“Sorry to bother you,” Laura said to the girl. “We’ll get out of your way.”
“But your clothes,” the girl—Erin?—was persisting. “Why are you wearing such funny underwear? Don’t you have proper—”
“Erin and Eric Sinclair! You two get your butts in this house right now! These dogs aren’t gonna let themselves out!”
“Oops,” Erin Sinclair said, not looking too freaked. “Mama’s getting mad.”
“We’re s’posed to start to move to Minnesota tomorrow,” my future husband told the Antichrist. “We’re not done packing. But we almost are.”
“She’s not mad about the packing,” Erin Sinclair explained to the freakish strangers in her barn. “She just doesn’t want t’move to Minnesota. Aunt Tina’s making her.”
“It’s private business,” her twin said, managing to look intrigued and scandalized at the same time. “Not supposed to tell strangers.”
Laura didn’t reply. I contributed to the nothing by saying ... nothing. Shock had my vocal cords in a vapor lock.
“Well ... ‘bye,” my soon-to-be-dead sister-in-law said, giving me a small wave.
As for the boy? He smiled at me, a shy grin, then trotted after his twin. He looked back, once. “You’re goin’ now?”
I managed a nod. Got another cute smile for my trouble, and then the wooden doors slammed shut.
Which was good, since I was going to fall down pretty much any second.
Chapter 43
Okay,” I managed after what felt like ninety minutes. ”Okay. That’s ... okay?”
“We’re on your husband’s farm!” Laura had grabbed my arm, and her sensibly short nails were doing a dandy job of sinking into my tender vampire skin. “Your husband’s family’s farm!”
“Not for long. Argh, quit it!” I removed her claws from my flesh. “They’re moving, remember?”
“So Sinclair’s parents were farmers?” Laura goggled at me. “Farmers? I thought he was—I don’t know—a trust-fund baby. Or something.”
“Yeah. It seemed weird to me, too. When we met, I mean.” I shook my head. Fucking time travel; it made polite conversation impossible. “In the future, I mean. It was weird. Here’s this big rich classy scary vampire guy, and he got his start farming. I always thought that was kind of funny. I mean, I’m not wrong—Sinclair dresses like a city boy.”
Laura nodded. “He sure does. And didn’t you tell me his whole family ... ?”
“Yeah. Died. In fact, Tina found him in the cemetery the day of his parents’ funeral. I think—”
Shit. What did Tina tell me that night? It had been a couple of years, and I’d barely paid attention at the time. In my defense, I’d been thrown into a pit and was a little more worried about getting out than listening to the babbling of my new friend.
“Okay. She told me she turned him that night. I remember being surprised, because the Sinclair I knew wasn’t a guy who inspired sympathy, you know?
“And ... I always thought that’s how they met, that Tina met him the night she gave him the old one-two chomp. But the kids—the little twins—were talking about Aunt Tina.” We looked at each other. “She knew them before. She was a friend of the family. Before.”
Laura had paled, from fright or stress or both. “Then what happened?”
“Then ... nothing. I mean, that’s all the story I got. She saw him, she turned him, they’ve been friends ever since.”
A small lie. In fact, that was all the story I ever bothered with. I lost all interest in The History of Eric Sinclair once I found out I was supposed to spend five thousand years ruling vampires with him. Soooo not on the career aptitude test I took when I was a senior at Burnsville High School.
In my defense, the Sinclair I met had been conniving, sneaky, sexy, slick, underhanded, horny, sexy, scheming, sexy, and duplicitous. He’d tricked me! I’d had sex with him under false pretenses. And all those orgasms were under false pretenses, too!
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” I said, but Laura was way ahead of me. Her sword was already out, was already cutting a circle through the dusty barn air.
Just like last time, getting back to the waiting room was the easy part: we clasped hands and took a big step together, and the barn and the twins and the dust fell away from us. Cake.
“Thank goodness,” I said, “we’re back in hell.”
Not a sentence I thought I’d ever say.
