MaryJane Davidson - Undead and Unwelcome

Sara sighed. “It’s been awful for him; I’m sure you can relate. He doesn’t mean to act like you shoved Antonia into a hail of bullets. But it’s hard. You know?”

I did know. Derik was playing Pin the Blame on the Vampire as an alternative to facing up to the fact that the only reason Antonia left was because most of the Pack disliked her, or was scared of her. I understood, even though I didn’t like it one bit. Where was all this concern when she decided to leave town and never come back?

And here he was, looming over our table. “I’d like you to step away from my wife, please,” he managed through gritted teeth. “I don’t want—aaaggghhh!”

At first I thought he had slipped. Then I realized he’d seen BabyJon and jerked backward so hard, and so fast, that he lost his balance.

“That again! Get that baby away from my wife!”

You know those moments in parties where you have to talk loud to be heard, only you do it the one time everyone’s quiet? So they all hear exactly what you’re shouting?

Yeah. It was like that.

Dude,

It wasn’t long before Laura had a chance to implement Operation Distract. Yes, another band of devil worshippers showed up. But this time she (we, actually) was ready for them.

“Oh most gracious and dread lady,” their leader was proclaiming, kneeling before her. His fellow lemmings followed suit, which meant there were sixteen religious extremists in one of our parlors. “We but live to serve you in any capacity you require. Only point us to your enemies and we shall wreak vengeance in your name. In your father’s name, Lucifer Morningstar.”

That was kind of interesting, because we knew Laura’s mother had been possessed by the devil. And the devil always appeared to Laura (you can imagine her mood after one of those fun-​filled visits) as a woman.

I imagine the Prince/Princess of Lies can appear as anything he/she wants.

“We are yours to command!” he shouted at Laura’s feet, since they were all cowering before her on their knees. None of them could see the way she shook her head in disgust, rolling her eyes. “Oh most dread sovereign, your coming was foretold and it has come at last!”

“Yes, yes,” she replied impatiently. “That’s fine. Now. You. All of you.”

All the heads jerked up at once. It was like watching otters pop their heads out of the water at the zoo.

“I bid ye go forth. All of you find the soup kitchen on Lake and Fourth, in Minneapolis. Volunteer for at least fifty hours a week.”

The leader’s sad basset hound face seemed to sag even further. “But—but we wish to—”

“Are you questioning me?” Laura thundered in a pretty good imitation of an angry demigod wearing a pink sweater. “You dare question how I test your loyalty?”

Practically elbowing each other out of the way, they all denied questioning anything.

“So begone from here, and do my unholy bidding at Sister Sue’s Soup Kitchen. I will know when you are ready.”

They all galloped out, several of them getting wedged in the doorway in their eagerness to obey Laura’s completely unevil command.

They were no sooner out the front door than Laura threw herself into my arms hard enough to rock me back on my heels. “It worked! Oh, Marc, I can’t thank you enough, what a wonderful idea you had!”

“Fifty hours a week should keep them out of trouble,” I agreed, patting her back.

“Oh, I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before!”

Well, honey, you pretty much tense up and close off whenever anything connecting you with your mother gets shoved in your face. When you’re that angry, or that upset, or that sad, it’s impossible to think logically.

(Dude, I prudently kept that to myself.)

“I don’t know how I kept a straight face,” Laura gasped. “I looked at you and I almost lost it right in front of that band of dimwitted sheep.”

In all modesty, I had to admit my idea stank with the reek of genius. Put them to work for you, I’d said. Make them volunteer at homeless shelters, at soup kitchens, at church fund-​raisers. That way they’re happy—they think they’re being tested—and you’re happy because not only are they out of your hair, they’re spending virtually all their free time helping the greater good.

I’d saved the best for last: ordering devil worshippers to commit good deeds was a terrific way to defy her mother. If I had needed a deal closer, that was it.

“Marc, if there’s ever anything I can do for you, you have to come see me or call.”

“Are you kidding? You just gave me ten minutes of free entertainment. You’re square with the house, honey.”

Laura turned away for a moment, suddenly lost in thought. “Maybe I’ve been looking at this the wrong way. If they’ll do anything I say—if they’ll do things for me they would do for no one else—I wonder what else I can make them do?”

“Hey, one way to find out,” I said, having absolutely no idea that I was inadvertently, and with the best of intentions, driving Laura to a break with her conscience and her sanity.

I take full responsibility for the following events, which I will narrate as quickly and carefully as I can.

Derik! Apologize this minute,” Sara practically hissed. “I know you’re upset, but this is ridiculous. He’s just a baby.”

“I don’t know what the hell that thing is,” Derik retorted, “but it’s not a baby.”

“You’re acting like you’ve seen a ghoul, or something,” Jeannie said.

“What baby?”

Jeannie turned to her husband. “What baby? The one she got off the plane with, what are you talking about, what baby?”

Oh, great, here were Michael and Jeannie Wyndham, with Sinclair hot on their heels.

“Everybody just calm down,” I began, but Derik drowned me out.

He pointed. “That baby.”

Michael frowned. “But you don’t have a baby.”

Jeannie stared. “What’s wrong with you?” She nodded toward Derik. “Him, I get. He’s just playing the blame game. But you—”

I was flabbergasted. I’d suspected last night he hadn’t noticed BabyJon, but not noticing or commenting was one thing. Michael didn’t appear to see my brother at all.

“Well, he’s not mine,” I said, trying to recover from my surprise. “I mean, he is now. He’s my brother.”

Michael was staring at BabyJon with his flat, yellow gaze. “Where did he come from?”

“Uh, Michael.” I coughed. “Um, he came with us. On the plane, like Jeannie said. He was in the limo with us last night. And in your office.”

“Oh, well, that’s fine then.”

“I wouldn’t call that exactly fine,” Jeannie began, but Michael had already turned away, gently touching Jeannie’s elbow.

“Hon, would you tell the kitchen they need to send up more—”

“Wait.”

Sinclair might not have been a Pack member, but he had no trouble seizing control of a moment . . . Everybody stopped and looked at him.

“Michael,” Sinclair asked quietly, almost gently, “where is the baby?”

Michael frowned and cocked his head, as if listening to a voice from another room. “What baby?”

“That’s it,” Jeannie said firmly. “I’m taking you to a doctor. Right now.”

“I’m not sure it’s something a doctor can fix,” I said, mentally reeling. I mean, I really needed a minute here.

As soon as Michael had turned his back, he’d forgotten—again—about BabyJon. Derik wouldn’t go anywhere near the kid. And the other werewolves seemed to be picking up on Derik’s extreme stress. Only Sara seemed unperturbed.

“Perhaps it’s time to go,” Sinclair murmured, his fingers clutching the back of my chair.