Undead and Unwelcome u-8

by Maryjane Davidson

  “But it tastes better when it’s raw,” Lara the Weird whined.

  “You heard what I said.” Jeannie plunked a Lunchable in front of her son, who carefully began dismantling it and eating.

  “But I want to eat a raw hamburger.”

  Jessica raised her eyebrows at me while Lara placed her teeny hands on her teeny hips and glared up at her mother.

  “Tough nuts,” Jeannie replied with admirable unconcern. “And that locked gaze might work with your father and the others, but it doesn’t do diddly to me. So: Cooked hamburger? Or no hamburger?”

  “No hamburger.”

  “Ah, starving yourself to spite the woman who gave you life.” Jeannie leaned against the counter and put a hand over her eyes. “Ah, ‘how sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child.’ ”

  “Mommy Shakes,” Sean said, carefully picking up a pepperoni slice and popping it into his mouth.

  “Yes, that’s right, Mommy likes to quote Shakespeare.”

  Lara sighed. “Since I’m not going to eat my snack, can I go to the playground?”

  “Lara, I’m sorry, but I can’t get away right now—your father and I have some stuff to talk about.” Her gaze slid to me, but I don’t think she was aware of it.

  “I’ll take her,” I volunteered. “I’d like to get outside.”

  “Oh. Well. That’s very nice, Betsy, but you’re not really used to werewolves, y’see, and—”

  “Not used to—Hello? I lived with one of them?”

  Jeannie gave me a long, speculative look, then beckoned with one finger. “Step over here with me for a moment. Would you?”

  Jessica shot me her you’d-​better-​tell-​me-​everything-​later expression and added, “I’ll keep an eye on your boy for you, Jeannie.”

  “That’s great, Jessica. If he wants another Lunchable—”

  “And he will,” Lara piped up.

  “—they’re on the bottom shelf in the fridge to your right.

  So saying, she spun on her heel and walked out through a different door, one I hadn’t even spotted until Jeannie moved toward it.

  I guess I was going back down the rabbit hole. Me and Alice.

  Chapter 16

  :I’ll trust you with my daughter,” Jeannie began the moment she’d started up four washing machines at once. The mysterious door had led to the mysterious Laundromat. The Wyndhams had their own Laundromat! Unreal.

  Anyway, she got a bunch of the machines going and I was puzzling over that when I suddenly realized: she didn’t want Lara to overhear. Or anybody close by to overhear.

  “I’m doing this,” she continued, “because I know you liked Antonia and wouldn’t have seen her dead. I’m also doing this because Lara can take care of herself. So if you turn evil and try to bite her or hurt her in any way, don’t be surprised if it’s your head bouncing across the playground.”

  “That’s, um, sweet. You must be very proud.”

  “But I need you to remember this: a werewolf cub is not a human child. They’re different.”

  “Okay.”

  “They’re faster. Stronger. Even crueler. She looks like a little girl to you, but you must never forget—she is her father’s daughter, the man who had to kill over twenty-​five werewolves to take the Pack. Do you understand?”

  I just stared at her while all around us washing machines went shhh-​thump, shhh-​thump, shhh-​thmmp.

  I’d expected the standard warning: if you bite my kid, I’ll hunt you down and shoot you dead.

  But it wasn’t like that. Jeannie wasn’t scared for Lara.

  She was scared for me.

  “I told you something like this before, but you had a lot going on at the time. This time I’ve got your full attention. Right?”

  “Right, absolutely, you bet.”

  “As long as we understand each other.”

  “Oh, we totally do,” I assured her.

  “All right, then.”

  “All right.”

  Chapter 17

  With her warning still ringing in my ears, we trooped back to the kitchen after Jeannie opened one of the dryers, groped around inside, then turned the dryer back on. “A quilt,” she explained, and I nodded just like this was an ordinary week, day, conversation, whatever.

  We got back just in time to hear Lara laughing and Jessica’s “Ooof ! All right, all right, you crummy kid, you win the bet.”

