Wolf at the Door

by MaryJanice Davidson

  Clearly ruffled, Tina shot back, “Well, I couldn’t just let her walk out.”

  “Yes!” The queen threw her arms in the air. “You could have! This is why we never have people over anymore, Tina!”

  “Softly, my love,” the king said, looking at the queen with poorly restrained affection. It was as tender a moment as she could have hoped to see among the undead, and it gave her the strength to tell them what was on her mind.

  “Somebody’s murdering humans. And the timing is odd. Michael Wyndham sent me out here to keep an eye on all of you—”

  “All of us?” Tina asked sharply.

  “The king and queen. And no sooner am I here than the body count starts. People who were supposed to be my new clients. I’m wondering if someone is doing it to cause trouble for the vampires and the Pack. Or maybe...”

  “To cause trouble between the vampires and your Pack,” Sinclair mused. “Yes. I see it. Hmmm.”

  “That’s why I came to warn you. It’s not me doing it. And if you’re not doing it . . . well. As I said. Odd timing.”

  “It’s not us,” the zombie said. He glanced around the room. “Right? Guys?”

  “Of course not.” But Tina said it with such flat affect, Rachael couldn’t tell if the woman was lying, or teasing, or neither.

  The king had taken a seat beside his queen and was leaning forward, his hands on his knees. It was startling, the way he could go so still. When he moved, it was like seeing a statue move . . . unsettling and odd. Even a little frightening. “Can you get us information on the victims? Police reports, autopsies, anything?”

  “Probably.” She’d have to find out. Did Cain have any Pack contacts with local law enforcement? Could Michael make a phone call? “I’ll have to make a few calls.”

  “Do that, if you please. And then come back.”

  “Of course.” Yes, I’ll rush right back into this rat’s nest, to be sure. And you might find it’ll be much harder to take me from behind next time. She was furious with herself for that. She might not be able to smell them, but she could hear them. She should have been three steps ahead, instead of getting sapped like a cub. Her concern for Edward had completely screwed up her—

  Edward !

  “I have to go.” She stood. The flats fit perfectly. For some reason, that pleased her, though the idea of a vampire queen measuring her feet while she was unconscious was creepy. “Right now.”

  “Wait,” Tina said. “What is your name?”

  “Oh.” Hadn’t she told them? Very distracted in her worry for Edward. “I’m Rachael Velvela. CPA,” she added helpfully.

  Tina’s brows rose. “You’re an accountant?”

  “Yes.”

  “A werewolf and an accountant?”

  “I have to make a living, don’t I? That is, since my kind stopped stealing babies by moonlight.”

  “Ooooh, ouch, guess we had that one coming. Velvela?”

  Tina was frowning. “Isn’t that Yiddish for wolf?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re a Jewish werewolf accountant?”

  “Yes.” What, exactly, was the problem here? “And I must go. Thank you for . . .” Coldcocking her? Mocking her? Giving her shoes? “I have to go.”

  “Are you okay to drive?” the helpful zombie asked. “Maybe one of us should give you a ride.”

  “If you’re the bad guys,” she told them, heading for the door, “you’re the most polite ones I’ve ever seen.”

  The king grinned, showing a great many white, sharp teeth. “We try, dear. Run along now. Make your calls. Then return.”

  She sketched a mock salute. I hear and obey, O Vampire King, except when I don’t. You’d better sleep with one eye open. I won’t be so easy next time. Nor so pleasant.

  “Hey, those shoes are a loan, you know. Not a gift.” As Rachael left the room, the last thing she heard was the queen’s wail: “Get anything on them and you’ll wish you’d never come to our house and interrupted Smoothie Time!”

  Too late.

  Thirty-four

  Edward looked at his phone, which had started buzzing again. Rachael. The vampire queen. Calling him again. Probably wondering what new webs to spin around him.

  It was the next afternoon, and he was in a new hotel. He’d spent most of yesterday checking out and moving his stuff to a place Rachael had never seen. He hadn’t been smart enough to figure out what she was up to, but at least he was smart enough to erase his tracks.

