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Authors: MaryJanice Davidson

BOOK: Undead and Unfinished
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“Huh?”
He leaned back and glanced down the hallway. “Ah! There you are. You sure you’re up for it?” He straightened and smiled at me. “Okay, so, technically I’m a fucker of the star’s best friend, pardon the crudity.” He leaned back out in the hall. “We can stay home if you want.”
“Home?” I was having a terrible time following the conversation(s).
“Yes, home, our domicile—technically your domicile, but last I checked, even with Jessica and me staying here, there are still about thirty guest rooms left. Hiya, gorgeous.”
“I’m so hungry,” Jessica moaned, appearing in the doorway beside Nick. “Oh, hey, you’re back. You want to come to dinner? Manny’s? You can watch me eat a steak, and I can watch you drink daiquiris.”
I stared.
“Betsy?”
I stared.
“Not that I care either way, but you haven’t fed in a while, prob’ly ... am I right?”
I pointed at Jessica’s enormous belly. She was a stick with a ball. I always knew, when she got pregnant, she’d be a stick with a ball. “That—that—”
“What? I
said
I’d give you the ultrasound picture. And I said you could tape the birth if you promise not to go foaming barking mad when you smell all the blood. Now are you coming to dinner or not?”
“Not,” I said through numb lips.
Nick patted her stomach and gestured in the direction of the front hall. “Your chariot awaits, my pregnant goddess of love.”
“What, are you
trying
to make me barf? I’ve had six months of morning sickness and you’re trying to make me barf? Cops are weird.” They turned to leave; Jessica glanced back and added, “Welcome back.”
“It’s . . . it’s nice to be back.” I could feel an incredulous, stupid grin spreading across my face. “It’s really, really nice to be back.”
Chapter 74
O
kay. I wasn’t going to pretend I had any idea what had just happened. But it was all good, so I’d get the gory details later. For one thing,
she
was knocked up, and
he
was happy as a clam with a detective’s badge, but neither of them wore wedding rings.
I had
tons
of gossip to catch up with, and couldn’t wait. But first, my bag, my shower, and my—
“I did hear you!” Tina came in, looking adorable in a floor-length black woolen skirt and a lavender long-sleeved T-shirt. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail. Black Christian Dior gladiator sandals (my Christmas gift to her last year) on her delicate feet completed the picture.
And the little portrait, of course. The small painting, no more than an inch long, looped over her wrist by a blue satin ribbon.
The portrait I’d seen once before. The portrait I’d never seen . . . on
Tina’s
wrist.
“I’m glad you’re back, Majesty. Ah, you look beautiful, but you have dirt on your nose. When you have a moment, I’d like your signature on some accounts His Majesty wants you to be able to access. I know,” she added, holding up a small hand, palm out, like a traffic cop. “What’s his is his, and what’s yours is yours, and he doesn’t own you, and he should keep his own money, yes, yes. But he wants you to have legal access to everything he owns, and now that the sale on the Brazilian pineapple plantation has come through, he has another revenue stream he’d like you to—ah. Majesty? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I didn’t know. Tina, I swear I didn’t—” I took a staggering step toward her and completely lost my feet; I ended up crouching in front of her. She looked startled and embarrassed, and tried to move to help me up—she clearly didn’t dig queens kneeling at her feet—but I seized her hands and squeezed, clinging as though they were the anchor line and I was the drowning dumbass and she was the anchor. “I didn’t!”
“My queen—”
“I never made the connection. I couldn’t understand—neither of us could understand—why we ended up in Salem where we didn’t know anybody.”
“Majesty—”
“I didn’t mean to play God with your great-great-great-great-great-great-great—how many?—never mind, I didn’t mean to wreck her life, Tina, even though I probably did. I just wanted to help, but I messed it all up. I think helping her maybe wrecked the future. But maybe not; I don’t
know,
that’s the awful part, but I’d never have hurt you. I mean her. I really did want to help, and it’s my screw-up and not Laura’s. Laura tried to stop me. I swear it on my—on myself.”
“Wreck? Oh. You—wreck?” Her eyes, her beautiful big pansy eyes went wider than ever—she was practically turning into an anime cartoon right there in front of me. “You could never—you
did
never. I thought you understood. His Majesty explained you would be back soon and we could tell you what we knew. We didn’t
want
to keep things from you.” She anxiously scanned my face. “You understand, don’t you?”
“What—you could tell me what you knew?”
“Caroline remembered you, of course. Both of you. My great-great grandmother remembered the two very tall, very beautiful blondes who dressed strangely and spoke even more strangely.
“She remembered everything the angels—for so she believed you to be—everything the angels said. She went away shaken but grateful. She left Massachusetts and settled farther west, happy to have her life and her wits.
“And she told her daughter what happened to her. How faith can become first a shield, then a club. She told her girl child how the angels saved her from a cruel mob and a crueler death. And her daughter told
her
daughter, who told me. It was my favorite bedtime story, the only one I never tired of.” She paused. “It was Erin’s favorite as well.”
I was still clinging to her hands, still staring up at her and wishing I was human enough to cry real tears. But I wasn’t, and never would be again. Instead, what was waiting for me down a tunnel of centuries was the woman who had no friends, only soldiers. The woman who made the Marc-Thing, or allowed the Marc-Thing to be made, and didn’t know where her husband was or
if
he was, and didn’t care.
“Tina, I shouldn’t have. I didn’t know, but that’s exactly my point. I
didn’t
know, which should have been all the reason I needed to steer clear of another life.”
Tina pulled one hand out of my clutches, and I let her. For a second I thought she was going to haul off and give me a well-deserved belt on the jaw. Instead, she carefully turned one of my hands in hers, palm up, and bent forward and kissed it. Then she folded my fingers over her kiss and speared me with her dark gaze. Her long blonde waves had come loose—her hair was everywhere, but I was too busy looking into her eyes to shake it out of my way.
“My dear dark queen,” she said, and gifted me with the warmest smile I’d ever seen on her face. “I have always known.”
She let me cry on her lap for a long time.
Chapter 75
A
fter an embarrassingly long time, I pulled myself together, accepted a hug from Tina, ran my fingers through my (dirty) hair, and sighed. “Okay. That was cathartic.”
“My! Your face is even dirtier now.”
“You don’t have to sound so happy about it”
“No, I suppose not” She wasn’t laughing at me ... barely. “Would you like a smoothie?”
“I would
love
a smoothie, and then we have to talk. I mean, I have to find Sinclair first and apologize, but then we have to talk. When I left the house? Jessica wasn’t pregnant, and Nick hated me.”
“Really?” Tina’s eyes were wide and curious. “That’s . . . difficult to imagine. My. You
do
have stories to tell, don’t you?”
Ah ... some stories, yeah. But not all.
“I’ll go get some started . . . Nick left what appears to be three dozen grocery bags in the kitchen. With your permission, Majesty.” She wandered off, muttering to herself “How we’ll eat them all without His Majesty finding out or some of the berries going bad I do
not
know . . .”
Okay. Time to get my ass upstairs, take a shower, change my—my—
My letter!
I sank to my knees, clawing open the bag and rummaging through clean panties to find the letter Sinclair had left for me. Since I knew I’d fucked up and wanted to apologize, now would be the time to read it. And since he and Tina seemed to know exactly where I’d gone, and what I’d been up to . . .
I ripped it open with trembling fingers and read it right there on the parlor floor.
My own, my dearest Queen,
 
