Betsy 4 - Undead and Unreturnable Read online

  "What did you say?"

  "Okay, it's like this." I hurried over and sat beside him on my—our!—bed, and flung my arms around his shoulders, which wasn't unlike hugging the big oak tree in the backyard. "When we make love, I can hear what you're thinking. It's in my head."

  Nothing. He sat stiffly, like we were playing statues.

  I hugged harder. "And the thing is, I've been trying to figure out the right time to tell you, and there just never was one. But now that I see how insec—how worried you are about our houseguest, I figured it would be a good time to prove my love and how much we are meant to be together because in my whole life and death, I never heard anybody in my head, ever, not one time."

  If anything, he got stiffer. "You hear. Me. In your. Head?" he asked carefully.

  "Yes. But only during lovemaking. Never before and never after. I mean, I have no idea what you're thinking right now. Although, uh, I can probably figure it out."

  "For. How. Long?"

  "Since that time in the pool—the first time. And right up until… well, earlier. In the parlor, after Margaret left."

  "Marjorie," he corrected automatically. He pried my hands off him and pulled my arms away.

  "Don't be mad," I said, probably the stupidest line ever, right up there with, "she didn't mean anything to me."

  He left.

  I sat there and stared at the open doorway. Okay, I knew he wasn't going to take the news well, and I told him in a shitty way. At least I hadn't told him out of spite. But still—he'd had no prep at all. And now he had left, walked out.

  I got ahold of myself. I wasn't going to sit on the bed cowering and waiting for him to come back and yell at me, or possibly throw a credenza at me. I jumped to my feet and ran to the door… where I promptly smacked so hard into the returning Sinclair I hit the floor like a backhanded pancake.

  "Damn," I gasped. "You must have really tooled up those stairs."

  "This is no time for one of your amusing pratfalls," he snapped. He stepped over me (he didn't even help me up!) and dropped something big on the bed, something that gave off its own dust.

  I was totally horrified to see it was the Book of the Dead.

  "Get that thing off my sheets," I ordered. "I just got those last week at Target! They're flannel!"

  He ignored me, bent over the book, and flipped through it. Finally (a miracle with neither a table of contents nor an index) he got to the yucky nasty page he wanted, straightened, and pointed.

  "What? You want me to… forget it, no way. I'm done with that—hey!" He'd crossed the room in a blink, seized my arm, and dragged me over to the Book. "Okay, okay, don't pull. These are new, too."

  I bent over the horrible, horrible thing, written in blood by an insane vampire who could see the future. And never spell-checked, I might add, just to add to the overall fun.

  "Okay, here we go—here? Okay. 'And the Queene shall noe the dead, all the dead, and neither shall they hide from her nor keep secrets from her.'" I stood up. "Right, so? We figured that's why I can see the ghosts and nobody else can."

  "Keep reading."

  "Eric—"

  "Read."

  I hurriedly bent back to the homework from Hell. " 'And shalt noe the king, and all the king's ways, for all their reign o'er the dead, and the king shalt noe hers.' There, cheer up!" I straightened (please God, for the last time… no more reading tonight). "See? I know your ways, and you know mine. So… I mean, this is deeply meaningful because…"

  "As you said. You can read my mind during… intimate moments."

  "Yeah," I nodded. "I told you that. Remember? Told you? As in, didn't keep it a secret?" For more than eight months? Shut up, brain.

  "I cannot read yours," he pointed out.

  "Yeah, I figured," I confessed. "I tried to sort of, uh, feel you out a couple times. But I didn't get anything back."

  He just stared at me. I knew that look: penetrating and faraway at the same time. There was some serious thinking going on behind those black eyes.

  "Eric…"

  He took a step back.

  "Okay, you're mad. I don't blame you; it was a rotten way to find out. Only, I knew you'd be like this! That's why I was scared to tell you!" Worst. Apology. Ever!

  "I am not mad," he said.

  "Eric, you're the one I want to be with."

  "The Book begs to differ."

  "Jeez, we've only been together for two months… we've only known each other since April. Give me time to 'noe your ways,' dammit, and you need time to noe—know mine. Just because you can't—you know. Just because you can't right this minute doesn't prove anything. And I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I wanted to."

