Undead and Unwelcome u-8

by Maryjane Davidson

  “Would you mind giving a message to my son?”

  “If I can find him, sure.”

  “Would you please tell him I would prefer he not name his unborn child after me?”

  “Seriously? That’s it? That’s why your spirit can’t rest?”

  “My name is Theodocia,” she said.

  “Oh.” The horror! “Jeez. I’m really sorry. I’ll be glad to pass that on for you.”

  “Thank you kindly.”

  Chapter 32

  Dude,

  The shit officially hit the fan later that night. I was on-​line, chatting with an old boyfriend from Oregon, when I heard a racket downstairs. I logged off and went to see what the problem was.

  The problem was Laura, surrounded by people so completely deferential to her that I knew at once we had more devil worshippers on our hands.

  “You did it?” Laura asked. “You actually did it?”

  “It was easy, dread mistress! Two of us acted as bait, and we were able to surround it and kill it with no trouble at all.”

  “Kill what?” I asked, halfway down the stairs.

  Laura looked up at me and the smile dropped off her face. “Nothing, Marc. We’re sorry to disturb you.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “The Beloved of Samael has told you: nothing. Now away with you, or you’ll find out exactly what we killed,” one of the half dozen around her snapped.

  Laura rested her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t speak to him like that,” she said quietly. “He’s my sister’s friend.”

  And yours, honey.

  The man, taller than Laura by almost a foot, and at least thirty pounds heavier, instantly acquiesced, and even bowed his head in compliance. Good dog, nice dog, woof-​woof-​woof.

  “Laura, what the hell is going on?”

  “Come into the kitchen and I’ll explain.” She turned to the group. “You all know what to do. Come find me tomorrow and let me know how it went.”

  There was a chorus of “Yes, dread mistress!” and “At once, my lady!” and then they all galloped toward the foyer leading to the front door.

  I followed Laura to the kitchen, where she turned and gave me a smile that was much too bright.

  “I’m helping Betsy,” she confided.

  “Uh-​huh. Helping her how?”

  “Well.” Laura helped herself to a glass of milk, guzzled half of it, then continued. “You know I’ve been worried about her ever since that awful, awful thing with Antonia.”

  “Yeah,” I said, still mystified.

  “I promised myself that if I could do anything to keep her from harm, I would. Anything in my power. Because she’s my only sister, and she can’t help being a sinner. None of us can!”

  Oh, cripes, I hated when she went on these pseudo-​religious original sin rants. But I kept a pleasantly neutral expression on my face. “And?”

  “Okay. So I’ve been trying to figure out just what I can do. And her and Sinclair going to the Cape is the perfect time, right?”

  “Why?”

  “Because she listens to him too much,” she said impatiently. “I warned her not to marry him, but she didn’t listen. But with him gone, I only had Tina to worry about.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck were trying to stand up. Fortunately, thanks to years of practice as an MD, I was able to keep my expression neutral. “Where is Tina, Laura?”

  She waved that away. “Never mind. The important thing, the most wonderful thing, is that the sinners who keep finding me—they’re helping me save Betsy! I never would have thought of it if it hadn’t been for you, Marc.”

  Oh, shit. “Maybe you’d better not give me the credit until you tell me exactly what it is you and the Satan Brigade have been up to.”

  “Killing vampires!” Laura said brightly, oblivious of her milk moustache.

  “Killing vampires.”

  “Sure. They keep coming here to pay tribute, and we’ve managed to send almost a half dozen of them straight to my mother. Straight to hell,” she added, unable to keep the dark satisfaction out of her voice.

  “Oh my God,” I said, appalled. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t.”

  “Of course I did. We did. You were so right, Marc. Put the devil worshippers to work doing good. And I have!”

  I felt my stomach drop into my feet. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how much trouble this was going to be . . . for Betsy, for Sinclair, for Laura, for me. And even if there were no consequences to killing vampires (ha!), Laura had clearly lost it.

