Undead and Unwelcome

by Davidson, MaryJanice

  “It’s the truth, though.”

  “Come on, Bets. It’s hard for them. These guys—from what I’ve seen, they’re a tight bunch. It’s probably like losing a niece, or a sister, or—”

  “Bullshit. The Pack didn’t like Antonia, remember? They were glad when she left.”

  Jess snapped her fingers. “Jeez, you’re right! I’d forgotten all about that. It creeped them out that she couldn’t change, but could tell the future. They needed her, but they were all sorta scared of her, too.”

  I nodded. Antonia had gotten abysmally drunk (do you have any idea how much booze a werewolf has to drink before feeling it?) one night a few months back. She’d told us the whole story.

  How hardly any of them spoke to her.

  How frightened they were of her: Would she withhold her predictions? If she saw something bad in a Pack member’s future, would she spill it? Or keep it to herself?

  Worst of all, she’d told us how the Pack had been relieved when they’d found out she wasn’t coming back. They hadn’t missed her at all, or even worried about her.

  No. They’d been relieved.

  And now they expected me to face the music. The whole thing pissed me off.

  Jessica was shaking her head. “Glad I’m not in your shoes, Bets. Although they are pretty nice,” she added, peeking at my pumps.

  “They can do whatever they want with me,” I muttered. “But if they fuck with my shoes I’m going to kill them all in a variety of horrible ways.

  “Gosh.” I kissed BabyJon on his sweet head. “I feel safer already.”

  Chapter 23

  Wyndham Manor, I had been told, was not only werewolf HQ and the seat of their power, it was also home to dozens of Pack members. And it had obviously been built to accommodate crowds, because the service was held in a room the size of a warehouse and nobody was crowded. I was guessing, when there wasn’t a coffin involved, it was a ballroom.

  Michael had spoken briefly, and then a minister (a werewolf Presbyterian minister!) had spoken, and then people started filing past the coffin, no doubt paying their respects.

  I had noticed right away that they’d switched Antonia to a much nicer coffin. It shone like polished jet and was just as black. An enormous spray of white calla lilies nearly covered the entire top. I wonder what they’d done with the old one—the one Derik had destroyed. Then I decided a) it was a morbid thought and b) none of my business.

  At least Jessica was missing this. This was actually fine by me—if I knew where she was, I wouldn’t worry about her.

  BabyJon was snuggled against my shoulder, thumb popped into his mouth, gazing around with bright-eyed interest. I tried to pretend he wasn’t drooling on the lapel of my Ann Taylor.

  Weirdly, it had been Sinclair’s idea for me to bring him. It was the first time Sinclair had suggested we bring BabyJon anywhere, so on top of being sad for Antonia, and scared for us, I was suspicious of my husband’s motives.

  I didn’t move when people started getting up. I had already paid my respects. I had wept over her, called her Pack, and told them the unthinkable, had flown her home. It was more than I’d done for my own father.

  “Hello. It’s Betsy, right?”

  I looked up and almost gasped. One of the most striking women I had ever seen in my life was standing in front of me, with a pregnant belly out to here.

  “Uh, yeah.” I shifted BabyJon and held out a hand, which she shook briskly. “Betsy Taylor.”

  “The infamous queen of the dead.” But her blue eyes were kind, and she was smiling. Her hair was a rich auburn cloud around her shoulders. “I’m Sara, Derik’s wife.”

  “Undead,” I corrected, “and yeah, that’s me. Was Antonia a friend of yours? I s’pose she must have been; she and your husband were kind of tight, or so I heard. I’m very sorry about what happened to her.”

  “Thank you.” Sara eased herself into the chair beside me and massaged the small of her back. “But she wasn’t my friend. I couldn’t stand spending time with her.”

  I stared. And stared. And stared some more, feeling equal parts admiration and horror. Sara had a pair, that was for sure, to speak ill of the dead in this of all places. But she was telling the truth, which I admired tremendously.

  “She was kind of a grump,” I admitted. “You’re, um, not a werewolf. Are you?”

  “No, no.”

  “So Jeannie’s not the only human who, ah, runs with the Pack?”