  He’d been on a geek high after meeting Dark Dude, a high that lasted all the way back to his hotel room. Then it was displaced by reality. He hated when that happened.

  When he finally had a chance to sit down and think about the depths of her trickery and betrayal, he wanted to die. He wanted to slap the shit out of the vampire queen. He wanted to set her hobbit hole on fire. But mostly . . . yeah. Die. Or if not that, at least never to have met her. Never known the joys of bluff sex.

  Your own fault. You knew. Knew she was too good to be true. Maybe the newsletters were a trap, ever think of that? And she caught you.

  Sulking on his bed, he flung his forearm over his face and groaned as the full horrific realization nailed him yet again between the eyes: that awesome girl, that super-sexy Rachael Velvela, was the soulless degenerate depraved vampire queen.

  Ohhhh, it all made sense. Her façade as a friendly gorgeous chick who did not gulp the blood of innocents was perfect. Their fake run-in at the bookstore . . . She obviously had spies everywhere. It was all part of her plan to get to Boo. And he’d fallen for it, hadn’t he?

  He’d lived with a vampire and a vampire slayer for years; he couldn’t believe he hadn’t spotted her for what she was. Oh, the betrayal, the deceit! A flawless performance, especially when she would . . . would . . .

  “Bluff sex.” He sighed. “Oh, fuck me.”

  Well, she wouldn’t have him to kick around much longer. He’d seen to that, if nothing else.

  Except . . .

  His eyes widened as a new-yet-horrifying thought rocketed into his mind: Boo was coming. Except he hadn’t really put together what that meant. What it meant for Rachael. He hadn’t seen the logical conclusion of his phone call.

  The vampire slayer was coming. He’d called her himself. And when Boo showed, Rachael was dead.

  How had he not thought of this before? He wasn’t just betrayed, wasn’t just a sucker for a gorgeous face . . . it was a lot worse. Half his damned brain seemed to have shut down!

  And here was more proof, though he sure didn’t need it: if he was running with all faculties at systems go, why was the thought of Boo carving the queen a new mouth so upsetting?

  Yeah, why? Huh? How many has she killed? Look what she’s been up to in the short time you’ve been here. Look at what she was planning! Evil zombie babies! Hurricane Boo was on the way; the smart choice was to hammer the windows shut and hunker down until it passed.

  Yep. That’s what he would do. He would hunker until it passed.

  Absolutely.

  Yes.

  His phone buzzed again. He grabbed it, then answered with a curt, “Your place. Twenty minutes.” He didn’t wait for a reply.

  He lunged for his car keys and left the room so quickly he didn’t even lock it.

  Thirty-five

  She answered the door at once, pale and nibbling on her lower lip. “This isn’t a good time.”

  “Tell me about it.” He stomped past her and down the stairs to her hobbit hole. “Let’s go, toots.”

  “Toots? Really? And why haven’t you been answering my calls? Dammit, Edward, I’ve been worried about you!”

  “Big fucking deal.” He stopped in her living room, turned. Faced her. “I know, Rachael.”

  “What?”

  “Quit it. I know.”

  “I do not have time for this, Edward.” She snuck a glance out one of the windows. “Very soon I’m going to have a . . . a biological dilemma. You can’t be here when that happens.”

 
“What, like your time of the month?” Suuuure. Vampires didn’t menstruate. He was pretty sure. How dumb did she think he was?

  Pretty dumb.

  “Exactly. My time of the month.” For some reason, she laughed. “Except not what you think. Edward—”

  He grabbed her. “Rachael, listen to me. Listen.”

  “Why,” she asked mildly, “are all your fingers digging into the meat of my arms?”

  “I know, okay? I know. And my friend Boo is coming to kill you. You have to get away; I have to get you away. She. Will. Kill. You.”

  “What’s a boo?” She was prying off his fingers one by one, still much more interested in the view than anything else. “Something dreadful, probably; you smell like cotton on fire.”

  He felt like shaking her. He let go before he did. He was so afraid he would hit her. So afraid.

  Curse those vampiric senses! “Never mind how I smell. You gotta leave. Like, right now. Right now.”

