Undead and Unwelcome

by Davidson, MaryJanice

  Lucky bastard.

  Chapter 34

  We were back in the ballroom, except it had been set up almost like a courtroom. A long table was at the front of the room, and hundreds of chairs were scattered about.

  Because we weren’t sure just what everyone’s problem with BabyJon was, I had prevailed upon Jessica to watch him for me during the whole Council thing.

  She’d protested—boy, had she protested, my ears were still ringing—but finally agreed. Good thing, too, because after last night I didn’t trust anyone out here to watch him, except maybe for Sara. And I didn’t like asking favors from someone I’d just met.

  I had dressed up for the occasion, as Sinclair had, in a knee-length black dress with a simple strand of pearls my mom had given me for my sweet sixteen. Manolo pumps in deep purple—they went with almost everything, especially black—completed the picture of a sophisticated vampire queen (ha!).

  “Perhaps we should discuss a plan in case things do not go our way this evening,” Sinclair murmured, his hand on the small of my back as we walked in.

  “Run like hell?” I suggested, and he grinned, whip-quick, there and gone almost before I could register the expression.

  Michael came forward to greet us, Jeannie right beside him as usual. “Hello, Betsy. Hello, Eric. Thank you for coming.”

  Sure, pal. Like we had a choice.

  “I’ll introduce you to the Council, and they’ll ask you some questions about what happened the night Antonia was killed.”

  “As you like,” Sinclair said politely.

  “Good luck,” a familiar voice said, and I turned and saw Sara, who looked ready to pop at any second. Extremely pregnant women make me nervous; it’s like hanging around a ticking time bomb. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Where’s the baby?”

  I started to answer, when Michael said, “What baby?”

  Seriously? He’d forgotten about BabyJon again? Okay, that was enough. Once this Council thing was taken care of, I was getting to the bottom of this. It was just too effing weird.

  “Never mind,” I said hurriedly before Sinclair, who looked decidedly bemused, could answer. “Can we just get going with this, please?”

  “Of course.” Michael gestured to two chairs, then turned on his heel and headed toward the front of the room. Derik materialized out of the crowd, said nothing to either of us, then grabbed Sara’s hand and away they went.

  I felt bad for him, to tell the truth. Grief was completely fucking him up—he was nothing like the easygoing blond fellow I had met earlier.

  Worse, I knew that kind of grief was at least half guilt. He’d never forgive himself for not being there to save her. For not making her feel wanted here, so she wouldn’t have moved away.

  “All right, everyone. Attention, please.” Michael didn’t need a microphone; his voice carried perfectly, and the murmuring died down at once. “We’re assembled here this evening to discuss the death of Antonia Wolfton, who left our territory on a quest to the Midwest and never returned.”

  Well, hell. Anything sounded bad when you put it that way.

  “Giving testimony tonight are Eric Sinclair and Elizabeth Taylor.” I mentally groaned when he said my full name, and tried to ignore the snickers from the crowd. I cursed my mother under my breath for the zillionth time.

  “They govern the vampire nation,” Michael continued, “and have agreed to appear before the Council.”

  One by one, Michael introduced the Council members to us. I was a little surprised that they were all women—except for Michael. Maybe werewolves had a more, what d’you call it—matriarchal society?

  Anyway, they ranged from middle-aged to elderly, all shapes and sizes. They took their seats at the big table up front, and the Q&A began.

  Chapter 35

  Dude, dude, dude.

  I’ve been all over the mansion. Every room, every closet, every inch of the basement and the attic. The garage. The grounds.

  I can’t find Tina anywhere.

  I don’t know what to do.

  I can’t call the cops, for any number of obvious reasons. “Well, Officer, the devil’s daughter has lost her mind, and is killing people who are already dead. She’s doing it to keep her sister, the queen of the vampires, safe. Oh, her sister isn’t here, she’s on Cape Cod explaining to a bunch of werewolves why one of their own was shot to death in this very house. Sorry, we never got around to filing a police report. So could you get right on this, please?”

  I can’t call Betsy or Sinclair or Jess . . . no cell service.

