Undead and Unappreciated

  And I could smell her anxiety. It was like burning glue.

  “I don’t remember…”

  “Antonia, you remember,” Sinclair assured her. “You just haven’t thought of it in many years. On purpose. Did the baby live?”

  Her mouth hung open, and she moved her lips like she was trying to answer him, but nothing came out. Finally she groped and found Sinclair’s hands, and the rest of her sordid tale just…just poured out. Like vomit.

  “It wasn’t me, it wasn’t me! I got pregnant to get married, but it didn’t work, and then the baby was here, and it wasn’t me!” She wasn’t just yelling, she was shrieking it, screaming it, and now her nails were digging into Sinclair’s hands as she hung on for dear life. “It was supposed to work, and it didn’t work, and I didn’t know what happened, so I dropped her off…went to the hospital and left her in the lobby…nobody was around, but I knew someone would probably find her…so I put her down and never…never…”

  “Jesus,” I said, startled.

  “The last time the Ant was this upset,” Jessica whispered to me, “you came home a day early from summer camp.”

  “It’s all right, Antonia,” Sinclair soothed. “Of course it wasn’t you. Who was it?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t know.” She bowed her head, and a dry sob escaped. “I was pregnant and then I wasn’t and the baby…the baby…”

  “Antonia, what day did you find out you were pregnant?”

  “Halloween. Nineteen eighty-five.”

  “And what day was the next day? The day you woke up and the baby was already there?”

  “August sixth, nineteen eighty-six. She was—she wasn’t a newborn. I don’t know how old she was, but she wasn’t a newborn.”

  Dead silence while we all processed this. Marc hurried to Sinclair’s side and whispered a question to him.

  “Antonia, we’re almost finished—”

  “Good,” she snapped, still looking at the floor. “I’m not telling you another thing.”

  “Yes, fine, Antonia, look up at me—that’s better. Antonia, is there a history of mental illness in your family?”

  “We don’t talk about that.”

  “Of course not, only nasty people talk about that.”

  She was nodding so hard her hair actually moved. “Yes, that’s right, that’s exactly right, only nasty people—whiners, and—and—”

  “But who was sick? In your family?”

  “My grandmother. And both of my aunts. Not my mother, though, not mine.”

  “No, of course not. And you’re different from them.”

  “It’s just my nerves,” she explained. “I just have very delicate nerves. She doesn’t understand.”

  “No, she’s not really the understanding type, is she?”

  “Hey,” I protested mildly.

  “Anybody else would have stayed dead,” the Ant went on, sounding aggrieved. “She didn’t even have the class to do that. Has to be different—and—different—and has to rise and be a vampire. A vampire! She broke her father’s heart.”

  “Class?” I yelped. “Oh, being undead is, what, classless now? And it’s not like I had a choice, you tiny-brained, idiotic, shallow, Botoxed, gutless, chinless—”

  “She lives with that rich Negro,” the Ant confided. “And they’re not married. Get what I’m saying?”

  I slapped my forehead. Negro! Who even uses that word?

  “I didn’t know I was gay,” Jessica commented.

  Oh, Lord, let me die now again.

  “Antonia, where did you leave the baby?”

  “There was no baby.”

  “No, of course not. Certainly not your problem anymore. But where did you leave her?”

  “She didn’t cry when I left her,” the Ant said steadily. “She was warm. I had—I had lots of towels and I could spare some. I put them in the dryer first.”

  “Of course you did, you’re not a monster.”

  “She’s the monster.”

  “Yes, she’s terrible, and where is the baby?”

  “Children’s.”

  “Saint Paul,” Marc whispered.

  “All right, Antonia. You’ve been most helpful.”

  “Well, I try to donate to The Jimmy Fund when I go to the movies,” she said.

  “Oh, that’s excellent. And you won’t remember anything.”

  “No, I certainly will not.”

  “You’ll go upstairs and get ready for bed. And you’ll sleep like a baby.”

  “Yes, like a baby.”

  “Like the baby you callously abandoned,” he said and abruptly let go of her hands.

