Undead and Unemployed

by Mary Janice Davidson

  I looked. Marie had an expression of intense surprise on her face; she was staring at her hands, which were transparent. She looked up at me and smiled, showing a gap where she’d lost her baby teeth. "I’m going to see Mommy now, B—" Then she popped out of sight.

  There was a long silence while the three of us tried to think of something to say. Finally, Tina spoke up. "I’ll dispose of the body."

  "Vampires have cemeteries?" I asked shakily. I felt shaky, like any second I would fall flat on my face.

  She smiled. "Yes."

  "Okay. Um, listen. It’s been a really long night. An unbelievably long night. Tina, I’m your queen, right? I mean, you’ve always believed it."

  "Of course, Majesty."

  "Okay, well, will you do me a really, really big favor? Will you go downstairs and make the Blade Warriors go away, and tell Marc and Jess and my mom I’ll see them tomorrow? Because I’m just not up for company right now."

  "At once, Majesty." She picked up my hand and—weird and disturbing—kissed it. "You did good." She smiled and her whole face lit up. "You did great."

  So how come I felt like a total shit?

  I heard Tina tugging and pulling. I refused to look. Then she carried the body out. Sinclair held the door open for her, then closed it behind her. Naturally, he assumed "I don’t want company" didn’t apply to him.

  "Well, that’s that," I said, staring at the spot where Marie had just been.

  "Yes, I suppose so."

  "I’m really happy for her."

  "As am I."

  "I mean, she missed her mom so much, she hung around here for half a century. Years and years! And now they’re together. That’s good, right?"

  "Right."

  I burst into tears, and suddenly found myself leaning on something hard and covered with cotton—Sinclair’s chest. His arms were around me and he was stroking my back. "Elizabeth, don’t cry, sweetheart. Everything you said was right. Everything you did was right."

  "I know," I wailed into his lapel.

  "There, now. You made the hard choice, and that’s always difficult." He kissed the top of my head. "But you were a queen to Sarah when she needed you, and Marie couldn’t have asked for a truer friend."

  He was being so sweet, I cried harder.

  "Elizabeth, why do you always smell like strawberries?"

  The abrupt topic change startled me in mid-sob. "It’s my shampoo."

  "Well, it’s lovely."

  "Also, Jessica threw a strawberry at me earlier. It was the garnish in her daiquiri at my dad’s house, and it got stuck in my bra, and I didn’t have time to change before you guys came over. I mean, I fished it out, but there was juice and seeds everywhere."

  "Well, that’s … that’s lovely, too." I could feel his chest shaking with suppressed laughter.

  I jerked back and slapped his shoulder. "It’s not funny, Sinclair. I’m having a crisis, here."

  "Yes, I’m beginning to recognize the signs."

  "It’s just, I would have looked after her, you know? I had this plan. I mean, I’ll never have a baby. So I thought I could sort of take Marie under my wing. And I got used to having her around. She was always around."

  "Yes, it must have been unbelievably nerve-wracking."

  "No, it … I thought, that was okay, right? I mean, once I got over being creeped out by the whole ghost thing. But now I’ll … I’ll never see her again." Just the thought made me cry harder. "That’s the only way I’ll ever have a kid, is if some other kid gets murdered in my house and hangs around!"

  "Elizabeth, that’s not true."

  "It’s just been the crappiest week!"

  "Yes, it’s been difficult for you, hasn’t it, poor darling?"

  "Yes! And someone’s trying to kill me and my house is too big and the other vampires hate me and I’m going to have to crush Jon like a bug one of these days so he quits hanging around and I can see dead people and I think maybe the gardener’s a ghost too and my stepmonster’s pregnant with my half brother or sister."

  He looked at me soberly. "No one will dare to harm you while I’m around." Then, "Who did you say was pregnant?"

  "Never mind. You know," I sniffed, "you can be really sweet when you’re not driving me up a tree."

  "Why, you stole the very words from my mouth," he teased. "Also, I never thanked you for saving my life."

  "What? When?"

  "When that infant tossed holy water at me. You jumped in front of me and got soaked. Remember?"

