Undead and Unwelcome (19 page)

Marc squashed me so thoroughly it was a damned good thing I didn’t need to breathe

much. I lay on the grass like a landed trout, my mouth opening and closing, shoving and

pushing at his carcass. “Betsy,” Marc said, remarkably unharmed. Of course, I’d broken

his fall. Stretch some rubber over me and call me a trampoline. “This is all my fault.” “It’s

not,” I wheezed. “No, really, it is. I—” “Marc, do you think you could get the hell off me

sometime today?” He leaned back, squashing just one lung now. “I’m the one who—”

“It’s not your fault. Marc, this is Satan. Satan, this is—” “I know Dr. Spangler, thank

you.” Marc was gaping up at the devil. “Satan? Laura’s mother, Satan?
That
Satan?”

“How many do you know?” I pushed him the rest of the way off me and climbed slowly to

my feet. “We’re the flies in her web, as usual.” The devil shook her head. “I never interfere

with free will.” “No, but you’re sure good at inspiring it. I’ve got to get back in there.”

“But we were having such a nice talk. Where are you going?” “I’m gonna go tell Laura

what you did.” The devil raised a dark eyebrow. “You’re going to tattle on the devil?”

“Damn right!” I began the painful climb back up through the window, pausing just long

enough to tell Marc, “Will you for God’s sake get the hell out of here? Somebody’s likely

to get killed and I’d rather it wasn’t you.” I’d rather it wasn’t me, either, but I wasn’t

placing any bets on that one.

Dude,
You are not even going to believe what happened next. I was there, and I hardly

believe it myself.
I pulled another one of the hooded jerks off Sinclair—there appeared to

be an unending supply—but one of them fell back so fast he knocked me through a

window. It was a little like being in a Western. The window, luckily, had already been

broken.
By Betsy, whom I landed on. It was the closest thing to straight sex I’d

experienced in years. Although I have to say, she was more bony than lush. It was those

long femurs of hers.
Betsy, clearly squashed, managed a weak groan. I tried to explain

what had happened, which is when she introduced me to the devil.
The
devil. Then she

(Betsy) scrambled back through the window.
I decided there was a strong possibility that

I was concussed, and reminded myself to watch for symptoms. Surely this was the result

of a mind weakened by blunt-force trauma.
“So, Marc. Let’s talk. How have you been?”

I gaped at her. This was Lucifer? The Fallen One? Samael? The Morningstar? She

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looked like a beautiful middle-aged, gray-streaked brunette with pretty shoes. And those

ankles! I was getting straighter and straighter by the moment.
“What do you want with

us?”
“Nothing at all.” The devil gazed thoughtfully at the broken window. “Laura’s my

primary interest. The rest of you—you’re just wrenches in the toolbox of life. Things to

use. Tools.”
“That was a terrible analogy.”
The devil gave me a decidedly unfriendly

look.
“Why don’t you just leave Laura alone, to live her own life?”
“Dear boy. Even

mothers who
aren’t
me can’t do that for their children.”
“She could have a happy life if

you’d just leave her alone.”
Satan snorted through her nose. “Leave her alone? Never!

She’s been poisoned by humanity. She actually thinks what happens to other people

matters
. I have the cure for that diseased worldview.”
I stood, brushing grass off my

knees. “I don’t like you one bit.”
“Ooooh.” The devil smirked. “That one hurt. By the

way, Marc, he knows.”
“What?”
“Your father. He knows all about you.” She leaned

forward and whispered in my ear, “He has
always
known. Oh, Marc. How you’ve

disappointed him. You should see him cry when he’s alone and thinks no one’s watching.

Like you do, sometimes.”
A sliver of ice pushed its way into my gut, but before I could

think of a retort, or run away, the devil was gone.
Leaving the rest of us, of course, to

clean up the mess she had instigated.