  “No indeed. Although I’m not technically human,” she said.

  “Oh.”

  “I’m the reincarnation of the sorceress Morgan Le Fay.”

  Oh. Great. A crazy woman—a crazy pregnant woman—was sitting less than two feet away. My, what an interesting week this was turning out to be!

  Sara laughed, accurately reading my expression. “Never mind, you don’t have to believe it, just like I don’t have to convince you. Although I should warn you, if you try to hurt me, the chances are excellent that something awful will happen to you.”

  “I just met you. Why would I want to hurt you?”

  “Nobody knows. Just like no one can predict what you and your husband are up to at any given time. Are you going to finish that?”

  I handed her my cherry Coke—yes, now that the actual service was over, they’d broken out the bar drinks. “Predict . . . what the hell are you talking about?”

  Sara gestured to the room. I looked, but all I saw were hostile gazes pretty much everywhere I turned. “You’re just making them extremely nervous, that’s all.”

  “What? Me? But that’s—”

  “You don’t have a scent,” she interrupted gently. “So they can’t tell how you’re feeling at any given time. It makes them—all of them—extremely ner vous.”

  Of course! I almost slapped my forehead. I had completely forgotten how much that had weirded Antonia out when she came to live with us. It took her weeks to get used to us for that exact reason.

  “Then how come you’re on this side of the room, talking to me?”

  Sara shrugged. “You don’t make me nervous. You’re still our guest, despite the circumstances. And you won’t be able to hurt me.”

  Back to that again. “What, are you a superstar pregnant ninja warrior or something?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that.”

  Silence.

  “Well? Jeez, you can’t make comments like that and then leave me hanging.”

  “But you won’t believe me anyway, so why waste my breath?”

  “Try me,” I retorted.

  She shrugged. “I affect the laws of probability. If someone tries to shoot me, the gun will jam. Or a pinprick aneurysm he had all his life will pick that second to blow. Or he’ll miss me and the bullet will ricochet back into his brain.”

  Sara sighed. “I knew you’d say that.”

  “I didn’t have a chance to say anything, you—” Poor crazy person, I’d been about to say, which wasn’t nice, under the circumstances. “So in order for you to—to—uh—”

  “Affect the laws of probability.”

  “Don’t you have to do tons of math all the time?”

  “Oh, no. My power’s completely unconscious. I have no control over it at all. After I won the lottery for the fourth time, I sort of hung it up.” She patted her belly. “Besides, there are more important things than buying lottery tickets.”

  “Yeah, I s’pose.”

  “And knowing I’ll win sort of takes the fun out of it.”

  “Sure, I can see that.” Looney tunes.

  “Is this your son?” Sara smiled and held her arms out. BabyJon smiled back and snuggled more firmly into my shoulder.

  “It’s not you,” I hastily assured the crazy pregnant woman. “He pretty much only likes me. He’s not my son, though. He’s my half brother.”

  “He’s charming,” Sara said admiringly. “What beautiful eyes!”

  “Thanks.” I perked up a little. “He’s really a sweet baby. He almost never cries, and
he sleeps all day—”

  “I would imagine, with a vampire big sister.”

  “Yeah, we had to do some juggling with everybody’s schedule,” I admitted.

  “But weren’t you worried about bringing him here with—with everything that’s happened?”

  “I haven’t been his guardian very long. My husband and I need to get in the habit of thinking like parents, not ravenous, slavering monarchs of the undead.”

  Sara cracked up, holding her belly and clutching the table so she wouldn’t fall over. I perked up even more. At least someone at this funeral didn’t blame me for Antonia’s sacrifice. I could feel the disapproving stares, but Sara just laughed and laughed.

  Finally, she settled down and wiped her watering eyes. “Hormones,” she explained. “Sorry.”

  “Hey, I’m not offended. It’s kind of nice to see someone—” Lightening up, I’d been about to say, which would have been seriously uncool.

  “So! I’ve never met a vampire before.”

  “Well, I’ve never met a sorceress before.” I was trying to remember what I knew about Morgan Le Fay, but history was so not my strong point. I thought she’d been a witch during King Arthur’s time. She was one of the bad guys, I was pretty sure. Well, I could always ask Sinclair.

