Wait a minute! The Book of the Dead said we were fated to rule for a thousand years. There wasn't anything in there about Sinclair being killed before we even got officially hitched.
Why hadn't I thought of that before?
I was so excited I wanted to run out of the bridal shop and—and—well, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do, but I sure didn't want to sit there a moment longer. I—
“Here we are, Ms. Taylor.” Christopher emerged from a side hall, where I knew he'd hung three or four gowns in a dressing room for me to try on. It was good timing, since the other three clerks had just left.
Concealing my excitement, I slowly got to my feet, sauntered over to Christopher, gripped him by the elbow, and murmured, “Take us to all the dresses.”
He wheeled around like a reprogrammed robot and started marching toward the back. Snickering, Jeannie rose and followed, and Lara followed her.
Now we were getting somewhere. That's right, everything was coming up Betsy!
Chapter 31
The salon had, at rough count, three thousand gowns in the back. I could eliminate some right off the bat. No meringue dresses. Nothing with too many beads—I hated shiny. Nothing strapless—I'd freeze my ass off. Nothing with a long train—I'd trip and make a fool of myself, guaranteed. No mermaid styles—the clingy gown that flared out from the knees.
And none of that new slutty style, either—the kind that looked like a traditional dress from the back, but from the front the skirt split just below crotch level and showed miles of leg. Not that my legs weren't fabulous. But this was a wedding. . . some decorum was called for.
I was looking for a nice, creamy ivory. Pure white was too harsh with my undead complexion. Even off-white was a little too much.
Lara went back to coloring, and Jeannie paced around the back like a caged cat. I would occasionally emerge for a thumbs-up or -down.
“No.”
“Uh-uh,” Lara said, glancing up from her new drawing.
“Doesn't suit you,” Jeannie said when I emerged again.
“Mom's right.”
And again. . . “Nope.”
“Too billowy.”
And again. “Your tits are just about popping out. Now, if that's the look you're going for. . . ”
And again. “You're lost in all those ruffles.”
“Buried,” Lara agreed.
“What about some color?” Jeannie asked. Her voice was muffled, as she was pretty far in the back.
“No, I want traditional, yet fabulous.”
“I don't mean all red or all blue. But how about this?” Jeannie emerged holding a cream-colored gown with a plunging-yet-not-slutty bodice, cap sleeves, an A-line style with a simple skirt that fell straight to the floor. Small red silk stars and flowers were embroidered all over the skirt and bodice.
I stared. Lara stared. Then Jeannie looked at the price tag and stared. “Fuck a duck,” she said. “Never mind.”
“Hold it!”
And that's how the alpha female of the Wyndham werewolves found my wedding gown.
Chapter 32
“It fit you perfectly.“ Jeannie still couldn't get over it. We had just gotten back to the mansion. ”Didn't you say you're getting married in a few days? You really lucked out. Whoever heard of an off-the-rack wedding dress that didn't need alterations?"
“Proof that it's The Gown For Me. Thanks again. If you hadn't found it, I never would have thought to ask for such a thing.”
“No need to thank me, my motives were purely selfish. That's three hours of my life I didn't have to waste in that taffeta hellhole. Lara, go find your bag and get ready for bed.” She turned to me. “We grabbed one of the bedrooms on the third floor, is that all right?”
“Sure. There's plenty of room up there.” I glanced at my watch. Nine o'clock. I was giving serious thought to flipping through the Book of the Dead. But I was also afraid. The last time I'd tried such a stunt, I'd turned into a truly awful bitch for the better part of the evening. Hurt my friends. Hurt Sinclair. It had taken me a long, long time to forgive myself.
And there was Jeannie and Lara to think about. Michael hadn't left them in my care so I could attack them after reading the wrong chapter in the vampire bible.
Worse: the Book didn't have an index, or even a table of contents. There was no way to look anything up. I'd have to flip through it—skim as much as possible—and hope I stumbled across something helpful.
