Undead and Unworthy (9 page)

"Well?" She stopped, slightly out of breath. She must have sprinted when she figured out Nick was here. "Which is it? I'm in bed asleep because I have a human boyfriend, or I'm

wide awake because my best friend is a vampire?"

Create PDF
files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer (
http://www.novapdf.com
)

"Uh – "

"You're so great," Nick said warmly. "It's both."

Man, I could never pull that off.

"You sneaky lying sack of shit."

Apparently Nick couldn't, either.

"You're sneaking off with him to – well, I don't know what, but I don't like it. And you!"

She rounded on Nick, jabbing with the dreaded index finger (which was now painted

eggplant). "I know damn well you don't like being alone with Betsy anymore. So what are

you up to?"

He didn't tell her?

"You didn't tell her?" I tried to hide my delight at Nick's look of consternation... and the fact that it bummed me out, hearing Nick was scared to be alone with me. At least I wasn't

the only one who was scared to death of Pissed Off Jessica – hell, he was
armed,
and he

looked ready to sidle around the corner and hide. "That's awful. Why wouldn't you tell

her?"

"Because she'll jump to the conclusion that I'm trying to get you killed," he snapped.

"Yeah, she's funny that way."

"What? Get killed? Why might you get killed? Betsy, you can't go off doing something

dangerous with Nick, when those disgusting Fiends could be back any minute and try to

finish what – " Then she shut her mouth with a snap.

Nick and I looked at each other, then at Jessica. I felt sorry for her. She really did try to

keep Nick out of the vampire stuff, telling him only what she absolutely thought he needed

to know.

And of course, she didn't get into the gory details of Nick's terror and hatred of me, just

made the occasional reference to it. She was a good dancer. And it was too bad she had to

dance at all. I mean, more than the normal amount any best friend does when balancing a

lifelong friendship with a new love affair.

"Why don't we get in the car," I suggested, "and Jess goes back in the house, and the three of us pretend the last forty-five seconds never happened."

"Deal."

"Deal."

Nick started up his SedanMobile as I waved to Jess, who was back on the porch and

anxiously waving back.

"Betsy! Let's go!"

"Your car," I told him, gingerly climbing into the front seat, "smells like ass."

"Man, that was bad. We coulda handled that one better. A lot better."

"What are you talking about, 'we'? I'm not the one who completely screwed that one up.

Hey, Jess gets full disclosure from me, pal."

"Oh fucking bullshit," he snapped, almost running down a squirrel. He turned onto Grand

Avenue, where he'd have better luck with hapless pedestrians. "You told me yourself after

that – after that business around your wedding that you kept her out of the vampire stuff."

Create PDF
files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer (
http://www.novapdf.com
)

"After I cured her terminal illness, you mean? Is that what you're referring to?" My voice was so sugary it would have given a diabetic an instant attack. I normally wouldn't bring it

up, especially since I had no idea how I'd done it, but hey, Nick was bigger than me, and

smarter. And armed. And he hated me. "Sure, Sinclair and I keep her out of it – keep her

out in the sense of actually, physically keeping her out of it. But I still
tell
her everything."

"Nnmph," he grunted. Then, "Put on your seat belt."

"Please. Would you really give a gold-plated crap if I was launched screaming through

your windshield?"

"State law."

Oh. Right. I, the Minnesota law-abiding vampire queen, obediently buckled up.

"She's got enough to worry about," he finally (lamely) said.

"You big liar! You're using me to ramp your solve rate, and I might get hideously mangled

or killed.
That's
what you don't want her to 'worry' about."

"Ramp my solve rate?" He slid over two streets and merged onto I-94. "Betsy, stop

watching
NYPD Blue
reruns."

"I don't! On purpose."

He groaned. "Please don't explain that."

"But Marc has a big crush on Sipowicz, and he's always hoping to see the man's butt

again, and I can't help it if every time I go into the TV room or his room or one of the

parlors, he's playing the DVDs."

