Undead and Unemployed

by Mary Janice Davidson

  All my favorites: the Little House series, all of Pat Conroy’s work, Emma Holly’s erotica, and my cookbook collection—they were useless to me now. Worse than useless … they made me feel bad.

  I loved Beach Music and The Prince of Tides because not only could Pat Conroy write like a son of a bitch, he had the soul of a gourmet chef. The man could make a tomato sandwich sound like an orgasm you ate. And my days of eating tomato sandwiches were long gone.

  How many times had I escaped to my room with a book to avoid my stepmother? How many times had I bought a cookbook because the glorious color pictures literally made me drool? But it was done, now. Tom, Luke, Savannah, Dante, Mark, Will, and the Great Santini were all lost to me. Not to mention The All-American Cookie Book, Barefoot Contessa Parties, and all of Susan Branch’s stuff.

  I put the books away, spine-side in, so I wouldn’t have to look at the titles. Normally I kept too busy to feel bad about being dead, but today wasn’t one of those days.

  I saw the kid for the first time when I was vacuuming the inside of my closet. This was the third time in five minutes—no way was I just dumping my shoes into a two hundred year old closet that smelled like old wood and dead moths. Thank goodness I didn’t have to breathe!

  Handi-vac in hand, I backed out of the closet on my knees and nearly bumped into her. She was curled up like a bug in the chair beside the fireplace. One of fourteen. Fireplaces, not chairs. I had no idea how many chairs there were. Anyway, she was watching me and I was so startled I nearly dropped the vacuum.

  "Yikes!" I said. "I didn’t hear you come in."

  "My mama says I’m quiet," she replied helpfully.

  "You have no idea. It’s tough work, sneaking up on me. Although," I added in a mutter, "more and more people seem to be doing it all the time." I raised my voice so the kid wouldn’t get freaked out by the blond weirdo talking to herself. "So, your folks work here?"

  "My mama used to."

  "Used to? Then what are you—"

  "I like your hair."

  "Thanks." I patted my blond streaks and tried not to preen. Ah, dead, but I’ve still got it. "I like yours, too."

  She was just about the cutest thing I’d ever seen. She had the face of a patient doe, all wary and cute, with big blue eyes and a spray of freckles across her nose. Her blond, curly hair was pulled back from her face in a blue bow that matched her eyes, and she was wearing striped overalls rolled to the knees, pink anklets … and saddle shoes!

  I edged closer to get a better look at her footwear. "Aren’t you bored to death?" I asked. "Clunking around in a big house like this? Where’s your mom?"

  "I like it here now," she replied, after giving my question some thought. "I like it when people are here."

  "Well, you’re gonna love it now. My friend Jessica hired a fu-uh, an army. Say, sunshine, where’d you get the shoes?"

  "My mama bought them for me."

  "Where?"

  "The shoe store."

  Rats. "I like them a lot," I said truthfully. "My name’s Betsy."

  "I’m Marie. Thanks for talking to me."

  "Hey, I just live here, I’m not a rich snobby jerk like you’re probably used to. Uh … do you know how to get to the kitchen from here?"

  Marie grinned, showing a gap between her front teeth. "Sure. I know all the shortcuts. There’s a secret cave between the kitchen and the second dining room!"

  "Second dining room? Never mind. Onward, Marie. I gotta get some tea in me before I do something somebody’ll regret."

  Before I could take her hand, I heard thundering footsteps, and then Jessica burst into the room, waving the telephone. "Gotta go—Marquette—Tina’s in trouble," she wheezed, then collapsed until she was partially lying on my unmade bed. "Cripes! I think there’s a thousand stairs in this place."

  "You of all people don’t get to complain about how big this place is. What are you talking about, Tina’s in trouble?"

  "Sinclair—on the phone—" She held it out to me.

  I grabbed it. "This better not be a trick," I snarled into the receiver.

  "Get here now."

  I ran.

  IT was a good trick, not screaming and then barfing when I saw what had been done to Tina. Luckily, I’d been audited (twice!), and was the child of ugly divorce proceedings, and had loads of practice keeping my dinner down.

  "Another one of your tiresome ploys for attention," I said.

