Undead and Unwelcome

by Davidson, MaryJanice

  “I, uh, wanted to apologize,” Derik said stiffly. “About before.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I do have to, not least because if I don’t, it’ll get me in trouble with my wife.”

  I laughed. “When is she due?”

  “Any second.”

  “Yeesh.” I’ve mentioned hugely pregnant women make me nervous, right? “Well, good luck with all of that.”

  “I wanted to tell you that the Council is satisfied with your testimony and thanks you for your cooperation.”

  I was silent. I wasn’t the smartest woman in the world, but even I could smell Derik all over that one. Sometime today, when he woke up with two legs instead of four, he had fixed things with the Council.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’m glad you—I’m glad the Council is satisfied.”

  “On a more personal note,” Michael said, giving me the friendliest smile I’d ever seen, “my home and my lands are open to you and your husband anytime. I hope you’ll come to see us again soon.”

  “Oh. Well, thanks.” “Thanks” seemed big-time inadequate, but it was all I could come up with.

  Poof! Just like that, our troubles were over. It was hard to believe that we could just pick up and leave without werewolf repercussions.

  Sinclair rapped politely, then came into the room and handed me a hard copy of one of Marc’s e-mails. It was such a disaster it actually hurt my brain to look at it.

  Betsy!

  CBN grrrl Laura’s LHM and IDKWTD!!!!! Please you have to GYBBH ASAP! I am so not LOLing right now please please come!

  “It’s the same message over and over.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Who can make heads or tails of this? Maybe we should call him.”

  “I have been. Nobody answers . . . and I can’t reach Tina.”

  Huh. That was odd. Tina was available to Sinclair at all times.

  Derik peeked over my shoulder. “Holy crap. You’d better get going.”

  “What?” I looked at the gibberish. “You mean you actually understand this mess?”

  “You mean you don’t? ‘Come back now, girl. Laura’s lost her mind and I don’t know what to do. Please, you have to get your butt back home as soon as possible! I am so not laughing out loud right now. Please, please come!’ ”

  There was a short silence as Sinclair and I locked gazes. He looked as horrified as I felt.

  “Oh my God. Oh my—get Jessica. Get the baby. We have to go right now—oh my God, what’s she done? Did she lose it and kill Tina?”

  “You’ve got trouble at home,” Michael said, not wasting our time with silly questions. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

  “I’ll come with you, if you want,” Derik offered.

  “No, that’s—that’s okay. I mean, thanks and everything, but you stay here with your wife. Sinclair, Jessica’s got to call Cooper and get the plane ready.” I was dashing around the room, scooping up clothes and flinging them in the general direction of one of the suitcases.

  “I’ve got some people at the airport,” Michael said. “I’ll call ahead and make sure you’re not unnecessarily delayed.”

  “Great. That’s great. Okay, let’s—damn! I almost forgot.”

  “Forgot what?”

  “Your mom says not to name your daughter after her.”

  “My—what?”

  “Your mom.”

  “My mom’s been dead for twenty—”

  “I know. But that doesn’t change the fact that she doesn’t want another Theodocia running around in the world.”

  That was how we left Antonia’s best friend and the Pack leader: amazed and staring after us.

  Chapter 45

  I wasn’t sure how Cooper had managed to shave thirty-five minutes off our flight time, and I didn’t want to know. Sinclair’s car was waiting on the tarmac for us when we landed, and the four of us piled in and took off.

  Sinclair made that car move, getting us to the mansion in record time. Before we could even get to the front door, it was yanked open and Marc was framed in the doorway.

  “It’s about damned time!”

  “If you wrote your emergency messages in English, we would have been back three days ago. Where’s Laura? Where’s Tina? What’s going on?”

  “I haven’t seen Tina in days. I think Laura might have done something.”

  We followed him through the house. “What’s she been doing?”

  “You might as well see for yourself. Because even I don’t believe it, and I’ve seen it.”

  He stiff-armed the door to the parlor, which swung open.