  Her affect was all wrong. She was smiling, laughing, happy. But her eyes had a flat shine that I didn’t like, and she’d gone out of her way to keep this from me until I forced the issue.

  Was I a sinner, too?

  Expendable?

  Sure I was. The fundamentally religious were not exactly known for their tolerance of homosexuality. Quite the opposite. I imagined it would only be a matter of time before Laura decided she needed to “save” Betsy from me.

  Who were the vampires? What had they wanted? And what was going to happen when people realized the queen’s sister was killing them?

  Civil war?

  Worse?

  “Where’s Tina?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice calm and even.

  “You don’t need to worry about that, Marc.”

  “But I am, Laura. She lives here, too. She’s Betsy’s friend, just like I am.”

  “Oh, no!” Laura looked shocked at the very idea. “She’s nothing like you, Marc. And you have to understand, I couldn’t start helping Betsy until I got her out of the way.”

  Oh my God. She’d killed her. Tina was a pile of dust somewhere.

  And it was all my fault.

  I pulled out my cell phone, but Laura just shook her head and smiled at me. “I cancelled everyone’s cell service—you’re all on the same plan.”

  That would explain the fact that instead of a cell phone, I was holding a useless piece of metal and plastic.

  “Oh, Laura,” I said, and dropped my head into my hands.

  Chapter 33

  Betsy!

  OMG you’ve got to get back ASAP because TSIATHTF!!!! Grab the gang and CBRA! Right now!

  “You see what I mean?” I bitched, showing Jessica Marc’s latest acronym-​strewn e-​mail. “How am I supposed to make heads or tails out of this? He could be asking me to schedule a massage for all I know.”

  Jessica shrugged. “Can’t help you with that one. Gives me a headache just to look at it. Besides, don’t you have more important things to worry about?”

  “Damn straight. I had to listen to Sinclair’s shrill bitching when he couldn’t make his cell phone work. Big baby—you’d think the thing was permanently attached to his head. I suggested he call from the mansion, but his stubborn paranoia kicked in and he refused. He’s sure the phones are all tapped. The thing of it is, he’s probably right. Did you know the full moon is tomorrow?”

  “Sure.”

  “Can you—wait. You did?”

  Jessica gave me a look. “I checked before we boarded the plane. Since we were heading into the belly of the beast, so to speak.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve had a few too many things on my mind lately to look up things like moon phases.”

  “Yes, of course, for example: Is there a shoe sale at Macy’s today?”

  “I hate you.”

  Jessica shook her head and smiled at me. “Nice try, but I know I’m your hero.”

  “Hero,” I began, “isn’t exactly the word I’d—”

  Sinclair stepped into the small sitting area before we could really get going, splendidly dressed in a dark suit and his Kenneth Coles.

  “You clean up good,” Jessica commented, and he bowed his head in acknowledgment.

  “Are you all right, hon? You look a little distracted. Is your phone working now?”

  “No, they’re claiming someone cancelled our service and it will be a few hours before the cells work. And Tina hasn
’t responded to my e-​mails.”

  The man did pick the oddest things to fret about. “It’s probably a bad signal or something. Besides, don’t you think we’ve got slightly more pressing things to worry about?”

  “No doubt, my love. I suggest we try to reconcile with the Council tonight so as not to face several hundred angry werewolves tomorrow evening.”

  “Say it twice,” I said, inwardly groaning. Man oh man, the hits just kept on coming. I actually envied Marc, back in St. Paul with nothing more pressing to worry about than whether or not he had time to hit Cub Foods before his shift started.

  Lucky bastard.

  Chapter 34

  We were back in the ballroom, except it had been set up almost like a courtroom. A long table was at the front of the room, and hundreds of chairs were scattered about.

  Because we weren’t sure just what everyone’s problem with BabyJon was, I had prevailed upon Jessica to watch him for me during the whole Council thing.

