"Antonia," Mom said, as the Ant hitched her chair forward in a series of mini-scoots. "Lovely party."
"Thank you, Mrs. Taylor."
Hee! My mom, out of stubbornness and spite, had kept her married name after my dad had ditched her.
"Dr. Taylor," my mom corrected sweetly.
"Jessica," the Ant said. "How are you?"
"Fine, Mrs. Taylor."
"I heard you sold your downtown condo … friends of mine almost bought it. Where are you living now?"
"In a mansion on Summit Avenue," she said bluntly, because she knew it would drive my stepmother insane with jealousy. The Ant had been angling for a Summit mansion for years. But, well-to-do as my dad was, that was out of their reach. My mom hid a smile as she went on. "It’s much too big for us, of course, but we’re managing."
"Oh, err, Betsy’s with you?"
"Sure. We’re roommates. Along with Marc, our gay pal"—the Ant was a rabid homophobe—"and of course we needed the space because of all the vampires dropping by." And a rabid vampire-phobe.
My mom snorted into her drink. Typical of society parties, nobody noticed what Jessica said, so it wasn’t like she’d blown my cover. Besides, even to me, it sounded unbelievable.
I picked up my glass of roast beef and sniffed. Didn’t smell too bad. Actually, it smelled kind of good. And the glass was comfortingly warm.
"You tell ’em our news, Toni?" my dad asked, still grimacing over Jessica’s announcement.
"News?" my mom asked politely.
"Oh, yes." For the first time all evening, my stepmother looked straight at me. The force of those blue eyes (contacts) and that blond hair (bleached) and those red lips (Botoxed) made me drain my glass of my roast beef in a hurry. Too bad there wasn’t some gin in there, too. "Darren and I have exciting news. We’re starting a family."
"Starting …?" my mom asked, puzzled.
Jessica’s eyes widened. "You mean you’re—"
"Pregnant," the Ant said, triumph and hate ringing in her voice. "I’m due in January."
I leaned over and threw up the entire beef shake on my mom’s lap.
Chapter 21
"HOW could she?" I moaned. "How could she?"
"Because she’s jealous of you," Jessica said bluntly. "She has been since the day she moved into your dad’s house. She probably thought she was well rid of you back in April. But you were too dumb to stay dead. So, she figures, 'I’ll have my own kid, and then I’ll get my share of the attention and Betsy’s.'"
Yep, that was the Ant, all right. To a T.
"I admit," Mom said, "I was surprised. I hadn’t expected Antonia to go that route." She laughed suddenly. "Your poor father!"
"He deserves it," I said. I was slumped over in the passenger seat, praying for death. I’d refused to put my seat belt on. Right now, I’d welcome a trip through the windshield. "He picked her. He married her."
"And he’s been paying for it ever since, Elizabeth," Mom said in her "don’t argue with me" tone. "It’s time you grew up and let it go. If I’m not angry anymore, why are you?"
"Shut up."
"Beg pardon, young lady?"
"I said, we’ve showed up. We’re here."
My mom gasped as we swung into the driveway. I couldn’t blame her. I still half-expected to get thrown out of the mansion myself whenever I ventured past the main hall.
"Oh, Jessica, how marvelous! I suppose it’s ridiculously expensive."
"Yeah," she said modestly.
"My goodness! What a palace!"
Jessica, I could see with a sour eye, was lapping this up. I didn’t say anything, though I sure felt like it. Jessica’s parents died when she was a kid, my mom was the closest thing she’d had to a maternal-type, and Jess adored her.
"Come on up, I’ve got some sweatpants I can let you have." Mom’s skirt was, of course, ruined. Beef shake, bile, and cashmere … not a pleasant combo.
"It’s really not nee—"
"What, you’re going home in your pantyhose? Give me a break. Come on."
"Vampires," Mom whispered to Jessica, "are so touchy."
"I heard that," I snapped.
"Did you really?"
"It sucks," Jessica murmured back. "I can’t cut a fart on the third floor without Bets hearing it on the first."
"Goodness."
As we stepped into the entryway, Marc was walking through carrying a pitcher of iced tea. "Hi, Dr. T. Hey, just in time, you guys! Your guests are here."
"What guests?"
