MaryJane Davidson - Undead and Unwelcome

“Involve her?” I asked blankly. “Involve her?” A shrill giggle burst out of me before I could squash it. “So, you never actually met Antonia, huh?”

There was an amused rustling from the assembled crowd, but I didn’t score any points with the Council, who scowled at me as one.

“I only meant that Antonia did whatever the hell she liked. She wasn’t afraid of anything, and she didn’t take shit from anybody. Especially after she was able to change into a wolf during the—”

“What?” The Council spoke as one (creepy!) and there was an excited murmuring from the crowd.

The head cleared her throat, and the room hushed. “Mrs. Sinclair—”

“Please call me Betsy.”

“Mrs. Sinclair, Antonia was a hybrid.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Meaning she couldn’t change into a wolf. She had other gifts.”

“Yeah, I know, she could tell the future. But see, she got kidnapped a while ago by a murderous librarian and when I rescued her and my husband—except he wasn’t my husband then—I accidentally fixed it so she could change.”

Dead silence.

“Uh . . . so can I go now?”

“You ‘fixed it so she could change’?” the head of the Council asked, looking stunned. “What do you mean?”

“I—you know. I fixed it.” How could I explain something I didn’t understand myself? It seemed like I discovered a new weird power every other month.

I heard someone clear his throat, and then Michael was standing. “Mrs. Sinclair is quite correct. Antonia and I spoke frequently on the phone, and she explained to me that she was now able to change, thanks to the intervention of the vampire queen. In fact, Antonia was never happier in her life than she was in the final months with the Sinclairs.”

My grip tightened on the arms of the chair as the room burst into noisy gabbling. Was this good for me or bad for me? I glanced at Sinclair, who simply raised his eyebrows at me. Fat lot of help he was.

“Michael, why didn’t you bring this up while she was still alive?”

“Why?” I snapped. “So you could welcome her back now that she wasn’t a freak in your eyes?”

“Mrs. Sinclair, no one is speaking to you right now.”

“Too fucking bad. You guys aren’t fooling anybody, you know. Pretty much everyone here made it clear they didn’t want her around, so she left. Now she’s dead, and you’re trying to make it my fault, or my husband’s . . . anybody but the Pack’s. Meanwhile you’re playing the blame game while Antonia rots in her grave. And for what? So you don’t feel bad? So you can make me feel bad? Trust me, nothing anyone says here today is going to hurt me more than I’ve hurt myself. You can’t punish me more than I’ve punished myself.”

Sinclair was nodding solemnly, as if listening to something both wise and wonderful, but his hand was up, covering his mouth so no one could see him smile.

There was that feeling of flies in my brain again, and it took me a second to realize what was wrong. Before, the Pack had viewed me as an annoyance, a blundering idiot who’d gotten one of their family killed. Now they were seeing me as an active threat . . . who’d gotten one of their family killed.

Was this good for me, or bad for me?

The way my luck was going? Please. So, so bad for me.

Betsy, you have to have to have to come home! Laura has LHDM! Quit dicking around on the Cape and CHRTM!

“You’re right,” Jessica said, squinting at the printout of Marc’s latest gabble. “It’s pretty incomprehensible.”

“I’m not answering him until he writes like a grown man instead of a thirteen-​year-​old girl. He knows how I feel about all the silly e-​mail faux-​netiquette garbage. And, hello? I’ve only got about fifty bigger problems to worry about.”

“Yeah, I know. So finish already! You told the Council that you gave Antonia more superpowers than she already had, and then what?”

“Then they decided to call it a night. I’m supposed to answer more questions later.”

“Later, when? Tonight’s the full moon.”

“I know. I guess tomorrow night, maybe. Or—wait. Isn’t the full moon usually for a couple of days?”

Jessica, who had been walking beside me down the beach, stopped and stared at me. I shifted BabyJon to my other arm and faced the dragon: “What? Something’s on that so-​called mind of yours. Spit it out.”

“This is crap, Betsy,” she said, kindly enough. “You’ve done everything they’ve asked. You did everything you could for poor Antonia, and then some. But because they found out you’re a lot stronger than they ever imagined, they’re assuming you can just hang out until they have everything settled their way? Bullshit.”

“So, what? We leave before they’re satisfied? How does that fix anything?”

“I don’t know, but I sure don’t like how you’re letting them push you around.”

“Well, they do sort of outnumber me seventy thousand to one.”

“That’s worldwide. There can’t be more than three thousand on the Cape.”

“Much better odds,” I said glumly.

“Look, that’s part of the reason I had to break up with Nick—”

I moaned and covered my eyes. “Something else to hate myself for.”

“Oh, just stop it,” she scolded. “I don’t blame you—even if he does—and he made his choice.”

“Yeah, but—don’t you miss him?”

“Every day,” she replied quietly. “But letting him stay in my life was going to cost too much. Even for me.”

“I wish . . .” I trailed off. “I don’t know. I wish for everything, I guess.”

“You can’t tell me Sinclair is fine with all of this.”

“No, he’s pissed. I mean, he got pissed during some of the questioning. Then he thought the rest of it was funny.”

“Your husband is a whack job.”

“Tell me. But that’s not even my biggest problem right now.”

“Split ends?” Jessica inquired.

“Shut your cake hole.”

“Ah, cake. That reminds me, I missed lunch today.”

“Can you stay focused, please?”

“Sorry, forgot—only for a minute—that everything’s about you all the time.”

“I’ve mentioned my deep hatred for you, right?”

“Twice today.”

“What I’d like to know is what’s the deal with my brother?” I patted BabyJon on his diapered rump; sunset was about half an hour away. “Derik acts like BabyJon’s head can spin all the way around, and Michael keeps forgetting I even brought a baby! Something is rotten in Hallmark.”

“Denmark.”

“Right.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Betsy, because I know you love him, but he is the spawn of the Ant and your dad. Who knows what twisted up his DNA?”

“That’s fair enough,” I admitted. We were slowly making our way from the beach to the mansion. “Especially when you consider the Ant’s other kid.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Laura that getting laid wouldn’t cure.”

I started laughing so hard I nearly dropped the baby. “That’s quite enough about my siblings from you,” I said, trying (and failing) to sound stern.

“Somebody’s got to help you keep it real.”

“Nobody’s said ‘keep it real’ for about five years.”

We walked through the front door and into the large receiving hall, and I still wasn’t used to the immensity that was Wyndham Manor. It made our place in St. Paul look like an RV. I was about to comment on that to Jess when I noticed a bunch of people running toward us.

I instinctively clutched the baby—What now, for God’s sake?—only to see them run straight past us.

“Betsy, oh my God! Look!”

I spun and looked. A kid—twelve? thirteen?—was falling, oh my God, he was actually falling from the third-​level landing, headed straight for the marble floor. I thrust BabyJon at Jessica, but it was too late and the poor kid hit the floor with an awful, wet smack.