Bad Melody (Seven Deadly Sins #3)

Chapter Four: Rocker Ghost

"So, your friend seems to be calming down," I said, the crack in my voice ruining any attempt at sounding remotely cool. There hadn't been a crash or a shriek in nearly two minutes, give or take a few seconds. Since it had been a nonstop Poltergeist homage for the last half hour, the reprieve was almost as discerning as all the hurling of bar furniture.

Dante glanced over at me. "He's running out of things to break," he replied calmly.

We were crouched under the table, each of us holding onto its skinny pole and putting our full weight on the metallic base to keep the whole thing from flying off. We'd lost our chairs ten minutes earlier. Had it not been for Dante's cat like reflexes I would've still been in mine as it flew across the room and crashed against the karaoke stage. Huddled, he was the picture of total composure, while I was fighting the urge not to pee myself.

"Do you know a lot of touchy ghosts?" I asked annoyed.

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "More than a few," he finally admitted. "But Lanie was more than a little dramatic in life. This is...

"Par for the course?" I hazard to guess.

"Quite right."

I rolled my eyes. "Why didn't you warn me then?"

Dante lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "It wouldn't have mattered. Something would've set him off eventually - best to get the dramatics out of the way early."

"Lanie?" I repeated the name. It was strange, even for a ghost. Then again, what did I really know? It wasn't like I ran into them every day.

"Lanie Jane," Dante elaborated.

The name tingled a part of my brain but not enough to make itself immediately clear. "Why do I know that name?" I murmured.

"No doubt because you're familiar with one or more of his more popular songs: 'Electric Shock to My Heart, Drunken Love, Speakeasy Girls,'" he listed. Letting go of the table he waved one hand, "and the stripper playlist goes on."

"Riiiight," I said, my brain unlocking the puzzle of the name. No wonder this guy was dead - all that terrible music probably killed him. Most were before my time, but the ones Dante named still lived on in strip club playlists the world over.

"And this is the guy you think can help us track down Greed?" I asked.

"Not sure, but if anything weird is floating around the local ether, Lanie will know."

After another few minutes of silence, Dante slipped out from under our table and straightened. I stared at his black boots as I waited a few beats before following his lead - I was pretty sure Dante could survive a nuclear attack but I wasn't nearly so impervious to damage. As I dusted peanut shells and other debris off my hands, wiping them on my jeans for good measure, I took a quick look around.

"Whoa," I breathed, whistling low for effect.

The place was completely trashed.

Tables and chairs were scattered all over, the small stage buried under bar stools and other furniture. Broken glasses, pitchers, and bottles littered the floor like dangerous confetti, and all the posters and picture frames had been ripped from their hanging spots. Various stains appeared like Rorschach blots on the walls, most still dripping from the impact of different liquor bottles hitting at the same time.

Dante's ghost friend was nowhere in sight.

"Is he gone?" I asked, finding a chair near our table and flipping it back upright. I was about to plop down in it, then thought better of it.