Undead and Uneasy (14 page)

sign some paperwork. I can come over to your place whenever you like. We can shelter a

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) good seven figures, and as you say, you'd rather give it to charity than the government.

Your wish is this CPA's command. Call me."

Ah, Don Freeman, the sexiest accountant on the planet. When he'd first come to the house

(he was always bringing things for Jess to sign, and nobody expected a mega-millionaire to

come to them), I'd mistaken him for a Minnesota Viking. Shoulders out to here.

"Betsy, why the hell haven't you called me back? It's Marc again. Listen, call me. I'm

starting to worry."

He was starting to worry? He sounded fine, not dead at all. And not under duress. I leapt

for the phone, played his first message back again, and punched in the number.

"Pirate's Cove Resort, Little Cayman."

"Uh, yeah. I'm looking for Dr. Marc Spangler? He left this number?"

"I think he's still scuba diving."

Scuba diving?

"Can you hold on, while I check?"

"Take your time," I managed through gritted teeth.

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) There was a clunk as someone put the phone down.

He was on vacation! Oh, I would kill him. I'd eat him alive and then cut him into a

thousand tiny pieces and then set each piece on fire. Then I'd force the ashes to watch

reruns ofSurvivor , Season 4. Then I'd—

"Hello?" Marc panted. "Betsy? Is that you?"

"Sorry to interrupt your scuba-ing," I said coldly.

"Oh, that was this morning. I've been hanging around the bar waiting for you to call back.

Listen, I've been trying to reach you for days."

"Yes, I know! What's going on? Are you really in the Bahamas?"

"The Caymans," he corrected, "and yeah. But this is the getaway of all getaways. Cell

phones are dicey, and so is their Internet connection. We just had I wicked bad storm

come through here, which didn't help. Scuba diving's been for shit ever since."

"But what are you doing there?"

"Boning my brains out," he said, sounding way too cheerful. "You know David

Ketterling? The cute new pediatrics fellow?"

I had a vague memory of Marc burbling about the new guy at the hospital, but had paid it

no mind at the time, since Marc, as we all knew, had no life beyond . . . well, us.

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"Well," he bubbled on, "we both had our four-day stretch at the same time, and his

grandma owns this resort, so on the spur of the moment—"

"You left the country with a total stranger."

"It was more romantic in my head," he admitted.

"Marc, I've been worried to death!"

"I'm sorry, Betsy. I told you, it was spur of the moment. And I've been trying to call since

we got here. David was the one who suggested we use the lodge landlines. I can't believe I

didn't think of that three days ago."

"Guess you had other things on your mind."

"And in my mouth," he said cheerfully.

"Thanks for that grotesque little mental image."

"Homophobia rearing its ugly head?"

"Honey, if Jessica was telling me about Nick's body parts in her mouth, I'd have totally the

same reaction."

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"Hey, is she around? Let me talk to her. David's dad is a king shit oncologist in New

York. He had a few ideas."

"Urn . . ." The temptation to pour all my troubles over the phone line like smelly oil was

almost too much. He could be back here this time tomorrow. I wouldn't be by myself. He

was a doctor, he was smart, he was funny, we were good buds. He could help me. He

would help me.

And the only thing it would cost him would be his first vacation in years. His first romantic

getaway in five years.

I opened my mouth. Marc to the rescue!

My mouth wasn't paying attention to my brain, because what came out was, "She's out

stocking up on tea and cream. I'll tell her about your new boy-toy, though."

"He's a man-toy, and don't you forget it, blondie. Listen, I'll be back on Sunday. How

goeth the wedding plans?"

"Wha? Oh. Everything's fine. I found a dress, and of course Sinclair has about forty tuxes

already." Two lies and one truth. "Listen, I'm glad you're okay. I was—I was worried."

"Oh, who'd do anything to me? When you'd give 'em the smackdown?"

Who indeed. But at least they couldn't get to you, Marc.

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"So I'll see you in a couple of days, okay? Call me at this number if you need anything."

"Oh, please. Everything's fine. Have fun. Give what's-his-face a dry peck on the cheek

from me."

"No romance in your soul," he teased. "None at all."

He hung up.

And then it was just me. Again.

Go back to the beginning.

Whoever was pulling all the crap, they are not afraid of me.

What did it mean? Or was I kidding myself, trying to play detective? Maybe this shit was

all random. I mean, I was a vampire. My friends were ghosts, vampires, werewolves,

millionaires, ER docs. Why wouldn't weird shit happen all of a sudden? Weird shit did

happen all of a sudden. Just not to everyone, and not all at once. Usually.

I looked at my watch. Almost eleven o'clock. Too late to call Mom back. Not that I was in

the mood. But the werewolves were probably still up and around.

I punched in Wyndham's cell number, and he picked up immediately.

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"Yes, Betsy?"

"How'd you know it was me?"

"Caller ID, dear. What can I do for you? Have you heard from our wayward lambs?"

"No, I was just returning your call. Wait a minute. My name wouldn't show up on your—"

"No, but your landlady's does. And she's in the hospital right now, yes? Unlikely to be

phoning me." There was a pause, and then he added, "We did our research, dear."

"You did?" I said, mildly creeped out.

"We've looked into a few more things since our arrival here. It simply will not do to

underestimate you again." He laughed, a rich, deep chuckle.

In the background, I could hear, "Is that Betsy? Let me talk to her."

"Stop that, you're married." Then, louder, "Betsy? Are you there?"