"Um, let’s see." Marc started ticking them off on the fingers of his free hand. "There’s two of the Blade Warriors, the king of the vampires, the vampire who made him, the local parish priest, and one other vampire. Sarah something."
"Great," I griped. "Am I the only one who calls if I’m going to show up at someone’s house uninvited?"
"Apparently so," Sinclair said, appearing from nowhere as usual. My mom jumped about a foot. So did I. "Dr. Taylor. A pleasure to see you again."
Mom practically swooned when Eric took her hand in both of his and bowed over them like a dead Maitre d’. "Oh, your Majesty. Nice to see you, too."
"Eric, please, Dr. Taylor. After all, you’re not one of my subjects. Pity," he sighed.
"And you must call me Elise," she simpered.
"And I must vomit. Again," I announced. "Will you two stop making googly eyes at each other for five seconds?"
"Forgive my daughter," Mom said, staring raptly up into Sinclair’s eyes. "She’s normally much more pleasant. She’s had a rough night."
"Of course, as she is your daughter, I expect great things of her."
"Why, Eric! How sweet. Betsy never told me you—"
"Seriously, you guys? I’m gonna barf again. So cut it out."
"I will also," Sarah said. I turned; she was standing in the entryway to the second living room. "If we’re finished for the evening, I’d like to go."
"No," Sinclair said.
"Yes," I said at exactly the same time. "In fact, why don’t all of you go? I’m not in the mood."
"Get in the mood. We have serious business to attend to." The frost in his voice melted as he turned puppy eyes to my mother. "Serious vampire business, dear lady, or of course I would insist you join us. We could use a fine mind like yours."
"I want to go!" Sarah shouted. Actually shouted! I thought I was the only one who yelled at Sinclair. "I want to go now!"
"What’s your problem?" Marc asked. The iced tea pitcher was sweating like Rush Limbaugh in July, and dripping on the floor. He looked around for a piece of furniture less than two hundred years old to set it on, in vain. So he grimly hung onto the pitcher. Note to self: Buy coasters. "I heard you don’t like this place. What’s your damage?"
"If you must know," Sarah said, biting off each word like she’d probably like to bite off Marc’s fingers, "I had a daughter once. And she was … well, she died. Here. In this house. And I don’t want to talk about it and I don’t want to be here."
She took a step forward and walked into Sinclair’s outstretched arm. I actually heard my jaw muscles creak as my mouth fell open. "You what?" I practically screamed.
"A child? A blond girl?" Sinclair asked sharply.
I shouldered him aside. "Is her name Marie? Does she wear headbands to keep her hair out of her eyes? And saddle shoes with anklets? And overalls?"
Sarah burst into tears. This was more shocking than when she yelled at Sinclair. "You know about her? How did you know? Who told you? Don’t talk to me about her, I don’t want you to do that!"
"Sarah, she’s buried in my front yard!"
"She’s what?" Jessica asked sharply. "You’re forgetting to share again, dead girl."
"Come on!" I pointed up the stairs. "To the vampire bedroom!" I whipped around, which made my mom just about fall over. I must have been moving too fast for her to track again. "Mom, I gotta take care of this right now, okay? We’ll talk later, okay? Only this is important. Okay?"
"Of
course." She hugged me. "Go do your work."
"Mom." I wriggled free. "You’re embarrassing me in front of the other vampires."
I dashed up the stairs.
I burst into my bedroom, with entirely too many people hot on my heels. "Marie!" I bawled. "Marie, come out!"
She faded into sight. I’d never seen her do it before and let me tell you, it was weird. At first I didn’t think she was in the chair, and then the chair looked a little blue around the edges, and then it was like a faded Marie was sitting there, and then a regular Marie was sitting there.
"What?" she asked, looking puzzled. Then she looked past me and her eyes went huge. "Mommy!"
I turned; Sarah would need my help. "Sarah, you can see the ghost if—"
She knocked me into Tina as she lunged past. "Sweetie bug!"
Tina steadied me and muttered, "Sweetie bug?" at the same instant. I felt her pain; it was all I could do not to snicker, too.
Sarah tried to hug Marie, but ended up nearly falling into the chair instead. This did not forestall a lecture. "Mommy, where have you been? I’ve been waiting and waiting!" Marie had her hands on her hips; she was the picture of outraged patience.
