Undead and Unemployed

by Mary Janice Davidson

  "Did I miss another memo?"

  "No, just a meeting. We had it during the daytime."

  "I wish you’d stop doing that," I grumbled. I thought about protesting, but Jess was over here so often, she’d practically moved in, anyway. I figured I knew why, too. My death had really shaken her up. She didn’t like letting me out of her sight anymore.

  And what did I care? The more the merrier. Ever since I found out monsters really do exist, I hadn’t been crazy about coming home to an empty house.

  "So we’re agreed? We’ll fumigate, list the house, and find something a little bigger. Don’t worry about a thing, Bets. Marc and I will house-hunt during the day."

  I drank my tea.

  "Bets?"

  "What, you want my approval? I’m just the figurehead."

  "Well, that’s true."

  "But you’re sure cute," Marc teased. "Even if your Macy’s name tag is upside down."

  A few nights later, I woke up to a world of sky blue. I had a moment of total confusion—had I fallen asleep outside? Then I realized Marc had written a note on a Post-It and stuck it to my forehead while I slept. Bastard.

  Supervamp: We accepted the offer on the house, and Jessica’s found us a new place. Meet us at 607 Summit Ave, 10:00 P.M. to check out the new digs.

  OH, Lord, what did she do? I crumpled the note in my fist. Summit Avenue? I did not like the sound of that.

  I looked around my room. There were six empty boxes stacked neatly in the corner. An unsubtle hint to pack.

  I showered, changed clothes, and brushed my teeth. I had no idea if other vampires still brushed their teeth, and I didn’t care. Think of the morning breath of someone who drank blood for supper! I flossed, too. And used mouthwash, although the sharp medicine-mint smell was enough to make me gag.

  I was getting ready to walk out the door (after tripping over the boxes in the living room), when I heard a tentative tap and opened it to see Tina standing on the step.

  "Thank you so much for siccing Sinclair on me," I said by way of greeting. "He came to my work!"

  "He did?" she asked innocently. She was dressed like a crime-about-to-happen in a red pleated miniskirt, short-sleeved white sweater, black tights, and black flats with silver buckles. Her light blond hair was caught back from her face with a red headband. She looked about sixteen years old. "Now that I think about it …" She pursed her red lips thoughtfully. "He mentioned he might go to the mall to see you."

  "Nice try, but I’m not buying it. He doesn’t take a dump without running it by you first."

  "Actually, it’s been several decades since either of us had to—"

  "You look really cute, by the way." She was sly, but she had great taste in clothes.

  She smiled, then shrugged. "I have to go out later."

  "Do not tell me." Tina had a trio of devoted blood donors, but occasionally she liked to get something different off the menu. "I absolutely don’t want to hear it."

  "I won’t. Also, here is your memo." She handed me a thick manila envelope.

  "This feels like a lot of pages," I said suspiciously, weighing the stiff packet in my hand.

  "I summed it up as best I could. There are photographs as well."

  "Well, I’ll read it when I—"

  "Tina?"

  "Yaagghh!" I dropped the envelope. It hit the floor with a flat thump. A second head had appeared around the door—another blond cutie—but I hadn’t heard a thing. It was pretty hard to sneak up on me.

  Nobody alive could do it, but old vampires could.

  "I’m so sorry," the cutie said. Her eyes were big. "I beg your pardon, your Majesty. I did not mean to startle you."

  "Don’t call me that. And you didn’t startle me, you scared the shit out of me. How old are you?"

  This wouldn’t be very nice under normal circumstances, but vampires loved to show off how decrepit they were.

  This one was no different. She straightened proudly, and good posture did wonderful things for her. She was tall—almost as tall as me, and a good head taller than Tina—with shoulder-length hair so blond it was really almost silver, and eyes as blue as the sky on Easter Sunday. She was pale, of course, but on her it looked good. Her coloring was so fair, it demanded pale skin. She was wearing khaki shorts, a dark pink shirt buttoned at the throat, and leather sandals. She smiled tentatively.

  "I’m seventy-eight, Majesty."

  "Riiiiight. Well, you don’t look a day over twenty-two. And don’t call me that. Who are you?"

