Undead and Uneasy u-6 Page 7

  Stop that, Betsy.

  “—mean to offend you in your own home.”

  “No, you certainly wouldn't want to offend me. That's coming through loud and clear, Fist Boy.”

  “Pack Leader Fist Boy,” Brendan corrected, fixing me with a glare he probably thought was menacing. He’d never dealt with a hysterical Marc when he couldn't find a clean scrub shirt. Or Laura when she was late for church. Or Garrett when he ran out of yarn before he finished a sweater.

  Or Sinclair, for that matter, at any time. My guy had only to look this pup dead in the eye, and the kid (couldn't have been a werewolf hair over twenty-​two) would be his slave as long as Sinclair wanted.

  As a matter of fact, I could probably make this kid my slave.

  I actually thought about it while one of them babbled about something or other. But in the end I decided to play it carefully. They already knew I was quick and strong. That was two things too many for strangers to know about me. There was plenty of time to turn on the charm, if I needed to.

  “—where they might be?”

  “Who?”

  “Antonia and Garrett, you twit!”

  “Brendan.”

  Puppy Boy sat down and shut his piehole.

  “So?” Michael prompted.

  “What?”

  Michael ran both hands through his brown hair, mussing it to no end. “So. Where. Do. You. Think. Antonia. And. Her. Friend. Are?”

  “I. Have. No. Idea. That's. The. Whole. Problem.”

  Lara giggled. Or gurgled; she had another mouthful of smoothie. I drained the rest of mine in two gulps and got up to head for the counter.

  “Not the blender again, vampire, we're begging you.” Cain said it with touching, horrified sincerity; Brendan managed to look equal parts sneery and weary.

  That's vampire queen, I thought. But I took pity on them. Their hearing was probably as good as mine.

  Maybe better. I narrowed my eyes at them while I rinsed my glass without looking, then accidentally broke it on the faucet head. I assessed their strength, their tone, their differences from Antonia.

  Antonia, who was strong but not a shape-​shifter.

  Antonia, who could see the future but at a horrible cost to herself, and the one she loved.

  I couldn't imagine what was worse: being considered a freak by, well, other freaks, or having horrible visions that were never, ever wrong.

  Is that why she was gone? Had she seen something awful

  (Please God, nothing bad about Sinclair or Marc or Jessica okay, God? I'll owe you a big one, God, in Jesus’ name, amen.)

  and vamoosed, taking her own personal Fiend with her?

  No way. Antonia was a lot of things, but she'd never run for cover. And if she did run for cover, which she'd never do, she wouldn't do it without warning me first. After all, I was her—what was it? Pack leader pro tem?

  “You know,” I said, sitting across from Michael, “Antonia was pretty tight-​lipped about you guys.”

  Silence.

  “She didn't talk a lot about Pack stuff.” In fact, I was trying to remember a single damned thing I knew about the Pack. And I was coming up pretty close to blank. And not just because I usually tuned Antonia out five or ten seconds into her rant du jour. Well, yeah, that was probably the main reason, but, bottom line. . . “She just didn't.”

  “She didn't talk to me about vampire stuff,” Michael volunteered. “Every month it was the same thing. Everything okay? Yes. Need anything? No. Any messages you want me to pass along? No. Anything you want to tell me about? Hell, no.”

  "We all sat in silence for a few seconds. I don't know about them, but I was thinking that I was damned fortunate Antonia was able to juggle her loyalties so well. From the look on Wyndham's face, he was thinking the same thing, or close to it.

  I crossed my legs and stared at my black socks. Must remember to get my saddle shoes out of the foyer. “She must have explained when she moved in. Didn't she?” I looked up and beheld identical puzzled expressions. “I mean, she said she had to get permission from you, and I thought it was extremely weird that a grown woman had to 'get permission' to live with us, but when I said that, all she said was that my face was extremely weird and to shut the hell up.”

  Wyndham and his peeps nodded. Michael added, “She had little to say about you even when she moved to the Midwest. 'I found my destiny,' she says, 'and it's with the king and the queen of the vampires. Yes, they're real,' she says.”

