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  “Majesties. I don't question your judgment—”

  “But you're going to.”

  Marjorie looked as anxious as I'd ever seen her. “How could you let this happen?”

  “It was—”A favor for a friend , I started to say, but Sinclair stepped on that in a hurry.

  “Can the book be pulled?”

  “It's notour book,” she pointed out, sounding pissed. “You may as well ask if the new Stephen King can be pulled—we had nothing to do with it.”

  “Canthe new Stephen King be pulled?” Marc joked. He was an “old-​school” King snob—nothing good sincePet Sematary , he once claimed. I kept buying them, though. Letting go of King was like letting go of your favorite greasy spoon hangout. You don't. They're still open, so you keep going, out of pure love and memory of the good old days.

  I looked at the spread again. Dark blue cover, silver lettering. “The first true tale from the undead trenches.” Sure.

  I knew who had written it: Jon Delk, formerly of the vampire-​hunting Blade Warriors, current hot author. Not that he knew it—thanks to a bit of quick memory wiping.

  Of course, the sourcebehind the author had been me.

  A few months ago, Jon had come by to talk me out of marrying Sinclair. A college student by day and ferocious vampire hunter by night, he'd sworn off the stake a few months ago. Meeting me had made him see a whole new side to vampires, I gathered. These days he and the rest of his little Cub Scout den from hell asked questions first and staked later.

  Grateful for Delk's change of heart, I'd told him my story, which he used for a college paper. Then the manuscript disappeared, and Sinclair made Jon forget he'd written it. Problem solved. Right?

  A fresh new take on the vampire tale from someone who's actually been there , according toPublishers Weekly .

  “Jon's gonna be pissed,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Only if we tell him.”

  “Of course we're gonna tell him! We can't not tell him. That would be—”

  “The feelings of the infant who wrote this are the least of your problems,” Marjorie pointed out sharply. “I can assure you, the vampire community will not be happy about this. We have spent a millennium in hiding; you've been in power for about a year, and now—”

  “Charming anti-​Anne Rice tale from a vampire with real world problems!” Marc read helpfully.

  “We need to deal with this now,” Sinclair said quickly. “If we cannot stop the book's publication—”

  “What's the spin?” I asked.

  “Do you even need any?” Jessica asked. She looked a little like a cornered mouse when we all stared at her, then spoke up again. “Nobody's going to think there arereally vampires running around. I mean, look at this ad. If you were reading it, would your first thought be,oh my gosh, this is real, cover the kids in garlic and sprinkle the doorstep with holy water ? No way. It's obvious that it's a fiction book pretending to be nonfiction.”

  “Except,” Marc said, “it's nonfiction pretending to be fiction.”

  “Right, but what live human being—other than the very few of us who already know—will realize that? Of course, if you try to get the book pulled, that reallywill get people interested. Who's trying to stop this book? Why? Are they a satanic cult? Do they worship vampire mythology?” She paused for dramatic effect. “Then: why do they act like vampires? Do they really think they are? And wow, why don't any of them have suntans?”

  Marjorie leaned forward and whispered in Sinclair's ear. He nodded.

  “What? What was that? Don't keep secrets. Are you keeping secrets? Marjorie, don't you know the whole 'share it with the class' rule?” I said.

  “I was only asking,” she said, “if your friend knew she was ill, and I was speaking privately because it was off the topic, and I didn't wish you to think I wasn't paying attention.”

  “Thanks, but I did know,” Jessica said. She even smiled. Marjorie didn't, and I realized Jessica had made a classic mistake where vampires were concerned. Marjorie may have sniffed out Jessica's cancer, but she didn't give a shit if this specific blood-​sheep ever recovered. She was just curious about Eric's feeding habits.

  “Getting back to business,” Tina said. “I think Jessica makes an excellent point. Trying to restrain a book only increases its impact.”

  “Very well,” Marjorie said. “I only wished to bring this to your attention. What you do with this information is entirely up to you.”