  "This is Monique Silver," Tina said quickly. "She came to pay her respects to Nostro, and found a new regime in charge. There’s another vampire in town, but"—Tina glanced over her shoulder—"she wouldn’t come in. In fact, she’s walking back to the hotel."

  "She’s shy," Monique said helpfully.

  Tina snorted, but didn’t elaborate. "Anyway, Monique’s staying with us at the Marquette."

  I smiled, but I didn’t like that one bit. Tina staying with Sinclair was no big deal. They were practically brother and sister, and Tina didn’t swing that way anyway. But I didn’t care for the idea of this Penthouse centerfold sharing a bathroom with Eric Sinclair.

  "Nice to meet you. Hope you weren’t fond of ole Notso." I said this with some anxiety—what if she had been?

  Her warm smile put me at ease. "Indeed, no. In fact, I’m grateful to you. We all are … Betsy?" Her eyebrows—so pale and fine they were almost invisible, which made her face look like a sexy egg—arched.

  "Betsy," I said firmly. "No Majesty. Thank God you catch on quicker than Tina."

  They both flinched at "God" and Monique actually fell back a step. Well, she better get used to it.

  "I’d invite you guys in, but I have to be—"

  "Going somewhere?" Tina tilted her head. "Don’t you need to feed?"

  "Later, maybe."

  "You haven’t fed yet? And don’t plan to?" Monique’s eyes were big with surprise.

  "I try to put it off as long as I can."

  "Oh, now, surely you’re not still reticent about—"

  "Want to come with?" I asked abruptly, to forestall the lecture. Tina and Sinclair thought it was exquisitely stupid that I hadn’t embraced my inner vampire. "I’m checking out the new house Jess picked out for us."

  "You’re moving?" Monique asked as I locked my house and trotted toward the car.

  "Have to. Termites. And I would appreciate it if that little piece of info didn’t fall into Sinclair’s shell-like ears," I told Tina. "It’s none of his damned business."

  "Of course, Majesty."

  "Quit it."

  "Of course, Majesty."

  "I hate you," I sighed, opening the door for Monique.

  "No you don’t," Tina replied, barely suppressed laughter in her tone, "Majesty."

  Chapter 7

  "GODNESS!" Monique said.

  "Wow," Tina said respectfully.

  I slumped so hard against the steering wheel, my head activated the horn for a brief honk.

  I should have known. I should have known! Summit Avenue was one of the oldest streets in St. Paul. It was absolutely packed with mansions. And 607 Summit Avenue was a doozy. White, except for black shutters. Three floors. An amazing front porch right out of Gone with the Wind. And the detached garage was as big as my current house.

  "Dammit, dammit." I climbed out of the car, and Monique and Tina scrambled after me.

  "Just how much money does Jessica have?" Tina asked in awe. It was taking forever to get to the door via the front walk.

  "Too much." I was stomping so hard, I could actually feel my heels leaving marks in the concrete. I eased up. Damn sidewalk was probably five hundred years old. "Way too much."

  "I think it’s perfect. It suits your rank much better than—"

  "Stop." I pounded on the front door, then opened it and crept in, instantly intimidated.

  It was worse than I feared. The first thing I saw was the sweeping staircase, eight feet wide, shined to a high gloss
, and winding up out of sight. The front hall was as big as my living room. The place smelled like wood and wax, cleaning supplies and old, old carpet.

  "Jessica!" I yelled. Ick-uh, ick-uh, ick-uh echoed up and down the hall.

  "You’re going to live here?" Monique asked, goggling.

  "Shit, no. Jessica!" Ick-uh! Ick-uh! Ick-uh!

  She and Marc appeared at the top of the stairs, and galloped down to us. "Finally! You’re late. What do you think?" she said. "Isn’t it grand?"

  "Wait’ll you see the dining room table," Marc added. "It has seventeen leaves!"

  "Jessica, it’s too big. There’s three of us, remember? How many bedrooms does this place have?"

  "Eleven," she admitted. "But that way we don’t have to worry about where to put up guests."

  "And, we all get our own bathroom," Marc added.

  "And probably your own kitchen!" Tina said, eyes gone huge as she stared at the castle Jessica had bought with the money she’d found in her car seat cushions.