On the upside? The Book was never wrong. It had successfully predicted me, Sinclair, my powers, and come to think of it—
“My baby,” I said out loud, ignoring Jeannie's curious look. How did it go? “And the Queene shalt noe a living childe, and he shalt be hers by a living man.” Yeah. That was more or less it. When Sinclair had told me at the time, it had depressed the hell out of him. He assumed it meant I'd get knocked up by someone else. But I “knew” a living child who was mine by another man. . . my father.
So the Book of the Dead had been right about a baby. It also foretold that Sinclair and I were supposed to be the king and queen for a thousand years. Did that mean I could quit worrying? That everything would work itself out?
(Beth)
“What?”
“Betsy?”
“What?”
“Your purse is ringing.”
I glanced at the table where we habitually tossed our purses, wallets, and keys. Jeannie was right. My purse was ringing. I opened it and grabbed my cell.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it's me. Whoa, you actually answered your cell!”
“Hi, Jess, and yes I did. What's up?”
“I was wondering how the dress shopping went.”
“Awesomely.”
“I'm pretty sure that's not a word.”
“Who cares? I found it.”
“Great! It's still cream, right? You stayed away from the pure whites?”
“Yeah, and—”
“Great. Come on over to the hospital, will you? I've got something for you.”
“You mean right now?”
“No, I mean next month. Yeah, now.”
I glanced at my guests, who I assumed were more interested in going to bed than running around the oncology ward at this hour. I covered the bottom half of the phone. “Do you guys mind if I run out for a bit?”
“No,” Jeannie yawned. Lara was already sleepwalking toward the stairs, a toothbrush clenched in one fist.
“Okay, Jess,” I said. “I'll be there in twenty minutes.”
“If this is an ambush so Nick can shoot me in the head,“ I announced, walking into her room, ”I'm going to be very upset."
“He went home to crash in a proper bed for a couple of hours. I practically had to call Security to get him out of here.”
“Well. He's worried about you, the fascist.”
“He'll get over this latest, uh, wrinkle.” Jessica didn't look—or sound—at all sure of herself. In fact, she looked generally ghastly. The new round of chemo was not being kind. And as I'd said, Jessica couldn't afford to lose any weight. But she was smiling and had an expression on her face I knew well: Jessica had a secret.
“You mean the whole mind-rape thing? He hates me. And Sinclair.”
Jess didn't bother denying it; we'd been friends for too long to take refuge in false comfort. “But he loves me. We'll figure something out. First things first. I've got your wedding present.”
She opened the drawer to her right and took out a shoe box wrapped in heavy white paper and topped with a pale blue bow.
I smiled in anticipation. Jessica was rich and had great taste. Even better, she knew what I liked. I plucked off the bow and stuck it to her forehead, ripped off the gorgeous paper, and flipped the lid off the box.
And stared. Inside the box were a pair of Filippa Scott Rosie bridal shoes in the exact shade of my dress (the cream-colored part, that was). I knew she hadn't bought them for less than four hundred bucks. I also knew they were
handmade with duchesse satin, with a padded foot bed that meant even with three-inch heels, they'd be comfortable. And the slim bow across the front was just the right touch.
“Oh my God,” I said.
“I know,” Jessica said smugly, reclining in her hospital bed like a goddess being fed grapes.
“They're perfect.”
“I know.”
I burst into tears.
“Whoa. Hey!” Jess shot upright, then gagged, and for a minute I thought she'd barf on me while I wept into the shoe box. We both struggled to control ourselves, but only Jessica won the battle. “This really wasn't the reaction I was going for.”
I cried harder.
“Betsy, what's wrong? Is it Nick? We'll figure something out. We're going to have to. But I don't think he'd really try to hurt you.”
“It's Nick,” I sobbed, hiding my face with the box. “It's everything.”
“What everything?” So I told her.
Chapter 33
“Wow.”
“I know,” I sniffed.
“Wow.”
“I know.”
