Undead and Unemployed (16 page)

I felt a sharp burning in my chest, heard my shirt tear, and opened my eyes to give whoever-it-was a piece of my mind.

"Owwww!" I complained. "Dammit, this is a new shirt!"

There was a
thump
as Sinclair dropped me. Why he'd been holding me I had no idea—his sneakiness and hidden agendas were boundless. "Elizabeth," he said, and I was startled to see his lips were dead white.

"Owwww again! What'd you do that for?" I rubbed the back of my head. "What are you guys all staring at? You're freaking me out." And they were! I was looking up at a moon of faces, and every one of them had their mouths hanging open. I was afraid if I stayed where I was, I'd get drooled on.

"Buh," Jon said.

"Yeah, okay. What happened? Where's that sneaky cow, Monique? Oooh, she's toast! Did you guys know she was the bad guy? She totally is! She tricked me into coming and partying with her. Except some party—she
staked
me in the chest. I mean, who
does
that? And it hurt like hell! And what took you guys so long? Why am I lying on this disgusting floor? Sinclair, help me off this floor right now."

"Buh," Jon said again. Not sure what the boy's problem was, but right now I had bigger fish to fry.

"You're alive!" Jessica blurted. "Again."

"Look at this hole in my shirt," I complained. "Does she think cotton grows on trees? Wait a minute. It does, doesn't it? Or does it grow on bushes? Either way, I… mmph!" I beat at Sinclair's shoulder until he stopped kissing me. "Dude! Time and place, okay? Now let me up."

He hauled me to my feet and Jon threw his arms around me, which made me stagger. Then Sinclair peeled him off me and started making that peculiar growling noise again, and Jon sort of bristled back, and Jessica snapped at them both to cut the shit, but I didn't care because I spotted Monique, who was backed up in a corner and had a sword at her throat, courtesy of my new best friend, Tina.

"Ha!" I said, yanking the stake away from Marc, who let out a yelp and then pulled a splinter out of his palm. "Stake
me
in the chest, willya? And you
ruined
my shirt."

I marched over to Monique, who managed to look amazed, scared, and pissed, all at the same time. "False queen," she said defiantly as Tina stepped away. Made me sort of nervous. I kind of wished that the sword was still pointing at my nemesis
du jour
. "You'll never rule."

"Tsk, tsk. Someone skipped her Book of the Dead bible lessons. Apparently I
am
ruling. It's just, losers like you didn't get the memo."

"You're talking too much," she said. "You always do."

"Awww, that hurts, Monique! It gets me right here." I touched the gaping hole in my shirt. "Where's the love? Say, while I'm thinking about it, you dropped something over there." I hefted the stake. "I think I'll give it back. If you don't mind."

"You don't have the—
urk
!"

"Oh, gross!" Jessica cried, turning away.

"Sorry," I said, stepping back and surveying the staked Monique with—I admit it—not a little bit of satisfaction. "What can I say? Death is messy. And she had it coming." I tried not to sound as whiney and defensive as I felt.

Because she
did
have it coming. For what she made the Blade Warriors do to all those other poor vamps, never mind what she did to me. Let her explain herself to the devil, if she could.
I
didn't care.

"Nicely done," Sinclair commented. He was looking a little better—not so deathly pale (for him)—which was a relief. And he wasn't growling at Jon like a rabid bear anymore.

"I wanted to do it," Jon pouted.

"It was sort of my job," I explained. "You can kill the next evil vampire serial killer."

"Oh." He visibly perked up. "Okay. I'm glad you're not dead for real."

"Me, too," Marc and Jessica said in fervent unison.

"Yeah, um, what's up with that? Monique's not going to come back like I did if I take that stake out, is she?"

"Of course not," Tina said, sounding shocked. "No one ever does. I mean… besides you. No one has ever…" She trailed off and shook her head, looking mystified, which for someone that smart, was a pretty rare thing.