"Well, if you're so damn sure I'm up to no good, how come you're here?"

"You know why."

"Enlighten me."

"Stop it."

"C'mon, I'm serious."

I stared at him. He stared back with his blank cop's face. Truth? Lie? Somewhere in

between? I bet he could take a polygraph and never, what was the cop phrase? Never

bounce a needle.

"I'm here to prove to you that I'm no danger to you, that we could be friends if you didn't

shrivel with horror at the thought, that vampires can be good guys, too." I said it all in a

rush, and it came out sounding like my drunken Marilyn Monroe impersonation.

"Yeah, you're going to have to slow that one down and run it by me again."

"I'm. Here. To. Prove. That. I'm. No. Danger. And. We. Can. Be. Friends. If. You. Didn't.

Shrivel."

"That's okay, I think I can piece together the rest. Trouble is, blondie, why should I ever

believe anything you tell me, ever again?"

"Oh, jeez!" I threw my hands up in the air. "How long are you going to hold that one thing against us? I've told you and told you, I was a new vampire and didn't know the rules!"

"Yeah, so you fucking mind-raped me."

I noticed that, like me, he tended to swear more when he was nervous or mad.

"Anything sounds bad when you say it like that," I conceded sulkily, staring out the

passenger window.

He made a sound that might have been a snort, or a muffled laugh. When I looked, he had

his cop face back on.

"So where are we going?"

Create PDF
files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer (
http://www.novapdf.com
)

"What a tactful, yet subtle way to change the subject."

"Fine. Don't tell me. Keep being the biggest, most gigantickest asshole – "

"Gigantickest?" he said, delighted. "Are you using word-a-day toilet paper again? Okay, okay, don't pout. And don't enlighten me about vampire toilet habits, I don't think I could

stand it. I've managed to run down a couple of leads and thought I'd bring my favorite

dead enforcer with me to see what's what."

"I thought you said your vigilante killer was a cop? Or cops, plural?"

"I did."

"So how can we check on them without, I dunno, scaring them? Tipping them off?"

"Very carefully. I've been running down when the murders took place – best as the M.E.

can tell us, anyway – with the duty logs of the ones I think might be capable of something

like this."

"Oh." That was really smart. And just laced with common sense. Exactly why I never

would have thought of it. God, I'd be the
worst
police officer. I knew that about myself,

had always known it, which was why it was kind of a thrill to be in a police car (the front

seat, anyway), helping solve murders. Well. Coming along for the ride while someone else

solved murders. "Huh. Okay."

"Do you know much about guns, Betsy?" He indicated his service piece. "If you're ever in a situation where you need to shoot a guy to save my ass, could you do it?"

"Wait. Do you hate me now because I'm a ruthless vampire who has killed before, or do

you hate me because I'm a careless dimwit who can't be trusted with this power?"

"You mean, right now? Right this minute, why do I hate you?" he asked in a voice that

was almost – so close! – teasing. "Do I have to choose? God, so many choices..."

"I don't have a lot of use for handguns," I said after a glance at the pistol at his waist.

"Mostly I know about shotguns from goose hunting with my mom, and rifles for target

practice."

"The professor hunts?"

"The professor can shoot the eye out of a squirrel at two hundred yards. I'll tell you who

knows a ton about guns – Tina. She's an expert. You should get with her sometime."

"No thanks," he said curtly, and just like that, our fragile whatever it was came to an end.

Nick dropped me off at about two-thirty in the morning, not remotely discouraged,

although it looked to me like his leads hadn't panned out. At least he was being (relatively)

friendly again, so I didn't say anything to wreck it. I just waved good-bye and trudged into

the mansion.

Where a grim Sinclair and a fretful Jessica were waiting for me.

"Whaaaat?" I whined, moodily pulling off my Herrera boots. "What'd I do? I didn't do it.

