"Reeeeally. " I gave Laura a sideways glance. This was believable and I was sure the Lady of Lies was making a bold departure by telling the truth. Laura certainly looked like a dog who knew she'd piddled on the good rug. "Then I guess we'll talk about that some other time. "
"There's no need to raise your voice. "
I had raised my voice? I was pretty sure I hadn't. I was positive I hadn't. It was no secret from me when I raised my voice, what with the shrieky tenor and adrenaline surge. And . . . was the devil nervous? Stop me if you've heard this before: what kind of weird-ass timeline was this?
Aw, nuts. Lucifer was still talking. "You should thank her. "
"Yeah, hold your breath waiting for that to happen. "
"That's not necessary, Mother, Betsy doesn't owe me anything. "
"She was-"
"So maybe we should go?" Laura asked, looking at me with eyes so wide the whites were showing all around, like a scared horse. She'd interrupted. She'd interrupted one of her elders! Unthinkable. The timeline was going mad. "We should go. "
"Betsy for certain, but you may remain if you like, Laura. " Satan looked right at me. "You should thank her because she was just trying to protect you. "
"Aw. That's sweet, Satan. And I definitely need advice from you on when and where to trot out good manners. "
"She didn't want you to know-"
"Mother. " Laura's voice, sharp and heavy with warning.
"-what you'll do-"
"Mother!"
"-to Eric Sinclair in the future and-"
"Stop it!"
"-believe me, it's far worse than anything that happened to him before. "
I stared at them all: mother, daughter, stepmother. "What is she talking about?"
"Nothing!"
"Everything," Satan said, so softly it was almost a whisper. A whisper I could feel at the base of my spine.
"It's not set in stone, Betsy, and it's not as bad as you think it-"
"It's not set in stone, Laura's right, she's always right because she's so quaintly honest. " The devil tittered, clearly amused at the thought of an Antichrist who tried never to lie. "It's set in flesh. That's what the book is. "
"Why are you doing this?" Laura managed to force through gritted teeth. They were almost nose-to-nose. Their wings stirred and fluttered in their agitation. "Why are you doing this right now?"
Laura winced as soon as the question was out of her mouth, and I could see Lucifer had grabbed her. All four fingers and the thumb were deeply sunk into Laura's arm. "Because I. Don't. Lose. "
"I don't like this, I don't like any of this, all of you just stop, ohpleasedon'tfight," the Ant moaned. We ignored her.
"What's she talking about, little sister?" I'd never been so angry and so afraid in my life . . . and that included getting run down in the road like a squirrel. "What in the book is about Sinclair?" This . . . it all made sense. This was why Satan would only give me the ability to read it after I helped Laura with her powers. And why Laura took it and wouldn't let me see it. The book predicted something terrible (like death, again) happening to the king of the vampires! "Out with it, Laura. I've already strangled one pain in my ass today. "
Satan laughed harder. She had, I was sorry to say, a great laugh, a throaty chuckle-y laugh. "The book isn't about Sinclair. It is Sinclair!"
I blinked. I understood the words, but they didn't make sense in context. The book was Sinclair, like, what? They were one and the same? What the heck was that supposed to-
"My, I can almost smell your cortex burning as you labor to puzzle this out. Literally, the book is Eric Sinclair. It's his skin the book is written on. "
Ouch. Nice try, Satan, but this girl wasn't biting. Finally, finally I was wising up to the devil. She was humiliated because I'd bounced her off the walls of her own office, and it didn't take her long to figure out the best and most vicious place to hit me was the center of my heart. Where I kept Sinclair, of course.
"Nice try," I said. "If I knew you a little less, I'd have fallen for it. Now. We really should head out, but don't think this hasn't been fun, although it hasn't, and don't think we haven't enjoyed your company, although we haven't. " I looked at Laura and Garrett. "You guys ready to go?"
