MaryJane Davidson - Undead and Unwelcome

“He totally, completely did.”

“Weird.”

“Tell me! And Derik freaked out again.”

“Here all this time we thought werewolves were vulnerable to silver bullets, when it’s dirty diapers that they fear.”

I snorted with laughter, nearly spilling my own cup of cocoa. “Oh, and I met this really nice woman—”

“Let me guess: not a werewolf.”

“No, but she’s married to one. She was really nice, for a crazy lady.”

“That’s what they said about Lorena Bobbitt.”

I shook my head at her. Jess could always cheer me up. She could always put things in perspective for me. I hadn’t wanted her to come on this trip, but now I was glad she had.

“This whole thing has me thinking.”

“I’ll call the newspapers,” she replied. “Maybe even take a picture of you thinking and post it on a website somewhere. Dammit again! My phone’s on the plane with Cooper.”

“I’m sure they have phones here if you need to make a call.”

“Not this time. You’re the one I always call—God knows why—and you’re just across the hallway. By the way, these walls aren’t soundproofed. You think you can keep it down while you’re making the beast with two backs?”

“Knock it off, you bitch. I’ve been thinking that Michael and I are very different kinds of leaders.”

“Well, you don’t like to lead anybody. You’ve been saying since day one that vampires should police themselves.”

“Right. But see, Michael knows how many werewolves are in the Pack. He knows where they live and who they are. But me, not so much. I have no idea how many vampires are running around. And even if I did, I’d have no idea how to get in touch with them. Say, God forbid, there’s a war between vamps and weres. We’d be fucked, because the werewolves are a species. They’re born werewolves and they know who they are and where they’re going. But vampires are made. Violently made. So why should they feel any loyalty to other vampires? I sure don’t. I mean, I’m loyal to Tina and Sinclair, but they’re family. None of the other vamps are.”

“So there you are.”

“What?”

“Now you know what you’ve got to do.”

“Terrific. Care to share with the rest of the class?”

“Prevent a war. At all costs, prevent a war. Because it sounds to me like you’d lose, and lose big.” For once, Jessica wasn’t teasing. She looked very sober and she was gripping her cup so hard her hands shook. “You can’t afford it, Betsy. None of us can.”

“They don’t know I’ve got the devil’s daughter on my side.”

“You really want to put Laura through that? That girl’s already walking a fine line between too good and really nuts.”

“You’re right. It’d be a rotten thing to do.” But I made a mental note to keep it in mind. If worse came to worst, we’d fight. And if worse came to terrible, I had the devil’s daughter as my secret weapon.

I guess that’s what being a leader meant. Using people for your own ends, even if you knew it was a bad idea.

Great.

Jess had gone back to her room to get dressed for the Council, and Sinclair was working away at his laptop, when I decided to get some fresh air. I was taking a stroll down the beach when I saw the ghost. She waved at me tentatively, and I waved back.

This had been one of the hardest things for me to get used to, almost as difficult to accept as the fact that I had to drink blood to survive. Like the kid from The Sixth Sense, I saw dead people. Also like that kid, they tended to scare the crap out of me. Given how scared I was of ghosts and zombies, I wasn’t unaware of the irony that I was now one of the monsters. Didn’t like it, but understood the grisly joke life (or death) had played on me.

Unfortunately, ignoring the ghosts just made it worse . . . When they saw I wasn’t hopping to obey their edicts from beyond the grave, they got more aggressive. Hung around all the time. Popped out of nowhere when you were, say, having sex with your husband.

My favorite ghost—Cathie, victim of the serial killer Laura had killed—and my least favorite—the Ant—both came and went without warning. In fact, I hadn’t seen Cathie in almost a year. This bummed me out a bit, and when I thought of her I always hoped she’d gone on to better things.

As for the Ant, I was just grateful she’d disappeared and hadn’t come back. Yet.

So, though I didn’t much want to, I walked up to the ghost and said howdy.

“Excuse me,” she said politely, interrupting me mid introduction. “But how in the world can you see me?”

“Vampire.”

“But there are no vampires. And it’s still light out.”

“There are, and it is, but it’s a long story, so why don’t you just tell me why you’re haunting the beach so we can get on with our lives? Or deaths. What-​ever.”

The ghost, a pale brunette with her hair pulled back in a bun, appeared to think that over for a bit. She was wearing clothes that were clearly from the 1960s, poor thing (of all the decades to be trapped in, fashion-​wise!), and was wearing cat’s-​eye glasses. We were far enough down the beach that my feet were getting wet as the waves slopped over them, but they just went right through the ghost’s shoes without doing any damage. Luckily, I was wearing last year’s sandals.

“Would you mind giving a message to my son?”

“If I can find him, sure.”

“Would you please tell him I would prefer he not name his unborn child after me?”

“Seriously? That’s it? That’s why your spirit can’t rest?”

“My name is Theodocia,” she said.

“Oh.” The horror! “Jeez. I’m really sorry. I’ll be glad to pass that on for you.”

“Thank you kindly.”

Dude,

The shit officially hit the fan later that night. I was on-​line, chatting with an old boyfriend from Oregon, when I heard a racket downstairs. I logged off and went to see what the problem was.

The problem was Laura, surrounded by people so completely deferential to her that I knew at once we had more devil worshippers on our hands.

“You did it?” Laura asked. “You actually did it?”

“It was easy, dread mistress! Two of us acted as bait, and we were able to surround it and kill it with no trouble at all.”

“Kill what?” I asked, halfway down the stairs.

Laura looked up at me and the smile dropped off her face. “Nothing, Marc. We’re sorry to disturb you.”

“What’s going on?”

“The Beloved of Samael has told you: nothing. Now away with you, or you’ll find out exactly what we killed,” one of the half dozen around her snapped.

Laura rested her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t speak to him like that,” she said quietly. “He’s my sister’s friend.”

And yours, honey.

The man, taller than Laura by almost a foot, and at least thirty pounds heavier, instantly acquiesced, and even bowed his head in compliance. Good dog, nice dog, woof-​woof-​woof.

“Laura, what the hell is going on?”

“Come into the kitchen and I’ll explain.” She turned to the group. “You all know what to do. Come find me tomorrow and let me know how it went.”

There was a chorus of “Yes, dread mistress!” and “At once, my lady!” and then they all galloped toward the foyer leading to the front door.

I followed Laura to the kitchen, where she turned and gave me a smile that was much too bright.

“I’m helping Betsy,” she confided.

“Uh-​huh. Helping her how?”

“Well.” Laura helped herself to a glass of milk, guzzled half of it, then continued. “You know I’ve been worried about her ever since that awful, awful thing with Antonia.”