Laura looked delighted to see me crawl back into the room. “Good. I was hoping to beat

the sin right out of your silly vain carcass, and I wasn’t sure I had finished the job.” “Your

mother’s in the yard.” Laura, already reaching for my throat, hesitated. “Don’t lie, Betsy.

You’ve tried everything but that.” “But she is. I just talked to her. She said she gave Marc

the idea about how you could use your followers to kill vampires.” “That isn’t true.” But

she didn’t look at all sure of herself. “Marc would never hurt me.” She reached for me

again and I batted her hand away. “He’s not the one out to push your buttons, dumbass!

She
is. This is, like, phase five of her plan to have you take over hell when she retires.” My

ears rang and I realized she’d slapped me so hard and fast that I’d barely seen her hand

move. “Stop talking about her!” “Laura, she
wants
you to do everything you’re doing.”

“That’s not true! I’ve been doing good! We’ve been killing demons!” “No, you’ve been

suckered. If you won’t stop for my sake, or your own, then stop for no other reason than

because it will completely foil your mother’s wicked-ass plans for you.” Here came the

bright light. Here came the sword, straight for my heart. Here came the killing blow, and

thank goodness, because one way or the other, it meant the fight was almost over. I

sidestepped and punched Laura in the eye. She went down without a sound. I didn’t

realize until it was too late that she’d swung wide on purpose.

Sinclair staggered through the doorway, looking like he’d been through a hurricane. Or

through a whole shitload of devil worshippers. Having vampire strength and reflexes was

all fine and good, but it didn’t mean that enough bad guys couldn’t take a piece or two out

of you. His suit was in tatters; his face was streaked with blood. I imagine I didn’t look

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) much better. At least we were both standing. Well, leaning. “Some of them are dead,” he

informed me. “Some of them ran off.” Marc called from the other room, “And some of

them are going to need medical attention! I’ll do what I can.” Sinclair took in the ruined

room, the holes in the walls, the broken windows, Laura, unconscious on the floor. “Are

you all right?” “Shit, no. But I’ll live. How about you? You look like somebody dropped

you into a blender and pressed
puree
.” “What a coincidence. That is precisely how I feel.”

I went to him and hugged him, closing my eyes as he stroked my back. “Laura’s mom was

here.” “That explains much.” “It explains mucher than you know.” “At least you won the

fight.” I looked up at him. “She could have killed me at any time. She threw the fight

when she realized her mother had been pulling her strings all this time.” “Ah.” “Yeah.” I

imagined Sinclair didn’t need me to spell out the ramifications for him. Given the way he

was grinding his teeth, I knew he was equal parts pissed for me and frightened for me.

Because if Laura could kill me anytime—she’d hidden her strength and speed all this time,

for one thing—who was really in charge around here? A mere vampire? Or the devil’s

daughter? And what about the next time Laura and I butted heads? Much as I hated to

admit it, there most likely
would
be a next time. I couldn’t count on her to throw every

fight. Frankly, I was pretty sure she’d only thrown this one because I’d shocked her with

the bald truth. There were only so many times I could play the sister card. And next time,

she wouldn’t be taken off guard. Next time, she might kick my ass straight into hell, and

then bye-bye for every vampire she could get her hands on. And she could get her hands

on a lot. Especially since she apparently had followers who would do whatever she asked.

Legions of them. It should have been over. But it wasn’t. We’d earned a temporary

respite, that was all.

Between Marc and Sinclair, they pulled enough strings to get the wounded to the hospital

without us having to fill out reams of paperwork or answer unanswerable questions. Not

for the first time I appreciated being married to a rich man who knew people . . . not to

mention having Dr. Spangler as a roommate. Sinclair carried Laura to the room she’d been

staying in and laid her on the bed. She was going to have an unattractive shiner, but Marc

checked her over and pronounced her merely unconscious. We still had no idea where

Tina was, so I stayed in the room listening to Laura’s soft breathing, waiting for her to

wake up. After about half an hour, her eyes opened and she stared at the ceiling, then at

me. “Welcome back.” “Is it true?” she asked hoarsely, and I realized with a stab of pity

that she was afraid. “Did my mother have something to do with all this?” “Yeah, Laura.

