Undead and Unemployed

by Mary Janice Davidson

"What’s wrong?" Jessica, hurrying down the stairs. It was amazing how, even though I couldn’t see them, I knew exactly where they were. It was amazing that it was almost dawn and they’d been waiting up for me. It was also amazing that this eighty-year-old sofa smelled like popcorn. "Was there another killing?"

  "No," Tina said. "We met some other vampires tonight, ones who recently came into town. It … ah … didn’t go well."

  "Quite right," Sinclair said, sitting down beside me. "And that’s very interesting."

  I flopped over and glared at him. Interesting my ass. "How?"

  The vampires—there were about half a dozen of them—had done their best to ignore me, and it was so damned chilly in that room from their hostile vibes that I got the shivers.

  Oh, they were perfectly deferential to Sinclair, and there was all sorts of "My King" this and "Your Majesty" that, but nobody talked to me at all.

  "They’re just jealous," Tina said, before Sinclair could answer. She sat down in the chair opposite the couch—this entryway was practically a fourth living room—and looked at me sympathetically. "No vampire in the history of human events has been able to do what you do."

  "So?"

  "Betsy, you wear a cross around your neck as everyday jewelry! Half the time I can barely look at you."

  "Oh, that makes me feel better."

  "You know what I mean," she said gently. "And in their defense, this has happened very quickly. Many of them have been under Nostro for a hundred years or more. You’ve been in power for three months."

  "So has Sinclair," I pointed out. "And nobody has been giving him the deep freeze."

  "Uh," Tina replied, and that was about it.

  "They’re jerks, but you knew that," Jessica said. "Why’s it getting you down now, all of a sudden?"

  "Good question. I dunno. It’s been a sucky week. And I forgot I was supposed to work tonight. That’s twice I had to blow off Macy’s. My boss is not pleased. And they—the other vamps—they were really cold to me. It was like Antarctica in that hotel room."

  "Actually, this is very promising," Sinclair said. "We have our motive."

  "What? We do?"

  "I was curious to see how out-of-town vampires would react to you, which is why we needed you tonight. And it’s patently clear you have aroused much resentment in the vampire community."

  "Buncha crybabies."

  "I suspect there is a price on your head. In fact …" He paused; he had everyone’s full attention, and probably found it surprising. "In fact, I suspect these murders are part of a plot to put you out of the way."

  "What?" Marc, Jessica, and I all yelped in unison.

  Tina was rubbing her eyes. "Oh, shit," she said quietly. "Yes, it fits, doesn’t it?"

  "Is that why all the other victims were women?" Marc asked skeptically.

  Jessica jumped in with, "But why kill other vamps at all?"

  "Practice," Tina said. "Working their way up to you, Majesty."

  "That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard!" I sat up in horror. "You guys can’t be right. No way!"

  "It sort of makes a ton of sense," Jessica said quietly.

  "No. That’s … that’s just wrong. On about thirty different levels." Killing people to get in the habit of it? Working their way up to me? I was suddenly swamped with guilt. Poor Jennifer! She wasn’t even a true victim; she was practice. "Nostro was in power for about a billion years and nobody tried to off him; I’m around since springtime and it’s open season?"

  "In a word, yes."

  "But—"

  "You’re very threatening to many vampires," Tina said. "You go your own way. You aren’t dependent on anyone’s protection. You don’t need shee … ah, human companionship. We have to feed every day, Majesty. Every day. As best I can determine, you can go as long as a week without feeding." Actually, my record was ten days, but that was nobody’s business. "You are immune to sunlight—"

  "If I’m so immune, how come I go down like a rookie boxer whenever the sun comes up?" I grumbled.

  "Everyone needs to rest sometime," Sinclair said, managing to sound smug and soothing at the same time.

  "Crosses, and holy water," Tina continued to drone. "The Fiends, whom you did not make, obey your every whim. You have a wealthy benefactor. The king …" She trailed off, and it was like she rearranged what she was going to say, because she just finished with, "The king is fond of you also."

  Yeah, fond like a wolf is fond of raw beef. "So? Why do they care? It’s not like I was overly involved in vampire politics."

  "Not yet," Sinclair said.