  Tina tried a smile, and I hoped she’d knock it off soon. Half her face was in tatters. In fact, half of her bad self was in tatters. She floated listlessly in the tub, which was full of pink water.

  Don’t ask me why, but when you immerse a sick vamp in water and add baking soda, they get better quicker. Amazing! The stuff can make cakes rise and de-stink refrigerators. It made no sense to me, but I was pretty new to the game to be questioning undead physics.

  "Jeez …" I croaked the word out, then cleared my throat. "Who did this? Are you—of course you’re not okay, but—does it hurt?"

  "Yes."

  "What happened?"

  "Just that whole tiresome humans killing vamps thing," she replied.

  That stung. "Well, shit, Tina, I didn’t think they were going after the good ones!" While I was waving my arms around and generally working up a good spate of hysterics, Sinclair appeared with his usual spooky speed and grabbed my wrist.

  I had time to say, "Wha—?" before he nicked my wrist with the knife I belatedly noticed he was holding. "Ow!" I said, yanking my wrist away, but it was all for show. It was so fast, and the knife was so sharp, I’d barely felt it. Well, at least he didn’t bite me. "You want to ask before you start gouging me?"

  Tina turned her head away and ducked under water. "And you stop that!" I said, bending over the tub and gingerly prodding her head. I wiped my wet hand off on my jeans. Yech! "I know what I’m supposed to do, dammit. It’s just nice to be asked, is all," I added, glaring at Finklair.

  "Stop wasting time," he said, typically stone-faced, but his eyes were kind of squinty. I knew he adored Tina. She had made him, and they had a bond I respected, even if I didn’t understand it, and thought it was extremely weird. "Let her feed. Now."

  "No," Tina gurgled from the bottom of the tub.

  "I said I’d do it," I snapped. "Will you sit up so we can get this over with?"

  A bubble appeared, but Tina didn’t move.

  "This is your fault," Sinclair said coldly. The situation was so alarming, I just now noticed he was wearing cherry red boxers and nothing else. "Now fix it."

  "My fault? I’m not the one who decided to give Tina a haircut … all over! Don’t get pissed at me. I came as soon as you asked me to. Not that you exactly asked."

  His hand clamped onto my shoulder, which instantly went numb. "Tina is well aware of your childish aversion to blood drinking. She’s playing the martyr, and I won’t have it."

  "Hey, I’m with you! Get her out of there and let her chomp away. I’m on your side."

  If he’d been alive, his face would have been the color of an old brick. Each word was forced out through his teeth. "She will not obey me in this."

  "Oh, so that’s why your boxers are in a bunch? Great color, by the way, they really bring out your—ow! Lighten up, I think I just lost all the feeling in my left arm."

  "Fix it," he said implacably.

  I kicked the tub. "Tina, get out of there."

  A sullen glug.

  "This is the queen speaking!" I managed not to laugh. Queen of shoes, maybe! "Now sit up, will you?"

  "Don’t ask," Sinclair hissed in my ear. "Command."

  "Stop that, it tickles. Teeee-naaaa!"

  She sat up. "I don’t want you to," she lied. "You think it’s barbaric."

  "Stop being such a baby," I said, though she was one hundred percent right. "What’s the alternative? You live in the tub like an undead anatomy project and slowly heal over the next six months? The maids will have a fit."

  Her nostrils flared and I real
ized that blood had been trickling down my fingers the whole time I was arguing. I turned around, put my hands on his rock-hard chest, and pushed and kicked and shoved until I finally slammed the bathroom door in his face.

  "I really can’t stand that guy," I sighed, rolling up my sleeve.

  "Liar," she said, and grinned at me.

  "Could you not do that until your face grows back? No offense."

  "Oh, Majesty," she sighed as I knelt by the tub. "I’m so sorry to ask this of you."

  "Don’t be a moron. I’m just glad you’re alive, so to speak."

  She gripped my arm and lapped the blood off my fingers, then sucked on my wrist until I couldn’t see tendons or raw wounds, until she was beautiful again. It didn’t take long. I was always amazed at how quickly vampires healed. It rarely took more than a few minutes. And, weirdly, my blood sped things up considerably. If Tina had fed off a human, it might have taken the better part of the night to recover. More crap I didn’t understand … and frankly, I was afraid to ask too many questions. Tina might answer them.

