Undead and Unreturnable (17 page)

"I agree," Laura almost snapped. "It's been a long night."

"Honey, you don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Are you still planning on meeting up tomorrow?"

"Christmas shopping," Laura agreed, calming down before my eyes. At least her hair hadn't changed color, thank goodness. "I'll meet you here at six, all right?"

"I can't
friggin
' wait," the dead woman said.

"All right," I said. "Good night."

I watched Laura drive off in her smiley-face yellow VW, which her too-good-to-be-true-but-they-really-were-good adoptive parents had saved up for three years to buy her.

I looked at the ghost, who was a couple inches shorter than me, with dark blond hair pulled back in a short ponytail. She was wearing a faded green Sea World sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows and black stretch pants. Socks. No shoes or coat. But of course, she wasn't cold.

"Why don't you come in?"

"Why don't I?" she agreed. "Thanks for the ride. I thought I was going to be stuck in
Edina forever. Talk about hell."

She walked through me into the house, which felt exactly like someone throwing a bucket of ice water in my face. "
Dammit
!" I gasped, lunging to shut the door.

"Sorry," she said smugly.

"You're back!" Jon cried.

"Jeez, let me get my coat off. And not now, okay?"

"Who's the
hottie
?" the ghost said, ogling. She passed her hand through his crotch, which, thankfully, he didn't notice.

"Stop that! It's against the law to do that even if you are dead."

"What?" Jon asked.

"I'm getting my thrills wherever I can," the ghost explained, "so off my case."

Tina had followed Jon into the entryway. "Good evening, Your Majesty. I was just on my way out."

"How many
weirdos
live in this place?" the ghost asked. "It's like
The Real World with Losers
."

"All those shows are like that," I told her. To Jon: "Seriously, not now. I've got some other errands and stuff to do before the sun comes up."

"Oh, don't mind me," the ghost sniffed. "I'm sure you'd much rather be getting naked with Super
Hottie
."

"I don't want to get naked with him, for the millionth time!"

I didn't realize it, but judging from the echoes in the entryway, I had screamed it.

"Whoa," Jon said, backing off.

"Excuse my boldness, Majesty, but do you have… a guest?"

"
Dah
-DAH-DAHHHHHHH
," the ghost hummed dramatically.

I put a hand over my eyes. "God, yes. And she's really annoying."

"Why don't you drop dead?" the ghost suggested.

"Too late," I snapped back. "See her, Tina? About this high…" I held my hand up to my nose. "Blond hair in a tacky ponytail, tacky sweatshirt, no shoes."

"If I'd known I'd have to walk around in sweat socks for eternity," the ghost protested, "I'd have dressed up a little."

"Ah, yes," Tina said, squinting and then brightening as the ghost slowly became visible to her. "Good evening, miss. My name is Tina; this is Elizabeth, The One."

"Wait a minute. I go days and days and no one can see me, and now she says so and you can, too?"

"She is my queen," Tina said simply.

"The way it works is, I'm a vampire—"

"Get out!" the ghost gasped.

"I swear!"

"I just thought you were a freak, like that kid in the movie. I didn't know you were, like, dead already."

"Well, I am, so let's not rub it in, okay?"

"Oh, I have to be sensitive to your feelings about being dead?"

"That's not what I meant," I said through gritted teeth. "And if you'll shut up a minute, I'll explain how Tina can see you. Not only am I a vampire, I'm sort of the boss of all of them. And one of the (dumb) rules is, if I see a ghost and tell a vampire to see the ghost, they can see the ghost."

"How totally lame," she commented. "It sounds made up to me."

"Well, it isn't," I snapped. "And you should be a lot nicer, in my opinion."

"Well, nobody
asked
for your opinion, honey. It's nice to meet you," she told Tina. "Can you help me?"

"
I'm
supposed to help you."

The ghost looked at me doubtfully. "Yeah, well, great. Looks like I've got all the help I need."

"Why don't we have a seat in the parlor?" Tina suggested.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Why don't we? It's the first room on your right." As we followed the ghost, I practically whispered to Tina, "Have you, uh, seen Sinclair tonight?"