  "Oh. This sucks. This totally and completely sucks. The vampires all hate me and everyone’s trying to kill me!"

  "Not all," Sinclair said, totally straight-faced. "However, this brings up a vital point: you need a guard. Humans during daytime hours, and loyal vampires in the evening. The Puppet Master isn’t likely to stop anytime soon."

  This was getting better and better. If I was still alive, I’d have a splitting headache by now. I flopped back down on the couch and sighed. "I just can’t believe it." But that was a lie. Tina was right; in a really really bad way, it did all fit.

  "Keep Sarah close," Tina said after a long silence.

  "I concur; she’s a good suspect."

  "She’s a weirdo is what she is, and what are we going to do?" I put my hands over my eyes. "Oh, man, I really need to get out of here." I jumped off the couch and began to pace. "This has been the suckiest week since I died, I swear to God!"

  "D’you want to go to Heaven?"

  I was touched by the offer, and not a little surprised. Jessica hated shopping, and she practically loathed the Mall of America. I guess when you can buy every single thing six times over, it takes some of the fun out of window shopping,

  "No. We can’t, anyway … it’s, like, three o’clock in the morning. The Mall’s closed. Even the bars are closed."

  "We could go bowling," Marc suggested brightly. "There’s a really good twenty-four-hour lane not five minutes from here."

  "B-bowling?" The room began to swim. I sat down before I fell—almost in Sinclair’s lap. "You mean … with … with borrowed shoes?"

  "What’s the matter with you?" Jessica snapped at Marc. "Are you trying to make her more upset?"

  "Jeez, sorry! I forgot how weird she was about her footwear."

  "I’ll be all right," I said faintly as Sinclair fanned me with a couch pillow. "I just need a minute."

  "The Puppet Master doesn’t have to cut off your head," Marc said. "He just has to put you in secondhand shoes. You’ll off yourself in despair."

  Sinclair laughed, and I snatched the pillow out of his hand and smacked him in the face with it.

  Chapter 20

  MARIE was waiting for me when I finally went up to my room. I was glad to see her—I’d thought of a couple of things to ask her after we left earlier. And I’d do just about anything, even interrogate the ghost of a kindergartner, to take my mind off the problem du jour.

  "Still haunting my room, huh?"

  "I am not! I just like it in here."

  "Uh-huh. Listen, I wanted to ask, how did you … uh … end up like this?"

  She frowned, and a cute vertical line appeared between her eyebrows. "Gee. Nobody’s ever asked me that before. O’course, nobody’s really talked to me before you came."

  Yeah, that whole queen of the dead schtick had all sorts of fringe benefits. I forced a smile as she continued. "Well. My mommy was working here. We used to sleep in Jessica’s room. You know, when Mommy was done working. And once, a bad man came. I heard him come. I woke up and I ran out and saw him hurting Mommy, so I ran over to kick him, and he threw me really hard. And after that, nobody could see me anymore."

  She must have hit her head and died, I thought. And then the asshole who tossed her like a tiddly-wink buried the body in the front yard. Too bad nobody saw him and called the cops.

  And why was that tickling my brain? There was something there, and I just
couldn’t get to it. Dammit! Why was I great-looking instead of a genius? Usually I didn’t mind, but nights like this …

  "Oh," I said finally, because really, what was there to say? "Well, thanks. I was just wondering."

  "I wish my mom would come. I want her real bad."

  For sixty years she’d been wanting her! Poor kid. It’s funny how that’s what was keeping her in the house where she’d been murdered. In the books the spirit can’t rest until the killer’s been brought to justice, or whatever, but this ghost was just hanging around, waiting for her mom.

  In a minute, I was going to start bawling.

  "Want to see my new dress?" I asked finally, desperate for a subject change. "I got it on sale. Sixty percent off!"

  "Sure."

  While I was doing my impromptu fashion show for Marie, I had a brainstorm. I would be her mom! I couldn’t have kids of my own—I didn’t pee anymore, much less ovulate. But I could look after Marie and maybe if she got used to me, she wouldn’t miss her mom so much.

