Read Undead and Undermined Online

Authors: MaryJanice Davidson

Tags: #Romance, #Fiction, #Religious, #Paranormal, #Vampires, #Taylor; Betsy (Fictitious Character), #Sinclair; Eric (Fictitious Character)

Undead and Undermined (18 page)

BOOK: Undead and Undermined
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I couldn’t think of any reason the human Marc, our Marc, would come here alone. And I didn’t have to think of a reason for the Marc Thing to show. He was crazier and scarier than a thousand Garretts. We couldn’t even predict the weather, never mind the advance plans of psychos.
“Just protect yourself, and if you think you can’t, or you run into trouble, or even if you can’t sleep because you’ve got the creeps,
call me
. Or don’t even take time to do that, just hop in your car and come over. Err on the side of caution, got it? There’s tons of room at the mansion. What’s another roommate?”
Mom snorted. She knew that while I liked/loved my roomies, I had preferred living alone.
“I’ve got no idea what happens next,” I fretted. The bucket was nearly empty. Vampires were immune to brain freeze. No wonder people were scared of us. “Which pisses me off, because that’s why I went to hell in the first place. So I could know what happens next!”
“Think that one over, Betsy. There’s a reason Cassandra was both blessed and cursed by Apollo.”
“Duh. Everyone knows that.”
She ignored my bluff. “Cassandra was a princess so beautiful, the sun god Apollo gave her the ability to see the future.”
“And I’m sure, given how the gods liked to run things, especially male gods, that there were zero strings to that ‘gift.’ She certainly wasn’t expected to put out.”
My mother smiled. “Cassandra was afraid, of both him and what he wanted to give her, and refused his advances. So he . . .”
“Turned her into a swan and had sex with her!”
“No, that’s Leda and Zeus. What’s the matter with you? Do you not have a good grasp of Greek mythology in the new timeline? Because the old you—”
“Oh, that’s flattering. The
old
me. Great.”
“Sorry. The other you from the other timeline knew all sorts of Greek myths.”
“So do I!” I did, dammit. This,
this
was how rattled I still was. Curse you, Clive! May you be audited twice a year until the end of time. “Look, just run it down for me, okay? I’m on a schedule.”
She wrinkled her nose at me. “Very well. Apollo let her keep his gift, but he fixed it so although she would know the future, no one would believe her until it was too late.”
Ohhhhh.
That
Cassandra. Right. “What a lovely story. It wasn’t depressing or anything. Thank you so much for sharing it with me.”
“My point, wretched child, is that I think what Apollo did was a good thing. I don’t think we should know too much about the future in general, never mind all the details of our own.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not the only one.”
“Really?” Mom looked as surprised as I’d seen in a while. “That’s curious, I always thought your husband would have—”
“I was thinking of Laura.”
“Yes, I was going to ask you about that. How did she like hell?”
“A lot,” I said glumly. “She’s got wings in hell. Big pretty brown wings. And the first half dozen times she actually made a real effort to use her powers, instead of hiding from them, she did things I think only God should be able to do. What’s she going to be like when she gets
good
at all that scary stuff?”
“Perhaps you should check the book.”
“Can’t. Laura took it and hid it.”
“She did
what
?” Mom squawked.
I had to grin. That had been my exact reaction. “Yep. And she won’t give it back. She said there are things I shouldn’t know, and if there was trouble ahead, she was powerful enough to handle it, and if
she
wasn’t, her mother was. Like I want Satan involved
any further
in my life! Or hers, frankly.”
“Hmmm. That’s very curious, isn’t it?”
“Curious psychotic, curious maddening, curious I should make a citizen’s arrest . . . what?”
“During your field trip to the netherworld, she understood you would have a new ability on your return, yes?”
“Sure.”
“You finish your gallivanting through time. She helps you go home, then goes . . . where?”
“She can only teleport to different times and places from hell. She can get into hell, and then go somewhere else. But she can’t teleport from, say, your living room to my kitchen. Hell’s like . . . like the bus stop where she buys the ticket she needs to go where she needs.”
“How poetic.”
“You’re the worst mother in the history of mothers.”
