Dead and Loving It (19 page)

T
hey spent the night together, trying to hurt each other in various ways, to the extreme satisfaction of both. Antonia, who had been warned again and again

(never with monkeys; they're fragile)
found vampires to be fragile, but they healed so quickly it hardly mattered.

And just when she was wondering what to do about the filmy curtains on her east-facing windows, Garrett yawned, showing long, catlike fangs, and crawled beneath her bed.

“I guess that's that,” she said. “Hey—there really is a monster under the bed!”

There was no answer, so she got up, showered, dressed in her last outfit (she'd have to shop today—ugh—or borrow something), and went downstairs.

Sinclair was still up, reading the
Wall Street Journal
of all the tremendously dull things. She'd read a shampoo bottle before she'd even look at that paper.

“Good morning, Antonia.”

“Hey.” She fixed herself a glass of chocolate milk, stirred through the other papers on the counter, and finally picked the
Minneapolis Star Tribune.

He said, without looking at her, “That's a nasty bite.”

“MYOB, king who isn't my king.”

“It was just an observation,” he said mildly. “But you should know, Tina isn't in, ah, things for the, ah, long haul.”

“What?”

“You are a stunning woman, but the very fact that your presence here is a temporary one would be, ah, attractive to her. I hope my candor hasn't offended you.”

She sipped her milk dispassionately and thought about what fun could be had if she let him keep his silly idea. Then she compared it to the fun of telling him the truth.

“I didn't spend the night with Tina, numb nuts. I spent it with Garrett. That's all so fascinating about Tina not being able to commit, Mr. Nosy, but I don't swing that way.”

“Oh.” The paper rattled. Score! He hadn't seen that one coming at all. Har! “Well. That's. Well.”

“Not that it's any of your business.”

“Right.”

“Because it's not.”

“Yes.”

“The only reason I'm even telling you is because you were nice enough to give me some advice. Totally unasked for advice, but never mind.”

He looked started. “Did you just say totally?”

“No.”

They sat in silence for a while, Antonia wondering about blood sharing and the nature of Fiends. If Betsy's blood had helped him, and Laura—whoever she was—had helped him, what might werewolf blood do? Anything? Nothing?

She jumped when Sinclair broke the silence. “To answer your question—”

“I didn't say anything,” she said, startled.

“—I have no idea what your blood would do to Garrett. Or not do.”

“That's really annoying,” she snapped. “I wasn't talking to you. I was just sitting here minding my own business. Your problem is, everybody's so busy kissing your ass, they don't tell you to cut the shit.”

“On the contrary,” he said, completely unruffled—dammit! She was longing for a fight. “My charming bride-to-be tells me to cut the shit on a near-constant basis. My question for you, Antonia, is why you're even wondering about it.”

“Why?” She was startled and then angry she didn't see the question coming. “Why? Well, I don't know…as long as I'm in town, you know. Couldn't hurt, right?”

He smiled at her. It was a perfectly nice smile, not at all the rich promise of lust he'd given Betsy the night before, but she still felt a stab. Lower. “Do unto others, as we monkeys like to say?”

“You're not monkeys,” she said, shocked. “Well. Jessica and Marc—I mean, I'm sorry.” She was flustered, and even a little shamed…she had obviously been overusing the rude word. “I don't even think of you as—look, can we get off this? If I offended you, I'm sorry.”

“You're clueless,” he said, picking up the paper with a rattle, “not sorry. You poor thing.”

She fumed through the rest of her breakfast and bolted as soon as she could.

S
top staring.”

“I wasn't,” Jessica whined.

“Yes, you were.”

“Well, I heard you had a bite mark. But I don't see a thing.”

“Superior life form,” she reminded them. “It's long gone.”

It was the next night, and they were going through Betsy's closet, looking for clothes Antonia might borrow. It was all so girlfriend-ish she thought she might puke. But the alternative—shopping—was ever so much worse.

“This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen,” she said, peering into Betsy's closet and counting at least a hundred pairs of shoes. “Those look expensive. You walk through dog shit in those things?”

“Why do you think she needs so many of them?” Jess asked brightly. She put a rainbow-colored stack of T-shirts on the bed. “Those should work.”

“I've got a bunch of leggings and stuff you can borrow, too,” Betsy said, muffled from the closet, “but I draw the line at lending you my panties.”

“I'll go to Wal-Mart or something later.”

Jessica, who was both rich and a snob, was unable to conceal her shudder.

“Knock it off, Jessica. You're in no position to look down on anybody. Not if you can't run a mile in less than a minute.”

“I could if I wanted,” Betsy bragged from the closet. “I just don't want to.”

“You can't do shit in those shoes,” Antonia snapped back.

“Hey, there's a perfectly nice Super 8 over on Grand, if ever you feel the need to, you know, get the hell out.”

“Would that I could,” she grumped, but she was secretly pleased. It was like—like they were friends or something. They were
grateful
she'd helped Marc. They didn't pry (much) into her sex life. Nobody was worried about her having a defective cub. Nobody cared that she was running out of clothes and needed to borrow. It was—er, what was the word? Nice.

“There's something I've been meaning to ask,” Jessica said. “Let me see if I've got this straight, calling one of us a ‘monkey' is like using the ‘N' word?”

“Sure,” Antonia said. “Another way to look at it is, if I'm doing it, chances are, it's socially unacceptable. Seriously. I am not the role model for any of you.”

“The ‘N' word, huh?” Jessica mused.

“I don't think we should be talking about this,” Betsy said nervously, emerging from the closet with an armful of slacks on hangers.

“Relax, white girl. I'm curious, is all.”

“Look, it's really really rude, and I'm trying to cut down, okay?”

