by Mara
"You bitch."
"Yes, yes. Now. Let's discuss my first orders to you."
I dove at her. Well, the wall, as she neatly sidestepped. "Don't be tiresome," she snapped. "You won't best me. Sinclair is incapacitated, and without him by your side, you are a nothing. A typo. No one has been able to harm me for over five hundred years. You—ow."
I had punched her in the back and felt her ribs splinter. But fast as a snake, she'd gotten a grip on my arm and thrown me into the wall. I felt my nose break as it made brisk contact with the concrete.
I spun and slapped her so hard she staggered sideways, and I managed to avoid her elbow. I was going to kill this bitch twice. Not because she was a duplicitous cow. Not because she was trying to hurt and manipulate me. I was going to kill her for what she had done to him.
I heard a crunch as my knee broke, and I hobbled sideways, swiping at her with my good leg. With a grunt she went down, but before I could blink she was back on her feet, hoisting her sensible librarian skirt up and kicking me in the same knee that was still trying to grow back.
I shrieked and flung myself at her. I was bigger and managed to force her to the floor, then shrieked louder as her fist explored my spleen. I rolled away, fairly certain I was going to puke, then felt her on my back as she slammed my head against the wall.
"This is foolish," she said in my ear. "All you need do is fall in line, and we can get down to the business of governing the vampire nation properly."
I whipped my head back, smiling at the crunch of her nose breaking. I jerked an elbow back, but only caught air. I felt her hands on me, and she pushed, hard. My teeth broke as I hit the concrete again.
Hmm. Getting the shit kicked out of me was no fun at all. I bit back a howl as she twisted an arm so hard, it broke in two places.
(Elizabeth, get away.)
Shut up, Sinclair. I turned just in time to catch a librarian fist in the face, and there went more teeth. I coughed up blood and spat it right in her face.
"Oh, dear! Not . . . blood." She laughed at me and licked her lips, her fangs appearing like needles springing from her gums. I slapped her again, and she shook it off, then punched me in the gut. I bent, gagging, and she grabbed my head and twisted.
I just managed to get an arm up before she broke my neck, and we moved around the basement in a flailing dance. Then she stomped on my foot with her sensible soles, and I felt a few more bones break and lost my balance. I went down, and she was right on top of me.
She had both hands around my neck and was squeezing and yanking my head up and down. The squeezing didn't bother me so much (I didn't need the breath) but every time she slammed my head into the floor I heard another fracture. It sounded like someone was crunching ice in my ear. It hurt, and it was annoying.
Slam. Slam. Slam. I brought my legs up to wrap them around her neck, but she simply leaned forward and fractured my skull again. And things were getting a little dark in here. I didn't think it was the ambiance. Nope, she was killing me. I'd been stumbling around like an idiot since Sinclair disappeared, had the clue in front of me the whole time
(Go back to the beginning.)
finally figured out who the bad guy was, and for my trouble? She was kicking my ass sideways. It hurt like hell and was fairly humiliating.
"And to think—I thought—you'd be—reasonable." Bitch wasn't even out of breath! Each pause was punctuated by another head slam. I was getting killed by a scrawny suit-wearing woman with graying hair. And sensible shoes!
Black roses were blooming in front of my eyes, and all of a sudden things hurt less. Hmm. Stakes hadn't killed me, and neither had bullets. But if an older vampire did enough damage (particularly to my head), if an older vampire pretty much tore my freaking head off, it seemed that would do the trick. Fine way to find out.
It was all right, though. It really was. I'd been floundering around in the dark for so long, it seemed appropriate that things were going dark for real. She was right; I was no queen. Look how easy she'd led me by the nose, and for how long. Heck, she'd been able to fool Sinclair!
(Elizabeth, get away. Run!)
Easy for him to say; he was napping in a nice comfy coffin.
No, it was probably for the best. My dad was dead, practically by my own hand. I'd probably have screwed up Babyjon beyond repair. Antonia had apparently gone completely nuts from the stress of being locked up most of the week. God knew what state poor Garrett was in. Jessica was a goner—you only had to look at the weight dropping off her to see it. And Sinclair—
If this bitch killed me, he was dead meat.
If this bitch killed me, there was no stopping her from hurting anyone she liked. My family. My friends. Sinclair.
The back of my head was sticky with blood; it was running down my face. I had a hundred broken bones; three of my ribs were gone. Not broken. Gone. Blood was draining from me. I had never been so . . .
hungry?
. . . in my life. Never. I needed to drink, and I couldn't. I needed to live, and I wouldn't. But Marjorie had power and energy to spare; the most I'd been able to inflict on her were defense wounds.
Marjorie had power and energy to spare.
Marjorie.
I reached for her. Not with my hands. Not with my teeth. With my mind. Even as everything faded to black I could sense her energy, her strength, and I grabbed for it like a fat kid grabbed for pie. And just like a fat kid, my chubby mental fingers crushed her tinfoil skin, and my chubby mental eyes gleamed at the crumbling, steaming crust.
