Undead and Done

  “Uh . . . hadn’t crossed my mind, actually. You think I should spit in a test tube and FedEx it to the CDC?”

  “That’s one way to do it,” she replied, still twinkling away. “What if a vampire breaks the law?”

  “Then vampires deal with it.”

  “So you have a legal system, courts . . . like that?”

  “Kind of.” Well, no. Not really. It was a good idea, though.

  “So if a vampire broke the law and was arrested, you would allow them to go through the human justice system?”

  “We’re all human,” I said quietly, “and vampires have been through our justice system. Look, most of us lie low.” Shit! Sounded shifty. Recover, recover! “They work hard to stay out of trouble. When they can’t, or won’t, then we take care of it.”

  “So you don’t consider yourself a sovereign nation, entirely separate from the rest of the world?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Do you have anything else to tell people about vampires?”

  The end, finally in sight. “Just that in most ways, we’re like you. Nothing to be scared of—I mean, we’re all capable of savagery. You don’t have to be a vampire to be a jackass. I guess I would want people watching to know that their lives aren’t any different today than they were last month, before you knew vampires were a thing. Let’s just—y’know, everyone can get back to business now.”

  “Not that we would, but . . .” She leaned down and picked up her coffee cup. “Say this was filled with holy water—”

  “Are you on a cleanse diet or something?”

  “Ah, no.”

  “Because you look great.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You don’t have to cleanse with holy water.”

  “If this was holy water,” Pierce continued doggedly, “and I tossed it at you—”

  “Rude.”

  “—would it hurt you?”

  “No.”

  “Can you show us?

  “No. As I said, this isn’t a circus act. I’m not here to convince you, or your audience. Just to let my sister know that I’m not contesting her latest crap.” Nor was I about to mention that my gorgeous blond jackass of a sister was the Antichrist. It would just lead to more questions I didn’t want to answer, as well as stooping to her level of jealous tattletale.

  “Thank you very much for coming to talk to us today.”

  “Thanks for letting me come.”

  “Did we have a choice?” she joked.

  “Um, yeah, of course—”

  Cut. “And we’re out!”

  So that was that.

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  THE PRESENT

  Tina cleared her throat. “So. About that PR firm . . . ?”

  “What? It was fine.” They were all staring at me. “What? It was! I mean, I felt a little on the spot with the werewolf question—”

  “You looked like a deer about to be mowed by a semi,” Marc pointed out. “Two semis. The first would’ve creamed you; the second would have made sure you stayed down.”

  “Oh, please, exaggerate a little more.” I scoffed and, when that seemed to have no effect, scoffed harder. “Besides, I couldn’t out werewolves without their permission. Like I need the Wyndham pack breathing down my neck—literally breathing down my neck and probably drooling on me—along with everything else going on this month?”

  Sinclair actually shuddered. “No, you do not. But I’m afraid this interview has done nothing but raise more questions.” Infinitesimal pause. “As I warned you it might.”

  “And here we go with the ‘I Told You So’ dance. Well, too bad. You guys are the ones who said I shouldn’t guzzle holy water on camera. You’re the ones who said I wasn’t a circus performer.”

  “No,” Marc agreed, “your outfit was all wrong for that.”

  I shot him an exasperated look. “Look, Laura made her little video, I went on TV to refute, end of story.”

  “No one is saying that you did a bad job,” Tina began in that “treat the idiot with kid gloves” tone I hated. “But—”

  “By denying we’re a nation, you just opened up the chance for any vampire to be arrested, charged, and tried in a court of law . . . not by our laws,” Sinclair said.

  “Which is . . . bad?”

  Vigorous nods.

  Sinclair went on. “Every vampire who sees this will now wonder if you have not simply exposed them, but they will wonder if you made a deliberate decision to leave them without protection, either.”

  “Which is super-duper bad.”

  “Yes. Further, by mentioning vampire politics, you have raised the question among our people: Why aren’t we more political? Why do you and I rule? Perhaps we should embrace politics and hold elections.”

  “Oh.” Huh. Okay. Hadn’t thought of it like that. What surprised me most was that my first impulse wasn’t: You want the job? You can have it. Best of luck. No, it was: I’m not the queen by popular demand. I’m the queen because I’m the queen. “Okay, well, this is how we figure out what else we have to do.” I refused to see this as a fuckup. “The whole point is that it’s time, right? Well, nobody ever promised it’d be drama-free. Or that it’d be easy.” Though I’d been hoping. “I still think you guys are making something out of nothing. I’m telling you, it’ll be fine.”

  Suddenly everyone’s phones shorted out at the same time. No, wait, they all started ringing and trembling at the same time. A cacophony of ringtones filled the air, startling everyone in the room. For the first time I wasn’t amused by Marc’s Darth Vader ringtone, or the Pink Panther theme, which sounded so weird coming from Tina’s phone. Sinclair used the old-fashioned bell ring—no, wait, that was the kitchen phone ringing, the one hooked into the landline. (Yeah, we still had one of those.) Sinclair had his set so only dogs and vampires could hear it.