It’s true.” “I was so sure it was a good plan, the right plan. Instead of running from

those—those people, I thought I was—oh, Betsy! How am I ever supposed to know

what’s my idea, and what’s part of her plan for me?” The time was past for comforting

lies. “I don’t know.” “I’d rather be dead than be her puppet.” “Can’t we find a happy

medium between those two?” She suddenly seemed to notice my ruined suit, the blood,

my mussed hair, the way I was covered with bits of soot, wallpaper, and plaster. Her face

crumpled and she clapped her hands over her eyes. I leaned forward, grasped her wrists,

and gently pulled her hands away from her face. “Come on, Laura. It’s not fatal. This is

why God invented dry cleaners. Also, it’s going to be really, really awkward between us

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) for a while. It might even ruin Christmas.” My lame-ass joke fell flat—deservedly so—and

Laura burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” she managed, pulling free of my grip. “I’m just so, so

sorry.” She rested her forehead on my shoulder and I stroked her (blond) hair while she

sobbed all over my already filthy suit. “It’s all right, Laura. We’ll figure it out. Come on,

enough with the waterworks.” “I could have killed you.” “But you didn’t.” You just killed

a bunch of my people. But I’d have to address that later. I wasn’t looking forward to it,

that was for damned sure. “You let me hurt you—punch you out like we were brawl ers in

a Western—rather than killing me. You know what that makes you?” “No.” “One of the

good guys. Your white hat is in the mail.” “No, it’s not,” she said again, and wept harder.

Traffic was light at this time of night, and Sinclair rode the gas pedal like he was in the

race of his life. Which wasn’t far off. In next to no time (objectively, subjectively it seemed

to take a week), we were at Laura’s apartment in Dinkytown, opening the door to the

spare bedroom. Marc, Sinclair, and I all stared. Laura was studiously
not
staring. Finally I

said, “Devil worshippers brought a coffin up here and nobody noticed?” Laura shrugged. I

moved forward and stripped the crosses off the coffin, off the inside door handle, and the

windows—no wonder Tina had disappeared from the picture so completely. The crosses

were more effective than bear traps. I popped the top off of the second coffin in the same

week. “Hey, Tina? Rise and shine, it’s time to—gggkkk!” Tina’s hands had shot up and

out and she was briskly strangling me while I gurgled and grabbed her wrists. “Help me,

you idiots,” I choked, which seemed to break the spell . . . Marc and Sinclair both sprang

forward to prevent Tina from snapping me in half. The perfect end to a perfect week.

They pulled her off me and Sinclair helped her sit up. She was terribly wasted, terribly
old,

but I knew some blood would fix her right up. She kept beating her withered hands at

Sinclair’s shoulders and trying to speak. “Be calm, Tina.” “Yeah, be calm already,” I

added. “We’ll take care of you.” “Laura,” she whispered, so faintly I had to strain to hear.

“You have to watch out for Laura.” “They know,” Laura said, staring at her shoes. Then

Sinclair
and
Marc
and
I had our hands full keeping Tina from ripping out my sister’s

throat and taking a shower in the blood.

Oh, come on, you guys.” Everyone but Laura was in our kitchen . . . it was the next

evening, and I didn’t think Tina was going to
not
try to kill my sister anytime soon. And

who could blame her? Laura had tricked her, trapped her, and starved her. Something

other than a Hallmark card was definitely called for. “We won! The bad guys are

vanquished. Why so glum?” Sinclair was giving Marc his “you idiot” stare, but Marc was

so happy we were all back home he was overlooking a few things. Sure, we had friends

among the werewolves now . . . including Michael and Jeannie, which was quite a coup. I