  Worse, I snuck out to buy one of those disposable phone cards, only to be intercepted by three—three—devil worshippers, who escorted me politely but firmly back to the mansion.

  I hadn’t realized she was spying on me. And dude, let me tell you—she’s got people everywhere. She’s even got one at Verizon—that’s the one who was making sure our cells went down and stayed down.

  Talking to Laura does no good at all. She just keeps giving me that big sweet smile and assuring me that everything she’d doing is for Betsy’s own good and really, maybe I should get more sleep because I seem awfully grumpy these days.

  I can’t call for help—Sinclair left the contact information with Tina.

  And nobody’s answering my e-mails.

  Short of hopping on a plane bound for Logan, renting a car, driving to the Cape, and hoping I stumble across Betsy, Sinclair, and/or a werewolf, I’m out of ideas.

  I even thought about nailing Laura with a trank, except I’m pretty sure one or more of her Satan-worshipping followers would slaughter me like a goat.

  As if things weren’t bad enough, my admittedly bizarre home situation is starting to affect my work performance . . . I tried to admit a five-year-old to the geriatric ward last night. And don’t even get me started on the poor woman who asked for the morning-after pill . . . I gave her a Tums.

  I cannot believe things have gotten so bad, so quickly.

  I’m out of ideas.

  Chapter 36

  I was sitting at the front of the room, in what would be the witness chair if this was a courtroom. The Council was sitting to my left. Sinclair was right across from me, about ten feet away.

  The room was jammed. Except for when Marc and I went to see Jim Gaffigan live, I’d never seen so many people in one place.

  They were all perfectly silent. I could practically feel them all listening hard. It was like there were flies walking around in the back of my brain.

  Through dumb luck I caught Sara’s gaze and she smiled at me and nodded. If she’d been one of them, I might have taken some comfort from that. Well, at least there were two people in here who didn’t want me to drop dead on the spot.

  “And then what happened, Mrs. Sinclair?”

  Oh, God, I’d almost forgotten the worst part. They were calling me Mrs. Sink Lair! Would the horror never end?

  “Well,” I said, ignoring my husband’s grin, “we didn’t know that the bad guy’s son was behind everything. So we came back to the house and he was waiting for us. None of us saw him in time. He . . . uh . . .”

  I stared down at my hands. “He was a cop. And he had a gun, of course. I think it was a .357.”

  “You’re familiar with firearms, Mrs. Sinclair?”

  “Yeah. My mom started taking me hunting with her when I was twelve.”

  “Very well. Please go on.”

  “Well. Like I said, nobody saw him in time. But then Antonia shoved me, really hard. I didn’t—I didn’t see her get shot. I just heard the shots. I think he emptied the gun into her. It was at least five shots for sure. And she—Antonia, I mean—she—uh—”

  I clapped my hands over my eyes and told myself I wouldnotwouldnotwouldnot cry in front of these strangers, no chance, no way, ain’t gonna happen.

  So I burst into tears and said, “I didn’t even know who was shot until I rolled her over. I thought—she was a werewolf and I thought you needed s-silver bullets or s-something like that, but
she was just dead. There was blood and the stink of gunpowder, and we were all stuck in the hallway—there w-wasn’t anywhere for us to g-go.”

  “That is quite enough.” Sinclair was on his feet, his voice lashing through the ballroom like a whip. “My wife doesn’t answer to the Council, or anyone here. Neither do I. We are here simply as a courtesy.”

  “It’s fine, Sinclair,” I said, which was just about the biggest lie ever. It was far from fine. But it was almost over. “There isn’t much else.”

  “What happened to the man who shot at you?”

  “He killed himself. Tucked the gun under his chin and pulled the trigger.” I suddenly remembered a detail I’d managed to repress. “He used twenty-two longs.”

  The Council looked blank. I reminded myself that werewolves probably didn’t have much to do with guns. “Those are special bullets that ricochet around inside a person for maximum damage, but they won’t go through walls and kill an innocent bystander.”

  “Charming,” one of the Council members muttered.

