Undead and Unworthy (19 page)

of scarves and our four-poster bed. Then he straightened up and went back to being Sir

Pissypants. "Do not change the subject. You must promise to never, ever – "

"I won't!" Strangely, I felt my blood start to heat up again.
And I won't do that again,
either. At least not
right now.
Who knew if my friends could take it again? Besides, I really had no right to their – their life essence, maybe? Whatever it was that I could feed

on without touching them. It wasn't mine. And I wasn't a thief.

With that in mind, I struggled to hold my temper, something I wasn't especially good at.

"Sinclair, enough with the promises to stay safe and hidden from the world. It didn't suit

me when I was alive, and I certainly can't comply now."

"I will not tolerate – "

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"Are you listening, schmuck? You almost
died
this summer. Had I acted then like you

wanted me to act this time, what would have happened? You'd be a pile of fucking ash,

and you'd still be full of shit!"

"Aw, that's romantic," Antonia piped up.

"Damn right it is." I turned back to my idiot husband. "I love your arrogant ass, numbnuts, and I'm not going through something like this summer ever again. Besides, there are going

to be times when we'll have to deal with problems alone... I mean, jeez. If
I
can figure that out, you can, too. You're just going to have to get used to the idea."

He sighed, and I could tell he wanted to smile at me but was forcing himself to remain

stone-faced. The better to intimidate you with, my dear. Too bad it didn't work on me.

Never had. "I love your arrogant ass as well, my own, but I meant every word I said, and

you will mind me, Elizabeth. In this one thing, you will mind me."

"Fuck you, lover. I'm the queen, and I'll do as I please."

"I am the husband, and you will do as you're told."

"Hi, I'm Betsy. Nice to meet you."

"Do not sass me."

"Do not piss me off."

He stomped his foot. Actually stomped it (clad in a Kenneth Cole loafer), like a kid having

a tantrum. I managed not to laugh. Just barely. "This argument is over!"

I stomped my heel, nearly staggering – damned vampire strength! If I ruined these pumps

I'd never forgive myself. "You're fucking right it is. Go suck on a turnip."

We got out of the car, still not talking to each other. Even more awkward, Jessica and

Nick had tagged along in his truck – I would have thought he'd had enough of me for a

lifetime, but there wasn't room in Sinclair's SUV for me, Sinclair, Antonia, Garrett,
and

Jessica. Is there anything worse than being trapped in a car immediately after you've just

broken up with your boyfriend? Eeesh.

Worst of all, the Ant was waiting for me on the porch, knockoff-clad toe tapping

impatiently. "It's not over yet," she warned.

"Tell me about it," I snarled. "It'll never be over, until you cough up why you're sticking around." I walked through her, shivering (it was like walking through a curtain of freezing

water) and opened our front door. "Why can't you go to hell like any other – "

Suddenly I was shoved so hard, I smacked into the wall and fell down. The impact forced

a shower of plaster to rain down on me. There was the deafening boom of a pistol being

fired several times over my head. We were trapped in the doorway like ants in a straw –

nobody had any room.

"That girl," a new voice said, "had amazing reflexes. I haven't missed a shot in forty-six years."

"Chief Hamlin?" Nick asked, horrified.

I slowly sat up. The Minneapolis police chief, less than a year from retirement, was

standing at the end of the foyer, smoke curling up from the barrel of his pistol. He was a

tall, gray-haired man in a neat dark blue suit, with wrinkles cutting deeply into his face,

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) kind blue eyes, and a smoking gun.

"My father told me about you over three weeks ago," he said to (ulp) me. "How you left him for dead on that God-awful farm."

"Wh-what are you – ?"

"I was just a boy when he disappeared – and died the first time, best I can tell. By the time he came back years later – last month, in fact – I was a police chief."

"But I don't understand why you – "

He was staring at me with exhausted eyes. "You were all he could think of. He was the

gentlest man I'd ever known, and all he could think of was hurting people. Hurting you."

"So you set him to work," Nick said shakily. "You sicced him on perps we couldn't put away. Pretended to figure out the pattern – which I bought, because you've got a great rep

as a detective. Gave your dad cold guns, so we wouldn't think it was a vampire."

"But these guys had a caretaker at the farm/mansion place." I was having a terrible time puzzling this out. "She never noticed your dad kept slipping off the property?"

"Silly boy. They killed her a month ago."

That explained why Tina and Sinclair couldn't puzzle out Alice's remains. They hadn't been

fresh. And it was entirely possible they
had
known and kept the info to themselves. It

would be typical behavior. I bit the inside of my cheeks, so I wouldn't start shrieking at

them.

Secrets, secrets. Cripes. My life was stuffed with them.

"Jeez, jeez," Nick was saying, his hand on his hip. I could see his fingers wanted to pluck at a gun he wasn't wearing. "Your only mistake was sending him to me when you gave me

the fake tags to check."

Chief Hamlin shook his head. "I didn't send him. He had been following your Betsy. And

when he saw her on the street – "

"He snapped, and – " I almost said, "My sister killed him," but rapidly rephrased. I didn't want
any
of this fallout to poison Laura's life. "I killed him. But you didn't count on Nick getting his fingerprints off my purse strap. Once he had that info, it wouldn't have taken

long until he knocked on your door."

The chief's lip trembled. "He was my father. He would not have hurt me."

I shook my head. "Oh, man, you're so wrong. Like, the earth is flat kind of wrong. I don't

even know how to explain it to you. You don't understand what he had become."

"He was my father," the chief repeated. It was clear he was trying to convince himself,

more than anyone else. "Back – miraculously – from the dead. And only I could help him."

He shuddered at whatever memories of his father he had and looked past my shoulder. "A

shame about your friend. I've never seen anyone move that fast in my life."

