Coffin Fit (The Grateful Undead series Book 4) (3 page)

"Régime," I said, "or you could say 'on a health crusade.'"

Jeni flopped into a recliner at the edge of the dining area, looking amused and content as she plucked out her earbuds.

Now that Jeni wasn't using the middle of the living room as a gym, Resi walked across and sat in a leather chair near the floor-to-ceiling windows on the front side of the house. JoAnn's reflection on the television screen tried to keep up with her immortal speed as she paced in front of my daughters.

"This family is very trying, sometimes," my sister said. "I could die tomorrow and it wouldn't kill me. Y'all know why? I walk with God."

An intellect rivaled only by a bottle of
Windex
.

Mom sat at the picnic table typing on the laptop. The table was against a wall between two sliding glass doors leading out to a screened porch overlooking the lake. Every time heat lightning shot spindly fingers across the moonlit sky, I could see our boat strain its lines taut as it bobbed on the water at the end of our dock. The boat didn't get much use nowadays. I was not big on night cruises.

"Has Lily tried to mentally contact you, JoAnn?" I asked.

"No! And
Lilith's
not going to until it's time for her to come home. That's part of the joint custody agreement," JoAnn said. "I'm going to apply more aging cream. It says to put it on at night, but then says, when you go to bed. It's confusing. I better be safe and do both."

"You can't slather away a curse," Resi told her.

"Y'all are in denial. Yep, denial is y'alls middle names," my sister said as she hit the stairs up to her bedroom. It was right across from mine.

Mom slapped the lid down on the laptop, moaned, and grabbed her back as she got up. "Dorius said this sounds like a classic aging curse. Try summoning the demon again, Susan. If it doesn't work, I'll call the council."

"Did he tell you to have me summon Raphael?" I asked. "And does he know you're gonna call the council?"

Dorius Morizzio was head of training, organizing and dispatching rogue hunters. Our team worked in Critter Control because of my idiot sister and her ability to turn vermin immortal. I knew Dorius didn't trust my witchy skills, and none of us were supposed to have direct contact with the council. That was kind of hard to do when I was sleeping with the head honcho—a big thorn in my boss's side.

My mate, Marcus, and Dorius were brothers. I could contact Marcus to piss Dorius off, but Marcus was on his way back from a conference in Italy. He'd promised to contact me as soon as the BAMVC jet touched tarmac in Miami.

My partner, at work, Christopher, walked through the kitchen, past the breakfast bar. "Why are we summoning Raphael?"

His question saved my mother from answering my original question about Dorius ordering the summoning.

"It's not time for Lily to come back," Christopher said, wearing a crisp, clean
Team Twilight t
-shirt, jean shorts, and
Count Von Count
tennis shoes. He rubbed his wet, blond curls with a yellow hand towel. "She still has a week, our time."

Christopher was the vampire who bit me in a public restroom last year. He may have appeared to be six years old, but he had over one-hundred vamp years under his Mickey Mouse belt. It was hard to remember when I strapped the three-foot little guy topped off with curly blond hair, a cherub face, baby blue eyes, and chubby legs and arms into a
Bob the Builder
car seat.

"Have you heard from Lily, recently?" Mom asked.

"I just talked to her," Christopher yawned. "Raphael's making her go before Lord Rahovart, Tormentor of the Affluent and Companion of Satan's boss, to apply for an Earth-to-Abyss authorization card. It's a passport kind of thing so Raphael can expedite Lil's trips back and forth instead of you using your witch skills. We're hoping Lucifer turns her dad down because of the tainted blood thing." A smile spread across Christopher's face. "Raphael doesn't look confident. I get a bird's eye view of Hell through Lily's eyes, and I'm betting S-man isn't going for it."

Lily was Christopher's blood-mate. Don't freak out. It's not what you think. He only fanged her to mark her. He said it was like a human spitting in their food so no one else wanted to eat it. Whatever. It majorly pissed Dorius off, because he wanted total control of the diminutive demon.

Since they swapped blood, Lily and Christopher had all those mate powers, and neither Dorius nor Daddy-demon could penetrate their minds or manipulate them mentally. I personally thought it was a brilliant move on Christopher's part, even though he had no choice. A possible blood mate's pull was hard to turn away from. I know. I tried with Marcus.

