Howard Moon Wins; Vince Noir Loses

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Howard gets sick of Vince getting all the attention and takes steps of a magical nature to do something about it. You’d be surprised how fast something like that can spin out of control – wait, you wouldn’t? Man, you’ve seen this show before, haven’t you?

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Chapter Two

Contents

Chapter Two

The man at the zookeepers’ door was a little older than Howard, dressed smartly, holding a briefcase. He looked from Howard to the little piece of card he was holding. “Are you Mr Howard Moon?”

“Look mate, I’m sorry, I don’t really have time for autographs today.”

The man laughed. “No, you misunderstand me. My name’s Whittaker. I’m looking for the jazz musician Howard Moon.”

Howard pulled the door open wide and studied him carefully. “John Whittaker? Head of Bluetone Records?”

“The very same.” Mr Whittaker tipped his hat. “Might I come in?”

“Sure! Absolutely!” Howard closed the door behind him, breathing heavily. “Would you like a cup of something? Tea, coffee? Or, or, something a little stronger…we’ve got whiskey, vodka, uh, I think there’s some creme de menthe lying around from last Christmas…shit, sorry, if I’d known you were coming I’d have prepared properly.” Great, I just said ‘shit’ to the most influential jazz record producer of the twenty-first century.

Mr Whittaker turned down all offers with a wave of his hand, and made himself comfortable at the little table, looking around his surroundings in fairly well disguised disgust.

Howard hovered next to the other chair, hands fluttering nervously. “So, what brings you down here? Down to my neck of the woods, haha?”

Mr Whittaker rooted around in his pocket for a bit, and came up with a battered and dusty demo tape. ‘HOWARD TJ MOON’ was written on the label. “This.”

Howard stared at it in wonder. It had been two years since he’d recorded some of his trumpet playing and sent it off to Bluetone Records, and all he’d got back was a curt letter saying how they appreciated his time and would be in contact as soon as possible. Nothing since.

“We can’t understand how we overlooked it,” Mr Whittaker was saying. “But one of our assistants stumbled across it last week, gave it a listen, and…well, of course, true talent is never hard to recognise.”

“Talent?” said Howard in wonder.

“Who are you signed with at the moment?” Mr Whittaker asked, pulling out a notepad and clicking his pen.

“I’m…not.”

“Come now, Mr Moon, we have a very skilled legal department. I assure you they’ll find a way to break whatever record contract you’re in.”

Howard shook his head dumbly. “I’m not in any record contract. I haven’t played in a long time.” He looked around the room in fear. “I’m…I’m not even sure where my trumpet is.”

“Amazing,” Mr Whittaker said, shaking his head. “You couldn’t make it up, no one would believe it.” He pulled a business card out of his pocket and wrote something on the back. “Mr Moon, you are exactly the sort of new talent Bluetone Records needs. I am very, very interested in signing you to our label. I mean, I see big things ahead for you. Albums, concerts, a world tour. You could be the greatest jazz musician of our time.”

He passed Howard the business card, and he flipped it over to see a telephone number scribbled on the back.

He looked at Howard over his glasses. “There’s my work number and my home number…my personal number…on there. Please, call me, make an appointment. Any time you like.”

Howard could do nothing but nod as Mr Whittaker said his goodbyes, tipped his hat and left. He held the card up to his eyes with a trembling hand, waiting for it to disappear or evaporate or something equally fitting. But it didn’t.

“…so this concert, my debut concert, it’s tomorrow night, okay?”

Vince nodded, slumped on the sofa, looking at his nails.

“I won’t be back to look after you, not ‘til late. But I’ve put a meal in the fridge, and I’ve told Naboo to look in on you during the night. I’ll be back some time in the morning.” Howard put a hand out and tipped Vince’s head towards his, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Yes? You understand?”

“I’m not coming with you then?” Vince said, his bottom lip trembling.

Howard sighed. “It’s not really your sort of scene. And I don’t think you’d be up to it, not in your condition.” He thought of Vince in his tattered and torn clothing, rubbing shoulders with celebrities and record executives. Hanging off his arm while he tried to make conversation with his jazz heroes.

“Well, if you don’t want me to, then sure, I don’t want to come,” Vince mumbled into his collar. “I just…I like watching you play.”

Howard rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Look Vince, I’d love you to come, but it’s just not the right time, yeah? You’d only fall asleep anyway. Best you stay here.”

There was a knock at the door, and Howard got up to answer it gratefully.

“…just thought I could be there, support you, you know…”

“Vince,” Howard turned at the door, cutting him off with a decisive gesture. “No. And that’s an end to it. I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

“…sorry.”

He opened the door to reveal Bollo standing there, clutching an immensely heavy and dusty book. He froze, swallowing. “B-Bollo…hi.”

“I found it!” Bollo’s eyes shined in triumph, and he pushed past Howard, dumping the book on the table with a bang that made Vince jump out of his seat.

“Found what? Look, Bollo, I don’t really have time, I want to do a bit of practising, and I’ve got to put Vince to bed, and…” Howard trailed off as Bollo opened the book, revealing a crude line drawing of the Blue Girl. It was only in pencil, black and white, but that face…that death’s head barely hidden under taut skin, it was definitely her. It reminded him of Vince.

“Bollo found cure. It easy, really.” Bollo pointed to the relevant passage in the text. “See, everyone love Howard, everyone think Howard so good. Howard has to prove he not good, that he is same old boring freak has always been.”

