Undead and Unpopular (13 page)

"Provoke this," I retorted.

"The book is not quite out yet," Sinclair pointed out, clinging to hope like a balding man with a sparse comb-over.

"Yes, it's a bright new fall offering," I added. "Place your orders now. Beat the rush!"

"I'd like to beat
you
," Sinclair muttered, which I didn't think was very unifying of him. Then, louder, he added, "We are, as you say, keeping you in the loop."

In fact, there had been a wicked big argument about it. My initial take was, let them read about it on the
New York Times
bestseller list. Who cares about their feelings? I mean, Gawd. Look at the sitch. We've got bigger problems than a book about my alleged (what was the opposite of alleged?) life story. Like Jessica being
deathly friggin' ill
. Sophie needing revenge. The Europeans needing to kick me out and take over. Maybe on that last one; it was possible they only needed to clear customs on the way home. Anyway, a book nobody would think was true was the least of my problems.

Tina and Sinclair were adamantly opposed to my own superior point of view. Like parrots playing off each other, they kept telling me in grating and repetitive ways that it was better to tell these Europeans about the book before they found out themselves and used our silence. Use it how, they didn't elaborate.

Anyway, since my number one complaint about being dead was that nobody told me anything, I eventually agreed to let Alonzo and the others know. For once,
I'd
called the meeting (well, Tina had called for me). For once,
I
was expecting company. Yeah! How 'bout
that
?

"I confess," Alonzo was saying, "I have no idea what to say. This is an unusual problem." He gave me an admiring look.

"Listen, totally off the subject, can I ask you something?"

"Majesty, I am at your disposal."

Now was the perfect opportunity. Jessica was asleep—or, at least, in her room. Marc was working. It was just us dead people.

"What's it like, to make a vampire?"

"Oh, well." Alonzo looked uncharacteristically flustered, and ran a hand over his smooth head. "I never, ah, stayed to take care of one. That is to say—"

"You always chomped and moved on."

"Would you ask a lion to sit with the corpse of the gazelle, as the hyenas and vultures tore at the tendons?"

"People aren't gazelles," I pointed out, restraining my temper with some difficulty.
You brought it up, you brought it up
. "So there might be other vampires running around, ones you made?"

"It is likely," he said reluctantly. "In my youth. Now, of course, I have much more control over the thirst."

"See, I avoid that whole thing by not even drinking. You should try it!"

"This, what you say, 'avoid the whole thing.' This is physically impossible." Frustration, intrigue, admiration, and rage crossed his features all at once. It made his eyes go really squinty and he was rubbing his head so much I wondered if he was trying to start a fire up there.

"Feeding leads to killing. It happens time and time again, vampire after vampire. I can't even imagine," I said, speaking more to myself than anyone in the room. "Killing somebody. I mean—"

Okay, I had killed someone. Two someones. Wait, four, if you counted vampires. Hmmm, official Gray Area ahead. But they were all self-defense, right? And the vampires were already dead, right? Neither of which Alonzo could claim about Sophie.

"Walk with me?" the Spaniard asked, getting up smoothly from his spot on the love seat.

"Yeah," I said, standing up an instant later. "Sure. No problem."

Sinclair raised his eyebrows at me, but didn't say a word or make a move.

So we went.

We'd put our coats on; he had put back on the slightly muddy but still meticulously crafted black wingtips he had left in the hallway upon his entrance. For myself, I'd slipped into a somewhat fashionable pair of bright red rubber boots—it was wet out. Spring in Minnesota meant thaw, and thaw meant mud.

"At last," he teased when we had walked a block without saying anything to each other. "I have spirited you away from the king."

"Yeah. I don't even know why we're talking. I sort of thought when I first met you, that we'd end up at each other's throats. You know, after Sophie had her turn."

"Have you decided what to do with me?"

I nearly walked into a melting snowbank. "Seriously? You're asking me?"

"I am but a loyal subject. Your will is my will."

"I appreciate the thought." And, weirdly, I did. "Is it real? I mean, is it genuine? If I said, 'Okay, Alonzo, I'm going to cut off your head because you were a bad vampire a hundred years ago,' you'd just go along with it?"

"Well," he admitted, neatly avoiding a sample of thawing dog poo that had likely been there since January, "I wouldn't calmly kneel before you and wait for the sword to swing, but I respect the power of the monarchy."

"In other words, you don't think I'd be so cruel."

"No," he replied. "I don't think you would be so cruel. In fact, I am counting on it."

"You really don't think I'd do anything to you?"

