Undead and Unappreciated (17 page)

“S
o.” I cleared my throat. “How 'bout those demonic powers?”

Laura wolfed down the last of her blueberry muffin. We were at the Caribou Coffee in Apple Valley, snarfing down muffins (well, she was) and white tea. After last night, I'd been tempted to cancel on her and spend the night in bed with Eric, but how many half sisters did I have? One, so far.

“Betsy, do you have something on your mind?”

“No, no. Well, maybe.”

Laura's big blue eyes shone with reproach, which would have made me feel worse if there hadn't been crumbs sticking to her lower lip. “Everybody has secrets, Betsy. You most of all.”

I handed her a napkin. “Hey, I'm totally open about my disgusting covert vampire lifestyle.”

She laughed.

“Look, I just met you a few days ago, right? Heck, I just
found out
about you a few days ago. I couldn't think of a way to blurt out the whole ‘I'm dead' thing without weirding you out. Or making you think I skipped my meds.”

“You'd be surprised what does and doesn't weird me out.”

“Hey, I was there, okay? I would totally not be surprised. Well, not that surprised. Look, let's do a
quid po ko
, okay?”

“I think,” she said gently, “you mean
quid pro quo
.”

“Right, right. Let's do one of those. I'll tell you something weirdly secret about me, and then you do the same.”

“Um…”

“Oh, come on,” I coaxed. “We're sisters, we have to get to know each other.”

She fiddled with her glass. “Okay. You go first.”

“Okay. Um…last night wasn't the first time a bunch of moody vampires tried to kill me.”

She nodded. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“Now it's your turn.”

“Ah…when I was eight I stole a plastic whistle from Target.”

“Laura!”

She cringed. “I know, I know. I felt so bad about it after-ward I told my mom and my minister. Who was also my dad.”

“For heaven's sake, what kind of morbid confession is that? I'm talking about really awful sinful evil stuff.”

“Stealing
is
a sin.”

I rested my forehead on the table. “I mean really bad stuff. Not kid stuff. Because I have something to tell you, and I can't do it if I don't feel a little closer to you.”

Her eyes went round with curiosity. “Why can't you?”

Because I sucked at telling people intimate things about themselves. “Because I…I just have to.”

“Well, why don't you just go ahead?” She patted the top of my head. “Just get it off your chest. You'll feel better.”

“Okay. Well. You know how your mom is the devil and all…?” Her lips thinned, but I plunged ahead. “And you know how—wait a minute.
How
do you know your mom is the devil?”

“My parents told me.”

“Your mom and the minister?” I was trying not to gape at her, and failing.

“Yes.”

“How did
they
know?”

“She told them. I think she thought it would be funny. That they would get rid of me. And she…the devil…appeared to me when I was thirteen.” I noticed she didn't say “my mother.” In fact, her lips were pressed together so tightly, they had almost disappeared. “She told me everything. About possessing a—no offense, a woman of poor character—”

“None taken. At all.”

“—and how it was my destiny to take over the world and how she was proud of me because I wasn't like anyone else—”

The milk glass broke in her hands. It had been mostly empty, but a little bit spilled onto the table, and I frantically blotted. Meanwhile, Laura was getting pretty worked up.

“And it's not up to her, you know? It's not up to her at all! It's my life, and I don't give a—a
crap
about destiny or any of it. It doesn't mean anything anyway! I don't have to be bad, and it's not how I was raised. S
he
didn't raise me, my mother and father did, and
she
doesn't get to decide how I live my life, and that's how it is, that's how it is, that is
exactly how it is
!”

This would have sounded like a normal antiparent rant from any teenager, except while she was shouting, Laura's honey blond hair shaded to a deep, true red and her big blue eyes went poison green. I was leaning away from her as far as I could get without actually falling on the floor, and she was screaming into my face.

“Okay,” I said. I would have held up my hands to placate her, but if I let go, I'd be on my ass on the floor in Caribou Coffee. “Okay, Laura. It's okay. Nobody's making you do anything.”

She calmed a little. “I'm sorry. I just—she makes me crazy. So crazy.”

“It's okay.”

“I'm not like that.”

“Okay.”

“I won't be like that.”

“Okay, Laura.” I watched in fascination as her hair lightened and lightened until it was back to blond, as her eyes went from squinty and green to big and blue.

“It's like I said before. I don't think your parents define who you are.”

“Definitely not.” I was trying to look around the coffee shop without her seeing. How had nobody noticed her transformation? “I didn't mean to get you upset.”

“It's not your fault.” She was nervously picking up the pieces of the glass and piling them into a napkin. “I'm—I guess I'm a little sensitive on that subject.”

Well, I won't be broaching
that
one again, Red, not to worry.

“So, uh, thanks again for your help last night.” I tugged on a hank of her (blond?) hair. “I couldn't have done it without you.”

She didn't smile back. “Yes, I know.”

“I
have got to meet this woman!” Jessica gasped.

“It was unreal,” I announced. “Totally, massively unreal. Honestly, I was afraid to take my eyes off her. And then she got over it and she was as nice as chocolate pie again.”