  This was the most cheerful thought I’d had in a while. The whole "you’ll never have a baby—ever" thing had been kind of bumming me out. Not usually, not even every day. But every once in a while that dark thought would sneak back and catch me by surprise.

  Not that I wanted to have anyone’s babies. Not anyone’s in general, and certainly not Sinclair’s. Like he could knock me up with his dead sperms, anyway. But still. It would have been nice to at least have the option.

  But now I had options. I would … I would … I would adopt ghosts!

  Well, okay. Like any plan, it needed work. What the hell, I had time.

  THE next night, Jessica and I pulled up outside my father’s house. It was much too big for two people, tucked away in the fashionable suburb of Edina, and was too expensive for the housing market. Which made it perfect for my stepmother, Antonia Taylor, aka the Ant.

  "Bet they don’t have termites," I muttered, staring at the house.

  "What?"

  "Nevermind."

  We got out of the car and headed for the front door. Before Jess could knock, I put my arm around her shoulder and said, "I apologize in advance for everything my stepmother’s going to say, and everything my father won’t say."

  "That’s all right."

  "Thanks for coming with me."

  "No problem, I’m looking forward to it," she lied. We both knew it was going to be a miserable evening.

  It was the traditional Taylor 4th of July BBQ. Due to my father’s hectic work schedule—he was the CEO of a company that manufactured sponges—it was taking place on July 18th.

  The Ant used this party as a chance to show off, so all kinds of people were invited: rich, poor, coworkers, family members, friends, politicians. Jessica got an invitation in her own right because she was rich, which cancelled out the fact that she was black.

  "Seriously," I said again, knocking. "I’m very sorry."

  "Oh, relax. Think she’ll offer me fried chicken and watermelon again?"

  I groaned, then forced a smile when my stepmother opened the door.

  She blanched when she saw me. This wasn’t atypical behavior; I’d have been shocked if she’d smiled. Or even remained expressionless. I’d never been able to forgive her for shattering my parents’ marriage, and she’d never been able to forgive me for returning from the dead. It made holidays uneasy, to say the least.

  "Happy Fourth of July," I said dutifully.

  Ant nodded. "Jessica. Thanks for coming." She left the door open and marched away.

  "She thinks your name’s Jessica," Jessica stage-whispered.

  "Very funny." I followed the Ant into the house. Where, to my total astonishment …

  "Mom?"

  "Hi, sweetie!" My mother put down her drink—Dewar’s and soda, from the smell—and threw her arms around me. It was like being embraced by a pillow that smelled like cinnamon and oranges. "I was hoping you were coming." She gave me a hearty smack on the cheek, then grabbed Jessica and gave her the same treatment.

  Jess hugged her back, delighted. "Dr. T! What are you doing here?"

  A fair question. The Ant despised my mother, and the feeling was heartily mutual. They took great pains not to be in the same town, much less the same room in the same house. I couldn’t imagine the bizarre-o set of circumstances that led to my mother’s presence in my father’s house.

  "Don’t you remember? I got promoted last month."

  "Sure, you’re head of the department now." My mom was a professor at the University of Minnesota. Her specialty was the Civil War, specifically the Battle of Antietam. Yawn. "You boss around all those little professor weenies."

  "Which rates me," my mother said, smirking, "my own invitation to the Taylor Barbecue Fete."

  I rubbed my temples. The Ant’s social climbing knew no boundaries. Now she was inviting history professors! This made no sense. Moron. Profs hardly ever got rich. And they could be death at parties. Not my mom, of course. But still.

  "Thank God," Jessica was saying. "Someone I can talk to who won’t mistake me for the help."

  "Oh, hush, Jessica, nobody thinks you’re the help. Except … well, never mind."

  "It’s swell to see you here," I finally said.

  My mom blinked up at me. I’d been taller than her since the seventh grade. "What’s wrong?"

  "Bad week," Jessica said, snagging a waiter by the elbow and relieving him of a glass of wine. "Undead politics. You know."

  "And how’s Eric Sinclair?"

  "Annoying," I said, grabbing my own waiter. This one was carrying Bloody Marys. I took a gulp and grimaced. I’d like to get my hands on the jerk who decided it was a good idea to wreck tomato juice with vodka and hot sauce. "Arrogant. Obnoxious. Doesn’t listen. Shows up uninvited."