  "Oh. That. Well, you know." I shrugged. "It was nothing to me. I mean, I knew it wouldn’t hurt me. Besides, I wouldn’t want anything to happen to that pretty face," I teased.

  "Indeed not." He caressed my cheek and I noticed again how very, very black his eyes were. Meeting his gaze was like looking up at the winter sky.

  When he leaned in and pressed a kiss to my lower lip, I grabbed his lapels and kissed him right back. He smelled so good—all crisp cotton and his own secret smell. I, of course, smelled like squashed strawberries. Well, he seemed to like it. Also, his tongue was in my mouth and I didn’t mind a bit.

  "I suppose you’ll be ordering me out now," he murmured, breaking the kiss and nipping lightly at my throat, but not breaking the skin. It made me shiver and lean into him.

  "Well, I really should. I mean, it’s a rotten thing to do."

  "What is, darling?"

  "I’ll just be mean to you again tomorrow. It’s rotten to let you stay the night."

  He laughed against my neck. He hardly ever laughed, and when he did it was always startling and kind of fun, like finding a ripe orange in your mailbox. "I’ll risk it," he said, and shrugged out of his jacket.

  I stood back and watched him disrobe. It was amazing how quickly the clothes were flying off him. God, he had a great body. A farmer’s son, Sinclair had been in excellent shape when he died. His shoulders were so broad he had to have his suits tailor-made, and his arms were tautly defined with muscle. His chest was lightly furred with black hair, tapering to a narrow waist and long, muscular legs. And he was very happy to see me.

  "This doesn’t mean anything, does it?" I asked, although it was suddenly hard to talk … my tongue felt too thick for my mouth. "There’s not another little passage in the Book of the Dead that maybe you forgot to mention? If we have sex again does this make you, like, super king forever and ever?"

  "No." He turned me around and unzipped my dress. He nuzzled the back of my neck. "You’re … ah … not planning on talking the entire time, are you?"

  I whipped back around. My dress fell to my feet in a silk puddle and I saw his eyes widen appreciatively—for a change, I was wearing matching underwear. Pale green, with monarch butterflies. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

  "Oh, nothing. Chat away, dear. I’ll be all ears." He laughed again and hugged me to him. This was quite interesting, as I could feel his hard length pressing against my lower stomach, so I decided to forget about being annoyed. "Oh, Elizabeth. I’m really, really quite fond of you."

  "Yeah, I can tell. Well, I like you, too, Eric, when you’re not being a shit."

  "In other words, when I’m buckling under. A fine platform on which to base a thousand year relationship."

  For once, that thought wasn’t completely terrifying. And he was so strangely cheerful, it was perking me right up. Frankly, I’d never seen him in a better mood. The man must absolutely love getting laid. "Let’s just take it one day at a time, all right?"

  "As my queen commands," he said, and scooped me up, and tossed me on the bed. "Also, I like your butterflies. But I think they should be on the floor, don’t you?"

  And in a moment, they were.

  "WOW."

  "Yes."

  "I’m panting. I’m actually out of breath, and I don’t need to breathe. Day-amn!"

  Sinclair stretched, then pulled me to his side and pressed a quick kiss to my breast. "Art comes in many forms."

  "Oh, so you’re an artist, now?"

  "Y
es."

  I snorted, but didn’t disagree. He’d been hungry, and skillful, and very, very good. Of course, he had about sixty years of experience. My throat still stung where he’d bitten me, but I wasn’t holding it against him. I knew he’d been completely unable to help himself.

  I wondered if he hurt where I’d bitten him.

  I laid there next to him and tried to think about how to tell him my dirty little secret. Because it had happened again. When we were making love, I could read his mind. But I knew he couldn’t read mine. I’d tried to send thoughts to him before, but with absolutely no reaction. And I wasn’t smart enough to figure out a tactful, nonthreatening way to share this with him.

  Say, Sinclair, did you know that when we’re having sex, I can read your every thought and desire? This isn’t going to bother someone as tightly controlled as you, is it?

  Pass.

  "Say, are you sure you want to spend the night? What if the Puppet Master makes another go at me?"

  "Let him try," Sinclair said, pulling the comforter over us. "I’ve been fantasizing about pulling his head off for the last few days."

