Undead and Unreturnable

  She smiled thinly. "No. "

  "Right. Okay, go on. "

  "I would like you to contribute to it, my queen. "

  "Contribute. . . you mean, like write something for it?"

  "Yes, ma'am. Every month. "

  "But. . . come on, Marjie-"

  "Marjorie. " Sinclair and Marj corrected me simultaneously.

  "-you must have a million people who can do this for you. "

  "That is not the issue, my queen. As you of course have discovered yourself, many of our kind are having, ah, difficulty accepting your new. . . position. "

  "That was supertactful. "

  Another tiny smile. "Thank you, my queen. I feel, and many of my counterparts concur, that this would be a way for the community to get to know you. Perhaps come to appreciate the. . . finer qualities that aren't, ah, immediately apparent. "

  "Wow. " I was shaking my head in total admiration. "You should work for the United Nations. Seriously. I mean, when he tries that stuff, I just get pissed. "

  Ole Marjie inclined her head modestly. Sinclair gave me a look but still didn't comment.

  "What would you want me to write?"

  "Oh, whatever you wish. Neighborhood observations, essays on the eternal struggle between man vs. vampire, the pros and cons of keeping sheep-"

  "I've got it!"

  "Ah, the sheep issue. I admit, it can be controversial-"

  "Shut up about the sheep, Marj. " Sinclair winced, but I didn't give much of a shit. "No, I'm going to do a Dear Betsy letter. What's the one thing I've wished I could have since I woke up dead?"

  "A sheep?"

  "Marjorie, enough! No, I wished there was someone I could ask about vampire stuff and I'd get the straight shit in return. Not political shit, not 'oh, it's okay if you kill people as long as you're aligned with so-and-so' stuff. Real stuff. It'll be a 'Dear Betsy' column. Ann Landers for vampires!" As Jess would say, "Oooooooh!" I could hardly sit still, I was so excited!

  Sinclair was rubbing his eyes. Marjorie looked at him for help and, correctly guessing none was forthcoming, looked back at me. "Ah. . . my queen, I admit I had a more, ah, scholarly approach in mind. . . "

  "Then boy, did you come to the wrong house. I didn't even finish college. "

  "Oh. "

  "I bet you did, though. "

  "I have fourteen Ph. D. s. "

  "Geek, huh?" Ack! Fourteen! No wonder I got her mixed up with a robot. "Anyway, back to me. When do you need my first column?"

  "Ah. . . whenever you wish. The newsletter will be published on your schedule, of course, and-"

  "I'll have it for you by the end of the week. There's not a moment to lose! Just think, there's new vampires walking around right this second who don't have a clue how to act!"

  "And you will infect them all. "

  "What?"

  "I said, it sounds like we'll have a ball. I shall go back to the library at once and. . . prepare. "

  "Great!" I jumped up. Sinclair slowly stood, like an old, old man. Marjorie stood the same way; it was weird. They both looked crushed and knowing at the same time.

  He kissed her hand again. "Thank you. "

  "My king, I only do my duty. "

  "For coming by. "

  "Sir, I am your servant. "

  "Yeah, thanks," I butted in, because I had the weird feeling they weren't talking about what I thought they were talking about. "Send me your e-mail address, and I'll zap the column over to you in the next few days. I'm [email protected]/* */"

  Was that a shudder? Naw. My imagination was working overtime. And speaking of overtime, I could hear Marc park his shitbox car and come bounding up the walk. How he kept his energy after fifteen hours on his feet in the E. R. was beyond me.

  He popped the front door open and spotted us in the entryway. He covered the distance between us with half of one of his characteristic long lopes, and his green eyes brightened. "Hi, guys!"

  I was torn. On the one hand, as he was generally a depressed individual with big problems (gay, dying father, premature balding), I was always happy to see him happy. We had met when he was moments from throwing himself from the top of the hospital at which he worked too many hours. I talked him out of jumping and took him home. He'd been hanging out with us ever since. And in the past few months, he'd had his dad set up at a great private-I guess it was a hospice, except it was a private home, and the nurse who lived there only took care of three people. So it wasn't like being stuffed in a nursing home. Anyway, he'd gotten his dad squared away and visited him as often as he could stand (I guess it was kind of a strained relationship), he'd gotten a new boss at work, he was growing out his hair, and he'd had a date in the last five weeks.