“Oi,” Vince said quietly. Howard jumped, not having realised that he’d got up from the sofa to stand behind him, peering over his shoulder.

Bollo rolled his eyes, but continued. “Howard must embarrass himself in worst way possible. Nothing too small, because people will just decide is genius and spell will not be broken. But something so awful, terrible, and humiliating, that everyone will see through spell and see who Howard really is.”

Howard swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Uh, any ideas?”

Bollo flicked through the pages. “Only been done once. Man in seventeen hundreds, managed to break spell by faking murder of his baby boy.” There was a horrific painting of a man clutching a child covered in blood, in front of a large crowd. “Had to be done in public, in front of lots of people. And his brother – man that he steal life from – had to be there too. Had to see it.”

“That’s nasty,” Vince said, pulling the book closer. Howard smacked his hand, and closed the book with a thump.

“Thanks Bollo. Really. I’ll get right on that, soon as I’ve had a little think.” Howard nudged the book towards Bollo, who narrowed his eyes.

“You do still want to break spell, yes?”

Howard rubbed his hands together, looking down at them. “Yeah! You know, eventually. I mean, my music career’s just starting to take off, and I’ve got this concert and everything, but after that…sure. After that, I’ll-” The rest of his words were cut off by Bollo’s roar as he ran at Howard, shoving him into the wall and closing his hands around his neck.

“Maybe…Bollo…kill Howard,” he grunted. “Maybe that break spell, free Vince.”

“Stop it!” Vince yelled, beating at Bollo’s back with his fists. He pulled at his arms, pushing them out of the way, trying to put himself between Bollo and Howard.

Howard started to see stars.

Vince ran to the kitchenette, opening drawers hurriedly, and came back clutching the bread knife. He held it to Bollo’s neck. “Put him down. I’ll…I’ll do it. I swear.”

Bollo looked from Howard, turning an impressive shade of blue, to the conviction in Vince’s eyes. He let Howard go, and he sank to the floor. Vince dropped the knife and held him close, shielding him from his attacker.

Bollo held up a hand like he wanted to say something, but Vince just screamed “Get out!”. He left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Howard coughed as Vince gripped him tightly, muttering random niceties into his ear and kissing his head. “It’s okay, Howard, it’s fine, you’re okay, I won’t let him hurt you, you’re fine.”

Vince asleep was the worst. He looked dead. Not moving, barely breathing, deathly pale and small, wrapped up in his pyjamas under about fifteen blankets, curled over on his side. It was easy to imagine that Howard had actually killed him, had sucked all the life out of him for his own purposes and left him an empty husk. He hated it, sitting there on the bed stroking his hair, hated watching him, but he couldn’t pull himself away. Howard had always had a fairly healthy sense of self-punishment.

The bedroom door creaking made him turn around, and he flinched, thinking it was Bollo come back for round two, when Vince couldn’t protect him.

It was the least likely person in the world.

“Hello, Howard,” said Dixon Bainbridge, grinning like a loon. “How’s things?”

Howard got up, putting himself between Vince and Bainbridge. Although, since the spell had kicked in, he’d found he was the one getting semi-molested and not Vince. Fossil alone had tried to put his hand inside Howard’s trousers no less than twice.

“What are you doing here, Bainbridge?”

“Why, I came to congratulate you, of course.” He sat down in Vince’s little armchair, groaning as he did so. “Sit down, you oaf.”

It had been so long since anyone (except the animals) had spoken to Howard without complete and utter respect, that he obeyed Bainbridge purely out of shock.

“Congratulate me?” he said warily. “For what? The concert?”

“Ah yes, I have tickets for that.” Bainbridge pulled out a pipe and began stuffing it with tobacco, and Howard looked at Vince nervously, but figured that he wouldn’t be roused by anything for the next twelve hours.

“But no,” Bainbridge continued, “I’ve come to congratulate you for successfully bringing off the spell.”

Howard froze, mouth open. “The what?”

“Stealing Vince Noir’s luck, of course. Most excellently done.” Bainbridge struck a match off Vince’s poster of David Bowie and puffed away, sly eyes hidden momentarily behind a cloud of smoke.

“How…how do you know about that?”

“Oh, come on, Howard. You’re slightly more intelligent now, surely?” Bainbridge sighed. “I’m an immensely attractive and successful man with an idiot for a sidekick. How do you think I know?”

Howard gaped, the pieces suddenly falling into place. “You did the spell? On Fossil?”

“That’s right,” Bainbridge smirked. “When I met Fossil – or Professor Fossil, as he was then – I was a spotty oik of an undergraduate, and he was the world’s foremost expert in neurosurgery. Brilliant mind, brilliant wit, loved by all who knew him.” Bainbridge blew a smoke ring, watching Howard through it smugly. “I had to take a piece of that.”

“A professor? Fossil?”

“Hard to believe, I know. And it’s been so long now since his little ‘breakdown’ that I doubt anyone in Oxford remembers him.”

“Oxford?” Howard choked, whether on the idea of Fossil as an actual human being or on Bainbridge’s smoke, he wasn’t sure.

“That’s right.” Bainbridge leaned back, musing. “I was just like you, a nonentity with no talent, nothing to his name. And Herself appeared to me in my dingy little bedsit, offered me a chance to have everything I’d ever wanted, and I took it. Just like you did.”