"Yes. Go. Yes. " Satan made a visible effort to stop laughing. "This way it's even better. Oh, I never thought of this! Much, much better. Go with my blessing. "
"Yeah, because if there's one thing I don't like to travel without, it's the devil's blessing. "
Instead of getting pissy, she was getting more and more cheerful. Weird. Would Thorazine work on Satan? "Away, Vampire Queen. And never, ever forget: I warned you, and your response was insolence. "
"Yeah, thanks, it was fun strangling you, let's never, ever do lunch. " I looked at Laura, who was playing Statues all by herself. "Uh, Laura? You want to unclench and make us a doorway already?"
She looked at Satan, then at me. She blinked, licked her lips, and tried a smile. It looked all right if you didn't mind sharks. The poor kid . . . she couldn't even make her expressions lie. It was so cute! She really hated confrontations (unless she was killing someone; then she overcame her shyness). I couldn't imagine how difficult this had been for her. It's hard, I think, for anyone to stand up to their mother, even mothers that weren't fallen angels. Laura did great. I was proud to be with her . . . so proud she was my sister.
"Yes, we've . . . we've worn out your welcome," she managed. I squashed the urge to put my arm around her. For one thing, her wings were still out and I had no idea how to encircle her shoulders without getting a faceful of feathers. For another, I didn't want Satan to see that as weakness, on either of our parts. "So we'll go. We'll go right now. "
"That would imply you'd been welcomed," the Ant said, rallying. Guess she'd finally figured out which way to jump, because she went back to her desk and sat behind it. "Next time, call before you come. "
"I don't have hell's phone number. "
"Precisely," the Ant said. Ouch! She got me! That dead bitch got me.
It was all right. We'd gotten what we came for, and then some. I felt like doing a victory dance.
Things were going to work out.
They really were. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Laura carved a hole in the universe and the three of us stepped through it. I realized something that both impressed and scared me: Laura didn't have to smack me anymore to tap into her powers. When just a few days ago, she had to practically beat me with a two by four just to drop through a doorway to end up somewhere she couldn't plan for.
I noticed we were exactly where I wanted to go: my bedroom in the mansion.
Laura was catching on fast. Scary-fast. I was so glad she was on our side.
"Well! That was stressful and weird and probably illegal, or at least immoral. It was like a family reunion where nobody can find the booze. Also, you are really getting the hang of this teleporting-around-the-time-stream thing. "
"I'd better be. " Laura sounded unaccustomedly grim. The confrontation, of course. We'd been to hell and back (several times) and lived to tell the tale. I'd be worried if she didn't sound grim. "We're going to need everything, we're going to have to learn and master everything, just to tread water. And we're already behind. "
"I know, I know. " I didn't, actually. Behind what? Learn everything to tread water? Sure, whatever, your doctor told you not to mix your medications, right? She picked the oddest times to be grim and determined. Didn't she know? It was over. If this were a book, it'd be the end. If it were a movie, we'd be showing the hilarious outtakes while the audience surged toward the restrooms.
"Dammit, Betsy-"
"I'm not taking this lightly!" I added, raising my hands like I was a liquor-store clerk and she was a crack-addled petty thief. It was never a good sign when the Antichrist dropped expletives. "Just let me enjoy the moment, okay? You've agreed to give back the book, the devil's piss
ed at us, and-"
"Hey!"
"-and Antonia-"
"Dammit, what the hell?"
I looked-that was a familiar voice. And it was coming from my closet. "And Antonia-the good one-oh my God, I can't believe it . . . I mean, I believe it, but it's so unreal! Even though it's happening so, by definition, it's very real. "
"I didn't exactly agree to give-" Laura began.
Muffled, from the far back corner of my walk-in: "Somebody better tell me what the hell I'm doing in this closet right now!"
"And Antonia's back," I finished. I'd recognize those growled dulcet tones anywhere.
"Betsy, about the book . . . we're going to need it, and I'm going to help you, and I think together we can fix things, but I didn't agree to-"
"Whoa!" I scrambled out of the way as Garrett darted down the hallway toward my room. Only my vampire nimbleness saved me from getting squished when he flew across the threshold. He didn't so much open my closet door as yank it off its hinges. Then Antonia was rushing out-clogs flew everywhere-and into his arms so quickly she knocked him over. They practically made their own shock wave when they came together: ka-WHAM!