  Jessica, obviously the loser in a game of arm wrestling, looked relieved to see me as she rubbed her shoulder. “Ah, the Mysterioso Twins are back. What’s up?”

  “Just giving her directions to the playground,” Jeannie calmly lied. “Lara, you can go, but you mind Betsy like it was me talking—you understand?”

  “Yes, Mom.” Lara slid off the stool and faced me.

  “Hi again,” the next Pack leader said.

  “Nice pigtails,” I replied.

  Chapter 18

  That was how I found myself taking Lara—Michael and Jeannie’s eldest—to the nearby playground for good, clean, wholesome werewolf fun.

  She was a cutie, no question. She had her father’s eyes, that odd yellow-​gold I’d seen on television nature shows—eyes the color of an owl’s, or a hawk’s. Slender and straight, with her curly dark hair pulled into pigtails. Jeans and a Hannah Montana T-​shirt. Maybe . . . six?

  “—then Daddy said you were going to bring Antonia back but now you have to talk to the Council and nobody knows what will happen after that but Derik’s really upset because he loves—loved—Antonia and—”

  “Where the hell is the playground?” I muttered. Lara, as far as I could tell, hadn’t taken a breath in the last eight minutes. We’d taken a path that led off the grounds and onto a small, brick-​lined sidewalk beside a bike trail. Lara had explained that it was “really close.” Sure it was.

  “—had to go before the Council since Grandpa took over the Pack so nobody knows what’s going to—”

  “There is no park,” I muttered. “That’s my theory. I’m trapped on a never-​ending sidewalk beside a never-​ending bike path.”

  “—walk around outside?”

  “What?”

  “I said, how come you can come outside? It’s daytime.”

  “I just can.”

  “But how come?”

  It sounded too dumb to say it out loud, but I did it anyway. “Because I’m the queen. Sunlight can’t hurt me. Only a knockoff shoe sale can hurt me.”

  “Because I thought you’d have to sleep in a coffin but my friend said you guys have one of the guest suites and there’s no coffins in there and—”

  I stopped. Lara halted beside me. We’d rounded a tree-​lined corner and suddenly the park was spread out before us. There was a large sign at the entrance that read, MICHAEL WYNDHAM SR. MEMORIAL PARK.

  “Don’t tell me,” I said. “Let me guess.”

  “You don’t have to guess,” Lara said, giving me a look I knew well. It was the what-​kind-​of-​moron-​are-​you look. “The sign’s right there.”

  “So your dad made this?”

  “No. Daddy’s the third.”

  “He’s what?”

  “Michael Wyndham the Third. My great-​grandpa was—”

  “You know what? I’ve kind of lost interest by now.” Legacies. I should have remembered where I was. This was New England, not Minnesota. “Run along.”

  So she did, heading straight for the monkey bars. There weren’t many cars in the small parking lot to the left—maybe half a dozen—and about that many kids playing. A couple of moms were sitting on benches on the far side of the park, chatting and keeping half an eye on the children.

  Which left me time to think about just what the hell we were in for. For example, just what the hell was the Council? Was it as bad as it sounded? Because it sounded a bit like a trial without a jury. Or a fair-​minded judge. And what was I supposed to tell them? I hadn’t made Antonia take slugs for me, or even asked her. We walked in,
the bad guy shot, and Antonia died. The end.

  I prowled around the teeter-​totters and tried to think of a plan. But I had no gift for strategy—I left that shit strictly to Sinclair and Tina—and felt more out of my depth than usual. What were we doing here, anyway?

  Let’s say the Council decided the vampires had screwed up. What then? They couldn’t punish us. Could they? Would that mean we’d go to war? That could be a problem—not only did I not know how many vampires were walking around on the planet, I had no way to mobilize them. And I didn’t want to. I found it completely ridiculous that I had to police adults, most of whom were far, far older than I was. And as far as siccing them on werewolves, for crying out loud? Puh-​leeze.

  I kicked irritably at an errant tuft of grass, then looked up at the unmistakable sound of a child bursting into tears. A little girl—three? four?—was sprawled in the gravel, sobbing, and a bigger boy—nine, ten?—was standing over her.