“No, Medea has that distinction. And Diane Downs.” Mom was a true crime fan; she thought Ann Rule pretty much invented the genre. “So am I to guess you don’t know where she went once she dropped you off?”
“I made a few guesses, but I didn’t know for sure.”
“But some time later you called her, asked her to come over, yes?”
“Yeah.” I was having trouble seeing where Mom was going. I knew all this, and now she knew all this, but what was the point of the rehash?
“Something happened between the trip back from hell and her visit to your home. Suddenly she doesn’t think you should
have
the book, much less read it. That’s what I call curious.”
“So you’re saying . . .” Uh. Nope. I still hadn’t gotten there.
My mother took pity on her dunce cap–eligible daughter. “She found out something. Or was told something. And whatever it was, it had a radical effect on her attitude toward the book.”
It took me a minute to catch on, but when I got it, it was like my brain suddenly gained weight.
“Holy shit!” I almost screamed. I was so shocked I didn’t feel mom’s spoon rap my knuckles again.
“Please.” Wap! “A little decorum.”
“The devil must have told her!” I held up my hand when Mom started to speak. “No, she didn’t
find out
anything. The devil told her something big-time juicy, and then Laura . . . ohhhh, that bitch. Oh my God. Mom, you’re brilliant.”
“No, just logical.”
“I gotta go. I gotta go ten minutes ago.”
“You be careful.”
“I’m trying. Sinclair’s sticking pretty close. Except for right now, but that’s my fault, not his.” Sinclair. Nuts. I looked at my watch. “I said I’d be back in an hour, and throwing Clive across the lawn took up valuable time that I could have used eating more bucket booze. Gotta go, gotta go.”
I stood. We wrestled for the nearly empty bucket for a moment, then I let her have it. There were just a few scrapings on the bottom left, anyway. “Remember what I said. Wear a cross, all the time. No outings with Marc. And Mom . . . keep the shotgun loaded and in your room when you’re sleeping.” My mom taught me how to hunt when I was a kid; she was one of the best shots in the state. She was to a twelve gauge what a gourmet chef was to shallots. “All the time, until I figure out what’s going to happen. Or someone figures it out for me.” That tended to work pretty well for me. No complaints.
“And you mind
me
, Elizabeth. I can’t think of a single myth or movie where someone found out their future and
didn’t
regret it. Laura may have the right idea.”
“Traitor.”
One thing about my mom . . . she was unflappable to the extreme. When I came back from the dead she was so overjoyed she didn’t give a tin shit about the details. When I explained I was a vampire, she was happy because it meant I’d never die a mundane, preventable death (like, say, getting run over by a Pontiac Aztek).
Now I’d told her about visiting hell and the past, and that she should watch out for a man she liked and trusted, and explained a priceless artifact was in the hands of the Antichrist, and that I’d be doing my best to confront the devil as soon as possible. And all she had to say about all of that was the Dr. Taylor equivalent of
watch your ass and keep me posted, good-bye
.
“Want to peek on the baby before you go?”
I was way too tempted. “I better not. I’m already so tempted to bundle him up and take him back with me.” I was tempted to tell her BabyJon grew up to be a fine man, maybe even some kind of superhero since he was running around a thousand years from now. And again, I held back. It wasn’t lost on me that Mom had mentioned more than once that it wasn’t cool to know the future. She was making her stance on it clear to me, without coming out and saying it in so many words. “Give him a squeeze for me.”
Mom smiled as she rose up and I bent down—she was a curly-haired shrimp—and she kissed me on the cheek. “That’s part of parenting. When you do what’s best for someone else instead of what you want.”
“In that case, parenting blows.”
She snorted. “Tell me.” Then she waved. She waved until I’d pulled out, backed up, popped it back into drive, and was all the way down the street; she waved until I couldn’t see her in the rearview anymore.
It was weird. I hadn’t done anything, and I hadn’t been able to give her any useful answers. In fact, I’d be having nightmares about Clive and the porch clinch for years to come. Still, I felt a lot better.
I guess even vampire queens needed their moms now and again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
 
