Undead and Unwary (10 page)

(I don’t know how to play chess, so I am reduced to checkers metaphors.)

“I did see him, though.” Jessica took a breath, then slowly let it out. “And he saw me.”

“No.” I felt my irritation rise and squashed it. “He didn’t. D’you know how I know this?”

“Maybe just let her finish?” Marc suggested. “And then start shooting her down?”

I ignored the crazy talk from the zombie. “I know this because my dad was an ordinary guy whose idea of excitement was cheating on my mom and bringing a doggy bag to Country Buffet so the last trip up all went for next day’s lunch. That’s the guy who got into a dumb accident—the kind that happens every day—and was killed and is now dead and has remained dead all this time. It’s not a mystery. It’s not a conspiracy. It’s nothing we have to jump into and fix.”

“Really?” DadDick asked, genuine surprise in his voice. “I kinda thought you’d be all over this.” Marc was nodding as he continued. “It’s just the thing to keep Laura off your—”

“Do
not
bring Laura into this,” I snapped. “Not a word of it.”

“Your dad saw me,” Jess continued, like I hadn’t just explained she’d seen something impossible and was therefore wrong and, frankly, owed me an apology for freaking me out and wasting everyone’s time. And, ah, God, if the Antichrist caught wind of this . . . “Our eyes met—”

“Across a crowded room,” Marc hummed.

“Yes, shut up now, our eyes met and when he recognized me he took off in the other direction. Flat-out jogged away from me.”

Okay, that
did
sound like my dad, an Olympian-level avoider. And it wouldn’t have been the first time he physically fled from confrontation. It wouldn’t have been the first time he physically fled from Jessica. But of course it wasn’t Dad. Because, as I previously mentioned:
dead.

(Except not really, not in this house, not with this group, and it’s pretty plausible if you just stop and think about it for—)

“Shut
up
!” I looked around the table of startled faces. “Sorry. If it helps, I wasn’t talking to any of you.”

“It
does
help,” DadDick said, stifling a yawn. “Thank you.”

“So.” Jess took a deep breath. Don’t know what she was all stressed and twitchy about; I was the one dealing with her hallucination. “Having known your father as long as I’ve known you, so, for almost two decades—”

Marc grinned. “Thanks for doing the math for us.”

“We need a chart of some kind, something that shows at a glance who has known who for how long and under what circumstances.”

“On it.” Marc whipped out his phone and tapped it. His to-do list was horrifying, starting with the name:
Things to Do So I Don’t Rot.

“—I knew who he was and what he was doing and went after him.”

Heh. The idea of Jessica barreling down the streets of downtown St. Paul as my dad frantically backpedaled to get the hell away from her was several layers of hilarious. All the more so because, as I mentioned, it wasn’t the first time. When she found out he blew off my eighteenth birthday to take the Ant to Cancún, she chased him through the Mall of America food court, screaming as he scurried. People called the cops. They were both banned for a year. Jessica dated one of the cops who arrested her, for three months. It was the best birthday ever. There’s been a special place in my heart for Orange Juliuses ever since.

“He got away,” Jess was continuing in a voice heavy with regret. I was still lost in the fog of nostalgia and barely heard her explanation. “He must’ve zigged when I zagged or whatever. So I went to see your mom. For real this time.”

Poof. Nostalgia fog burned off in a half second. “You had a hallucination from sleep deprivation and decided to get my mom involved?” I asked sharply.

“I thought she’d have some ideas,” she replied. I couldn’t help but notice she had yet to apologize for anything. “And she did. She had no idea what he was up to—she assumed he’s been dead this whole time, just like we did—so she suggested we ask the person who would know.”

“No.”

“It’d be easy.”

Tread carefully, my own.

I ignored the voice in my head. A well-adjusted, confident, kinder woman might have had trouble shutting Sinclair out, but I had years of practice long before I formed a telepathic link with a vampire. “Wrong. Still no.”

She leaned in and reached for my hand but, as I was invested in being a grumpy bitch, I pulled it back before she could grab me with her long, bony, spidery fingers. She still
needed a mani, but she had time to go bug my mom? “Betsy, I know it’s awful to contemplate, but don’t you want to know? For certain?”

“I do know. He’s dead. This isn’t a mystery, Nancy Drew.”