I'm pretty sure it was Marc. No, wait. Cathie!" Cathie, the ghost-gone-walkabout, who I

could actually use to help me with the aunt. She was usually convenient for blame. Of

course, if she'd been there, I never would have gotten away with it.

She'd been killed by a serial killer (who was later killed by my sister, Laura, who had a

spectacular temper tantrum in the killer's basement) and, even after his death, had hung

Create PDF
files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer (
http://www.novapdf.com
) around being my ghostly secretary of sorts. If ghosts showed up needing help, Cathie

would try to help them herself... and only if she couldn't would she then let the ghost

bother me. Plus, she was super funny and nice. I missed having her around. Even more so

now that the Ant was pestering me.

"Sinclair told me," Jessica said without preamble.

"About what?" I asked, totally at a loss. Man, I'd have to drink some blood soon. I was

getting dumber by the hour.

"About Nick's little murder project," she said grimly, and I winced.

"That wasn't nice," I said to Sinclair, the reproach quite clear in my tone.

" 'Nice' is the least of my concerns, or interests. He is trying to get you killed, or at least cares not if you're hurt. If I could tell his superior without jeopardizing our secret, I

would."

"You'd tattle to his boss! Oooh, that's
really
mean." I walked into the parlor and carefully flopped down onto a fainting couch, which someone had probably lugged over on the

Mayflower.

"I'll deal with him later," she swore, and I almost felt sorry for the guy. "I just wanted to make sure you got back all right."

"Sure I did. Heck, it didn't even pan out. It was an evening of driving around, basically.

Feel bad for
him,
he was the one trapped in a car with me." In fact, a couple of times he had rolled his window down and hung out his head like a dog, screaming into the wind.

Heh.

"And I," Sinclair said, "wished to attempt to convince you, once again, to leave police matters to the police. We have other things to attend to."

"Oh, like I would have been any help to you and Tina tonight."

Sinclair lifted his left shoulder up about half a centimeter, which, for him, was the same as

a shrug of agreement.

"Like I said, it was one big safe boring evening. No problems. And," I added, looking

around the small, peach-colored parlor, "I assume the Fiends haven't been back?"

"No, thank God."

"Did you and Tina learn anything?"

"Oh, this and that," Sinclair said vaguely, which either meant (a) he had gobs of tidbits he didn't want to spill in front of Jessica, (b) he had nothing, or (c) he had plenty, but didn't

want to worry me.

"So. Let's go to bed?"

"Do that," Jessica muttered, turning around like a soldier doing an about-face and

marching out of the parlor. "I've got to call Nick."

"Very, very mean," I told my husband, as I followed him up the stairs. "Ratting Nick out like third graders squealing about who stole the chocolate milk. Nice!"

Sinclair shrugged again. I pulled our bedroom door shut and jumped on his back.

"Ah?" he managed, looking around for his suit hanger.

"I'm
starving,
" I purred into his left ear.

The hanger, which he had just picked up, went sailing over our right shoulders. Then he

reached back, got my coat in a fist, and yanked me off of him,
over
him, and flopped me

onto the bed.

"Then let's eat," he said, and fell upon me like a scary fairy-tale monster, only a whole lot

Create PDF
files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer (
http://www.novapdf.com
) sexier and, let's face it, better dressed.

The sun fell down the next night, but I'd been awake for about an hour by the time it was

full dark. Still wasn't taking my increasing resilience to sunlight for granted, and still not

trying to rub it in to Tina and Sinclair who were, after all, much older than I was.

I knew it was a real treat to be able to go for a walk outside in the late afternoon. I'd paid

for it, though, thanks to the Faustian bargain that was the Book of the Dead. (Sinclair lost

a bet once when he didn't think I knew what
Faustian
meant; but there's more than one

way for a girl to Google a cat.)

I got dressed, then remembered what I'd forgotten last night. Amazing what good sex and

half a pint of vampire king blood could do to jog your memory.

I flopped onto the bed, picked up the bedside phone, and dialed Nick.

"Homicide, Detective Berry."