Undead and Unforgiven (18 page)

CHAPTER

THIRTY

Marc's comment broke the difficult silence: “The Antichrist miiiight be crazy in addition to evil.”

“It's worse,” Jessica said glumly. “It's so much worse. The Antichrist isn't evil and/or crazy because she's the spawn of Satan. She's evil and/or crazy because she's a fundamentalist the-Bible-is-literal-and-I'll-kill-you-to-save-you nutjob. She's determined to be good and she'll destroy anyone she has to in order to prove it.”

We'd adjourned to the kitchen, too depressed and freaked to even consider pulping fruit, ice, and yogurt into a delicious drink to be ardently slurped through straws. And I figured now was the best time to tackle the primary issue on my mind, while we were still reeling from what the Antichrist had visited upon us, but I didn't yet have a plan.

I cleared my throat, and they looked at me hopefully, but that was where I was stuck. I wanted to glare and
shout, but didn't dare. Jessica and I had been friends since our training-bra days (cue jokes about how Jessica could
still
wear training bras, then cue me breaking your nose). I couldn't bear it if she was scared of me after everything she'd seen me through. If she was afraid of me, this time I didn't have the excuse of having read the Book of the Dead and turning evil (temporarily).
16

But what other explanation was there?

“Jessica, how— Laura said she told you. Um, so . . . I was wondering. Just, y'know, out of curiosity. Simply to pass the time while we come up with a plan. Just as a way to keep the conversation going . . .”

Marc had buried his face in his hands. “Oh, just spit it out and
ask
,” he groaned into his palms. “This is too painful.”

I glared but kept my tone mild. “Why didn't you—”

She turned her head toward me so fast I heard the tendons in her neck creak. “You think I kept this to myself? That your jackass sister confided her sinister plan and I decided silence was the best option? Why would I do that? For fun? For spite? To see what would happen?”

Tina leaned over and carefully relieved Jessica of one of her babies, then backed out of the line of fire. This freed Jessica to jump to her feet and sort of loom over me, since I was sitting at the counter. I tried not to cower. I failed.

“I'm not mad,” I said delicately, “but it's important that you understand, we could be in a lot of—”

“Now you shut your mouth and listen to me, Elizabeth Anne Taylor.”

Whoa. Full name. Abort, abort!
My hands were instantly up, placating. Now Dick
and
Tina were backing away with babies. “No, really, I'm not m—”

“I have no recollection of that conversation, partly because I don't pay much attention to your judgmental bitch-cow sister—”

Bitch-cow! The gloves were off!

“—but mostly because I've been averaging twenty minutes of sleep a night for weeks! Which is why I didn't mention it to you! Because I promptly forgot it! I don't know if she called or came by or meant to tell me or just blurted it out, and I don't give a shit! What
ever
her reason, why
ever
she told me, if I'd been well rested and in my right mind I would have told you right goddamned away! Because the Antichrist offering shelter to me and mine while she exposed you and your husband to the world is something I would have felt you needed to know! Okay?”

I nodded so hard I almost fell over. We were all nodding. “Yep. Makes perfect sense. Thanks for clearing that up. Never doubted you—”

“Oh, shut up,” she said, but a smile broke through the scowl.

“—for a second. A nanosecond. That's less than a second, right?”

“That said,” Jessica added, thankfully out of shout mode, “this is not good. For any of us.”

“Got that right.” Marc looked as glum as I'd ever seen him. “Not to belittle your sister's deep insecurity and instability, but I can't help wondering if maybe she should just get laid.”

“The only thing I want to discuss less than being exposed is my sister's virginity. I can't believe this is happening. Any of it.”

Tina was still cradling a baby, but came over and rested a cool hand on top of mine. Her voice was a lull. The babies loved her. She could hum about four notes and they were out like teeny lightbulbs. “Majesty, the king was right when he said this isn't the first time humans have tried to
expose us. We've fought this before and won before. And that was without the queen on our side.”

“Thanks for the entirely misplaced vote of confidence. And yeah, obviously Laura's sinister plan is a rerun; other people knew about vampires in the past and tried to blow their cover. But this is the first time it'll probably work if we don't think of something. The world's a lot smaller than it was a thousand years ago.”

