Undead and Uneasy (6 page)

Sinclair would turn up. Marc would reappear from whatever dimension he had slipped

into. Antonia would get over her snit-fit and come home, dragging Garrett behind her on a

leash. Jessica's chemo would triumph over the cancer, and she'd sprint home, bossing us

around as was her wont. My life (such as it was) would be normal again.

"How is everyone else taking it?"

"Well, that's the thing." I perched on the counter, got comfy, and explained where

everyone was. Or where I thought they were, anyway.

Afterward there was a long, awkward silence on Tina's end, which I broke with a faux-

cheerful, "Weird, huh?"

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"Rat fuck," Tina muttered, and I nearly toppled off the counter. Tina, ancient

bloodsucking thing that she was (she'd made Sinclair, and he was, like, seventy!), had the

manners of an Elizabethan lady and almost never swore. She was perfectly proper at all

nines.

"Mother fuck," she continued. "Conspirational bastard shitstains."

"Uh, Tina, I think someone else just got on the line—

"They're all gone? All of them?"

"Duh, that's what I just—"

"For how long?"

I looked at my watch, which was stupid, as it didn't show the date. "Almost a week now."

"I'm calling the king."

"Right, I got that the first time. Fine, call him, but he'd better not show up without

flowers. And possibly diamonds. Or some Beverly Feldmans! Yeah, the red and gold flats

would be perfect—"

"My queen, you will not leave that house. You will—"

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"Huh? What are you talking about?" Long pause. "Tina?"

Nothing. Dead line. Again.

I shrugged and hung up the phone. If the French couldn't get their act together—ever—to

win a war, how could they be expected to keep the phone lines open?

A mystery for another day. For now I had to figure out a feeding schedule for my new

(groan) son, visit Jess (she'd want all the gory funeral details), and leave yet another

message for Marc. A busy evening, and not even nine o'clock yet.

“You look like hot death," I informed my best friend cheerfully.

"Go to hell," she snapped back, then coughed. Her normally gorgeous dark skin was more

grayish than ebony, and her eyes were bloodshot. But she sounded a helluva lot better

than she did three days ago. They'd finally quit the chemo, so she could get better.

The horrible thing about chemotherapy, of course, is that it is poison, working by killing

both cancerous and normal cells. Jessica said the cancer didn't bug her hardly at all, except

for making her tired. It was the cure that fucked her up severely: vomiting, constant

nausea, weight loss (and if anyone on the planet didn't need to lose weight, it was scrawny

Jess). How fucked up was that, I ask you? In a hundred years, doctors will be laughing

their asses off at how we, the century-old savages, "cured" cancer. I mean, why not just

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) break out the leeches?

"The moment you barf, I am so out of here." I plopped down in the chair beside her bed

and got comfy, Babyjon snuggled against my shoulder.

"I haven't barfed since suppertime, and that's because it was Salisbury Steak night."

"Who could blame you?"

"How go the wedding plans?"

"They sort of screeched to a halt," I admitted. When you all abandoned me.

"What? Bets, you've got to pick a dress! You've got to settle on the flowers—the florist is

going out of her mind! You've got to meet with the caterer for the final tasting! You've—"

"I will, I will. There's lots of time."

"There's two weeks. Isn't Eric helping you at all?"

"He's gone. Still sulking."

"Oh, Betsy!" she practically yelled, then coughed again. "Will you just call him and

apologize?"

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"Me?" I yelped, loud enough to stir Babyjon, who immediately settled back to sleep. "I

didn't do a damned thing. He's the one who left in a huff. Stupid runaway groom."

"He'll be back," she predicted. "He can't stay away. He can't leave you, there's no such thing for him. You're in his system like a virus."

"Thanks. That's so romantic, I may cry."

"Well, don't cry. Nick was in here a while ago all teary and junk."

"Big bad Detective Nick Berry, catcher of serial killers?"

"To be fair, you and Laura and Cathie caught the killer."

"Right, but he helped. I mean, he came to the house and warned us."

"He made me promise not to die," she said, folding her arms behind her head and looking

supremely satisfied. "And I made him promise. So that's all settled."

"Can I borrow that emesis basin?" I asked politely.

"Cram it, O vampire queen. Nobody barfs but me, it's the new rule."

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) I grinned, but couldn't help feeling the smallest twinge of jealousy. Which was completely

stupid. But . . . Nick had originally been interested in yours truly. And I'd thought he'd

asked Jessica out as a way to get closer to me. In fact, that had been utter wishful thinking

on my part.

I was wildly happy for Jessica, but couldn't help feel a little miffed that Nick had recovered

from his unholy lust for me so quickly. Which was also stupid: the whole reason Sinclair

had made him forget our blood sharing was tomake him forget. Not to mention, I had the

sexiest, smartest vampire in the world on my hook.

When he was talking to me, that is.

"What's with the kid?"

"You won't even believe it."

Jessica covered her eyes. "Don't even tell me. You're his legal guardian."

"Got it in one."

She looked up. "Why so glum? You've wanted a baby since you came back from the

dead."

"But not like this! I mean, gross. Garbage trucks uh\ incinerated birth parents? Yech."

"Well, there's plenty of room in the mansion for a baby. And you're crazy about him. And

he pretty much only tolerates you. So it all worked out." She paused. "I'm sorry. That

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) came out wrong."

"S'okay. It's always nice when someone else puts their foot in their mouth. I get tired of it

sometimes."

