Undead and Unpopular u-5

by Maryjane Davidson

  “We can leave,” another vampire said silkily.

  “Great! Don't let the heavy cherry doors hit your bloodsucking asses on the way—”

  “Perhaps we can reschedule,” Sinclair interrupted. “Given recent events.”

  I glared at him. “Fuck rescheduling.”

  “Such American charm,” Alonzo began, “but if I might correct Her Majesty on a point of etiquette—”

  “Thanks, I'm sure I'd find it fascinating, not; and also, in case you missed the memo, I don't take etiquette tips from murderers.”

  The dark pools of his eyes narrowed. “I will only take so much insolence, even from a supposed queen.”

  I rolled up the sleeves of my special, Garrett-​knitted, baby blue sweater. “Hey, you wanna go? Let's go. But you won't be picking on a kid waitress this time.”

  “If Your Majesties wish us to leave”—another vampire—Don? David?—“then of course we—”

  “What a shame,” Tina interrupted politely as she entered the room with a tray of teas and wines. It was as if she had heard the entire conversation—and of course, her ears were good enough that she probably had. She promptly set the tray down on the coffee table and rubbed her hands together. “It seems these drinks will go to waste. But not every diplomatic mission succeeds at first, am I right? This one may take a bit of extra time.”

  “If you have a spare decade.” Jessica smirked from her chaise longue. I couldn't tell if she was happier to see these vampires leave, or to see me fail. Either way, the way she blatantly ignored Eric's advice annoyed me.

  “Please come with me, ladies and gentlemen,” Tina motioned out of the parlor. “You can get back to your hotel all right? Do you require transportation?”

  “Possibly off the tip of my foot?” I asked, dodging as Sinclair reached for me again.

  They all stood and bowed. I had never seen sarcastic bows before. Asshats. Then they trailed after Tina like the pack of dogs I was beginning to think they were.

  “Not exactly the Yalta Conference of 1945,” Sinclair spat. I couldn't decide if he was looking at me with deep sympathy, or fathomless disappointment.

  Chapter 5

  I popped a new piece of strawberry Bubblicious into my mouth and chewed frantically. Like constant tea-​gulping and daily manicures, this was one of the many ways I tried to distract myself from the near-​constant urge to drink blood.

  Come to think of it, tea wasn't a bad idea right now. And Tina's tray was still there, so I got started.

  “What are we going to do?” I cried, chomping and gulping and examining my nails. “We can't let him get away with it. Poor Sophie.”

  Sinclair was rubbing his temples the way he did when he felt a migraine coming on. No doubt, my actions were blameless in this case. “Elizabeth, where to begin. First, Alonzo is under your protection as much as Dr. Trudeau is. Second, he's a member of a very powerful faction—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. We have to play nice.”

  “More than that,” he said quietly. “We must determine if they are a threat to us. Rather, how large a threat.”

  “What?”

  Sinclair was prowling around the (second) parlor like a leashed tiger. “As you probably donot recall—”

  “Hey!”

  “—they came by to pay their respects, but they took their time. You and I have been in power for a year.”

  I slumped lower on the couch. “Don't remind—wait. You think they should have stopped by sooner?”

  “I know they should have. Taking this long is a borderline insult.”

  “They wanted to see if you guys could keep the top spot?” Jessica guessed, getting up from her chaise longue long enough to sample some of the wine Tina had brought in.

  Sinclair and Tina nodded. Their nods were so hypnotic, I almost nodded myself.

  “I believe I convinced them of my staying power when I visited them last summer,” Sinclair was droning, “and certainly, I was able to avoid a coup at the time—”

  “Thanks again,” I said brightly.

  “But now they're here. Ostensibly to pay their respects.”

  “But maybe to see if we've got what it takes,” I said.

  “Exactly.”

  “Well.” I hated saying anything nice or close to nice about the Euro-​asses, but still… “They're here now. Right?”

  “They're probably still in town, somewhere,” Tina muttered. “And I don't know thatborderline insult is the right phrase, Eric.”

  “One thing at a time. What are we going to do to Alonzo, on Sophie's behalf?” I asked.

