Kitty Goes to Washington (Kitty Norville 2)

I brought him to the mikes. Right on schedule, the producer signaled that we were about ready to get back to the show. He counted down on his fingers, four, three, two—

“Welcome back, faithful listeners. This is The Midnight Hour and I’m Kitty Norville. I have as my guests this evening the L.A. band Plague of Locusts. They’ve just released their third album, and their single, ‘Under a Dull Knife,’ is climbing the charts. Next month they embark on their first national concert tour. We’ll hear some music later on, but right now the band’s lead singer, Rudy Jones, is here to chat with us. Welcome to the show, Rudy. Thanks for joining us.”

“Are you kidding? This is so cool! We’re big fans.”

“Wow, that’s sweet. Thanks.” Here was someone who knew the way to a girl’s heart. I beamed at him. “My first question for you: the band’s name, Plague of Locusts, references an event in the Bible, in the book of Exodus. I was wondering why you chose the name, and what you might be implying with it.”

“We just thought it sounded cool,” Rudy said, totally deadpan.

I stared hopefully. “Nothing about raining destruction down on the world, or getting into wrath-of-God kind of stuff?”

He shook his head. “Well, I suppose a plague of locusts is like a swarm. We’re like a swarm, you know?” He considered thoughtfully. “We want our music to swarm in and overwhelm people.”

“Devouring them until nothing remains?”

“Yeah!”

“Now, your bass player, Tim Kane. Rumors say that he’s possessed by a demon. You want to tell me how that happened?”

“It was the weirdest thing. We were in Bucky’s mom’s garage—that’s where we got our start, you know. A real honest-to-God garage band. So there we were, practicing, only we weren’t really practicing because we were fighting. We did a lot of that at first. Bucky wanted to know why we wouldn’t play any of his songs, Len thought he should stand in front, we argued about who’s more old school, Sid Vicious or Joe Strummer. So we’re in the middle of all this, and then Tim, he goes into this, like, seizure or something. His eyes roll back into his head and everything. He was totally foaming at the mouth! Then he starts talking, and his voice. It’s different. Totally deep. Kind of echoey, you know? And he says, ‘Stop fighting.’ I mean, what are you going to do in a situation like that? We stopped fighting. Then he tells us—only it’s not Tim anymore, it’s like this demonic muse or something. He tells us that if we want to be a great band, if we really want to follow our dream, we have to do what he says.”

Fascinated, I asked, “This wasn’t a ‘sell your soul to the devil at the crossroads’ kind of thing? This demon muse is giving you all this advice for free?”

“Yeah, totally! Isn’t that cool?”

“Totally.” I agreed. “Then what happened?”

“The demon tells us his name is Morgantix, and he’s from another dimension, and he always wanted to play in a band. So he picked us, and I guess he picked Tim because he’s, you know, so quiet. I mean, Tim started out as a really good bass player. But since Morgantix came along, the whole band just kind of jelled. It’s been great. And I figure as long as Morgantix is having a good time, he’ll keep helping us.”

“Wow,” I said. “That’s almost heartwarming.”

I glanced at Tim, who was standing by himself in the performance space, bass slung over his shoulder, fingering the strings. He was terribly unassuming. I wouldn’t have looked twice at him on the street. He didn’t smell like he was possessed by a demon. Not that I had any idea what someone possessed by a demon would smell like. Of course, anyone who dressed like a ’50s preppy was possessed by something unnatural.

Then again, he was in a band.

Tim caught my gaze and quirked a sly grin at me. Not quite demonic, but still . . .

I said, “Do you suppose we might have a few words with Morgantix? I’d love to hear his side of the story.”

Rudy looked over at Tim. “How about it?”

Slowly, Tim shook his head. In a deep, gravelly voice he said, “Morgantix play, not talk.”

“How about Tim?” I said to the man himself. “Can we get a few words about what it’s like being possessed by a musically inclined demon?”

Tim just glared.

Alrighty, then.

“It’s kind of unpredictable,” Rudy said. “He’s there one minute, gone the next. We never really know who’s in control when we talk to Tim.”

I had to admit, I was a bit awestruck. The possibilities were intriguing. Tim certainly did have this manner about him. But was it just a typical, standoffish, artistic temperament, or really something supernatural?

“I have to confess to a bit of skepticism, Rudy. Where’s your proof? Except for the voice thing, do you have any hard evidence proving the existence of Morgantix?” Really, though, who would make up a name like Morgantix? Score one in their favor.

“Believe me, Kitty, we wouldn’t have gotten this far with the band without a lot of help from another plane of existence.”

I had to take Rudy’s word for that. I moved on. “I’m going to open the line for calls n