  Sensing my mood (not a great trick), Jessica said sternly, "Oh, come on. Open your mind. It’s big, but it’s just a house."

  "The governor’s mansion is across the street!" I yelled.

  "Just look around," Marc coaxed. "You’ll like it."

  "You guys …" I heard myself getting shrill and forced my voice into the lower registers. They’d probably worked hard, and the place had cost her a bundle. The closing costs alone had probably been six figures. It made me uncomfortable as hell, but I didn’t want to come off as an ungrateful jerk. "It’s not a question of liking, okay? I mean, I can see it’s amazing and gorgeous and stuff."

  "Thank goodness," Marc said.

  "It’s beautiful, okay? There’s nothing wrong with it. But it’s a question of affordability and practicality. Come on, how much is it?"

  "Well, we’re renting it for now, until they track down the owner."

  "Jessica …"

  "Three thousand a week," she admitted.

  I nearly fainted. "The money from my house won’t even cover a year’s rent!"

  "So you can do math in your head," Marc teased. "I was wondering."

  "Have you lost your mind?"

  "Which one of us are you talking to?"

  "Look, this is way more in keeping with your station, anyway," Jessica said, striving to sound logical.

  "What station?" I glowered at her warningly. We didn’t talk about the Queen Thing. She knew I didn’t like it and was trying to find a way out of it.

  "You know what station," Jess said sternly. Traitor! "With the king dropping by—"

  "Do not call him that," I said through gritted teeth.

  "Wow," Marc said, peering at me. "Your eyes are getting all red again. And …" He looked past me. I’d heard Monique and Tina back up a step, but I was too irked to care.

  "Sinclair, all right? With Sinclair and Tina and … and other people"—she nodded at Monique—"well, you really need a decent house. Something that shows people—"

  "That my roommate pays all my living expenses. Come on, this place isn’t me."

  "It’s private … we’re the last house on the block, and the only thing in the back yard is the Mississippi River. It’s large and private, and there’s a terrific security system in the garden. And you need privacy, Bets, even if you won’t admit why. And it’s big enough for you to entertain."

  "Can’t we just get a condo in downtown Minneapolis or something?" I whined.

  "Vampire queens do not live in condos." Monique said it, but Tina and Jessica nodded emphatically.

  "Look, we gotta live somewhere," Marc broke in. "Right? I mean, your house is gonna collapse in on itself if those bugs keep chomping. So, give the place a try for a few weeks. That’s all we’re asking."

  Sure they were. Like I was going to pack and move my stuff twice in the same season. Jessica was bossy, which I was used to and could fight, but Marc was the voice of reason, against which I had no defense.

  "You have to admit," Tina added helpfully, "it’s an amazing house."

  "So? If I’m the queen, how come I don’t get to make any of the rules?"

  Jessica grinned. "It’s not your worry. We’ll keep you informed."

  "It’s like, Jessica’s the Bruce Wayne to your Batman," Marc added. "You can go out and fight crime, and she can pay the bills."

  "Bruce Wayne and Batman were the same guy, idiot."

  Jessica and Tina laughed together, which was annoying. At least Monique was remaining respectfully silent.

  "Hi, Tina, I didn’t get a chance to say howdy before," Marc said. He put out his big paw and shook Tina’s teeny delicate hand. It was almost funny. I mean, Marc was tall, slender, and in pretty good shape, and he towered over Tina. But Tina and Monique could break all the bones in his hand with a single squeeze. And he knew it. Jessica did, too. They didn’t care, either.

  They were adjusting to this vampire stuff a lot faster than I was.

  "Give me the tour," I said, surrendering. Marc was right. We had to live somewhere. And Jessica could buy every house on the block by barely cracking her credit line at the bank. There were lots of reasons to complain, but her financial situation wasn’t one of them. "Let’s see what you’ve signed me up for."

  TINA and Monique left when the real-estate agent arrived, which was just as well. One hungry bloodsucker was plenty for the tour.

  The agent was a perfectly pleasant older woman with gray hair and a truly awful tweed suit (in July!). But she scored points because, even though we all knew she was looking at a hefty commission, she didn’t slobber all over us. And she knew plenty about the house. Marc whispered to me that she was probably around when it was built in 1823.