  “What do you propose we do to him?” Sinclair replied.

  “Huh.” That was a stumper. Execute him in cold blood? Spank him? Banish him? Lock him in a room with Sophie and let her finish what she tried to start? “Huh,” I said again.

  “Can you evendo anything? I mean, all respect to Sophie, but Alonzo killed her… what? Over a hundred years ago? Way before you guys were on the scene. And like they said—it's what vampires do. Not you, Betsy. But you know.” Jessica sounded as doubtful as I felt. “Can you punish him for hurting someone decades before you were born?”

  “A thorny problem,” Sinclair admitted. “I have to admit, one rarely faced. Often, a vampire sired by another either joins forces with that elder, or completely ignores the connection. Many, in fact, do not even remember their sire. Sophie does not fall into any of these three categories.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Darling, no one can understand you with that wad in your mouth.”

  I had made the huge mistake of trying to blow a bubble, and now it felt like yards of gum were tangled around my teeth. I fingered the chunk at the back of my mouth, glared at Sinclair, and tried to look both authoritative and sympathetic, all at once. “We gotta talk to Sophie again,” I mumbled. “And the Europeans, I guess. We can't just leave it like this.”

  “We will,” Sinclair promised, but for once, he looked like he didn't have a clue what to do. As frightening as Sophie's breakdown had been, watching him now actually made me feel worse.

  Chapter 6

  “So I'm meeting Dr. Sophie here to try and talk this whole thing out.” I took a sip of my daiquiri. “What. A disaster.”

  It was the next evening; my sister Laura Goodman and I were having drinks at my nightclub, Scratch. It was finally running in the black, which had taken some doing, believe me. Vampire nightclubs were awful—blood-​drinking, rapacious murder, disco. I had literally killed to get the clientele to behave.

  At least I had a little money left at the end of each month now—I didn't need it, but every girl likes to have a little independent income of her own.

  Laura nodded sympathetically. A real bear for sympathy, was Laura. She was a precious-​looking lanky blonde with sky blue eyes and a flawless complexion. Long lashes shadowed her eyes and her pretty mouth was turned down in a frown as she considered my problem. She smelled, as she always did, like sugar cookies. She used vanilla extract as perfume. It was an idea I was toying with myself. Not vanilla, but something else out of the pantry. Lemon zest? Paprika?

  Laura was my half sister by my father. Her other parent was the Devil. Yes, I do mean that literally. Long story. She was a sweet-​looking cutie-​pie with a lethal left hook and a murderous temper. The beast only showed about one time in a hundred; but when it did, enemies died.

  “She's coming here tonight?”

  “Yeah.” I checked my watch. “Any minute. And what the hell am I going to say to her?”

  As my eyes wandered around the bar, I noticed all of the vampires in here with us looked tense. Like I cared. I had bigger problems, and if vampires came to the Queen's club because they were too scarednot to, it was a nice damn change.

  Of course, they might be afraid of Laura—she'd killed a number of them a couple of months ago. In this very nightclub—why, right over there. She was quite good at it.

  I guess that sounded cold, and I didn't mean to be. I tried to tre
at vampires like everybody else. I really did. They wouldn't let me. It was just—why did so many of them have to be such unrepentant murderous assholes?

  Case in point: Alonzo. He didn't evenremember killing Sophie at first. Bad enough to be murdered, but to have your killer be so thoughtless and casual about it?

  “I'm sure you'll think of something,” Laura said, which was nice, if totally unhelpful. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “Well, it's just that this is, uh, Sophie's private business. I just wanted to explain why we couldn't hang together tonight, even though we made plans.”

  “That's all right,” she said at once. “I'll go to the evening service instead.”

  I finished my drink. “Back at church again?” Thank goodness. Her attendance had been off since I first met her, and I was starting to think I was a really shitty influence. Although, as Jessica pointed out, Laura could have a lot worse habits than occasionally skipping the nine o'clock service. Freebasing cocaine was the example she'd used.

  Laura looked hurt. “I only missed a few times.”