  Sinclair, Jessica, and I stared at the goings-on.

  He was right. I didn’t believe it.

  Chapter 46

  The parlor was packed with people in dark hooded robes. Laura was standing at the front of the room, holding a clipboard.

  “Okay, then after you take care of the two vampires who got away last night, I need some of you back here. I was able to intercept a call to the house—I guess some vampires from Maine are on their way to pay tribute.” Laura shook her head. “Blasphemy. Then we’ll—”

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Laura glanced up, startled, and instead of looking ashamed or scared or sad, she looked delighted. “Betsy! Thank goodness you’re back. I’ve got so much to tell you.”

  “Why,” I demanded, “are you meeting with monks in our house in the middle of the night?”

  “Those aren’t monks,” Marc sighed. “They’re devil worshippers.”

  “Devil—” I suddenly realized what was going on. They were confusing Laura with her mother. But why would Laura have anything to do with—

  “Laura,” Sinclair said in a calm tone that didn’t fool me at all, “where is Tina?”

  “Oh, I had to get her out of the way,” Laura said with Bambi-like sincerity. “She would have tried to stop me. But I’m being rude. Everybody, this is my sister, Betsy, and her husband, Sin—”

  “We don’t need intros!” I snapped. “We need to find out where Tina is.” Not to mention when you lost your mind.

  “I’m in a meeting right now,” she said in a scolding mommy voice. “I don’t—”

  I hauled one of the robed morons to his—his? yep, it was a guy—feet and tossed him away. He bounced off the wall like he was a SuperBall, hands clapped to his face as his nose gushed blood.

  “I want you athholth out of my houth!”

  “Protect the Beloved of the Morningstar!” some other hooded freak yelled, and just like that, I had my hands full.

  Chapter 47

  Dude,

  Thank God, thank God, thank God, Betsy finally came home and she brought the cavalry. I was torn between the urge to strangle her because she took so long, and hugging her because I was so relieved.

  Even better, they caught Laura practically red-handed, which was even better, because it saved a lot of time.

  Unfortunately, Laura not only wasn’t sorry, she wasn’t even defensive. She seemed proud and happy that she had found a way to “help” Betsy, and the more she talked about the vampires she and her minions had killed, the more pissed Betsy and Sinclair got.

  I’ve never been particularly scared of Betsy, but Sinclair was a whole different story. Even when he was pleasant, he could be sort of terrifying. And he wasn’t being pleasant now.

  I managed to haul Jessica aside and told her to get her ass out of here and take the baby with her—something fairly awful was about to happen, and I didn’t want either of them to get hurt.

  Jessica must have believed me, because she didn’t make so much as a token protest. Just picked up the diaper bag, the baby in the car seat, and left.

  Which left Laura, the devil worshippers, me, Betsy, and Sinclair. That’s when things started to get a little on the violent side.

  When Betsy shoved one of the devil worshippers she gave him a bloody nose, so her fangs popped (you can always tell—she lisps, which is hilarious under most cir
cumstances). And of course Laura felt obliged to protect her minion. Which is when the rest of them jumped us.

  I still couldn’t believe how quickly things had gone to shit. I should never have suggested to Laura that she find ways to work with the misguided morons who kept showing up.

  Everything was my fault.

  Chapter 48

  I had just enough time to grab Marc by the collar, ignore his surprised squawk, and bundle him into the closest closet. The poor guy looked ghastly—pale, with dark circles under his eyes and at least three days of stubble. Clearly he’d been under stress during our little sojourn to the Cape. And no wonder, with the devil’s daughter cracking up right under his nose.

  As usual, things were happening so quickly I was having trouble keeping up. Even as a bunch of jerks in hoods rushed me, Sinclair was there, knocking and shoving and punching them out of the way.

  Which left me free to—

  “Laura!”

  Her big blue eyes, wide, got even wider as I hit her around the thighs in a low tackle. I knocked her backward a good four feet, and she slammed, back first, into the far wall of the parlor.