  “I said your turn was over,” the brat said, sounding remarkably unrepentant. I knew a few vampires like that.

  The thing about being childless (as I still thought of myself, BabyJon being a relatively late arrival in my life) is you sort of freeze up when kids are acting badly. On the one hand, you know the kid’s in the wrong and you want to help. On the other hand, it’s not your kid, so perhaps it was none of your business.

  The little girl was still crying. The bigger boy was now on her recently vacated swing.

  I glanced over at the moms sitting on the bench and saw one stop in mid-​gossip and say in that fake “I’m trying to sound stern but I’m really proud of my big boy!” tone that I absolutely hated, “Jaaaaason! You know you’re supposed to wait your turn, honey.”

  “I’m telling!” the tiny girl in the gravel sobbed. “I’m telling! Mom! Mommy, Jason pushed me off the—”

  “You be nice to your little sister, Jason Dunheim?” the mom asked. Asked. Not told. Oh, God save me from overindulgent nitwits who insist on procreating but not parenting. “Jason? Okay?”

  Why is she asking? I hate when parents ask. What happens if the kid says no? Then what are you supposed to do? Slink away? Have a tantrum? What?

  “Mommy!”

  “Shut up, bawl baby.”

  “Jason? You know we don’t use that phrase in our house, Jason? Honey?”

  Sigh. Well, the little one didn’t appear to be hurt (I couldn’t smell any blood on her), and if I didn’t exactly approve of a mother who so clearly favored one child over the other, there wasn’t much I—

  “Say you’re sorry.”

  I turned my head so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. Not only was Lara in it (groan), she was hoisting Jason by bunching his T-​shirt in her fist.

  Chapter 19

  Lara lifted his big butt right off the swing, and was holding him a foot over her head with one arm. I’d never even heard her move, and the monkey bars were all the way across the playground from the swings.

  “Let go of me!” Jason’s legs swung and kicked.

  Lara gave him a brisk shake. It looked about as difficult for her as salting pasta would be for me. “Say you’re sorry.”

  “Hey!” Miracle of miracles, The Thing That Spawned Jason was on her feet and running for the swings. “Leave my son alone! Put him down right now!”

  I started to run, too. But my motives were in no way altruistic . . . I sure wasn’t at all interested in saving Jason’s spoiled little white-​bread butt.

  No, all I could think as I raced toward them was, First I get Antonia killed, and now I’m going to get Lara beat up . . . Oh, the werewolves are gonna throw us a party, they’ll be so pleased. Nice, Betsy. And it’s not even five o’clock.

  I made myself slow down. A lot. Because about the only way this could get worse was if I outed myself as a vampire. Humans could not run at forty miles an hour. Slow down. A lot. Get Lara away from there before she—

  “She’s littler than you.” Another shake. “And not as strong.” Another shake—sort of like when a terrier kills a rat.

  Jason had both his hands locked around her wrist and, from his strained, reddening complexion, was trying as hard as he could to pry her hand off him. “You’re supposed to watch out for her,” Lara the Terrifying was saying. “She’s your ’sponsibility and you hurt her on purpose! You don’t ever do that!”

  “Put me down!”

  “ ’kay .” I didn’t even have time to groan and cover my eyes; Lara pulled Jason toward her, sidestepped, and threw him about six feet. He skidded nose-​first into the gravel, sat up, and started howling. His nose was bleeding and the rich, heady scent went straight to my head.

  Well, this was just swell. On top of everything else, I’d popped my fangs. Way to stay off the radar, Vampire Queen.

  I reached Lara, veering around the mother who had instantly rushed to her son’s side when things stopped going his way.

  “Argh, Lara, thith ith awful! Why’d you do that? You can’t be throwing bullieth around like that. Are you trying to get me eaten alive? Your father—”

  Lara was ignoring me. I had, in fact, stopped existing for her at all. She had gone to the girl, helped her out of the dirt, and brushed her off. “Are you okay? We have Band-​Aids at my house. Do you need one?”