  "I understand," he said with horrifying distance, "why you could not."

  "Eric, you're the one I'm marrying!"

  "I'm the one you keep changing the date on," he said. "Perhaps because you have realized I am not your equal? Being a soft-hearted wretch, I can see why you would not be up to the task of telling me face-to-face that your feelings had changed."

  "That has nothing to do with it!" I screeched. "Oh my God, did you just call me a wretch?" A coward, too! He'd turned telepathy into an excuse to postpone the wedding?

  Men! "How you could jump to a conclusion like that?"

  "Yes, you are correct, it is simply a wondrous coincidence."

  "I'm just disorganized, moron! It's not a personal observation! See, see? This is why I didn't tell you, I knew you'd freak out and get pissed."

  "I'm not pissed," he said coolly. And… he didn't sound pissed. He didn't sound like anything I could figure. I didn't know whether to run and put my arms around him, or jump out the window and get away from him. The four feet between us yawned; it could have been the edge of a cliff. "I'm… surprised."

  He was a liar, that's what he was. Finally, I recognized the emotion. I'd never seen it on his face before, so no wonder it took me a few minutes: it was fear.

  Not for me. I'd seen that before, plenty of times. No, this was something else. He was afraid, all right.

  Of me.

  Chapter 18

  Dear Betsy,

  I'm a new vampire (I was attacked and killed by another vampire while I was on my senior class trip, eight years ago), and I'm not sure exactly of the protocol now. Things were different under Nostro, but I'm not sure how things are with you. There's a girl in my life I "see" once in a while, and she lets me bite her, but she thinks it's just part of fun. Sometimes I'll make friends with a new girl and bite her a few times, too. It's hard because I have to feed every day, but I don't want to kill anyone. Do you have any advice?

  Chewin' on 'em in Chaska

  Dear Cheivin':

  Well, you've got the right idea, anyway. Don't kill them, not any of them, if you can help it. They can't help being alive any more than you can help being dead. I try to go out and bite bad guys… you know, someone who's trying to drag me into a dark alley to "meet" his friends, someone I catch breaking into my car… like that. I feel like they got punished for whatever felony they were attempting, and I got to eat. Try that for a while and see how it works. If you ever meet that special someone, you could tell her your secret and maybe she could help you out. Also, as you get older, you won't need to feed as much. Cheer up. This, too, shall pass.

  "It's pretty good," Jessica said. "Because the newsletter is new, I guess you had to make up the first few questions?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well, pretty soon you'll start to get real letters, so that's okay. But this isn't too bad."

  I started to cry.

  "Jeez!" Jessica said, putting the paper down and hurrying over to me. "I had no idea you were such a touchy edit! It's great, it's really great for your first time. Lots of—uh—lots of good advice."

  "Sinclair moved out of my room," I sobbed.

  "Well, honey, I don't know that he ever actually moved in."

  I cried harder.

  "Uh, sorry. Did you guys have a fight?"

&
nbsp; "A big one. The worst one."

  "Worse than when you thought he was putting the moves on your sister?"

  "I wish that's what it was," I wept.

  "Okay. Is it something you can tell me about?"

  "No," I sobbed. Sinclair's humiliation was still fresh; the last thing I was going to do was spread it around.

  She had poured a fresh cup of tea for me—we were in the kitchen—and now sat down in the chair next to me. My feeble letter lay on the table between us. I'd been desperate to distract myself from the fight. Thus, Dear Betsy.

  "Well, honey, is it something bad you did?"

  "I didn't think so. I thought it was good. Proof of something good. But he didn't agree. And then he left. It's been two nights, and he hasn't been back; I haven't even seen him in the house. I've seen George the Fiend more than my own fiancé."

  "Right, but… you're not going around killing Girl Scouts or anything, right?"

  I shook my head. "Nothing like that."

  "And you didn't read the Book… Betsy!" she nearly screamed at my feeble nod. "Did you turn evil again?"