  I cut off my own ringtone

  (“Piiiiiiiigs . . . iiiiiiin . . . spaaaaaaaace!”)

  when I answered and was greeted with, “Oh, you silly bitch. What have you done now?”

  “Antonia,” I groaned. There were two women named Antonia in my life and they were both pains in my ass. One was my dead stepmother, who helped me run Hell. The other was the bitch (literally—Antonia was a werewolf) on the other end of the line. She’d lived with us in the mansion for a few months until she fell in love with a feral vampire and they both moved west. (I know how it sounds. These are the days of our lives.)*

  “Did no one prep you, you shoe-obsessed moron?”

  This was Antonia-ese for I’m a little worried about you.

  “It was a ten-minute local interview,” I whined. “It went fine.”

  “I didn’t know it was possible for someone to have their head that far up their ass.” As your friend, I’m concerned you haven’t thought through all the ramifications.

  “You don’t call me for six months and when you do pick up the phone, it’s to yell at me?”

  “God knows the cringing sycophants you live with won’t do it.” With respect, the others lack my objectivity.

  “Always so nice to hear from you, Antonia.”

  A rude noise, like she farted into her cell phone. I wouldn’t put anything past that bitch. “Look, when the gang gets to town, call me. I might be able to save your dumb ass from the well-deserved smackdown coming your way.” I’d like to help you but it’s not in my nature to just show up—I’d like an invitation so I don’t feel I’m imposing on our friendship.

  “The others? What others? Wait, are you telling me the— Dammit!” Antonia hanging up was like anybody hanging up: conversation over.

  My phone promptly rang again

  (“Piiiiiiiigs . . . iiiiiiiiin . . . spaaaaaaaace!”)

  and I glared at it hard enough to shatter the case. This time, luckily, it was m
y mother. “That was, um . . . you looked very nice.”

  I sighed. “Apparently it was the worst television interview in the history of the medium and I was a fool to contemplate it much less go through with it.”

  “Oh no, it wasn’t that bad.”

  “Thanks, but you’re biased.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m lying, honey. Nixon looked much worse than you did when he debated Kennedy.”

  Sigh. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “The reason I called . . . was . . . ah . . .” Hmm. Hesitancy was not a trait she was known for. This was a woman who all but kidnapped Tina so she could pump her about the Civil War. She practically chained her up in the basement. This was a woman who, if she thought my new $450 Manolos were ugly, would say so. Fearless! So whatever she was about to say was nothing I wanted to hear. “I know we talked about bringing BabyJon back to the mansion tomorrow . . .”

  I closed my eyes, because I immediately saw the problem. My brother/son, BabyJon,* ostensibly lived in the mansion with the rest of us. And we adored the incontinent drool machine. Except he was spending more and more time with my mother these days. What started out as a temporary arrangement in times of emergency

  (“I’m going to Hell. Not sure when I’ll return; it depends on whether or not the devil kills me. I’ll try to bring you back something nice, though!”)

  was becoming permanent. And my mom had gone from resenting her ex-husband’s late-in-life baby to absolute adoration. Which was wonderful, except it meant that these days, BabyJon was more a visitor than a resident of the mansion. But it had to be done, for the same reason Jessica and her weird babies had to move out. You couldn’t dick around with the safety of innocents. You just couldn’t. It was decidedly uncool.

  He was starting to walk, and he’d already cut his first few teeth. And I was missing all of it . . . the first tooth, first solid foods, first talking back, first scribbling on the wall, first stealing my car, first time getting drunk and throwing up in the kitchen sink . . . all the stuff I’d looked forward to as a mom/big sister hybrid.

  “Betsy? You there, hon?”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m here, Mom. You’d better keep him for a few more days. I think the deluge is going to get worse before it gets better. I’ll come see you both tomorrow.”

  “All right, hon.” Her relief was unmistakable. “I think that’s the best option for now.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.” A generous lie. “Take it easy, sweetie—this too shall et cetera.”

  Sure it would.

  (“Piiiiiiiigs . . . iiiiiiiiin . . . spaaaaaaaace!”)

  Nope. I angrily stuffed my phone down between couch cushions. My phone was dead to me. And so was Diana Pierce. Well, no. Just my phone. How could I stay mad at Diana Pierce when she knew how to sit down without strangling on her microphone cord?

  “I’ll be hiding in my bedroom if anyone needs me,” I announced.

  “Aw, c’mon. Don’t do that. Let’s adieu to the kitchen. This is nothing a blender of smoothies can’t fix,” Marc cajoled. “Or at least distract us from.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not thirsty.” And perhaps would never be again. Who knew when I’d get my appetite back? Smoothie Nation, I have failed you.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  “Perhaps our feedback was unduly constructive,” Sinclair said, closing our bedroom door and moving to sit on the bed, where I was sulking, facedown, into my pillow.

  “Y’think?” I mumbled into memory foam.

  “But as you said, this is a learning experience for all of us.”

  “Ugh.” I could feel him stroking my back the way he knew turned me into a puddle of grumpy goo. But it would take a lot more than a back rub to oh yeah right there. “Mmmmm. Umph, gggnnn nnmmph.”