  I hee-heed into my palm while May Townsend ("Just call me May-May, dear.") droned on about the exquisite woodwork, the fine craftsmanship, the fact that termites hadn’t devoured the place, the pure privilege it was for low-life primates like us to walk on the hallowed floors. I thought about eating her, but frankly, the tweed smelled. She must have had a cedar closet at home.

  "As I told you over the phone," May-May was saying while we trudged down from the third floor to the second, "most of the furniture comes with the house. The owners are in Prague and, frankly, would be interested in selling."

  "We’re renting," I said firmly, before Jessica could say anything.

  "Very well, dear. This is the master bedroom," she added, opening the door to soaring ceilings, a bed the size of my kitchen, and huge windows. "It’s been fully updated and the attached bath has a Jacuzzi, pedestal sink, and—"

  "I call it!" Marc said loudly.

  "Like hell," Jessica snapped. "I think the person who stands a chance of actually entertaining in their room should get it."

  "Well, that lets Betsy and you out," Marc sneered. "When was the last time you got laid?"

  "None of your damn business, white boy."

  "Hand-stenciled wallpaper, unique to the time period, and note the gold leaf in the corners—"

  "Since I’ve been shanghaied into this place," I interrupted, while May-May droned on about the authentic wood in the authentic floorboards, "I’ll take the master bedroom. It’s not like you guys don’t have a dozen other ones to choose from."

  "Ten," May-May corrected.

  "Whatever."

  "No fair!" Marc cried.

  "It’s that, or back to Termite Central." Finally, I was throwing my weight around … and actually getting my way! "Uh, hey, Marky-Marc, why don’t you and May-May go check out the pedestal sink?"

  "Why? If I don’t get to use it, I—hey!" I gave him a gentle shove in the direction of the bathroom, sending him sprawling, and the real-estate agent dutifully followed. I didn’t care if Marc heard, but my undead state was none of May-May’s business.

  "Uh, Jess," I asked quietly, "who’s gonna take care of this mountain? Marc and I work nights, y’know, and you weren’t exactly born with a silver broom in your mouth."

  "I’ll get a couple of housekeeper
s," Jessica assured me. "And we’ll get someone to take care of the lawns and garden."

  "I can take care of the lawn!" Marc yelled from the bathroom.

  "Oh, you’re gonna mow two acres every week?" Jessica yelled back. "And stop eavesdropping! I’m trying to have a private conversation here!"

  "Maybe I will! Mow, I mean."

  "Let’s try to keep the helpers to a minimum," I said anxiously.

  "Don’t worry, Bets. No one’s gonna find out unless you tell them."

  "Find out what?" Marc asked, coming back into the room.

  "That she’s as dumb as she looks," Jessica said cheerfully, neatly avoiding my kick.

  "Ready to inspect the first floor?" May-May asked brightly. I wasn’t, but trailed behind them dutifully.

  Chapter 8

  JESSICA was as good as her word. I hadn’t even gotten unpacked before I started seeing people in and out of the house, or Vamp Central, as Marc liked to call it. There were at least three housekeepers and two gardeners; Jessica hired them from The Foot, her nonprofit job-finding organization, so it worked out well for everybody.

  The fridge was constantly full of pop, iced tea, cream, veggies, and supper fixings. The freezer bulged with ice cream and frozen margaritas. But the helpers were so circumspect, I hardly ever saw them. And if they thought it was weird that I slept all day and was out all night, nobody ever said anything to my face.

  It was funny how much unpacking depressed me. We’d been in such a hurry to get out of Termiteville, I’d sort of thrown my stuff into boxes without really thinking about it. But while I was finding places to put things away, I was forced to really look at the junk I’d gathered over a lifetime.

  The clothes and shoes and makeup weren’t such a big deal, though I was so pale these days, I hardly ever wore anything but mascara. The books were something else.

  My room had, among other things, amazing bookcases built into the corner, and while I was unpacking boxes and putting books away, I realized the gap between my old life and my new one had gotten huge without my noticing. It had been such a crazy summer, I hadn’t really noticed that there hadn’t been time to do any re-reading of old favorites. And now there never would be.