“Huh. Did scary magical stuff happen?”

“Nothing besides the evil hair and colored contacts. Oh, and she gorged herself on four more muffins.”

“That is evil.”

“I know! She's as thin as a stick.”

Jessica handed George a navy blue skein of yarn. We were in the basement, where she had fixed up his little concrete room with curtains (duct-taped to the walls), a mattress, lots of blankets, and about sixty pillows. An entire corner of the room had been taken up with a rainbow of crochet chains. George only knew one stitch. Still, the fact that he was stitching and not stabbing was a relief.

He didn't seem to mind Jessica poking around in his room, though we were careful—she was never alone with him. As long as I fed him regularly, he didn't even sniff in her direction. So she read to him, brought him yarn, tempted him with smoothies (which he disdained), and in general found him fascinating. He was keeping clean, too, and showering on his own. I'd borrowed lots of clothes for him from Marc and Eric, though he refused socks and underpants. He took the yarn she offered, slipped off the paper covering, and started to roll it into a ball.

I finished Noxema-ing my face—I might be eternally young, but vampires got dirty faces just like everyone else. Those little disposable towelettes were a godsend; I kept a ton in my purse. “I guess we'll have to keep an eye on her.”

“You didn't figure that out after the mysterious weapons of hellfire?”

“Yeah, but now I
really
want to keep an eye on her. I mean, it's great that she turned her back on her destiny—”

“But can you really?” Jessica asked quietly.

“Exactly. I mean, look at Eric and me. I swore we'd never be together, but—”

“Your inner whore would not be denied,” she finished.

“That is
not
what I was going to say.”

“Sure,” she sneered.

“You know, you could go back to not talking to me again.”

“You wish.”

 

Two hours later, I was just getting to the part in the movie where Rhett sweeps a struggling Scarlett up the stairs when the phone at my elbow rang. Oooh, Clark Gable! I was normally not a fan of facial hair, but he was the exception to the rule. Those lips, those eyes! And the phone was still ringing. Nuts. I had to do everything myself.

I picked it up, gaze still riveted to the screen. “Hello?”

“Good evening, Your Majesty. I hope you don't mind my calling instead of seeing you in person, but there's so much to do, I'm a little short on time.”

“Who the hell is this?”

“It's Andrea,” she said, sounding worried.

“Oh, right. That was a test, Andrea. And you just passed.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I was just calling to make sure you had everything you needed for tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night?”

“My wedding,” Andrea prompted me thinly.

“Oh. Oh! Right! Your wedding. I totally didn't forget about it again. Wow, tomorrow's Halloween already, huh?”

“No. Tomorrow is the rehearsal.”

“Right, right. Well, I guess we'll see you tomorrow.”

“My father can't make it, and my mother is out of the country…” She trailed off. I happened to know (from Tina, who was a remarkably tactful but accurate gossip) that Andrea's parents thought she was still dead. Well, none of my business.

“Hey,” I said suddenly. “Do you mind if my sister comes?” Laura would get a kick out of it, not to mention Operation Keep an Eye on the Spawn of Satan would be a lot easier. And if there was a sudden wedding coup, she'd come in handy. “It's up to you, it's your wedding, but—”

“Your—no, of course not. I'd be honored. Any of your family members are welcome.”

“That's nice of you, but I put my foot down with my mom.”

“Ma'am, that's not necessary.”

“No, it totally is. She's looking at this from a cultural perspective, and I can just tell she's dying to corner Tina and grill her about Life Back Then.”

“Truly, Your Majesty. I don't mind.” Andrea sounded like she was cheering up. “Someone's mother should be there.”

“Oh.” When you put it that way. “Well, okay. I'll let her know. She'll be thrilled. Sincerely.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Yep, she had definitely cheered up. I felt a little better. It was bad enough that my dad knew I was dead and ignored me. What must it be like for her?

For that matter, what must it be like to outlive your whole family? Not that it was Andrea's problem yet, but it would be. It was Tina's and Sinclair's right now, and had been for years. Someday it would be mine. Mom, Dad, the Ant, Jessica, Marc…all gone. Laura, too? I didn't know. With her fiendish powers and low cholesterol, she could live for five hundred years.

I shook it off. “So we'll see you tomorrow, then. Say hi to Daniel for me.”

“I will. Good night, Majesty.”

I hung up and hit the Stop button on the DVD player. Yikes! The wedding! Time to go shopping before I forgot about it again.

S
atan appeared to me while I was sipping a medium Orange Julius and flipping through that month's
Real Simple.
There was a small sitting area near the Orange Julius stand (technically, it was Cinnabon's property) and I was relaxing and pondering where to go next—Nordstrom or GapBaby.

I'd found a black cashmere dress to go with my purple pumps, but I was still watching out for the perfect accessory. And there was the gestating baby to consider; it wasn't a minute too soon to try to counteract the Ant's tacky taste.

Suddenly, there she was, sitting across from me. The devil. Satan. The lord of lies. And it wasn't any big shock—I'd known it would be coming. And I instantly knew who she was. Some things you just know, the way you just know you shouldn't wear true black mascara because it makes your eyes look small and squinty.