  “Your endearments always make me melt.” He eased me over on my back and bent for a kiss. “Now complain about the dearth of ice in our home. The shriller you get, the more arousing you are and the more irresistible you become.”

  I barely stopped the smirk in time. Whew! Close call. “You can’t seduce your way out of this one,” I warned, “so just— Hey, get back here. I want another one.”

  He laughed and swooped back in, planting one right on my mouth, then moving lower to nibble at my neck. I brought my arms up around his neck and pulled him closer. “I still think it was a good idea to do the interview.”

  “As you like.”

  “I do, though.”

  “Of course.”

  “I think it’ll work out fine.”

  “Time will tell.”

  “Man, you’re just begging to be cock blocked, aren’t you?”

  “Now, there’s a bluff I may call,” was the smug reply. So naturally my only option was to tickle the bejeezus out of him, which wasn’t unlike trying to tickle a tree trunk. When we called a temporary truce, he was on the floor and I was on my back on our bed with my head hanging over the edge.

  “Plenty more where that came fr— Yeek! Argh, get off. If you stretch out my sweater, I’ll set your suits on fire!”

  “Well worth it.”

  “It’ll be an inferno in there! Kids will come over and roast marshmallows!”

  “A small price to pay for the pleasure of your company.”

  “You know how deeply nuts you are, right? You’re the only man I’ve ever known who finds shrill to be ‘maddeningly arousing.’”

  “Soon all vampires will love you as I do.”

  “First off, that’s a truly alarming thought. Second, you know they won’t.” The playful mood had vanished, because when it came to predicting vampire behavior, Sinclair was nearly always right. Something was coming and it was going to get worse before it got better. If it got better. “You know what we’re going to have to let them do. And then what I’m going to have to do.”

  “We,” he said softly. “What we will have to do.”

  “Yeah. We. I just wish—”

  “No point to it, beloved. Wishing is a time waster. Focus on doing. Focus on we. You see? That makes all the difference. And in the meantime . . .”

  “Yeek! God, your hands are freezing!”

  Soon enough the room filled with threats, giggles, more threats, and flying clothes. Sinclair’s dark eyes basically became my whole world, and that was fine, because my much less dramatic eyes were his world, too.

  * * *

  After, he leaned over and picked up the book off my nightstand. “Book of Shadows?” he read aloud, then started flipping through the book. “Banishing spells, cutting cords, banishing negativity? This is a book for Wiccans.”

  “Duh, I’m the one who checked it out of the library. Hey, be careful! Don’t bend the pages; you do not want to mess with the Dakota County librarians.” They were super pleasant and helpful . . . right up until you damaged a book. Then it was a bit like “I am become death, destroyer of worlds.” I mean, they didn’t do that work because the pay was so great. There wasn’t a librarian on the planet who was in it for the money. It was strictly out of love for books. So when you hurt the books . . . I shivered. It was one time, I’d been fifteen and had dog-eared a dozen pages (all the sex scenes in The Flame and the Flower), and the resulting lecture haunted my nightmares for years.

  “Darling, you’re not a Wiccan.”

  “Again: duh. Why are you telling me things I already know? I just liked the looks of the book and wanted to do some research. You remember when I banished the devil from Hell?”

  “Exquisitely.” The dark throb of his voice hit me nice and low; if we hadn’t just finished, we’d be going again. After I’d given Satan the boot, Sinclair and I had come back to the mansion and he’d taken me on all fours in front of the full-length mirror. It had been . . . memorable.

  “Well, I get the feeling that kind of t
hing might come in handy. So I wanted to study up. And don’t give me that look. You know I can do research when I have to.”

  “I know you enjoy research. It’s one of your more charming secrets. You are the only woman I’ve ever known who takes offense when people assume she’s intelligent.”

  “I don’t like raising expectations,” I muttered. And I didn’t like this conversation, either. I took the book away from him and put it back on the nightstand.

  “You like taking people by surprise,” he added. His hands skimmed over my buttocks, and then he rolled on his back and pulled me on top of him. I braced my palms on his chest so I could look down at him. “God knows that’s all you’ve done to me since the moment we met.”

  “You love it,” I accused.

  “I adore it. And you.”

  Well. When you put it that way . . .

  “Round two?” I ran my palms over his nipples, feeling them harden.

  “And then three. And four.”

  “Oh, that’s a bluff I’ll call,” I teased.

  (It wasn’t a bluff.)

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  “Wow, it’s great to be back in Hell.” Then I heard myself. This was what my life had become—the media was so obnoxious, the fallout from the interview was so chaotic, the vampires were getting so demanding, that running Hell was more a respite than anything else.

  “That bad, huh?” For a wonder, Cathie seemed genuinely sympathetic.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” my dead stepmother exclaimed. “How could you not see the potential fallout here?”

  Of course, not everyone was sympathetic. Several thought I was in a mess of my own making. Which was true. However, if I may indulge in a bit of childish behavior, stupid Laura started it, so nyah-nyah-nyah.

  “Apparently I’ve not only exposed every vampire on earth but they’re all now vulnerable to the human legal system, which is so weird since that wasn’t my intent at all.” Or was it? Could I get away with the “I totally meant to do that” argument? “And there might be a vampire election.”