"Oh, I guess I’m just an evening person." He grabbed me to him and rubbed his chest across mine. "More of that strawberry shampoo, I see."
I tried to wriggle away, but I was too slippery. I was like a trout in a live well. Nowhere to go! "Cut that out. I don’t have time for your shenanigans. I’m late already." But hoo, man, was I tempted! No. I couldn’t. My job in Heaven depended on not getting sweaty with Eric right now. Dammit! "Did I say I’m late? Because I really am."
"Spoilsport," he said, but he released me. "Why you insist on dashing off to a meaningless—"
"Don’t start."
"I wasn’t," he said, having the gall to sound wounded.
I tossed him the soap, which he snatched, one-handed, out of the air. "Sure you weren’t. Lather up, big boy, and then it’s time to hit the bricks."
"You can make getting clean sound so … dirty."
I laughed in spite of myself. "Don’t start, I said!"
"I hear and obey," he replied, and then squeezed my shampoo bottle—when had he grabbed that? Strawberry gel arched out and splattered across my breasts.
I cursed, and ducked under the spray again to rinse. Then we ran out of hot water—stupid ancient water heater!—and we were both cursing.
I was headed down the back stairs—the quickest way from my room to the driveway behind the kitchen—when I heard Jon’s plaintive, "But she likes me. I can tell!" and froze in mid-step.
I started to creep back up. I’d take the other stairs, go around the front way, but Jessica’s words glued me to the spot.
"Jon, she’s not just a vampire. Although that would be problematic enough, don’t you agree? You and your little group of nerd hoods kill vampires."
"Only the bad ones," he said. "We voted. Sinclair and Tina and Betsy and Monique are off-limits. We were still trying to figure out about Sarah when she … well, whatever you guys did to her. But if we catch a vampire trying to hurt or kill a human, he’s fair game."
"Spare me your twisted machinations. And you might want to run that plan by Sinclair."
"He’s not my boss!"
"Okay, okay, don’t burst a blood vessel. My point is, Betsy’s not just a vampire, she’s the queen of the vampires."
"So? She doesn’t even like that job. And the way I hear it, it’s an accident that she’s even queen, anyway. She’d get out of it if—"
"Yeah, but she can’t."
"If she really wanted to—"
"No, really, she can’t. I guess the vampires have this book with all their laws and prophecies and stuff in it, and according to that book—which is like the vampires’ bible, so they pay attention to it—Betsy’s the queen and Eric Sinclair is the king."
"So?" Sulky now, not that I could blame him. It’s not like Jess was telling him anything he wanted to hear.
I heard her shift her weight and almost grinned. She was losing her patience, and trying her best not to lose her temper as well. "So, it’s like they’re married. In the eyes of vampire law, they are married. Not only are you lusting after a vampire, you’re lusting after a married one."
"So?"
"Don’t be such a moron. They’ve got a kingdom to run, Jon, and in case you haven’t noticed, the king is crazy about her. He’ll pull your head off if you try anything. And be fair, it’s not like Betsy’s encouraged you. Right?"
Sullen silence.
"Besides … I think … maybe … she loves him, too."
"No."
I nearly fell down the stairs. Damn right, no!
"Oh, it’s the best kept secret in the world. Even from her! But I guess my point is, why don’t you drop this whole thing? She’ll just keep rejecting you. Or, Eric will pull your head off. So we’re looking at a lose/lose situation, right?"
"I’m still asking her out."
I heard a whoosh as Jessica threw her arms in the air. "Fine, get your head handed to you, see if I care."
"If she says no, she says no. But I’m asking anyway."
Great. Well, I’d field that one when I came to it. As for right now, the front stairs awaited. And so did Macy’s!
I actually laughed while pulling out of the driveway; I couldn’t help it. The idea was too absurd. Me, in love with Eric Sinclair? And him in love with me? Even sillier.
I drove him nuts. I knew it. He knew it. We all knew it. The only reason he even liked having me around was because I was the queen. Beyond that, we had nothing in common. Ab-so-lu-te-ly nothing. It was silly enough that we were destined to rule at each other’s sides for, like, a zillion years. He had to be as annoyed about that as I was.
