Undead and Unwelcome (Undead #8)

Chapter 30

You mean someone killed you again? And I missed it?" Jessica groaned and covered her face. "Damn! I was washing puke from my clothes while you were getting murdered . . . Dammit!"

"You didn't miss much," I soothed. "Just me picking a fight with a bunch of werewolves, getting stabbed, Sinclair kicking the crap out of my stabber, me waking up, and then everybody taking off."

"Oh, sure. Sounds like a real snooze-fest. So what happens next?"

"We're supposed to meet the Council tonight."

"Why?"

I shrugged. I was still a little vague on that myself.

Jessica and I were having a late-afternoon drink in the sitting room of my suite. Because it was barely five o'clock, BabyJon was still asleep, and so was Sinclair.

I had my own thoughts about that, but kept them to myself. See, Sinclair could move around during the day, he just couldn't go outside. The fact that he was choosing to stay under told me he was storing up his strength for whatever ordeal lay ahead. And, typical of Sinclair, he wasn't telling me any of the things he was worrying about.

"So, what?" Jess was saying, blowing on her hot chocolate. "You tell them what happened, and they do what?"

"I have no idea."

"You shouldn't even be talking to them."

"What?"

Jessica sipped. Blew. Sipped again. "You did what you had to do. Just like Antonia. So why should you have to explain yourself to a bunch of strangers who apparently never gave that poor girl a thought once she blew town?"

"It's why we came out here," I said. "We knew we'd have to face the music one way or another."

"I don't like it. I never liked it. You shouldn't take the defensive."

I shrugged. "Let's see how it plays out. A few hundred people noticed last night that I'm pretty tough to kill. And-holy crap, I forgot to tell you about what happened with the baby!"

I summed it up for Jess, who was amazed. "Come on. Michael really forgot you brought a baby out here?"

"He totally, completely did."

"Weird."

"Tell me! And Derik freaked out again."

"Here all this time we thought werewolves were vulnerable to silver bullets, when it's dirty diapers that they fear."

I snorted with laughter, nearly spilling my own cup of cocoa. "Oh, and I met this really nice woman-"

"Let me guess: not a werewolf."

"No, but she's married to one. She was really nice, for a crazy lady."

"That's what they said about Lorena Bobbitt."

I shook my head at her. Jess could always cheer me up. She could always put things in perspective for me. I hadn't wanted her to come on this trip, but now I was glad she had.

"This whole thing has me thinking."

"I'll call the newspapers," she replied. "Maybe even take a picture of you thinking and post it on a website somewhere. Dammit again! My phone's on the plane with Cooper."

"I'm sure they have phones here if you need to make a call."

"Not this time. You're the one I always call-God knows why-and you're just across the hallway. By the way, these walls aren't soundproofed. You think you can keep it down while you're making the beast with two backs?"

"Knock it off, you bitch. I've been thinking that Michael and I are very different kinds of leaders."

"Well, you don't like to lead anybody. You've been saying since day one that vampires should police themselves."

"Right. But see, Michael knows how many werewolves are in the Pack. He knows where they live and who they are. But me, not so much. I have no idea how many vampires are running around. And even if I did, I'd have no idea how to get in touch with them. Say, God forbid, there's a war between vamps and weres. We'd be fucked, because the werewolves are a species. They're born werewolves and they know who they are and where they're going. But vampires are made. Violently made. So why should they feel any loyalty to other vampires? I sure don't. I mean, I'm loyal to Tina and Sinclair, but they're family. None of the other vamps are."

"So there you are."

"What?"

"Now you know what you've got to do."

"Terrific. Care to share with the rest of the class?"

"Prevent a war. At all costs, prevent a war. Because it sounds to me like you'd lose, and lose big." For once, Jessica wasn't teasing. She looked very sober and she was gripping her cup so hard her hands shook. "You can't afford it, Betsy. None of us can."

"They don't know I've got the devil's daughter on my side."

"You really want to put Laura through that? That girl's already walking a fine line between too good and really nuts."

"You're right. It'd be a rotten thing to do." But I made a mental note to keep it in mind. If worse came to worst, we'd fight. And if worse came to terrible, I had the devil's daughter as my secret weapon.

I guess that's what being a leader meant. Using people for your own ends, even if you knew it was a bad idea.

Great.

Chapter 31

Jess had gone back to her room to get dressed for the Council, and Sinclair was working away at his laptop, when I decided to get some fresh air. I was taking a stroll down the beach when I saw the ghost. She waved at me tentatively, and I waved back.

This had been one of the hardest things for me to get used to, almost as difficult to accept as the fact that I had to drink blood to survive. Like the kid from The Sixth Sense, I saw dead people. Also like that kid, they tended to scare the crap out of me. Given how scared I was of ghosts and zombies, I wasn't unaware of the irony that I was now one of the monsters. Didn't like it, but understood the grisly joke life (or death) had played on me.

Unfortunately, ignoring the ghosts just made it worse . . . When they saw I wasn't hopping to obey their edicts from beyond the grave, they got more aggressive. Hung around all the time. Popped out of nowhere when you were, say, having sex with your husband.

My favorite ghost-Cathie, victim of the serial killer Laura had killed-and my least favorite-the Ant-both came and went without warning. In fact, I hadn't seen Cathie in almost a year. This bummed me out a bit, and when I thought of her I always hoped she'd gone on to better things.

As for the Ant, I was just grateful she'd disappeared and hadn't come back. Yet.

So, though I didn't much want to, I walked up to the ghost and said howdy.

"Excuse me," she said politely, interrupting me mid introduction. "But how in the world can you see me?"

"Vampire."

"But there are no vampires. And it's still light out."

"There are, and it is, but it's a long story, so why don't you just tell me why you're haunting the beach so we can get on with our lives? Or deaths. What-ever."

The ghost, a pale brunette with her hair pulled back in a bun, appeared to think that over for a bit. She was wearing clothes that were clearly from the 1960s, poor thing (of all the decades to be trapped in, fashion-wise!), and was wearing cat's-eye glasses. We were far enough down the beach that my feet were getting wet as the waves slopped over them, but they just went right through the ghost's shoes without doing any damage. Luckily, I was wearing last year's sandals.

"Would you mind giving a message to my son?"

"If I can find him, sure."

"Would you please tell him I would prefer he not name his unborn child after me?"

"Seriously? That's it? That's why your spirit can't rest?"

"My name is Theodocia," she said.

"Oh." The horror! "Jeez. I'm really sorry. I'll be glad to pass that on for you."

"Thank you kindly."