Howard stared at the floor. “What do you want? Are you going to blackmail me?”

“Good heavens, no!” Bainbridge let out a short barking laugh. “No, I’ve come to give you some advice, Howard. To admit you into the illustrious society of those who have taken the same path.”

“I don’t need your advice.”

“I think you do.” Bainbridge leaned forward. “Your young friend, for example. You need to take excellent care of him.”

Howard looked at Vince quickly, huddled under the sheets. “He’s not going to die, is he? He’s so sick, all the time.”

“Well, of course, the spell affects different people in different ways. You can see what it did to Fossil.” He sighed. “Personally, I’d rather have him a little more like Noir. Fossil’s so full of energy, I spend half my life worrying what he’s going to do next.” He looked around Vince’s bedroom. “I only set this zoo up as a way of keeping him occupied, keeping him in one place. You see, if anything happens to your friend, if he should be killed somehow, you’ll find yourself exactly as you were before. Noir will be your most important possession in the long years ahead.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to Vince!” Howard snapped.

Bainbridge tipped his head to one side. “No, you do appear to have been rather fortunate in that respect. Some subjects end up uncontrollable; in extreme cases, violent. Their owners have to have them imprisoned, or incarcerated in an asylum, and that is so prone to difficulties.”

“I’d never do that to Vince.”

“Yes, you can simply leave him asleep most of the day. How lucky.” Bainbridge tapped the stem of the pipe against his lips. “I can provide you with a spare cage, if you like.”

“What?”

“Oh, we’d fit it with a bed, and give him food and water. But he wouldn’t be able to wander off, say…under a bus, or off a tall building.”

Howard got to his feet, feeling sick. “How…how can you…”

Bainbridge held up one hand placatingly. “He’d be perfectly happy, I assure you. I could have Fossil give him a wash with a hose every now and then, maybe fit a tyre swing or something…and if he remembers how to read and write, he could send you letters, as and when you-”

Howard heaved open Vince’s door, shaking with rage. “Get out. Get out right now.”

Bainbridge got to his feet, watching Howard curiously. Then something clicked, and he smirked. “But of course – you don’t trust me. Very wise. I wouldn’t trust me either. I mean, I could simply give the order for Fossil to kill your little friend, and you’d be back where you started.” He emptied his pipe on Vince’s dressing table. “You don’t have to worry, Howard, I’m simply trying to help. But I respect your precautions.”

He put his hands in his pockets, looking Howard up and down. “There’s no need to feel uncomfortable about all this. You were a snivelling nobody, with nothing to work with. You took the only path open to you – to take something from someone else.” He stroked his silver moustache. “Fossil, Noir…they were both accidents of nature. They didn’t earn their abilities, they simply had them. Fossil had lived a charmed life for thirty-two years when I met him, wasn’t that long enough? Wasn’t it my turn?”

“We’re nothing alike,” Howard spat, still holding on to the door.

Bainbridge looked from Howard to Vince, and smirked obscenely. “There are plenty of pretty young men out in the world who will only be too happy to help you get over Miss Noir. I myself am holding a party at my house in Monaco next week, there should be a great deal of…talent there.” He pulled a silk-edged invitation out of his pocket and rested it on Vince’s dressing table. “Until then, Howard.”

He left, humming some military tune to himself, and Howard slammed the door closed, shaking like a leaf. He walked over to the bed and climbed in next to Vince, huddling up next to him, but still feeling icy cold.

See Howard? I made the office all nicey nice for ya, cause I knew you’d be coming back today and I thought –

Shut up, Noir.

Yessir. Shutting up.

God, you make me sick. What is this, pot pourri? I hate that stuff.

Yeah, uh, I hate it too, Howard. I hate it so goddamn much.

You really hate it?

Abso-frickin-lutely!

Eat it for me, Noir.

…What?

You heard. If you hate it so bad, why don’t you finish off that bowl?

Haha, you’re real funny Howard. I love your sense of humour.

I’m not joking, dickbrain. Eat that bowl of pot pourri. Now.

But…but why?

Because I say so. Do you need another reason?

No.

Well, I’ll give you one anyway. Your mouth fucking stinks. All that shit you eat all day, junk food, sweets, I’m sick of it. I’m not letting that mouth anywhere near my cock until you’ve cleaned it up a bit. Made it smell nice.

I don’t get to give you mouth fun until I eat the dry leaves, Howard?

That’s right, bitch. Get eating.

Yes sir.

The dressing room was huge. Well, so was the theatre, actually. And sold out, Mr Whittaker had told him that as soon as he arrived. Completely full, they’d even printed up some half-price tickets to let people stand at the back, and they’d gone within an hour of going on sale.

He could hear the distant buzz of excitement in the auditorium above, soft footsteps of all the jazz world’s finest, and London’s glitterati, taking their seats. Waiting for him.

“You look great, Howard.”

He met Vince’s eyes in the mirror, and smiled. “Thanks, Vince.”

“I’m glad you let me come along. I didn’t want to miss this.” Vince sneezed, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his new tuxedo, and Howard winced, but said nothing.

“Well, I want you to see this. I want you to see everything. I’ve got you a nice little front row seat, and there’ll be someone around if you want a drink or something to eat, yeah?”

Vince nodded. “I remember.” He yawned, taking a seat on the little sofa the theatre had provided.