No one said anything, which was a real shame. I was hoping to be refuted. Soundly, even.

“This— It's—” I broke off and shook my head. I couldn't find the words. Maybe because there weren't any. “I'm . . . I'm so sorry, you guys. I've put you all in danger. More so than usual, I mean.” I couldn't stand their expressions. They were upset, but not with me. They were mad . . . but not at me. They were concerned . . .
for
me. Concern I knew I didn't deserve. “I'm very, very sorry.”

I fled.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-ONE

I heard the door open and knew it was either Tina or Sinclair, the only ones who could have kept up with me. Probably Sinclair, preparing to explain at length how my idiocy had ruined his (after)life.

The bed dipped as he sat beside me. I was facedown on my pillow in the middle of a half-assed suicide attempt. Even if I needed to breathe, suffocation via pillow would still take too long. Stupid memory foam!

“My father and my sister have teamed up to destroy me,” I said into the foam, which Sinclair probably heard as “Mmm ffmmm sssmmmm hvvv mmmm mm.”

No response, which made sense. He had to be pretty annoyed, and was likely thinking up the best way to explain the depths of my fuckuppery. Constantly blowing Laura off, denying her Hell after she tricked me into taking Hell, threatening to kill her father, constantly questioning her
choice of footwear . . . my unsisterly behavior had piled up to endanger every one of us.

I felt it then. Sinclair's hand on the small of my back, warm(ish) and steady.

I am so sorry, my own, my dearest. You're worth ten of them.

I perked up a little. “Only ten?” (Which came out, “Nnn ttnn?”)

“A hundred. A thousand. A centillion.”

Damn, that sounded like a lot. I rolled over and blinked up at him. His dear face was creased with concern, but his fist was clenched. He wanted to beat Laura to death as much as he wanted to make me feel better. I could relate.

I took a deep breath, let it out. “I'm sorry. About before.”

“No, the offense is mine. You were correct to be wary of my objectives. I truly have no intention of—er—”

“Glomming on to Hell?”

He quirked an eyebrow at me, dark eyes gleaming. “Yes. But then, I had no intention of falling in love with you, or tolerating our many roommates, or being a pet owner, or participating in the Winter Carnival, and all those things have happened.” He stroked my bangs away from my face. “To my unending delight.”

I sighed and snuggled into his palm.

“All that to say,” he continued, “I may not have intended to take over Hell, but perhaps it would have come to pass regardless of my intent and your wishes. It's— You're so young and sweet. You have too many burdens as it is. I want to relieve you of them, but perhaps that isn't my place.”

I made a mighty effort and didn't snort at “young and sweet.”
Wrong on both counts, pal.
And for one of the few times in our marriage, I felt every year of the age gap between us. He thought I was a spoiled child and I thought he was a controlling chauvinist, and sometimes we were at least partially right about each other.

“The thing about Hell.” I reached out and caught his other hand, linking our fingers. “It's not just me trying to prove something to myself, that I can do this thing on my own. Well, on my own with a committee. Every suggestion you've made has been a good idea and I've implemented almost all of them. No,” I rushed ahead as he opened his mouth, “I am not implementing a Black Labrador Appreciation Day in Hell; you've just got to accept that. Fur and Burr aren't going anywhere near Hell.”

“Of course not,” he said, offended. “Labs we don't love would go to Hell.”

“You're a monster!” I almost shouted, then got a grip. “Anyway. It's not happening. But the thing about Hell, the real reason I don't want you down there, so to speak . . .”

“Yes?” His face was calm, he was stroking my cheek, but his gaze was riveted to mine and I could see the tense line of his shoulders. He was expecting something bratty or hateful or both. Was bracing himself for it. Was telling himself it was my choice, not his! Christ, I did not deserve this man.

“It's turning Father Markus mean,” I said in a small voice.

His eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“He's getting mean. I think it's being there—I think Hell's corrupting him. Maybe even being on the committee is corrupting him; I'll have to watch the others. How would I be able to tell if Hell made the Ant a bitch? She was already a bitch when she got there. So was I.”

“You're not . . . always . . .” he began loyally.

