Betsy 4 - Undead and Unreturnable Read online

  "Enough," I said.

  "I agree," Laura almost snapped. "It's been a long night."

  "Honey, you don't know what the hell you're talking about."

  "Are you still planning on meeting up tomorrow?"

  "Christmas shopping," Laura agreed, calming down before my eyes. At least her hair hadn't changed color, thank goodness. "I'll meet you here at six, all right?"

  "I can't friggin' wait," the dead woman said.

  "All right," I said. "Good night."

  I watched Laura drive off in her smiley-face yellow VW, which her too-good-to-be-true-but-they-really-were-good adoptive parents had saved up for three years to buy her.

  I looked at the ghost, who was a couple inches shorter than me, with dark blond hair pulled back in a short ponytail. She was wearing a faded green Sea World sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows and black stretch pants. Socks. No shoes or coat. But of course, she wasn't cold.

  "Why don't you come in?"

  "Why don't I?" she agreed. "Thanks for the ride. I thought I was going to be stuck in Edina forever. Talk about hell."

  She walked through me into the house, which felt exactly like someone throwing a bucket of ice water in my face. "Dammit!" I gasped, lunging to shut the door.

  "Sorry," she said smugly.

  Chapter 25

  "You're back!" Jon cried.

  "Jeez, let me get my coat off. And not now, okay?"

  "Who's the hottie?" the ghost said, ogling. She passed her hand through his crotch, which, thankfully, he didn't notice.

  "Stop that! It's against the law to do that even if you are dead."

  "What?" Jon asked.

  "I'm getting my thrills wherever I can," the ghost explained, "so off my case."

  Tina had followed Jon into the entryway. "Good evening, Your Majesty. I was just on my way out."

  "How many weirdos live in this place?" the ghost asked. "It's like The Real World with Losers."

  "All those shows are like that," I told her. To Jon: "Seriously, not now. I've got some other errands and stuff to do before the sun comes up."

  "Oh, don't mind me," the ghost sniffed. "I'm sure you'd much rather be getting naked with Super Hottie."

  "I don't want to get naked with him, for the millionth time!"

  I didn't realize it, but judging from the echoes in the entryway, I had screamed it.

  "Whoa," Jon said, backing off.

  "Excuse my boldness, Majesty, but do you have… a guest?"

  "Dah-DAH-DAHHHHHHH," the ghost hummed dramatically.

  I put a hand over my eyes. "God, yes. And she's really annoying."

  "Why don't you drop dead?" the ghost suggested.

  "Too late," I snapped back. "See her, Tina? About this high…" I held my hand up to my nose. "Blond hair in a tacky ponytail, tacky sweatshirt, no shoes."

  "If I'd known I'd have to walk around in sweat socks for eternity," the ghost protested, "I'd have dressed up a little."

  "Ah, yes," Tina said, squinting and then brightening as the ghost slowly became visible to her. "Good evening, miss. My name is Tina; this is Elizabeth, The One."

  "Wait a minute. I go days and days and no one can see me, and now she says so and you can, too?"

  "She is my queen," Tina said simply.

  "The way it works is, I'm a vampire—"

  "Get out!" the ghost gasped.

  "I swear!"

  "I just thought you were a freak, like that kid in the movie. I didn't know you were, like, dead already."

  "Well, I am, so let's not rub it in, okay?"

  "Oh, I have to be sensitive to your feelings about being dead?"

  "That's not what I meant," I said through gritted teeth. "And if you'll shut up a minute, I'll explain how Tina can see you. Not only am I a vampire, I'm sort of the boss of all of them. And one of the (dumb) rules is, if I see a ghost and tell a vampire to see the ghost, they can see the ghost."

  "How totally lame," she commented. "It sounds made up to me."

  "Well, it isn't," I snapped. "And you should be a lot nicer, in my opinion."

  "Well, nobody asked for your opinion, honey. It's nice to meet you," she told Tina. "Can you help me?"

  "I'm supposed to help you."

  The ghost looked at me doubtfully. "Yeah, well, great. Looks like I've got all the help I need."