  “We can’t say that any longer, can we?” Sara was asking.

  “Not hardly.” I glanced over her shoulder and saw Derik stomping toward us, his normally smiling countenance twisted into a scowl. “Uh-oh. Pissed off hubby at six o’clock.”

  Sara sighed. “It’s been awful for him; I’m sure you can relate. He doesn’t mean to act like you shoved Antonia into a hail of bullets. But it’s hard. You know?”

  I did know. Derik was playing Pin the Blame on the Vampire as an alternative to facing up to the fact that the only reason Antonia left was because most of the Pack disliked her, or was scared of her. I understood, even though I didn’t like it one bit. Where was all this concern when she decided to leave town and never come back?

  And here he was, looming over our table. “I’d like you to step away from my wife, please,” he managed through gritted teeth. “I don’t want—aaaggghhh!”

  At first I thought he had slipped. Then I realized he’d seen BabyJon and jerked backward so hard, and so fast, that he lost his balance.

  “That again! Get that baby away from my wife!”

  You know those moments in parties where you have to talk loud to be heard, only you do it the one time everyone’s quiet? So they all hear exactly what you’re shouting?

  Yeah. It was like that.

  Chapter 24

  Dude,

  It wasn’t long before Laura had a chance to implement Operation Distract. Yes, another band of devil worshippers showed up. But this time she (we, actually) was ready for them.

  “Oh most gracious and dread lady,” their leader was proclaiming, kneeling before her. His fellow lemmings followed suit, which meant there were sixteen religious extremists in one of our parlors. “We but live to serve you in any capacity you require. Only point us to your enemies and we shall wreak vengeance in your name. In your father’s name, Lucifer Morningstar.”

  That was kind of interesting, because we knew Laura’s mother had been possessed by the devil. And the devil always appeared to Laura (you can imagine her mood after one of those fun-filled visits) as a woman.

  I imagine the Prince/Princess of Lies can appear as anything he/she wants.

  “We are yours to command!” he shouted at Laura’s feet, since they were all cowering before her on their knees. None of them could see the way she shook her head in disgust, rolling her eyes. “Oh most dread sovereign, your coming was foretold and it has come at last!”

  “Yes, yes,” she replied impatiently. “That’s fine. Now. You. All of you.”

  All the heads jerked up at once. It was like watching otters pop their heads out of the water at the zoo.

  “I bid ye go forth. All of you find the soup kitchen on Lake and Fourth, in Minneapolis. Volunteer for at least fifty hours a week.”

  The leader’s sad basset hound face seemed to sag even further. “But—but we wish to—”

  “Are you questioning me?” Laura thundered in a pretty good imitation of an angry demigod wearing a pink sweater. “You dare question how I test your loyalty?”

  Practically elbowing each other out of the way, they all denied questioning anything.

  “So begone from here, and do my unholy bidding at Sister Sue’s Soup Kitchen. I will know when you are ready.”

  They all galloped out, several of them getting wedged in the doorway in their eagerness to obey Laura’s completely unevil command.

  They were no sooner out the front door than Laura threw herself into my arms hard enough to rock me back on my heels. “It worked! Oh, Marc, I can’t thank you enough, what a wonderful idea you had!”

  “Fifty hours a week should keep them out of trouble,” I agreed, patting her back.

  “Oh, I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before!”

  Well, honey, you pretty much tense up and close off whenever anything connecting you with your mother gets shoved in your face. When you’re that angry, or that upset, or that sad, it’s impossible to think logically.

  (Dude, I prudently kept that to myself.)

  “I don’t know how I kept a straight face,” Laura gasped. “I looked at you and I almost lost it right in front of that band of dimwitted sheep.”

  In all modesty, I had to admit my idea stank with the reek of genius. Put them to work for you, I’d said. Make them volunteer at homeless shelters, at soup kitchens, at church fund-raisers. That way they’re happy—they think they’re being tested—and you’re happy because not only are they out of your hair, they’re spending virtually all their free time helping the greater good.