  “Nuh-​uh.” The girl rubbed her cheeks with grubby fists, mixing dirt with tears. “How’d you do that? That was really cool. I want to do that. Can you throw him again?”

  “I better not,” Lara muttered, giving me a wary look. Not like she was scared of me; more like she was calculating how much of a threat I was to her at that moment.

  I had a flashback to what her mother—her human mother—had told me earlier.

  A werewolf cub is not a human child. And what else had she said? She’d looked so strange when she said it. That look on her face—a mixture of pride and sorrow. It wasn’t an expression I’d ever seen before.

  They’re faster. Stronger . . . crueler.

  Jeannie had known her shit; Lara was no more human than I was. She hadn’t responded to Jason like a little girl who wanted to play on the monkey bars; she’d responded like an alpha who saw weakness and pain and instantly acted to put an end to it. She’d seen someone who needed protecting and she hadn’t hesitated—never mind the consequences to her, or me.

  Which was a lot more than I had done.

  Great. Shown up by someone who didn’t weigh more than a bag of dog chow. Who was already more of a leader than I could ever be.

  “—because we could go up to my house and—”

  “You!” Oh, terrific. The Thing That Birthed Bullies had marched over to us, dragging her bawling son behind her. “You think I didn’t see what you did? I saw what you did, and you’re going to—”

  Okay, that was just about enough. I locked gazes with her and said, “Go thit down.”

  The anger—all animation, in fact—left her face and she turned and walked like a robot over to the bench. Good old vampire mojo; there were times when I was more than pleased to use it.

  “What’s wrong with your voice?” Lara asked.

  “You jutht never mind my voith. Letth get out of here.”

  “Hey, your teeth are all pointy! I don’t think you should bite him, though.” She looked at Jason, who was so bewildered by the events of the last twenty seconds he had stopped crying. Then she smiled at him, the flat, fake smile of a store mannequin. “He wouldn’t taste good at all.”

  Jason was now backing away from her, wiping the blood from his nose with a swipe of his sleeve. I couldn’t say I blamed him. And the farther away he got, the less crazy the smell of his O-​positive goodness made me.

  “Your mom underplayed it, if anything,” I muttered.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Okay. I’ve got what I wanted, anyway.”

  We started heading out of the playground, back toward Lara’s house. “What, you wanted to throw a bully fifteen feet?”

&nbs
p; “It wasn’t even close to fifteen feet. Boy, you really like to exaggerate, don’t you?”

  “It’s one of my weaknesses,” I admitted.

  “Besides, I just wanted to get another look at you.”

  I stopped so suddenly she took a couple more steps before she realized she was walking alone. “You wanted to what?”

  “To get another look at you. If you and my daddy become enemies, you’ll be my enemy. I might have to kill you someday, to protect the Pack. Why wouldn’t I come see you?”

  “But you and I met already.”

  “Yes,” Lara explained patiently, “but now you’re in my lands. I’m not in yours.”

  I stared, struck speechless—which is not a normal thing for me, better believe it. “So, if I’ve got this right, you didn’t want me to take you to play. You wanted to—to—”

  A werewolf cub is not a human child.

  “—to size me up?”

  “Uh-​huh.” She brightened as the mansion came into sight. “D’you want some ice cream? I’d love a dish of chocolate.”

  Okay. Now I was getting a genuine case of the creeps. Because I could see that, for her, the situation was over, done, resolved. She could move on to other things now, and would.

  In other words, she was behaving exactly like she was taught and bred to behave: to worry only about the Now. Tomorrow was a thousand years away. Yesterday was even further away.

  I sighed and surrendered. “Yeah. Let’s go get some ice cream.”

  “Hey! You’re not talking funny anymore.”

  “Let’s thank God for small favors, okay? Also, if you could not mention this little fracas to your folks, that would be peachy.”

  Lara laughed. “You’re funny.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I followed her up the drive to the mansion. “I’m a barrel of freakin’ monkeys.”

  Chapter 20

  Dude,

  Well, I definitely picked the right time to keep a journal. Because it has been an interesting couple of days. Who knows? I might actually keep writing the thing.