"Of course I'm here," I grumbled. "Where the hell else would I be?"

"As I said in my message, the trail is cold. I think you may have to prepare yourself for the

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) worst."

"I've been doing that since I woke up dead," I lied, trying to sound tougher than I felt.

"Uh-huh. But there is a somewhat larger problem We'll have to deal with."

"Fabulous. Hit me."

"The full moon, dear. It's in two days."

"What?"

"The. Full. Moon. We. Will. Get. Hairy."

"Cut that out. Sorry. The werewolf I lived— live — with doesn't do that."

"Right. But the rest of us will, except Jeannie, who's human, and Lara, who's too young."

Dimly, I heard, "Come on! Lemmee talk to her."

"Shut up, or I'm calling your wife. Betsy? Are you there?"

"Yes," I said, my patience stretched almost beyond endurance. "So you'll have to leave

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) town?"

"Not at all. We'll stay."

"You think the good people of Minneapolis won't notice werewolves running around on

Nicollet Avenue?"

"Give us a little credit, Betsy. In fact, we might be able to find Antonia and her mate on all

fours. Our senses are much, much keener when we run with the moon."

"Well, do that. Run along with the moon. Have fun. Keep me posted."

"I have a favor to ask."

"Of course you do."

"Would it be all right if my wife and cub stayed with you during the first night of the full

moon? This is a strange city, and I prefer not to leave them unguarded while my Pack

members and I go hunting."

Dimly in the background: "I don't need a damned babysitter, Michael!"

"Uh, maybe you better run that one by the little woman first."

"I will pretend," he chuckled, "you didn't just call her that. May we impose?"

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) I sighed. I don't get these people . "Sure. Be nice to have some company. But Michael?"

"Yes?"

"Tell her to leave the gun at home."

"Well, she'll keep it holstered," he said, sounding almost shocked.

"When should I expect you?"

"Two days, maybe sooner. We'll call before coming by."

"Oh, I can't wait. I'm all atingle," I muttered, hanging up.

Derik was right. Definitely a cultural thing.

“I think this is a sign from God," my half sister, Laura, told me after she took a sip of her

orange pekoe.

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) I managed not to groan out loud. She'd swung by for tea, showing up about twenty

minutes after I woke up (being the queen, I usually woke up around 4:00 p.m. or so, and

could go outside without being sautéed).

As usual, she was indecently beautiful: about my height, with long buttercup-blond hair

caught up in a sensible ponytail. No makeup. Tan capris and a faded blue oxford shirt.

Navy blue Keds, one black sock and one navy blue sock. Big, gorgeous blue eyes framed

by lashes that you usually only saw on little boys.

I'd given serious thought to not inviting her to my wedding, because, bottom line, she

looked better on her worst day than I did on my best. Fortunately, I quickly came to my

senses. Well. Six or seven days later, anyway.

"Really, I think God is trying to tell you something," the daughter of the devil went on.

(Have I mentioned? She rebelled against her mother, the Lady of Lies, by being a faithful

churchgoer). "You should take it as a sign. I was praying over it just last night."

"Laura, what the hell are you talking about?"

She frowned. "Don't talk like that. I'm saying that perhaps your wedding to the king of the

vampires wasn't meant to be. He could have picked any other time to leave you, but he

chose now?"

"That's the thing, Laura." I ignored my own tea. I was ragingly, crazily thirsty, and I didn't give a damn. "I don't think he left me. I think someone snatched him."

"But why? Why would someone do that? No, I think you should cancel your wedding and

be thankful he didn't decide to pull this nonsense after you'd bee married a hundred years.

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) By then, you'd have bee emotionally committed."

"Laura, he didn't run out on me. Even Tina agrees.'

"Oh, her." Laura waved Sinclair's most loyal friend away with her unmanicured hand.

"Another vampire. What do you expect her to say? You're always complaining that she's

more loyal to him than you."

That was true, I had confided that to Laura. I never dreamed she'd toss it back in my face,

though. And it was getting real hard to hold on to my temper. "She's worried about him.

So am I."

"She's a vampire. She lies."

"I'm a vampire."

"Yes, well. I know you're doing the best you can."

"When you said you wanted to come over to help me figure out what to do, this was your

big plan?"

"I'm helping," she said, reaching for my hand. I snatched it away "You need friends now, Betsy. Besides your mother and a sick Jessica, I'm the only one left who really cares about

you."

"Laura. Darling? You're so full of shit your eyes are brown."

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) She stiffened. "Don't talk like that."

"Then cut the shit. Jeez! Did you really come to my house—"

"Jessica's house."

"—to encourage me to forget about the man I love? Who's either dead or captured? To

blow off Tina, who spends all her time trying to make our lives as comfortable and

murder-free as she can?"

"God doesn't want you to throw in with the minions of Satan," she sniffed. "Don't ignore the signs."

"What the hell do you know about God, you murdering psychotic spawn of Satan?"

She was on her feet. So was I. "Don't talk to me like that!" she shrilled, our faces only

inches apart.

"Or what? You'll give me shitty, insensitive advice?"

"It's not my fault that creature tricked our father, birthed me, then went back to Hell!"

"Well, it's not my fault I'm a vampire who fell in love with a vampire!"

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"You can control who you live and—and fornicate with. I can't control my bloodline."

I felt my eyes bulge. "Are we really playing Who's The Biggest Sinner?"

"You chose to throw your lot in with him," she went on. "I didn't choose what happened