Chapter 44
We both looked for the door that led back out into hell proper, and neither was exactly astonished when it didn’t show up. The devil wasn’t done teaching us Time Travel 101.
“Now what?”
“Now it’s the same decision we were looking at the last time we were in this room that isn’t a room. We either stay here and hope my mother takes pity on us—”
“Yeah, that’s likely.”
“Or pick another door. And find whatever it is we’re supposed to find.”
“Yeah. No choice at all, then. But listen—wait, wait!” I backed up. Laura was getting really quick with her fists, and if I hadn’t been undead I’d be at two shiners and counting. Or two nosebleeds and ... eh, fuck it. Nobody cared but me. “Can we at least try to get clean clothes while we’re here?”
“Or maybe period-appropriate clothing! Oh, Betsy, I never, ever would have thought of that!”
I won’t lie; that cheered me up. Laura seemed so independent and cool these days, like she didn’t need me so much.
Which was a weird way for me to feel ... I’d never known she existed before a couple of years ago. So why would I want to be needed? That wasn’t just pathetic, that was Ant-level pathetic. Level-one pathetic! Ye gods.
“I’m so glad you brought that up. I could use something more appropriate than jeans. One of these time jumps we could be the ones accused of witchcraft. Let’s—” She glanced around. “Uh ... I’m not sure how we would do that.”
“I’m not sure, either. What if you waved your sword through, I dunno, my dirty leggings?”
“No! I could hurt you. Even kill you.” She shook her head, a hard series of snaps: left, right, left. “Killing you wasn’t part of the time-travel-in-ten-easy-lessons plan.”
“Yeah, you’re right ... killing me would really put the stink on our shitty week. Look, your sword only disrupts paranormal energy, right? So if a werewolf jumped on you, you could slice him—”
“And he’d turn back to human, yes. But our clothes are real. They’re not paranormal energy. There’s nothing for my sword to disrupt.”
“Well, nuts.” And me without my overnight bag! I knew I’d been right to pack one. And not just because it was a spot to stash my letter from Sinclair.
I bent, brushed as much dust and dirt off my legs as I could, then straightened. I thought about l’il Sinclair, and couldn’t hold back a smile. That open-faced cherub had been long gone—long dead—by the time I’d met up with his grown-up self. But it still was kind of a kick to meet my heart’s own love as a child. A brother. A twin.
“Okay, so, let’s get to it”
“Are you sure you’re ready?”
I beckoned Laura with my fingers, a come-on-and-hit-me gesture I might make to a fighter. If this were a martial arts movie. And I was trapped in it. “Don’t mind me, I’m just going to cringe and flinch and cry like a bitch until I wake up in Stillwater, circa 1961—ow!”
Chapter 45
lf this is somebody’s idea of a joke,” I said, gently rubbing my throbbing lower lip, “it stopped being funny about a hundred years ago.”
“It was never funny,” my sister lied loyally. “I think you’re being an awfully good sport.”
“And I think I’m being slowly driven insane. So this is ... whatever this is.” I was looking around and I suppose I should have been all excited and interested and, I dunno, eager to assimilate. If it were a movie, my character prob’ly would have been all these things and more. Instead I was all, “So, what indignity awaits me in this hellish time
stream?”
I never said I wasn’t a sore loser.
This was the first time I’d been conscious (mostly) and outside. At the same time, I mean. It looked like another small town, but there weren’t a zillion horses. There also weren’t any cows. Or Volkswagens. So it could have been the Roaring Twenties. Or the Depression. Or both! Or neither.
Actually, I thought, taking a closer look at the buildings, it looked like we’d been plunked, once again, into a downtown area. But the place looked familiar. Maybe because all these dinky little towns looked the same after a while. Or maybe they kept using the same movie set for all the old Westerns I’d seen. That would explain a few things.
“D’you have any idea whefe—”
“Hastings. Minnesota,” the Antichrist added, as if I wouldn’t recognize the name of a town less than twenty-five miles from where we lived. A town my mother lived in! “I think it’s the early twentieth century.”