  “And then what?” The head of the Council—the one who was asking most of the questions—seemed nice enough. Matronly, sort of. A headful of gray curly hair, big brown eyes. Laugh lines. And bifocals! I didn’t know werewolves needed glasses.

  “Then—then nothing. Antonia was dead. The bad guy was dead. So I called Michael and—and you know the rest.”

  “Why did you involve Antonia in vampire politics?”

  “Involve her?” I asked blankly. “Involve her?” A shrill giggle burst out of me before I could squash it. “So, you never actually met Antonia, huh?”

  There was an amused rustling from the assembled crowd, but I didn’t score any points with the Council, who scowled at me as one.

  “I only meant that Antonia did whatever the hell she liked. She wasn’t afraid of anything, and she didn’t take shit from anybody. Especially after she was able to change into a wolf during the—”

  “What?” The Council spoke as one (creepy!) and there was an excited murmuring from the crowd.

  The head cleared her throat, and the room hushed. “Mrs. Sinclair—”

  “Please call me Betsy.”

  “Mrs. Sinclair, Antonia was a hybrid.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Meaning she couldn’t change into a wolf. She had other gifts.”

  “Yeah, I know, she could tell the future. But see, she got kidnapped a while ago by a murderous librarian and when I rescued her and my husband—except he wasn’t my husband then—I accidentally fixed it so she could change.”

  Dead silence.

  “Uh . . . so can I go now?”

  “You ‘fixed it so she could change’?” the head of the Council asked, looking stunned. “What do you mean?”

  “I—you know. I fixed it.” How could I explain something I didn’t understand myself? It seemed like I discovered a new weird power every other month.

  I heard someone clear his throat, and then Michael was standing. “Mrs. Sinclair is quite correct. Antonia and I spoke frequently on the phone, and she explained to me that she was now able to change, thanks to the intervention of the vampire queen. In fact, Antonia was never happier in her life than she was in the final months with the Sinclairs.”

  My grip tightened on the arms of the chair as the room burst into noisy gabbling. Was this good for me or bad for me? I glanced at Sinclair, who simply raised his eyebrows at me. Fat lot of help he was.

  “Michael, why didn’t you bring this up while she was still alive?”

  “Why?” I snapped. “So you could welcome her back now that she wasn’t a freak in your eyes?”

  “Mrs. Sinclair, no one is speaking to you right now.”

  “Too fucking bad. You guys aren’t fooling anybody , you know. Pretty much everyone here made it clear they didn’t want her around, so she left. Now she’s dead, and you’re trying to make it my fault, or my husband’s . . . anybody but the Pack’s. Meanwhile you’re playing the blame game while Antonia rots in her grave. And for what? So you don’t feel bad? So you can make me feel bad? Trust me, nothing anyone says here today is going to hurt me more than I’ve hurt myself. You can’t punish me more than I’ve punished myself.”

  Sinclair was nodding solemnly, as if listening to something both wise and wonderful, but his hand was up, covering his mouth so no one could see him smile.

  There was that feeling of flies in my brain again, and it took me a second to realize what was wrong. Before, the Pack had viewed me as an annoyance, a blundering idiot who’d gotten one of their family killed. Now they were seeing me as an active threat . . . who’d gotten one of their family killed.

  Was this good for me, or bad for me?

  The way my luck was going? Please. So, so bad for me.

  Chapter 37

  Betsy, you have to have to have to come home! Laura has LHDM! Quit dicking around on the Cape and CHRTM!

  “You’re right,” Jessica said, squinting at the printout of Marc’s latest gabble. “It’s pretty incomprehensible.”

  “I’m not answering him until he writes like a grown man instead of a thirteen-year-old girl. He knows how I feel about all the silly e-mail faux-netiquette garbage. And, hello? I’ve only got about fifty bigger problems to worry about.”

  “Yeah, I know. So finish already! You told the Council that you gave Antonia more superpowers than she already had, and then what?”

  “Then they decided to call it a night. I’m supposed to answer more questions later.”

  “Later, when? Tonight’s the full moon.”

