Undead and Unwary (36 page)

“Women see the dad at the park, they love it. They see the evidence of his fertility, they assume he’s the main income in that household—most people don’t think palimony—and they see he’s also nurturing because he’s at a
park
with his
children
, stop the presses, right?”

“Right?” Tina replied, no doubt hoping that was the answer Jessica wanted.

“Except it only goes one way. Because when a guy meets a single mom, the more kids
she
has, the more turned off
he
is. He’s got zero interest in her fertility and assumes she’s either divorced and on alimony or was never married and is a slut. Or figures she trapped the guy with her uterus. As for the fact that she’s out in a park with her kids, that’s what moms are
supposed
to do, right?”

“I don’t want to get into a thing here,” I began, cautious, as if someone had told me the kitchen had been booby-trapped, which in a way it had been, “because you make some good points—”

“But mothers
are
supposed to be nurturing,” Tina said, the lovely moron.

Jess made a rude noise. “I
know
, Scarlett, but so are dads!”

And there it was. It wasn’t about Jess finally agreeing to allow Just Plain Dick to haul her narrow ass to the altar, it was about the fact that Jessica’s father was an unrelenting shithead pervert fuck-o of the highest order and though she’d been engaged for maybe a half hour she was already freaking out about it. So glad I got back in time for the meltdown.

Again: no question, I deserved Hell.

“I’m not sure we have time to get into this right now,” I tried again. Which was bullshit, because I was pretty sure we did. For the first time in days, I felt like I could take a break. I just didn’t want to take a feminist break, if that’s a thing.

Jess shook her head. “You putzes are so lucky I’m exhausted.”

“Yep,” I agreed. Time to get off the sensitive subject of single moms and switch to the sensitive subject of a Southern belle aging. “Did I miss Tina’s party?” At Marc’s glare, I backpedaled. “I’m sorry. Was it a surprise?”

“Not anymore,” he said pointedly.

“Come on,” I coaxed, “you weren’t really planning a surprise party.”

“Not anymore.”

“In this house? You can’t keep a secret around here, you know that.”

Marc’s grumpy expression eased a bit. Tina, meanwhile, looked both relieved (the single-mom thing shelved for another time) and pleased (aw, you shouldn’t have!). “I don’t want a fuss, Marc.” Good, because wish granted, probably. Then she turned to me. “If there’s to be any sort of celebration, of course we wouldn’t indulge unless you were there to partake as well.”

“So we’ll put it off a few months,” I joked. “I’ll just say it now so I’m off the hook: happy birthday.”

“Thank you, Majesty.”

“No offense, and we’re doing a lot more than just wishing you happy birthday, but can’t we please make Betsy tell us about Hell?” Marc begged. “We’re all
here
. The babies are in their milk comas. The adults are all awake at the same time and in the same room in the house at the same time.” Hmm. Good point, a rare event. “And the dogs don’t care.”

For the first time I realized Marc was cradling a yawning Fur or Burr, and Sinclair had Burr or Fur in his lap and was slowly stroking the fuzz on the top of her head while she snored. “They sure don’t. They’re lucky they’re cute. It’s the only thing that keeps us from drowning them.”

Us?????
Sinclair clutched Fur or Burr closer to his body and actually leaned away from me. Please. Like I’d really drown them when I could just dispatch them with a well-placed stomp. Again: please. Like I’d ruin a pair of shoes for that.

“Sure,” Dick said through a yawn, “regale us with tales of Hell. You’re gonna win every single ‘my day was worse than yours’ contest from now on, aren’t you?”

“Hey, I hadn’t thought of that,” I replied, pleased. The perks were few and far between, but they were adding up.

“Unless, of course, Her Majesty cannot discuss such things with us.” Most people wouldn’t have heard Tina’s tiny pause between “with” and “us.” Because she meant,
Maybe the vampires should leave the room and go have grown-up time somewhere else and you guys do whatever it is you do when we’re not hanging.

“Her Majesty definitely wants to discuss it with you,” I assured them. “I’ve learned exactly one thing this week.”

“Just the one?” Marc asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Okay, I’ve learned more than one thing but the thing I’ve internalized is—”

“Be careful what you wish for?”

(. . .)

“Okay, I’ve learned two things this week. Be careful what you wish for, and also, I can’t do this by myself.”

