Undead and Unwelcome (12 page)

away
with this, are we?” A petite, dark-haired woman with a severe buzz cut was standing

on the fringe of our small group. She was dressed in black jeans and a black button-down

shirt, and it took me a minute to place her. It was Cain—one of the werewolves who’d

come to the mansion looking for Antonia earlier in the week. “She gets Antonia killed,

then brings some sort of ensorcelled infant—if that’s what it really is—and we’re just

going to let her walk?” “Cain.” “Well,
are
we?” she cried, turning to face the man who

towered over her. He, too, was dark and whip-thin. He, too, looked weirded out but, even

more than that, he seemed almost embarrassed. For her or for me, I had no idea. But I

wasn’t going to bet the farm it was me. “That’s for the Council to decide,” the quiet, dark-

haired man said. “Not us. And not here.” “But she got Antonia killed! And she doesn’t

even seem to care!” And that was just about enough. “I didn’t get Antonia killed,” I said,

and I could practically feel ears pricking up all over the room. “You did.” Sinclair pinched

the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “And then she—
what
?” Cain’s jaw sagged and

she turned to fully face me. “What did you say to me?” “What’s wrong? Should I get a

megaphone? Do you not understand English?” Smiling, I beckoned her closer and, when

she bent to hear, I said loudly, “I didn’t get Antonia killed. You did.” Cain jerked away

and rubbed her ear. A few more werewolves sidled over. Sinclair was still shaking his head

and looking like the before picture of a sinus headache commercial. “I am so sick of this

bullshit,” I said, knowing my voice was carrying, knowing
everyone
in the room could

hear me, and not much caring. “I guess it hasn’t occurred to any of you to ask yourselves

what the hell Antonia was doing living with vampires in the first place. Oh, hell no! After

all, it’s much more convenient to blame us than face the fact that she couldn’t get out of

here
fast enough.” “And now,” Sinclair sighed, “we fight.” “Here,” I said, thrusting

BabyJon toward Sara, who scooped him up and backed off a couple of steps. BabyJon let

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) out a pissed-off yowl, ignoring Sara’s attempts to soothe him. “You can’t pass the buck

that easily,” Cain retorted. “You were the leader; she was your responsibility.” “She was a

grown woman, you nitwit! You’re making it sound like she was my kindergarten student.”

“You’re still passing the buck,” someone else said, a werewolf I hadn’t met. “And
you’re

all conveniently overlooking the fact that not only did you practically drive her to my front

door, I didn’t see
any
of you assholes ever come to visit.” “She was her own person,” that

same werewolf said. “Well, which is it, dipshit? Either she was a grown woman who could

take care of herself, or she needed me to shelter and protect her. You can’t have it both

ways.” “We’re getting a bit far afield,” Sinclair began, but I bulldozed right over him. “She

didn’t get a single phone call the entire time she lived with us. The only time anyone

bothered to show up was after she missed her weekly military check-in, whatever it was.

When your info pipeline into the vampires suddenly got cut off,
then
you showed up.” A

furious gabble of voices rose, and rose, and I had to shout to be heard over the din. “Not

to mention,
not to mention,
you guys clearly didn’t want much to do with her while she

was alive. So all this postmortem concern is a pile of crap. You guys look stupid trying to

come off all morally outraged when it was
your
fault she was living in my house in the first

place.” The babble of voices got louder, but I was able to pick out one comment from the

din: “The bottom line is that she died in your service, so it’s your responsibility.” “If

they’re even telling the truth about how she died,” someone else said. “How can we ever

know? She and her mate don’t have a scent. They can make up any story they like and

we’d never know the difference.” “Oh, really? Okay. Here’s a story, fuck-o. Once upon a

time, there was a werewolf who could predict the future who lived on Cape Cod. And all

her supposed friends and family went out of their way to avoid her because she wasn’t

exactly Miss Congeniality.” I ought to know; I used to be one. “And one day she moved

away and never came back, and nobody in her Pack gave a rat’s ass. The end.” More

babbling. The din rose and rose. Shouts. Threats. Michael trying to get everyone to calm

down. Sinclair rubbing the bridge of his nose. Sara looking like an increasingly nervous

tennis match observer. BabyJon crying. It was stupid, really. Stupid to forget how fast

they were. Stupid to pick a fight in a room full of werewolves. I heard the crash of a chair

splintering, and turned just in time to get stabbed in the heart with a chair leg. That was

pretty much when the lights went out.

Dude,
I swear my intentions were good. But I vastly overestimated Laura’s state of mind

and underestimated the rapidity with which things could deteriorate. And when Tina

started having trouble sending and receiving e-mails, I honestly didn’t make the

connection until it was too late.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
More Satanists showed

up and, instead of hiding from them or being embarrassed by them, Laura started briskly

giving them orders. She spent a lot of time on the web finding charitable organizations

where she could send the devil worshippers, and soon there were Satanists all over the

metro area, cheerfully raising money for the homeless or participating in Meals on

Wheels.
I admit, dude, I was proud of myself. I didn’t go into medicine for the money,

obviously, so helping people always put me in a good mood. And Laura, for all her

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)
advantages, needed me as much as any patient. It’s just too damn bad I was too busy

patting myself on the back to notice what was really going on.
Tina came and went,

always on her own schedule, and I knew better than to ask her what she was up to. Mostly

because it was none of my business, but also because she was as closed-mouthed about

her work as I was about mine.
There had been a bad crack-up on I-35—no fatalities,

thank God—so I didn’t get home until about 2:30
A.M.
I headed straight for the kitchen

(I had finally gone grocery shopping, so there was actual food in the fridge), where I

found Tina sitting at the counter with her laptop, muttering to herself.
“Hey.”
“Good

morning,” she said, not looking up.
“Everything okay?”
“Mmmm.” Then, thoughtfully,

“You had a busy night, I see.”
Ah. Right. I had found it prudent to change out of my

scrubs the moment I got home—or, even better, before I left the hospital. It didn’t matter

if the blood on me was ten minutes old or ten hours. They could always smell it.
“Car

crash.”
“Mmmm.”
I set about making myself a tuna sandwich while Tina pecked away at

her laptop. She seemed a little off—annoyed, maybe, or distracted.
“Everything okay?”