My cell phone buzzed. Boop-boop-boo-BOOP-BOOP-boop bip boop boop! Stupid "Funkytown" theme; I’ve got to get that changed. I fished it out of my purse. "Hello?"
"As usual," Jessica announced, "you’ve left an enormous mess for me to clean up."
"Sorry about that, but I had to get to work."
"And what did you do to Sinclair? He’s humming! And he did the dishes! 'High time to earn my keep,' he says, and then he mojo’d the housekeeper into taking a nap. You should see the guy in Playtex rubber gloves."
I cracked up. "You’re making that up."
"Who could make something like that up? And he shows no desire to leave, either—usually he does a fade when he finds out you’ve left. Not tonight. I keep tripping over the guy. It’s creepy, but interesting."
"Yeah? Who’s all there?"
"Everybody. Jon, Ani, Father Markus, Tina. Oh, I almost forgot the best part! After doing the dishes and rearranging your bookcase—all the titles are facing the right way, now—"
"Goddamn it!"
"He runs into Jon, who has got it bad for you, FYI—"
"I heard."
"Anyway, I figured they’d sort of growl at each other and beat their chests like gorillas on the Nature channel, but Sinclair just smiled at him and patted him on the head. Patted him on the head! Good thing I hid Jon’s crossbow in the fridge or there’d have been real trouble."
"That is weird," I admitted.
"Weird, shit. It’s bizarre and unprecedented, is what it is. You must have knocked his brains loose."
"Jessica!" Then I snickered. "Okay, well … maybe I did."
"What, did you grow an extra breast or something? And don’t think I didn’t notice the big chunks that fell off the ceiling in your room. I’m telling you, I’ve never seen this guy in such a good mood."
I swerved to avoid a red BMW—I hate those 'I’ve got a yellow light so I have the right of way' drivers. "Look, we had a nice night, okay? A very nice night. I was upset about the Ant, you know, and having to stake Sarah—"
"You killed her?"
"—and all the stuff that’s been going on lately, and he, you know. He made me feel better."
I could feel Jessica leering through the phone. "I bet."
"Oh, stop it."
"Well, watch out for Jon-boy. He’s determined to ask you to the sock-hop, or whatever kids his age do for fun."
"Sock hop? Cripes."
"Should have stayed dead," Jessica advised, "like a normal person."
"Oh, shut up."
"Spray it, don’t say it," she said, then hung up on me so she could get the last word. Jerk.
Chapter 24
"I’M fired?"
"We’re going to have to let you go," Mr. Mason explained. "When you’re here, Elizabeth, you do fine work, but of late you’ve become unreliable."
"But … but …" But I can’t help it. But I’m the queen of the undead, and queens didn’t get fired! But I’ve been really busy trying not to get murdered! But the new Pradas are coming in next week and I desperately need my employee discount! But I’ve never been fired by someone wearing a turtleneck in July! "But … but …"
"Besides, don’t you have more pressing business to attend to?" he added kindly. "You’ve got a killer to catch, and a consort to satisfy."
"Yeah, that’s true, but—what?"
"You shouldn’t be here, Majesty. Everyone appear
s to grasp this but you."
I gaped at him. Started to speak, couldn’t, gaped some more. Tried to talk again. No luck. I had been struck mute with shock, just like when Charlize Theron won the Oscar for Best Actress.
He opened the lone manila folder on his otherwise spotless desk, and withdrew a paycheck, which had a blue piece of paper stapled to it. Termination form. Argh! "Here’s your final check. And good luck catching the killer."
"Mr. Mason!"
"Oh, I’m not a vampire," he said, correctly reading my bulging eyes and sprung jaw. "I’m Kept."
"You’re what?"
"I’m a sheep," he clarified. He tugged at his cashmere turtleneck, baring his throat. There wasn’t a bite, but there was a pretty good bruise. "At first, when you came here, I thought it was a test. Or a joke. Then, I realized you were serious. You really wanted to work here. I couldn’t think why. Finally, I realized I must fire you for your own good."
"Thanks tons," I said, starting to recover from the shock. "Jeez, why didn’t you tell me sooner?"
