Betsy 4 - Undead and Unreturnable

by MaryJanice Davidson

  "Betsy? Betsy? Betsy?"

  "Gllllkkkkkkkkkk!"

  Is that me? No. Who's choking? It's not me, right?

  "Laura, I am quite fond of you—" Sinclair? What was he doing down here? And it sounded like he was throttling my sister… I had no idea how I felt about that, to be honest. Yay? Boo?

  "Ggggglllkkkkk!"

  "—yes, thank you, but if she dies, I'm afraid you will die as well. It's this odd little territorial tic I have. I realize it's a problem, and I'm dealing with it, but right now I must stand by what I said."

  "Betsy? Can you hear me?" Marc! That was Marc.

  Excellent! Finally, he has a day off when it actually helps me.

  "She's got a big fucking sword sticking out from between her boobs." That was Cathie. "Of course she can't hear you. Why am I even bothering to talk to you idiots?"

  I'm not dead!

  "I suppose it's no good looking for vital signs." Tina.

  "Well, she doesn't have a pulse, and she's not breathing, so I'd say she's dead. Also, there's a big-ass sword sticking out of her chest."

  "Duh!" Cathie shouted.

  "But she's been dead before, so this is kind of a stumper for me."

  Tina hmmmmed and then said, "For us as well… where's Nick?"

  "Jessica's keeping him busy upstairs, thank God. Of all the stupid times for her to start dating again."

  "Amen to that," I said and opened my eyes. I was startled to see Marc and Cathie had been right—there was a big-ass sword sticking out of my chest. I'd seen Laura stab vampires with it before, and they instantly disintegrated. I was sort of amazed to see I wasn't a pile of ashes. "Sinclair! Put her down. Laura, get over here. Get this thing out of me."

  They both looked over at me, Laura's face so red it looked like she was going to pop a blood vessel. Which, given the firm grip Sinclair had on her throat, was probably imminent. He let go, and she hit the cement, gasping.

  "I can't leave any of you people alone for one day without all hell breaking loose," I griped. "Where's George?"

  "We put him in the shower to wash away the blood," Tina reported matter-of-factly. She was on one knee beside me and kept squeezing my arm as if to reassure herself that I wasn't going to disintegrate.

  Laura had heaved herself to her knees and then her feet. If I were her, I wouldn't be so quick to turn my back on Sinclair, but she only had eyes for me as she staggered toward us.

  "Betsy, oh Besty! Forgive me!" She tripped and fell but probably was going to get back on her knees anyway, judging from what came out next, which was: "I swear, you were not my target! I'm an unworthy treacherous bitch, one you have taken into your family, and I repaid you with—" She gestured at her sword. "Please, please, I beg your forgiveness. I-—"

  "Laura."

  "Yes?"

  "Can we do this after you've pulled this thing out of me?"

  "Oh. Oh! Yes, of course. I—ah—no one's ever—" She grabbed the hilt with easy familiarity. "Either my sword passes harmlessly through them—it only disrupts magic—or it kills them. It's never… gotten stuck halfway."

  I felt a little ill. "Well, can we get it un-stuck, please?"

  "Yes, of course, but after causing you so much pain, I feel I must warn you it may hurt a bit—"

  "Elizabeth!" Sinclair said sharply from his brooding corner. We all snapped around to gape at him; it was not a good thing when he raised his voice. "I must insist you cancel the wedding at once."

  I gasped with fresh outrage. "And the hits just keep on coming! Cancel the weddiarrrrrrrggggggggl" I clutched my chest, which was hole-free, thank goodness. "That did hurt, you cow!"

  "Perhaps less," he said, looking vastly relieved, "as you were distracted."

  "Yeah, thanks for 'helping' me by scaring the shit out of me," I grumped as Tina and Marc helped me to my feet. Marc felt between my boobs, which I didn't take personally, and then circled around to feel my back.

  "How do you feel?" Tina asked anxiously.

  "Pissed off! I've been up for, what, ten minutes? Cripes. This is worse than prom '91. Laura, you've got some big-time explaining to do."

  "Close your eyes," Marc told me, "and think of England." Then he pushed my pajama top up.

