Undead and Unstable (20 page)

Sinclair silently stepped into the room and nodded at me. I wasn’t sure what that meant … he was still keeping his thoughts to himself. Smart man.

“God exists, and He’s got a little explaining to do.” Rattled by my husband’s appearance, I tried to gather my thoughts. “I—I don’t mean to rain on your parade, but I think in a lot of ways, it’s worse to
know.
‘God works in mysterious ways’? More like, God’s a dangerous lunatic and needs to be stopped.”

“I didn’t think of it like that.” And Marc sounded like he hadn’t wanted to think of it like that.

“Sorry,” was all I could think of to add.

Satan was smiling at me.
Brrrr.
“So you’re a dystheist.”

“Yep. That’s me all over.” I wasn’t gonna ask. I wasn’t gonna ask. I wasn’t—

“You think God exists, but isn’t all good.”

“Yes! Holy cow, I
am
a dys … dis … what you said I was. That’s me all over: God’s an omnipotent entity that is
so
powerful yet disliked, like the DMV.”

“I’m not saying this isn’t interesting,” Jessica began, sitting down and sighing with audible relief once she was off her feet, “but maybe we could make some sandwiches or something while we crush each other’s deeply held beliefs?”

“Interesting that you should feel that way about God, when you’re the one running around mucking up the timeline.” The devil made this observation in a perfectly pleasant tone of voice.

“Well … I … um…” Damn. She had me there. Stupid impressive-looking black Donna Karan suit.

“He has an entire universe to look after. You only need tend to the needs of the undead.”

“And it’s ridiculous that I should have to do that,” I added. At their stares and raised eyebrows I added, “What? I’ve always maintained it’s ridiculous that a thirty-year-old unemployed office worker has to be the boss of a bunch of ancient vampires, all old enough to be their own mommies.”

“You’re wrong,” Ancient Me said. She’d poured herself another glass of milk … hope she was a little more careful with that one. “They need a leader … a good one, not another Nostro. Otherwise…” She shrugged and took a sip.

“Seriously? You guys?” Jessica wriggled in the wooden kitchen chair. “We’re really gonna keep debating about God and the universe and vampire bosses and stuff? What are we, freshmen in college?”

“Otherwise what?” Sinclair asked Ancient Me.

“Otherwise the future,” she replied, and took another sip. I had the distinct impression she was rattled to be talking to him.

She is, my own.

Ah-ha! There he was.

“The bottom line is, you had no business to be screwing with the timeline.” Unfortunately, she wasn’t at all rattled to be talking to me. “Either of you.” She nodded at Laura.

“Hey, I’m with you! I’m with you, for once, a hundred percent.” I turned to address the group—and what a group!—as a whole. “You guys. Haven’t I been saying it all along? Isn’t it just the most fundamental thing you’ve ever heard? I, Elizabeth Taylor—”

“Oooh, she’s calling herself by her full name and also referring to herself in the third person.” Jessica looked at once interested and terrified. “Brace yourself. This will not be cool.”

“—should not be the boss of you! Any of you! I have never,
ever
refuted that.”

“You’ve also never accepted it. Instead of hiding from your—”

“If you say ‘destiny’ like we’re stuck in some lame made-for-TV sci-fi geektacular miniseries, I won’t be responsible for what I do to your face.”

“—responsibilities, you should embrace them. You don’t want to rule? Boo fucking hoo. You’re the queen. You don’t want the timeline to be changed? Tough nuts; it is, so you’ll have to deal with it. Not talk about it. Not bitch about it. Not wish it hadn’t happened. Deal with it
now
. You want other people to police themselves? If we could do that, every cop on the planet would be out of work … would have
been
out of work for centuries. We needed cops a thousand years ago and we need them now and we’ll need them five hundred years from now and a thousand years from now. And do any of you know why?”

Satan raised her hand. Luckily, Ancient Lecturing Me ignored her. “Because as a species, we are not toilet trained! Betsy: either you are, or you aren’t.”

“Toilet trained?”

