Devin just stared at Kenneth.
“What are you talking about? Do you even listen to what you’re saying? That gypsy was not sexy,” he said. “Are you guys going to let him get away with this?”
David kicked at the dirt. When he looked up, he was chewing on his bottom lip.
“Well…”
“Oh, come on,” Devin shouted. “I’m not saying gypsies can’t be hot, but that one was not on the list.”
“Hey, I’m married. I’m not looking or anything, but that lady had confidence in her look. That’s sexy, man,” David said. “I’m not going to apologize for thinking what I think.”
Devin wouldn’t let it go, even while the rest of the band kept unloading their gear from the van for the late show at VZDs. The air kept getting thicker and the buzz coming from the stereo system inside the van just kept getting louder and more insistent. And Devin. He just wouldn’t let it go.
Dustin looked up. Were the lights on the outside of the building flickering? It was already dark, but now there was something else. Something darker just beyond what he could see. And then…
“She was not hot! She wasn’t! How am I the only one who…”
The flickering stopped as the lights died. The buzzing, too.
“Devin?”
“Devin?”
“Uh, Devin? Guys? What’s going on?” David asked.
The lights came back on with a start. Kenneth had frozen stock still. Dustin was looking around. Devin…was gone. But there was someone…something…in his place.
“Dude, you don’t talk bad about a gypsy or you get a gypsy curse,” David said. “That’s 101 stuff. What did she turn you into?”
But the face that looked up, covered in dirt, was not only changed — it was familiar in a startling way.
“Aaron?” Kenneth asked. “Aaron, what are you doing here? You died, man. Log-sack killed you.”
Clad in a shabby, torn suit, zombie Aaron reached for the bass guitar, sitting in its case on the pavement.
“Gypsy curses work two ways,” he groaned. “Devin talks smack, Devin has to go. But you guys were nice. Gypsy’s not going to leave you in the lurch. So here I am.”
“Are you alive again…for good?” Dustin asked, approaching his old friend.
“One night only, unless there’s something she hasn’t told me,” he said. “I’d say we’ll have time to talk later, but I’m not sure about that. Regardless, we need to hit the stage if we want to make the midnight hang.”
And so the band made their way before the eager crowd. David’s cell phone, left behind, rang three times. On it, a voicemail appeared.
“Uh, this is Devin. I’m in Tulsa, for some reason. Probably a gypsy thing. Anyway, can you come get me after the gig? Thanks, man.”
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