  "You know, most people fantasize about getting married, or building a dream home, or going on vacation somewhere nice."

  "I think about those things, too," he said seriously.

  "Oh, is this the part where we share intimate small talk and fall in love?" I teased.

  I could feel him studying me in the dark. "No," he said finally. "Go to sleep."

  Sure! It’d be so easy, because it wasn’t like I had a ton of stuff on my mind or anything. Shoot, I was still replaying the really excellent sex I’d just had. Really excellent.

  I could still feel his hands on me. Actually, his hands were on me. But earlier, they’d been everywhere. And he’d kissed me everywhere, too. He’d been like a starving man in an Old Country Buffet restaurant.

  And I mean everywhere. Sinclair had practically taken up residence between my legs. When his tongue had snaked inside me, I’d just about gone out of my mind. He licked and kissed and sucked, and I was so busy begging him not to stop that at first I thought he’d been talking out loud.

  "Don’t bite her, don’t bite, don’t bite, don’t bite …"

  "What’s the matter?" I’d gasped.

  "Nothing. Hush," he’d said, and flicked my clit with his tongue.

  "… bite don’t bite don’t bite don’t bite don’t don’t don’t …"

  I grabbed his shoulders and tugged until his chest was settling against mine. "That’s nice," I had managed. "Are you going to fuck me now?"

  I expected a sarcastic response or one of those annoying "as my queen commands" sneers, but instead he shoved my legs further apart with his knee and surged inside me. I could practically feel him in the back of my throat; he was really hung, and that was just fine.

  "… bite don’t bite don’t bite don’t bite don’t you’ll scare her don’t bite don’t …"

  I wrapped my legs around his waist, urging him closer as he stroked, and pressed his face into the side of my neck. The muscles in his shoulders were rigid with strain; they felt like rock beneath my fingers.

  Then I bit him. He stiffened in my embrace and shuddered all over; his cool, rich blood flooded my mouth and the sensation of taking from him while he took from me tipped me over into orgasm.

  I barely felt his teeth break my skin; I was shuddering around him and realized that high whimpering sound was coming from me.

  We were rocking together so fiercely my giant, heavy bed was actually moving; the headboard was slapping the wall and I imagined the house was probably shaking, too. At least, it should have been. It felt like the universe should be affected by what we were doing; it wasn’t just a couple of lonely people having sex. For the first time, I had a real sense of who we were, and what we were about. The king and queen of the dead were making love so fiercely, chunks were falling out of the wall.

  Elizabeth!

  "Eric," I’d managed.

  He thrust once more, harder than he had before, the headboard gave a final slam, I came again, and so did he. His grip tightened until it was just short of painful, and then he was licking the bite mark on my neck, and I was gasping and out of breath.

  "Jesus!"

  "I’ve asked you before not to call me that," he said, and we both cracked up.

  Yeah, it had really been something. The question was, could I now read anyone’s mind during love-making, or just Eric’s? And how much longer should I keep this to myself?

  I heard a crack and flinched; Sinclair had snapped his fingers in front of my face. "Are you in there? I’ve been saying your name for the last ten seconds."

  "Sorry. I was thinking. And don’t do that; you know I hate it."

  "Thinking about?"

  "Actually, about how amazing you are in bed." Well, it was mostly the truth. "I hate to tell you anything that’ll make your head bigger than it already is, but yum!"

  "Thank you," he said politely, but he sounded pleased. "Of course, you bring out the best in me. Your body is a feast."

  "Well, I’m trying to slim down. Seriously, you’re the best I’ve ever had."

  "Oh? Out of, say, how many?"

  "Forget it, pal. We’re not doing this."

  He yawned and cuddled me into his side. "Why not?"

  "Because you’ll win. You’ve been having sex a lot longer than me."

  "True. But I’m curious about the others you’ve invited into your bed."

  "Let’s just say I could count them on one hand and leave it at that." Actually, three fingers. But that was none of his business.

  "Practically a virgin," he mused.

  "Oh, hush up. Hey, is it getting lighter in here or is it just mmmmmm..."

  The last thing I remember was Eric chuckling as I sank into unconsciousness. Stupid sunrises!