"Unh," I heard her grunt. She let go of me, her head tossing in confusion. Something had a hold of her and wasn't letting go. I rolled over to see who it was.
There was no one else there. But that didn't matter, because just seeing her like this was making me feel a bit stronger. The black blooms vanished, and I could see again. Her limbs thrashed as the chubby, pie-loving child inside of me poked at her to see what kind of fruit filling was inside.
Mmmmm. Blood pie.
Without touching her, I began to drink.
She screamed and fell to her knees.
No one else is doing it, I realized with more alacrity as the blood rushed into my system. Just the Queen. The Queen of the Fucking Vampires. Her Queen. And her Queen requires her goddamn, fucking obedience. She has something, I need it, it's mine.
Mine!
The darling pie-loving child was gone now. I split her open with my mind, grabbed for her, and pulled everything she had into me.
Her suit emptied—the blood first, then the shriveling muscles, then the flaying bits of dried skin, and then the billions of splinters of bone.
By the time I was done, I was standing tall over a librarian's suit, a librarian's sensible shoes, and about twenty grams of dust. I felt absolutely fine.
In fact, I had never felt fucking better in my life.
Chapter 37
Power slammed through me, and , I screamed. Well, not so much screamed as roared. I felt energy running through my spine like a waterfall; the overload of good was becoming worse than the beating. I staggered away from Marjorie's remains and nearly fell into Sinclair's coffin. I grabbed him and poured some of the new strength I had into him; it was either get rid of it or blow up.
Even as he stirred; grew younger, grew strong, sat up, it wasn't enough, I was still going to blow.
I stumbled away from Sinclair, kicked Marjorie's things (and probably a bit of old Marjorie, too, poor thing) out of the way, and reached for Antonia through the bars and poured more of it into her.
I was not entirely sure what I was doing and yet wasn't even shocked when Antonia screamed again, a scream that turned into a howl. She dropped to all fours, sprouted dark brown fur, and then an enraged werewolf was howling at the ceiling and tearing at the bars with her teeth.
No fair! I thought. You're not supposed to be allowed to do that. Rule breaker!
"Elizabeth!" Someone was shaking me. "Elizabeth! Whatever you're doing, stop it! It's too much, yo
u're—"
Through blurred vision I saw Antonia-the-wolf tear through the bars with her teeth and wondered vaguely what the hell a werewolf's teeth were made of. Titanium? In no time at all she'd torn or pulled a big enough hole through the bars and wormed through, then attacked the other coffin with desperate savagery. The rosaries flew off, and she started to rip at the chains.
Getting some of my mind back, I began to help her. Well, by began I mean I flipped the coffin lid open as though the chains weren't there, stuck my hands inside, and poured everything I had onto the shriveled thing inside.
In a few seconds, Garrett was sitting up and looking around.
"Wow, I feel terrific! Um. What the hell just happened?" he asked, sounding quite un-Garrett-like.
Whoever had tried to shake me before—that would be Sinclair, right? Sure, I could see him now, it was Sinclair.
Hey, he looks good! I made him all right. That's nice. Now if I could just do something about this force inside of me that feels like it wants to split my skin . . .
"Elizabeth!" His eyes were wide with awe and fear. "Elizabeth, what are you doing?"
And I was still burning up, still exploding, there was still too much of whatever I had taken from Marjorie in me, on me, all over me, around me.
I had an idea, but I knew I only had a few moments of conscious thought left. So I leaned into Sinclair, making him wince with the touch, and whispered my instructions into his ear.
He nodded. "Yes, my Queen."
"Hurry," I finished, and then I collapsed to the ground, wreathed in flames.
Chapter 38
"—maybe we should—"
"—so glad to see all of—"
"—doctor wouldn't do any—"
"—hurt bad?"
I opened my eyes and bit back a shriek. Sinclair, Marc, Tina, and Garrett were all bending over me. I chased them all back with big arm motions and sat up. I saw at once we were in the hospital.
But had we gotten here in time?
"Where is she?" I managed. Then Sinclair's mouth was on mine, his arms were around me, and I sort of forgot about all the madness of the evening for a minute.
"Wait, wait!" I fended him off and looked around.
We were in the right room, I thought. But they all looked alike. "Did it work? Where is she?"
"It's so wonderful to see you're all right, Your Majesty!"
I smiled as I turned to Tina. "When did you two get here?"
"I got home an hour ago," she said, the circles under her eyes even darker than usual. "Marc had just shown up, and then Sinclair called. Um. Why is Antonia a wolf?"
"You wouldn't believe it if I told you."
"Elizabeth did it, right after she destroyed Marjorie. And nearly killed herself for her trouble." Sinclair turned to me—well, really, he turned on me, like a wolverine. "Did you not hear me telling you to stay away?" he demanded, shaking me like a cheap Christmas present.