“In charge. So: yes or no? Are you, or aren’t you? That’s it.” She finished her milk and set down the glass. She stood. “That’s all there is.”

And walked out.

“Maybe a ham sandwich?” Jessica asked. “Or an omelet? Who wants eggs?”

No one wanted eggs.

THIRTY-THREE

“The second least annoying person has left,” Satan informed
us, “so I will, too. Remember what we discussed.” And she blinked right out of sight.

“I hope she was talking to
you
,” I said to Laura.

Marc stared, then shook his head. Nick actually rubbed his eyes like it hurt to see someone teleport out of his kitchen. “I’m never gonna get used to that,” he said, still rubbing. “Satan in our kitchen. And religious debates.”

“I hope not, because what does it say about us if this is just an ordinary day?”

“An ordinary day sounds good, babe.” Nick bent and kissed Jess on the lips twice:
Smek!
Smek!
“Let’s have one soon. I gotta crash.” He yawned. “Gotta go interview a bunch more witnesses later … there’s nonparanormal crime going on once in a while…” He left the kitchen, half talking to himself.

“You know, the old Nick would have shot me after that argument about me always planning to help Marc,” I commented.

“That
was
the old Nick,” Jessica said. “It’s like Old You said … the timeline’s changed. This is how things are. Suck it up.”

“Do
not
take her side.”

“I’m not, but I know good advice when I hear it.”

“Do not! Maybe. Look, I can’t deal with that now … Laura? Why were you and the devil even hanging out, anyway? Why’d you both show up here?”

“She was showing me more of hell. And then I … wanted to see you.”

I nearly swallowed my tongue in sympathy-gagging. “Sorry. That sounds like the opposite of a fun evening.”

“It’s actually quite fascinating.”

“Touring hell.”

“Yes.”

“Fascinating.”

“Yes.”

“Have you—”
Lost your damned mind? Gone rabid? OD’d on Green Tea Frappes at Starbucks?
My brain got too crowded, so my tongue was sort of hung up for a moment. Which was when Sinclair came up behind me and rubbed my shoulders.

Softly, softly, my own.

She’s losing it! I don’t have time for the Antichrist to get all nostalgic and go to hell for Mommy and Me classes!

Laughter in my head, followed by more,
That is the opposite of softly, softly.

Well. At least he wasn’t hiding from me anymore.

I was not hiding. I was researching.

I had a rare moment of maturity and let that one pass. “Why’d you want to see me?”

“I talked to my folks, my adopted folks, and they’re fine if I bow out of Meals on Wheels early to have Thanksgiving here. And then I ran into your mom—”

“My mom!” I groaned and resisted the urge to slap my own forehead. “My mom walked in on the middle of all that weirdness!”

“She did really good, though.”

“Laura, you’re an angel—”

“Half angel,” she corrected, smiling.

“—but you can’t make me feel better about that.”

“It could have been worse.”

“How, Jess?”

“Could’ve been your dad.”

“Oooh.” Good point. My dad, when he’d been alive, had not handled confrontations, the paranormal, family fights, or changes to the tax code at all well. I’d explained to him that I had come back from the dead as a vampire, the same thing I’d told my mother, and he reacted to that by hiding from me until he died in a stupid car vs. garbage truck accident. “Really good point.” It was stupid, but I could feel myself cheer up.

“You will explain to your mother at the right time. She is a woman of rare intelligence and understanding.”

“Suck-up.” Sinclair loved his mother-in-law. And she thought he was pretty neat-o, too. God help me should I succeed in skinning him; my mom wouldn’t stand for it.

“Indeed. Which is why
you
will explain. I will be elsewhere. With all respect to your mother, I am certain it hasn’t escaped your notice that she is, on occasion, capable of Olympian levels of stubbornness.”

“Yeah…”

“And temper.”

“Yeah.”

“Suffice it to say, those qualities did not skip a generation.”

“What’s
that
—”

“So it’s best you two sort this out yourselves. Meanwhile…” Turning courteously to Laura. “How was hell?”