  “A sad woman,” Sinclair commented when we were all outside again.

  “Very sad,” Tina agreed. She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, which was as creepy as it sounded. “Very difficult.”

  “I’ve got privileges at Children’s,” Marc said. He was well into junior Sherlock Holmes mode, I was annoyed to see. “I bet we can track this baby down. And I bet I can get a crack at the Ant’s med recs, too. Or at least try. I can try.”

  “Why do you want to see her records?” I asked. We weren’t ready to get in the car yet, so we were sort of loitering outside on the front lawn.

  “Because nobody blacks out for ten months unless something is really wrong. You heard her. One minute she was pregnant, the next she ‘woke up’ with a crying baby. So…what happened during that ten months?”

  “I think I know,” Tina said quietly.

  “Tina,” Sinclair said.

  “Eric,” she replied. She almost never used his first name.

  “Tina?” I was surprised. Tina hadn’t looked this nervous when Nostro threw us into the pit with the Fiends. But she was younger then. In a manner of speaking. “Hey, are you all right? Did you forget to have a snack?”

  I noticed she had knotted her fingers together like kids playing “this is the church, this is the steeple” and now spoke to her knuckles, fast, without pausing. “My Queen, I always liked you personally, but now I am filled with admiration because you’re not psychotic after being raised by that woman.”

  “Awww,” I replied. I almost smirked. “That gets me right here, Tina.”

  “It’s true,” Sinclair said. “It’s a miracle you’re not more vain, shallow, and ignorant.”

  “Thanks,” I said. Then, “What?”

  Chapter 8

  “Wow!” Jessica said, shaking her head. “I heard it with my own ears, and I still don’t believe she did it. Man, that’s cold. Even for her.”

  “Most disagreeable,” Sinclair agreed.

  “Well…” Marc hesitated, then dunked his cookie into his tea until half of it dropped into the cup with a small plunk. Yech! I could never understand why he drank his cookies instead of eating them. “I’m not the biggest fan of Betsy’s dad and stepmom, but if Antonia had a family history of that sort of thing—fugues or whatever—think how she must have felt. One minute she’s pregnant, the next she’s lost almost an entire year.” He shook his head. “She must have been scared shitless.”

  “Anybody would have been,” I added, “but her especially because of her family history.” I noticed everyone was staring at me. “What? I can put myself in her shoes. Her tacky, plastic shoes. I don’t like her, and I definitely don’t think she should have dumped my kid sister off in a hospital lobby, but I still feel kind of bad for her.”

  “Humph,” Jessica said. She wasn’t eating or drinking anything, just sitting at the table with the rest of us, her bony arms folded over her chest. “Listen, Tina, you were saying you thought you knew what happened the nine months the Ant was non compos mentis?”

  Tina didn’t say anything. After a moment, it got awkward.

  “Uh, Tina? Hello?”

  Sinclair sighed.

  “Uh-oh,” Marc said to his tea.

  “Elizabeth,” he began. “There is something I must tell you.”

  I carefully set down my cup. This never, ever boded well. It was
never ‘I bought you six dozen flowers and forgot you don’t like yellow.’ It was always stuff like ‘By the way, now you’re the queen’ or ‘Hey, I’m moving in.’

  “Hit me,” I said. I would have taken a deep breath to brace myself, but that would have just made me dizzy.

  “This is…a private matter.”

  “Right,” Marc said, standing and pulling Jessica out of her chair. “We’ll just go.”

  “Right,” Jessica said, catching on. “We’ll, uh, be dusting something. In one of the rooms.” They hurried out, and I heard her whisper, “She’ll tell us later anyway.”

  “Possibly not,” Tina said.

  “I had an ulterior motive when we went to your stepmother’s house.”

  “You did? You did? An ulterior motive? You? No way!”

  “The Book of the Dead talks about your sibling.”

  “How do you know? I thought if you read that thing too long, you lost your mind.”

  “I have been reading bits and pieces of it over the last several decades.”