  On the other hand, I wanted him nowhere near Marjorie. Marc was like a puppy around vampires. . . had no clue how totally friggin' dangerous they really were.

  "So what's doing? What are you guys up to? What's going on?" Arf, arf, sniff, sniff, sniff.

  Marjories delicate nostrils flared. "Your pet smells like blood. "

  "Yeah, kid fell out of his tree stand and bonked himself a good one," Marc said cheerfully, ignoring-or not hearing-"pet. " "Bled all over me. I had to get a new scrub top, but man, do I need a shower. Hi, by the way," he added, sticking out his hand. "I'm Marc Spangler. I live here with Betsy and Eric. "

  She looked at the hand like he'd offered her a dead garter snake, and I could feel my eyes widen, practically bulge in their sockets. I got ready to rip her a new asshole-what was it with old vampires and being so shitty to regular people?-when Sinclair's hand clamped over mine. . . hard.

  I yelped just as Marjorie decided to shake Marc's hand. "You live here with them?" she asked.

  "Yup," he replied cheerfully. "It's not home, but it's much. Olivia Goldsmith wrote that, by the way. "

  "Mmmm. She's the one who died of liposuction, yes?"

  "No," he corrected. "She died of complications after lipo. "

  "I see. If you live here with them, why do you go to a job?"

  "Uh. . . " He actually thought it over for a couple seconds. "Because I'm not a two-legged parasite?"

  "Mmmm. " She caught the neckline of his scrub top and pulled; with a squeak, he bent down to her. He had a foot and thirty pounds on her, but she manhandled him (no pun intended) easily, like he was a mannequin made of feathers. "But you haven't been bitten," she said to his neck. "Yet. Mmmm. . . "

  I opened my mouth. Take your fucking hands off him NOW was already in my head and trying to rush out of my mouth when Sinclair squeezed again. I groaned instead; I could feel the little bones in my hand grinding together. He wasn't hurting me, but I sure wouldn't want to spend a day doing that.

  "Marjorie, don't you have business to be about?" he asked calmly.

  Totally distracted, she looked up, and I was shocked to see her fangs had come out. "Eh? Oh. " It was obvious, when she let go and Marc popped back upright, that she was massively disappointed. "Yes, of course. Forgive me. I haven't dined yet this evening, and it's made me forget my manners. I will take my leave. "

  "Nice to meet you!" Marc chirped. And as she bowed and then let herself out the front door, I looked at Marc and saw it: he didn't remember the last minute. He'd had no sense of being in danger, no sense of inappropriateness or cruelty from Marjie. As far as he was concerned, he'd met a nice older lady on his way in, and now he was going to grab a shower.

  "I think I'll go grab a shower," he said. "Later, guys. "

  I started to have a dim idea why Sinclair had a) gotten rid of Jess, b) been polite under extreme provocation, and c) didn't let me hang myself.

  "I hope you took a good look, dear," he said, listening to the car drive away. "Because that is the oldest vampire you're likely to ever meet. "

  "She's an asshole. "

  He shrugged. "She's old. It's. . . difficult to surprise her. You did, though. " He smiled, and it was like the sun coming up on the l
ast day of winter. "You did very well. "

  "It's hard to hate anyone who has such good taste in movies. Though if she'd put another hand on Marc, I would've had to bring down the spank. "

  He got this weird look on his face, like he was horrified but wanted to laugh, too. "You-you must not. Or, if you decide, you must discuss it with me first. Never touch her alone. Never, understand?"

  "Okay, Sinclair. Because that's sooooo me. Maybe we can form a committee and vote on every single thing. "

  His eyes went narrow but he hung onto the smile. "Listen, please. She is old, as I have said, and she has many friends. Friends she made herself, if you understand my meaning. She is. . . I guess you would say she is set in her ways. The old ways. "

  "Yeah, I get it. She's old; she's a stubborn jerk; she thinks humans are moronic lunch boxes; she's got a million friends; and if she doesn't like me, she could cause a lot of trouble for me. "

  "Us," he corrected. "It's important to keep Marjorie and those like her on our side. When I went to Europe last fall. . . "

  He'd never talked about the trip much. Brought me back a nice present and mentioned he'd met up with friends, and that was that. "Yeah?"