“Besides all burning lakes of fire and stuff,” Jess added, then yawned. “And give us the CliffsNotes version … I’m overdue for my nap.”

“Yeah, she’s only had three today,” Marc teased. He got to his feet and ambled over to the sink, where several glasses were clean and gleaming in the dish drainer, and the blender was set up and ready to go. “You guys…”

“Yeah,” several of us said. Taking it as a matter of course, Marc was already digging bags of frozen berries out of the freezer. Would he fix one for himself? He didn’t have to eat or drink anymore. I didn’t need to drink smoothies, but I still liked how they tasted. I’d have to get him alone later, find out what was up with zombie taste buds.

“I thought of this earlier, but you weren’t around.” I turned to my sister. “So, tell me if this is right. If Lucifer Corningware—”

“Morningstar,” Laura corrected, and the corner of her mouth twitched.

“Right, sorry—I flunked Sunday school.”

“You never went to Sunday school.”

“Did, too! I’m pretty sure … can we please stay on point? So as I was saying before the Antichrist butted in for the zillionth time—”

“Oh, boy,” the Antichrist said.

“—if Lucifer is God’s direct creation—she calls Him Father, right? She’s always bitching about her Father—okay, that means Lucy was one of the first things God even made, right? Maybe even before Adam and Eve?”

“Yessss,” Laura said cautiously, not sure where I was going.

“Then that means … God … is your grandpa!”

“Lame,” Marc said.

“He is your kin, but I am your Father,” Laura murmured. At my stare, she said, “It’s a line from
The Stand.
”

“Great. If, while we’re saving Sinclair and the future and me—though I think I can cross saving Marc off my list now—and we need someone to come up with random Stephen King quotes, I’ll get in touch with you immediately. In the meantime, let’s focus, people! No, Marc, no more bananas! Please, I’m begging you, just keep it simple. Strawberries. Pleeeeeeese. The queen of all vamps is begging you, only strawberries!”

“Only if you cross me off your list in pencil, not pen. I might still need saving in the future.”

“Slave driver,” I muttered.

“That’s why your mom shows you stuff down there, right?” Jess asked. “If hell is ‘down there.’”

“It’s another dimension,” Laura began.

“Never mind hell.” I knew it was rude, but didn’t care. Talking about hell when Laura was ambivalent about the worst place in existence made me nervous. And I had enough things making me nervous this month. “I’m just glad you’re out of there.”

“But not for long, right?” Jess asked, heartlessly scaring the shit out of me. “Because you’re sort of the heir apparent, right, Laura?”

“No she isn’t.”

“My queen,” Sinclair began with great care.

“She isn’t.”

“Betsy.” She was gazing at me with those incredible blue eyes, radiating pure calm, and I was still scared half to death. “You know I am. I’m the only one in the universe who could even think of taking my mother’s job.”

“It’s not the dumbest idea in the world,” my traitorous whore of a best friend said.

“It’s absolutely the dumbest idea in the world!” I nearly shrieked. “Have you lost your mind? Laura has spent her entire life
not
following in her mother’s hoofsteps!”

“Heh,” Marc said. “Hoofsteps.” Then he pressed Liquefy. He often did that if he thought the argument
du jour
was getting too heated. But nobody had trouble hearing my screams over the buzz-saw blender.

“She spent her life loathing what her mother stands for! She’s not the Antichrist, she’s the
Anti
-Antichrist!”

“O-
kay
,” Jessica said, rubbing her left ear. “Re
lax
.”

“I’ll relax when you stop calmly explaining why it’s so logical for Laura to take over hell, you traitorous whore!”

“Now you’re just being mean,” she reproached. “You wait until I tell your mom how you talk to pregnant women.”

“Not all of ’em. Just you. And don’t you dare go telling my mom.” I thought I’d been scared three minutes ago? Nothing compared to the thought of enduring a lecture on etiquette from the terrifying relentless Dr. Taylor, who was fairly unphased to run into two of me, but plenty pissed when I lost my temper and acted like a brat.