  “I can’t go anywhere right now. In fact, you should leave. I shouldn’t have let you come over at all. I had . . .” Another peek out the window. “I had other things to worry about, but I was also worried about you, and tomorrow morning we’re going to have a big wicked fight about it, but you have to go now.”

  “Will you cut the shit? Huh? I’m telling you, we have to go. So will you pack already?”

  “No. You get out of here.”

  “I know you’re the fucking vampire queen, Rachael! And the greatest vampire slayer in the history of vampire slayers is probably on a flight to here right now!”

  He was expecting a heated denial, or cold mockery. Anything but what actually happened: she laughed so hard she fell down. Actually fell down! And laid on the carpet holding her stomach and laughing up at him.

  “Okay.” He stared down at her. “This isn’t going the way I planned. At all.”

  “Me! The vampire queen! Oh . . . oh . . . oh!” She snorted and giggled. “Oh, that’s rich! That’s wonderful! Me! One of them!” Then she sobered. “Wait. How do you even know there’s such a thing as a vampire queen?”

  “Why d’you think?” he snapped. “I got your stupid newsletter. It’s got your damned address in it.”

  She blinked up at him. “Who are you?” she asked after a long moment. “Who are you really? You’re not one of them. And you’re not one of us. So who are you, Edward?”

  “A fucking moron who believed you actually—” No. He wouldn’t tell her that. He wasn’t even sure why he was trying to save her. Only that he had to. Had to.

  “Look, enough with the slinging of crap, okay? Even if you won’t admit it—”

  “I will not admit it.” She shook her head. “Ever.”

  “I can prove you’re her.” He bent and seized her wrist and pulled. She rose like smoke to her feet, so easily it was like she had no weight at all. Then he started to tug her toward the door but couldn’t move her any farther.

  Puzzled, he thought, She must have set her feet against something. He tugged harder. Something like a cement bookshelf ? Maybe the rolltop desk was heavier than it looked. Except she’s not touching the desk. He was so intent on exposing her web of lies that he didn’t ponder. “I can prove—unf!—you’re the vampire queen. Save yourself some trouble and—nnnf!—admit your evil plan to—nnf!—enslave babies. Or make babies into zombies. Or zombies into babies.”

  “I admit nothing. Certainly nothing about zombie babies. You can prove this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well.” He had tugged again and nearly fell into the doorway. Suddenly Rachael was halfway to the door with him. “Prove it.”

  He hauled her out of the hobbit hole, past the porch, and into the yard, and they both blinked in the late afternoon sun.

  “See? See?” He pointed at her, and had never felt triumph warring with despair so strongly. Ever. “You’re not a pillar of screaming, shrieking flames. See?”

  “Your proof is that I’m not on fire?” The lines he loved (when he thought she was the coolest girl ever, as opposed to what she was) appeared on her cute, wide Christina Ricci–esque forehead. “I think you’ve been reading the wrong books about vampires, because in actuality, they are incredibly vulnerable to—”

  “Just stop it. Okay? Cut the shit.” It was the sunshine, so bright, bouncing off the chrome and steel of their rental cars. It was his sweat glands getting their signals crossed. He was so angry his eyes were leaking. It was one of those things, because he was not crying. Not over the fucking vampire queen.

  “It’s not just that,” he continued. He was tired. So tired. “You always seem to know exactly how I feel. When my mouth says one thing and my brain another, you always know what I’m talking about. Always. Roommates I’ve lived with for years don’t know what I’m talking about. The day we met I thought about how intuitive you were . . . but it’s not intuition. It’s just more vampire bullshit. But no more.”

  “Edward.”

  “God, I had the clues right in my fucking face all week and couldn’t see. Your body is perfect, there’s not a mark on you. Of course you don’t have a mark on you! You’re dead, you heal from everything. Everything!” He smacked himself in the forehead, hard. “How stupid could I be? Jesus!”

  “Edward.”

  He slashed his hand at her. “It’s over, Rachael. And you will be, too, if you stay. So you gotta go. Now.”

  For a wonder, she touched his face. It took everything . . . everything in him to jerk back from her small, delicate fingers. “Edward, Edward. I’ve deceived you, yes, something one accountant and Picard lover should never do to another. But I’m not doing something strange and evil with babies . . . or zombies . . .”