"And that's interesting, isn't it?" Sinclair asked.

"Interesting," Jessica said, still looking a little green around the gills, "is so
not
the adjective I'm thinking right now." She shook a finger under my nose. "You… you…" She didn't have to say any more. I could tell she had been through hell again.

He ignored her. "I don't believe the Book of the Dead mentioned just how… unkillable… Elizabeth seems to be."

"Well." I shrugged. "You know. Hard to keep a good woman down, and all that."

"Particularly now," he said dryly, "with all your new possessions."

"What?"

"By our law, when you kill one of us, their possessions become yours."

"No way. Really? What about their families?"

"Vampires don't have families," Tina explained patiently. "Except for you, apparently. Didn't you wonder why Nostro's house never sold? It's yours."

"Sweet! First Sarah's Armanis, now this! Did you see Monique's Porche? Mine, all mine!" I stopped, because Marc and Jessica were giving me funny looks. "I mean, not that I killed her just to get the car, or anything." That was just a sweet, sweet bonus.

"No," Tina said, giving me a funny look of her own, "but I think that's the story we'll spread."

"How come?"

"We'll have to," Sinclair said, "until you work up some ruthlessness. Otherwise, this problem will keep coming up. Others will assume you're an easy kill, and will try for your crown."

"Who cares? She's obviously unkillable."

"Nobody is," Father Markus objected. "Not even Christ."

"Besides, I'm plenty ruthless," I protested. "I killed two vampires this week!
And
I put the milk back last night when there was just a tiny bit left."

"That was you?" Marc asked.

"Although…" I nibbled my lower lip, thinking. "I didn't kill Mr. Mason, and I sure should have."

"Mason? Your supervisor at Macy's?"

"Yeah, he's Monique's evil minion! He totally set me up. Fired my ass, then tipped her off so she could scoop me up like a minnow in a bait shop. Jerk."

"Really." Sinclair's eyes went flat. "Elaborate." He made me tell him the whole story, and then he took me over it one more time. Everyone was appropriately outraged on my behalf. It was great!

"I can't believe your boss tried to kill you, too," Jessica said. "I mean, I know they're trying to keep the unemployment rate down, but that's ridiculous."

"Most people think their bosses are out to get them. But mine really was! Eh, never mind him… now what? I mean, besides changing my shirt. This is just"—I looked down at myself—"yech."

"We have much to discuss," Sinclair announced.

"You're right about that," Tina said, looking disturbingly fervid. "What does this mean? For all of us, and for our queen?"

"It will make for some fascinating additions to my papers," Father Markus admitted. He looked like he could hardly wait to sit down at a desk and write. Bo-ring.

"Majesty, you're with us again! Unprecedented! And—"

"Look, you two… I realize you can't help being total buzz kills, but we're not having any big panel discussion tonight. It's Friday, I've shrugged off death's clammy embrace—"

"Again," Ani said.

"—and I want to dance!"

"I could use a drink," Jessica admitted, "or five."

"Me, too," Marc chimed in. He wiped sweat off his forehead. He and Jessica still looked really rattled. "It's really stressful, watching you come back from the dead."

"I'm sorry," I said humbly. "It's been a bad week for everybody, I guess."

"No more of this getting killed crap," Jessica ordered.

"Hey, it's not exactly fun for me, either! It's not like I'm doing it for the attention." There was an annoying, pointed silence. "I'm not!"

"Where are you going dancing?" Ani asked.

"Nowhere you can get in," Jessica said shortly. "This is strictly a roommates-of-Betsy unwinding thing."

"I'm a roommate of Betsy," Sinclair said mildly.

"I guess we could go to Gator's," I said. Then the horrible words sunk in. "
What
?"

"Oh, did I not mention it?" He looked so innocent; butter wouldn't melt on his fangs. "We're leaving the Marquette; it's no longer adequate for our needs. And after some discussion of the problem earlier this evening, Jessica has kindly agreed to be our landlord."