  “Right, right. Honey, I'm in no position to judge.” I couldn't remember the last time I'd attended church services, although nothing about my vampire-​ness prevented me from doing so now. Crosses, holy water, Christmas trees—none of that stuff could hurt me. “I was just. You know. Commenting.”

  “Well, I'd better go before your friend gets here.” She rose, bent, kissed me carelessly on the cheek. “We'll reschedule, yes?”

  “You bet. Say hi to your folks for me.”

  “I will. Say hi to my—to your folks, too.” Oh, sure. My stepmother, who'd given birth to Laura while possessed by the devil and then callously dumped her in a hospital waiting room, and my father, who had no clue Laura existed. I'd get right on that. Then I'd cure cancer and give all my shoes to charity. I watched her go. I wasn't the only one. Clearing my throat loudly enough to be heard, I glared at the guys scoping my sister's ass until they all went back to their drinks. Sure, the package was nice, but it was the inside that concerned me. Not only was Laura the Devil's daughter, she was prophesied to take over the world. Her way of rebelling against her mother was to be sweet, andnot take over the world. Which was a good thing.

  But we all wondered if—and when—she'd crack under the pressure.

  As she marched out, Sophie marched in, ignoring the surly hostess and zooming in on my table like a Scud missile. She stood over me with her arms crossed and said, “Is he dead yet?”

  “I forgot how you take your coffee,” I replied, not terribly surprised. I mean, after last night, I'd had an idea how our little meeting would go. “Besides, you could probably use a drink.”

  She plunked down in the seat next to me. “I fed earlier,” she said absently. “Liam insisted.”

  “I meant like a martini or something.”

  “In fact,” she went on like I hadn't spoken, which was very unlike her—she was usually the soul of French courtesy, “I had to persuade him to let me come here alone. He may have followed me anyway. He—he is most cross. As am I.”

  “Honey, I was there. Iknow you're pissed. And I feel shitty about it. I really, really do. I'm open to options. What can we do?”

  “Hand me his head.”

  “See, that's just not helpful. You've got to workwith me, Sophie.”

  She didn't smile. “With all respect, Majesty, if you are unable—or unwilling—to assist me, then I see no point to this meeting.”

  “The point is, I'm upset that you're upset and I wanted to talk to you about it. Come on, we'll figure out a compromise.”

  “Majesty.” She speared me with her gaze. “There can be no compromise.”

  I made listless water circles on the table with my glass. “That's the spirit.”

  “I am not… blind to your position. But you must understand mine. He foully murdered me and must not get away with it.”

  “Well if you, uh, think about it, if he hadn't killed you, you never would have come toAmerica or met Liam or any of that stuff. Made a new life.”

  “I had to make a new life,” she said as if speaking to a child—a mean, dumb child—“becausehe stole my old one.”

  “Yup, yup, I hear you.”

  “I understand your hands may be tied politically.” She smiled thinly. “I am, after all, French.”

  I laughed.

  “But understand me: if you cannot act, I will.”

  “See, uh.” I picked up my empty glass, fiddled with it, put it down. “You, uh, can't do that. I mean, I forbid it. Now, I know it—”

  I was talking to air. She had gotten up and zoomed to the door so quickly I couldn't track. Vampires sometimes seemed all legs to me—it was like they could take one step and be across the room.

  “Hey, you can't do that!” I yelled after her. “I've given you an order! I've decreed! You can't ignore a decree! You'll cause all kinds of trouble! Sophie! I know you can still—what areyou looking at?”

  The vampire at the next table, a skinny blond fellow with a mustache right out of the 1970s, was unabashedly staring. “I like your shoes,” he practically stammered.

  Mollified, I waved the approaching hostess away.

  Guy needed a shave, but he had taste. I was wearing my usual spring outfit of tan capris, a white silk T-​shirt, and a wool blazer, but I was shod in truly spectacular tan suede Constança Basto slingbacks. Five hundred forty-​nine dollars, retail. An early birthday gift from me to me. Sinclair, that sneak—ithad to be him—kept tucking hundred-​dollar bills into the toes of my pumps, and I had quite the Shoe Fund by now.

  I crossed my legs and pointed my toe, an old trick that called attention to my (if I do say so myself—there weresome advantages to being a six-​foot-​tall dork) good legs. “Thanks,” I said.