  “Rachael, will you please cut the shit?”

  “Well, I’m not. And later, I’m going to ask you why you thought that. And I’m not even a garden-variety vampire, never mind their ruling sovereign.” She laughed again. “I’m a nobody, really. I’m the kid in the play who has no lines.”

  This time, he was the one to laugh. “That might have worked a couple of days ago, Rache. Not anymore, though. I saw you. Don’t you get it?”

  “Edward, you must . . .” She trailed off when he twisted away from her outstretched hand, and hurt flashed into her expression like a cramp. Now he was the one who wanted to reach out. Which just proved what a fucking fool he was, and had been, all this time.

  “Go. You have to go. Just . . . get out of this city, this state. Don’t ever come back. She’ll kill you if she can find you. Don’t get found. Don’t, Rachael.”

  “I’m not a vampire, Edward.” She smiled a little and glanced to her left. Nothing over there except another meticulously maintained mansion. And the summer moon, which looked like an enormous silver disc, almost looming over them. “And I can prove that.”

  Thirty-six

  “Once upon a time, about a zillion years ago, there was a great ape and a dire wolf. Or a hominid and a canis.”

  “Rachael . . .”

  “Shut up!” she screeched. “Shut up, it’s my turn, you had your turn and now it’s mine so you be quiet and let me talk now!”

  Edward flinched back. He looked awful, pale and drawn; his face looked as bad as hers probably did. For certain, he was as stressed. Her teeth had been on edge the moment she’d opened the door. But she had never considered leaving the door closed, never considered ignoring him until she was ready for him.

  And why would she? It wasn’t his fault. None of it. But that didn’t change the fact that it was her, har-de-har-har, time of the month. Not just that but her time in a strange city with no friends, no friendly faces. She knew she would have to endure her Change alone, and just that fact made it something to dread.

  How stupid we all are, she thought. Many a month on the Cape she had made plans to stay in and spend her Change quietly on a rug in front of the fireplace, and it had been nothing to her. Now that she had to stay in, had to hide, suddenly it was a hindrance, a burden, a cage.

  Th
us she was a teensy bit on edge. PMS? Sure . . . times a bajillion. She didn’t worry she’d pick a fight with Edward. She was worried she’d pull his nose off his face and stuff it down his throat.

  “So.” She tried to force calm as she formed another hamburger patty. They were sitting at the picnic table in the backyard. Her landlords, thankfully, were out—they and the son were attending a family reunion in Mahtomedi, wherever the hell that was. They were out until the wee hours, maybe even overnight, and by then things would be . . . would be settled. Yes. By then Edward would be made to understand, and he’d also be gone.

  You can’t keep him, she reminded herself, nibbling on the hamburger. You mustn’t try. Tell him and show him and then stay out of his way. It will be all right. His opinion is nothing to you. A week ago, you didn’t even know his face, never mind his scent. A stranger’s opinion is nothing to you.

  The back yard was small, and fenced, and overlooked a clothesline and a fire pit that hadn’t been used in at least ten years. The small yard and accompanying view were sort of dreary, but it was outside. Soon enough she’d have to closet herself into the hobbit hole for the night, so she would take what night air she could, while she could, and she wouldn’t be a picky snot about the view, either.

  And while she did, she would snack and tell stories. Edward probably liked stories. And if he didn’t, or wasn’t in the mood because of his absurd theory, who the fuck cared, and if he had half a brain, he wouldn’t come up with stupid ideas about vampires, forcing her to change her plans for the evening at the last second when it really wasn’t a good time goddammit!

  Whoa.

  She took a breath. And another. And another. Stop panting. “And there was nothing special about that ape or that dire wolf, except the ape lived in Africa, and the dire wolf was native to North America. And over the course of many, many years, the ape evolved into a man who used tools, and the dire wolf evolved into a woman who hunted in packs. And the man was human, and the woman was Pack. I’m Pack.”

  “Uh-huh.” Edward was sitting across from her at the picnic table, watching her. She knew he—