  "I wish. I only read the paragraph he made me. He was just making a point. And then he slammed it shut and took it away, and took himself away, too."

  "Well, is it something you can say you're sorry for?"

  "I don't think I can apologize for this. Besides, I already did. We were pretty mad, though. He might not have noticed. But it was a secret for a long time. I guess I can apologize for not telling him right away."

  "That's a start, right?"

  "He's afraid of me now," I practically whispered.

  Jessica burst out laughing. She laughed so hard she actually slapped the table with her palm. "Scared! Sinclair! Of you!" Slap, slap. "Oh, that's a good one." She sighed and wiped her eyes. "Tell it again; I needed that."

  I glared. "I'm serious, Jessica. The thing I told him made him be scared of me. In the past he thought it was cool that I could do things other vampires couldn't—"

  "And let's not forget, he wasn't above using you to get what he wanted," she pointed out, her cheeks still shiny from laugh-tears.

  "Yeah, I know. But he was never, you know, scared of the things I could do. Just… impressed, like. He thought they were neat, and he thought it was great that I killed Nostro and what's-her-name, and he thinks it's great that the devil is my sister's mother, but he was never afraid of me. I'm telling you. That's what's happened now."

  "This thing—whatever it is—it's made him scared of you."

  I rubbed my eyes (pure force of habit; I had no tears) and nodded.

  "Okay, so you should apologize for keeping the secret and then you gotta wait for him to get over his bad self."

  "Wait?"

  "Honey, have you seen the man? Does he strike you as the type of fellow who's scared of anything, much less his own girlfriend? He's gonna need some serious time to get used to the idea."

  "Wh—how much time?"

  "You're immortal," she pointed out. "What's the rush?"

  "But… wedding stuff. We've got to plan the wedding. I can't do it by myself."

  "So postpone it again."

  "I can't," I said, appalled all over again. "Oh, I just can't. He's got it in his head that—never mind. But one thing I absolutely can't do is cancel it. Full speed ahead on all wedding prep."

  "Are you sure this horrible thing you've done, it's not evil? What am I saying, it's Sinclair. Evil doesn't scare him. He probably gets off on it, in his heart of hearts."

  "Trust me. It's not evil." Elizabeth, oh my Elizabeth… you are sweet, you are like wine, you are… everything. I love you, there's no one. No one. Probably never hear that again, so get used to the mental playback, babe. "It's the total opposite of evil. I thought… I thought it was kind of wonderful. But he—he—"

  I cried some more. It was lame, but I couldn't stop. Just when I thought that the one thing I could count on was Sinclair by my side no matter what happened…

  "He's still here, though, right?" I asked, groping for a tissue, again out of habit. I was snot-free. "At the house? He didn't move out?"

  "Not that I know of, honey. Probably just back to his old room while he sorts things out." I stared down at the table, and Jess smoothed my crumpled bangs out of my eyes. "Poor Bets. If it's not one thing it's another. You want me to stay in tonight?"

  "Yeah, we could—no!"

  "Oh, that's flattering," she grumbled.

  "No, I mean… tonight's the big night. Your date with Nick. You can't miss it."

  "I can reschedule," she said gently.

  "My ass!"

  "And that's one thing not on the date agenda," she said cheerfully. "He might have asked me out because he knows you're taken—"

  "Am I?" I sulked.

  "But one thing we're not going to do is talk about your ass. Nor your tits, nor your scintillating personality—which, I gotta tell you, ain't so great right now."

  She was teasing and I smiled, a little. "No rescheduling. You're going. I'll—I'll find something to do."

  On cue, the swinging doors on the east end of the kitchen whooshed open and Jon walked in like the world's youngest gunslinger. "Anybody up to telling me the story of their life?" he chirped, waving his Sidekick.

  "Well," Jess told me, getting up from her seat, "if whatever you did was evil, and I'm not saying it was, because your word's good enough for me, but if it was, you're gonna be punished for it right about now."

  Chapter 19

  "Have you, uh, seen Sinclair around tonight?"

  Jon snorted. "Not hardly. We sort of stay out of each other's way. I get the feeling he's not too crazy about me staying here."