  "Why don't we have a seat in the parlor?" Tina suggested.

  "Yeah," I agreed. "Why don't we? It's the first room on your right." As we followed the ghost, I practically whispered to Tina, "Have you, uh, seen Sinclair tonight?"

  "No," she murmured back. "I haven't seen him in two days. I did not wish to pry, but…"

  "Ooooooh!" the ghost said loudly, phasing through the parlor wall. "More dramatic shenanigans."

  I sighed and followed her. I took the door, though.

  "First things first," the ghost said. She didn't sit down, but we did, so we were sort of staring up at her, craning our necks. "I'm dead, right? I mean, I'm pretty sure. But I just wanted to double-check."

  "Yes," Tina said.

  "We're sorry," I added. "For what it's worth, you were way too young. You look about my age."

  "Don't flatter yourself; I'm only twenty-six. I mean, I was twenty-six." She sighed and looked through us. Literally. "I figured. The last thing I remember is this huge crash, this big light in my brain, and then all of a sudden I'm back in my neighborhood and nobody can see me. That damn dog of Antonia's pooped through me."

  "How can we help you?" Tina asked, all business.

  "Sorry about your dying," I added.

  "I'll tell you how I can help," she said. "My name is Cathie Robinson, and I'm—"

  "The latest victim of the Driveway Killer," Tina said. She looked at me. "The Trib ran a story when her—ah—when your body was found, Mrs. Robinson."

  "In a parking lot, right?" she asked glumly. She sat down, phased through the couch, and disappeared into the floor. We heard a muffled "Shit!" and then she struggled back up into the parlor. "In a fucking parking lot!"

  "Yes, I'm afraid so."

  "Sorry," I said again, because honestly, I couldn't think of a thing to say.

  "That piece of shit! That little lowlife!"

  "Do you remember anything about… dying?" Tina asked tactfully… as tactfully as such a thing could be asked, anyway. "About where you were taken? About the killer?"

  "Honey?" Cathie asked, fixing Tina with a sudden, piercing gaze. "I remember everything."

  Tina smiled. It was awful; you could practically see her drooling at the thought of getting her fangs into the Driveway Killer. "Then at last, you're having some luck, Mrs. Robinson. A friend of ours is on the task force."

  Cathie sighed and leaned back (carefully, so she wouldn't fall through the wall). "I knew there was a reason I was following you around," she told me.

  "Tell us everything. We'll worry about the difficulties later."

  "What difficulties? I'll tell you where he is—where he took me, anyway—and you go get him!"

  "Our friend—the one on the task force—not only doesn't know we're vampires, he certainly doesn't know we can speak with the dead. Sharing this information with him without compromising our safety will be difficult."

  "But we'll figure out a way," I hastily advised Cathie, who was starting to look superpissed. "Obviously, catching this guy is primo numero uno on our list."

  "Well, I should fucking well hope so!" she snapped. "I left a family, you know. And I was a good girl—I should be in heaven right this minute. The only reason I'm still here is to help you catch that scumshit, that piece of shit jerkoff, that assface."

  I was still admiring Cathie's rich and colorful vocabulary when I heard a familiar step in the hall.

  "Tell Tina the whole story," I said hurriedly, leaping to my feet.

  "Hey!" Cathie protested. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

  "It's much more important to tell Tina than me," I said, practically running to catch up to
him. "She's, like, ten times smarter than me anyway."

  "That I figured out on my own. But what's more important than this?"

  Dead people, I thought, darting into the entryway. They're the most selfish people on the planet.

  "Sinclair!" I hollered. "Wait up!"

  Chapter 26

  "Where—where are you going?"

  "Out," he replied.

  That much was obvious; he was wearing his black wool greatcoat and his Kenneth Cole shoes, which were shined to a high gloss. He was tapping his black leather gloves impatiently into his palm while he politely waited for me to Get On With It.

  "Out—how come?"

  "I need to feed, Elizabeth," he said simply.

  I almost reeled at the implications of that. Since we'd been together, we sort of had an unwritten rule about feeding… we only did each other.