  "Ack! It's chilly in here, stop that." I jerked away from him. "I'm pretty sure if I had a big old stab wound in my chest, we'd all know it."

  "I can't believe you aren't dead!" Laura exclaimed. "I mean, I'm happy and everything, but I've never seen that happen before." Sinclair came up to our little group, and she sort of shrank away from him. "I tried to tell you… before… I didn't mean to stab her. She got between us."

  "Yesssssssssss," Sinclair purred. "And who were you trying to stab when she, ah, got between you?"

  "It wasn't… it wasn't for real." Laura suddenly looked about twelve years old. The braids helped. So did the fact that she'd put her sword away… to wherever it went when she wasn't killing vampires with it. "We were just practicing."

  "I guess what happened at the Ant's bugged you more than you let on," I suggested.

  Laura shrugged. She wouldn't look at any of us. Her hair was blond again, and her eyes were blue. The blue of the Ant's mother, apparently, or the devil.

  "He's a feral vampire," she pointed out defensively. "It's not like I could have really hurt him… done some lasting damage."

  Lie.

  "It was just a training exercise."

  Lie.

  "It has nothing to do with my family life," she insisted, the third and (hopefully) final lie.

  "It—"

  You fight so I can send you to my mother!

  "—doesn't—"

  You fight so you can tell her I'm doing just fine up here!

  "—mean anything."

  "Oh, boy," Cathie said. Tina glanced over at her, but nobody else had a clue. "Did you say she had some parental issues? Because that's a pretty fucking big issue right there. I mean, come on, Liz. You don't believe this happy crappy, do you?"

  "Don't call me that. It's all right, Laura," I said after an awkward moment. My life: a series of awkward moments. "It was an accident. I know you'd never want to hurt me."

  "Yes, that's just right," she said, guileless blue eyes swimming with tears. "I'd never ever want to hurt you. I'd die before hurting you."

  "Really?" Sinclair asked, head cocked to one side.

  "Let me, ah, just go check on George, and we can go finish our shopping."

  Her face lit up. "You—you still want to?"

  "Are you kidding? What part of 'thirty percent off everything in the store' do you not get? It would take a lot more than this to keep me away. I'll meet you out at the car."

  "Oh," she said sadly. "I guess this is the part where you all talk about what to do about me."

  "It's more like a Secret Santa thing," I said, pushing her toward the stairs.

  Chapter 29

  "Jesus," I said, staring into the shower. "She kicked the living crap out of him."

  "Yes."

  "I don't suppose he said anything."

  "No," Tina and Sinclair said in unison. Marc had gone back upstairs to take Jess aside and assure her all was well. Who knew what Nick was up to—hopefully not prying too much. Cathie, miffed we had let my sister "get away," had walked through a wall and went who-knew-where.

  "Poor guy, minding his own business and she comes down here and starts whaling away on him."

  I started to chew on my wrist—the usual quick pick-me-up for George—when Sinclair stopped me. "A large part of your sister's faith hinges on redemption. She does seem to feel badly about her part in this. So why not have her feed George for a day or two?"

  "Oh, but that's pretty…" Diabolically mean. "Brilliant," I confessed. "Okay, I'll tell her that. She'll have to feed him, one way or another, until he's healed up from everything she did to him."

  "And I—ah—must be sure that the—ah—" Tina was stammering like a blonde learning Latin. And I ought to know.

  "Tina, what in the
world is your problem?"

  "The thing!" she blurted. "I must be sure the thing is also taken care of."

  "What?" I asked, but Tina was already out of the shower room.

  Leaving me with Sinclair, who wouldn't talk to me, and George, who couldn't.

  Oh.

  "Well." Cough, cough. "I guess I'd better get to shopping—"

  "You seem to always be shot or stabbed or otherwise fatally attacked when I'm not around." And was that a smile, lurking in the corners of his mouth?

  "Hey, I didn't do anything. I was minding my own business, and Laura stabbed me in the heart." Okay, even I knew how lame that sounded.

  He was smiling. "Your sister will have some bruising."

  "Okay. I'll break out the ice packs. For the record, I disapprove of the whole strangling thing."