  I digested that one. “Okayyyyyy. So the Book knew I had a sister roaming around the wilds of wherever.” Then it hit me, what he was saying. “You knew I had a sister.”

  “Yes.”

  “You knew I had a sister.” I guess I felt like if I said it out loud enough, it would be less painful? “You knew I had a sister.”

  “Yes. Until today, I had thought the sibling in question was the baby your stepmother is carrying now.” Then he added, totally calmly, “I was working my way up to telling you.”

  “Eric!” Jessica shouted from the hallway. “Work with me!” She raced in, Marc on her heels. “What is the matter with you? I fix it so you can move in, but this is the sort of thing that makes her nuts. Crazy, insane!”

  “I think it’s safe to say,” I said through numb lips, “that I’m feeling a little insane right now.”

  “It’s just that you had so many other things to worry about,” Tina said quickly, trying to cover Sinclair’s ass as usual. “Being sovereign and solving the murders from this summer and the—the house situation and the other vampires not respecting your position and all of that. That’s why he had to go to Eur—never mind. He—we felt you had enough on your plate without worrying about your sister being the daughter of the devil and taking over the world.”

  I had been holding my teacup in both hands and accidentally squashed it like a bug. Jessica winced. Marc just stared at all of us. “What?”

  Tina bit her lip. “Oh dear.”

  “Thank you for your assistance,” Sinclair replied dryly.

  Jessica dumped the cookies and crackers off the silver tray, walked around the table, and cracked Sinclair over the head with it. With a hollow bonnnng!, the silver dented. Sinclair didn’t turn, just kept his steady, dark gaze on me.

  “Lower,” I said.

  “You’re so evicted,” she told him.

  Chapter 9

  It was going to be sunrise soon enough, so I figured I should change into shorts and a T-shirt. What I really wanted to do was talk to Jessica about all that had happened that night, but she’d disappeared after assaulting Sinclair. There was still time to track her down…

  I decided to cheer myself up by wearing my bargains, a $180 pair of white-and-black loafers. I’d be the best-dressed dead girl in the house. Then when I rose tomorrow night, I’d be ready for action. What kind of action, I had no idea. I’d worry about that then.

  Meanwhile, I paired the bargains with black anklets, a black and white skirt, my cashmere mock turtleneck (a gift from Jess…the thing was practically indestructible in the hands of a good dry cleaner), and my black wool blazer. I checked myself out in the mirror and thought: adorable. I immediately felt better.

  I guess this sounds kind of shallow, but it’s harder to be depressed when you put yourself together as best you can. To put it another way, my life might be in the toilet again, but with my hair combed, my eye shadow coordinated, and my bra matching my underpants, I was ready for whatever the world threw at me.

  I walked out of my room, down the stairs, down about six hallways, and into the kitchen, where Marc was eating Cheerios. I could hear Jess rummaging around on the other side of the room.

  Without looking up from his cereal he said, “Nope.”

  I trudged back to my room, but not so quickly I couldn’t hear Jessica talking to Marc.

  “What was that? Where’d she go? I was looking for her.”

  “She’s too tall to pull off the schoolgirl thing.”

  “I thought she looked cute.”

  “She looked like a blond zebra. Look, I’m her friend; it’s my job to tell her this stuff.”

  “It’s your job to pay rent. It’s my job to tell her that stuff. You’re a picky bitch,” Jessica replied.

  “Now who’s spouting clichés? I’m gay so I’m bitchy?”

  “No, you’re gay and you’re bitchy. I think she’s had a tough enough week. And it’s only Tuesday!”

  “Right, so the last thing she needs is a fashion clashin’…” He trailed off (or I got far enough away) and I shut my bedroom door.

  Nuts. Well, switch to leggings, stick with the mock and the blazer, and change into sandals. No, it was thirty degrees outside. Not that I was going outside. But you weren’t really dressed until your toes had something under them. Penny loafers, I guessed.

  I was just putting my bargains back into the closet when there was a knock at my door.

  “Come in, Jess.”

  “Well, I thought you looked cute,” she said by way of greeting.