  That was the trouble with unwritten rules. Anybody could rewrite them… or ignore them.

  "But… don't you want to… with me?" I couldn't believe I was asking this; me, the one who was totally squicked out by blood-sharing. But the thought of him finding some pretty girl… dazzling her… taking from her… and she'd fall in love with him of course… and then what would he do? Keep her?

  It wasn't like he hadn't done it before. Hell, he used to have a harem of girls who loooooooved it when he drank from them. He gave them all tons of money and sent them on their way when he moved in, and that was that. Nice and neat.

  Except now…

  His glove-tapping sped up. "I had assumed, after what happened earlier, that such things were off limits. To both of us."

  "Well, when you ASSuME, you make an ass out of you and me. So there!"

  "What?"

  "We just had a fight, that's all, just a stupid fight. It's not the end of everything. And frankly, I don't want you going out in the cold and biting some other woman, so there!"

  "Another 'so there.' You must feel quite strongly about the situation."

  "Well, you freaked out when Jon, who I have no intention of biting or boning, moved in. Now you're off to the races, and you're all surprised that I have a problem with it?"

  His mouth tightened; it look more like a scar than lips I had come to know well. "That is hardly the same thing."

  "Wrong, suck-o! It's exactly the same thing."

  "Very well." In a flash—I could see what happened only if I replayed it in my head—he dropped his gloves, kicked out of his shoes, and dragged me up the stairs. In the time it took me to realize he had dropped his gloves, he had kicked my (our) bedroom door shut, jerked my head to one side, and sank his fangs into me.

  I screamed, shocked to my toes at what he had done—no, how he had done it. I tried to get free, but he had one hand across my shoulders and the other hand was forcing my chin to the side, giving him easy access to my jugular. Wriggling free was like trying to get free of a tree that had planted itself around me.

  "Stop it, Eric, stop it, please stop it," I begged, and hated myself for begging.

  Yes stop what are you doing why are you hurting her you'll have your pride and that's all you'll have so stop it stop it STOP IT!

  He pulled back and licked my blood off his teeth. He watched the small trickle of blood travel down my neck, caught it with a finger, and licked that dry, too. Then he let go of me and I spun away.

  I knew it was coming. He knew it was coming. And he stood still for it. Penance? I didn't give a fuck. I slapped him so hard he staggered back, bounced off the wall, and lay on the floor like a stunned cockroach.

  I stood over him, saw his fangs were still out, and slapped a hand over the bite on my neck.

  "I said I was sorry, okay?" I hated the way my voice shook. Why hadn't I seen that coming? Just how dumb was I? "I said it. And I'm done saying it. So you're either gonna get over it, or you won't. Once you decide that, move in here or don't. And I mean move in, none of this showing up at night for blood and sex and then leaving. But enough of this sulking and pissing and moaning, okay? Believe it or not, I've got bigger problems than your bruised ego. Now get the fuck out. Here, I'll help you."

  I bent down, meaning to pick him up and throw him out the window—I was pretty sure I was strong enough to do it, and was dying to find out. I had also counted on Eric's weird contrite mood, which didn't last very long, as I found out when he yanked me down on top of him.

  "I guess you didn't hear my speech," I said through gritted teeth. "I guess I gotta go through the whole thing again."

  "I heard it. What are your bigger problems?"

  "What is this, a quiz show? Undead Wheel of Fortune?"

  "You said 'believe it or not, I've got bigger problems than your bruised ego.'" His eyes were about two inches from my own. I could smell my blood. I hated myself for wanting him to take another bite. "I was wondering what they were."

  "After the stunt you just pulled? I'm not telling you a fucking thing, pal!"

  "Because I am a king who does not 'noe' the queen's ways," he said quietly.

  "No, jackass, because you just came up here and practically raped me because you're in a bad mood! I don't give a shit that you can't read my mind when we're boning, and frankly, you should be relieved! Do you really want all that stuff in your head?"

  "It's only a matter of time," he said in a monotone that scared me to death. "If you wish, you may throw me out the window now."

