Undead and Unwelcome (10 page)

that would be peachy.” Lara laughed. “You’re funny.” “Yeah, yeah.” I followed her up the

drive to the mansion. “I’m a barrel of freakin’ monkeys.”

Dude,
Well, I definitely picked the right time to keep a journal. Because it has been an

interesting couple of days. Who knows? I might actually keep writing the thing.
When

Laura called me away during my last entry, I had followed her into the kitchen. But not

as her friend . . . I was more than a little alarmed at the symptoms of intense stress she

was exhibiting. Since unpleasant things had a way of happening when she was angry or

frightened, I had a more than passing interest in her state of mind.
I was able to sit her

down at the kitchen table and get her to drink a Snapple. The act of doing something nice

and mundane seemed to calm her. That’s when I realized she was more humiliated than

angry.
“Marc, I am so sorry you had to see that. I just don’t know what to say.”
“Laura,

it’s not your fault. Hey,” I joked, “how do you think I’d feel if my old man showed up?

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You shouldn’t feel bad about something beyond your control.”
“Maybe it isn’t beyond

my control.”
I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that. “It’s fine, Laura, I don’t mind.

Satanists showing up in the foyer certainly add some spice to my day. Nobody likes the

pop-in. And like I said, it’s not your fault.”
“No. It’s my
mother’s.
” That last was

practically spit out. “I was going to ask you something and now I can’t, because of
her.
”

“Ask me what? Drink your tea. So. Ask.”
“Um.” Laura gazed into her bottle of Snapple,

which I doubt held any answers. “It’s just, I told Betsy I’d look after you and Tina while

she was gone. So instead of coming over when I can, I was hoping I could move in. Just

for a little while,” she added, misreading my expression. “I won’t get in the way, I

promise.”
“How could you get in the way? There are twenty bedrooms in this thing. But

come on, Laura. Cut the bullshit.”
“I don’t—”
“Betsy asked you to look over
Tina
, too?”

“Well.” Laura looked down for a moment. “Mostly you, I guess. I think she felt bad

about leaving you behind.”
I shrugged. “It’s moot. I didn’t have the vacation time,

anyway. Tina had to stay, too—somebody’s got to stay in Vampire Central and handle

any undead-related stuff that comes up while they’re gone. Which leaves thee and me.

And of course you can move in. Heck, pick an entire wing to live in.”
“No, I can’t, now.”

Her knuckles whitened on the bottle. “Not with these—these
people
tracking me down all

the time and asking—”
“Wait. This has happened before?”
Laura didn’t say anything.

She didn’t have to. The Snapple bottle shattered in her hand, spraying tea and glass all

over the place.
“Oh my God! I’m sorry, Marc, I didn’t mean to be so clumsy, I’ll get a

towel and—”
I was instantly on my feet, hauled her to hers, and hustled her over to the

sink. “Laura, if you don’t mellow out, I’m going to slip some Valium into your next

Frappuccino. Now hold still and let me look.”
I carefully examined her hand, rinsed it,

and examined it again. She had a couple of minor cuts on the pads of her left ring and

middle fingers, and that was all. Nothing arterial, no damage to the tendons that I could

see.
“No more Snapple for you,” I said, handing her a dish towel and stepping around

the broken glass. “From now on it’s strictly sippy cups.”
The only reason I was letting

her clean up was because it was the only thing that would make her feel better. Laura

was nice—a little too nice. She always made me wonder when she was going to blow.

Looked like this might be the week.
“You said this has happened before?”
“Yes.” She

wiped up glass and tea, being careful to get even the smallest pieces. “Those people.

They always find me. Always.”
“So they show up at your apartment, too?”
“My

apartment. My parents’ house.”
“I’ll bet the minister loved that,” I said dryly, earning a

ghost of a smile. “What do they want with you?”
“To serve me,” she replied shortly,

wringing the now-wet towel over the sink (after she’d shaken the glass into the garbage).

“Serve you, what? With toast?”
A real smile this time. “No, silly. To do my bidding.”

“So what have you done in the past?”
“I just tell them to go away.”
“No, no, no.”
Laura

blinked. “No?”
“You’re going about it all wrong.”
“I am?”
“It’s going to happen

anyway, right? Because of that star or whatever heralding you like—I dunno—like

January heralds weight-loss resolutions.”
“Yes, I suppose.” Laura was looking

increasingly mystified, which was a big improvement over mortified. “But what else

could I do?”
“Lots of things.”
Then I told her. And got another smile, this one even

better than the last one.
This
was a smile of absolute delight.

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Chapter 21

I got back in time to change into a black suit, black panty hose, and Carolina Herrera

black pumps. Sinclair was up and working at the desk in our suite; he was also dressed for

the service. Yes, indeed, my first werewolf funeral. I watched my husband work for a

minute until he felt my gaze and turned. “Something on your mind, dear one?” “Several

things,” I replied, thinking of Lara, future psycho werewolf leader. “Mostly about how

awkward this is going to be. I mean, everyone there will know. They’ll know Antonia died

saving me.” “I imagine they will, yes.” He watched me with his dark eyes, an unreadable

expression on his face. “Like I don’t hate funerals enough.” “Yes, of course,” he soothed.