  "Let's just say I was dismayed by how many vampires were not on our side. "

  "Yeah, but you fixed it, right? You always fix everything. Like tonight. And ow, by the way. " I flexed my hand, which, if I'd still been alive, would have been throbbing painfully. "Next time just wave a hand puppet at me, willya? I need this hand. "

  "To write your 'Dear Betsy' column. "

  "Was that an eye roll?" I demanded. "Are you rolling your eyes at me, Eric Sinclair?"

  "Oh, no, beloved. I would never so disrespect my queen. "

  I laughed. "You're so full of shit your eyes are brown. "

  "They are brown," he admitted, taking me in his arms. He kissed me for such a lovely long time, I forgot about Margaret. Marjie. Whoever.

  "This really isn't the time or place," I muttered into his mouth as he lowered me to one of the phenomenally uncomfortable couches in the parlor.

  "I'll have ample notice if someone is coming," he said, pulling open my blouse and yanking my pants down to my knees.

  "What if I'm the one coming?" I teased, caressing the bulge in his trousers.

  He groaned. "Don't do that unless you want to be finished before we start. "

  "Eric, you're talking like a man who's being neglected. "

  He braced himself over the couch, unzipped his fly, pulled my panties aside, and slid into me, neat as a magic trick. "I am neglected," he murmured in my ear. "Whenever I'm not inside you, I'm neglected. "

  "That's really lame," I whispered back. I braced a heel on the couch arm and met his thrusts. "And we're gonna break this couch. "

  Fuck the couch.

  That thought-cool and uncaring, but hot at the same time-pretty much did me in; I heard something crack in the couch and then I was coming, clutching at Eric while his voice ran through my head, a vivid whisper of longing.

  O my own my Elizabeth my Queen 1 love love love love. . .

  I hope he "loved" fixing couches, because that was probably next on our agenda.

  He groaned and collapsed over me, which elicited a groan of my own. "Kill me," he mumbled. "I'm an old man, and you're trying to kill me. "

  "Hey, this wasn't my idea, pal. And you're still in your prime. Your immortal dead guy prime. " I giggled.

  "Are you laughing at me, darling?"

  "No, Eric," I said gravely, biting my lower lip so I wouldn't do it again.

  "It would crush my tender emotions to know you were laughing at me during this vulnerable time. "

  "I'd never do that, Eric. So what was it like, inventing the telegraph?"

  He chased me up the stairs, and I made a mental note to have someone take a look at that couch later in the week. Chapter 15

 

  It was about five A. M. , and I was getting ready for bed (finally! what a long, weird day) when there was a brisk rap-rap at my bedroom door.

  "Come on in," I called, buttoning the last button on my new jammies. Aw, they were so soft, so sweet to the touch. . .

  Jessica opened the door and stuck her head in and then groaned when she saw me. "Jeez, Betsy! I'll buy you frig-gin' decent pajamas, okay? You don't have to wear those pieces of shit. "

  "What?" I cried. "These are brand-new. "

  "Yeah? What's Sinclair say about them?"

  "What part of 'brand-new' aren't you getting? He hasn't seen them yet. "

  "He sees those, the wedding's off. "

  "Oh, shut the hell up. " I stepped to the mirror and admired the navy blue flannel and red polka dots. They were too long in the pants and arms (I'd found them in the men's section, where I frequently shopped because I was so fucking tall), but a few washings should take care of that. And they were warm. "You didn't come up here to critique my nightwear. At least I hope you didn't. Because, really, how lame would that be?"

  "No, I sure didn't. But I could sure spend half the night doing it. "

  "This from someone who wears football jerseys to bed. "

  "Totally different thing. "

  "I think I liked it better when you weren't talking to me. "

  "Too late now. Listen, I wanted to catch you before you guys went to bed-where is Sinclair?"

  "He made a beeline for the computer after ole Long in the Tooth and 'Tude left. "

  "Huh. He used to practically count the seconds before you went to bed so you guys could do it. "

  "We already did," I admitted, "after Maggie left. "

  "Yet another room you defiled. And Maggie would be the vampire he didn't want me to meet?"

  I shuddered. "Don't bitch, J. He was right. She's creepy. She's got eyes like a doll's. "

  "Barbie Doll or American Girl?"

