MaryJane Davidson: Undead and Unworthy

The rules were, I go alone. So, I go alone. Besides, the Fiends would spot the others, and then they'd play kickball with Nick's head. How could I face my best friend if I got her lover killed 'cause I was too chickenshit to show up alone?

“ – absolutely out of the question – ”

“ – but she's the only one who – ”

“ – can't leave Nick to – ”

“ – not open for discussion, as far as I am concerned – ”

“ – her responsibility – ”

“ – not going to let her essentially commit suicide – ”

The argument was escalating in both intensity and volume (I noticed no one was much interested in my opinion), and there was no time, Goddammit, no time at all.

“Shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up! We have no time, don't you get it? Now I'm going.”

“Not at all,” Sinclair said calmly.

“Tradition dictates she do exactly that,” Tina said reluctantly, correcting her sovereign for maybe the fourth time in eighty years – a real toughie for her, since she wasn't too keen on me going in the first place.

“They'll kill you!” Jessica cried.

“Yes,” Garrett said. “They will.”

“The fuck they will! They can't take the king and queen and a fellow Fiend and me. We'll eat 'em for dinner! Let's go! Right now!” And I noticed an odd thing; all the fine hairs on Antonia's arms were standing straight up. If she'd been in her wolf form, she'd be bristling all over.

“We had practically the same group the first time the Fiends came, and we ran away,” Jessica said. “What's changed?”

“A challenge written in your lover's blood,” Sinclair said, kindly enough.

“Come on, you chickenshits!” Antonia barked. “We can take those fuckers.”

“Maybe. And then Nick will be fish food,” Tina said, biting her lip.

“My alpha's not going alone, and that's how it is!”

“Shut up, Antonia, all of you shut up! Just – shut up!” My head was pounding, like it was going to split down the middle of my forehead; I was clutching my temples and wondering why it was so damned hot in here. It seemed like the heat was battering at me, trying to get in, and all at once I dropped my hands and let it, let it all in, let it burn me alive.

Instantly, the room went quiet, a quiet broken by the thuds of my friend's bodies hitting the floor. I stood over them, shocked. Knelt quickly and found Jessica's pulse, realized Tina and Sinclair were as alive as they could be, just unconscious. Antonia, too, was out cold – and so was Garrett. I was the only one still standing.

And I felt like a million bucks. I felt like I could jump across the Mississippi. And I loved the sudden peace and quiet – I could finally hear myself think. I felt almost – what was the word? Euphoric. Yeah. I felt – I felt an awful lot like the way I'd felt when I'd sucked Marjorie dry, only not so frenzied and out of control.

I'd done it again! The chill in my bones subsided as I realized I had not killed anyone this time. In fact, they were safe and sleeping and, did I mention, safe? How did that work? Was it something I could control? If I didn't, what did?

I had no more time to think about it. If any of my friends woke up while I was still here, the trick I'd pulled (can I call it a “trick”?) would have been for nothing. Knowing exactly where I had to go, I got the hell out of there, casting a last guilty look at my unconscious husband.

No sex tonight, that was for sure.

After borrowing (okay, stealing) Sinclair's Lexus SUV, I made the trip in less than half an hour. Nostro's old digs were a combination of farm and what Jessica called a McMansion. Most of the houses in the neighborhood, while in the low seven-​figure range, still looked a lot alike. They came with your standard pool, your standard half-​acre backyard, your standard ballroom.

For an extra five figures, you could get either a gazebo, or a chicken coop. “Wholesome country living with the convenience of city living,” that's what the brochure said. I knew, because my dad and the Ant had lived in one. It had been left to BabyJon, along with all their dough and the condo in Florida; some lawyer I'd only met once was keeping everything in a trust for him.

The McMansion was brown, with cream-​colored fake shutters (what exactly was the point of shutters that didn't open or close, anyway?) and a big, crimson-​colored front door. The walkway and patio were brick; the grass was starting to get a little shaggy. There was a tall hedge that went around the side of the house that I could see, and a few baby trees in the front yard. In a hundred years they'd be gorgeous elms. It was weird to think that I might be around to actually see that.

I brazenly parked on the front lawn (yeah, that's right, the queen of the vampires is here!), giving thanks that the nearest neighbor was on the other side of the lake.

I walked up the sidewalk and knocked on Nostro's front door, remembering the last time I'd been dragged through this very door. I'd been a vampire for about two days, no idea what was going on (as opposed to, you know, now), and almost before I knew it, people were bowing and calling me queen. It had been more bizarre than senior prom.

Nobody answered, so I tried the knob – unlocked. Ah, a welcoming killer mob. Good times.

I knew my way around a little, but proceeded cautiously. Frankly, tracking them in the bland-​smelling house was pretty easy – even from a floor away I could smell their reek.

I passed a sitting room, a library, a bathroom, two bedrooms, and an office on the way. Unlike our mansion, the McMansion had much larger rooms (older houses tended to have tons of little rooms).

In fact, the place seemed too big and rather empty; there was dust on a lot of the tables and countertops. Of course, Alice had been the only one staying here... before she was killed and dismembered, the poor girl...

There weren't any paintings or pictures on the walls and, weirder, no books. No books anywhere. The bookcases held wine bottles and lamps that looked old-​fashioned but operated on electricity. No magazines, even.

At least all the lights were on, which made the whole thing seem less scary – I don't know why. I sure as shit knew that things went bump in the night even with all the lights on.

The carpet was so thick in each room that my footsteps made no noise, but I didn't much care, because I wasn't trying to sneak in. Instead I walked straight into the upstairs living room and was greeted with, “Who the hell invited you, blondie?”

l blinked, more than a little surprised. Mostly at the fact that there was an upstairs living room; I'd never seen that before. Just more proof of Nostro's essential nuttiness. And I'd had more pleasant greetings. Shoot, the IRS guy had been nicer.

Focus, Betsy!

A bloody and battered Nick was slumped in a dining room chair. There was a row of floor-​to-​ceiling windows behind him and, weirdly, three of them were open. There was quite the breeze whipping through the room – I guess the Fiends, used to living outside, didn't much notice the cold.

Then I remembered that they'd been kept outside all year round, like dogs you didn't mind having around but didn't want to spend much time with, either.

They ripped up anything they got near; it's not like they were aware enough to sleep in beds, or even on a carpeted floor. You're acting like they were POWs and you were a Viet Cong!

Nick wasn't tied to the chair or anything – why would they? But he sure was pissed.

“Well, uh, they sort of did,” I answered, gesturing to the Fiends. “Invited me, I mean.”

“You just had to come and save the day, didn't you?”