“Everyone should realize how difficult this will be for you.” “Yeah, that’s—you jerk. I

hate you.” “No, you worship the hallowed ground I trod upon, which is what any good

wife should—” He ducked, and my left shoe went flying over his head. Fortunately, it

missed the window. I couldn’t stand the thought of my new pump being torn by flying

glass. “My sweet, I was only seeking to give comfort in your time of—” “Do you
know

how many pairs of shoes I packed?” “Ah . . . no. Perhaps a change of subject would be

prudent. Where is Jessica?” “Watching BabyJon in her suite. You know, I didn’t want her

to come, but now I’m awfully glad she did. I don’t trust the werewolves with him. There’s

something weird going on there.” “Mmmmm. What were you up to until the sun set?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” His eyes narrowed. “No one bothered you, did

they?” “It’s not like that, Sinclair.” I sighed and sat down across from him. “This is a

weird place. I’m not sure I like it. And this whole Council thing is making me nervous. I

miss our house. I miss Tina and Laura and Marc. I just want to go home.” “At last,” he

said, “we are of one mind. Perhaps it will help you to think of the funeral as part of the

cost of returning to Minnesota.” “Or perhaps I’ll think of it as the werewolf version of

Tailhook.” “Either way,” he said, glancing at his watch, “we had best get moving. Soonest

done, soonest home.” “Dammit. No time for a quickie?” He smiled at me and shook his

head, but I could tell he hated to do it. “Not even a quickie quickie?” “Stop that, vile

temptress. Now let’s be off; people are waiting for us.” Hmph. I’d always thought that

whole “jump in and get it over with” thing wasn’t always the way to go. But damned if I

was going to cower in a room that wasn’t mine, in a house where nobody knew me and

nobody cared to. No, I’d go to Antonia’s funeral and hold my head up, and if the fuzzy

lollipop brigade didn’t like it, nuts to them.

I knocked, then poked my head into Jessica’s room to see how BabyJon was doing.

Jessica, resigned, was walking back and forth with him while he alternated crying with

spitting up on her shoulder. “And once again, I can’t thank you enough.” “And once

again, I need to buy a new shirt.” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the baby.

“Have fun at the funeral, anyway. Should be a piece of cake, right?” “It’s a joke, that’s

what it is.” I held out my arms and she gladly surrendered him to me. BabyJon hushed at

once, except for the occasional hiccup. “I wouldn’t say that around here if I were you,”

she warned, scraping at the fusty left shoulder of her blouse. “It’s the truth, though.”

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“Come on, Bets. It’s hard for them. These guys—from what I’ve seen, they’re a tight

bunch. It’s probably like losing a niece, or a sister, or—” “Bullshit. The Pack didn’t
like

Antonia, remember? They were glad when she left.” Jess snapped her fingers. “Jeez,

you’re right! I’d forgotten all about that. It creeped them out that she couldn’t change, but

could tell the future. They needed her, but they were all sorta scared of her, too.” I

nodded. Antonia had gotten abysmally drunk (do you have any idea how much booze a

werewolf has to drink before feeling it?) one night a few months back. She’d told us the

whole story. How hardly any of them spoke to her. How frightened they were of her:

Would she withhold her predictions? If she saw something bad in a Pack member’s future,

would she spill it? Or keep it to herself? Worst of all, she’d told us how the Pack had been

relieved when they’d found out she wasn’t coming back. They hadn’t missed her at all, or

even worried about her. No. They’d been
relieved.
And now they expected me to face the

music. The whole thing pissed me off. Jessica was shaking her head. “Glad I’m not in your

shoes, Bets. Although they
are
pretty nice,” she added, peeking at my pumps. “They can

do whatever they want with me,” I muttered. “But if they fuck with my shoes I’m going to

kill them all in a variety of horrible ways. “Gosh.” I kissed BabyJon on his sweet head. “I

feel safer already.”

Wyndham Manor, I had been told, was not only werewolf HQ and the seat of their power,

it was also home to dozens of Pack members. And it had obviously been built to

accommodate crowds, because the service was held in a room the size of a warehouse and

nobody was crowded. I was guessing, when there wasn’t a coffin involved, it was a

ballroom. Michael had spoken briefly, and then a minister (a werewolf Presbyterian

minister!) had spoken, and then people started filing past the coffin, no doubt paying their

respects. I had noticed right away that they’d switched Antonia to a much nicer coffin. It

shone like polished jet and was just as black. An enormous spray of white calla lilies nearly

covered the entire top. I wonder what they’d done with the old one—the one Derik had

destroyed. Then I decided a) it was a morbid thought and b) none of my business. At least

Jessica was missing this. This was actually fine by me—if I knew where she was, I

wouldn’t worry about her. BabyJon was snuggled against my shoulder, thumb popped into

his mouth, gazing around with bright-eyed interest. I tried to pretend he wasn’t drooling

on the lapel of my Ann Taylor. Weirdly, it had been Sinclair’s idea for me to bring him. It

was the first time Sinclair had suggested we bring BabyJon anywhere, so on top of being

sad for Antonia, and scared for us, I was suspicious of my husband’s motives. I didn’t

move when people started getting up. I had already paid my respects. I had wept over her,

called her Pack, and told them the unthinkable, had flown her home. It was more than I’d

done for my own father. “Hello. It’s Betsy, right?” I looked up and almost gasped. One of

the most striking women I had ever seen in my life was standing in front of me, with a

pregnant belly out to
here
. “Uh, yeah.” I shifted BabyJon and held out a hand, which she

shook briskly. “Betsy Taylor.” “The infamous queen of the dead.” But her blue eyes were

kind, and she was smiling. Her hair was a rich auburn cloud around her shoulders. “I’m

Sara, Derik’s wife.” “Undead,” I corrected, “and yeah, that’s me. Was Antonia a friend of

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) yours? I s’pose she must have been; she and your husband were kind of tight, or so I

heard. I’m very sorry about what happened to her.” “Thank you.” Sara eased herself into

the chair beside me and massaged the small of her back. “But she wasn’t my friend. I

couldn’t stand spending time with her.” I stared. And stared. And stared some more,

feeling equal parts admiration and horror. Sara had a pair, that was for sure, to speak ill of