  “Somebody better bring it toJon's attention,” I muttered, closing the catalog and trying to hand it back.

  She gave me a chilly smile. “No, thank you, Majesty. I have plenty of copies.”

  “Well, thanks for bringing that extra special bit of fun into our lives,” I said back, with equal warmth. Which was to say, with no warmth.

  “Any excuse to spend extra time with Your Majesty.”

  “I'll see you out,” Tina said, rising and gesturing to the door.

  “Thank you,” Sinclair said politely, staring down at the catalog with a thin twist of his mouth, “for stopping by.”

  “Yeah, thanks loads.”

  “Majesties. Dr. Spangler. Miss.” And off she went, ready to spread more joy to other vampire households.

  Chapter 16

  “There is a book about you?” Alonzo asked, his dark Spanish eyes aglow.

  More pop-​ins! Oh, wait. It was possible Tina had mentioned the Europeans had scheduled another meeting. At least we were in one of the parlors this time, instead of being ambushed in the kitchen by bitchy librarians. In fact, this was my favorite parlor (who knew I'd ever live in a house where I'd have a favorite parlor?), with the cheerful candy-​striped wallpaper and blond wood furniture. Big east-​facing windows let in tons of natural light (I assumed), and the room was heated by a gorgeous, midnight blue ceramic stove in the corner.

  I was beginning to feel like I was spending half my (new) life in parlors. Thank heavens we had four, or I would get bored with the wallpaper. Now the idea of opulent mansions suddenly made sense.

  “Really and truly,” I answered Alonzo. “Look: we only told you guys so you wouldn't freak out if you, you know, happened to be in Barnes and Noble looking for some light reading before you iced the girl at the coffee counter.”

  “I appreciate the genuine concern in your otherwise needlessly provocative statement,” Alonzo said. He shot his cuffs and looked at his watch, a big chunky silver thing that looked like it weighed down his wrist. He did it so often I assumed it was some sort of tic.

  “Provoke this,” I retorted.

  “The book is not quite out yet,” Sinclair pointed out, clinging to hope like a balding man with a sparse comb-​over.

  “Yes, it's a bright new fall offering,” I added. “Place your orders now. Beat the rush!”

  “I'd like to beatyou ,” Sinclair muttered, which I didn't think was very unifying of him. Then, louder, he added, “We are, as you say, keeping you in the loop.”

  In fact, there had been a wicked big argument about it. My initial take was, let them read about it on theNew York Times bestseller list. Who cares about their feelings? I mean, Gawd. Look at the sitch. We've got bigger problems than a book about my alleged (what was the opposite of alleged?) life story. Like Jessica beingdeathly friggin' ill . Sophie needing revenge. The Europeans needing to kick me out and take over. Maybe on that last one; it was possible they only needed to clear customs on the way home. Anyway, a book nobody would think was true was the least of my problems.

  Tina and Sinclair were adamantly opposed to my own superior point of view. Like parrots playing off each other, they kept telling me in grating and repetitive ways that it was better to tell these Europeans about the book before they found out themselves and used our silence. Use it how, they didn't elaborate.

  Anyway, since my number one complaint about being dead was that nobody told me anything, I eventually agreed to let Alonzo and the others know. For once,I'd called the meeting (well, Tina had called for
me). For once,I was expecting company. Yeah! How 'boutthat ?

  “I confess,” Alonzo was saying, “I have no idea what to say. This is an unusual problem.” He gave me an admiring look.

  “Listen, totally off the subject, can I ask you something?”

  “Majesty, I am at your disposal.”

  Now was the perfect opportunity. Jessica was asleep—or, at least, in her room. Marc was working. It was just us dead people.

  “What's it like, to make a vampire?”

  “Oh, well.” Alonzo looked uncharacteristically flustered, and ran a hand over his smooth head. “I never, ah, stayed to take care of one. That is to say—”

  “You always chomped and moved on.”

  “Would you ask a lion to sit with the corpse of the gazelle, as the hyenas and vultures tore at the tendons?”