Howard span round in his chair and watched him intently. “How you doing? You okay? Not too tired?”

Vince shrugged. “No more than usual.”

“Well, I need you to stay awake for this, Vince. What I’m going to do…I need you to see it.”

Vince nodded decisively. “I’ll stay awake, sure. If I feel myself slipping I’ll just…” He dug his nails into his thigh viciously, through the fabric of his trousers.

Howard got up and took his hand, pulling it away. “Don’t do that, please. Just…make an effort.”

“Sorry Howard.” Vince looked down at Howard’s neck, and furrowed his brow. “Your tie’s all crooked. Let me fix it for you.”

“You don’t have t-” But Vince’s hands were already around his neck, skidding lightly over the bruises Bollo had left the day before.

He stared at a point just to Vince’s left, ignoring his breath on his face, his touch on his neck and against his chin.

“Howard.”

“Vince?”

“I need to tell you something.” Vince rooted around in his pockets with a stricken expression. “Shit…I’ve lost it.”

“What? What do you need?”

Vince bit his lip. “Well, I want to tell you something, but I know I’ll get all flustered and muck it up, so I wrote it down, but I can’t find it. I put it in my pocket, I swear, but I’ve lost it!” He muttered “stupid, stupid” under his breath.

Howard pulled his chair over, sat in front of Vince. “Well, just tell me. I don’t mind if you get mixed up.”

Vince shook his head. “I’ll have a look for it, and tell you after your performance.”

“You…you might not get a chance.”

Vince’s head sprang up and he looked into Howard’s eyes nervously.

“Um, I mean…there’ll be a lot of people around. I don’t know how much time I’ll be able to spend with you.”

“Oh, right, of course. Sorry.” Vince flexed his fingers a couple of times, psyching himself up for whatever it was, and Howard leaned back, trying to make his face as reassuring as possible.

“Well. I know…you must get this a lot, right? You must get people saying it all the time, and it’s stupid to think that just, because…we’ve been friends a long time, that you might…I mean, you take care of me, but I shouldn’t confuse your natural kindness for anything…now that I think about it, it’s stupid and-”

“Vince.”

“Right, yeah.” Vince rubbed his hands together nervously. “What I’m trying to say, is. We’ve got a lot closer in these past few months, right? And I feel…what I feel, is…I love you. In a man-on-man sort of way.”

Howard closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands. This must be the spell, sensing he was going to get rid of it, offering him things. He felt the Blue Girl in the back of his mind, grinning.

“Sorry Howard. I knew I shouldn’t have told you before you went on,” Vince said quietly, and Howard pulled his hands away from his face.

“What? No, Vince…I…shit.”

“It’s alright,” he said with a little smile. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ll go get into my seat.”

Howard caught his sleeve, and pulled him back down. “I…I like you too. Not love, not really, but, sort of, pre-love. Like, something to give a chance, you know?”

“Not really.”

Howard gripped him by the shoulders. “Listen. I have to do something during my performance, something big, and you’re not going to like it.”

Vince opened his mouth, probably to say something along the lines of ‘I like everything you do, Howard’, but Howard kept on talking.

“In fact, you’re going to hate me, for a long time. And I might have to go away somewhere people won’t find me, because they’re all going to hate me. But…” He bit his lip. “Remember. Remember that you said you loved me, and I said…what I said, but I didn’t take advantage of you. And then, if you still feel the same way, I swear, there will just be no end to the fun we’ll have.”

He grinned, crazy and wild, and Vince, confused, could only smile back. “There’ll be picnics in the park, and ice cream, and summer, and long walks in the rain, lots and lots of sex, lazy Sunday mornings and pub lunches, and I’ll do anything I can to make you happy. But not now. Not til after.”

He let go, getting to his feet and moving over to his mirror, checking his appearance one last time. There was a knock at the door, and an assistant walked in, bowed at them both.

“I’ve come to escort Mr Noir to his seat, sir.”

“Yeah, hang on,” Vince said, watching Howard’s turned back carefully.

“Take good care of him,” Howard said. “Whatever he wants, anything at all, he gets. I mean it. If I hear anything I don’t like, if I hear that he wasn’t completely satisfied, I’ll break the record contract with your company. Just like that.”

The assistant swallowed a couple of times, then bowed low. “Mr Noir?” he said in a voice reeking of deference.

“Hang on!” Vince said in the loudest voice Howard had heard from him in weeks. “Howard, this thing you’re going to do. Will…is it going to hurt?”

Howard blinked at him, mouth open. “Yes.”

He could hear the audience just beyond the curtain, restless, and strained to pick out Vince’s voice from the mix, but couldn’t. Perhaps he wasn’t talking to anyone. Perhaps all the hoi polloi were shunning him. Taking care of Vince had become second nature to him, and he wasn’t sure exactly how they were going to get along after all of this.

Still, that was the least of his problems. Vince wasn’t going to speak to him ever again.

“Ready, Howard?” Bollo asked him, tapping his camcorder to check the picture.

“Yeah,” Howard said. “No. I think I’m going to throw up again.”

“Aye, well it’s no’ any better for me either, ye daft pillock,” came a voice from the cage Howard carried under his arm. “An’ don’t be gettin’ any funny ideas about this, aye? Strictly business. Strictly for the boy.”

“For Vince,” Howard agreed.

