Read Undead and Unwelcome Online
Authors: MaryJanice Davidson
Betsy has enough on her plate these days. And it wasn’t like Laura had killed anybody.
In
fact, the way she handled it was nothing short of hilarious. She—
Wait. She’s calling me
from the hallway. More later, dude.
When I next opened my eyes, it was, according to the grandfather clock bonging away at
the other end of our suite, four o’clock. Our bedroom was utterly gloomy, thanks to all
the heavy curtains, so I stretched and sat up, swung my legs over the bed, and thought
about what to do. Sinclair was still—ha, ha—dead to the world beside me. He was on his
side, one arm flung out, palm up. His normally pin-neat hair was a ruffled dark mass; his
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) lips were slightly parted. I watched his chest for a long time . . . three minutes, almost. I
think it rose once. But he felt like living flesh; he was warm (we’re speaking comparably,
of course). He wasn’t a corpse, he wasn’t dead. He wasn’t alive, either. Undead. Stupid
word, I’ve always hated that word. This was the part of every day when I deeply pitied my
husband, and I would never tell him. Sinclair needed me for several things—pity wasn’t
one of them. He didn’t have to sleep all day, and he could stay awake when the sun came
up (unlike yours truly, who would drop like a puppet with her strings cut as soon as it was
dawn) but he could never, ever go out into the sun. I, however, could. So I got to my feet
and checked on BabyJon, who we’d set up in the small sitting room. And by the way? The
guy who invented the port-a-crib? A genius of Jonas Salk proportions. Anyway, he was in
his crib, flat on his back with his little arms in the “this is the police, put your hands up”
position. If he grew up to be anything like the Ant, he couldn’t practice that position soon
enough. I couldn’t help but smile when I looked at him. Don’t get me wrong, it was
unfortunate that my father and his wife died. But BabyJon was mine, now. Forever. Best
of all, he was adjusting to the new sleeping schedule. After all, I can’t have a kid running
around during the day when I sleep. No, BabyJon was officially on graveyard shift now,
and for a long time to come. I wondered what I would tell him when he was older.
“Mom,
why is there an unconscious man stuffed in the closet?”
“Nothing to worry about, dear,
Mommy just wanted a snack.”
Hmm. Better rethink that one. Later. Besides, since he’d be
growing up with us, he’d probably think it’s normal for parents to stay up all night and
never eat solid food. Or age. Or poop. A problem for another time, so I popped into the
bathroom, which was more or less unnecessary, but old habits, right? Sometime during
our late-night chat with the Wyndhams, a castle employee had unpacked our clothes and
stocked the bathroom. Good stuff, too—Aveda products. Feeling minty fresh, I left the
bathroom, and pulled on brown velvet leggings and a long-sleeved blue flannel shirt. I was
always cold, and had long since donated all my tank tops to Goodwill. I slipped into my
Cole Haan Penny Air Loafers and was ready to face the day. What was left of it, anyway. I
had to walk through the rest of the suite, and after a second I realized that our suite was
on the west side of the castle. Okay, mansion—really huge, amazing mansion. That
looked, to my Midwestern eyes, awfully like a castle. Someone was being pretty
thoughtful. Never let it be said that werewolves weren’t polite hosts—I only had to look
around our guest suite to see that. But I drew all the curtains anyway, just to be on the
safe side. I didn’t want to take the smallest chance that Sinclair might get burned. The sun
wouldn’t go down for another four hours or so. I stepped out into the hallway, pulled the
door closed, and nearly fell over Jessica, who was all but lurking in the doorway of the
suite directly across from ours. “You know, they did let you have that room,” I said. “In
fact, I think they’re assuming you’ll use it, as opposed to lingering in strange hallways.”