Elizabeth. Please. Consider your words.

No sale, big buy, and quit nagging in my head.

“
You made a mistake, it’s understandable, you’re exhausted.” I decided to quit waiting for apologies. I could take the high road for once. I guess. Probably. “We’re just gonna pretend we never had this talk.”

“Are we going to pretend we never had smoothies, too?” Marc asked. “Because then we could just make more.”

Jess let loose with an annoyed snort. “Look, I get that your default is to turn a blind eye toward this stuff, just like Marc’s is to make jokes when he knows people are getting uncomfortable—”

“It’s true,” Marc said, nodding. “That’s what I do. It’s practically a compulsion.”

“In your case, it’s a defense mechanism you’d perfected by the time you were in high school—”

“Do
not
,” I warned, “try to psychoanalyze me. Not unless you want some right back.”

Elizabeth.

“You run away from everything. You’re still running. I don’t think you should, this time.”

“
Not
your call.” God, this was turning into a vampire-friendly After School Special. “Jess, you’re telling us you’ve been scurrying around behind my back with this crap for the last three days?”

“I wanted to help you,” she said in a low voice.

“Wrong. This is about you—how your life has changed and how it scares the shit out of you.”

Elizabeth.

No, I’m on to something here. Tina and I were just talking about how everyone’s life has changed in next to no time. This is part of it and proves she’s wrong and be quiet in my brain now!

“You have DadDick in this timeline, you’re a mom, for God’s sake, but part of you thinks it’s not going to last. Part of you almost wants to make sure it doesn’t last. You can’t focus on that, that’s the really scary stuff, which, for somebody who lives with a bunch of movie monsters, is actually pretty impressive. So you’re gonna focus on this to avoid facing your new responsibilities.”

ELIZABETH
. The internal shout made me wince.

“I’m
what
?” The external shout also made me wince. I wasn’t alone this time, either; Jessica’s voice went so high all three of the vampires cringed. In the mudroom a few feet away, Fur and Burr woke and started yapping. Dogs all over the block were probably yapping. “What the fuck did you just say to me?” She’d leaped to her feet so quickly I barely registered the movement. I guess sleep deprivation sped up her reflexes. Or rage did. “You of all people? Accusing me of dodging responsibility, you silly bitch?”

“Proof!” I shouted, pointing a shaky finger at her. “Proof I’m right, you—you haven’t even named your spawn! Even after the . . . uh . . . the Incident.”

Oh God, the Incident. I couldn’t believe I’d brought it up. A measure of my desperation or evidence of suicidal ideation.

Look, bottom line, nobody got hurt. That’s what people keep overlooking.

 CHAPTER  

NINE

THE INCIDENT

I beat Jessica to the basement with minutes to spare, and thank goodness; I needed every second. I was in such a rush to get away from her avenging fingernails I nearly tripped on the step and flopped down the stairs. But our dank, dark basement, with the crumbling cement, stained floor, and cobwebs making it look like a scary movie set, was going to be my sweet haven. The gross, filthy place had multiple exits.

Oh, basement, I’ve been wrong about you all this time and will start making amends right now. Thank you for saving me! I promise to find a mop and wipe the floors. Or something. Nothing’s too good for you, basement, my dearest friend and finest ally.

“What’s going on up there?”

I screamed and nearly fell down the stairs for the second time. I’d been so terrified I hadn’t realized I wasn’t alone. Marc was blinking up at me, wearing smudged scrubs and snapping off rubber gloves.

“I banned you from the basement!”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Remember the Igor conversation?”

“Sure.” My zombie pal was supremely unconcerned. He nearly yawned. Once again, I had to think that the people I really wanted to intimidate with the vampire-queen thing never were.

“I’ll deal with your insubordination later.”

“Ooh, very Bond villain,” he said approvingly.

“You could at least pretend to be intimidated,” I muttered.

“I could,” he replied with a cheerful grin, “but I don’t think I could pull it off. Actually I’m glad to see you. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Later.” I hurried down and resisted the urge to tackle him out of my way. “Gotta go, please shove over. I mean it, Marc,
move
.”

He stepped back while shaking his head. “What? You didn’t burst in here to bust me for Igoring in the basement, so what the hell did you do now?”