We usually partnered up for vamp-critter duties but never seemed to do much critter catching. He always worked another agenda, and it almost always made Dorius look like an idiot—fine with me. Did I mention Christopher had a history with every one of Dorius's mates? Don't ask—big brouhahas.

"You got an hPhone?" Mom asked Christopher. "And it works?"

I could barely hear Resi's muffled remarks. She was face down on the pillow again. Good thing we didn't have to breathe.

"Damn right," Christopher said, slinging the hand towel over his small shoulder. "My little woman keeps me in the loop. Which reminds me, did you guys hear about the rogue ring in Italy headed by an Arctic Wolf shifter-slash-vampire? Seems JoAnn's faux pas' found their way abroad and did some nibbling."

"Of course they did," I said sarcastically. "So, how pissed is Dorius?"

~~~~

Three

~~~~

I trotted into the kitchen, feeling a little lightheaded after putting up heavily lined curtains and taking down a few religious artifacts around my bedroom. Being Italian comes with a healthy dose of Catholicism. I had three crucifixes from funeral coffins alone. Mom was a collector and shared with motherly abandon. I needed a coffin.

Mom sat in front of the laptop, eyes tight, lips tight, temper loosey-goosy.

"When was your poor excuse for a husband going to tell me about Italy? Huh, Betty?
I'm
supposed to get the next rogue mission. Not you!
Me
! Get his ass on this screen. I'm going to
Skype
the shit out of him!"

I could see Dorius's wife, Betty, over Mom's shoulder. Her facial expression said it all, but that didn't stop her from repeating it. "Bring it on, Chickie. Now that I got me some immortality under my corset, it'd be fun dukin' it out with you."

Being the octogenarian in the family, Mom had several names. Her birth name was Concetta. Mom also had several issues with our new team member. Betty was all syrupy southern outside; inside, she could keep up with the rest of us in the snark department.

"There wouldn't be no fight. You'd be plastered all over the ceiling. I'd spread you like peanut butter on bread. Now go get your husband, because I'm going to Italy!" Mom spewed spittle all over the laptop screen.

When Betty stopped laughing, she put away her mocking grin, and said, "Pull your spandex outta your ass, and listen up, Chick. Dorius said I ain't goin' either—the bastard. Only difference 'tween me and you? I get payback. It is what it is. We ain't goin', sweetheart."

Even though Betty was a vampire, she also had the ability to shift, thanks to one of JoAnn's offspring. She made a great hawk all claws, squawks,
and
fangs.

"
I'm
going," Mom said. It sounded like she said it to get the last word in.

JoAnn stood beside me in her housework apron, rag in one hand and a can of
Pledge
in the other, looking ready to pounce, eyes raking the laptop. She tsked at Mom and stuffed the
Pledge
into a pocket on her domestic tool belt next to a compartment with paper toweling.

"Oh, you're going, Chick." Christopher snickered, sitting sideways next to the computer on the top of the picnic table. One leg was bent Indian style, foot tucked under his knee. The other hung over the edge, barefoot swinging. "You're
going
to get your ass kicked if you dump on Dorius today. He's probably pulling his hair out right about now."

"Yeah? Well, screw him. I'm about to pull mine out myself!" Mom growled at the laptop screen.

"Just trying to warn you," Christopher said. "I'd hit rewind and start with a smile on my face if I were you." He picked at the cuticle on his big toe for a nanosecond and then smiled at my mother. "I just told Dorius I could get a free—no holds barred—pass to Hell. Satan offered me an irrevocable passport; seems Lord Rahovart, Tormentor of the Affluent and Companion of Satan doesn't want Raphael in charge of his own kid."

All I heard was a free pass to Hell. My eyes got all beady, and my lips tightened in a circle. He was not going to Hell. I had no idea what he was capable of with Lily at his side. The little demon could scare a blood-bag-glow off your cheeks with her smile.

Christopher batted toddler eyelashes at me. "Don't worry, Susan. I refused."

I wasn't buying it. I knew he'd just bought time so he could hook me into whatever plan he'd come up with to further smite Dorius.