“Why didn't you—never mind. I know why you didn't say anything.” She propped her chin in her palm and stared past me. “This stinks to high heaven.”
“Yeah. I don't know what to do.”
“Well, he's not dead.” She said this with such authority that I instantly cheered up. “No chance. No chance.”
“Why? He's not immortal.”
“Why? Because he's Sink-Lair, that's why! You think he's easy to kill? You think you wouldn't know if your king was dead? He's stuck somewhere. Some asshole snatched him, and you've gotta figure out who.”
“That's what I've been trying to do.”
“Yeah, so you said. It's not the werewolves, it's not Delk. It's not Laura. It's—what did you say Nick told you? To go back to the beginning?”
“Yeah.”
“So when did things start to get weird?”
I thought about it. I took my time, and Jessica let me. It wasn't the fight we'd had over the wedding announcements. Sinclair and I fought all the time. What was the first really weird thing to—
“The double funeral,” I said at last. “That's when I realized things were mondo-bizarro. It was like one day everything was the way it's been the last couple of years, and the next, I was alone. You were sick. Dad and the Ant were dead. Tina was in Europe. Marc had disappeared. Laura and Mom blew off the funeral. Antonia and Garrett had vamoosed.”
“You think your dad and the Ant weren't killed by accident?”
“Who'd want to get rid of them? I've been so busy I haven't had time to feel sad. If someone was trying to hurt me, that's not really the way to do it. I guess that makes me a bad daughter, but—”
“But your dad was a pud,” Jessica said bluntly, “and that's the end of it.”
“I'm wondering if there might be some answers in the Book of the—”
“You stay away from that thing,” she ordered. “You going psycho-bitch isn't going to help anything.”
I sighed and slumped back. “I suppose.”
“Tina called it right. This whole thing reeks like last week's sushi. I wish you would have told me earlier.”
“You've got more important things to worry about.”
“Oh, what's more important than my best friend?” she asked irritably.
“Your life,” I replied. “Focus on getting better.”
“Well, today was the last day of chemo. So I ought to be able to come to the wedding without heaving all over my suit. If I have to be dragged in on a stretcher and propped up like Hannibal Lecter, I'll be there,” she vowed.
“Revolting,” I said. “Yet comforting.”
Chapter 34
I dragged myself into the silent house. The third floor was dark; I assumed Lara and Jeannie had hit the sheets. But this wasn't the week to make assumptions, so I tiptoed up to the third floor and found them in the second bedroom I checked. They were both conked and both snoring. I shut the door and snuck back downstairs.
I kicked off my pumps, tossed my keys in the general direction of the foyer table, then went into the library and sat down across from the Book of the Dead.
The nasty thing was on a mahogany book stand by the fireplace, open to God knew what page. I stared at it and tried to make a decision. Any decision.
“You might as well,” a horrifyingly familiar voice said from across the room. “You can't screw this up any worse.”
I looked over, and there she was: Laura's mother, the devil, seated behind the desk. “Fabulous,” I muttered.
“So nice to see you, too, dear.” Satan looked a lot like Lena Olin: long brown hair streaked with silver. Calm expression, beautiful gray suit, classic gold earrings (in the shape of angel wings!), black stockings, and. . . I peeked under the desk. And groaned silently. She was wearing fourteen-thousand-dollar Manolo Blahnik black alligator boots. “Like them?” She rotated her left foot around her ankle. “I'm sure we could work something out.”
“Get lost.”
“Now, Betsy. You need me. After all, you're not using that teeny, tiny brain of yours. In fact, you haven't been since this whole thing started.”
“And what do you know about it? Scratch that: go away.” I wasn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but I knew that the devil never gave up anything for free. I was crazy even to be talking to her.
“Oh, Betsy. Don't you know? I can help you. I want to help you. Him?” She jerked a thumb toward the ceiling. “Not so much. You think He cares about you now that you're a vampire?”
“I think you lie like old people fart.”