“Well,” Dick said after a short silence. I appreciated how he didn’t finish the sentence with “duh.” “You know we’re always ready to help.”

“You might want to think that one over,” I warned, hauling a stool to the counter. I’d grabbed a glass and gotten the last of the raspberry smoothie dregs, and now planned to savor that while sitting on my ass. Goals, it was important to have goals. “Because starting now, helping me will mean more than occasionally picking up my dry cleaning.”

“You never have dry cleaning,” Marc pointed out.

“And if you did, we’d die a thousand deaths before picking it up, you lazy jerk,” Jessica added.

“Stop, you’ll make me cry.” I wasn’t entirely joking. I realized there was a third lesson for the week—okay, clearly there were many things to take away from the last several days, but the big three now included my realization that I’d been complaining about something that was actually pretty wonderful.

“I’ve picked a few souls in Hell to help me get the place back up to speed. If that’s even the phrase, because I’ve got no idea what my idea of ‘up to speed’ will be. Stuff’s gonna change. I’m just not sure what, or how. And the thing is . . .” I took a quick gulp. Now that I was back from Hell, I realized how thirsty I was. Sinclair picked the hunger out of my head and speared me with a steady, warm look.

Perhaps we need to go hunting tonight.

I shot him a smile that, though I was going for aloof and sexy, probably came out deranged and a little goofy, and continued. “You know how I’m always complaining—”

“Sure.”

“Yes, you have several things to say at all times.”

“Stop!” I shouted before Jessica, Tina, and Sinclair could add to the madness. “Will you let me be specific, jerkheads? It seems like the people I’ve always wanted to be impressed with my powers never are. But they’re the ones helping me run Hell, and most of the rest are my roommates. And I think that’s beyond excellent, because there’s nothing worse than a dictatorial asshat being surrounded by terrified yes-men.”

“Just ask Justin Bieber,” Marc suggested, earning a smack on the arm from Tina (who had a motherly soft spot for the li’l douchebag) and a giggle from Jessica.

“It used to drive me crazy,” I admitted. “It
still
drives me crazy. Who wouldn’t want to intimidate the Ant? But I think it’s good that the people I want the most control over, sometimes—they’re the ones who either knew me before I died or don’t care that I’m the vampire queen. It’s good that the Ant isn’t scared of me. She’ll be more of a help if she isn’t terrified.”

“A help.” From Jessica.

“Yeah.”

“The Ant.” From Marc.

“Yeah.”

“That’s how you know it’s Hell.” From Jessica.

“
Oh
yeah.” I grinned—I couldn’t help it—and she laughed again, which got the rest of us started.

Tina was quickest to recover and got right to it politely but decisively, as was her way. “Majesty, have you been able to recapture the escapee souls?”

“Whoa, people escaped from Hell?” Dick looked around at us. “Where was I?”

“You might have been sleeping. You both were definitely, uh, sleeping.” So of course we all knew by Marc’s tactful pause that they’d been doing the “yay, marriage looms!” bang.

“It’s fine. I didn’t have to round up any escapees. And we gotta call them something else, since they didn’t so much escape as act on the fact that Laura let them go to trick me into keeping the promise I stupidly,
stupidly
gave in a moment of weakness.”

An uncomfortable, decade-long silence dropped. And that’s when I realized.

“You guys knew. Or guessed.”

“I respectfully request the protection of the Fifth Amendment,” Sinclair said. Marc shrugged and Jess wouldn’t drop her gaze, but it was sympathetic and not scornful.

“Cheer up,” Dick said. “I had no idea.”

I was already shaking my head. “You all knew. Most of you knew.” I sighed. “Of course you knew.” That was when I realized we weren’t just talking about Laura lying about escapees. My, my, it was a week for me to stumble across realizations I would have tumbled to ages earlier if I had just
pulled my thumb out of my ass.
How much time did I waste, hiding from truths I couldn’t face? Were lives lost?
Oh, please not that on my conscience, too. Please.

My love.
Sinclair’s concern cut through my distress like Fur’s sewing-needle-sharp teeth razored through his Kenneth Coles.
I should like us to withdraw.

Yeah.
I rubbed my forehead.
Yeah, me, too.

“If Laura lied, the Ant probably knew that, too. Right?” Marc thought about that for a few seconds. “Oh, hell, of course she did, what a dumb question.”