  "The king of the vampires," my mom murmured. She tried a leer, and failed, instead looking like the Before picture in an antacid commercial. My mom was short, plump, and had white, curly hair. She’d looked like a television grandma when she’d been in her thirties. "And he’s quite fond of you, sugar-lump."

  "Barf," I said, and finished my drink. I scooped a cup of punch off the tray of yet another waiter—how many caterers did the Ant hire, for God’s sake? For a "casual barbeque"?

  "Err … perhaps you should slow down, honey. You’re driving, right?"

  "Mom, do you know how much booze a vampire needs to drink in order to get tipsy?"

  "Well, no."

  "Neither do I." A fine night to find out! I finished that drink, too, and downed the rest of Jessica’s wine. "Anybody see my dad?"

  "He’s in the corner with the mayor. Good luck de-ensconcing him. Sweetie, are you really having such a hard time? Do you want me to come and stay with you for a few days?"

  I actually shuddered. That’s all I needed, my mom running interference while Sinclair and Jon pursued me, the Puppet Master tried to stake me, and the ghost of the dead kid ran around in my room singing "Mary Had a Little Lamb" until I thought I would about go out of my mind.

  "Maybe next month, Dr. T," Jessica said quickly, seeing as how I was about to pass out from stress. "It’s just … complicated right now."

  "Never mind, Mom," I said, as nicely as I could. My mother, unlike some parental figures I could mention, was totally behind my undead status and tried her best to help me out. She was actually glad I was a vampire; she told me she didn’t worry about me being mugged or raped or anything these days. It wasn’t her fault my life was so unbelievably—what was Jessica’s word?—complicated. Yeah, like the wake of a tornado is complicated.

  "I think I’m here tonight for another reason," Mom went on, in a lower voice. "Your stepmother appears to be practically bursting with a secret. I suspect The Big Announcement will be tonight."

  "Ugh." Oh what, what now? She’d bullied my dad into buying a plane for her shopping trips? She was trying to start another charity ball? "I don’t suppose we could leave now?"

  "We didn’t have to come at all," Jes
sica pointed out.

  I shrugged. In April, when I’d been newly risen, my dad had made it clear he considered me dead, and if I didn’t have the good manners to stay dead, I should at least stay away. And I’d made it equally clear that I was his daughter, and it was his job to love me, dead or undead. We’d existed in a sort of uneasy truce ever since. I’d been here for Easter dinner a couple months ago, and was here now for the July BBQ. Like it or lump it.

  "Have you … uh … eaten tonight?"

  "I’m fine, Mom. Don’t worry about it."

  "Because I had an idea. Be right back." She trotted off in the direction of the kitchen, all plump efficiency and speed.

  "I cannot believe your stepmother invited your mother to her party."

  "I can’t believe Mom came!"

  Jessica gave me a look. Above the kitchen racket, I heard a blender kick into life. "Of course she came. She wanted to make sure your dad and your Ant were being nice to you."

  I smiled for the first time that night. Jess was probably right. My mom looked pleasant, but could be a pit bull if she thought I was in trouble.

  Before we could speculate further, Mom returned with what appeared to be a dark chocolate milkshake.

  "It’s roast beef," she confided, and I nearly dropped the glass. "I thought, since you can’t eat solid foods … but you can drink …"

  "Hmmm," Jessica said, looking at my beef shake.

  "Excuse me, ladies, but if you’d take your seats." The waiters were escorting all of us to the big table in the dining room. Interestingly, Ant had seated us at the head of the table, beside her and my dad. Weird! Usually she wanted me as far away from her as possible. Hell, I’d been seated at the kid table until I was twenty-six.

  "Hi, Dad," I said, as my father sat down across from me. He flashed me a shaky smile and accidentally knocked over his wine glass.

  "Darren," my mother said politely. "You’re looking well."

  My father smoothed his combover while a waiter righted his glass and blotted the wine stain. "Thanks, Elise. You too. Congratulations again on the promotion."

  "Thank you. Doesn’t Betsy look charming?"

  "Uh, yeah. Charming."

  "Thanks, Dad," I said dryly.