Carrie Vaughn: Kitty Goes to Washington

I considered for a moment, then said, "So, he's the one who's possessed by a demon?"

"Yup!" Rudy said proudly. "I don't know how it happened, but there it is."

Tim glanced at us as he was plugging his bass into an amp. His expression didn't change. He looked like a regular guy.

I contained my skepticism. "Rudy, do you mind if we have a few words on the air while the others set up? Then I'd love to hear you play."

"That's what we're here for!"

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 now. Do you have a question for Rudy? You know the number. Paula from Austin, you're on the air."

Paula let out a squee ! of ear-shattering proportions. "Omigod, hi! Rudy, I'm such a big fan, you have no idea—"

The next ten minutes pretty much went exactly like that. Plague of Locusts seemed to have a bevy of screaming teenage fans across the country, and they all called in to gush. Rudy seemed impressed and chatted with them all.

I had fifteen minutes left to the show when I cut off the calls. "Rudy? How about you and the boys play something for us?"

His eyes lit up. "Yeah! Cool!" He was way too cheerful to be a real punk. He called over to the band, seated with their instruments. "Hey guys, what should we play?"

Bucky said, "We could play, you know, that one. The one with the bum bum bum part."

Len nodded quickly. "Yeah—the new version."

"I don't know," Rudy said, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "We haven't ever played that one live. How about the one with the cool bit in the middle?"

"We could do that one," Bucky said. "But what about the other one?"

"That one's okay too," Rudy said.

I had no clue what they were talking about. I stared, rapt.

Then Tim said, in his rough, demonic voice, "Play the fast one."

Rudy perked up, his eyes going wide. "Dude, yeah! The fast one!"

Bucky jumped to his drums, Len stood with his guitar, and Rudy raced to his microphone. Tim watched them, calmly as ever.

All this carried over the studio mikes. I almost hated to interrupt the entertaining exchange, but the musicians had already turned their attention to their instruments.

I leaned in to my mike. "Okay, listeners, it looks like Plague of Locusts is going to play us some music. I have no idea what the name of the piece is, but they're calling it 'the fast one.' I, for one, am intrigued."

Rudy called over, "Are you ready, Kitty?"

Ready as I'd ever be. "Go for it!"

Bucky the drummer banged out a count and the band plunged in, full speed ahead. They went straight from zero to manic in half a second. The fast one, yeah. Still, their playing was strangely compelling. Len hunched over his guitar, legs spread, head bobbing in time to the music; I thought the poor guy was going to get whiplash. Bucky did the same, his long hair flying, the entire drum set rattling. Rudy clutched his microphone stand in both hands, pressed the mike to his face, and screamed.