  She’d protested—boy, had she protested, my ears were still ringing—but finally agreed. Good thing, too, because after last night I didn’t trust anyone out here to watch him, except maybe for Sara. And I didn’t like asking favors from someone I’d just met.

  I had dressed up for the occasion, as Sinclair had, in a knee-​length black dress with a simple strand of pearls my mom had given me for my sweet sixteen. Manolo pumps in deep purple—they went with almost everything, especially black—completed the picture of a sophisticated vampire queen (ha!).

  “Perhaps we should discuss a plan in case things do not go our way this evening,” Sinclair murmured, his hand on the small of my back as we walked in.

  “Run like hell?” I suggested, and he grinned, whip-​quick, there and gone almost before I could register the expression.

  Michael came forward to greet us, Jeannie right beside him as usual. “Hello, Betsy. Hello, Eric. Thank you for coming.”

  Sure, pal. Like we had a choice.

  “I’ll introduce you to the Council, and they’ll ask you some questions about what happened the night Antonia was killed.”

  “As you like,” Sinclair said politely.

  “Good luck,” a familiar voice said, and I turned and saw Sara, who looked ready to pop at any second. Extremely pregnant women make me nervous; it’s like hanging around a ticking time bomb. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Where’s the baby?”

  I started to answer, when Michael said, “What baby?”

  Seriously? He’d forgotten about BabyJon again? Okay, that was enough. Once this Council thing was taken care of, I was getting to the bottom of this. It was just too effing weird.

  “Never mind,” I said hurriedly before Sinclair, who looked decidedly bemused, could answer. “Can we just get going with this, please?”

  “Of course.” Michael gestured to two chairs, then turned on his heel and headed toward the front of the room. Derik materialized out of the crowd, said nothing to either of us, then grabbed Sara’s hand and away they went.

  I felt bad for him, to tell the truth. Grief was completely fucking him up—he was nothing like the easygoing blond fellow I had met earlier.

  Worse, I knew that kind of grief was at least half guilt. He’d never forgive himself for not being there to save her. For not making her feel wanted here, so she wouldn’t have moved away.

  “All right, everyone. Attention, please.” Michael didn’t need a microphone; his voice carried perfectly, and the murmuring died down at once. “We’re assembled here this evening to discuss the death of Antonia Wolfton, who left our territory on a quest to the Midwest and never returned.”

  Well, hell. Anything sounded bad when you put it that way.

  “Giving testimony tonight are Eric Sinclair and Elizabeth Taylor.” I mentally groaned when he said my full name, and tried to ignore the snickers from the crowd. I cursed my mother under my breath for the zillionth time.

  “They govern the vampire nation,” Michael continued, “and have agreed to appear before the Council.”

  One by one, Michael introduced the Council members to us. I was a little surprised that they were all women—except for Michael. Maybe werewolves had a more, what d’you call it—matriarchal society?

  Anyway, they ranged from middle-​aged to elderly, all shapes and sizes. They took their seats at the big table up front, and the Q&A began.

  Chapter 35

  Dude, dude, dude.

  I’ve been all over the mansion. Every room, every closet, every inch of the basement and the attic. The garage. The grounds.

  I can’t find Tina anywhere.

  I don’t know what to do.

  I can’t call the cops, for any number of obvious reasons. “Well, Officer, the devil’s daughter has lost her mind, and is killing people who are already dead. She’s doing it to keep her sister, the queen of the vampires, safe. Oh, her sister isn’t here, she’s on Cape Cod explaining to a bunch of werewolves why one of their own was shot to death in this very house. Sorry, we never got around to filing a police report. So could you get right on this, please?”

  I can’t call Betsy or Sinclair or Jess . . . no cell service.

  Worse, I snuck out to buy one of those disposable phone cards, only to be intercepted by three— three—devil worshippers, who escorted me politely but firmly back to the mansion.

  I hadn’t realized she was spying on me. And dude, let me tell you—she’s got people everywhere. She’s even got one at Verizon—that’s the one who was making sure our cells went down and stayed down.