“Hmmm?” She looked around as if noticing me for the first time. “Oh. Yes, everything’s

fine. I’m getting a poor wireless signal. My e-mails to His Majesty keep bouncing.”
“So

call.”
“I have.”
“Oh. You don’t think anything’s wrong, do you?”
“I’m sure they’re

fine.”
I believed her. But I also knew what was bugging her. Tina lived for Betsy and

Sinclair, the way most people lived for racing cars or marathons. When she couldn’t keep

in touch, she got antsy. Not unlike a drug addict going through withdrawal, to be

perfectly blunt.
“Betsy answered my e-mail,” I volunteered. It was a typical Betsy

missive: bitchy and shrill. She really hated e-mail acronyms. The woman should really

catch up to this century’s lingo. “I’m sure she’s already won over the werewolves and

they’re somewhere partying like it’s 1999.”
Tina slapped the laptop closed and smiled at

me. “I’m sure you’re right. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go out.”
To hunt. And feed.

She was too polite to say so, of course. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to stand in her

way. A grumpy vampire is a homicidal vampire. Hungry ones were even worse.
“Heck,” I

called after her, “they’ve probably declared it National Betsy Day out on Cape Cod. You

know she can win over just about anybody.”
Yes, dude, I know. In retrospect that was

beyond ignorant. But how was I supposed to know they were going to kill her?

I opened my eyes and saw a ring of tense faces above me. The first few times this had

happened to me I’d been badly startled, but now I was getting used to being killed and

then brought back to life. “Ow,” I commented, sitting up. There was a sizeable hole in my

blouse and suit jacket. Not to mention an unconscious werewolf three feet away. And

BabyJon was still howling. “You’d better give him to me.” Wide-eyed, Sara knelt beside

me and obliged. BabyJon hushed at once, giving me a chance to take a good look around.

“Oh, man,” I said, eyeing the werewolf who, I assumed, had driven a chair leg into my

heart. “Sinclair, what did you do to him?” “I only hit him once,” my husband replied in

that faux-casual tone that didn’t fool me one bit. “Where’d everybody go?” Aside from

Sara, Sinclair, Jeannie, Michael, BabyJon, and Derik, the room was empty. Oh, and let’s

not forget the werewolf who killed me. “Michael cleared the room after you were

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) attacked. Ah—it’s none of my business,” Sara continued, “but why aren’t you a pile of

dust?” “It’s a queen of the undead thing,” I said, trying to get my feet under me so I could

stand. Sinclair gripped one of my arms, Michael the other, and they hauled me up. I stared

down at my ruined suit and sighed. “I must apologize on the Pack’s behalf,” Michael said

stiffly. He appeared calm, but I had the distinct impression he was mortified. And Jeannie

was
pissed.
“There was no excuse for that. At all.” She turned to Sinclair. “You should

have torn his damned head off.” “Maybe next time,” my husband replied. “Again, I

apologize.” Michael nodded at the still-snoring werewolf. “He will be dealt with; you have

my word.” “No, don’t.” “Sorry, what?” “Just forget it.” “Elizabeth,” my husband began

warningly. “Let’s not make things any worse than they already are. Look! No harm, no

foul. I’m fine. He can buy me a new suit and we’ll call it even.” “Unacceptable,” Sinclair

said flatly and, wonder of wonders, Michael was nodding in agreement. Finally, they had a

goal in common: ignoring my express wishes. But for a change I had the chance to be the

better man—so to speak—and moved to take advantage of it. Maybe I was beginning to

think more politically in my old age. “I mean it, you guys. Let it go. It was a bad situation

for all of us. It’s not like I didn’t provoke him. Come on, let’s forget about it and move

on. This Council thing—when are we supposed to talk to them?” “Tomorrow,” Michael

said, giving me a look I’d never seen on his face before. Grudging admiration? Disbelief in

my sanity? Maybe he just had to use the bathroom. “Midnight.” Ah, yes. Midnight. Not

too big of a cliché. But I kept that to myself—I’d shot my mouth off enough for one night.

“So, we’ll be there. But let’s call it a night for now. I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve

had about all the excitement I can take for one day. Night. Whatever.” Sara laughed; she

was the only one who did. But at least the others seemed to tacitly agree, because they fell

back and let Sinclair, BabyJon, and me get back to our suite. “Are you okay?” I muttered

out of the side of my mouth, patting BabyJon on the rump. Hoo! The boy needed a diaper

change in the worst way. “I am deeply, deeply regretting not putting my fist through your

attacker’s skull,” Sinclair replied neutrally. “Don’t worry. There’s always tomorrow.”

Sinclair snorted, but seemed to lighten up. That was a good, good thing. I’m sure the

werewolves were all badass and everything, but none of them had a thing on my husband,

who wasn’t only a) the king of the vampires and b) old and wily, but c) wouldn’t tolerate

people messing with me. If they hadn’t learned that after tonight, there was no hope for

them, and no hope for reconciliation. And then what? War, maybe. A vampire/werewolf

war. Swell.

My king,
Things here are as well as can be expected. I have reviewed the quarterly report

from your holdings in Los Angeles and it seems the new security system for the

company’s web server is doing the job.
Laura seems to be entertaining quite a bit in your