Undead and Unpopular u-5

by Maryjane Davidson

  “We knew he was carrying. Mostly because he'salways carrying. But we never frisk anybody.”

  “What, that's a rule now?”

  “Sure,” I said, and Sinclair nodded, backing me up.

  “Come on, guys! The Queen of England's a tough cookie, too; but she puts people through a metal detector and a security check before they can talk to her.”

  “If the throne is so easily taken from us,” Sinclair explained, almost exactly the way he explained it to me, “we would be poor monarchs indeed.”

  “In other words, if someone gets the drop on you in your own house, too bad for Betsy and Sinclair, but they should have been able to take care of themselves?”

  We looked at each other. “Basically,” I answered, “yeah.”

  “Great,” Marc muttered, and slumped lower in his chair. “Those of us caught in the crossfire appreciate the attention to detail.”

  “Although,” I said, looking at Jessica's face—what I could see around the ice, “maybe we should change that rule.”

  “If we cannot protect our allies,” Sinclair said, “the same rule applies.”

  “Tough luck, guys,” I said in a fake-​bright laugh, and they both laughed.

  “Getting back to the issue of the child,” Tina said, harshing our buzz as visual, “I really think you should reconsider. He—”

  The phone rang. She picked it up, glanced at the caller ID.

  “We're kind of busy,” I said, a little sharply. The phone was a whole thing between Tina and me.

  “But—”

  “If it's important, they'll call back.”

  “But it's your mother.”

  I practically snarled. The phone, the fucking phone! People used it the way they used to use the cat-​o'-nine-​tails. You had to drop everything and answer the fucking thing. And God help you if you were home and, for whatever reason, didn't answer. “But I called!” Yeah, it was convenient foryou so you called. But I'm in the shit because it wasn't convenient forme to drop everything and talk toyou , on the spot, for whateveryou needed to talk about.

  Unfortunately, Tina was the type who lunged for it every time it so much as peeped. She couldn't stand the sound of a ringing phone. Always tracked me down: it's so-​and-​so. Well, I'mrecovering from a fatal chest wound, take a message . But it's your mother! Yeah, well, she'll call back. But she's on the phonenow .

  I practically snatched it from her. “Hi, Mom, this really isn't a good t—”

  “Your grandfather,” Mom said in the doleful voice reserved for announcing funerals, “has escaped.”

  “Escaped what? Mom? He's got three kinds of cancer, he's eighty-​nine, and he's hooked up to forty different machines. What are you talking about, escaped?”

  “Someone's coming up the driveway,” Tina said in a low voice.

  “Well, go take care of it.”

  “And if they need to see you, Majesty?”

  I cupped a hand over the mouthpiece. “Read my royal lips, Tina:this is not a good time !”

  “What?” my mom said.

  “I wasn't talking to you, Mom. See, the reason I sound all distracted right now is becausethis is not a good time .”

  “Well, why did you answer the phone then?” my mom asked reasonably. “Just let it ring.”

  “Gah! Tell me about Grandpa, please.”

  “Well, you know he doesn't care for that nursing home.”

  “Right. So what else is new. The guy's got three kinds of cancer. And frankly, it probably isn't much fun for the nursing home to have him there.”

  “This is true,” Mom replied promptly. She had, after all, been raised by the gentleman in question. “Anyway, he doesn't like it there. The animals are the least of it.”

  I had to laugh. The animals! Apparently all these studies had been done about how soothing and restful nursing home inmates—uh, residents—found live-​in cats, dogs, and birds.

  So my grandpa's nursing home adopted all these strays, and told incoming residents,why, of course you can keep your angry, incontinent, biting dog Nibbles! No problemo! Bring all his brothers and sisters, too! Share them with the other residents !

  On paper, this is a swell idea. What the genius who did the study didn't take into account was: Grandpa Joe. Maybe he had only nice, soft-​spoken old ladies and gentlemen in the study.

  Grandpa had grown up on a farm, and had a very pragmatic view of animals:if I can't eventually kill you and eat you, you are taking up valuable air and space . My mom never had a pet—not so much as a goldfish in a bowl—the entire time she was growing up. Neither had I, until I'd moved out after college and picked up Giselle the cat from the pound.