“No time like present,” Bollo said to him, stepping back into the wings and signalling for the stagehands to get ready to lift the curtain.

Howard reached down and unlocked the cage, lifting Jack Cooper out and holding him eye to eye. “Ready?”

“I’ll never be ready,” Jack muttered. “But time’s right, aye?”

Bollo gave the signal. The curtain rose.

In other news, jazz musician Howard Moon is currently in police custody after shocking audiences during his debut performance by having sexual intercourse with a fox. Patrons of the Hammersmith Apollo were stunned when the curtain opened on Mr Moon not playing the trumpet, as they expected, but instead with his trousers around his ankles and the unfortunate animal pressed to his nether regions. Mr Moon was heard calling out such epithets as ‘who’s your zookeeper’ and ‘so this is the way to Dundee’.

The incident is particularly worrying because Mr Moon previously held a position at one of London’s lesser known zoos, the Zooniverse, where he had unrestricted access to their full complement of animals. The Zooniverse has been forced to close temporarily after demonstrations by animal rights activists. The RSPCA have issued a statement saying that they are investigating the matter, and the animals have all been taken into care.

Mr Moon’s record company, Bluetone Records, have declined to comment on the incident, but his previous employer, Zooniverse manager Mr Robert Fossil, did issue a statement saying that “although Moon is a freakish bitch with a taste for perversion, Jack Cooper [the fox in question] is a known tease, leading innocent men into depravity with his deep brown eyes and a flick of his fluffy tail.”

Mr Fossil has also been taken into custody.

The custody sergeant barely raised his head when Naboo and Bollo walked through the double doors, busy with some paperwork on his desk. The police station was a hive of activity, constables rushing back and forth, telephones ringing, announcements being made over radios. Distantly, the baying mob could be heard screaming behind a police cordon, calling for Howard to be brought outside.

Naboo rang the little bell, hardly tall enough to see over the desk, and Bollo adopted a position of quiet menace.

“If you want to make a complaint against Mr Moon,” the sergeant said in a harassed tone of voice, “all the appropriate forms are out the front.”

“I don’t want to complain,” Naboo said quietly.

The custody sergeant – whose badge read ‘Tyler’ – looked up finally, then rolled his eyes when he saw Bollo. “Okay, he touched your monkey, right? I told you, we’re processing all the allegations as quickly as we can. Go out the front, write it all down, and someone will contact you in the next couple of days.”

“We want you to let Howard go.”

Sergeant Tyler sighed. “The Inter-Species Intercourse Society? One of your lads has already been round, and Moon didn’t want to see him.”

“We’re not from ISIS.” Naboo took off his turban, his hair falling into his face as he rooted around inside it for something. “We’ve got evidence that can clear his name.”

“Oh yeah? You’ve got evidence that will somehow quash the eyewitness testimony of over a thousand people?”

Naboo held up a camcorder, resting it on the desk and swivelling the viewscreen so it faced the custody sergeant, then hit the play button.

Sergeant Tyler shook his head. “Unless he pulled some kind of hypnosis act, I really don’t-”

“Hi,” said a tinny little voice, and Tyler’s eyes flicked to the viewscreen. “My name is Howard TJ Moon, and this is my first piece of performance art.”

He laughed out loud. “Yeah, whatever. I don’t think that one’s going to wash with the magistrate in the morning.”

“As you can see,” Howard continued, on the playback, “I have one flesh-coloured jockstrap, and one live fox. Let’s get this over with.” The hum of the audience got louder as Howard walked out on stage, hidden behind the curtain, and unzipped his trousers.

“If you fast forward to the two minutes forty mark, where Bollo finally manages to find the zoom button, you’ll see that Jack Cooper is at least an inch away from Howard’s…from Howard,” Naboo pointed out helpfully, leaning on the counter.

Sergeant Tyler’s eye started to twitch. “Breach of the peace.”

“Onstage? You’ll be arresting the Rocky Horror show the night before, then?”

“Wasting police time?”

Naboo just looked at him. “He’ll be wasting a lot less of your time if you release him into my custody now.”

Tyler nodded at the doors to the station, the hate-filled shouts coming from outside. “You’re going to get him through all that, are you?”

“We have our ways.”

Bollo cracked his knuckles loudly.

Tyler bit his lip, a desperate look in his eye. He made a grab for the camera, face falling when Naboo made no move to stop him. “I don’t suppose this is the only copy?”

Naboo grinned. “Released to all major news networks an hour ago, up on the internet any minute now.”

Tyler put the camcorder down with a clatter. “Wait here,” he muttered. “I’ll bring him out.”

Vince was having trouble dealing with all this new information. He knew Howard was the most perfect and amazing creature alive, and yet there were all these images in his head of Howard as a dishevelled loser, of him being the popular one. His head felt like it was going to explode, how could both things be true? How could Howard have done that to Jack?

Vince had no idea how he’d managed to get back to the Zooniverse, slumped on the floor in Howard’s room, staring at all his favourite clothes hanging up in Howard’s wardrobe. Stretched out of shape. He had no idea how much time had passed since the concert, sitting there, head pounding.

He was startled by the sound of the front door slamming. Hastily he wiped the tears from his cheeks, brushed down his two-sizes-too-big tuxedo and ran his hands through the rats’ nest that was his hair. He pulled at the wall to get to his feet, surprised at how weak he’d become, his knees shaking uncontrollably.