  "So," I said brightly. "Got any other plans for the evening?"

  "After a near-death experience, I like to relax by scrubbing a tub."

  "I’d help, but forget it. I’ve got nineteen of my own to worry about."

  Chapter 9

  WE stepped out of the bathroom just as what’s-her-face, the cutie from the other day, rushed into the suite.

  "Tina, thank goodness!" she cried, her shiny blond hair in wild disarray. She looked and smelled like she’d been rolled in a McDonald’s Dumpster. A mustard packet was sticking to her left cheek. "I thought they’d killed you!"

  She ran to Tina and sort of fell on her, hugging her and kissing her. Yech. Good thing Tina wasn’t dressed yet; she’d never get those stains out. I gathered from the babbling that the bad guys had jumped both of them, but Tina had led them away from Monique.

  "Dumbass," I commented.

  "I quite agree," Sinclair said, scowling. He rooted around and found one of his robes for Tina, which he held open for her. When she had it tied around her, she pretty much disappeared into fluffy black terrycloth. "You should have both stood your ground—or both run."

  "I know, I know," Monique interrupted before Tina could open her mouth. "I wanted to fight but Tina—"

  "And you shouldn’t have left my friend and saved yourself," Sinclair continued in a voice that made dry ice seem warm and accommodating.

  We all gulped. Then I patted Sinclair’s arm. "All’s well and all that, Eric. Everybody’s okay. That’s the important thing. Right? Eric?"

  His eyes uncrinkled and he almost smiled as he looked down at me. "Why do you only call me by my first name in moments of crisis?"

  "Because that’s about the only time I don’t feel like strangling you," I said truthfully. "Now don’t fuss at Monique. Tina’s a grown woman—a very grown woman, I might add, she’s, like, a hundred years old, and if she wanted to play decoy that’s her lookout."

  Monique didn’t say anything, but she threw me a look of pure gratitude.

  "The important thing," I said emphatically, "is getting to the bottom of this. Tina’s one of the good guys. She didn’t deserve to have some vampire hunter after her. So I guess we better figure out why." Did I really just say we had to get to the bottom of this? I felt so stupid, bossing around people who were at least fifty years older than me.

  Now if I could only remember where I’d put the memo Tina gave me …

  "Attend, please," Sinclair said, and grabbed my elbow. Eh? He pulled me across the room and through the far door, which he promptly shut.

  "What?" I whined.

  "You have decided to hunt down the killers?"

  "Killers, plural? Yikes. I mean, sure, I guess."

  "You require my help?"

  "Yes," I said, not liking where this was going. "Are we going to hang out in the dark and ask each other obvious questions? Because this is weird, bordering on creepy."

  He smirked at me and held out something. I looked at it. It was one of the hotel’s drinking glasses.

  "What’s—oh."

  What had I said at Macy’s? "I’d rather eat glass than take your help."

  Well, shit.

  "Fine," I said, grabbing the glass. God knew when he’d palmed the thing, the sneaky motherfucker. "Here goes." I stared at it. I had no idea if biting into it would hurt. But I was about to find out. At the very least, gulping down chunks of glass would make me throw up. I mean, risotto made me puke, for crying out loud.

  Never mind. Quit stalling. I raised it to my mouth, closed my eyes, opened my mouth … and bit down on air.

  Sinclair was holding the glass again. It was uncanny how quickly he could move. He was like a magician. An evil magician in boxers. "You were really going to eat it?"

  "I said, didn’t I?"

  "You’re either the most amazing woman I have ever known—"

  "Well." I patted my bangs back into place and smiled modestly.

  "Or the most asinine."

  "I hate you."

  "You keep saying that," he said, drawing me close. For a wonder, I let him. Long night. Plus, he smelled great. And felt great. Cherry boxers. Yum. He dropped a kiss to the top of my ear and I effectively fought a shiver. "But you keep coming back."

  "Curiosity killed the cat."

  "Not yet. Come, let’s rejoin the others."

  "Yes," I said, massively disappointed he hadn’t been more grabby, and mad at myself for being disappointed. "Let’s."

  "FOUR." Tina said. "Four dead so far. Again, I mean."

  "I, uh, lost my memo."