  The animals had pretty much taken over the nursing home. They had the run of the place, and took ruthless advantage of it. And they certainly made the staff feel better.Ohhh, how cute, that cat is helping that man with all the terminal illnesses !

  So now, my grandfather, who should be enjoying his autumn years, has to boot a snoozing golden retriever out of his bed if he wants to snag a nap after lunch.

  “Well, he just couldn't take it anymore,” Mom was saying. “So he unhooked all the equipment he was on—”

  “Um, hello, didn't any alarms go off in the nursing station?”

  “Well, hon, you know how understaffed they are. And Grandpa lulled them into a false sense of security by pulling his leads out a bunch of other times.”

  “Like the boy who cried wolf,” I suggested. The angry cancer-​raddled animal-​hater who cried wolf, repeatedly, to fool his captors. I mean the nurses. “Except a whole bunch of times.”

  “Right. So nobody thought much of it when the alarms went off—they figured Joe was up to his old tricks again. So he got into his chair—”

  “He can transfer by himself now?” I knew all the lingo from a brief, but memorable, stint as a volunteer at that very home.

  “Yes. So he got into his wheelchair and—you know. Escaped.”

  “Just wheeled himself out past the border guard, huh?”

  “Exactly. You know—oh, look, that sweet old man is coming out to see the world.”

  “Morons,” I decided.

  “Yes, but they couldn't know. They aren't family. Anyway, out he goes—”

  “Outside?”

  “I know, I know.”

  “It's twenty fucking degrees outside!”

  “Well, more like ten there.” There being Brainerd, Minnesota. “But sadly, your grandfather did not foresee his old enemy, fatigue, when he made his daring dash for freedom.”

  “Where did he think he was going to go in a hospital johnny?” I wondered. Dumb question. For Grandpa, being half-​naked was irrelevant. Being master of your own destiny was all! “How far did he get?”

  “About three blocks outside the home and then fell asleep. A family on the way to visit a relative ratted him out.”

  “Vile informers!” I cried.

  “So the nurses came to get him, and wheeled him back, and tucked him back into bed—he was so exhausted he didn't even wake up—and imagine how completely irritated he was when he woke up with a cat on his pillow!”

  I shuddered, imagining Grandpa's wrath. As a member of The Greatest Generation, he wasn't adverse to blowing shit up to get his way.

  “The important thing is, he's okay.”

  “Betsy, what am I going to do? He hates it there. I mean hehates it. How can I keep my own father in a place that he hates?”

  “You could revel in the payback for a horrible childhood?” I guessed.

  “Elizabeth.” On this, as in very few other things, my mom had no sense of humor. I guess when you spent your childhood dodging fists and trying not to get kicked down stairs, it wasn't much fun to joke about it later. “You're not helping.”

  “Come on, Mom, it's a nursing home. He's lucky he's not in a hospital. Actually, he's lucky he's not dead.”

  “That's true,” she said doubtfully.

  “Although, if he's peppy enough to escape,
he maybe could be moved some other place.”

  “Maybe. But where? Any place private is too expensive.”

  “Yeah.” I looked over at Marc, who was tenderly touching Jessica's nose and murmuring to her. She in turn had just finished telling him a heartwarming Grandpa Joe story she had previously heard from me, probably the one involving grenades and the minister. “Listen, I've got an idea about that. My roommate, Marc, has a—”

  “Oh, that clever doctor. Did I tell you I met the perfect man for him? He's a grad student, getting his doctorate in Japanese literature—”

  “Yeah, that sounds really fun and useful. Listen, his father has this place—they must have some like it up where Joe is, but if not, maybe we could move him down here…”

  “What kind of place?”

  I told her. And that was how I ended up with my Grandpa Joe living four miles away from my vampire-​infested house. Which may or may not, now that I look back, have been a greater hazard to my health than having my heart temporarily blown up by holy water.

  I never did find out who had popped in for a surprise visit. Which was fine with me. More surprises, I so did not need.