Someone walked through the door to Howard’s room, and he got ready to shout, but it wasn’t Howard. It was Naboo.

“Wow.” Naboo’s mouth was open slightly, a sure sign he was overwhelmed with emotion. He swallowed, taking in Vince’s appearance. “Are you okay?”

“Where’s Howard?”

Naboo looked away, crossing the room and pulling out a battered leather suitcase from under Howard’s bed. He started filling it with clothes, tactfully avoiding the wardrobe filled with Vince’s things and heading instead to the chest of drawers with Howard’s usual outfits inside.

“Naboo? Where’s Howard?” Vince felt sick suddenly, remembering the audience rushing the stage, Howard disappearing beneath a crowd of people out for blood. “He is alright, isn’t he?”

Naboo piled a handful of Howard’s greying underwear into the case, wrinkling his nose. “He has to go away for a while, Vince.”

“What? No!” Vince blocked Naboo’s path, tugging on his sleeve. “Look what he did to me, Naboo! I need to talk to him, I need him to tell me why he did this to me!”

Naboo regarded him blankly. “Howard Moon is a liar and a freak.”

“No he’s not! Shut up!” The words left his lips before he even knew he’d said them. Naboo raised an eyebrow, and looked down at Vince’s hand painfully tight on his arm, knuckles white. Vince let go hastily, sitting down on the bed.

Naboo continued filling the case, mind-blinding polyester shirts and corduroy trousers. “Ending a spell isn’t like switching off a lightbulb, Vince. It’s going to take a while before you can see Howard without worshipping him.”

“I don’t worship him.” Vince stared at his hands, worried what they were going to do next. “I hate him.”

“Then you won’t mind not seeing him for a bit.” Naboo threw a couple of books and CDs in at random, all Howard’s possessions barely filling the suitcase halfway.

“How long?”

“Six months? A year?” Naboo shrugged. “This is powerful stuff, it’s difficult to say. The Board of Shamen is going to find him a safehouse somewhere for a bit, another life. Like Witness Protection.” He looked around the room, and threw in Howard’s photo album, closing the case with a soft click.

Vince followed Naboo out of the room and into the lounge. “What’s going to happen to me?”

Naboo opened the front door, and put the suitcase out on the step. “Me and Bollo’ll look after you,” he said to Vince, patting him on the arm. “Stay in here.” He closed the door behind him, and Vince heard it lock, so used to obeying orders now that he didn’t even think to look for his keys.

He could hear Naboo and Bollo talking outside, and he peered through the grimy little window in the kitchenette. It was pitch black, but he could just make out the silhouettes of two men and a gorilla, one of the men shaking out a piece of cloth that could only be a magic carpet.

There was a sudden crash, and the shouting in the distance got louder. The activists outside must have broken through the gate. Torches could be seen approaching in the distance. One of them illuminated Howard’s face, and he put his fingers up to shield his eyes.

Vince couldn’t breathe. Howard, his Howard, had a black eye and a bandage around his neck. He looked so much smaller, and so afraid.

Vince banged on the window as hard as he could, desperate to break through. “Howard!” he screamed.

Howard turned towards him, eyes wide, and the three figures rose into the air on Naboo’s magic carpet. Bollo pulled him down by his arm as the baying mob drew closer, and his face was lost from view.

Vince grabbed the iron off the counter and hurled it at the window, shattering the glass. “Howard!” he called out, scratching his arms to pieces as he tried to climb through. “Don’t leave me here!”

The carpet soared into the distance. The screaming mob turned their attention to the cages, ripping them apart and freeing the animals inside, releasing them into the zoo.

Vince strolled through the Brighton Lanes, occasionally glancing at an address scrawled on the back of his hand.

The sun was, if not actually shining, then still making its presence felt from behind the heavy cloud. Despite the day being overcast, everything was bright and warm, and it felt just like a summer’s day. People were sitting outside at cafes, eating cream teas and talking about how sick they’d been after going on the rides at the pier.

Vince pressed himself against the wall to let someone pass by in the crowded and narrow streets, and nodded to his third transsexual of the day. He was starting to understand why he blended in a little better here than in London.

He turned a corner to be faced with a dead end, and mentally went over the instructions Naboo had given him, looking around for a little green door. Someone had painted a huge mural on the left wall, and he eventually realised that it was a clever disguise – a real door disguised as a painted one. He pushed at it with his boot, and it swung open silently, revealing stairs leading up.

He could hear voices saying goodbye as he climbed the stairs, and stopped on the corner to let an elderly woman pass by, dressed in a shawl and an abundance of beads, smelling of incense.

The upstairs room was the bookshop he had been looking for – well, either that or a badly looked after library. It was filled with books, on shelves, on tables, stacked haphazardly in piles that teetered as Vince edged past them. Despite the sunshine outside, the room was dimly lit by some smoking candles and one huge grimy window at the far end.

Most of the light was blocked by a desk covered in papers – a rusting cash register visible behind a pile of them – and by the man who sat at it, engrossed in a old leather-bound hardback.

Vince hovered behind one of the tall bookcases, his heart pounding. Howard looked so different. His moustache and stubble were gone, a series of small nicks around his jawline evidence that he needed to buy a sharper razor. His hair was longer, a lot longer, tied back into a hippie-ish ponytail, a couple of strands floating free around his head, like he was underwater. His clothes were basically the same, greys and browns and black, camouflage wear.

