Page 23 of Howl for the Gargoyle

Namely, booking us as openers for a half-dozen major acts, putting us on tour for the majority of a year.

"Hannah, good to see you. You're looking better!"

George had said the same to me at the start of every phone call. And compared to the one when I'd been freshly attacked, pale from blood loss and haggard from terror, I was looking better.

"Hello, George," I answered, helping myself to the open spot at the center of the couch, turning the tablet to get all of us in the picture together. Kiernan, Mikey, and Lawrence echoed the same after me.

"I'm going to start with the bad news," George said abruptly. "The Jamesons have cut us from the tour quarter slot we were offered. We sat on it too long. Which is why it's more important than ever to sign with the others."

"Fuck," Lawrence hissed behind me, pacing in and out of frame.

"What about the dates?" I asked. "With Benson Fame?"

George sighed and sat back in his chair. He had a humble office for a record executive. He had good rapport with all of the bands we'd met through him. I wanted to like this man.

"We cut two full moon dates with him, Hannah. Asking for the days around is too much. It's easier to replace you," George said, shrugging, holding up his hands at his sides.

Had he even fought for me, tried to find a compromise? Traded us for local smaller acts that wouldn't require contracts securing them for weeks?

"There's no reason why you can't perform."

"There's dozens of reasons," I snapped. "I'm not myself for days before a full moon, I—"

I cleared my throat and shook my head. There'd be men around, groupies. Backstage environments were always tense and wired anyways, and there was always too much energy to burn at the end of the night. Add in my lack of control, my instinct and urges, and I'd meet disaster.

"Hannah, if we can't put you on tour, we're shelving the record release."

There was a brief and painful silence, a sudden shot through both of my ears before the words collided in my thoughts.

"You're canceling the record?" Kiernan asked, making sense of the sound in my throat, putting words to my growl.

"Postponing," George corrected, but there wasn't much optimism in the word. "Until Hannah is ready for a tour. We'll just have to start from scratch on finding the right acts."

"Jesus," Lawrence muttered, leaving his spot behind the couch and marching toward the door.

He was there, beyond the screen in my hands that I wanted to throw at the wall, staring at me. Lawrence wanted to be a rockstar more than any of us. He was beautiful, charming, and he made his role as our bassist engaging and performative for the audience. He'd tempered his ego while working with me for years, but ever since I'd been bitten and resisted the idea of a tour, the cracks between us were crumbling wider. He'd also wanted us to sign with a larger label that had been interested in me for my father's sake.

I was Virgil Darwood's daughter. I was his ticket to fame, and if I was suddenly faulty, incapable of serving him, then I was useless.

"How long do we have now to make a final decision about this tour?" Kiernan asked.

George's stare was fixed to me too, cutting through the screen. Was he thinking the same thing as Lawrence? Was it time for all of these men to cut me loose? Would even Kiernan give up on me?

"I made a final decision," I said, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Kiernan glance at me. There was an edge in the air, a warning from the men around me, and it made the hairs on the back of my neck rise with irritation.

"If I do some sweet-talking, make arrangements sooner rather than later, I could probably move The Huberts dates to the end, just push your start date back another month. But if I don't have a firm yes by the start of December, that's it," George said.

My head shook, and Kiernan took the tablet from my hands, standing up so I was no longer in frame. Lawrence was glaring at me from across the room, his stare flicking up to Kiernan and then back down again.

"That's really generous. Thank you, George. Any time you can buy us would be appreciated. We want this tour."

"And we want the album to be a success," George answered, his and Kiernan's conversation carrying on without me with carefully balanced words.

The label needed us to take the tour in order to sell the album. They'd already put the money in to produce it, but they wouldn't bother to put it out without us there to market it. We'd be a loss, but a controlled one.

"I can't do it," I breathed, imagining the tension of this room trapped inside of a bus for weeks on end. I imagined my wolf's cravings and hunger turning on my bandmates, on charming Lawrence or hapless Mikey or…

Would I fight with Kiernan? Try and fuck him for the sake of long-lost chemistry? Or would it be a blur of starvation and strangers that would get me through the stretch of stressful and intoxicating months?

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