  Chapter 22

  “You realize of course that, once he gets transferred down here, you'll have to visit him. When he was a four-​hour drive away, that was one thing, but now you could walk there in ten minutes.”

  “Shut up,” I moaned, “shut up, shutup .”

  “I have to admit,” Jessica went on cheerfully—why wouldn't she be cheerful, the swelling had gone down andher grandparents were dead. “I'm amazed he's still alive. Didn't they tell youlast year that he had only months to live?”

  “Three months,” I remembered. “They gave him three months.”

  “Wow. And now here he's going to be living with Marc's father!”

  “Yes, it's all a rich tapestry of horror and survival. Where's a perfectly made rainbow drink when you need one?”

  “Marc's sleeping,” she said, “and you can't blame him. Guy finally gets a day off, and spends it taking care of his roommates.”

  “Finally, having a doctor in the house pays off.”

  “I know I'm feeling better—how about you?”

  “Fine.” Which was true. When I'd risen that afternoon, it was like nothing happened. If not for the ruined T-​shirt and sports bra in the garbage, I'd guess nothing had happened.

  Sinclair had seen for himself, pulling off my bra the minute our bedroom door had closed, going over my chest and back inch by inch. Which had turned into him going over my crotch inch by inch. Repeat as needed. The evening had turned out so terrific, it made it almost—

  No, I didn't mean that. It wasn't worth it no matter how much sex I'd had. I didn't mind getting shot nearly as much as I minded Jessica and Delk getting hurt.

  And oh, boy, the look on Delk's face in the kitchen as everything dawned on him. That was one I'd take to my grave. Assuming I ever went there for any other reason than to visit the currently premature tombstone.

  “Delk will be back,” Jessica said, trying to cheer me up.

  “Yeah, I know. That's what I'm worried about.”

  The phone rang, and I gave the wall extension an ugly look. It rang again. Jessica got up and said, “I know, you're not here. It might be about your grandpa's transfer… hello?”

  I stirred my tea, and simmered next to it. Like Korben Dallas inThe Fifth Element , I was sure all communications were ultimately bad news. Why hasten it by cutting out the middle man?

  “Uh-​huh,” Jessica was saying. “I'm not sure that's—uh-​huh… yeah… yeah, but—listen, I'm just not sure if—let me just ask her, okay? She's right—hello?”

  Jessica hung up and looked at me.

  “Hours later or a day late?”

  “Your stepmother won't be able to get the baby for another couple of hours.” Jessica looked at the clock on the wall. “It's still early. I guess she—uh—lost track of—look, this doesn't prove your stupid telephone theory, okay?”

  I could hear BabyJon's fretful squealing getting closer and closer. Then the kitchen door opened and Sinclair poked his head in. “The baby wants you,” he called, and the door swung shut. Then I saw the door open again as Sinclair held the port-​a-​crib in his arms. It was a little too wide, fully open and extended, to go through the door, so Sinclair squished it a little and it popped through.

  I leaped to my feet as Jessica cracked up. “You carried the whole crib down here? Stop that, you'refolding him up in it!”

  “He has plenty of room on all sides,” Sinclair said, louder, to be heard over BabyJon's escalating wails.

  “Just pick him up! Or leave him there and come and get me, jeez.” I picked him up and he quieted. “Don't blame you for that one, yes, Uncle Sinclair is a big poopie-​head, isn't he?”

  “I am not his uncle,” he replied, making a beeline for the liquor cabinet, “and if I was, it would be Uncle Eric.”

  “It's Uncle Schmuck right now, bud! I can't believe you just dragged the whole thing down here, all unfolded and everything…”

  “He seems fine,” Sinclair said, dumping a shot of brandy into an empty teacup, which he then filled with hot water from the kettle.

  “We're out of English Breakfast, so ha.”

  “I will struggle along.” He gave the baby a look. “You are expecting your stepmother presently, yes?”

  “She's running late.”

  “Hours late or a day late?”

  How well they were coming to know the Ant! It was enough to make me want to cry. No, that was the smell BabyJon's diaper was giving off. “Hours,” I said, nearly choking.