But if you knew Howard as well as Vince did, the biggest change was visible in his face. He looked so much older. He’d surely grown an extra couple of crow’s feet. There was a tilt to his nose that hadn’t been there before, a broken nose that had healed oddly, tipping his face a little to the left. He was a little more tanned, a little more scarred.

He looked tired.

Vince took a step out into the open, hoping that Howard would see him and spare him having to announce himself, but Howard’s eyes never left the pages in front of him. Vince walked right up to the desk without Howard noticing him, and when he finally did he merely glanced at him.

“I don’t have a catalogue,” he said gruffly. “You’ll have to browse.”

“Have you got anything on zookeeping?” Vince said lightly, intending it to be a joke, but Howard looked up in fear, dropping his book forgotten on the desk.

“Oh shit,” he muttered, “please don’t hu-” He stopped, mouth open, and Vince waggled his fingers a little.

“Hi Howard.”

Howard blinked, pale. “What are you doing here?”

Vince ignored the quips that leapt to mind, keeping his voice neutral. “Looking for you.”

“Right, yeah, of course.” Howard ran a hand over his head, tugging a little at his ponytail, tightening it up. “Um. Do you want a cup of tea?”

Vince shoved his hands in his pockets. “That sounds great.”

Howard got to his feet, heavy-duty leather boots clumping against the floorboards and raising small clouds of dust. “I’ll just put the sign up.” He waved a piece of paper saying ‘Closed 4 Lunch’.

Vince stood right back against the bookshelves to let Howard pass, a full foot of space between them, and listened to him leave. He knew by the scampering sound of his footsteps that he was nervous, scared even, and it was a completely new feeling for him to be in control like this. That is, of the two of them, he’d always had a little more power over Howard than Howard ever had over him. But this was the first time that Howard had known it.

He nudged the edge of the book Howard had been reading, turning it so he could read the title. ‘Mrs Beeton’s Cooking’. Well, at least it wasn’t ‘Crime and Punishment’.

“Um,” said Howard behind him, and Vince turned, heart pounding. “I’m…you know. Cooking for myself now.”

“Right, yeah.”

Howard wrinkled his nose, looking up at the ceiling. “I’m shit at it.”

Vince grinned despite himself, forcing his face back into a serious expression.

“I can do tea, though.” Howard edged past him again, and Vince expected him to open a door to a kitchen, but instead he got down on his hands and knees and fiddled with something behind the desk. Vince stood on tiptoes to see what it was, and saw an electric kettle, and a tray with tea things on it.

He took a step back as Howard stood up suddenly, a mug in his hand. “This one’s dirty. Would you mind…there’s a little bathroom just at the back there…that way I can go get the milk?” He held out the mug, biting his lip, like Vince might take it from him and hurl it in his face. But he didn’t. He made sure their fingers didn’t touch, but he took the mug and headed in the direction that Howard had pointed out, finding a door the same colour as the wall, hidden behind yet another bookcase.

The toilet looked like it had been built during the Victorian age, and Vince got a little dizzy feeling of unintentional time travel before he spotted the bottle of Toilet Duck on the floor. He pulled the door closed behind him and took a deep breath. The mug wasn’t that dirty, a little splash of water fixed it alright, but he took his time checking his reflection in the tarnished mirror. Back to his old self – no one who didn’t know about the spell would have suspected he’d ever been ill.

There was a door banging, and a loud voice called out, “Started without me, eh? You’ll get sacked if you keep this up.” A loud male voice.

Vince rested the mug in the sink as softly as possible, and pressed his ear to the door, thanking Bowie that the Victorians didn’t believe in soundproofing.

He heard Howard shushing the visitor hastily, and his suspicion was immediately aroused. A year, after all. A lot could happen in a year.

“I got tomato with mozzarella ball things in it, I thought it was quite nice, but then I remembered you have that thing about cheese mixed with liquids, so I bought this chicken pie thing. It’s nice, it’s got pastry over the top of the cup.” The voice was fairly young, as far as he could tell, and southern. And entirely too familiar.

“Gary, look, you have to go.”

“You like soup, Howard.”

“No, it’s – I’ve got someone here.” Then there was a pause which must be Howard pointing at the toilet door, and Vince decided that would be the best time to flush the toilet loudly and stroll out, mug in one hand.

‘Gary’ was a slim twenty-something dressed in a striped rugby shirt and jeans, his head shaved and his eyebrow pierced. He was clutching two paper cups and eyeing Vince suspiciously..

Howard was standing far too close, biting his thumbnail and looking from one to the other. “Um. This is Vince Noir, he’s an old friend of mine.”

Vince navigated the books as calmly as he could, making sure he didn’t knock anything over. He couldn’t work out whether to be the person introduced, or the person introduced to, was more friendly – whether Howard was placing him over Gary or vice versa.

“And Vince, this is Gary. He’s a…new friend of mine.” Howard did a little half-laugh thing that no one joined in with. “Um, Gar’, we sort of need some time alone. You don’t mind, do you?”

Gary turned to Howard, effectively cutting Vince out of the conversation, and muttered, “This isn’t an ‘art’ thing, is it? Because you just have to say.” He gave Howard a significant look.

Howard hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. “No, it’s fine. We need to catch up. I’ll call you tonight, right?”