  “Betsy, have you lost your mind?” Crazy Lady had the nerve to ask. “Get off !”

  “What’d you do with Tina, nut job?”

  “Oh, I like that! After everything I’ve done for you, you can’t even show me simple gratitude.”

  “Gratitude?” I almost gagged on the word. “Thank you for going crazy? For killing our subjects and maybe even our friend? I’d like to put your fucking head through a wall.”

  “Like this?” she asked brightly and, cat-quick, she wriggled free of me, seized a yank of my hair, and drove me face first into the wall.

  My face blew up. Or at least, that’s what it felt like. My nose was already dripping, and I was pretty sure there was a piece of wallpaper in one of my eyes.

  Will you get it together? You’re undead; she’s not. You’re stronger and faster; she’s not.

  As I reminded myself of essential facts of nature, Laura picked me up like a wolf with a cub and heaved me so hard I crashed through the wall and spilled into the next room.

  I shook splinters out of my hair, wiped the blood from my face, and reassessed the situation. Clearly, Laura had been keeping secrets. Or had never come up with a tactful way to explain she had superhuman strength.

  Which was my own fucking fault. She was the Antichrist, after all.

  I’d even seen the breakdown coming. I’d just kept conveniently shoving it out of my mind. It seemed like there was always something more important claiming my attention: killing the old vampire king, my wedding, catching serial killers, my wedding, catching a crooked cop, my wedding . . . and now I was paying the price.

  Worse, I wasn’t paying it alone.

  “After everything I’ve done for you,” Laura said reproachfully, standing and brushing bits of wall off her sweater. “Clearly the undead have been a terrible influence on you.”

  “And clearly your mother’s been one on you.”

  As soon as it was out, I wished I could take it back. Because right in front of my eyes, Laura’s mouth went thin and hard, and her hair turned red.

  Never a good sign.

  Chapter 49

  Dude,

  Betsy bundled me so efficiently and so quickly into the closet, I hardly had time to protest. And believe me, dude, the irony of me being back in the closet was not lost on me.

  I hammered on the door, wanting to help them any way I could, but she must have jammed the knob with a chair or something.

  Great. My friends were going to live or die ten feet from me, and I was helpless. I’d been helpless this entire week. No matter what I did, or tried, things just kept getting worse.

  I’d been so happy to see Betsy and Sinclair. Now I wished I’d kept my mouth shut and kept them far, far away.

  Chapter 50

  Think about what you’re doing, Laura.”

  “I told you never to speak of her around me.” She was striding forward and I was backing up—while trying to tell myself I wasn’t backing up. Laura’s hair went red when she was indulging a homicidal rage. My little sis definitely had a dark side.

  “Can’t we talk this through—oooooh!”

  This time I crashed, back first, into the fireplace. Luckily it was a mansion-sized fireplace, not the little ones you usually see in houses these days. The thing was big enough to roast a sheep in. Or a vampire.

  “All right, enough is fucking enough.” I crawled, coughing soot, out of the fireplace. “No more Mrs. Nice Guy. I’m not pulling any more—” That was as far as I got before I had to duck. Laura’s clenched fist whistled over my head and went right into the wall.

  She hissed in pain, yanked her hand free, and whipped around so fast she’d given me an eye-watering slap before I knew what was happening.

  “This isn’t striking you as just a little bit psychotic?” I asked. Too bad Laura wasn’t bleeding; I could really have used my fangs about now.

  “You’re the psychotic. Running around saving vampires instead of killing them, it’s nonsense.”

  “I’ve killed some vampires,” I whined.

  “I have been trying to save your soul.”

  We were stalking each other, circling warily. “My soul’s fine. But you need to be on medication.”

  I could hear tons of racket from the other room—Sinclair, taking on the thirty or so devil worshippers by himself. I couldn’t help him; I could only pray he wouldn’t get badly hurt.

  “I destroy evil, so I should be medicated?”