  “I think that kid does have supernatural powers,” Jessica observed as I gagged and looked around wildly for the diaper bag. “Powers in his pants.”

  “You guys. He's just a baby, doing what all babies do.” I could hear the resonant chime of our front door bell. “Maybe that's the Ant!”

  Sinclair called something out to me, but I didn't hear it. Okay, wasn't listening. Anyway, I practically galloped through the rooms and the halls that led to the front door. All would be forgiven if I could get out of changing this one sinister diaper.

  I swung open the door.

  “Majesty,” the strange but familiar vampire said. She had a calm center that resembled Alonzo's. Had she been with the European delegation? Yes, I believed she had. Her small stature and close-​cropped carroty red hair jogged my memory along. “I beg your indulgence in coming by without an appointment.”

  “Uh.” I shifted BabyJon to my other arm. “That's okay. Uh—”

  “Carolina.”

  “Right. Carolina. What's up.”

  “I was just—” She looked around on the front step.

  “Oh! Sorry, come in.”

  “Thank you, Majesty.” She followed me in and swung the big door shut. “I will not keep you long. I was only wondering if you had decided Alonzo's fate.” She seemed perfectly calm, but she couldn't have been. Unless she saw me as no threat whatsoever, and decided to swing by the mansion on the way to Caribou Coffee.

  “You were? Wondering, I mean?”

  “Yes, ma'am. We all are. Alonzo most of all, of course, but he has surprisingly little to say about you, which is frustrating for the rest of us, as you can imagine.” She gave me a small, hopeful smile as if to say,Isn't all this just so silly ?

  “Well, it's nice of you to check in.”

  She shrugged. “He is my cousin.”

  “Oh! I didn't know that.”

  She looked puzzled, and rubbed her nose for a moment. Then rubbed it again. Maybe she was trying to get rid of the freckles. “We were introduced.”

  “Right, right. Well, about that—I'm sorry you guys are sort of stuck there waiting—you don't have to—” I realized what I was saying and stopped. Of course, they had to. She in particular, if they were family. Family! Real honest to God family; here I'd thought I was the only vampire with blood relatives. And what were the others supposed to
do while this little Sophie/Alonzo/Liam triangle was resolved? Blow town and leave their buddy to swing?

  But they couldn't exactly go around doing their normal vampire things while this was hanging over their head. And they had to be wondering if they were all going to be painted with the same brush when, and if, Alonzo was punished. Trouble was… “I didn't mean to leave you guys all waiting.”

  “Majesty, it is too bold of me to come by and ask your intentions, but it would not be the first time my curiosity led me down a sorry path.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that.”

  “Do you smell something horrible?” she asked, looking at my brother.

  “Yeah, well, he's had a lot of bottles today—”

  “That is yourbrother ?”

  “Yeah. Look, that's a whole other—”

  “I thought you only had a sister.”

  “Right, the devil's daughter, but—”

  “But how interesting! You must tell me more.”

  BabyJon blatted and I felt his diaper get warmer. And heavier.No! Hull integrity would not hold! She's losing it, Captain, she's losing it !

  “Carolina!”

  She jumped, and I continued before she could react further. “Look, I'm sorry, but I just can't talk to you right now. Everything's just a mess: my best friend's horribly sick and my other friend's got a crush on Alonzo, I'm stuck babysitting hours past what I agreed to, this kid is shitting up every diaper he gets near, one of my subjects wants to turn her human boyfriend, my birthday's at the end of the week and I'm off blood, my grandpa's sick and he's moving in just down the street, I got shot in the chest with holy water by a young farm boy with a crush on me, and my life story is the promising new fall book. On top of that, I haven't done a fucking thing to prepare for my wedding in three months. It is—how do you say this in Europe?—justnot a fucking good time right now !”

  Carolina had backed up until her back was flat against the door. “So sorry to intrude,” she said.

  I took a step forward, fragile baby-​and-​poop bomb bouncing tenderly in my arms. My mouth was beginning to hurt. “Sometimes, I just feel like I'm going to break, you know what I mean? Can you imagine?”