She responded to me with, “Girl, I am bored outta my tits.” “Can we have one cross-
country quest without talking about your tits?” Her pretty dark eyes went narrow and
thoughtful, and she caressed her cheek with a long fingernail colored jack-o’-lantern
orange. After a thoughtful pause, she shook her head. “I don’t see how.” “I figured.” I
scanned the hallway and listened hard: it was as empty as it looked. “Want to find the
kitchen? Maybe whip up a—” “If I have to look at another smoothie this month, I’m going
to barf in one of your Beverly Feldmans.” “And face a terrible, prolonged death.” We fell
in step and, when we reached the main staircase, I pointed in the direction of the kitchen—
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) or whatever room smelled like spices, meat, and fresh vegetables. “How can you be bored
in the middle of a Pack of werewolves?” “Easy. They’re not talking to me. The ones I
bump into are soooo polite—bathroom’s right there, the east wing’s over there, one of the
indoor pools is through there, the weight room is over there—but I’m a cipher here.”
Jessica, well used to my blank expression, correctly interpreted it as “I am unfamiliar with
that word; please explain” and added, “I’m a nobody. A nothing. A zero. This is about
vampires and werewolves, which, thank God, I’m neither. No offense.” “Who could be
offended by that?” I muttered, jumping down the last four steps. “That way. Then a right.
So, they’ve been nice to you at least?” “Sure.” “Good. Listen, I think it’s really good that
you’re here—” “You’re the worst liar in the galaxy.” “Shut up. Anyway, I sort of forced
BabyJon on Sinclair—” “This I already knew. The entire street knew,” she added
thoughtfully. “—because we’re his parents now and we have to learn how to be a family—
” “Uh-huh, yup. Getting to something I
don’t
know anytime soon?” “—but I can’t watch
him every minute I’m here.” “I don’t mind watching him—much—but you know he’ll only
be cute and cuddly with you. With me . . .” She sighed. “With everybody else, it’s colic
city.” “Sorry, Jess. I can’t help that. But I appreciate you watching out for him for me.”
She waved it away, and obediently turned left when I pointed. We were now in a slightly
narrower hallway, on hardwood floors this time, no carpet. The smell of food was
very
strong. “At least you got the boy trained. Sleeps half the day
and
half the night.” “He’s
really very sweet,” I whined. Jessica snorted and straight-armed the swinging door into the
kitchen. Like everything, the Wyndham kitchen made mine look like a dining nook. At
least four big tables—the kind you could chop anything on—with long legs. Another big
table, marble-topped, probably for baking. Three fridges. Another door, which led to
industrial-sized freezers. I could smell the Freon. There were huge windows—one
overlooking a kitchen garden—on every wall. The windows on the opposite wall
overlooked the Atlantic. “I could get used to this,” Jessica commented. “So buy
something just like it. You’ve probably got enough money in the sofa cushions for a down
payment.” Jessica shrugged and went to the nearest fridge while I slid onto a bar stool. “I
like the place in St. Paul.” I nodded. Shoot, before the mansion, she’d lived in an ordinary
house in the suburbs. She had never lived rich, dressed rich, ate rich, or looked rich. It was
one of her many charms. “So you’re not, um, hungry, are you?” Jessica had extracted an
apple and a Diet Coke. Wait’ll I ratted her out to Marc! He considered diet pop one step
up from muriatic acid, whatever the hell that was. “Naw. Sinclair and I snacked on each
other for a while last night. I’m good for a few days.” “Good to know. If you go nuts and
accidentally chew on one of the locals—” “Right, I get the picture, and
duh
, like I haven’t
thought of that. How dumb do you think I am?” Her answer was muffled in the loud
crunch as she went to work on the apple . . . probably just as well. “So, that Jeannie seems
nice,” Jessica said, masticating slowly. “Shhhh,” I said, putting a finger to my lips. Jessica
gnawed and crunched and all but growled at her McIntosh for a good minute, when the
doors swung inward (werewolves must just
know
if someone’s on the other side; probably
because they could smell them) and in walked Jeannie, carrying a toddler, and behind her,
Lara. “Hello,” Jeannie said. The toddler, a boy with his mother’s wild blond curls and blue
eyes, waved a chubby hand in our general direction. “Sleep all right?” “Like the dead,” I
said cheerfully. Jeannie rolled her eyes at me in a remarkable imitation of Jessica. She
carefully set the toddler down in a high chair, strapped him in, then started rooting around
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) for toddler food. “Mmmmph gmmmph mmmm nughump mph,” Jessica commented, tiny
pieces of apple flying like shrapnel. “She didn’t know you had another kid.” Or forgot
Jeannie had another kid . . . she’d been a little out of it when the Wyndhams visited us the
last time. Chemo really plays havoc with your memory. “This? This is Sean. And you
remember Lara, Betsy.” “Hullo,” the tiny werewolf said as she opened the fridge, pulling
out a small Tupperware bowl. She popped the lid, and— “Don’t you
dare
,” Jeannie said
severely, pretending not to hear the delicate sound of Jessica’s gagging. “You have one of
the chefs cook that hamburger, or ask me to.” “But it tastes better when it’s raw,” Lara
the Weird whined. “You heard what I said.” Jeannie plunked a Lunchable in front of her
son, who carefully began dismantling it and eating. “But I
want
to eat a raw hamburger.”