  “I think he’s right. I’m too tall. You’d look good in that outfit. You want it?”

  “No thanks. I want to talk about what happened earlier—” She glanced out the window. “You got time?”

  “Yeah, half an hour, at least.” I never saw the sun, though it couldn’t hurt me. One of the perks of being the vampire queen. “Ugh, how awful was that whole thing?”

  “No wonder Sinclair was so interested in tagging along tonight,” she added, sitting next to me on the bed. “He knew, and he didn’t tell you. Didn’t warn you or anything.”

  “I know! See, see? Everyone’s all ‘Oh, give Sinclair a chance, he’s not so bad’ because they don’t see the evil, dark, yukky, nutty side of him. He is the Almond Joy of my life.”

  “Honey, I’m convinced. That was pretty sneaky, even for him. Are you okay? It must have been a shock. You want another cup of tea or something?”

  “No.” I wanted not to be dead, but of course that wasn’t happening anytime soon. No point bitching about it right that minute. But knowing me, I’d get back to it later. “I’m so full of tea I’m seeping. Thanks for smacking him for me.”

  “It was either bonk him on the head or stab him with his own butter knife.”

  “That could have been fun. And thanks for evicting him.”

  “I don’t think it’ll work.” She frowned. “He won’t leave.”

  “Vampires and cockroaches. They’re impossible to get out of the ducts.”

  “So, what? What does this mean?”

  “I have no idea. I was starting to get used to the Ant being knocked up.”

  “Lie.”

  “Okay, you’re right, I was still kind of freaked. But now I’m sort of getting used to the idea that I’ve got another sibling, never mind that she’s the daughter of the devil. Not the Ant. The devil. But—and stop me if you’ve heard this before—what am I supposed to do about it?”

  Jessica shrugged.

  “There’s gotta be more to it than that. I suppose I’ll have to go to him and get the rest of the story.”

  “Screw that.”

  “Amen.” I flopped down onto my bedspread. “I knew it was too quiet around here,” I mumbled into my pillow. “Something was bound to happen. I was expecting zombies to come out of the walls or something.”

  “Bets, I think it’s time.”

  “No.”

  “Yes, it is. You ne
ed it, and you’re ready.”

  “It’s too soon.”

  “I know it’s scary,” she said, rubbing my back, “but you’ll feel better. You know it’s the right thing to do.”

  “I’m not ready,” I replied, scared.

  “Yes. You are. It’s okay, I’ll be there with you.”

  I shook my head, but she wouldn’t be dissuaded.

  The next evening…

  “Oh my Gawd,” the pedicurist said. “What have you been doing with your feet?”

  “She’s been dead for the last six months,” Jessica said helpfully from the opposite chair.

  “I don’t care, that’s no excuse. Gawd, they’re like hooves. You’ve got to take better care of them. What about that cucumber cream I gave you last spring? It doesn’t apply itself, y’know.”

  “I’ve been busy,” I said defensively. “You know, with stuff.” Solving murders. Trying to run Scratch. Restraining myself from jumping Sinclair’s bones. Not that I wanted to do that anymore. I think it would be fair to say my desire for him had been thoroughly squashed. I didn’t want those big hands on me or those firm lips on me or that big—anyway, squashed, thoroughly squashed.

  “Everybody’s got stuff, you’ve got to take care of your feet.”

  “And they’ll take care of you,” Jessica and I chorused obediently.

  The pedicurist was sawing at my heels with a pumice stone. “Right! See, girls, you listen to me. Never mind about stuff. Foot care has to come first.”

  “Uh-huh.” Maybe I could take her a little more seriously if she’d been out of high school more than twenty minutes. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “Okeydokey then.”

  Jessica rolled her eyes at me, and I grinned back. “For a rich girl, you’ve got tough feet.”

  “Off my case, blondie. Yours aren’t better.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Didn’t we just establish that there’s nothing—not a single thing—more important than foot care?”

  “Give me a break,” I muttered.

  The pedicurist dipped my feet back in the swirling water, then shook the bottle of nail polish. “Good choice,” she told me.