Sarah backed off and tried to answer, but cried harder instead.
"Marie," Sinclair asked, "what did the man who knocked you down look like?"
"Don’t ask her about that," Sarah ordered. Her voice was still thick, but her maternal hackles were raised. King or no king, Sinclair wasn’t going to cause her kid any pain. I really liked her for it. I felt bad about all the times I blew her off as an icy weirdo. "You don’t have to, anyway. It was Nostro. He killed her. And turned me."
"And you were mad at me for killing him?" I asked, aghast.
"It’s … complicated," she said, my least favorite word of the week.
I heard a snap and looked; Tina had picked up the chair and broken one of the legs off of it. "Stop that, the thing’s probably worth six figures," I ordered. "Well, now what? I mean, they’re reunited." Did this mean Sarah was going to move in, so she could be close to Marie? Shit, I hoped not. If I let one vampire move in, I’d have to let ’em all in!
Sarah was waving her hand through Marie’s head.
"Mommy, come on. What’s taking so long? Let’s go!"
Sarah turned toward me. She had aged ten years in ten seconds. Her face was haggard and still she sobbed. "Betsy, my Queen, I need a favor."
"What?"
"Is it—I heard you think we have souls. That vampires have souls."
"Uh …" Where was she going with this? I was starting to get a really bad feeling. "Yeah, that’s true. I mean, that’s what I think."
"So it is true," Sarah said. "Because you’re the queen. And your will is our will. So it says in the Book of the Dead."
That thing again. "Okay. I mean, sure, whatever you say."
"Yes. All right."
There was a pause, like she was nerving herself to say something. If she’d been human, she probably would have taken a steadying breath.
"Then I must ask a favor. I’d like you to kill me. Right now."
Chapter 22
"YOU want me to do what?"
"I’ll do it," Tina said quickly. I realized that the chair leg she’d been holding would make a good stake. Dammit! Three steps ahead of me, as usual. "The queen shouldn’t have to undertake such a low task."
"Uh … still having trouble tracking, you guys …"
"Low task?" Sarah’s eyes were blazing. "My death is not low! It will reunite me with my own flesh and blood, gone from me these fifty years."
"Guys?"
"I only meant … the queen doesn’t have the stomach for such things," Tina added in a low voice. "But I don’t mind, and I’ll be glad to help you out."
"Oh." Mollified, Sarah backed off again. "All right, then."
"Sarah, are you sure?" I kept a wary eye on Marie and practically whispered the rest. "I mean, what if it doesn’t work? What if you …" Wake up in Hell, I’d been about to say, but that probably wouldn’t do. "What if I’m wrong?"
"You’re the queen," Sarah said, plainly puzzled.
"Besides, you do believe it. In your heart of hearts," Sinclair said. I jumped; he’d been so quiet, I had forgotten he was still in the room. "You know you do. Else why wear the cross? Attend church?"
"How do you know I go to church?"
"Elizabeth, I know everything about you."
"Okay, now you’ve moved from annoying would-be suitor to obsessive stalker. But I’ll deal with that later. Give me that thing." Tina slapped the chair leg into my palm like a vampiric O.R. nurse.. "Sarah asked me. So I’ll do it."
"Thank you, Majesty."
Tina didn’t say anything; she just bowed her head.
"Um, how do I do it?"
"Aim for the heart," Sinclair said. He touched a spot on Sarah’s breast. "Dead center. As quick and deep as you can."
"And that’ll … do it?"
"Yes. No vampire can recover from a wooden stake through the heart, even if you remove it afterward. She won’t disappear like in a silly movie, but she’ll be dead for-ever."
I gulped. "Okay. But first, Sarah, you should probably confess. You know, go see God with a clean slate."
Sarah cringed. "Can’t I confess to you?"
"No, of course not. Just a second." I snatched open my bedroom door. Ani, Jessica, and Jon nearly fell on me. "Cut it out, you snoops. Father Markus!" I bawled. "Get up here! We need you!"
"I’ll get him," Ani said.
"No, I will," Jon said, and they were in an instant and furious tussle. Fists flew and they were kicking and scratching like pissed-off chinchillas.