Jessica raised her eyebrows at me while Lara placed her teeny hands on her teeny hips and
glared up at her mother. “Tough nuts,” Jeannie replied with admirable unconcern. “And
that locked gaze might work with your father and the others, but it doesn’t do diddly to
me. So: Cooked hamburger? Or no hamburger?” “No hamburger.” “Ah, starving yourself
to spite the woman who gave you life.” Jeannie leaned against the counter and put a hand
over her eyes. “Ah, ‘how sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child.’ ”
“Mommy Shakes,” Sean said, carefully picking up a pepperoni slice and popping it into his
mouth. “Yes, that’s right, Mommy likes to quote Shake-speare.” Lara sighed. “Since I’m
not going to eat my snack, can I go to the playground?” “Lara, I’m sorry, but I can’t get
away right now—your father and I have some stuff to talk about.” Her gaze slid to me,
but I don’t think she was aware of it. “I’ll take her,” I volunteered. “I’d like to get
outside.” “Oh. Well. That’s very nice, Betsy, but you’re not really used to werewolves,
y’see, and—” “Not used to—Hello? I lived with one of them?” Jeannie gave me a long,
speculative look, then beckoned with one finger. “Step over here with me for a moment.
Would you?” Jessica shot me her you’d-better-tell-me-everything-later expression and
added, “I’ll keep an eye on your boy for you, Jeannie.” “That’s great, Jessica. If he wants
another Lunchable—” “And he will,” Lara piped up. “—they’re on the bottom shelf in the
fridge to your right. So saying, she spun on her heel and walked out through a different
door, one I hadn’t even spotted until Jeannie moved toward it. I guess I was going back
down the rabbit hole. Me and Alice.
I’ll trust you with my daughter,” Jeannie began the moment she’d started up four washing
machines at once. The mysterious door had led to the mysterious Laundromat. The
Wyndhams had their own Laundromat! Unreal. Anyway, she got a bunch of the machines
going and I was puzzling over that when I suddenly realized: she didn’t want Lara to
overhear. Or anybody close by to overhear. “I’m doing this,” she continued, “because I
know you liked Antonia and wouldn’t have seen her dead. I’m also doing this because
Lara can take care of herself. So if you turn evil and try to bite her or hurt her in any way,
don’t be surprised if it’s your head bouncing across the playground.” “That’s, um, sweet.
You must be very proud.” “But I need you to remember this: a werewolf cub is not a
human child. They’re different.” “Okay.” “They’re faster. Stronger. Even crueler. She
looks like a little girl to you, but you must never forget—she is her father’s daughter, the
man who had to kill over twenty-five werewolves to take the Pack. Do you understand?” I
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) just stared at her while all around us washing machines went
shhh-thump, shhh-thump,
shhh-thmmp
. I’d expected the standard warning: if you bite my kid, I’ll hunt you down
and shoot you dead. But it wasn’t like that. Jeannie wasn’t scared for Lara. She was
scared for
me
. “I told you something like this before, but you had a lot going on at the
time. This time I’ve got your full attention. Right?” “Right, absolutely, you bet.” “As long
as we understand each other.” “Oh, we totally do,” I assured her. “All right, then.” “All