The devil, in case you ever wanted to know, is a woman in her late forties. Today, she was wearing a dark gray suit that buttoned up the front and looked almost military, black panty hose, and plain black pumps. Her hair was a rich chocolate brown, with steaks of silver at the temples, and done up in an elegant bun. Her eyes were very black. Her ears weren't pierced; in fact, the devil wore no jewelry at all.

She studied me from across the table for a few moments. Finally she said, “You are the vampire queen.”

It wasn't a question, so I guessed she wasn't taking a poll. I wiped my mouth. “Uh…yeah.”

“Elizabeth Taylor.”

“Yes.” From pure force of habit, I checked out her shoes again…then looked one more time. What I had first taken for plain black pumps were in fact Roger Vivier comma heels. Vivier customized footwear for celebrities; his shoes were literally one of a kind. Queen Elizabeth had worn a pair to her coronation. I was looking at hand-tooled shoes with garnets in the heels.

Circa 1962. Only sixteen pairs were made.

They were the holy grail of footgear.

“Wh—where did you get those?”

The devil gave me a wintry smile. “Would you like them?”

Yes! No. Would I sell my soul for shoes? Of course not. The very idea was absurd. And the gleam of the garnets didn't call to me, the very idea of selling my teeny little soul wasn't a bargain at any…no!

“And you are half sibling to my daughter, Favored of the Morning Star?”

“What? Oh, you mean Laura? Right, that's what the Book called her. I guess ‘Spawn of Satan' didn't have as nice a ring to it.”

The devil had a superb poker face. “The Book. You shouldn't have tried to destroy it.”

Tried
to? One thing at a time. “Yeah, well, it didn't go with anything else in the library.”

“That sort of thing could be considered blasphemy. Consider the average Catholic's reaction if the Pope threw a first-edition Bible into the Mississippi River. Now consider the message you just sent to your servants.”

“They aren't my servants.”

“Wait.”

“Look, can we get back on topic? You were asking about Laura? Thanks
so
much for helping us at Scratch, by the way.”

“I'm more of a watcher than a doer,” Satan admitted. “Besides, I knew the two of you would prevail. In fact, the two of you combined are virtually unstoppable. Virtually.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

This was the devil.
The
devil! The worst creature in the whole universe. The reason people killed their husbands and ran over little kids in the road and drank too much and did drugs and raped and murdered and lied and cheated and stole. So I admit I was a bit cautious, even if the devil did look weirdly like Lena Olin.

“He still loves you, you know.”

“Yep, I sure do know.”

“In case you were having doubts. It seems to me that it's been a rough couple of weeks for you, so I'll set you straight on that, at least: He will always love you.”

“Yes, I know.”

(Later, Jessica would ask me, “Who was she talking about?” and I would tell her, “God. She was talking about God.” This weirded out the vampires, but Jess thought it was very fine. As for me, I'd always known the truth. Yeah, it had been a bad couple of weeks, but I'd never doubted
that
.)

She sniffed. “It's too bad. My daughter has the same problem. You could have been formidable.
She
still will be.”

“I wouldn't bet the farm on that one.”

“I love to bet.” She studied me, her blue eyes narrowing. Er, hadn't they been brown a minute ago? “Definitely a shame. You might have been someone to contend with. You still could be, if you jettison a few silly ideas.”

“Oh, I don't mind,” I assured the devil. “That was never, you know, a career goal or anything.”

“Humph.” The devil narrowed her hazel eyes. “Your stepmother was the perfect vessel for me.”

“Oh, I'm sure,” I said truthfully.

“And your father is a fool.”

Okay, now I was starting to get a little annoyed. What'd I ever do to the devil? Besides not be completely and foully evil all the time? And not sell my soul for her shoes? Which I hadn't entirely ruled out yet. “Are we going to talk about anything I haven't figured out for myself? Because I was sort of hoping this would be an interesting conversation. I mean, you
do
have a reputation.”

The devil smirked. “Wretched child.”

“Look, it's kind of weirding me out to be talking to you here.”

“I have been here many times.”

“Ooooh, wow, a commentary on our grasping culture and how the mall culture is secretly the root of all evil! I'd never pick up on
that
. I've seen freight trains that were more subtle.”

The devil glared. “I was just making an observation.”

“Yeah, well, make another one.”

“You're one step up from being a moron.”

“I'm rubber and you're glue,” I told Satan, “and everything that bounces off me sticks to you.”

She narrowed her green eyes and looked like she might come over the table at me. After a long moment, she said, “Look after my Laura, if you please.”

“Well, sure.”

“I have big plans for her.”

“Okay. That's not humongously creepy or anything.”

She crossed her leg and pointed her toe up, giving me a look at the sole of her shoe. Totally unmarked. Oh, God. They were in perfect shape.

“Last chance,” the devil said.

“Get thee behind me, Lena Olin.”

She disappeared in a puff of smoke that smelled like rotten eggs. No, really. She did. And I went back to
Real Simple
. It was either that or have hysterics in the food court, and I did have some pride left.