Undead and Done (20 page)

THIRTY-EIGHT

Sinclair helped me climb out of the rubble and we both
emerged from the wreck of our home into the yard. I was relieved to find the world was still there; wasn't that dumb?

It was a much busier place than it had been five minutes earlier: fire trucks, police cars, an ambulance, looky-loos, neighbors in robes and slippers along the sidewalk, werewolves keeping back, vampires doing the same. Somebody—a medium-sized blond woman who had her back to me—was off to the side . . . organizing, I think? It looked like neighbors wanted to drop some things off and she was directing them where to go and what to leave, and keeping them away from Sinclair and me.

What are all the vamps still doing here? Jeez, they should be long gone; I bet some of them don't even have righteous ID.

I gave them leave to depart; they respectfully refused until you— Ah, see? They see you.

Tina rushed over with the assembly, which was equal parts reassuring and scary. That was a
lot
of vampires to have
running at you. “Majesties, you're well? Oh, thank goodness. I heard you went back in for Laura, but you didn't—” She cut herself off as she realized what that meant. “Oh,” she added flatly. “Well. The important thing is—”

“Don't,” I warned. Laura had screwed up and paid for it in blood—and not just other people's. People were maybe right to think,
Good riddance
, but I wasn't ready to hear it yet.

“Dread queen, I overstepped.” Tina's gaze dropped to the ground and I realized she looked like hell, too. She'd been worried and could have been hurt or killed. Could have left or shepherded the assembly far, far away. But because she was everything my sister wasn't, she'd done none of those things. “I must beg your—”

“No,
I'm
sorry. I'm glad you're okay.” I looked around at the other vampires. “I'm glad you're all okay. I mean that, thank God.” At their flinches, I added—

Don't apologize, my own.

Ah. Sinclair wanted the other vampires to see we could bear light, and the Lord, could sing hymns and take the Lord's name in vain and it wouldn't hurt a bit.

“It's been a long night?” I managed.

“We were glad to see you emerge,” one of them said, a curvy redhead with a splash of big freckles all over her face. Needless to say, pale was a good look for her. The black clothing was a bit of an overdo, but now wasn't the time to chat about fashion.

“We can start investigating after the police leave,” another one volunteered—Jack, I wanted to say? I'd met them all an hour ago, but the names were a blur in my brain. “We'll find out who did this and ensure they pay. They cannot attack our queen with impunity. Especially now, with the world watching.”

“Uh, whoa. I already know who did it. Also, don't make
anybody pay for even a candy bar without checking with me first.” Still, it was nice of them to linger. I wouldn't have expected that. “Clear?”

“Yes,” they chorused.

“We're a nation now,” the redhead elaborated. My face must have been pretty easy to read, because she answered the question I didn't ask. “You made that happen. We're not just a bunch of individuals in hiding anymore. We're all one, so we have to help each other.”

“Yep.” Totally, definitely my plan all along.

Wait, they're into it? That's why they came to town?

As you'd know, if you had paid attention during the meeting. They did have grievances, but those were more about nailing down specifics than advocating a return to last month's status quo. They came to say that they're with us, that after some thought they decided leading vampires into the light of society wasn't the worst plan ever conceived.

Duh! What I've been saying all along!

And after they heard out Dr. Bimm, the werewolves and vampires agreed with her plan.

. . .

You don't know what I'm talking about, do you, my own?

. . .

Luckily, the organizer had by then moved over to us. “Excuse me. Quite a few of your neighbors came over to donate blankets and clothes, and at least three different houses have offered to let you spend the night. I've got them all lined up over—”

“Holy crap, Jennifer Palmer! What are you doing here?”

She blinked at me, like it was a strange question. Like, where
else
would she be? “I saw you on TV in the hospital. Well, not you. Your picture. And your house was on fire. St. Paul's only twenty minutes from Burnsville, so I came right over to see what I could do.”

I stared at her. She was dressed exactly the way she had been when I'd pulled her out of Hell about eight hours earlier. “Wait, Burnsville? I left you in Cannon Falls. And what hospital? What have you—”

“Betsy!”

Dammit, what now? I turned and beheld a sight that did not work for me: ambulance attendants loading Will's body for transport. Nope. Nope.