Betsy was too curious to drop the subject. “So compared to you guys, we're slow, and not too bright, and we can't smell at all, and we stink, and we're really wimpy.”

Antonia noticed Betsy said “you guys” in reference to herself as well. Interesting. “Well…yeah. But, uh, we know you guys can't help it.”

“So it's like being born blind?” Jessica asked dryly. “Poor things, blah-blah, better luck next life?”

“Pretty much.”

“But where do you fit in? A werewolf who's never a wolf?”

“I don't know,” Antonia said and then shocked herself as much as anyone when she burst into tears.

“Oh my God!” Betsy almost screamed. “I'm so sorry! Don't cry. Please please don't cry.”

“I'm not crying,” Antonia sobbed. “I never cry.”

Jessica leaned across the bed and awkwardly patted her on the back. “There, there, honey. It's gonna be fine.”

“Totally fine!” Betsy endorsed. “Totally, totally! Please don't do that!”

“I'm
not,
” she said, crying harder.

“Okay, so you're not crying.” Jessica held up a navy blue tank top. “What do you think of this one?”

“I hate it,” she sobbed.

“Not into blue, eh?”

“Jessica, can't you see she's really upset?”

“Can't
you
see she doesn't want to talk about it?”

“Why did he have to fall in love with you?”

“What?” the women said in unison.

“I said, why did you have to show me anything blue?”

“Well, jeez, we didn't think you'd get so upset,” Betsy said. “A tough honey like you?”

“Did George hurt you? Is that why you're mad?”

“Of course he hurt me. We hurt each other. That's what—never mind.”

“Oh, sorry.” Jessica looked away. “It's none of our business.”

“I don't have human hang-ups about fucking,” she reminded them. “I'll draw sketches, if you like. It's not that. It's something else.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

And that was that.

W
hen they came back down to the kitchen, to her surprise, Garrett was sitting at the counter with a weirded-out Sinclair. Waiting.

For her, she was surprised to see. He came to her at once, nuzzled her neck, and then retreated to his stool.

“You forgot your yarn,” Jessica said after a long moment in which it appeared someone had to break the silence.

“Not in the mood,” he replied.

Betsy started poking through the mail, squealing with glee when she saw the red Netflix envelopes. She ripped them open, and Jessica groaned when she showed them the discs.

“Why did you get
Gone With the Wind
again, dumb-ass? You own the damned movie!”

“Yes, but this is the new special edition with two new deleted scenes.”

“There's one born every minute,” Sinclair commented.

“You hush up. Where's Tina? She might want to watch it with me.”

“She's out.”

“Oh.”

“Don't you have to do some hunting, too?” Antonia asked her.

“No.”

“Elizabeth is unique among us.” Sinclair was giving the queen a look that was positively sappy. “Among other things, she doesn't have to feed as often.”

“Like you,” Betsy told her. “Unique among the fuzzies.”

Antonia groaned. “Please don't call us that.”

Jessica had been looking at Garrett during most of the conversation, then back at Antonia, then at Garrett. Antonia could smell the woman was stressed and waited for her to say something.

Finally: “Garrett, do you remember, uh, how you became a vampire?”

“Yes.”

They all waited. Betsy, also obviously curious, asked, “Do you mind telling us how?”

Garrett shrugged.

Antonia said sharply, “He doesn't want to talk about it.”

“I don't think he cares either way,” Sinclair replied, looking Garrett up and down with a critical eye.

“Forget it, Garr. You don't have to say shit.”

Sinclair raised a knowing eyebrow. “Protective little thing, aren't you?”

“You wanna go, king of the dead guys? Because we'll go.”

“Don't fight,” Betsy snapped. “Let's just drop the whole—”

“I was acting. An actor. For Tarzan.”

An enthralled silence, broken by Jessica's breathless
“Annnnnnnd?”

Garrett tugged his long hair. “Grew it out. For Tarzan. Picture folded. Felt bad.”

“So you got fired, okay, and then what?”

“Producer tried to cheer me up. Had to get haircut…couldn't walk around like that.”

“With long hair?” Antonia asked, mystified.

“Took me to barber. Late. After sets closed. Producer was Nostro. Had barber cut my throat and drank.”

“Jesus Christ!” Betsy practically screamed.

Antonia was on her feet. She didn't remember getting up from the stool, and who cared? “Where's the barber? Is he around here? I'm going to pull his lungs out and eat them while he watches.”

“Who was making the movie?” Sinclair asked sharply.

Garrett pointed to the
Gone With the Wind
disc.

“You mean…Warner Brothers?”

Antonia had an awful thought, so awful she could hardly get it out; it was clogging her throat like vomit. “That's—that's an old movie.”

“Nineteen thirty-nine,” Betsy said quietly.

“Tarzan lost funding,” Garrett confirmed. “Made that movie instead.”

Betsy shrieked again and kicked over her stool. The thing flew across the kitchen and crunched into the wall; plaster rained down on the (previously) spotless floor.
“You've been a vampire for almost seventy years?”

Garrett shrugged.

“What a pity,” Sinclair commented, “that we already killed Nostro.” But he was looking at Garrett in a new way: intrigued and even a little alarmed. Antonia wondered how old Sinclair was.

“Sing it, sweetheart! God, what I wouldn't give to have him in this kitchen right now. Torturing poor George and the others for more than half a century, that piece of shit! That son of a bitch!”

“Garrett,” Garrett corrected her.

“Right, right, sorry.”

Of all of them, Antonia noticed, Garrett seemed the least upset. She asked him about it, and he shrugged.

“Long time ago.”

“I guess that's one way of looking at it,” she said doubtfully.

“Things are different now.”

Yeah,
she thought bitterly.
You've been redeemed by love. Loving someone else, that is. Fuck.