He coughed into his fist. "I assumed you were smart … er … I thought you knew what I was."
I snatched my check and stood. "Well, you were wrong about me, mister! So there!" Wait a minute. Oh, never mind. "This is just perfect. The perfect end to a perfect week."
He spread his hands apologetically. "I do apologize. And I wouldn’t advise trying to snare me to get me to re-hire you. After all this time, I’m immune to everyone but my master."
"But … but if you know me, you must have recognized Eric Sinclair. And he zapped you pretty good."
"His Majesty the King," Mason said carefully, "is a very powerful vampire. You’re quite right; I could not resist falling in thrall."
"Thrall? Falling in thrall? I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but I’m leaving before I pull your head off your shoulders and use it for a soccer ball."
"And I appreciate it. It really is for your own good, you know," he called after me as I stomped out. I made a rude gesture queens probably weren’t prone to. Felt pretty good, though.
I trudged out to my car, which was parked in Georgia. Stupid gigantic Mall of America parking lot. What a rotten week. I couldn’t imagine it getting any worse. Well, I suppose I could get decapitated. That might be worse. On the other hand, my troubles would pretty much be over.
I rested my forehead on my car roof. The body shop had done a good job of patching up the bullet holes and arrow gouges. And it ran like a dream. Too bad I just didn’t have the energy to fish out my keys and get in. I’d probably run over a little kid on the way home, or have to break up another vamp/human unfair fight. Something. Something bad, guaranteed.
I heard a car pull up behind me, but didn’t turn. What fresh hell was this? Probably the Ant, loaded down with crucifixes and baby formula.
"Majesty?"
I turned; it was Monique. She had opened her car door, a sleek black Porche, and was half-in, half-out of it. She looked gratifyingly concerned, which cheered me up a little. "What’s wrong, my Queen?"
"Everything!"
She blinked at me.
I started banging my head against the roof. It didn’t hurt a bit. "Every single thing in the whole world, that’s what’s wrong."
"Majesty, you’re denting your car roof," she observed.
"Oh, who cares? I’d elaborate on my grotesque and numerous problems, but then I’ll probably start to cry, and it’ll be really awkward."
"I’m willing to take a chance. Why don’t you leave your car and come with me? We can get a drink and you can tell me who you want me to kill."
"Don’t tease me," I sighed. "And that’s the best offer I’ve had all day. Okay."
I abandoned my car without a thought and practically jumped into Monique’s Porsche. "Let’s book."
Chapter 25
"THAT does sound bad," Monique admitted when I finally wound down. She downshifted to make the yellow light, which showed off what pretty legs she had. Black miniskirt, black heels, white blouse with lace cuffs. Tarty, but trendy. "But at least the king is firmly in your corner."
"Ha! Firmly in my pants is more like it."
"Ah-hum. So … how is he?"
"Annoying."
"I mean … are his sheet skills adequate?"
"I have to admit," I admitted, "I’ve never heard it put quite like that. And yeah. They’re more than adequate. I mean, he’s really fine. Whoo! I could sweat just thinking about it. If I still sweat."
"Do tell!"
To a near stranger? Even a nice one? No thanks. "But it doesn’t mean anything to him. He just likes sex. You should have seen what he was doing the first time I went to his house!"
"He seems," Monique said carefully, "to be an acceptable consort."
"Sure, if you don’t mind being bossed around. And condescended to. And hugged when you’re upset. And made love to until your toes curl. And-uh-look, let’s talk about something else."
"As you wish." She wrenched the wheel as we turned onto Seventh Avenue—practically on two wheels, yikes!—and pulled up outside a small brownstone with a screech. I thought it was an apartment house, but the doors were propped open and there was a line of extremely hip-looking people stretching down the sidewalk. The red neon sign over the doors read scratch.
"Oh, dancing?" I asked, brightening. "I love to dance."
"This is my club. I’ve been longing to show it to you."
"Oh, yeah?" Well, that explained the nice clothes. And the Porsche. "I didn’t think you were from around here."
"I have properties all over the country. It’s amazing what you can do when you’ve got seventy years to get it done."