"Oh, stuff it in your socks, Sinclair. Like I was going to leave you in the clutches of the librarian from Hell. What a bitch."
"You're sure you're okay?" Marc, being the doctor he was, began to prod my body.
"I—think so." I felt all right. Almost normal. Normal for me, I meant. Gone was the frantic surge of energy I'd feared would consume me.
And from the way they were looking at me, they all knew it. Their expressions were equal parts awe and fear.
But what about . . .
"Well, I have to say, I haven't felt this good in quite some time," Garrett said cheerfully. Since he usually spoke in monosyllables, this was going to take some getting used to. "Although I'm not sure what Antonia will say when she's back on two feet tomorrow morning."
"Yeesh, don't give me something new to worry about. By the way, did you notice if the two guests in our house were still there? Are they okay?"
"Jeannie and Lara are fine," Marc said. He was dressed in a shirt studded with big purple flowers, muddy khaki shorts, and sandals. "I made their acquaintance a bit abruptly in the bathroom; but we sorted it out as Tina arrived. After Sinclair called, it was clear the danger was pretty much over, so they opted to stay in the mansion."
"Great. Now that we've accounted for everyone EXCEPT the person we came for, can someone please tell me where my best friend is!?!"
This got a couple of them smiling. Which got me steaming even hotter. Finally, Marc piped up. "Well, we got you here, and your boyfriend did what you told him to do. He dumped you right on top of Jessica, who until then was resting comfortably. By then, you weren't in flames anymore—but you were still giving off tons of heat and sweat. Seeing you roll back and forth on top of Jessica in her bed—well, I'll tell you. I almost turned heterosexual."
"But the bed's empty now! Did it work? Is she okay?"
"Better than okay," Tina said, smiling. She was flushed at Marc's description, but she managed to motion to the hallway. "After Detective Berry's initial shock, he saw what we were doing for Jessica and kept you on top of her. Once she was—once you were both okay—well, Jessica and Nick wanted to find some privacy, and we were all in the room, and you still looked like you needed the bed, and so—"
My jaw dropped in appalled outrage. "She's out getting some?"
"In a word," Tina began.
"Yeppers," Marc finished.
"Why that—that—"
"They're still somewhere in the hospital," Sinclair gently corrected me.
As if on cue, Jessica and Nick burst into the room (well, burst through the slowly opening door), giggling and leaning on each other. She was still in her wrinkled hospital gown, and his shirt was decidedly untucked from his pants. No socks. No shoes.
"Well, that was—" She saw all of us waiting for her and clammed up.
"Short?" Marc volunteered.
I knew the moment I saw her that it was gone. For good. She looked beautiful.
I stared. We all stared. Finally, Marc cleared his throat and said, "How are you feeling, Jessica?"
Beaming, she pulled away from Nick and spread her arms wide. "I feel great. But I'm super-duper hungry. Anybody have a candy bar in their pocket? Or possibly a steak?"
Finally, she turned to me, still grinning like a fool. "Bets, you look like shit. What happened?"
Chapter 39
Sinclair carried me up to bed the moment we got home, which was silly because I could walk perfectly well. I was pretty sure. Actually, given that it was only about 1:00 a.m. I was awfully tired.
The last thing I felt before I conked off was him pulling my engagement ring off my finger. I hope he threw it into the nearest sewer. Boy, was I going to give him a piece of my mind when I . . .
I sat up. The bedside clock said 5:30 p.m. Sinclair was at his desk, scribbling on papers, but looked up and was at my side in half a second.
"Elizabeth—"
"Dead."
"—are you—"
"You are so dead."
"—all right?"
"You gave me a used engagement ring?" I yelped.
He looked pained as he sat down beside me. "Antique."
"Used."
"As you like. I am very sorry."
I slumped back against the pillows and slapped a hand over my eyes. "You couldn't have known. Friendly helpful Marjorie, right?"
"I thought a ring set with stones that had belonged to a queen would be a fitting gift."
"Zombie. Dead dad. Dead stepmother. Well, the dead stepmother might actually not be so bad . . . but then YOU almost died!"
"I am very sorry."
I removed my hand and looked at him. His fierce dark gaze was boring into me, and his hands were trembling. "Oh, hey. Like I said. You couldn't have known. You got rid of it, right?"
"I did. I—"
"Never mind. I don't care if I never see the thing again, and I sure don't want to know what you did with it. Also, we're going to Tiffany's to pick out a new one, right?" "If you wish."
"You look like hell."
"I was . . . terrified for
you. I was certain she would kill you. And I was useless. Worse than useless. I could hear what was happening but could not help. I—"
"Come here," I said. "Have I mentioned I missed you like crazy?"
"Not that I recall."
"Well, I have. Missed you like crazy, I mean." I was tugging at his shirt, and buttons were flying all over the place. "Place just isn't the same without you. And hey! Next time the Big Bad lures you out of the house, maybe you could leave a note?"