  I’d saved the best for last: ordering devil worshippers to commit good deeds was a terrific way to defy her mother. If I had needed a deal closer, that was it.

  “Marc, if there’s ever anything I can do for you, you have to come see me or call.”

  “Are you kidding? You just gave me ten minutes of free entertainment. You’re square with the house, honey.”

  Laura turned away for a moment, suddenly lost in thought. “Maybe I’ve been looking at this the wrong way. If they’ll do anything I say—if they’ll do things for me they would do for no one else—I wonder what else I can make them do?”

  “Hey, one way to find out,” I said, having absolutely no idea that I was inadvertently, and with the best of intentions, driving Laura to a break with her conscience and her sanity.

  I take full responsibility for the following events, which I will narrate as quickly and carefully as I can.

  Chapter 25

  Derik! Apologize this minute,” Sara practically hissed. “I know you’re upset, but this is ridiculous. He’s just a baby.”

  “I don’t know what the hell that thing is,” Derik retorted, “but it’s not a baby.”

  “You’re acting like you’ve seen a ghoul, or something,” Jeannie said.

  “What baby?”

  Jeannie turned to her husband. “What baby? The one she got off the plane with, what are you talking about, what baby?”

  Oh, great, here were Michael and Jeannie Wyndham, with Sinclair hot on their heels.

  “Everybody just calm down,” I began, but Derik drowned me out.

  He pointed. “That baby.”

  Michael frowned. “But you don’t have a baby.”

  Jeannie stared. “What’s wrong with you?” She nodded toward Derik. “Him, I get. He’s just playing the blame game. But you—”

  I was flabbergasted. I’d suspected last night he hadn’t noticed BabyJon, but not noticing or commenting was one thing. Michael didn’t appear to see my brother at all.

  “Well, he’s not mine,” I said, trying to recover from my surprise. “I mean, he is now. He’s my brother.”

  Michael was staring at BabyJon with his flat, yello
w gaze. “Where did he come from?”

  “Uh, Michael.” I coughed. “Um, he came with us. On the plane, like Jeannie said. He was in the limo with us last night. And in your office.”

  “Oh, well, that’s fine then.”

  “I wouldn’t call that exactly fine,” Jeannie began, but Michael had already turned away, gently touching Jeannie’s elbow.

  “Hon, would you tell the kitchen they need to send up more—”

  “Wait.”

  Sinclair might not have been a Pack member, but he had no trouble seizing control of a moment . . . Everybody stopped and looked at him.

  “Michael,” Sinclair asked quietly, almost gently, “where is the baby?”

  Michael frowned and cocked his head, as if listening to a voice from another room. “What baby?”

  “That’s it,” Jeannie said firmly. “I’m taking you to a doctor. Right now.”

  “I’m not sure it’s something a doctor can fix,” I said, mentally reeling. I mean, I really needed a minute here.

  As soon as Michael had turned his back, he’d forgotten—again—about BabyJon. Derik wouldn’t go anywhere near the kid. And the other werewolves seemed to be picking up on Derik’s extreme stress. Only Sara seemed unperturbed.

  “Perhaps it’s time to go,” Sinclair murmured, his fingers clutching the back of my chair.

  Perhaps it was time to call the local mental hospital with some new admits. “Uh, okay,” I said, slowly getting to my feet. BabyJon, unmoved by recent events, yawned against my neck. “Well, thanks for the—uh—snacks. I guess we’ll—”

  “We’re not going to actually let them get away with this, are we?” A petite, dark-haired woman with a severe buzz cut was standing on the fringe of our small group. She was dressed in black jeans and a black button-down shirt, and it took me a minute to place her.

  It was Cain—one of the werewolves who’d come to the mansion looking for Antonia earlier in the week.

  “She gets Antonia killed, then brings some sort of ensorcelled infant—if that’s what it really is—and we’re just going to let her walk?”

  “Cain.”

  “Well, are we?” she cried, turning to face the man who towered over her. He, too, was dark and whip-thin. He, too, looked weirded out but, even more than that, he seemed almost embarrassed. For her or for me, I had no idea. But I wasn’t going to bet the farm it was me.