My partner smiled at me like he could read my mind, and added, "For now, anyway. That's why Dorius is pissed. He thinks we should 'discuss the options' of having the Hell pass." Christopher made air-quotes with his chubby little fingers. "Right? Like that is going to happen anytime soon." His eyes tried to collaborate with mine.

I was
so
not going to Hell with Christopher. I hated his strategies. The monster tot always emerged like a butterfly from a cocoon and I emerged looking like I'd rather be dead. But hey, my wounds healed, right? And though his glory didn't last long, he was always the better for it.

I hooded my eyes at him. He laughed.

Mom made a growly throat clearing noise. "Are you two done?"

We both smiled.

Mom snapped, "Betty, go get Dorius's ass in front of the laptop, now. And that's an order!"

Jeni was running on the treadmill in the living room by the front door. She'd been tossing us amused facial expressions in between sucking down water and wiping sweat from her brow. She said, "Nanna, Dorius always listens if you use your nice voice."

"When was the last time Dorius settled anything in our favor?" Resi asked. She stared out the kitchen window. Zaire was out at the dock washing their
Pepto-Bismol
pink, Barracuda.

Mort, our resident troll waded into the circle of light cast by the halogen lamp attached to a pole at the end of our dock. He stood in the waist-deep water, looking like a big lump of mortar with dreadlocks and a bulbous nose. His mouth was spread in a big grin full of algae-covered teeth.

The moon shimmered on small rippled rings spreading outward on the lake's surface around the troll's bouncing tummy. I could tell Mort's smile was mocking Zaire. I knew she'd asked for it. The troll was really a sweetie, but Zaire brought out the worst in him.

I turned back as Betty's sharp voice said, "I don't need to get my husband. I just left him. Like I said, neither of us is goin' because, and I quote, 'You girls got a critter problem right here in the U.S. of A'. He told me Sonny and the rest of Stech team, including myself, was going to fix that problem—period. Then he had the balls to ask for a little cuddlin' before I started packin'! I told him he ain't gettin' shit tonight, period. Then you know what he said?"

"Nix the personal crap, Betty," Mom interrupted. "If you can't keep it business, go find someone who can."

"Sugar, sex
is
my business." A smug smile teased Betty's lips.

And she was right. She'd married and mated for money—Dorius sure had plenty to share—and Dorius agreed, because finding a blood mate had always been about power for him. He no longer worried about another immortal reading his mind or manipulating his thoughts and actions. And he could mentally communicate with Betty from wherever he was in the world. Those are big time powers for a rogue hunter—faster than
Verizon
and more expensive than
AT&T
.

Fangs extended, spittle flying, Mom narrowed her eyes at Betty. "If Dorius thinks you're going to be a member of
my
team, he's got another
thing
coming."

Before Betty could rebut, JoAnn whipped in front of Mom,
Windex
bottle spraying the screen, paper towel moving lightning fast.

Mom's fangs retracted, she hissed, and just as quickly, slapped my sister's hand.

JoAnn slapped Mom back. "Well, you need to keep your fangs in your gums when you talk. It's not good hygiene to spit on things." Her hands flash sprayed and wiped the screen again. This time she got the keyboard and picnic table in front of Mom, too. "All y'all have that problem." JoAnn waved the
Windex
bottle at us as she speed-walked into the kitchen.

"JoAnn," Mom said, "don't you need a moisturizing shampoo and another trip to the tanning bed?"

Jeni kicked up the level on the treadmill, panting in time with her strides.

"So who
is
going to Italy?" Christopher asked.

Mom didn't give Betty a chance to answer. "Look, I was planning a trip to Italy, anyway. I need to find out if Papa's goat farm is still there, and lay claim to it before the government takes it away from my family."

Resi choked on a laugh.

Jeni snorted a mouth full of water out of her nose holes. She coughed, wheezed, chortled, and wobbled erratic strides.

"So who's going?" Christopher asked a little louder.

"Mom..." JoAnn was giggling in the kitchen. She pulled three blood bags out of the refrigerator and made an attempt at conversation in between her chuckles. "Grandpa moved to America in the nineteen-thirties..." She was laughing hard as she pulled a box of bendy straws from the cabinet beside the refrigerator.