  "Sinclair!" I slapped him across the face, a sort of "wake up, you're on fire!" smack, but he didn't say anything. "Dude, you have got to pull yourself together!" I really need you now. More than I ever did, so please, please get it together, I'm sorry, you're sorry, everybody's sorry, can we please be the way we were a week ago?

  "On the contrary, I have finally seen things for exactly what they are. It's… distressing."

  "Eric, come on. It's been a rotten day, and you already scared the shit out of me once."

  "Oh, that," he said absently. "I apologize. I was hungry, and you were annoying. It won't happen again."

  Don't say that! It wasn't what you did, it was how you did it, please don't say that!

  "I'll go," he said quietly, "but before I do, I'd like to remind you that it's very likely you could have a living baby with a living man. I know how fond you are of Baby Jon, and I'm certain you could have one of your own once you come to your senses and jettison me from your life."

  "But—I could? But—but I don't want—"

  Oblivious to my massive confusion, he sat up and gently picked me up off him, the way you shoo a ladybug off your hand when you're going inside, stood, placed me on the bed, turned, and left.

  Chapter 27

  "Hey, wake up."

  I burrowed farther under the covers, a big undead worm.

  "Hey, Betsy. Wake up."

  "Hnnnnnnwwwww," I mumbled, which any sane person would translate as "Go away, I'm sleeping."

  "Your sister is beating the living shit out of that vampire who lives in the basement."

  That got my attention. I sat up and there was Cathie, shoeless and looking scared, sitting in Marie's Chair. "What? What are you talking about?"

  "Your sister. She came over early, I guess for Christmas shopping? She went downstairs, and I was bored out of my tits, so I followed her. She started beating up that long-haired guy in the basement, the one who can't talk. I didn't want to ask your friends to step in—one of your roommates looks like she's on a date, and her date is actually here, wandering around waiting for her—"

  "Christ," I groaned.

  "—and you're the only vampire I could wake up."

  I tossed the blankets back and glanced at the clock: 5:35 p.m. I'd slept late, but the others wouldn't be awake for a few minutes yet, not until the sun fell down.

  "Nice pajamas. Did you get them at a garage sale?"

  I started for the stairs at a dead run. I was out my door in half a second, on the stairs in another second, and pounding down the basement steps while the blanket was still falling to the floor upstairs.

>   I screeched to a halt in front of the long, bare area of the basement we called the sparring section.

  Cathie had not been exaggerating. Laura was fighting George, and if he hadn't been dead before, he would be soon. It's not that she was such a good fighter—though she was—it's that he wasn't fighting back. Every blow she landed sounded sickening and looked worse.

  "Laura!"

  "Fight, you demon spawn, fight!"

  "Laura, stop it!"

  "You fight so I can send you to my mother. You fight so you can tell her I'm doing just fine up here and she need not interfere… again!"

  Laura's hair, I was dismayed to see, was flame red—the color of sullen coals after a raging fire. Her eyes were the color of fall grass—green, but dying. Gone was the rosy-cheeked blond teen we all knew and liked. We were here with the devil's daughter now.

  "Jesus," Cathie murmured, finally making it back down to the basement.

  "I wish," I said.

  "What's wrong with her?"

  "She has parental issues."

  "No, I've got parental issues. She is fucked up severe."

  "Later. Laura!" I bawled. "Get off him right now! Now now, not in a minute now!"

  "Stay out of this, Betsy!" she shrilled back. She smacked George another good one—I could only imagine how much it must have hurt her hand, judging from how it split open George's cheek—and he reeled and almost went down, but didn't fight back.

  "Laura, I hate to pull rank on you, but I'm the queen, and that's a subject so get your fucking hands off him right now!"

  She smacked him again—whamthud!—I couldn't believe it. Was I even in the goddamned room?

  I raced around them just as her sword materialized on her hip. I couldn't look at the thing—it was made of hellfire and gave me an instant headache, it was like looking into the sun—so I averted my gaze and somehow—I'm still not quite sure how I pulled this off—somehow I was in front of George, my arms spread out protectively, and that's how my sister accidentally plunged her blade into my chest.

  Chapter 28