  The smile was gone, banished to wherever Sinclair's smiles go. "She is extremely lucky that's all she will have."

  "Now, come on. It was an accident. You saw how upset she was after."

  "She certainly seemed to be upset," he agreed.

  "What? She was lying?"

  "I don't know. That's part of what I don't like."

  "Well, you shouldn't have picked her up like that and choked her like a rat, that's all I'm saying. Although it was kind of—never mind. Bad, bad Sinclair! But thanks for coming to the rescue. Again."

  He sighed and brought me close to him; warily, I went. "No matter how angry I am with you, I cannot bear to see you hurt, or in trouble, it seems."

  I felt like jumping up and down. I squashed the impulse. "That's because we're in luurrrrrrrrvvvv."

  He grimaced. "How enchanting."

  "Listen, I've been thinking."

  "How charming!"

  "Shut your face. I really have. Been thinking, I mean. About the fight, and the things you said. Maybe we shouldn't get married," I said uneasily. The training of a lifetime of reading Modern Bride rose within me and screamed in horror, but dammit, this was bigger than what I wanted.

  "Are you sure she didn't hit you on the head with that hellish thing?" he asked, feeling my forehead.

  I slapped his hand away. "I'm serious. This sort of thing is always going to be happening to us. To our friends. There's always going to be some disaster that will threaten to ruin everything. You have to admit, this was minor, as far as this stuff goes. And worse is around the corner, guaranteed. Maybe…"

  "No."

  "I'm just saying…"

  "You've said it yourself: you won't feel like you belong to me without this silly human ritual. So we are doing it, damn it all. And I am not going through a tasting menu again, or a flower meeting. No. Absolutely not."

  "That's… so sweet," I said finally. "So you feel like you're not worthy of me, but you're insisting on a wedding, when before you implied that me changing the date means I secretly don't want to marry you. Is that about right?"

  "Secretly or not, this human ritual obviously holds deep meaning for you. So we will do it. Then even you will admit you belong to me."

  "Uh… we're not using 'obey' in the vows."

  He smiled. "Aren't you in for a surprise, darling."

  Chapter 30

  "What just happened?" I asked Jon on the way to the front door. "Did we make up? Are we back together again? We were ever not together? Did he change his mind after he saw me get stabbed? Should I hold a grudge because of the whole felony assault thing in my bedroom? Or should we call it even because I smacked the shit out of him right after? And why am I asking you this stuff? Where's Tina? Where's Jess?"

  "So it's true!" Jon cried, fumbling for his Sidekick with one hand and frantically brushing his shaggy bangs out of his eyes with the other. "Betsy, we've got to pick up where we left off."

  "Shhhhhh!" I could hear Jess and Nick chit-chatting from the next room. "Not while Nick is here."

  "Nick would be…" He consulted his tiny notes. "Detective Nick Berry. Ooh, yuck, that's inconvenient."

  "To say the least. We're not sure what he knows, so for Christ's sake don't be babbling about vampires and swords and shit while he's around."

  "Don't worry. You can count on me. You know you can."

  "Well, thanks." I smiled at him. Then I frowned. "You know, I was excited about Jessica dating this guy, but now I'm starting to wonder…"

  "But when can we get together again?" he whined.

  "Come shopping with Laura and me. She knows most of my dirty little secrets. You wouldn't have to keep your mouth shut around her." And I had a feeling that what happened in the basement was going to be off-limits, conversation-wise, for a long, long time.

  "Okay!" he said, and actually pumped his fist in the air. I cried dry tears over what a geek loser he was and went to get my coat.

  Dear Betsy,

  I died about ten years ago, and as you know, basically all I've cared about since is the thirst. But things are different now. I've been keeping up with my hometown newspaper, and I've read that my dad is going to retire. He was only 39 when I became a vampire. He's never seen me since, and neither has anyone else in my family. What should I do? I know I'm supposed to keep a low profile, but I really miss my folks and would like to see what they've been up to.

  Sign me,

  Family Friendly in Fridley

  Dear Fridley,

  For crying out loud, go see your dad. If you don't want them to know you're a vampire, make shit up… you've been recruited by a secret government agency and that's why you went missing for so long. So secret you can't talk about it, or even stay very long, but they should be super-proud of you because you're out saving the world.