  "Well, it's not his house, now is it?" I asked sharply. Oh, great. Yell at the kid because your fiancé's not talking to you. "Sorry. I'm grumpy tonight."

  "Because you haven't fed?" he asked eagerly, Sidekick poised. I saw he had flipped it around so he could tap on the tiny keyboard.

  "No. But I'll worry about that some other night. Listen, Jon, if I do this for you, you've got to do something for me."

  "I understand Betsy." He looked around; yes, we were alone in the cavernous parlor. We'd moved there after the housekeeper got back from Rainbow and shooed us out. "I don't—uh—approve of that sort of—um—thing, but you're so—I mean, I'll make an exception for you." He bravely pulled off his T-shirt and inched closer to me. "Besides, it'll be good for the book."

  "Ick! No!" I shoved him away, and he went flying over the end of the couch and crashed into the carpet. Dust flew. He coughed. I freaked. "Sorry, sorry, sorry!" I hurried around the couch and helped him up. "I didn't mean to shove you so hard."

  "S'okay," he gasped, in the middle of a major coughing spasm. "M'sorry, too."

  "It's my fault. I guess I was vague. No, I'm afraid the favor I've got in mind is a lot worse than sucking your blood."

  "Whatever it is," he choked, "I'll do it. But first… you gotta get someone in here with a vacuum, I mean, right now."

  "Who do you think you're talking to? Jon, I couldn't find the vacuum if you stuck a gun in my ear. Which if memory serves, you have."

  He reddened and settled himself on a chair across from me. "That stuff's all over with, now."

  "And we of the vampire community are grateful, believe me."

  "We're talking about you," he said. "Why don't you start at the beginning?"

  "Well, I was born in a small town in Minnesota, Cannon Falls, and I went to school at Cannon Falls Elementary, where Mrs. Schultz was my favorite teacher. We moved to Burnsville when I was—"

  "No," he interrupted, "I mean, the beginning, when you became a vampire."

  "Oh. Kind of a short bio. I mean, not much has happened to me yet. As a vampire, I mean."

  He rolled his eyes. "Betsy, I really like you and you're cute and all, but you are so full of crap."

  "I am not! I haven't even been a vampire for a year, is what I meant, and I was a human for th—for twenty-five years at least. Hel
l, the Miss Burnsville pageant was way more stressful than vampire politics."

  "Yeah, I'll get some of that stuff later for fill-in," he promised, but he was lying. "Let's get to the good stuff."

  I sighed. "All right, all right. The good stuff. Well, I guess the good stuff starts on the last day. And it sucked, let me tell you. In fact, the day I died started out bad and got worse in a hurry…"

  Chapter 20

  "… and then you jumped off the roof of the mortuary and got run over by a garbage truck."

  "Jon, there's no need to read it back to me; I know the story."

  He laughed. "It's an incredible story! I'm reading it back to be sure I'm not fucking up anything. As it is, no one's going to think this is real."

  "Well, good." We were in the entryway, and I was shrugging into my coat. Laura was here, coming up the walk, and she and I were baby-sitting Baby Jon tonight. "Because the whole point is, you're pretending it's a real bio about a vampire."

  "I know, I know, you only told me a million times. Let's see…"

  "Jon, I gotta go. Can we pick this up tomorrow?"

  "Yeah, let me just be sure I've got everything so far… you tried to drown yourself in the Mississippi River, you tried to electrocute yourself, tried to poison yourself with a bottle of bleach, and then stole a butcher knife and tried to stab yourself to death? Is that all?"

  "Uh…" I wasn't about to go into the rapists I'd accidentally killed. "Pretty much."

  Laura walked in—I'd told her weeks ago to stop with the knocking already—and said cheerfully, as she always did, "Good evening, darling sister. Ready to go?"

  "Yeah." So, so ready. I wasn't up for another round of This Is Your Life. "Laura, have you met Jon? Jon, this is my sister, Laura."

  She was having her usual effect on men, I could see: Jon had dropped his Sidekick. And hadn't noticed. Dust was probably cramming its delicate little circuits, and Jon hadn't noticed.