  “Don't feel bad about not believing,” I told him. “I didn't believe in werewolves until Antonia showed up. And, uh, didn't change into a wolf.”

  " 'I'm not coming back,' she says—this was her way of asking permission. 'So sell my house and cut me a check. And don't give me any shit, or I'll foresee your death and forget to mention it.''

  I had to admit, it had the ring of authenticity.

  “She agreed to check in every month,” Michael said, “and that was the end of it. Until, of course, we didn't hear from her. Now. Tell me, Betsy. What is a Fiend? And where can we find the one that killed our Pack member?”

  Chapter 17

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa ! ” I said, wishing I wasn't doing this all by myself. “Let's not jump to any conclusions, my eager little pups. Garrett would eat his own balls before he'd ever hurt Antonia, and he'd never, never kill her.”

  Derik shuddered and covered his eyes. “Must you use phrases that I'll never get out of my head? 'Eat his own balls'? Who says that?”

  “Not to mention, it's hard to believe,” Cain added.

  “Believe? Why is that so hard? Now all of a sudden you're big vampire and Fiend experts?”

  “Vampires aren't accident-​prone?” Jeannie asked, and to her credit, it sounded like an honest question.

  “Well, I am,” I admitted. “But not Garrett.”

  “You can explain about Fiends?” Sure.

  “There are no taboos against discussing such things with outsiders?”

  “I dunno.” Wyndham couldn't hide his surprise, so I borrowed a phrase from his pal Derik. “I think it's that culture clash thing again. If it'll keep you from pulling Garrett's legs off, I'll answer any question you like.”

  “That's a good thing, chief,” Derik said. “Stop looking like you're expecting the other shoe to drop—on your head.”

  “For a ruthless despot of the undead, you're awfully charming,” Michael said, and no one in the room was surprised when Jeannie's fist slipped. But he got his breath back in no time at all.

  Lara asked—and received—permission to use the bathroom. Jeannie got up to accompany her. And I used the kid's absence to explain about Fiends, about Nostro and his sick-​ass psycho games, about Garrett's slow recovery, about all the progress he made and how much he and Antonia loved—

  “So by your own admission, this creature was sub-​human only six months ago?”

  “I don't know if sub—”

  “Subsisting on buckets of blood, running around on all fours, and howling at the moon?”

  “Physician, howl thyself,” I pointed out.

  “And he couldn't even talk?” Michael persisted.

  “I don't know about couldn't. Didn't talk would be more accurate. But see, after he drank my blood and the dev—and my sister's, he got better. And you guys—you just don't know. I mean, the way he feels about Antonia. She's his everything. He'd ki—uh, he'd die for her.”

  “And she for him, I s'pose?”

  “Well, it's hard to imagine Antonia getting all mushy and stuff, but yeah, I imagine she'd—” Too late, I saw the trap Michael had set for me. I shot to my feet and started to pace. “You guys, Garrett did not kill Antonia and then take off for parts unknown. There's no way. No way.”

  “Mmmm,” Wyndham said.

  “Hmmm,” Derik added, also apparently unconvinced.

  “You don't see me with my knickers in a knot, asking you if your Pack member killed my guy and then took off. Did I show up, fists flying, jumping to conclusio
ns? No.” I smirked to see the Wyndhams looking uncomfortable. Except for Brendon, who glared at me.

  “We've been over this,” Michael said, mildly enough.

  “Yeah, but now that your kid's gone, you can apologize for being totally out-​of-​control, foaming, slavering assholes who hit first and asked questions later.”

  He drummed his fingers on the table for a few seconds, and then, after a long, difficult moment (difficult for him, not for me) he said, “I apologize.”

  “Okay. It's totally conceivable that Antonia saw the future and got the hell out of here and that Garrett tried to stop her and so she—she—I dunno, gave him a bath in holy water and then left town on the first Amtrak headed east. That could totally happen, but I'm not getting all suspicious and paranoid, right? So there's no reason for you guys to stay beady-​eyed.”

  “Are there any other unusual goings-​on?” Michael asked, leaning forward. “Anything mysterious? Something that might lead us to answers?”