“I've never lied to you, dear.”
I had to admit that was true. Not that I was going to say so out loud.
“It distresses me to see my daughter's sister so upset. So alone in the world. Beset from all sides.”
“Really.”
“I'll help you, dear. All you need do is ask.”
“How about if I ask you to toddle off back to Hell?”
Lena Olin made a tt'tt! noise and shook her head sorrowfully, as if at a disobedient daughter. “Why make things so much more difficult? You know I can help you.”
“I know nothing's free with you, Lena Olin.”
“Let me help you. I’m dying to help you. He's still alive, you know. It's not too late. . . yet.”
That hurt. A lot. I closed my eyes and chewed on my tongue so I wouldn't say something that would cost me my soul.
“I'll be glad to lend a hand. Because once you have your lover back, you'll stop thinking the worst of my poor Laura. I dislike it when the two of you argue.” I grunted.
“All you need to do is ignore Him and pray to me.” I nearly fell out of my chair. “Pray to you?”
“Well, why not? You've seen the state of His world, right?” she said with a gesture. “Your best friend fighting for her life? Your father dead in a senseless accident? Your brother orphaned? You alone in your time of greatest need? And let's not even talk about all the children He does away with every hour of every day. Who knows how long Babyjon has under His regime? Pray to me, dear. At least I'm not crazy.”
“That's tempting,” I said. “Really tempting.” She smiled and smoothed her hair. “We try.” “Well, try this. Take your satanic, designer-shoe-wearing ass right out the door, willya?”
The devil frowned. “Betsy, this is a chance that may never come again.”
“Bullshit! You show up whenever I'm in a jam, but I'm not dumb enough to think you care about me. You're the devil, for crying out loud! Your reputation is horrible! Now get lost!”
She stood. It seemed to take a long time. It seemed like she was ten feet tall. “Enjoy the funerals, dear. Because without my help, there will be more. And say hello to my dear one when you see her again.”
I opened my mouth to say something snappy, but I was alone in the room.
Chapter 35
It took me about ten mi
nutes to stop shaking. It had never been so hard to tell Lena no. Sure, my soul would sizzle in the bowels of Hell for eternity, but on the other hand, I was going to live for at least another thousand years. I wouldn't have to worry about Hell for a long time.
And I believed her when she said she could help me. She wouldn't have shown up here if she couldn't help me. Even now, I was tempted to yell for her, call her back, make a deal. . .
Had she said funerals, as in plural?
The desk extension rang, and I nearly jumped out the window. What now? I snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Betsy? It's Mom.”
“Hi, Mom. You're up late.”
“Babyjon had a late nap,” she said ruefully. “But I don't have anything scheduled for tomorrow, so we can sleep late.”
“That's good.”
“So. . . how are you?”
“Not so good,” I admitted. “Things are kind of a mess.” And I deeply, deeply covet Satan's footwear.
“I'm sorry,” she said at once. “I can relate to what you're saying, hon, make no mistake. Do you believe the funeral announcement didn't come out until yesterday? I could have sworn I made the newspaper's deadline, but they said I missed it by twenty-four hours.”
“What? You mean Dad and the Ant's funeral?”
“Isn't that stupid? My point is, I've been a bit of a scatterbrain since the accident. And I know I made things harder for you at exactly the wrong time. My only excuse is. . . I don't really know. It's not like I was still in love with your father. I guess I wasn't ready to say good-bye forever. Not so soon after you died, anyway.”
“I didn't think about it that way,” I said. “I guess I shouldn't have been such a jerk.”
“Your father died, dear. You were entitled.”
“Well, I wasn't there by myself. So how did Dad's coworkers know to be there?”
“Oh, I'd called your dad's secretary—Lorraine?— the day I heard about the accident. And I guess she called the others. And you know your stepmother wasn't averse to using Lorraine for her charity work. That's how her friends knew to come. And of course, I had called you myself.”
Undead and Uneasy u-6 Page 12