“How do you—”
She pointed. I turned around, picturing all sorts of horrors. A hangman’s noose. A firing squad. The opening of the first-ever Wal-Mart. Wait, that wasn’t likely, was it?
That’s when I noticed the Spiral Bridge, one of those oldtimey things we’d long outgrown but Minnesota was weirdly proud of. And because I’d grown up and gone to school in the area, I knew two things your average time traveler from hell wouldn’t.
It went up in 1895.
And didn’t come down until 1951.
Chapter 46
You girls! If you’re going swimming, you should be ashamed of yourselves! And if not, go home and cover yourselves!”
“Oh, yeah? Well, fu—” Fuck you and the horse you are literally riding in on had been where I was going with that. But the Antichrist had the reflexes of a rabid mongoose released in a reptile hut, so she did that arm-wrap-around-the-neck thing you usually see big brothers doing to little brothers, clapped her fingers over my mouth, and cheerily called, “Yes, sir! We sure will!”
“I’m going to drool like a beast on your fingers, you hateful cow. I’m gonna start slobbering any second now. Just as soon as I work up some saliva. Then you’ll be sorry. Then you’ll wish you were time traveling with someone else.”
“Too late on that last, Betsy. If they mistook modern clothes for bathing costumes—”
“They deserve to be set on fire,” I finished. “Why is our swimming or not any of their damned business in the first place? Ashamed of ourselves? Who appointed that jackass general of the Morals National Guard? I get that it’s ancient America and all, but it is still America.”
“Yes, and we’re women in ancient America. Black guys had the vote before we did, remember, and once upon a time, they thought those poor guys were property. Property got the vote before we did. That’s like the Levee Café getting to vote before we did. So look demure, darn it.”
“I have no idea what expression I should arrange my face into. Demure? That’s not even a real word, is it?”
“Sedate,” the Antichrist suggested.
“Not in a million zillion years. Hey, do we even know what the year is? I still don’t see any cars. When the hell did the Ford family take over the country?”
“Not ‘til the late 1800s,” Laura explained. “Not the Fords. When cars were invented. Nobody has a hard-and-fast date, but in the late part of the century is what people figure. They started showing up around then.”
“Wow. And here I was afraid this time travel thing would be hideously dangerous and boring. But it’s only hideously dangerous. How d’you know when cars started to show up?”
“My minor is midwestern American history.”
“You have a minor?” It was probably rude to ask my own sister what her major was. That was something a big sister would know, right? Wait. I think I knew this one. Let’s see ... if I was a virginal Antichrist and had a partial scholarship to the University of Minnesota, what would my major be?
Food business management? Animal science? Not evil enough. Applied economics? Plenty evil, but not virginal enough. Civil engineering? Environmental design? None of these seemed quite right ...
“And that was in New Jersey, I think.”
“What was?”
“That first car, please pay attention. But, see, they wouldn’t have gotten to a small town in Minnesota for years and years. So I’m guessing we’re somewhere in the 1920s.”
“Where’s a bulletin board right out on the street, with the day’s newspaper helpfully plastered on it?” I squinted into the afternoon sun and reminded myself to count my blessings. I was the only vampire who could be outside, squinting into the sun, and it was best to keep those things in mind. “I miss Salem.”
Laura sniggered. “Bite your tongue.”
“I’d like to bite somebody’s. I hate to add a problem when we’ve got a saddlebag full, but I’m getting kind of hungry. And did you notice how I slipped a 1920-ish colloquialism into my conversation? That’s right, baby! Never let it be said that the queen of the undead can’t blend.”
Kind of was a sizeable lie. (So was blend.) Because the truth was I was always hungry. Okay, thirsty. Whenever I opened my eyes. And whenever I closed them. And often for long periods in between.
Most of the time I could just grit my fangs and bear it. But I did occasionally have to give in to my unholy craving for human blood. The rapists had held me for a while, but ...