Gary sighed. “I’ll take these to the cafe, I’m sure I can find someone hungry enough to want to eat with me.” He turned to Vince and flashed him the most fake smile he’d ever seen. “Nice to meet you, Vince.”

“Likewise,” Vince muttered as Gary left, the sound of his footsteps on the stairs dying away. He glared at Howard, hands on hips. “Who – the fuck – was that?”

Howard put his hands up, one holding a half-full plastic container of milk. “Just a friend, Vince. I swear.”

“A gay friend.”

Howard raised his eyebrows. “This is Brighton.”

Vince conceded this point, ducking his head and kicking at the floorboards. The kettle clicked off suddenly, and Howard headed back to his desk.

Vince followed him, putting the washed mug down on the table and leaving a little ring of moisture on a copy of ‘Mythycall Beastes’. “You’re not sleeping with him then?”

Howard yelped as he poured boiling water onto his wrist. “The…hell? No! Of course not! He’s just a friend, Jesus…” He made two cups of tea hastily, muttering to himself and shaking his head. “God, I thought we were going to talk about…I’m not seeing anyone.”

Vince left his cup of tea where it was for the moment, arms folded. “Don’t you want to know if I’m seeing anyone?”

Howard looked up instantly. “Are you?”

Vince waited for a moment before answering, taking in Howard’s expression. “No.”

Howard stood up straighter, blowing on his tea. “Good.” His voice was firm, nothing like the nerves from earlier.

“What was all that ‘art’ stuff about?”

Howard waved a hand dismissively. “Just a sort of code. Gary knows I’ve had trouble in the past because of the concert, but I didn’t want him to keep asking me if I was getting hassled because of having sex with a fox, so ‘art’ is a sort of codeword. Performance art, you know.”

Vince leaned against a bookcase. “Have you? Had trouble, I mean.”

Howard shrugged, brushing his nose slightly with his knuckle, a gesture that did not go unnoticed. “Well, I didn’t start off in Brighton. I was in Manchester for a few months, but someone found out who I was, and…I had to leave.” His eyes got a little distant. “Even after the video went out on the news, most people still believe that I’m guilty, you know. They can get really angry about it.” He blinked, staring down at his tea. “But it’s alright now, yeah. I’ve got a job here, selling magic books on behalf of the Board, I’ve got a tiny flat, a small group of mates, it’s…yeah. It’s nice.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a great little life for yourself.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Howard said softly. “Or, I don’t know. Would you rather that I was doing okay or that I wasn’t?”

The question took Vince off-guard, Howard’s earnest tone – eager to abide by Vince’s wishes, to take his orders. He chose to ignore it, rattled slightly. “Um, the Zooniverse closed down. Don’t know if you knew that.”

“I heard.”

Vince picked at his nail polish. “And I’m staying with Naboo and Bollo, they’ve been really nice. Haven’t asked for rent or anything.”

“You’re not working?”

Vince glared at him, and Howard backpedalled hastily. “Um, not that I mean…I just wondered what you were doing with your time, that’s all.”

“Well, that’s part of why I’m here.” Vince took a little breath, trying to get his tale in the right order. “I’ve been looking for the other people under the spell. You know Fossil and Bainbridge went missing soon after Fossil was released from custody…and I’ve been following their trail. I managed to track them down in Nebraska.”

“You’re looking for a spellbook?” Howard said slowly, his face falling.

“No.” Vince pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, and handed it to Howard. “This is the hotel where they were last seen. And I thought…I mean, I wondered… I thought you might like to come with me.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and waited for Howard to look at him, instead of reading the same two lines over and over. “I figured that anything that makes Fossil less annoying and fucks up Bainbridge would be something you’d want to be a part of.”

Howard was still silent.

Vince panicked. “Naboo said he’d come with!” he blurted out. “I mean, um. He said if you couldn’t go, he’d shut the shop and come with me. If you didn’t want to go. So you don’t have to.”

Howard re-folded the piece of paper, blinking. “Are you…sure?”

Vince let out a breath in a rush. “Look. I haven’t forgiven you. Not yet. But I’m not as angry as I was a year ago.” He bit the inside of his cheek, running through the speech he’d planned every day for twelve months, the speech that had gone through tears, through violence, through some kind of magical retribution. “You did something…awful. To me.”

Howard screwed his eyes shut, a painful expression on his face.

Vince tipped his head to one side, staring at the ceiling. “But. You did something pretty big to yourself to fix it. Which, we’re not equal, not exactly. But we’ve got somewhere to start from, I think.”

Howard’s eyes sprang open. “Really?”

“Yeah, like…” Vince hid a smirk. “Like, not forgiveness exactly. But a sort of pre-forgiveness. Worth giving a chance, I suppose.”

Howard nodded decisively. “You’ll have to give me a bit of time to sort stuff out, get someone to cover this place, that kind of thing.”

“And say goodbye to Gary,” Vince muttered, and Howard shot him a look. “I’ve got a hotel room on the seafront, I thought you might need a couple of days. I’ll stick around, get an ice cream.”

Howard grinned, the first truly happy expression Vince had seen. It went right to his heart, to his fondest memories, and he struggled, once again, to combine the old and the new Howard. The man who smiled like that, and the man who had stolen three months of his life.

Vince narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t fixed, Howard. Nowhere near.”

Howard’s smile disappeared slowly, and he nodded, sipping at his tea. “But there’s still hope, right?”

~ fin ~

Maestro
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