  Chapter 23

  I opened my eyes and was not at all pleased to see Marc standing over me. His mouth was hanging open and he was gaping down at me. And presumably, Sinclair, who had at one point kicked off the covers.

  "What?" I leaned over Sinclair, grabbed the comforter, and spread it over us. "Somebody better be on fire, pal."

  "Huh? Oh. Uh … sorry, the reason I came up here has been driven completely out of my head by the sight of your cellulite."

  "I don’t have any," I snapped.

  "Neither do I," Sinclair said. "Good evening, by the way."

  Jessica walked in. She slowed as she saw Sinclair next to me, then pretended like she hadn’t just had the crap shocked out of her and strode briskly over to Marc. "Are you going to give her the phone or what? It’s your boss," she added to me. "He sounds pissed."

  I grabbed for the phone, which wasn’t easy because Marc was still staring, and I had to wrestle it away from him while remaining modestly covered.

  "Hello? Mr. Mason?"

  "Elizabeth. You were supposed to be here an hour ago."

  Shit! What day was it? What time was it? Wait a minute … "Mr. Mason, I switched with Renee for tonight. She’s covering my shift."

  "Oh? Because Renee isn’t here, either."

  Well, hell, go yell at her. "Mr. Mason, I’m not on tonight."

  "The schedule disagrees."

  "Yeah, but … we switched!"

  "I see. Do you think you could come in for a couple of hours, since Renee seems to have forgotten your … ah … arrangement?"

  "Sure," I said quickly. I was going to have to do some serious damage control on this one. "Be there in an hour."

  "Good-bye, Elizabeth."

  "Shit!" I said as he hung up. "He thinks I’m lying to cover my ass."

  "And what an ass," Sinclair said admiringly.

  "You stop that. Dammit, now I’ve got to go in and be all nicey-nice and kick Renee’s butt up to her shoulderblades when I see her."

  "At the same time?"

  "Dammit!"

  "Mason takes you for granted," Jessica declared.

  "You’re sweet, but I haven�
�t been a very good employee lately, what with my—"

  "Secret vampire life?"

  "Well … yeah."

  "Slut," Marc coughed into his fist.

  "I am not! I’ve only had sex twice in the past … what year is this?"

  Sinclair laughed.

  "You guys go away," I ordered. "I have to grab a shower and get ready for work."

  "The Blade Warriors are here," Jessica said, rolling her eyes. "Well, one of them."

  I rubbed my temples. "It’s Jon, isn’t it?"

  "If Jon’s the one who looks like he should be on a beach with Gidget and her pals, yes."

  Sinclair growled. Actually growled, like a wolf or something! "Send him away," he ordered.

  "Calm down, O king of the dead people," Jessica said, smirking. "As it happens, he’s insisting on talking to Bets, here."

  "I could not care less. Send him away."

  "Stop ordering my friends around!" I rested my chin on my fist. "Nuts. Well, I can’t talk to him right now, I’ve got to get to work. I’ll have to see him later. Nobody’s died, though, right?"

  "Not yet."

  "Cheerful thought," I muttered, standing. What did I care? Jessica’d seen me naked about a million times, and Marc was a lot more interested in how Sinclair looked. "All right. I’ll catch you guys later."

  "Oh, come on," Marc whined. "We want to hear about what happened up here last night. Specifically, why Tina came down the stairs carrying a dead vampire. And why you didn’t wake up by yourself."

  "Later," I said firmly, and walked into the bathroom.

  I was rinsing shampoo out of my hair when I heard someone pull back the shower curtain. "You’d better be anyone but Eric Sinclair," I said without opening my eyes.

  "You’d prefer Marc? Or perhaps Jon?"

  "Ugh, and again … ugh." I finished rinsing and opened my eyes. Eric was splendidly nude (still!), standing in front of me with his hands on his hips, smiling. "He’s just a kid with a crush."

  "You sound unsurprised."

  "For some weird reason," I admitted, "teenage boys really like me."

  "I can’t think why," he said, idly tweaking my nipple.

  I slapped his hand away. "What’s got you in such a good mood? That’s the second smile this morning. Evening, I mean."