  “People aren't gazelles,” I pointed out, restraining my temper with some difficulty.You brought it up, you brought it up . “So there might be other vampires running around, ones you made?”

  “It is likely,” he said reluctantly. “In my youth. Now, of course, I have much more control over the thirst.”

  “See, I avoid that whole thing by not even drinking. You should try it!”

  “This, what you say, 'avoid the whole thing.' This is physically impossible.” Frustration, intrigue, admiration, and rage crossed his features all at once. It made his eyes go really squinty and he was rubbing his head so much I wondered if he was trying to start a fire up there.

  “Feeding leads to killing. It happens time and time again, vampire after vampire. I can't even imagine,” I said, speaking more to myself than anyone in the room. “Killing somebody. I mean—”

  Okay, I had killed someone. Two someones. Wait, four, if you counted vampires. Hmmm, official Gray Area ahead. But they were all self-​defense, right? And the vampires were already dead, right? Neither of which Alonzo could claim about Sophie.

  “Walk with me?” the Spaniard asked, getting up smoothly from his spot on the love seat.

  “Yeah,” I said, standing up an instant later. “Sure. No problem.”

  Sinclair raised his eyebrows at me, but didn't say a word or make a move.

  So we went.

  We'd put our coats on; he had put back on the slightly muddy but still meticulously crafted black wingtips he had left in the hallway upon his entrance. For myself, I'd slipped into a somewhat fashionable pair of bright red rubber boots—it was wet out. Spring in Minnesota meant thaw, and thaw meant mud.

  “At last,” he teased when we had walked a block without saying anything to each other. “I have spirited you away from the king.”

  “Yeah. I don't even know why we're talking. I sort of thought when I first met you, that we'd end up at each other's throats. You know, after Sophie had her turn.”

  “Have you decided what to do with me?”

  I nearly walked into a melting snowbank. “Seriously? You're asking me?”

  “I am but a loyal subject. Your will is my will.”

  “I appreciate the thought.” And, weirdly, I did. “Is it real? I mean, is it genuine? If I said, 'Okay, Alonzo, I'm going to cut off your head because you were a bad vampire a hundred years ago,' you'd just go along with it?”

  “Well,” he admitted, neatly avoiding a sample of thawing dog poo that had likely been there since January, “I wouldn't calmly kneel before you and wait for the sword to swing, but I respect the power of the monarchy.”

  “In other words, you don't think I'd be so cruel.”

  “No,” he replied. “I don't think you would be so cruel. In fact, I am counting on it.”

  “You really don't think I'd do anything to you?”

  His words came out with careful measure. “That would be an overstatement. I do not think you would kill me in cold blood.”

  Well, nuts.

  “It would be easier,” I said with a sigh, “if you and your friends were the bloodthirsty monsters I thought you were at first. Maybe the six of you could leave town in a trail of blood. Then killing would be easy.”

  “This should not concern the others,” he said emphatically. “This is a matter between me and Dr. Trudeau. And your Majesty, of course.”

  “Is that why you came over tonight by yourself?”

  “You only sent for me.”

  “You're the only one whose name I can remember,” I admitted, and he laughed.

  In the distance, I could hear barking and yowling and toenails clicking on sidewalk. I figured we had about two more minutes before all the neighborhood dogs descended. There was a reason I didn't like taking walks.

  “Let's head back.”

  “We only just—”

  “Dude, trust me. You do not want to be here five minutes from now. We can talk more in the garden behind the mansion. Behind the fence.”

  He obediently turned with me as I did a one-​eighty and started heading back up the sidewalk to the house. He was right; it was a little silly. We were barely out of the shadow of the mansion. I had barely talked to him about anything. Wait—had it been my idea to go for a walk? I tried to remember. No. He'd asked me.

  “I have another question for you, Majesty.”

  “Oh, great. My turn again. Except we're not playing a game.”

  “About that,señorita , you are wrong. But here is my question: are you going to turn your friend into a vampire? Or wait for her to die and bury her and mourn her?”