"Good point," I said, as a valet held the door open. He was wearing black cargo pants, tennis shoes with no socks, and a white t-shirt with green lettering: GO FANG YOURSELF. Very cute. He smirked at me as he slammed the door shut and another valet drove Monique’s car away. "So, this is like a vampire club?"
"Mostly. Come along, Majesty, let’s get you a drink."
"Sounds good to me." We brushed past the waiting crowd and I followed her like a sheep to slaughter. Hmm. I was following her, and I certainly didn’t mind, but why did that corny saying creep me out all of a sudden?
And why, now that Monique and I had entered the club, had everyone stopped dancing? And why were they all staring at us?
"You know," Monique said, turning to me, "you really don’t deserve him."
"Who?" I asked dumbly. Sheep to slaughter? Where had I heard that before? Mr. Mason, of course. He said he was Kept. A sheep. And where had I heard that icky term before Mason? From Monique, the night Tina and she were attacked. She said it was much easier when you kept sheep, instead of hunting all the time. And Tina and Sinclair had blown it off, hadn’t wanted to explain. Too late now. Too bad for me. "Who don’t I deserve?" Except I had a horrid feeling I knew exactly who she was talking about.
"The king, of course."
"Yeah, of course. Uh … you didn’t put Mr. Mason up to firing me or anything, did you?"
She just looked at me.
"Yeah. ’Course you did. He lied about Renee not coming in, so he could fire me and get me out of the building. And then … uh … he tipped you off, I guess, so you knew where I’d be, and now we’re here. In your place."
"I knew you were foolish," she sighed as several hands grabbed me from behind, "but I didn’t think you were a moron."
"What’s the difference?" I yelled as I was dragged to the middle of the dance floor. Unfortunately, I didn’t think it was because they wanted to do the Lambada with me. "And who’s a moron? I figured it out, didn’t I? Hey! Cut it out! Hands to yourselves, creeps. Monique, what the hell …?"
Monique disappeared behind the bar, and reappeared with a wicked-looking stake as long as my forearm.
"And here I thought you were mixing me a daiquiri."
"This is your cue," she said, as if explaining to a slightly retarded student, which I resented the he
ll out of, "to say something obvious, like, 'you’re the killer.'"
"Well, you are! I can’t believe it! The one new vampire I meet who’s actually nice, and you’re going around killing vampires!" There were still about ten hands on me and they held me firmly. Where was Sinclair when I actually wanted him around?
"Yes," she said, sounding bored. Gosh, it was too bad I wasn’t able to capture her full attention. I was getting so mad, I felt like biting myself. "I had this insane idea that you might be difficult to bring down. So I wanted the Warriors to get some practice. Then … then," she added, and her lip curled, and she looked truly furious for the first time, "that idiot, that infant, that moron, Jon, fell under your spell. And he wouldn’t kill you for me anymore. And he persuaded the others to stop, too."
I shrugged modestly. It wasn’t my fault I had unholy sex appeal. "Too bad, you cow. And will you guys get off?" I yanked and pulled, to no avail. Were they rubber vampires, or what? "And you set yourself up to be attacked, to throw suspicion away from yourself."
She yawned. "Mmm-hmm."
And it worked, too, dammit. I’d never considered Monique for a second. I was too busy keeping a wary eye on Sarah, who was worth about twenty of this treacherous bitch. To think I staked her and decided to go party with Monique. God, I was really too stupid to live sometimes. However, it didn’t look like that was going to be a problem much longer.
"Well, now you’re gonna get it. I guess. Yeah! Big trouble, Monique." As soon as I freed myself from the grip of the RubberMaid Undead. "Any second now, and I’ll … uh …"
"So, I’ll kill you," she finished, perking up, "and Sinclair will be in need of a new consort, and of course Tina won’t do. They’re more like siblings, have you noticed? And Sarah’s dead, and there aren’t many of us who are suitable, you know."
"So that leaves you, huh?"
"That leaves me."
"But aren’t there thousands of us?"
"I can assure you, Eric Sinclair will find me the most viable choice."
"And the fact that he has a consort right now," I said dryly, "isn’t an impediment, or anything."
Undead and Unemployed Page 16