“And Tina—well, she's been around the block a few times; I'm not worried about her. She's used to the assistant role; she likes helping behind the scenes and hates being onstage. I can't imagine ever having a power struggle with her. And Marc doesn't seem any different—well, that's not entirely true. Being in Hell makes him lonely.
I don't know why. I mean, he's always lonesome. He needs someone in the worst way, and I can't help him. Maybe—”

“My love, I don't understand.”

I wriggled until I was propped up on my elbows. “Hell is changing Father Markus. He's not as quick to forgive, and he's much quicker to judge. He's not very interested in decreasing anyone's suffering. He's fighting me on every major change, and I'm pretty sure he's undermining my efforts when I'm not there. And since I refuse to be in Hell twenty-four/seven, he's got lots of opportunities. And I don't want that to happen to you. Some people would say you're already mean. But they don't know you like I do.

“You're not mean, you're driven. And ruthless, when you have to be. But you don't enjoy it any more than I do. And I'm not downing you for any of that; your nature is the reason you existed long enough for us to meet.”

“Existed,” he murmured, but he seemed pleased. “Yes. The perfect word.”

“You've taken lives, like me, but you've saved plenty along the way, also like me. But . . . come on. Father Markus was right out of central casting for the ‘kindly priest who wants everybody to love their neighbors and their enemies' trope. This was a guy who wouldn't set actual mousetraps in his church, just those awful humane ones so he could release disease-carrying rodents into the wild where they could go into
other
houses. You remember, you met him in life.”

Sinclair was nodding. “He was compassionate and open-minded. I found him to be a good man. He certainly grieved when he thought you had died, and he'd only known you a few days.”

“Right. All that and then some. But these days? He's pretty cold.” I reached for Sinclair's hand again. “So I started to wonder. What would Hell do to you? You're tricky and ruthless and brilliant when you
aren't
corrupted. What if Hell changed you like it's changing Markus?”

“I don't understand. Are you saying—?”

“But me? I don't take anything seriously. I'm not brilliant and I'm not especially tricky. And I'm not so ruthless I've lost my humanity . . . yet. But I want people to get along. I want to decrease what I see as meaningless suffering. And I have people who love me to retreat to when Hell is overwhelming. I think that's why I can handle it down there. I think that's why I'm
supposed
to handle it down there.”

He nodded. “I understand, my own. And I regret doubting you, and my unkind words. You've been a fine queen for our kind; I've no doubt you'll be one in Hell, too.”

I sighed and flopped back. “Any other time and I'd be tempted to believe you. But now we've got our regular problems, plus Hell, plus the Antichrist and my useless father plotting to expose us. And they'll probably succeed. I mean, we can't kill them.” I paused. “Can we?”

“Likely not. I don't doubt your sister has taken steps to ensure still more exposure for us if she were to disappear.”

It's also morally wrong,
I thought but didn't say.

He smiled. “And it's also morally wrong.”

“Cheater! You picked that answer out of my brain.”

“Oh, I often do. As to your father, he's hardly worth the effort of killing.”

I giggled, which was probably the wrong reaction, but fuck it. “That's him in a nutshell.” But the laugh stuck in my throat. Sure, we were joking about killing him, but we were doing so because he was in the middle of betraying me, putting me and mine in the worst danger of our lives, and for what? Because he didn't like how our last meeting went.

“Y'know, if he'd loved me a tenth as much as he loved himself, that would have been enough.” I could feel my mouth trying to tremble and pressed my lips together. “More than enough. More than he ever gave me in life and a shitload more than he's given me in death. I don't— Was
it one particular thing I did, d'you think, that made him not like me?”

Elizabeth . . .
He wasn't speaking out loud, but I could feel the pain behind my name.

“Or was it just my basic personality? I'd blame it on being a vampire, but honestly, he was like this pretty much the whole time I was alive, too. Except this time . . .” I paused, then forced the rest of the words out. “This time he's putting everyone I love in danger, too. For spite. You're in the worst danger of your life because my dad never loved me.”

And that was it. I clapped both hands over my eyes in a gesture I knew was childish

(if I can't see them they can't see me)

but was too upset to care, and burst into tears. I hadn't cried so hard since my dad faked his death to get away from me. There was probably a lesson there, but I couldn't get to it. So I just wept and let Sinclair offer what comfort he could, and in a while I fell into an exhausted sleep.