"
You're moving in
?" I was going to faint. I was going to throw something. I was going to get new sheets. "You… I… you…"

Jessica spread her hands and shrugged. I shot her a murderous glare. All that "she's in love with him and she doesn't know it" talk I'd overheard! And she'd been planning
this
.

I never should have slept with him again. Jessica wouldn't have jumped to dumbass conclusions if she hadn't seen us in bed together. Oh, I knew it! I knew I'd be sorry for that moment of weakness, but even I couldn't have foreseen this.
Nothing good comes of having sex with Eric Sinclair
!

I put a hand up, rubbed my forehead. "I really need that drink now."

"We're in a bar," Jon pointed out.

"Forget it, you little weirdos," I said rudely, including Ani in my diatribe. "A) I'm not partying in dead Monique's tacky club, and B) you guys aren't even drinking age. So you're not coming."

"Oh. Almost forgot." Jessica fished in her pocket, then stretched something shiny toward Eric and Tina. "Here's your house key."

I snatched it from her and ate it. I gagged, but it went down.

"Oh, very mature," Sinclair sniffed, but I could sense the smirk lurking.

"Don't talk to me." I paused, to see if the key was going to come back up. It was staying put, for now. "And
you
…" I grabbed Jessica's ear and she yelped. "Come on. I'm driving my new Porche somewhere and you're gonna explain yourself." After I threw up the key.

"It just makes fiscal sense… if you look at the numbers I'm sure you'll—let go!"

"He can sleep in my room," Marc offered.

"I suppose I should say something negative about vampires living in sin," Father Markus said, "but that seems to be the least of your problems."

"Actually, I've already picked out the room next to Elizabeth's—do not attempt to grab my ear," he added quickly as I twitched in his direction. "Unless you wish to be put across my knee."

"Oh, is that what you guys are up to when the sun goes down?" Ani teased, as Jon reddened and looked away.

I got out of there, dragging Jessica and Marc, before my head exploded.

So now I'm living with stupid Sinclair and stupid Tina in a gigantic mansion that I can't afford.
And
I'm undead and unemployed. Again.

Okay, well, Tina's not so stupid. In fact, I kind of like her when she's not startling me with her core of utter ruthlessness. Plus, she makes a mean strawberry smoothie. Even Sinclair drinks them! I guess he really loves strawberries. I gotta change my shampoo.

Strange vampires keep dropping by to show tribute. Apparently Monique's little coup failure has been making the gossip channels, because dead people are falling all over themselves to stop by and say howdy. For some reason, they bring blood oranges. Sinclair says it's tradition. I say it's cracked. The fridge is full of the damned things.

I thought Marc and Jessica were nuts to open their—our—home to more vampires, but Marc earnestly explained that he doesn't think of Tina and Eric as undead. I bet he'd change his mind if either one of them ever got hungry enough.

As for Jessica, she's made up her mind that as long as Sinclair and I are meant to be, we might as well start getting used to each other. And it'd be rude to leave Tina out, since she and Eric are practically brother and sister. Thus, we are now roommates. I searched her room, but could find no evidence of drug use.

It's unbelievably nerve-wracking to come downstairs and find Sinclair already in the tea room, reading the
Wall Street Journal
and getting a smirk ready.

Not to mention, I've been fighting the almost constant temptation to sneak into his room wearing nothing but a smirk of my own. But I realized my lesson in Monique's club: nothing good can come of having sex with Eric Sinclair. And as for the gentleman in question, he's been… well, a perfect gentleman. Dammit.

He and Tina brought the Book of the Dead to the house, where we keep it in the library on its own little mahogany book stand. Jessica tried to read it and got a three day migraine for her pains. She also jumped at small noises and wouldn't eat for most of those three days. Now she stays the hell away from the library.

I'll get to the book myself someday, but for now I'm trying lighter fare. Let Tina and Sinclair manage the thing, if they could.