  Talking to Laura does no good at all. She just keeps giving me that big sweet smile and assuring me that everything she’d doing is for Betsy’s own good and really, maybe I should get more sleep because I seem awfully grumpy these days.

  I can’t call for help—Sinclair left the contact information with Tina.

  And nobody’s answering my e-​mails.

  Short of hopping on a plane bound for Logan, renting a car, driving to the Cape, and hoping I stumble across Betsy, Sinclair, and/or a werewolf, I’m out of ideas.

  I even thought about nailing Laura with a trank, except I’m pretty sure one or more of her Satan-​worshipping followers would slaughter me like a goat.

  As if things weren’t bad enough, my admittedly bizarre home situation is starting to affect my work performance . . . I tried to admit a five-​year-​old to the geriatric ward last night. And don’t even get me started on the poor woman who asked for the morning-​after pill . . . I gave her a Tums.

  I cannot believe things have gotten so bad, so quickly.

  I’m out of ideas.

  Chapter 36

  I was sitting at the front of the room, in what would be the witness chair if this was a courtroom. The Council was sitting to my left. Sinclair was right across from me, about ten feet away.

  The room was jammed. Except for when Marc and I went to see Jim Gaffigan live, I’d never seen so many people in one place.

  They were all perfectly silent. I could practically feel them all listening hard. It was like there were flies walking around in the back of my brain.

  Through dumb luck I caught Sara’s gaze and she smiled at me and nodded. If she’d been one of them, I might have taken some comfort from that. Well, at least there were two people in here who didn’t want me to drop dead on the spot.

  “And then what happened, Mrs. Sinclair?”

  Oh, God, I’d almost forgotten the worst part. They were calling me Mrs. Sink Lair! Would the horror never end?

  “Well,” I said, ignoring my husband’s grin, “we didn’t know that the bad guy’s son was behind everything. So we came back to the house and he was waiting for us. None of us saw him in time. He . . . uh . . .”

  I stared down at my hands. “He was a cop. And he had a gun, of course. I think it was a .357.”

  “You’re familiar with firearms, Mrs. Sinclair?”

  “Yeah. My mom started taking me hunting with her when I was twelve.”

  “Very
well. Please go on.”

  “Well. Like I said, nobody saw him in time. But then Antonia shoved me, really hard. I didn’t—I didn’t see her get shot. I just heard the shots. I think he emptied the gun into her. It was at least five shots for sure. And she—Antonia, I mean—she—uh—”

  I clapped my hands over my eyes and told myself I wouldnotwouldnotwouldnot cry in front of these strangers, no chance, no way, ain’t gonna happen.

  So I burst into tears and said, “I didn’t even know who was shot until I rolled her over. I thought—she was a werewolf and I thought you needed s-​silver bullets or s-​something like that, but she was just dead. There was blood and the stink of gunpowder, and we were all stuck in the hallway—there w-​wasn’t anywhere for us to g-​go.”

  “That is quite enough.” Sinclair was on his feet, his voice lashing through the ballroom like a whip. “My wife doesn’t answer to the Council, or anyone here. Neither do I. We are here simply as a courtesy.”

  “It’s fine, Sinclair,” I said, which was just about the biggest lie ever. It was far from fine. But it was almost over. “There isn’t much else.”

  “What happened to the man who shot at you?”

  “He killed himself. Tucked the gun under his chin and pulled the trigger.” I suddenly remembered a detail I’d managed to repress. “He used twenty-​two longs.”

  The Council looked blank. I reminded myself that werewolves probably didn’t have much to do with guns. “Those are special bullets that ricochet around inside a person for maximum damage, but they won’t go through walls and kill an innocent bystander.”

  “Charming,” one of the Council members muttered.

  “And then what?” The head of the Council—the one who was asking most of the questions—seemed nice enough. Matronly, sort of. A headful of gray curly hair, big brown eyes. Laugh lines. And bifocals! I didn’t know werewolves needed glasses.