Momentum brought them sliding to a stop about a foot from my ankles. I could see Antonia looked exactly as she had in life . . . still beautiful (it was disgusting how many werewolves and vamps were stupidly gorgeous). She had the build of a swimsuit model and the complexion of an Irish milkmaid who put sunscreen on before she even got out of bed. Soooo irritating. And hell must have a terrific salon, because her lustrous dark hair shone and her lean limbs were as finely toned as ever. In fact, I could see more of her limbs than I wanted as the two of them were ripping off each other's clothes.
Wait. They issued clothing in hell? Or did you have to, I don't know, pack a suitcase? Or a steamer trunk?
While I pondered this fascinating quandary, Antonia looked up long enough from trying to devour Garrett alive-that's how it looked to me, anyway-to say, "Hey, bimbo. Thanks for the ticket out of hell. "
For Antonia, that was sincere, heartfelt, tearful gratitude. Heck, I was almost tearing up at the warmth of her thanks. I covered it pretty well, though. "Don't have sex with him in here, you whore. "
Predictably, they both ignored me. "Hey. Hey! You can pay me back by fixing the closet door you broke through. And by doing that somewhere else. Oh, come on! Do not, do not have sex on my bedroom floor. At least move the extra shoes out of the . . . oh, God. Oh my God. How did you do that? I can't even imagine how you did that to something as big as-"
Laura had seized my elbow and was dragging me away from the scene of desecration. Thank goodness, because although I didn't want them to defile my carpet, I wanted to see them do it even less. Yet I was frozen. The whole thing was like a shuttle crash in slow motion. You know how in action movies the hero always leaps forward in slow motion to stop something terrible? And you can hear his long, drawn-out, "Noooooooooo . . . !" Yeah. It was exactly like that, except I didn't have to pay $8. 75 to see it.
"At least move my end table-" The crash of shattering glass cut me off. "You guys! Gross! I forbid it! I'm the queen of the vampires and you can't have sex right now on my . . . oh, man. That's not gonna come out. " I looked at Laura as she mercifully pulled my bedroom door shut. "That won't ever come out, Laura. And there isn't a dry cleaner on the planet who will touch it. See? See what I have to deal with?"
Laura was unmoved by their romantic reunion and my revulsion at what I had (almost) seen. "We should go tell your husband everything that's happened. "
"Okay. Do we have a CliffsNotes version? Because telling Sinclair every single detail will take a long time. Hey, let's start with me making your mom my bitch and finish with 'and now Garrett and Antonia are defiling our bedroom with fluids no one should be able to voluntarily produce much less spread around. ' And can we leave out the part where I meant to ask for Antonia but asked for footgear instead?"
"Under no circumstances do we tell him every single detail. "
I nodded, relieved. "Oh, great. We're on the same page, then. "
"Not quite. But maybe soon. Listen . . . "
I listened. But the Antichrist seemed to have trouble finding words. She just looked at me and shook her head, but I didn't understand why. Head-shake: I'm a little overwhelmed? Head-shake: I can't believe what Garrett did with your bedspread ? Head-shake: I'm scared what my mom will do next?
"We have a lot to do. "
"Okay. No, wait. That sucks. And you're wrong. If this was a book, this would be the part at the end where we're all relieved that things worked out and everybody's happy. The end. Cue cheesy montage music, probably something sad by Stevie Nicks. "
"No. "
"Kenny Loggins?"
"What?"
"Come on, we just got back. From hell (again), if you're not keeping score. That's worth celebrating. That's worth resting on our laurels for at least a week, right?"
Laura was shaking her head so much, for a moment I worried she was having a seizure. "Betsy, I don't mean to tell you your business, except I think it's maybe my business, too, and I'm not sure what just happened is what you think just happened. Because-"
"Are you serious? Were you not just inside the hellhole formerly known as my bedroom? What just happened-what is, ugh, still happening is exactly what I thought was happening. Sinclair isn't going to take this well. Maybe we should go check in to the Marriott for a while . . . until the fumigators come at the least . . . "
"Betsy, please shut up! You have no idea how serious things are!"