  “I have something for you,” Nineteen Seventies said, reaching under the table, and coming back up with—ugh—a muzzled toy poodle. It was wriggling like a worm on a hot sidewalk and making little burbling noises around the muzzle.

  “Get that away from me,” I almost yelled. I wasn't a dog person. I especially wasn't a fan of dogs that only weighed as much as a well-​fed lab rat.

  Nineteen Seventies enfolded the curly, trembling creature into his bony arms. “I thought you liked dogs,” he said, sounding wounded.

  “They like me,” I retorted. Another unholy power—dogs followed me everywhere, slobbering and yelping. Cats ignored me. (Cats ignore everybody, even the undead. There's something Egyptian in all of that.) “Idon't like them. Will you put that thing back in your pocket?”

  “Sorry. I thought—I mean, I came here with a boon because—”

  “A boon? Like a present? I don't want any presents. Or boon. Consider me boonless. She Without Boon. And if Idid want a boon—which I don't—I'd rather have some Jimmy Choos.”

  He nodded to someone else at the bar, a short brunette with disturbingly rosy cheeks, and she rose, came over, got Sir Yaps aLot , and discreetly vanished into a back room somewhere.

  “Jeepers,” Nineteen Seventies said. “I guess I messed it up all the way around.”

  “Messedwhat up?”

  “Well…” He stroked his mustache, a loathsome habit I had no intention of sticking around long enough to break him of. “Everybody says that if I'm in town, this is the place I have to come. And that it's best to, you know, spend a lot of money here and all that.”

  “Oh.” Who was “everybody”? The all-​vampire newsletter one of the local undead librarians put out? Street gossip? My mother? What? “Well…”

  This was my chance to say, don't sweat it, my good man. I'm just an ordinary gal, not a dictator-​for-​life asshole like Nostro was. You don't have to do anything—just try to keep your nose clean. You certainly don't have to come to my bar. But thanks anyway.

  “Drink up,” is what Idid say, and sure, I felt a little crummy about it, but hey, everybody's got to make a living.

  Chapter 7

  I groaned when I pulled into
my driveway. It wasn't even nine o'clock and the whole evening was crumbling apart. I hated how things had gone with Sophie—and what was I going to do if she disobeyed me? “Disobeyed,” ha! Even the word was silly. Everybody said I was the queen, but in my head, I was still Betsy Taylor, shoe fashionista and part-​time temp worker. It had been almost a year since the Aztek had creamed me, but it still felt like about two days.

  Meanwhile, there was a Ford Escort in my driveway, one that smelled like chocolate. Detective Nick Berry, Jessica's new boyfriend.

  Marc's beat-​up Stratus was parked next to it. Lucky Marc, he'd missed all the excitement the night before, but it looked like he was on days again for a while.

  And a rental car—a Cadillac, no less. The Europeans were back.

  It took a long moment for me to open the door of my car. I damn near put the engine in reverse and got the hell out of there.

  In the end, I got out and trudged into the mansion. Where was I supposed to go, anyway? This was home.

  I zeroed in on the conversation—the third parlor, the one that took up a good chunk of the first floor. I could hear Marc squawking like a surprised goose: “Whaaaaa?”

  I hurried down the dimly lit hallway.

  “You guyssaw Dorothy Dandridge?” he was saying as I entered the parlor. He was delighted and surprised, jumping up on the couch cushions like Tom Cruise with a boner. “You saw her live, on stage?”

  “Yes, on a visit toNew York City .” Alonzo was watching Marc like an amused cat. He was sleek and cool in a black suit, black shirt, black socks and shoes. I didn't know the brand—men's shoes all look the same to me. His were spotless and polished to a high gloss, the bows in the laces perfectly tied. “She was wonderful—a joy.”

  “It was the last time I saw you,” Sinclair commented, “before last year.” He was more casually dressed—an open-​throated shirt, dark slacks. Shoeless and sockless. This was a message, I knew, one for Alonzo:I'm not worried enough about you to dress up .

  “Correct, Majesty,” Tina said courteously. “We left for the West Coast right after.”