“Oh, that’s nice! Blame the victim.”

“You are the polar opposite of a victim.”

“Thanks?”
I have no idea how to take that.

“Betsy, what did you do?”

“Tried to help! That’s all I ever do, because I am a considerate roommate and hardly ever complain that Mustard and Ketchup have basically stolen my best friend.”

“You constantly complain about that. I think Mustard and Ketchup are your worst names so far. Just confess and maybe I’ll take it easy on you. I can’t promise anything about Jessica, though.”

“It wouldn’t have hurt them.” I sulked. Gawd, new mothers. So freaking paranoid. “It would have been a huge time saver. And it would have made my life easier, so I never did get what the problem was.”

“Wait.” Horrid suspicion was dawning on Marc’s face. “Is—no. It can’t—not even you would—is that why you were looking for a Sharpie a couple of hours ago?” Before I could answer he plunged ahead, mouth full of damnation to heap on my highlights. “You were gonna write ‘Ketchup’ and ‘Mustard’ on the babies’ foreheads with a Sharpie?”

“No, I was gonna write ‘Coke’ and ‘Pepsi’ on their foreheads with a Sharpie. A scented Sharpie,” I added, “for which,
again
, nobody bothered to thank me. Those two can get pretty ripe. Every little bit helps. Do they make deodorant for babies?”

“Deo—I—you—” He shook his head. “No, I can’t let myself get distracted by your dumb questions. I’ve got to stay focused. Let’s face it, just come out and admit it: you wanted to brand the babies.”

“
Label
the babies.” How could I be the only person on board with this terrific plan? “Don’t even pretend you can tell them apart. Jess and Dick say they can, but I’m pretty sure they’re just trying not to look dumb.”

“Yeah, because that’s their biggest problem right now. Not looking dumb. Not crazy vampire queens scribbling on their babies with scented markers.”

“Marker, singular.” And strawberry scented, which I didn’t add because nobody appreciated me.

“I should haul your dim ass up those stairs and hand you over, you twit!”

“Yet another betrayal,” I sniffed. We’d been hurrying through the basement while I figured which exit would keep me free of knife wounds the longest. “What a surprise. That’ll teach me to stick my neck out.”

“Stick it out much further, Jess will slash through it.”

“That’s the truth,” I muttered.

Believe it or not (and I wouldn’t have, if I hadn’t seen it; the absurdity was immense), at the far end of the basement was a door, a door that led to a secret tunnel connecting our basement to the river. Sure, it was five below out and I had little interest in hanging riverside in subzero weather, but that would be a Caribbean vacation compared to what Jessica had in store for me.

“I’m gonna have to sleep out there, aren’t I?” I muttered aloud, asking but not really.

“Oh yeah,” my heartless zombie replied. “At least overnight. And it’s so stupid, Betsy. You’re so stupid.”

“I’m what?” Jesus! How many insults was I gonna have to take this week? “Marc! You know Sinclair made you promise to stop pointing out my intense dumbness.”

“Yeah, but when you use words like ‘dumbness’ and scurry around scribbling on babies, you make it impossible. And if you’d quit avoiding Laura, if you’d quit lurking in the mansion desperate for distractions to keep you out of Hell, the babies would be (relatively) safe and we could be in Hell right now, getting a tour or figuring out a new chamber of horrors or cornering Ferdinand and Isabella and asking them to defend the Spanish Inquisition.”

“All of those things sound terrible. And what do you mean, ‘we’? Aw, no. Come on, Marc. Not you, too.” Why was everyone so fascinated with my new part-time job? Why did they think co-running Hell was something I should jump on right away and bring them along for the ride? Were they all crazy? It was
Hell.
What about any of it meant super cool road trip? “You can’t mean it.”

“I absolutely mean it, you dope!” he shouted, which I found startling. Not the dope thing; we both knew he was smarter than me. But Marc didn’t raise his voice often, so when he did, I paid attention. As much as I ever paid attention to anything. “Don’t pretend you don’t know why.”

“Marc: I absolutely do not know why. Where’s that secret lever? God, that’s not a sentence I thought I’d have to say twice in three years.”

“Betseeeeey,” the zombie lurking in the gloom with me whined, “boooored.”