  “I know. I guess tomorrow night, maybe. Or—wait. Isn’t the full moon usually for a couple of days?”

  Jessica, who had been walking beside me down the beach, stopped and stared at me. I shifted BabyJon to my other arm and faced the dragon: “What? Something’s on that so-called mind of yours. Spit it out.”

  “This is crap, Betsy,” she said, kindly enough. “You’ve done everything they’ve asked. You did everything you could for poor Antonia, and then some. But because they found out you’re a lot stronger than they ever imagined, they’re assuming you can just hang out until they have everything settled their way? Bullshit.”

  “So, what? We leave before they’re satisfied? How does that fix anything?”

  “I don’t know, but I sure don’t like how you’re letting them push you around.”

  “Well, they do sort of outnumber me seventy thousand to one.”

  “That’s worldwide. There can’t be more than three thousand on the Cape.”

  “Much better odds,” I said glumly.

  “Look, that’s part of the reason I had to break up with Nick—”

  I moaned and covered my eyes. “Something else to hate myself for.”

  “Oh, just stop it,” she scolded. “I don’t blame you—even if he does—and he made his choice.”

  “Yeah, but—don’t you miss him?”

  “Every day,” she replied quietly. “But letting him stay in my life was going to cost too much. Even for me.”

  “I wish . . .” I trailed off. “I don’t know. I wish for everything, I guess.”

  “You can’t tell me Sinclair is fine with all of this.”

  “No, he’s pissed. I mean, he got pissed during some of the questioning. Then he thought the rest of it was funny.”

  “Your husband is a whack job.”

  “Tell me. But that’s not even my biggest problem right now.”

  “Split ends?” Jessica inquired.

  “Shut your cake hole.”

  “Ah, cake. That reminds me, I missed lunch today.”

  “Can you stay focused, please?”

  “Sorry, forgot—only for a minute—that everything’s about you all the time.”

  “I’ve mentioned my deep hatred for you, right?”

  “Twice today.”

  “What I’d like to know is what’s the deal with my brother?” I patted BabyJon on his diapered rump; sunset was about half an hour awa
y. “Derik acts like BabyJon’s head can spin all the way around, and Michael keeps forgetting I even brought a baby! Something is rotten in Hallmark.”

  “Denmark.”

  “Right.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Betsy, because I know you love him, but he is the spawn of the Ant and your dad. Who knows what twisted up his DNA?”

  “That’s fair enough,” I admitted. We were slowly making our way from the beach to the mansion. “Especially when you consider the Ant’s other kid.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Laura that getting laid wouldn’t cure.”

  I started laughing so hard I nearly dropped the baby. “That’s quite enough about my siblings from you,” I said, trying (and failing) to sound stern.

  “Somebody’s got to help you keep it real.”

  “Nobody’s said ‘keep it real’ for about five years.”

  We walked through the front door and into the large receiving hall, and I still wasn’t used to the immensity that was Wyndham Manor. It made our place in St. Paul look like an RV. I was about to comment on that to Jess when I noticed a bunch of people running toward us.

  I instinctively clutched the baby—What now, for God’s sake?—only to see them run straight past us.

  “Betsy, oh my God! Look!”

  I spun and looked. A kid—twelve? thirteen?—was falling, oh my God, he was actually falling from the third-level landing, headed straight for the marble floor. I thrust BabyJon at Jessica, but it was too late and the poor kid hit the floor with an awful, wet smack.

  Chapter 38

  Call an ambulance!” I screamed as a ring of adults surrounded the boy. “He’s—what the hell?”

  He was growling. At least three adults went reeling backward, and I saw a blurred face, lots of white teeth, a snarl of fur.

  And the sounds, dear God, the sounds! It was the noise you’d hear coming from a slaughterhouse. Or if a cat was tossed into a pack of wild dogs. It was chilling; it was terrifying.

  Suddenly Jeannie was there, hauling Jessica and me back by our elbows. “You need to go,” she said firmly. “Now.” She was practically carrying us; our heels were dragging across the floor. “Right now!”