Whenever JoAnn laughed, her knees smacked together like she might pee, although that didn't happen much with this curse thing, since we started puking whenever we ate or drank real food. Damn Raphael. Although I didn't need food, I missed my morning coffee, and I
missed
chocolate. Chocolate calmed me. We were turning into a
Dark Shadows
-slash-
All in the Family
sitcom.

Turning back to Betty, I made a mental note to see if the cross over my bed would burn me, especially after JoAnn's episode yesterday.

Christopher turned the laptop screen in his direction. "So who's going?" He sounded all snotty-nosed-six-year-old.

Mom yanked the laptop back in front of her and made a V with her first two fingers. She placed them on her eyes and then turned them on Christopher. He laughed.

I never laughed at Mom's Italian eye curses. I suffered a month of crotch itch after she hexed me one time.

Betty answered Christopher's question. "The big guns." She'd leaned into the lens on her end. "Chick, your eyebrows are bushin' up. And girrrl, is that gray hair comin' out yer chin?"

"Raphaellll-ah!" Mom shouted, sounding all Italian. Teeth tight, fist pumping, eyes on the oak flooring, she yelled, "Answer your goddamn phone!"

Resi burbled a chirp of amusement. "You can always make a trip to Hell, Nanna."

"Chick would have to get a sponsor because you know Susan; she won't use her witch powers to send her mother to hell. Then Chick'll have to do an Earth-to-Abyss QuestMap on Netherland.com before applying for a visa," Christopher said, watching Mom smite the floor under her feet. "Oh, and don't forget to nail down those reservations; they go missing in a flash the way time moves down there."

Mom dragged her eyes from the floor to Christopher. She looked like she was going to say something, but my pain-in-the-ass partner didn't give her a chance.

"Orrr," Christopher instigated, turning from Mom to me, "I could accept the passport, get Chick there on my visa,
and
put Dorius in a happy place at the same time."

"My mother is not going to Hell with you," I replied calmly. "I abjure her from Hell. I abjure you both! I don't trust either of you to handle this curse business with Raphael, especially together. Your New Orleans trip was a perfect example of what happens when the two of you go off together on a mission."

"Hey, what happened in New Orleans—or anywhere near New Orleans—stayed right where we left it, right, Chick?"

Mom shot him a smile that made me want to probe further.

Christopher laughed.

"Nobody needs to go to Hell, because my husband did not curse us," JoAnn sang as she tossed a blood bag to Christopher and me. She held one up for Mom. Mom frowned at her.

JoAnn's lips curled up sassily. "I know you say you can't drink processed blood, but I think it's all in your head." She gnawed a hole in a bag of blood, filled a shot glass, and added some red powder from a baggie she'd pulled out of her pocket. She did a little swizzle with her bendy straw, leaned over, and snorted the blood in the shot glass up through the straw and into her nose.

I was about to ask her what the hell that was all about when my blood mate, Marcus, brain poked me. His voice rolled around in my head, along with a partial visual of his feet walking on the tarmac.
Darling, I just landed in Miami. I'd fully intended to explain the return trip to Italy
later this evening, but am aware you have been ... briefed by Betty
.

Having Marcus read my thoughts, see through my eyes, and talk to me whenever he wanted could be a blessing and a curse. I couldn't block him either—yet. I was just beginning to get the hang of mentally jumping into his head without an invitation. But, because Marcus was as old as Catholicism, he'd had carte-blanche with my freaking head from day one. And then, like an idiot, I let him suck on my neck. We were driving down the interstate at seventy-five miles an hour. I got caught up in the moment and sucked back, and—whallah!—we were mated and he got the package deal.

Although hearing his voice always had my lower regions all a tingle, a big red flag waved the word BULLSHIT at me.
So you are going right back to Italy?
I poked back.

"Screw the stupid curse for a moment," I heard my mother say. "What big guns is he sending to Italy, Betty?"

Susan, my darling, let me reiterate if I may. My brother insisted I keep the trip to Italy quiet for the moment, but...

My mate sounded like a cornered, small, furry animal.