"Uh … Jessica …"
"Right," she said, stepping over Jon and Ani, locked in combat, and hurrying down the stairs.
"Okay," I said, popping back into my bedroom. "Jess went to get the priest."
"He’s not going to touch me with any of his … his tools, is he?" she asked, actually trembling. The woman who yelled at Sinclair was scared of an old man in his sixties! "Or sprinkle me with … with anything?"
"No. He’s just going to hear you out. Just tell him all the bad things you’ve done—"
"All?" she repeated, appalled.
"Sum up, then," I said, exasperated. "Then I’ll stake you through the heart and you and Marie can be together." And then I’ll throw up again, and hide under my bed for the rest of the week. A fine plan!
Father Markus could move when he wanted; there was a quick tap at my door and then he poked his head inside. "You called for me?"
"Yeah. Thanks for coming so fast. C’mere, Father …" He shut the door and I quickly gave him the rundown. "So, if you could, you know, make her shiny for God …"
"I don’t think he can," Tina said. "He can’t make the sign of … make any signs, or touch her with anything …"
"And if she isn’t a practicing Catholic, it would be inappropriate, to say the least. Frankly, it’s inappropriate anyway, given her … ah … status." Markus looked around nervously, unfolded his bifocals, and slipped them on. "Are you sure there’s a ghost in here?"
"Trust me. Well, just do the best you can." Could a priest do Extreme Unction on a vampire?
Father Markus smiled at Sarah, who was cowering away from him, and I noticed for the first time what a nice face he had. It was long and mournful, like a priestly basset hound, but when he smiled he showed a deeply sunk dimple in each cheek, which was awfully cute.
"Sarah, child." He slowly reached for her hand. She flinched, then let him take it. "Are you heartily sorry for all the sins you’ve committed, both in life and in death?"
"Yes."
"And do you accept our Lord Jesus Christ as your savior?"
"Eric Sinclair is my Lord," she said, glaring. "And Betsy is my Lady."
"In the afterlife, dear?"
"Well, I suppose so," she grumped. "I mean, if He’ll have me."
"Very well, then. I commend your soul to God." He made th
e sign of the cross over her head and she flinched behind her upraised arm, but nothing happened. She didn’t burst into flames or anything like that. I have to admit, I was relieved. I mean, that would have just wrecked the whole evening.
"Thanks, Father," I said.
"Do you need—"
"Bye."
Tina held the door open, pointedly.
"But I’m curious—"
"Vampire business, I beg your pardon," Tina said politely. Then she fixed Ani and Jon with such a withering glare that they instantly lunged for the stairs. Father Markus crept out, throwing one last glance over his shoulder as the door shut.
"Okay." That sounded good; I’d try that again. "Okay. Here we go. Um, Sarah, stand over here." I steadied her against the wall. Then I moved her—my shoes were behind that wall. "Okay, here we go. Um. Okay." I made a practice jabbing motion where Sinclair had pointed. Oh, Lord, how did I get myself into these situations? "Okay."
"Wait!" She grabbed my wrist.
"Oh, thank God."
"No, it’s not that. I haven’t changed my mind. My clothes. I have a closetful of Armani that I’ll never use again. Tina knows where I live. They’ll be yours now. You’re taller, but we’ve got the same body type. You can alter most of it."
"Armani?" I flung my arms around her and kissed her chilly cheek. "You won’t regret this, I promise."
"Then get it done. Please."
"All right, all right."
"Mommy?" Marie, sounding worried.
"Be with you in a minute, baby," Sarah replied, too brightly. Then, hissing, "Do it!"
I did it. I slammed the table leg into her, harder than I had to. I was so afraid I’d wimp out and bungle the job, I overcompensated. The table leg went through Sarah, and through the wall. I let go of it, and Sarah stayed pinned to the wall like a beetle to a card.
And she was gone. I knew she was gone, I could feel it. And if I hadn’t been able to feel it, I could sure see it. Her eyes, which had been slitted in rage against my slothful slowness, were glazed over. She was twitching all over like a landed trout, but I knew those for what they were—death spasms.
I turned away, morbidly afraid I was going to barf again. I felt Sinclair’s hand on my elbow. "Steady," he murmured. "It was well done. And look!"
Undead and Unemployed Page 14