  "Blank. " I gestured to my face, trying to convey in five words or less how creepy the woman had been. "Shiny. "

  "Shiny?" I could see Jess was trying not to laugh. She'd never met Nostro. In fact, I was the baddest vampire she'd ever met, after I'd read the Book of the Dead and gone evil. Which was to say, she'd never met a really bad vampire.

  "She almost chomped Marc, and not only did he let her grab him, he didn't remember that she grabbed him. Stay the fuck away, I'm serious. "

  "Well, if Sinclair's worried about her, that's good enough for me. I've got enough creepy vampires to worry about. " She plopped herself into what I always thought of as Marie's Chair. "Listen, are you okay with me going out with Detective Nick?"

  "If you're gonna date him, you should probably get in the habit of referring to him just by his first name. "

  She waved that away. "Yeah, yeah. Are you?"

  "Sure. Yeah. It was just a surprise, that's all. A good surprise," I added hastily. "Sinclair's right, somebody should have snatched you up ages ago. "

  She smiled thinly. "Yeah, well. Nobody's gotten around to it yet. "

  "I was just thinking that it had been a while for you. . . wasn't dave the last guy you were with?"

  She nodded, fiddling with the neckline of her shirt. "Lowercase dave, yup, I remember. "

  "Okay, then. Look, we know Nick's nice, he's great at his job, he looks. . . yum. Go for it. But. . . "

  I trailed off because I was torn. Did I warn my best friend that my fiance was going to do everything in his power to make that relationship work because he was sneaky and that's how he operated? Nick might like Jessica for herself (or not; we hadn't established that yet), but Sinclair liked Nick for his badge.

  Or did I keep quiet out of loyalty to my fiance, the vampire king?

  "But. . . ?" Jessica prompted.

  "But. . . you. . . should. . . wear clean underwear. "

  She gave me an odd look. "Thanks for the tip. "

  "I gotta admit, I was kind of surprised you said yes. "

  She shrugged and picked a cloth pill off the arm
of the chair. She was very fidgety tonight. "I dunno. It's great being with you guys and all, and living here, but the excitement of being best friends with the queen of the vampires doesn't exactly butter my muffin at night, you know? I mean in bed. Because we're all up and running around at night. But you know what I mean, right?"

  "Sure. I hope it works out. "

  "With Sinclair on my side, how can it not?"

  "I know! My God, was that weird or what?"

  "You boy has a sinister metrosexuality going on," she agreed, "and that's a fact. "

  "That's one way of putting it. Oh, and get this! I have a job again. I'm writing a column for the new vampire newsletter. "

  "What did you just say?"

  "I know!" I plopped down on the bed and propped my chin on my elbows, slumber-party-gossip style. "Can you believe it? Talk about practical. How totally unlike vampires to do something that doesn't involve beheadings or the mass slaughter of innocents. "

  "Maybe," she suggested, "it'll be an evil newsletter. "

  "Great. Something new to worry about. Which reminds me-"

  There was a tentative knock on my door, one I knew well. "Come in, Jon!"

  "Ooooooh," Jessica said, not looking at me. "I forgot to ask you how Sinclair reacted to the news of his roommate. "

  "It wasn't pretty," I mumbled back. Then: "Hi, Jon! You caught us. Everybody's about ready to turn in. "

  "Yeah. . . I just got up, actually. This is the one time of day that our schedules actually mesh. "

  "How interesting," Jess said sweetly, "that you've planned that out already. You've been here. . . what? A day?"

  He looked flustered (and adorable!) as he stood in my bedroom doorway, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Well, not the one time," he explained. "Because, you know, it's wintertime. So I'll still be awake when the sun starts to go down, and-"

  "Jon. My girl has to get ready for bed, and her fiance's gonna be here any minute. So what's up?"

  Not for the first time, I had the impression Jessica didn't much care for Jon.

  "I, uh, because I'm going to be in town, I had this idea. Actually, I got it at school. I'm taking a writing class at the U-"

  "That'll come in handy on the farm. "

  "Jessica!" I gasped. What did she have against farmers? "Go on, Jon. We're all listening. " I glared at her for good measure.

  "Well, anyways, I was going to the U last year and then I went back home-"