  “Everything's fine,” I lied. I cocked my head;

  I could hear Babyjon asking for a bottle. Loudly. “And you'll have to excuse me a minute; my brother needs me.”

  I moved past them, and Wyndham's hand shot out and closed over my forearm. I saw the whole thing and had plenty of time to avoid him. But I didn't. His hand was really warm. I could actually feel his heartbeat through his fingers.

  And he smelled—have I mentioned how frigging delicious these guys smelled? No wonder Garrett found Antonia irresistible. It sure wasn't her personality.

  Michael's hand squeezed my arm. He was so cute, thinking he was actually holding me in place. “Betsy, really. Is there anything going on?”

  I smiled. “Michael, you worry too much, anybody tell you? I said everything's fine, now didn't I? So don't sweat it.”

  On my way to the nursery, from one room and a hallway away, I heard Michael's very distinct order to Derik.

  Chapter 18

  Derik bounded beside me on the stairs like a big blond puppy. “It's nothing personal,” he said cheerfully keeping pace with me as I climbed the eighty zillion stairs to the nursery. “But we can't tell if you're lying or not—that whole 'no scent' thing—and it's driving the chief out of his head.”

  “I'll bet.” I was a smidge—-just a smidge— sympathetic. To go your whole life being able to tell if everyone around you was lying or not, that had to come in handy. One of the few things Antonia had mentioned was that her Pack hardly ever bothered with lying. . . there was absolutely no point. And then to run into me, someone who could (she was a short, genius brunette and still smell, fine not smell, as the case was), that had to be frustrating.

  “So I, the most charming and handsome werewolf in all the land—”

  “Should I throw up here on the stairs? Or try to wait until I can find a garbage can?”

  “—will catch you off-​guard with my witticism and charisma.”

  “And don't forget your sexy Martha Stewart T-​shirt.”

  “Hey, hey. Don't diss my girl Martha. She could kick your fine undead ass with one homemade seashell napkin holder behind her back.”

  “Derik, you're seriously bent, you know that?” He ignored me. “And then I, fearless Pack member, shall swoop down on the truth like a crow on a grub.”

  “Did you just call me a worm?”

  “I did not,” he said, following me into the nursery. “I called you a grub. Big difference. Huge!”

  I laughed; I couldn't help it. The big doof probably was the most charming werewolf in all the land. “Dude, you really are the—eh?”

  I had reached the crib, bent over, plucked Babyjon it And was surprised to be alone. I turned and Derik was—there was no other word for it—he was cowering beside the nursery door.

  “What's going on?” I asked, completely startled to see the six-​foot-​plus blond huddling in terror.

  “I was gonna ask you the same thing. Jesus!” He forced himself to straighten, shook himself all over, then cupped his elbows in his palms. It almost looked like—it looked like the big strong badass werewolf was hugging himself for comfort. But that couldn't be right. “Every hair on my body is trying to jump ship right now. Least that's what it feels like. I've got the worst fucking case of the creeps. I—what's that?”

  “This is my baby brother.” Babyjon wasn't crying or anything. I had slung him over one of my hips, and he was just looking at Derik, patiently waiting for his bottle. What a sweetie. Orphaned, and hungry. And not crying! “Isn't he the cutest?”

  “Keep him away from me,” Derik ordered, actually backing out of the room. Guess he wasn't fond of babies. “It feels like thirteen o'clock in here.”

  “Derik, what the hell's gotten into you?” I followed him out into the hall, genuinely puzzled. If Michael had sent his Good Guy WereCop after me to try to look for more info, this was a weird way to go about it. “You're acting all—”

  “Don't do that!” Both Derik's hands shot out palm up. He was warding me off? No way. I had it wrong. I was misreading werewolf body language, or whatever. “I might have to bite you. And not in a nice way, get it? So just—aaaaiiieeeeee!”

  He said aaaaiiieeeeee because at that moment he fell down the stairs. All the way down. And with my hands full of Babyjon, I had no chance to catch him. So I just stared, cringing at some of the thuds and wincing at some of Derik's more colorful language as he plummeted to the bottom.

  I sighed. Then I put Babyjon back in his crib, ignoring his surprised squawk, shut the nursery door, and started down the stairs.