  She made a sound that was suspiciously like a snort. "Fine, I’ll sum up for you. A group of humans has been going around targeting lone vampires and cutting off their heads, or staking them, or both."

  Ick. Both?

  Monique spoke up. "At least we learned something: it’s not one person, it’s a team."

  "I never thought it was one person," Sinclair said.

  "No, I wouldn’t think so, either. I mean, come on. One regular guy or gal wreaking all this havoc? No chance." I stretched out my feet. Ack! Scuffed toes! I’d have to give this pair away. "How do we know it’s not a group of vamps?"

  "Blood samples found at the scene were live."

  "Oh, ugh!" I cried. "You mean, if someone took my blood right now—"

  "You’d be dead. At least, under a microscope. Try to stay focused, Elizabeth."

  "I am. Yuck-o. Do we know why? Other than the obvious."

  "The obvious?" Monique asked, looking cutely confused.

  "Vampires are assholes." At their stares, I elaborated. "Look, I’m sorry, but it’s true. You guys grab poor unsuspecting slobs off the street and chomp away. I’m amazed this hasn’t happened earlier."

  "It’s happened," Sinclair said coolly, "all through the ages." He’d slipped on a pair of black slacks, but was still disturbingly shirtless. "And no one in this room behaves in such a fashion."

  "You gotta admit, that makes us pretty rare."

  "No, I don’t think so," Monique said seriously. "Most vampires outgrow the need for the hunt. It’s much easier to keep sheep."

  "To what?"

  I saw Tina make a slashing motion across her throat, and Sinclair shake his head; Monique was oblivious. "Sheep!" she said brightly. "You know. Two or three people who are devoted to you and let you drink whenever you need to."

  "We’re getting off the subject," Sinclair said quickly.

  "The hell we are!"

  "Later, Majesty," Tina said, glaring at Monique, who was looking amazed. "You can tell us all how awful we are later."

  "How can we draw this team out into the open?" Tina asked.

  "Well, bait, of course," Monique said.

  Sinclair nodded approvingly. "They appear to strike every other Wednesday, for some reason."

  "Maybe they all have jobs," I said, "and they can only get Wednesdays off."

  "More likely," Sinclair said kindl
y, "those days are significant. For example, they might be on the occult calendar."

  "So," Tina continued, "two weeks from now, we’ll see if we can’t catch them."

  I barely contained my sneer. "Just like that, eh?"

  "Well," Tina said reasonably, "chances are, they’re not a bunch of old folks. The attacks are too ferocious and quick, for one thing. It’s probably a bunch of young adults … I’ll bet a thousand dollars not one of them is legal drinking age."

  "Did you see any of them?" Monique asked.

  "Too busy fighting, and running. They were well equipped, I’ll tell you that much. I certainly did not linger."

  "Good thing," I said, impressed. "I mean, even with not lingering, you got ripped up pretty good. I’m really glad you’re okay."

  "Why, Majesty," Tina teased, "I didn’t know you cared."

  "Cut that out, you slut." Tina had made no secret of the fact that she’d jump into my bed anytime. This rattled me, because A) I was straighter than a laser beam, and B) even laser beams get curious. One time in college, a bunch of my sorority sisters and I got really drunk and … well, anyway, sometimes I was curious. Best to keep her at arm’s length. I had enough trouble keeping Sinclair out of my bed. "Your seductive ways won’t work on me."

  "Weapons?" Sinclair asked with a trace of impatience.

  "Guns, stakes, crossbows, knives, masks. But as I said, I’m sure they’re young. They felt young. They moved young, and smelled young."

  "Smelled?" I asked.

  "Lots of Stridex," she explained.

  I stomped on the giggle that wanted out. Killer teens with acne! Sounded like a movie of the week.

  "So right away, we’ve got an advantage."

  "We do?"

  "We’re older, smarter, and trickier," Sinclair said, sounding way too smug for my taste.

  Tina and Monique nodded. I rolled my eyes. "Well, then, those poor guys don’t have a chance, do they?"

  "Exactly," he replied, totally missing my sarcasm.

  Chapter 10

  "MARIE!" I yelled. "Are you here?"

  I doubted it. It was almost eleven o’clock at night. But her folks kept odd hours, because she usually—