I didn't dare turn to find out whom he was talking about. "She'll be okay," I said bravely, hoping that was true. "And you won't get a second chance."

"No," he said politely. "She won't be okay. I used twenty-two longs, you see. But you're right about me. I won't get a second chance. I have only the one gun, you see – and by my

count, one bullet left. I figured I'd never get the chance to reload, given the size of your

entourage." He looked down at his gun. "I wish I had hit you and finished what my father started. I'll have to settle for hurting you. I hope your friend was important to you. Very,

very important."

I still refused to turn around. Tears began to well in my eyes. "You're going to regret what

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) you've done, asshole."

"No, I'm not. I have no intention of letting you turn me into what my father was."

Then he tucked the barrel under his chin and pulled the trigger.

Nobody tried to stop him. In fact, before his body hit the floor, I was already turning to

find out who had taken the bullets meant for me.

I first realized who it was when I saw the cascade of black waves blowing in the chill

Minnesota wind – our front door was still open. The body lying face-down beneath that

hair did not move.

Tina was lifting one pale hand, checking for a pulse. Garrett was holding the other.

"Why isn't she getting up?" I asked, rushing to Tina's side. "What kind of bullets were these? Were they silver?"

"They didn't have to be silver," Tina guessed as she examined Antonia's body. She knew

more about guns than anyone I'd ever met. "Twenty-two longs, as he said, quite perfect

for the job. They ricocheted around her skull but didn't exit. That particular ammunition

lowers the innocent bystander rate. He may have expected civilians – or perhaps Detective

Berry – to be near you when he shot you."

"But she's a werewolf!" I shook Sinclair's comforting hand off my shoulder.

Tina looked up at me, eyes almost black with sympathy. "Her brains are all over the floor,

Majesty. There will be no coming back from this."

I barely noticed Garrett get up and slip out of view.

"But she – she's Antonia!" Foulmouthed and smart and strong and invulnerable. And alive

– always so vibrantly, shockingly alive. "She can't be – I mean, shot? It's such a mundane

way for someone like her to – "

"No." Jessica staggered as if the shock was going to knock her on her ass, and Nick

steadied her. "No, she can't be. You're wrong. She's not."

And the worst part was – "She jumped in front of me. She – saved me."

"Everybody saves you," Nick said neutrally. He tried to slip his arm around a sobbing

Jessica, but she knocked it away.

Then we heard the splintering crash come from the stairwell.

I stood, trembling at the subsequent silence, and peered into the foyer. I choked back a

sob at what Garrett had done to himself.

The regretful Fiend-turned-vampire had kicked the banister off a stretch of curved stairs in

the foyer, leaving a dozen or so of the rails exposed and pointing up like spears. Then he

had climbed to the second floor to a spot overlooking the stairs and swan dived onto the

rails, which had gone through him like teeth.

"See?" the Ant said sadly as we stared down at the second body of a friend in less than a minute. "I warned you."

"Yeah, well." I wiped my face. "You could have been a lot more specific."

"I didn't know exactly. But I had a feeling. This stuff is pretty inevitable around you."

"Please go away."

"Yes, I think so. You wouldn't believe how depressing all this is. Good-bye, for now."

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) And like that, she was gone.

"We'll take care of the bodies," my husband told me quietly.

Jessica kicked the wall and wiped tears from her cheeks. "Take care of the bodies? Just

like that? It's not that easy, Eric. You can't just snap your fingers and make vampire

minions clean up the crap. Not this time. What about Chief Hamlin? How are we going to

explain
that?
"

"Don't worry about it," Nick said, clearly uncomfortable. "I can fix that."

"You can fix that," I spat. "Like you helped us fix things with the Fiends. Like you wanted me to fix your problems. You're going to fix this."

Sensing my lack of faith, he coughed and softened his tone. "Yeah. I can. I promise. Um,

Betsy. You've had a rough – I mean, maybe you should, uh, go lie down."

"I agree," Sinclair said, too quickly. "Elizabeth, let us handle this for you.

I wanted to leave. God help me, I wanted to run away from this house and never, ever

come back.

But I'd settle for fleeing to my bedroom and dropping the mess in my husband's lap. And

the cop who hated me.

"It was all just so – so stupid," I said.
And preventable
, my conscience whispered.
If only
you'd been paying attention to business...

I trudged up the stairs. Nobody went with me, which suited me fine.

Sinclair came upstairs hours later and cuddled me into his side. I sighed, and he stroked

my shoulder and then kissed that same shoulder. I closed my eyes and breathed in his

scent... warm, clean cotton. And dried blood, of course. Mustn't forget that. Not ever.

"She died well."

"I don't give a fuck. I want her back. I want her
here.
"

"As do I, Elizabeth. But I will honor her memory forever, for the sacrifice she made. It

might have been your brains all over the foyer."

"Well, what if it was? Why should I be alive and Antonia be so much cooling meat?"

"I do not know, dear one. But I am fervently glad it worked out the way it did, for all I

was fond of Antonia."

I mulled that one over for a minute or two while Sinclair sat up, slipped off my shoes, and

rubbed my feet. I wiggled my toes against his palms and almost smiled. Then felt bad for

thinking it'd be okay to smile, even for a second.

"I just don't get it," I said at last.

"Get it?"

"When stuff this awful happens, you're supposed to learn something. Look Both Ways

Before You Cross The Street. Be Kind To Children And Small Animals. Something. Jeez,

anything. But there was all this death, all this waste, and for what?"

Sinclair was quiet for so long I assumed I'd stumped him, a rare and wonderful thing. But

he was just trying to figure out how to break it to me. Should have known.

"It is that to be queen," he said at last. "There will be times when you will see an ocean of blood and despair. So it says in the Book of the Dead, and so it shall be, dear wife."