“Uh ...” Laura’s hand had gone to the collar of her shirt, where she was absently fiddling with it. I doubt she was even aware of it. So I decided not to call her attention to it. “That could be a problem.”
“For the greatest time-traveling team since Lewis and Clark? No chance, baby.” Ignoring Laura’s snort of laughter, I continued outlining my sinister plan. “Ideally, we’ll catch some bigoted wife beater in the middle of committing a felony. Or in the middle of a coma. I usually try to limit my chomping to rapists, thieves, murderers, and DVD bootleggers. And the occasional student loan officer. So keep your eyes peeled for a felony. Or a stupidly high rate of interest.”
“I think—”
“Enh, who am I kidding? Beggars can’t be choosers. Watch for misdemeanors, too.”
“I think we might have lucked out again,” Laura said, sounding guardedly optimistic. “The town seems almost deserted. In fact, I haven’t even seen anyone on the street since that man yelled ... at ... us ...”
She’d trailed off because she’d seen what I’d heard a few minutes ago—the jingling of many horses.
Three teams of two, in fact. Dressed in black—well, whatever you dressed horses up in (reins? leashes?), in 1920s (probably) Hastings, Minnesota. And the horses were pulling three big black wagons.
Each one toting a coffin.
Dozens and dozens of townspeople were now streaming into town; it was obvious nearly everyone had been at the wake and had walked into town afterward. I was even able to catch snatches of conversations over the jingling and clipclopping and wheel-squeaking.
Laura sucked in breath, then let it out in a slow gasp. “Oh my G—”
“Shut up.”
She shut. I was sorry to have had to snap at her, but I needed my concentration to listen.
“—poor things—”
“—after losing the daughter—”
“—poor boy, all alone now—”
“—catch them?”
“—naw, long gone by now—”
“—sheriff couldn’t even—”
There were more murmurings, but I’d gotten the jist of it. And the jist sucked. “Aw, dammit”
Laura was already shaking her head. “No.”
“This is bad.”
“No.”
“It’s—”
“No!” Laura had actually clapped her hands over her ears. “I can’t hear you!”
“Yeah. You can. And there’s no point in telling you, since you already figured it out”
She lowered her hands and her face—it was so stricken. She felt as badly as I did.
“It’s them, isn’t it? It’s Eric’s parents.”
“And his twin, Erin.” I watched the horse-drawn hearses pull past us. We were standing under one of those old-fashioned hangy-porch things, a perfect view to watch the procession. To watch practically the whole town go by. “A triple funeral for the Sinclair family. They’re taking the coffins up the hill to the cemetery.”
“No wonder that man yelled at us.”
“Yeah. I’d have done the same thing if I saw a couple of doorknobs in bathing suits ready to hop in the Mississippi the day of a triple funeral.”
“Okay.” Laura cleared her throat. “This is bad, but we can work around it. I—I don’t mean that the way it came out.”
“I know you didn’t.”
“Okay. Once they’re all past, we should be able to find—hey!”
I’d seized her hand and headed for the street. “We’re going.”
“Back to hell?”
“Worse.” I waved at a lone man driving an empty wagon. “We’re going to the funeral.”
Chapter 47
Have you lost your damned mind?” Laura hissed. ”You led that poor man on and—and seduced him! With your evil! So we can crash the funeral of your dead in-laws!”
“Anything sounds bad when you say it like that. Eyes front, Mikey.”
“Okay.” Our driver, Michael something-or-other (it was Smith or Thompson or Freidricksson ... something catchy but forgettable) obediently looked ahead, clucked his tongue at the horses, and our wagon jolted ever forward. We were last in the procession, which was just the way I wanted it.
Also? My kingdom for some shock absorbers. No wonder someone got fed up and invented the car.
“You are very, very, very pretty.”
“It’s my conditioner,” I assured him. “I don’t think it’s been invented yet. That’s why you’re attracted to me. Sexually, I mean. Also, I’m a vampire and I’ve bewitched you into giving us a ride to the funeral of, as the Antichrist put it, my dead in-laws.”
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