I grabbed Sinclair by the elbow hard enough to wring a wince out of him and started to haul him over to the ambulance. “I need that body,” I hissed. “I have to take it to Hell, and the sooner the better. I do
not
want to break into a morgue tonight. But there's reporters and cops and—”

“My Maybelline mascara!” Jennifer Palmer screamed, and I almost turned around and slapped her, I was so startled. That shriek came out of nowhere and gave the sirens serious competition. “And my eye shadow! And apps! And my Kardashians! Those are all very important to me—I can't let them burn!” And she ran—sprinted—right for the flames.

And of course everybody went after her: cops, firemen, reporters.

THIRTY-NINE

No time to be fancy. I just grabbed Marc, seized one of the
rails of the ambulance stretcher, shut my eyes, and thought really,
really
hard, and when I opened them we were in Hell.

“Hey, Will.” I shook the stretcher a little. “Open your eyes.”
Too easy. This'll never work.

It worked. He blinked up at me and started to sit up, glanced down and saw he'd been strapped in. I helped him undo the straps and he sat up like Frankenstein's monster, if the monster had been a slender blogger who reeked of blood. He reached behind himself, felt, then brought his hand out. A bullet rested in his bloody palm. “Um. Okay. I'm confused.”

“Well,” I began, because it was an exciting story, and hello, now I could raise zombies! That made me the good guy, right? Then I realized he hadn't been talking to me.

“Someone set the mansion on fire and when we made it outside, you were dead on the sidewalk.” Marc ran shaking hands through his already mussed hair. “I tried to bring you back, but . . . You were gone.”

“And I
did
bring you back,” I said, in case he forgot the best part of the story.

“C'mere,” he said, and Marc sort of staggered closer and Will wrapped him up in a firm hug. “It's okay,” he said while Marc's arms went around him in a strangler's grip. He looked over Marc's shoulder and saw me. “Ronald Tinsman left a bomb in your house two days ago. When I found out, he shot me.” He paused, thought about it. “Killed me, I'm pretty sure. This isn't Heaven. And why am I on a gurney?”

That surprised a snort out of me. “They were about to transport you, probably to keep trying to resuscitate until a doc pronounced you dead. And no. This is not Heaven.” We were at my usual point of entry: the food court.

“So I'm in Hell now?”

“Yeah, but not to live.” I'd given up on telling my story, or expecting praise. Hopefully when the shock wore off, I'd get a thank-you. “Look at this.” I produced a knife from nowhere, took Will's hand, slashed the blade across his palm.

“Ow!”

“Oh, stop it, you big baby.”

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then reddish black blood sluggishly welled, but before it could even drip down his wrist, the cut begrudgingly healed over. (Even zombie
injuries
had attitude.) “You're not stuck here. I'm taking you back to the real world. The thing is, though, now you're—”

“A zombie,” Marc breathed. He looked at me. “How'd you do it?”

“Laura told me how.” She'd said,
You just never tried because you don't
want
to know.
She'd said,
You hide from things.
Well, she was half right. “Will, if you don't want to be a zombie, I can try to—”

“No! No, it'll work. I feel . . .” He patted himself. “I feel exactly the same.” To Marc: “Do I feel the same?”

“Yes: skinny and too many elbows.”

Marc got a glare for that one, but I handled it with deft maturity by pointing and saying, “Ha! You're bony.”

He was still feeling himself all over. “I don't feel any different; isn't that odd?” To me: “Is that normal?”

“What, like
I
know?”

“Wait, I'm breathing. Why am I doing that?” Slightly panicked. “Should I keep doing that?”

“You can,” Marc assured him. “You don't need to, though. I like to run experiments on myself by timing how long I can hold my breath, but I got bored after three and a half hours. I'm so sorry I was too chickenshit to go out with you.”

Will blinked faster at the rapid subject change. “That's—I mean, I understand why you were scared. We can—I mean, are you still scared?”

“Oh, sure. We're the only zombies in the world. Lots of pressure to live happily ever after. What if we're sick of each other in a hundred years?”

“I'll take that bet,” Will said shyly, and they hugged again.

I snapped my fingers. “Yes! That reminds me. I want Cathie and the Ant.” And a thank-you would be nice. Will? Hellooooo? Anytime, pal.

And there they were. I could get used to this. Y'know, eventually.

“Good God, what's going on?” my stepmother asked with unbecoming avid interest. She took it all in: the gurney, Will, me, Sinclair, Marc. (Hey! Sinclair tagged along! Awwww. Must've grabbed the gurney before we went. Good reflexes.) “Who are you?” To me: “Who's this?”