His words came out with careful measure. "That would be an overstatement. I do not think you would kill me in cold blood."

Well, nuts.

"It would be easier," I said with a sigh, "if you and your friends were the bloodthirsty monsters I thought you were at first. Maybe the six of you could leave town in a trail of blood. Then killing would be easy."

"This should not concern the others," he said emphatically. "This is a matter between me and Dr. Trudeau. And your Majesty, of course."

"Is that why you came over tonight by yourself?"

"You only sent for me."

"You're the only one whose name I can remember," I admitted, and he laughed.

In the distance, I could hear barking and yowling and toenails clicking on sidewalk. I figured we had about two more minutes before all the neighborhood dogs descended. There was a reason I didn't like taking walks.

"Let's head back."

"We only just—"

"Dude, trust me. You do not want to be here five minutes from now. We can talk more in the garden behind the mansion. Behind the fence."

He obediently turned with me as I did a one-eighty and started heading back up the sidewalk to the house. He was right; it was a little silly. We were barely out of the shadow of the mansion. I had barely talked to him about anything. Wait—had it been my idea to go for a walk? I tried to remember. No. He'd asked me.

"I have another question for you, Majesty."

"Oh, great. My turn again. Except we're not playing a game."

"About that,
señorita
, you are wrong. But here is my question: are you going to turn your friend into a vampire? Or wait for her to die and bury her and mourn her?"

"How do you even
know
about that?"

"You mean, before you asked me what it was like to make a vampire? I guessed. I know she is ill, and after seeing you and her in the same room, I could make some assumptions."

The mansion loomed larger before us, the dark and forlorn branches of surrounding trees still waiting for rebirth. The baying of dogs was coming closer.

He broke the silence again. "You do not seem the type of lady to give up her friends so very easily."

I chewed on that one for a moment. The thing about Alonzo was, even when he said something nice, it wasn't like he was sucking up. Maybe it was in the translation of his ideas from Spanish to English; but his well-crafted words betrayed a certain attention for my well-being. In fact, he made for a pleasant change from most vampires here in America, who either (a) ignored me or (b) tried to kill me.

"I only just found out my friend was sick," I said finally. "I don't know what I'm going to do, yet."

"I beg your pardon. But I believe you do."

We stopped together at the iron gate on the west side of the house. It led to the brown and lifeless gardens behind the house. But neither of us reached for the latch. Instead, we watched each other for several seconds.
Game indeed
, I thought.

"Well," I said finally, "you're assuming my friend will even go along with it."

"She has a choice?"

"If she didn't, she wouldn't really be my
friend
, would she?"

"Your uniqueness," he offered, "is both blessing and a curse. Blessing, in that you are different from others, which I always see as a positive. A curse, in that you generate problems of your own making—problems that vampires like me do not trouble with."

"For example?"

"I have never known a vampire to remain friends with a human—certainly not long enough to consider a careful plan to turn that friend."

"Never? And you've been around, what? A hundred years? Two hundred? And in that time, you've never made a friend and then wanted to keep them around?" My situation with Jessica couldn't have been that out there… and neither could Sophie and Liam's.

"Not a living human," he answered with arms stretched and palms up. "And when you generate two estimates of my age, you would do well to round to the higher one." One of the hands lifted higher than the other.

I laughed.

"There's us," he said, finally swinging open the gate and entering the garden, "and there are them. The two cannot mix. No good comes of this. Your situation—forgive my boldness, Your Majesty—I see your situation as the inevitable, and unfortunate, end result of your unreasonable attachment to your human friends. Someday, you will end up in the same place with your doctor friend. Each of these endings will devastate you, weaken you—and to no good purpose."

"I don't see it that way at all." I felt a little defensive, but also grateful to this vampire. Which was amazing in and of itself. But Alonzo was giving me the first chance I had really had to organize my thoughts. A rare and wonderful thing, in my case.

"How do you see it, my queen?"

My thoughts assembled rapidly as I said the words, and I felt more secure in my opinion with each new idea. "I gain strength from my friends, not weakness. My 'situation' with Jessica is not the 'end result' of anything. It's a step in our journey together. Maybe she dies, maybe she lives. But she is an essential part of me, either way. What am I without these friends?"

"Faster, stronger, generally superior," he suggested.

"Superior," I muttered. "I'm afraid I don't like that word very much. Especially when vampires use it."

"Oh dear." He gave a knowing smile as he walked beside me on the dead garden path. The baying of the dogs faltered in the distance. "No wonder you had a problem with the former regime."