When I rose a few nights ago, there was a copy of Pat Conroy's biography,
My Losing Season
, on my chest. It took me a week to read it and the best part was, there was no mention of food anywhere. So I put it on the shelf with my other books. Guess a door I thought was closed had swung open again… I was sure glad.

I tried to thank Sinclair (I knew Jess hadn't done it; she'd have made sure she got the credit… but I bet she gave him the idea), but he gave me a look like he didn't know what I was talking about, so I dropped it.

Jon left town. He said he wanted to get back to the suburbs to see his family, but I think, and Jessica concurs, he couldn't stand the thought of Sinclair living with me. Which made two of us, frankly. He promised to come back at the end of the summer, and I actually find myself missing the little weirdo.

Ani hangs around most evenings. I think she and Tina have something going, but they're discreet. Still, they're both doing a lot of wandering around the mansion, humming. And the goofy smiles are annoying.

Sinclair was right: Monique's stuff came to me. It was true. She really did have several properties all over the world. And
two
cars!

What the hell I was going to do with a club in Minneapolis, a spa in Switzerland, a private school in England, and a restaurant in France remains beyond me. I don't know a damn thing about managing multiple businesses. I guess I could go get a job at one of them. Maybe I'd try to run Scratch…

Detective Nick Berry's peripheral involvement in the whole nasty business was that rarest of things. A true coincidence. The cabbie I'd saved had just happened to give his report to Nick. Nick had just happened to see my car a few days later and pulled me over. I was glad. I'd messed up his life once before; I would have hated to find it a ruin again.

Mr. Mason disappeared. I didn't even know about it until I saw the blurb in the paper. He had no family, and his own boss was the one who finally reported him missing; how's that for sad?

Gone without a trace, until they found a few pieces of him in his apartment a month later. Inside a suitcase, which he'd apparently been in the middle of packing when… when whatever happened, happened. I asked Sinclair about it, and he just turned the page of the
Journal
and didn't answer me. So I didn't bring it up again. Felt a little sorry for Mr. Mason, though. After all, he
did
give me a job at Macy's.

Went to see the Ant, with a Calvin Klein onesie for my future half-sibling. Sort of a "can't we pretend we don't hate each other?" ice breaker. She "accidentally" spilled red wine on it.

I'm worried about the gardener. Nobody else talks about him, and when I describe him I get a lot of funny looks. Jessica says she did hire someone to take care of the lawn and flowerbeds, but it was a young woman in her twenties. This guy's old, really old.

I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who can see him.

I'm scared to go talk to him, but one of these days I plan to get it over with. Whatever his deal is, hopefully I can help, and he'll vamoose like Marie did. I miss
her
, but creepy old guy ghosts staring up at my bedroom window whenever I look out I do
not
need.

I did a lot of thinking about what happened that night in Monique's bar. The whole day—week!—had a fairly nightmarish quality and sometimes it's hard to remember all the gory details. Whenever I try, my mind veers off to sweater sales and leather gloves. All the winter stuff is in the stores now, and I need to stock up.

Jessica asked me about it, and Tina did, too, but Sinclair avoided the subject entirely, and I wasn't sure why. I told them the truth—I didn't remember much between getting staked, and Marc pulling the stake out.

What I didn't tell them was the one thing I
did
remember: Sinclair's voice floating out of the dark, coaxing, commanding, and saying the same thing over and over again: "Come back. Come back. Don't leave me. Come back."

Weird. And sometimes I wonder if I dreamed it. Or hallucinated it. Or, most amazing of all, if he really said it. God knows I wasn't going to ask him… I was still building up my courage to talk to the dead gardener.

So, either I can't be killed, or the king of the undead brought me back by the sheer force of his will. Either way, something to think about.

But not today. Neiman's is having a sale, and I desperately need a cashmere cardigan. I'd prefer red, but I'll take any primary color. Jessica's paying! She says it's a "congrats on coming back from the dead again" present. Works for me.