"No," she murmured back. "I haven't seen him in two days. I did not wish to pry, but…"

"
Ooooooh
!" the ghost said loudly, phasing through the parlor wall. "More dramatic shenanigans."

I sighed and followed her. I took the door, though.

"First things first," the ghost said. She didn't sit down, but we did, so we were sort of staring up at her, craning our necks. "I'm dead, right? I mean, I'm pretty sure. But I just wanted to double-check."

"Yes," Tina said.

"We're sorry," I added. "For what it's worth, you were way too young. You look about my age."

"Don't flatter yourself; I'm only twenty-six. I mean, I was twenty-six." She sighed and looked through us. Literally. "I figured. The last thing I remember is this huge crash, this big light in my brain, and then all of a sudden I'm back in my neighborhood and nobody can see me. That damn dog of Antonia's pooped
through
me."

"How can we help you?" Tina asked, all business.

"Sorry about your dying," I added.

"I'll tell you how I can help," she said. "My name is Cathie Robinson, and I'm—"

"The latest victim of the Driveway Killer," Tina said. She looked at me. "The
Trib
ran a story when her—ah—when your body was found, Mrs. Robinson."

"In a parking lot, right?" she asked glumly. She sat down, phased through the couch, and disappeared into the floor. We heard a muffled "Shit!" and then she struggled back up into the parlor. "In a fucking parking lot!"

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

"Sorry," I said again, because honestly, I couldn't think of a thing to say.

"That piece of shit! That little
lowlife
!"

"Do you remember anything about… dying?" Tina asked tactfully… as tactfully as such a thing could be asked, anyway. "About where you were taken? About the killer?"

"Honey?" Cathie asked, fixing Tina with a sudden, piercing gaze. "I remember
everything
."

Tina smiled. It was awful; you could practically see her drooling at the thought of getting her fangs into the Driveway Killer. "Then at last, you're having some luck, Mrs. Robinson. A friend of ours is on the task force."

Cathie sighed and leaned back (carefully, so she wouldn't fall through the wall). "I knew there was a reason I was following you around," she told me.

"Tell us everything. We'll worry about the difficulties later."

"What difficulties? I'll tell you where he is—where he took me, anyway—and you go get him!"

"Our friend—the one on the task force—not only doesn't know we're vampires, he certainly doesn't know we can speak with the dead. Sharing this information with him without compromising our safety will be difficult."

"But we'll figure out a way," I hastily advised Cathie, who was starting to look
superpissed
. "Obviously, catching this guy is
primo
numero
uno
on our list."

"Well, I should fucking well hope so!" she snapped. "I left a family, you know. And I was a good girl—I should be in heaven right this minute. The only reason I'm still here is to help you catch that
scumshit
, that piece of shit
jerkoff
, that
assface
."

I was still admiring Cathie's rich and colorful vocabulary when I heard a familiar step in the hall.

"Tell Tina the whole story," I said hurriedly, leaping to my feet.

"Hey!" Cathie protested. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"It's much more important to tell Tina than me," I said, practically running to catch up to him. "She's, like, ten times smarter than me anyway."

"
That
I figured out on my own. But what's more important than this?"

Dead people
, I thought, darting into the entryway.
They're the most selfish people on the planet
.

"Sinclair!" I hollered. "Wait up!"

"Where—where are you going?"

"Out," he replied.

That much was obvious; he was wearing his black wool greatcoat and his Kenneth Cole shoes, which were shined to a high gloss. He was tapping his black leather gloves impatiently into his palm while he politely waited for me to Get On With It.

"Out—how come?"

"I need to feed,
Elizabeth," he said simply.

I almost reeled at the implications of that. Since we'd been together, we sort of had an unwritten rule about feeding… we only did each other.

That was the trouble with unwritten rules. Anybody could rewrite them… or ignore them.

"But… don't you want to… with me?" I couldn't believe I was asking this; me, the one who was totally
squicked
out by blood-sharing. But the thought of him finding some pretty girl… dazzling her… taking from her… and she'd fall in love with him of course… and then what would he do? Keep her?

It wasn't like he hadn't done it before. Hell, he used to have a harem of girls who
loooooooved
it when he drank from them. He gave them all tons of money and sent them on their way when he moved in, and that was that. Nice and neat.