  “How do you evenknow about that?”

  “You mean, before you asked me what it was like to make a vampire? I guessed. I know she is ill, and after seeing you and her in the same room, I could make some assumptions.”

  The mansion loomed larger before us, the dark and forlorn branches of surrounding trees still waiting for rebirth. The baying of dogs was coming closer.

  He broke the silence again. “You do not seem the type of lady to give up her friends so very easily.”

  I chewed on that one for a moment. The thing about Alonzo was, even when he said something nice, it wasn't like he was sucking up. Maybe it was in the translation of his ideas from Spanish to English; but his well-​crafted words betrayed a certain attention for my well-​being. In fact, he made for a pleasant change from most vampires here in America, who either (a) ignored me or (b) tried to kill me.

  “I only just found out my friend was sick,” I said finally. “I don't know what I'm going to do, yet.”

  “I beg your pardon. But I believe you do.”

  We stopped together at the iron gate on the west side of the house. It led to the brown and lifeless gardens behind the house. But neither of us reached for the latch. Instead, we watched each other for several seconds.Game indeed , I thought.

  “Well,” I said finally, “you're assuming my friend will even go along with it.”

  “She has a choice?”

  “If she didn't, she wouldn't really be myfriend , would she?”

  “Your uniqueness,” he offered, “is both blessing and a curse. Blessing, in that you are different from others, which I always see as a positive. A curse, in that you generate problems of your own making—problems that vampires like me do not trouble with.”

  “For example?”

  “I have never known a vampire to remain friends with a human—certainly not long enough to consider a careful plan to turn that friend.”

  “Never? And you've been around, what? A hundred years? Two hundred? And in that time, you've never made a friend and then wanted to keep them around?” My situation with Jessica couldn't have been that out there… and neither could Sophie and Liam's.

  “Not a living human,” he answered with arms stretched and palms up. “And when you generate two estimates of my age, you would do well to round to the higher one.” One of the hands lifted higher than the other.

  I laughed.

  “There's us,” he said, finally swinging open the gate and entering the garden, “and there are them. The two cannot mix. No good comes of this. Your situation—forgive
my boldness, Your Majesty—I see your situation as the inevitable, and unfortunate, end result of your unreasonable attachment to your human friends. Someday, you will end up in the same place with your doctor friend. Each of these endings will devastate you, weaken you—and to no good purpose.”

  “I don't see it that way at all.” I felt a little defensive, but also grateful to this vampire. Which was amazing in and of itself. But Alonzo was giving me the first chance I had really had to organize my thoughts. A rare and wonderful thing, in my case.

  “How do you see it, my queen?”

  My thoughts assembled rapidly as I said the words, and I felt more secure in my opinion with each new idea. “I gain strength from my friends, not weakness. My 'situation' with Jessica is not the 'end result' of anything. It's a step in our journey together. Maybe she dies, maybe she lives. But she is an essential part of me, either way. What am I without these friends?”

  “Faster, stronger, generally superior,” he suggested.

  “Superior,” I muttered. “I'm afraid I don't like that word very much. Especially when vampires use it.”

  “Oh dear.” He gave a knowing smile as he walked beside me on the dead garden path. The baying of the dogs faltered in the distance. “No wonder you had a problem with the former regime.”

  Chapter 17

  We slipped into the back entrance of the house and just sort of stood around for a moment in the mudroom. I wanted to go to the kitchen and hang out with Jessica for a while—give her a chance to maybe tell me how the doctor's appointments were going. How everything was going. The thing about Jess—you couldn't force information out of her. She'd tell you or she wouldn't. I planned to make the atmosphere as welcoming as I could.

  Anyway, I was pretty much done with Alonzo. I'm sure he was done with me. And Sinclair wasn't the “hey, let's go play golf in the dark” kind of guy. In fact, I had never seen Sinclair with one man friend. In further fact, as far as I knew, Tina was his only friend.

  Anyway, Sinclair was done with Alonzo. Tina probably wasn't even there—she was tracking Jon down for us.