  Something like that. Thrust me, they'll be thrilled you're not dead. They won't even think of awkward questions until you're long gone.

  Your queen,

  Betsy

  Chapter 31

  We had rolled past the third group of carolers when Jon made the comment, "This time of year must be hell on vampires. Literally hell."

  I giggled. "Some carolers came to the house, and Tina and Sinclair ran down to the basement with their hands over their ears. And they don't go shopping with me, needless to say. A simple 'Merry Christmas' from a stranger gives them indigestion for the rest of the day."

  At last, Laura laughed. She'd been driving like a robot: no speaking, no engaging, just stiff turns and shifts.

  "But it doesn't bother you."

  "Heck, no, I love this time of year."

  "You're crazy to go to the mall the week before Christmas," Jon observed.

  "Oh, shut up. What do you know about it?"

  "I know I finished my Christmas shopping in October."

  I shuddered. One of those freaks. More unnatural than the vampires, if you asked me.

  "Is George going to be all right?" Laura asked timidly.

  "Ah, George. Yes, let's get to it, shall we? Sinclair came up with a super punishment for you."

  "Asshole," Jon muttered, almost too quietly for me to catch.

  I decided not to be distracted. Focus on the devil's daughter almost killing you and a helpless psycho vampire. "He needs fresh blood—like, from a living vein—or he'll backtrack, forget how to walk, all that stuff. I've been feeding him, but guess what!"

  "Oh no," she moaned.

  "Can I watch?" Jon asked.

  "That's right, for beating the shit out of a guest with no provocation, and trying to poof the vampire queen into tiny piles of ash, your grand prize is… letting George leech off you until all his wounds are healed! Thanks for playing."

  She shuddered. "It's disgusting."

  "Should have thought of that before you whaled on him." Ohhhh, Sinclair was a dark genius. This was great. She looked as appalled as I'd ever seen her.

  "What if I won't do it?"

  I shrugged. "Then have a nice life, and don't ever come back."

  "You wouldn't! Over one of those—those things?"

  "Laura."

  "I'm sorry. I just don't see him the way you do. He's not a man, you k
now."

  "Neither is the kid in the backseat—"

  "Hey!"

  "—but we let him hang around. Bottom line, Laura, I know I bitch about the queen gig, but the thing is, you can't just come into my house and beat the shit out of one of my vampires. You just can't. And don't pretend like you don't get it, because I know you do."

  She didn't say anything. The silence got long, so Jon piped up with, "What happened after you realized you couldn't kill yourself?" and we picked up my life back in April.

  Chapter 32

  Sinclair was waiting in my room when we got back from shopping. I greeted him with a screeched, "Don't look, don't look!" as I hustled my bulging bags over to my closet, threw them in, and leaned on the door.

  "Dare I guess you bought me a gift after my dreadful trespass last night?"

  "If you're admitting you were an asshole, I'm not going to argue, but I felt better about you after you throttled my sister into semiconsciousness. What can I say? I'm a sucker for the old-fashioned stuff." I realized I hadn't exactly answered his question, because I added, "The thing I had on layaway was finally paid off, that's all. Don't go reading anything into it."

  "You've been with Jon, then?"

  I groaned miserably and sat down on the bed to pull off my shoes. "Come on, Eric! Don't start up with that tired shit again, willya? I was also with Laura, but that doesn't mean I was the ménage in their trots."

  "I think you mean you were not the trois," he corrected. "And I was not starting up that tired shit again. My irritation with Jon now extends far beyond his romantic intentions."

  "Oh yeah? God, the mind reels. What's he done now, start up with his tired old shit? The Bees active again?"

  "No. But his current activities are almost as dangerous to you. Your life story is not appropriate for publication, in any forum."

  "But it's a joke! He's passing it off as fiction, a cute idea for a classroom project. The gag is that it's supposed to be about a real person, and some of us know it is, but everybody else thinks—"

  "I'm aware of the purpose of the 'gag.' Which is what he makes me want to do, by the way."