"Really?" she asked sweetly. "It's hard to tell."

"Shut up and die."

"See? You just did it!"

I didn't answer. Instead, I jiggled BabyJon to wake him up. Since I was conked out during

the day, andalone , if he cried during the day he was shit out of luck. This was going to be

a nocturnal baby, by God.

"Better start interviewing day nannies," Jessica observed.

"There's usually a hundred people hanging around the house," I complained. "We need

one more? And how can we hide all our weird goings on from her? Or him?"

"How about a vampire nanny?"

I was silent. The thought hadn't occurred to me.

Then: "No good. Any vampire would need to sleep during the day."

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"But Marc, me, Cathie, and Antonia are usually around during the day."

I was silent. She had enough problems without knowing that everyone had disappeared on

me.

"Maybe a really old vampire? You know Sinclair can stay awake most of the day. Find

some seventy-year-old bloodsucker for the job."

"Oh, sure, what a great honor. 'Hey, ancient vampire, mind changing the shitty diapers of

my half brother? And don't forget to burp him before his nappy-nap. Also, don't suck his

sweet, new, baby blood.'"

"Blabbb," Babyjon agreed. He turned his head and smiled sweetly at Jessica. He really was

getting cute. When he was born, he looked like a pissed-off plucked chicken. Now he'd

filled out with sweetly plump arms and legs, a rounded belly, and a sunny grin. His hair

was a dark thatch that stood up in all directions. Jessica grinned back; she couldn't help it.

"He's definitely growing on me," she said.

"Like a foot fungus."

Jessica's door whooshed open, and the night nurse stood there. Luckily for me, it was a

man. "I'm sorry, miss, but visiting hours were over an hour ago."

1 slid my sunglasses down my nose and said, "Get lost. I can stay as long as I like."

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"These aren't the droids you're looking for," Jessica Added, giggling.

Like a badly maintained robot, the nurse swung around and walked stiffly away.

I propped my feet up on Jessica's bed and got comfy. Babyjon squirmed and, to divert

him, I plopped him on her bed. He wriggled for a moment, then flopped over .md popped

his thumb in his mouth, his deep blue eyes never leaving my face.

"So, dish. How was the funeral?"

"Gruesome. And filled with lies."

"So, like the Ant was in life?"

I laughed for the first time in two days. God, I loved her. That chemo was going to work.

Or I would not be responsible for my actions.

The phone rang (at 1 a.m.!), and I lunged for it. "Sinclair? Hello? You rat bastard, where

the hell have you—?

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"Is this the head of Antonia's den?" a deep male voice asked.

I was flummoxed. It was a week for weird phone calls, barfing best friends, and fucked up

funerals.

"Which Antonia?"

"The only Antonia. Tall, slender, dark hair, dark eyes, werewolf who can't Change?"

"Oh, the live one! Yeah, this is her, um, den."

"Explain yourself."

I was having major trouble following the conversation. "Explain what?"

"She has not checked in this month. As her pro tem Pack leader, you are responsible."

"Responsible for what?"

"Her safety."

"What's a pro tem what's-it?"

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"Do not play the fool, vampire."

"Who's playing? And how'd you know I was a—I mean, who are you calling a vampire?"

"I gave Antonia leave to den with you under strict conditions. You are breaking those

conditions."

'What conditions are you—?"

"Produce her at once, or suffer the consequences."

" Produce her? She's not a manufactured good! Who is this?"

"You know who this is."

"Dude: I totally completely do not."

"Your attempts to act an idiot will not sway me from my course."

"Who's acting?" I cried. "Who are you, and what the hell are you talking about?"

There was a long pause, punctuated by heavy breathing. Great. A prank call from a

pervert. "Very well," the deep voice growled. Really growled; I could feel the hairs on the

back of my neck trying to stand up. "Be it on your head and suffer the consequences."

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) Click.

Story of my life, this week.

I stared at the now-dead phone, then threw it at the wall hard enough for it to shatter into

a dozen pieces.

The next evening, after feeding Babyjon his 10 p.m. bottle, burping him, and plopping him

into the playpen in the kitchen, I took the new phone out of the box (thank goodness for

twenty-four-hour Walgreens).

I had literally just hooked up, and hung up, the phone when it rang, making me jump right

out of my skin. I snatched up the new receiver.

"What freak is calling me now?"

"Only I, Your Majesty."

"Tina! You sound tinny. Still in France?" "Still. And worse: I have been unable to raise the king."

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) Raise him at poker?was my wild thought. "What?" I asked, my word of the week.

"He has never, in seventy-some years, not returned a call, or a letter, or a telegram, or a

fax."

"Well. He was pretty grumpy when he left." "Grumpy." Tina let out a most unladylike snort, almost as startling as when she was swearing like—well, me. "I dislike this. I dislike

this extremely. I will be returning on the next flight."

"But what about the European vamp—"

"Hang them. Hang them all. This is much more distressing. Besides, there's not much to

do here. After the show you put on a few months ago, they're quite terrified of you."

I smirked and buffed my nails on my purple tank top. It was all the sweeter because it was

true: they'd seen me pray, and that had been enough for them.

"On the next flight? How are you gonna pull that off? Isn't it, like, a twenty-hour flight?

Some of it during daylight hours?"

"I'll travel the traditional way, of course. In a coffin in the cargo hold. Our people here will

forge a death certificate and other appropriate paperwork."

I shuddered and gave thanks, once again, that I was <¦ queen, and not a run-of-the-mill