I gritted my teeth and texted Sinclair I was on the way back.
Hate, hate, hate texting. In addition to being a ticket to a body bag if you did it while driving, it was rude (“If you don’t put that down, I’m going to turn your phone into a suppository.”), and disruptive (“Darling, will you do me the honor of becoming my—hold up, I’m getting a text from my dog groomer . . . No! Look,
look
at the picture he sent my phone! Mitzy is a poodle, not a dachshund . . . Do you know how long it’ll take her fur to grow back? Do you? Huh?”). But it was beyond mean to let him worry. So I did the dirty, dirty deed, then started the car and pulled out of the driveway.
I never drive and text and, as far as I’d been able to tell, I’m the only person in the state who does this.
Twice in three months I had to stand on my brakes (Sinclair’s brakes) and watch, stunned, as the driver cruised straight through a red light, their gaze glued to the teeny screen in their hand. Horns as Vengeance 101 tended to get their attention. I was tough to ignore during the best of circumstances (it’s wrong that I’m proud of that), never mind when I was smashing my fists on the horn and leaning out the window to shriek, “Get your head out of your ass or
I will find you
!”
Whew. Just thinking about texting prevalence made me nuts all over again. If I were capable of it, I’d be having heart palpitations.
Quietly, from the backseat: “Hi?”
I screamed and heard the steering wheel actually groan as my grip tightened.
“Hi? Betsy?”
Then I made things worse by twisting around to see who was in my backseat. A serial killer, of course; the way my week was going there was no other explanation.
This is it. I’m about to be murdered and killed, which after meeting Clive I almost welcome. The regrets are eating me alive! I never texted Sinclair that I loved him; I only texted him I was on the way home. My texts are brutal; they’re an emotional Arctic Ocean. Lord, please eventually let him find love again with a woman who isn’t as hot as me.
The only question left was, did the killer behind me have an axe, or was one of his hands a hook? (You gotta love the classics.)
All this stuff happened in my head in a quarter of a second, and as a result while I was taking roll call for the backseat, I drove into a lamp post. The whole car shuddered and jerked to a stop with the impact. It rained glass for half a moment; things seemed very bright and fast, then dark and sluggish. The pool of light created by the street lamp vanished and it rained more glass. My seat belt tried its best to strangle me, and whoever was in my backseat was trying to induce my death by freak-out.
“Are you going to get Antonia now?” Garrett asked hopefully. “There’s not much time left before sunrise.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say to me?” I knew he was an uncomplicated and single-minded creature, but sheesh.
“You prick.
Why didn’t you say something?” I unbuckled my seat belt, gave my car door a shove, then stood shakily in the street.
The hood was accordianed back almost to the windshield, and I could smell so much gas, oil, and hot metal it was almost unbearable. I didn’t think the neighbors were in danger; I doubt any of them could smell it as strongly as I could. Didn’t seem to be bothering Garrett, though, which I found annoying.
I coughed and swayed and said it again. “You prick. Lurking in my backseat? Are you out of your—scratch that . . . gah, Sinclair will not be pleased, and neither will our insurance company, Garrett, c’mon, jeez, I can’t—you shouldn’t—what the
hell
?” Hmm. I was sounding a little shrill. And feeling a little bitey.
“I told you I was in the back.” He was calm and unruffled, if shy. Meanwhile, I felt like I might fly into a zillion pieces, all of them in a bad mood. “I told you the second you got in. You couldn’t hear me. So I said it louder. But you couldn’t hear me again.”
BOOK: Undead and Undermined
10.06Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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