Undead and Unpopular (4 page)

"Enough."

In the movies, everybody would have stopped; Alonzo did, but Sophie was still shrieking and clawing at him, and I saw her tear a huge strip of skin off his shaved scalp.

Eric stepped forward, grabbed her by the right elbow, and tossed her away from Alonzo as easily as I'd have tossed a cardboard box. She caromed off the wall and looked ready to keep rumbling despite herself, but I gamely recovered and stood by Eric's side. I tucked my hands into my armpits so no one could see how they were shaking and piped up loyally, if shakily, "Sophie, he said enough. These are guests in my home."

"
Our
home," Jessica piped up, glaring at me and ignoring all of Eric's previous advice on the care and handling of ancient European vampires.

"Bastard!" Sophie was as wild-eyed as a rabid cat; I'd never even heard her raise her voice, never mind totally lose it like she'd done.

Alonzo calmly pulled the hanging flap of skin off his head
(blurrrggghhh!)
and said in a pleasant Spanish accent, "The pleasure is mine, señorita."

"You dare, you
dare
speak to me? You dare look at me, be in the same room with me, and not beg my forgiveness?"

"We have met?" I couldn't believe how mild-mannered this guy was. And his very voice suggested a man who could sing, dance, and swordfight all at once—yum. I mean, boo!

A sluggish trickle of blood inched toward his eyes, and one of the vampires behind him handed him a spotless white handkerchief. Of course, anybody else would be slipping on a gigantic puddle of their own blood (head wounds in particular looked so frightening), but not a vampire. And certainly not this vampire. He calmly blotted his head for a moment, watching Sophie with his cat eyes.

"You don't remember, swine, bastard, monster?"

He shrugged with suave innocence.

"August 1, 1892? You were visiting Paris. You went to a tavern. You—"

"Oh," he said carelessly. "The bar girl."

"Don't tell me," I said.

Sophie pointed a trembling finger at Alonzo. "He killed me. He
murdered
me."

"Oh, hell," Jessica said, which exactly echoed my sentiments.

Eric and Tina had steered the Europeans into another parlor; I'd grabbed Sophie and hustled her upstairs. Jessica had followed us. Our last view of Alonzo was an indifferent cock of an eyebrow as he watched her hiss at him on her way out of the room.

"Okay," I said when I finally had her settled in a spare bedroom, and then I realized I had no idea what else to say. "Okay, uh. Sophie. Okay. You okay?"

Sophie dropped to her knees, as startling a thing as had happened in the last twenty minutes, and it was already one for the diary. "Majesty," she said, her fingers digging into my thighs, actually ripping through my jeans, and she didn't notice. "I beg you to kill him—or let me kill him."

I grabbed her wrists and tried to pull her to her feet. Her wavy dark hair had come undone from the bun and was flying everywhere, pouring down her back like a black river. Her eyes stared wildly past my own, into some other space. "Sophie, come on. Please get up. Listen, I can't just—you know. He's—part of a delegation."

I couldn't believe it: I had turned into a politician.

"Oh yes, I see," she said bitterly, staring at the floor. "Diplomatic immunity and all."

"Look, we'll get to the bottom of this. I promise. We'll—"

"There is nothing to get to the bottom of." She climbed slowly to her feet. "He murdered me and you will either punish him or you won't."

"It's just that he's—they're—important. I can't just march down there and, you know, punch him in the brain. Sophie?"

Too late; I was talking to her back. Jessica gave me a wide-eyed look and followed.

We found the correct parlor in short order. Just about everyone was seated comfortably, except Liam. He was standing in a corner and looking at Alonzo with a look that bordered on predatory.

"We are going now," Sophie was saying. If Liam looked like a pissed-off panther, she was looking downright murderous.

"Adios," Alonzo said amiably. If he had had a drink in his hand, I am sure he would have raised it.

"Alonzo," Sinclair said, with a small note of reprimand.

"I will see
you
," Sophie promised, "again."

They left. I glared at Alonzo, who shrugged and smiled politely.

"Tina, perhaps you could get our guests something to drink," I practically snapped. Tina stared at me for a short moment, but then quickly nodded and left the room. Good—she understood I needed to assert authority here. Jessica remained comfortable on a velvet chaise longue, but that didn't bother me—I didn't need the Europeans to see me bossing around a "sheep."

I turned to Alonzo. "This is quite a spot you've put me in."

"Us," Sinclair said.

"Right. Did you do it?"

Alonzo shrugged again. His scalp had grown back. Pretty quick, for a vampire—to get that kind of healing, most of us had to feed first. "I'm sure she's right," he said. "I don't remember everyone I've—"

"Murdered?"

"—bitten, any more than a man of romance can remember all the women he has slept with. But I do not dispute her account."

"Then we have a serious problem. You may have wasted your time making this trip."

"With all respect, Your Majesty, killing people—making vampires—is what vampires
do
."

"
I'm
a vampire," I corrected him sharply, "and I haven't done anything of the kind."

"You are young," one of the women—Carolina, it was—spoke up.

"Don't patronize me, you arrogant Spanish bitch." Sinclair's fingers closed over my upper arm and squeezed; I yanked away. "You have already insulted one of my subj—one of my friends, and you've been here, what? Five minutes?"

"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.