Undead and Unwelcome (15 page)

bemused, could answer. “Can we just get going with this, please?” “Of course.” Michael

gestured to two chairs, then turned on his heel and headed toward the front of the room.

Derik materialized out of the crowd, said nothing to either of us, then grabbed Sara’s hand

and away they went. I felt bad for him, to tell the truth. Grief was completely fucking him

up—he was nothing like the easygoing blond fellow I had met earlier. Worse, I knew that

kind of grief was at least half guilt. He’d never forgive himself for not being there to save

her. For not making her feel wanted
here
, so she wouldn’t have moved away. “All right,

everyone. Attention, please.” Michael didn’t need a microphone; his voice carried

perfectly, and the murmuring died down at once. “We’re assembled here this evening to

discuss the death of Antonia Wolfton, who left our territory on a quest to the Midwest and

never returned.” Well, hell. Anything sounded bad when you put it that way. “Giving

testimony tonight are Eric Sinclair and Elizabeth Taylor.” I mentally groaned when he said

my full name, and tried to ignore the snickers from the crowd. I cursed my mother under

my breath for the zillionth time. “They govern the vampire nation,” Michael continued,

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“and have agreed to appear before the Council.” One by one, Michael introduced the

Council members to us. I was a little surprised that they were all women—except for

Michael. Maybe werewolves had a more, what d’you call it—matriarchal society?

Anyway, they ranged from middle-aged to elderly, all shapes and sizes. They took their

seats at the big table up front, and the Q&A began.

Dude, dude, dude.
I’ve been all over the mansion. Every room, every closet, every inch

of the basement and the attic. The garage. The grounds.
I can’t find Tina anywhere.
I

don’t know what to do.
I can’t call the cops, for any number of obvious reasons. “Well,

Officer, the devil’s daughter has lost her mind, and is killing people who are already

dead. She’s doing it to keep her sister, the queen of the vampires, safe. Oh, her sister

isn’t here, she’s on Cape Cod explaining to a bunch of werewolves why one of their own

was shot to death in this very house. Sorry, we never got around to filing a police report.

So could you get right on this, please?”
I can’t call Betsy or Sinclair or Jess . . . no cell

service.
Worse, I snuck out to buy one of those disposable phone cards, only to be

intercepted by three—
three
—devil worshippers, who escorted me politely but firmly back

to the mansion.
I hadn’t realized she was spying on me. And dude, let me tell you—she’s

got people
everywhere.
She’s even got one at Verizon—that’s the one who was making

sure our cells went down and stayed down.
Talking to Laura does no good at all. She just

keeps giving me that big sweet smile and assuring me that everything she’d doing is for

Betsy’s own good and really, maybe I should get more sleep because I seem awfully

grumpy these days.
I can’t call for help—Sinclair left the contact information with Tina.

And nobody’s answering my e-mails.
Short of hopping on a plane bound for Logan,

renting a car, driving to the Cape, and hoping I stumble across Betsy, Sinclair, and/or a

werewolf, I’m out of ideas.
I even thought about nailing Laura with a trank, except I’m

pretty sure one or more of her Satan-worshipping followers would slaughter me like a

goat.
As if things weren’t bad enough, my admittedly bizarre home situation is starting to

affect my work performance . . . I tried to admit a five-year-old to the geriatric ward last

night. And don’t even get me started on the poor woman who asked for the morning-after

pill . . . I gave her a Tums.
I cannot believe things have gotten so bad, so quickly.
I’m out

of ideas.

I was sitting at the front of the room, in what would be the witness chair if this was a

courtroom. The Council was sitting to my left. Sinclair was right across from me, about

ten feet away. The room was jammed. Except for when Marc and I went to see Jim

Gaffigan live, I’d never seen so many people in one place. They were all perfectly silent. I

could practically feel them all listening hard. It was like there were flies walking around in

the back of my brain. Through dumb luck I caught Sara’s gaze and she smiled at me and

nodded. If she’d been one of
them
, I might have taken some comfort from that. Well, at

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) least there were two people in here who didn’t want me to drop dead on the spot. “And

then what happened, Mrs. Sinclair?” Oh, God, I’d almost forgotten the worst part.
They

were calling me Mrs. Sink Lair!
Would the horror never end? “Well,” I said, ignoring my

husband’s grin, “we didn’t know that the bad guy’s son was behind everything. So we

came back to the house and he was waiting for us. None of us saw him in time. He . . . uh

. . .” I stared down at my hands. “He was a cop. And he had a gun, of course. I think it

was a .357.” “You’re familiar with firearms, Mrs. Sinclair?” “Yeah. My mom started

taking me hunting with her when I was twelve.” “Very well. Please go on.” “Well. Like I

said, nobody saw him in time. But then Antonia shoved me, really hard. I didn’t—I didn’t

see her get shot. I just heard the shots. I think he emptied the gun into her. It was at least

five shots for sure. And she—Antonia, I mean—she—uh—” I clapped my hands over my

eyes and told myself I wouldnotwouldnot
wouldnot
cry in front of these strangers, no

chance, no way, ain’t gonna happen. So I burst into tears and said, “I didn’t even know

who was shot until I rolled her over. I thought—she was a werewolf and I thought you

needed s-silver bullets or s-something like that, but she was just dead. There was blood

and the stink of gunpowder, and we were all stuck in the hallway—there w-wasn’t

anywhere for us to g-go.” “That is
quite enough.
” Sinclair was on his feet, his voice

lashing through the ballroom like a whip. “My wife doesn’t answer to the Council, or

anyone here. Neither do I. We are here simply as a courtesy.” “It’s fine, Sinclair,” I said,

which was just about the biggest lie ever. It was far from fine. But it was almost over.

“There isn’t much else.” “What happened to the man who shot at you?” “He killed

himself. Tucked the gun under his chin and pulled the trigger.” I suddenly remembered a

detail I’d managed to repress. “He used twenty-two longs.” The Council looked blank. I

reminded myself that werewolves probably didn’t have much to do with guns. “Those are

special bullets that ricochet around inside a person for maximum damage, but they won’t

go through walls and kill an innocent bystander.” “Charming,” one of the Council

members muttered. “And then what?” The head of the Council—the one who was asking

most of the questions—seemed nice enough. Matronly, sort of. A headful of gray curly

hair, big brown eyes. Laugh lines. And bifocals! I didn’t know werewolves needed glasses.

“Then—then nothing. Antonia was dead. The bad guy was dead. So I called Michael

and—and you know the rest.” “Why did you involve Antonia in vampire politics?”

“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

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) 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

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) 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