“Don’t feel bad. Took me too long to figure that out. It was there in front of me and I still wouldn’t see it. That’s why she wouldn’t leave Hell.”

“No.”

“Yes.” I understood the identical looks of shock on Marc and Jessica. Dick was starting to look dozy and Tina and Sinclair wore their careful neutral expressions. “She was always there when I needed something and, let me tell you, that shit got on my nerves almost immediately. I even asked her a few times what she was doing there and she’d snark at me and then I’d kind of forget about it until she’d helpfully yet bitchily show up again. But she was always there when I needed something.”

“She knew what the Antichrist was up to, and she still stuck around?”

“Yep. And now she knows Laura’s off the paranormal grid. And the Ant’s
still
in Hell. Waiting.” Funny how that should have been terrifying, and wasn’t.

I watched them think that one over, and I sympathized. Laura Goodman, the sister who professed to love me, who when not killing or lying had judged me for dishonesty and murder and then tricked me into taking on Hell. Her birth mother, my mortal enemy and the scourge of my adolescence, meanwhile, went out of her way to help with the burden of shit she knew was headed my way. And she also knew what my dad had been up to and refused to say, partly to save her own pride, but also because she knew I’d be devastated.

“It’s too much,” I said, before they could comment, and burst into violent tears. In an instant, Jess’s bony arms were around me in a comforting pointy-elbowed hug. “I don’t understand what’s happened.” I wept while the others made distressing “there, there” noises. Fur and Burr both started awake and whined in sympathy, then began wriggling like worms on a grill to get down. Marc and Sinclair released them and they wasted no time rushing over to my feet and—yargh, needle-like puppy teeth!—nibbling on my toes in solidarity. I think. “I—I’m not sure I can live in a world where I’m in Hell, Laura and Dad are out of my life, and the Ant is looking out for me and protecting me.”

“Shhhh, stop that, it’s fine,” Jess soothed. “I’m sure she’s still completely horrible. You’re just not looking hard enough.”

“Th-thanks. That helps.” I straightened. It
did
help. The Ant and I might have the uneasiest of truces, but we weren’t even close to best pals. Despite her help of late, there were still plenty of things besides her fashion sense to loathe her for.

Sinclair had scooped up both puppies and deposited them

“Yow! Teeth!”

in Marc’s lap, then reached for my hand. “The queen and I will take our leave of you for the evening, if you please.” Not that he was really asking, mind you. “Marc, could I trouble you to let the darling girls

Ugh.

Shut up, darling girl.

out within the hour? And perhaps a walk?”

Marc flapped a hand in a “go along with your bad self, I’ve got it covered” wave, and I didn’t deny being impressed. Sinclair rarely delegated puppy time. Yay, he loved me more than the puppies! Suck it, puppies!

 CHAPTER  

THIRTY-EIGHT

No sooner did Sinclair boot the door shut than he had me pressed against it, his lips kissing the hollow of my throat. I wanted to say something like, “Is that a stake in your pants or are you just happy to see me?” but managed a mere, “Nnnggn.” His fingers, meanwhile, had gone to the waistband of my leggings and he skimmed a finger just beneath it, caressing my belly. I wanted to lean into his mouth and his finger. I wanted to lean in, period. I wanted to knock his ass over and do filthy things to him. Alas.

“Wait,
wait
.” I tried to wriggle free, which wasn’t easy, as at that moment Sinclair was more octopus than man. “I want to—I need to talk to you about Laura.”

“What a vile mood killer,” was his reply, but he let me go.

“Since everyone in the universe knew what Laura was up to before I did, that means you did, too.”

“Don’t be silly, my own. Not everyone in the universe knew. How can you say that when you haven’t met everyone in the—”

I cut that nonsense right off. When Sinclair wanted to avoid answering an uncomfortable line of inquiry, he seized on semantics. “Except you knew more. Everyone guessed she was lying, but you knew she had a plan to dump Hell on me.” This time his back was against the door while I kept him at arm’s length. Literally; I held my arms out and my fingers barely brushed his chest. “When did you know, how did you know, and why wouldn’t you of all people warn me?” I made no effort to keep the hurt out of my tone. If I couldn’t show all of me to my husband, and by extension the others, what was any of this
for
?