"You're right. And you don't know when it's time to relax and lighten up. It's not your fault-it's your upbringing. Your folks are so busy helping their fellow man they never stop and smell the fabric softener. This is the part-"
"This isn't a book, Betsy. It's your life. It's all our lives. "
I ignored the buzzkilling wench. "-where we do fun things for ourselves while telling everyone about our zany adventures. Then, as in every episode of South Park, we talk about what we've learned. Then we rest up for a few days or weeks or (let's hope!) months, and then something weird and terrible happens that we have to drop everything and fix. And that terrible thing sort of takes over our lives for a few days, and then we figure out how to fix the problem, and the whole celebration cycle starts all over again. "
"We have a lot to do," she said again. "A lot to get ready for. " Laura sounded grim and resolute, which was pretty cool. I felt frazzled and freaked, which was pretty normal. I was glad Antonia was back, glad Garrett had his girlfriend back, glad I'd kicked the devil's ass, glad Laura had sided with me at a crucial time, glad we weren't fighting anymore.
But everything had happened so quickly! Shoot, two weeks ago I had never been to hell, to the past, to the future. Two weeks ago, Garrett and Antonia were dead and my mom was living the single life in Hastings. Two weeks ago, Christian Louboutin was getting ready for the rollout of his spring . . .
But that was too painful to think about.
"Maybe I'll sow salt in my bedroom when those two are done. That seems to be the safest thing to do. That's not an overreaction, right?"
"Yes, do that. " Laura sounded distracted, but she never wavered in her determination to haul me away from the scene of the (ongoing) crime. "Listen, we need to find Sinclair. And we need to talk to the Marc Thing. "
"Oh . . . shit!"
I'd forgotten. I'd completely forgotten. We had unfinished business, triumph in hell or no triumph.
The laurel-resting would have to wait, dammit. CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
We rushed into the basement. Our dank, gross, creepy, you've-seen-this-in-every-horror-movie basement. There had been corpses down there, good guys and bad guys, and don't get me started on the tunnel system. Yeah. Tunnel system. I'd told Sinclair I felt like I was in a Roadrunner cartoon, but sometimes it was more like an episode of Scooby Doo. "And I would have gotten away with stealing the Boo
k of the Dead if it wasn't for you meddling kids. "
The basement stretched the length and width of the house, which was amazing any way you looked at it. The mansion, as the word implies, was not small.
We charged down the stairs, down a couple of hallways, past the kitchen (I could see someone in there but we were in too much of a hurry to slow down), down more stairs, and then we were in the gloom and stink of our ancient, dank, yucky basement.
I figured they must have been keeping him in one of the old wine cellars. Yeah, "one of," implying we had more than one, and we did. But I could honestly say I didn't know all that much about it . . . I disliked the basement almost as much as I disliked the attic (nothing good ever comes from the attic!). I was able to count on one hand the number of times I'd ventured down there, and that was the way I hoped to keep it.
Anyway, the wine cellars were solidly built, cool (but not damp or chilly), and best of all, they had enormous heavy wooden doors with old-fashioned bolts. Bolts! Like it was a medieval dungeon! Three of them (two more than anyone ever needed for anything, ever), each as thick as my wrist. What the previous owners needed bolts on the outside for I didn't know and didn't want to know.
It was a pretty good place to keep an insane, and insanely strong, vampire. Even if he wriggled or tore through eight rolls of duct tape, he had the bolts (three!) to contend with. It likely wouldn't keep him forever, but long enough for someone to realize what the Marc Thing was up to and cough up the old standby: "Look out! He's getting away!"
And I knew he was. I knew it. We hadn't come far enough into the basement to see the wine cellar door, but I knew it would be hanging half off its hinges. I knew the door would be smashed and battered, and maybe a friend or relative lying nearby, unconscious or dead, and when we ventured into the room itself, we'd see splinters of chair and shreds of duct tape. We'd stare at each other in dismay and wonder how we could have been so stupid.