  “You’ve appointed yourself judge, jury, and executioner.”

  “They’re vampires!”

  “So am I. Are you going to kill me, too?”

  “No,” she said sulkily. “At least, I don’t think so.”

  “Laura, what’s wrong with you? What happened while we were gone?”

  “Marc gave me an epiphany.”

  “What is that, an STD?”

  She rolled her eyes. “He solved a big problem for me. He showed me the light.”

  “I’ll show you a light.” I seized her by the hair (cat fight!), yanked her down sharply, and brought my knee up into her nose, which broke with a soft crunch.

  Laura screamed. My sister was screaming. And bleeding. Here came my fangs—at the worst possible time. Just what Laura needed to see—a physical reminder that I was one of the evil beings she was trying to wipe off the planet.

  I brought my hand up to hide my lips. “Laura, I think if we dithcuth thith, we can—”

  Something bright swung toward me, something that shone like a small sun, something that hurt to look at. I ducked . . . and Laura’s Hellfire sword whistled over my head.

  Oh, this was getting better and better. First, the psychotic break. Then the red hair. Now her weapons. Laura could pull a sword, a crossbow, whatever, out of thin air and no matter what shape the weapon took, it was fatal to vampires.

  And their queen.

  Chapter 51

  Dude,

  The door actually split down the middle and, with judicious shoving, I freed myself . . . and promptly tripped over two unconscious devil worshippers.

  Sinclair was a whirl of activity; I could only get the occasional glimpse of him when he managed to knock a bad guy away from him. And I realized why the door had been broken—he’d thrown someone into it so hard, the flimsy closet door had cracked.

  I tried to figure out who to help. Calling the cops was out, for obvious reasons. Getting between Betsy and Laura would be a quick and painful way to commit suicide.

  So when a hooded jerk ran past me I caught him by the back of his robe, yanked him back, and smashed my elbow into the hinge of his jaw.

  “That’ll teach you to mess with a licensed physician,” I told the unconscious Satanist.

  Then I ran to see if I could give Sinclair a hand.

  Chapter 52

  I ducked again as her Hellfire sword whistled over my head, a
nd sidestepped so quickly I tripped over a chair. I was in such a hurry to scramble to my feet that for a few seconds I ran in place, like the Road Runner.

  Then I was up and backing away again.

  “You came back too soon,” Laura said, circling me. Her knuckles were white on the sword hilt. If my eyes could water, they would have. It was like she was holding the sun.

  “Tell me about it,” I retorted. And I thought I had problems on the Cape? Good God, I didn’t know what problems were. “I should have left BabyJon in charge.”

  “You never mind about him.”

  “Your mother infected him, too,” I said brightly as a wonderful idea came to me.

  “You shut up.”

  “Yep. He’s got demonic unholy powers—just like you!”

  “I said. Shut. Up.”

  “You know what they say . . . like mother, like dau—”

  She forgot about the sword and, the minute she wasn’t concentrating on it, it disappeared . . . back to hell, or whatever unholy armory her weapons came from.

  She hooked her long, slender fingers into claws and ran straight at me. They looked very long and very sharp. And pink! Blech.

  I managed to grab her by the wrists and keep her hands away from my face. Sure, it was a cliché, but she really was trying to dig her fingers into my eye sockets.

  We danced around in a tight, difficult circle, me holding on to her wrists for dear life—getting killed was one thing, but having my eyeballs clawed out was something else again—and her straining to mess up my pretty face in all sorts of nasty ways.

  “Can’t—we—just—get—along?” I managed.

  “You go to hell,” she snapped.

  “But I don’t want to see your mom anytime soon.”

  “Stop calling her that!”

  “Fine. I don’t want to see the fallen angel who gave you life. See? I didn’t use the M word.”

  She yanked me forward, which I wasn’t expecting, and gave me a savage head butt. Stars actually exploded behind my eyes and I sagged in her grip.

  Which is when she picked me up and threw me out the window.