or drugged or something. And I think the bird is a good lead. We can come back and see if we can wake the holy guy after we check out these places,” Drake said.

Cort wanted to argue, when was a talking bird ever a good lead? But Katie touched his arm, her fingers pale against the sleeve of his black shirt.

“We need to try to find out something,” she said. “And a chapel seems like a good start.” She lifted her left hand and wagged her fingers. The gold band flashed in the light.

As if he needed a reminder.

Cort’s gaze moved from the ring to her pale face. A wave of protectiveness rushing over him again. She deserved answers. After all, even if they weren’t married, her whole life was changed. She didn’t have a life anymore . . . she had an eternity.

He nodded, but then turned to Drake. “You take the parrot.” He jerked his shoulder toward his bandmate. The bird ruffled its feathers, but didn’t budge.

“I’m not taking the parrot,” Drake said, eyeing it dubiously.

“You were the pirate,” Cort pointed out.

“I wasn’t a pirate. I was a convict on a penal ship, which eventually turned to piracy. But that doesn’t really make me an actual pirate, per se,” Drake said.

“Penal.” Saxon chuckled. “That’s funny.”

“Fine,” Cort said. “We’ll take the bird, but you have to take Saxon.”

Drake hesitated, glancing at the bird, then their blonde bandmate thoughtfully.

He sighed. “Come on, Saxon. Let’s go to Krazy Korner.”

“Okay,” Saxon agreed readily, oblivious to the fact he’d just barely been chosen over a bird as a search partner.

They both headed to the door.

“Well, I guess you are stuck with me and the bird,” Cort said.

Katie nodded, but didn’t say anything. She still looked as if she might get hysterical at any given moment. She didn’t seem like she needed to feed. Her color was good and her eyes didn’t have that dark, glazed look they got when vampires were hungry. This seemed to be just natural hysteria, for which he couldn’t blame her.

They followed the other two out of the apartment, but once they reached the street, Drake and Saxon went in one direction, while Cort and Katie needed to go the other way.

“Call me if you find out anything,” Cort called after his bandmates.

Drake waved in response without looking back.

Cort sighed, then fell into step beside Katie.

“Why do I have the feeling we just sent Shaggy and Scooby off to find clues?”

Katie smiled vaguely, but he could see she was lost in her own thoughts.

“Jinkies. Jinkies,” the parrot called.

Jinkies, indeed.