  There was no way they were going to believe Derik fell down the stairs—all the stairs—without assistance. I assumed there was going to be another fight. Best to get it over with.

  Too bad, really. Just when I thought we'd established a little trust.

  Chapter 19

  “Well, thanks for stopping by," I said again, and it was even more lame than the first time I said it.

  Derik, upon his quick recovery, had done some fast talking to save me from another werewolf beat-​down, and now they were all leaving. And not being very subtle about wanting to get the hell out of my house, either. If I hadn't felt so anxious, I would have been amused.

  Derik limped past me, which was a big improvement, because he'd broken both legs when he'd hit bottom. These guys regenerated as fast as Sinclair and me. . . maybe faster. Must be their iron-​rich, high-​in-​protein diet. Mmm. . . their yummy, yum diet. I was drooling just watching them file past. Why had I never noticed how delicious Antonia was?

  Easy. When Antonia was around, Sinclair had also been around, and his blood was just fine. More than fine. We'd actually incorporated blood-​sharing into our lovemaking and now, like a Pavlovian dog (or George on the Seinfeld episode when he equated salted cured meats with sex), all I had to do was get a whiff of someone's delicious blood and also find myself horny as hell. Which wasn't exactly—

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Derik asked, massaging his knee.

  “Uh. No reason. Thanks again for visiting. And good luck picking up Antonia's scent.”

  I'd offered to show them her and Garrett's room, let them get a whiff of the sheets or whatever, and they'd all looked at me as if I'd lost my mind.

  I guess I was picturing a scene right out of a cop movie: baying bloodhounds sniffing sheets or a dirty sweater and then howling off into the night, hot on the trail. Apparently real life was different. And werewolves weren't bloodhounds.

  Which was a shame, because bloodhounds were really cute.

  “Crazy fucking vampire,” Jeannie muttered, so softly she probably assumed I hadn't heard her.

  “Don't forget your parting gifts!” I cried, sending Lara after them with a helpful shove.

  “Thanks for your hospitality,” Michael said without the teensiest bit of irony. We shook hands as the others filed past. He squeezed. I squeezed. He squeezed harder. So did I. I figured anybody else's hands would have been crushed to bloody powder by now. �
�We'll be doing some checking around town and will keep you posted,” he added, slightly out of breath from our mano a bimbo.

  “And I'll call you”—I held up the card with his cell phone number on it—“if I hear anything from either of them.”

  “Thanks. Have a good night.”

  “You, too. Bye, Derik. Cain. Brendon. Lara. Jeannie. Michael.”

  “Betsy,” Jeannie said, “I want to make clear that I only shot you because—”

  I shut the door. And since it was a big heavy door about two hundred years old, it cut her off with solid BOOM!

  Did I think they had anything to do with everything that was going on? No. I really didn't. Werewolves weren't exactly famous for lying or subversiveness. I seriously doubted they'd—what? Snatched Antonia back, staked Garrett, then shown up at my house and staged a pretend fight, all the while playing like they had no idea where Antonia and Garrett were?

  Vampires would pull that sneaky shit in a cold minute. The Wyndham bunch? Naw.

  Probably naw. Their appearance today was still an awful coincidence.

  It was either a really really good thing that the werewolves were in town right now, or a really really bad thing. Too bad I had no idea which it was.

  I took the stairs two at a time, plucked a fuming Babyjon out of his crib, fixed a fresh bottle (he liked 'em cold, and we kept a supply in the small fridge in his room), and let the poor starving tyke have at it. While I was walking with him back to the kitchen, I wondered about Derik's extreme reaction to my half brother. Hadn't he said that his wife was pregnant? Maybe babies freaked him out.

  I cuddled Babyjon closer into my side and kissed the top of his fuzzy dark head. “Guess he'd better get over that in a hurry,” I told him. “Unless he likes sleeping on the sorceress's couch.”

  The phone rang as I got near the swinging door, and I grimaced. What fresh hell was this?

  Chapter 20

  “Majesty?"

  “Tina? Hey, finally! Great to hear from you!” From anybody without fur, frankly. “What's going on?”