You have been gone less than four hours and I can scarcely bear it. I disliked avoiding you and letting you journey through time not knowing you had my support and admiration and, always always, my love. I did not like it, though I know it was necessary to both my past as the son of murdered farmers and brother to a murdered twin, and my future as a reigning monarch.
More: it was necessary to bring you into my life. There is nothing I would not endure a thousand thousand times to be certain that would come about.
My sister would have loved you, as I love you. I will regret to the end of my days that you and she could never meet . . . again. How well we remembered your visit when we were children! How you enchanted my beloved twin and cast your spell on me!
How grateful I am that you made me strong.
Elizabeth, your charm and your power come from the simple fact that you have no idea how powerful you have always been. This is the sort of thing that makes me love you while fighting the urge to strangle you.
H
e was right! I knew what that expression looked like. I’d seen it a zillion times in the last few years. Sort of like constipation paired with a sugar rush.
By now many of your questions about my past have likely been answered.
Y
eah, you could say that.
But if any questions remain, I will answer them. If you require any information on any topic with which I am familiar, I shall provide you with all you need in the best way I can.
The time to keep secrets from you is over, Your footprints can be found throughout our lives; you have always been in our lives, and at last you can know it, to our gratitude and joy. Knowing this, we have counted the minutes until your return to your proper place in time.
Should this be at all unclear, I shall say it straight out: your place is at my side, and will always be, whether it is sixty years ago or five thousand years from now.
In this, as in all things, I am your devoted husband, servant, and monarch.
My own, how I miss you.
Sink Lair.
M
y hand spasmed and the note crumpled in my fist. I gasped and tried to smooth it out, which would have been tricky even if I hadn’t been crying. The nickname he hated! He’d signed it with the nickname he hated!
More: he let me go to hell, even though he knew I was going to be hip deep in all kinds of crap. For a macho control-freak, old-fashioned chauvinist like my husband, for him to stand back and let all that happen, let me face all sorts of danger and bad smells . . . well.
“Ah, I not only heard your dulcet voice but followed the smell of grime.” I looked up. Sinclair was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “Your face is smudged, my own. And I must apologize for picking such an ugly, pointless argument to make you think—”
“Shut up!”
He blinked. “As you wish.”
“And fuck me!”
He blinked again. Had he developed a nervous twitch while I was gone? “As you wish.”
And just like that, I was in his arms. Just like that, we went staggering all over the parlor, kissing hungrily, biting, licking, yanking at our clothes, tripping over the end table (twice) and the couch (once), until we finally realized we should just stay on the floor.
My shredded leggings were more shredded, and Sinclair was trying to rip his tie off without strangling himself more than I accidentally had. I’m not sure why he was bothering, since his white dress shirt was in several pieces on the carpet . . . force of habit, maybe?
“My own, my dear, my Elizabeth,
my
Elizabeth, how I missed you.”
“Less talk,” I panted, levering my hips off the floor to meet his. “More dick.”
He laughed into my mouth. “As you—ah. That’s . . . really quite lovely.”
“Gawd, it sounds like a herd of pissed-off jaguars in here. What the—aw, dammit!”
Marc was in the doorway, arms akimbo. “Oh, come on! You know how long it’s been since I got laid? I’ve been lugging BabyJon to every Gymboree in town just to meet someone who’ll be my favorite bad choice!”

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