“A new zombie; his name's Will Mason.”

“Oh ho.” Cathie's eyes narrowed as she observed the zombies canoodling. Flock of geese, assembly of vampires, canoodle of zombies? “That doesn't look like a man who's afraid of getting close to someone.”

“You lost the bet,” I informed the Ant with a credible lack of smug triumph. (I don't get nearly enough credit for my self-control.) “Marc
was
avoiding him out of fear, not duty, but as you can see, they're working on it.”

“Oh,” was the weak reply.

“Ha!” From Cathie, who turned to the Ant. “Go on. Do it. You lost. Do it.”

The Ant looked at me for a long moment, then came out with, “Your hair doesn't look horrible today.”

Cathie made a rude noise, like the sound you hear when a game show contestant gets the answer wrong. “First off, that's a lie—she looks like shit.” This was true; I was all sooty and smudged and bloody. And still wearing only one shoe. “Second, that wasn't really a compliment. You have to say something nice. Stop me if you've heard this: you lost!”

The Ant closed her eyes, thought for a few seconds. Opened them. Came up with, “You aren't completely terrible at running Hell all the time.”

“Wow.”

“I know.”

“Three times,” Cathie insisted, because she was relentless in victory. “Better come up with another one right now; get in practice.”

“And—you—” I was a little worried the Ant was going to have an aneurism right in front of me. “You—aren't—the—worst. Person. I've—ever. Met.” She raised a shaking hand to her forehead. “That felt
so
strange.”

For the first time in our lives, I was a little worried about her. “Are you all right?”

“No. May I go lie down?”

“Sure, sure.” I dismissed her. And then, because I was a bitch, I called out, “Just one more nice thing to think of before I leave!”

She shivered and walked faster.

Cathie yelled, “Yeah!” in immature solidarity.

“So, no plans to be gracious in victory, huh?” Marc asked with a wry look.

“Never!” Then Cathie surprised the hell out of me by pulling me into an embrace. “I kind of love you right now,” she said into my hair. Then: “Jesus, you stink.”

“It's been a busy night.” She let me go and I turned to look at Sinclair and almost screamed. Fred and the redheaded vampire and the vampire maybe named Jack and Derik the Werewolf were all there with him. And had been the whole time. Prob'ly should have picked up on that sooner. Wow, I needed a nap. “Where'd you guys come from?”

You're only now noticing, beloved? And why am I asking a question to which I know the answer?

Hey, a little focused on raising the dead, okay?

A fair point. You were glorious, by the way.

I wriggled a little at the praise.
And Cathie really caught me off guard. Hugs, now? Nobody ran that one by me. I'm not sure I want our friendship progressing to hug level.

“We held on to the gurney,” Fred said, like it was completely normal to run after a vampire queen and grab onto a gurney along with random vampires and a werewolf while Jennifer Palmer shrieked and drew away the cops and the reporters, only to end up in Hell and see me raise a zombie. “So here we are.” She paused, glanced around. “Hell is a mall?”

“Long story.”

“Holy
shit
.” Derik couldn't stop staring at me.

“Yeah, you should take a minute. Most people get weirded out during their first visit.”

“
First
visit?” He shook his head. “First and last for this guy. I hope. My God. It's all true. All the stuff they say about you. You really can do all that stuff.
Jesus.
”

“So?” The curse of my life: now that Derik was prepared to take me seriously, it made me uncomfortable, and even a little sorry for him. “We get along; I've been your guest just like you're mine. And I freakin' love the next Pack leader, so.” I figured it bore repeating. “We get along.”

“Well, if we didn't before, we sure as shit would now!”

“I've got no problem with the Wyndhams.”

“Nor do I,” Sinclair added, but gave me a look like,
He's clearly not worried about
me
.

“Thank God!” he nearly shouted. “Very happy to hear that! I will pass that on to my leader! But to do that I need to leave!”

“Are you all—?”

“I would like to go back to the real world now! Please!” He sucked in a big noisy breath and finished in a rush, “Everything is very strange here and it looks like a mall but it's not and there are dead people everywhere and I watched you raise the dead like it was nothing and there are a thousand smells I can't catalog and I would like to go home now, Betsy!”

Ever seen a hysterical werewolf? It's . . . disconcerting.

So we went home.