Wolf at the Door (16 page)

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Authors: MaryJanice Davidson

BOOK: Wolf at the Door
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“How wise of you to know it.”
“Uh . . . how are you walking around in daylight?”
“Call it a perk of royalty.”
“I call it freaky and big-time strange. Aren’t you going to, I dunno, try to bite me, or threaten me with hideous mutilation, or something?”
“Make sure Ghost has the address. You might want to give her directions, just in case. Or you could just drive her straight over.”
“Sure,” he said, beyond mystified. “I’ll get right on that.”
“Excellent. Oh, and young man? If I catch you skulking near my love even once more, I will pull your spine out through your mouth.”
Now that was more like it! “Do your worst, you foul nightstalking ghoul of the . . . where’d you go?”
The guy had done a total Batman . . . left while Edward was still getting his bearings.
If not for the awful thing he’d found out, it would have been the most exciting encounter of his life. Well. After bluff sex.
Thirty-two
 
He’d had his cell on him, of course, and as he walked back to his car, he pulled it out, preparing to do as he was bid, when it rang in his hand.
Boo!
“Hello? Boo?”
“I apologize for intruding, but I must hear about your date. How did it go?”
Not Boo. He sighed and replied, “My Yoda socks were a huge hit.”
He could practically hear Gregory’s groan of horror all the way from the coast. “I specifically told you
not
to wear them.”
“Shows what you know, because she went wild with lust at the very sight of them. I don’t want to talk about her. Can I talk to Boo?”
“You had a nice time with the young lady?”
“Sure.” Gigantic understatement.
It was great, until I found out she was the vampire queen.
“And I’ve never, ever seen anyone (ever!) suck down so much raw seafood in my life. She’s from Mass; she loves the fresh stuff. Listen, I gotta talk to Boo, okay? Right now.”
“Alas, we are still basking in the afterglow of—”
“Greg. Right now, I’m not kidding.
Put her. On. The phone.
”
He could almost feel Gregory’s perplexity and sympathized.
He’s never heard my no-bullshit tone of voice before. Probably surprised because I sounded so cool and steely. Like Darth Vader, except without the respirator. No, like Lee Majors! The Six Million Dollar Man!
Luckily, Gregory did as he was commanded, saving Edward from more steely talk, and then he heard Boo’s familiar, “What’s up, moron? We were about to head out. What’s wrong, you forget to pack your Wonder Woman Underoos?”
“I kept telling you, those weren’t mine. I was holding them for a friend.”
“Ha! Trapped in another lie. I didn’t believe it then, and I sure as shit don’t believe it now. You can’t expect me—”
“Boo, shut the fuck up.”
She was so surprised, she did.
Thank God she’s fifteen hundred miles away . . . like I need a broken nose on top of everything else.
“It’s bad, Boo, I’m pretty sure.”
“Tell me,” she said at once, all traces of teasing gone.
“They’ve got a zombie.”
“I thought you said
they’ve got a zombie
.”
“I absolutely said
they’ve got a zombie
. I met him, face-to-face. And I must say, for a zombie, he looks pretty good.” Shit, the zombie was better looking than he was, with those green eyes and the black hair. And the scrubs . . . Women probably went nuts for his zombie MD ass. “But that’s not even the bad part.”
“Great. Hit me.”
“I’ve seen it—him? Not sure how I should refer to him-or-it. Anyway, I’ve seen him-or-it hanging around the mansion . . . you know, vamp HQ? With the vampire queen? And I’ve also seen him with a pregnant woman.”
“I didn’t even know there
were
zombies,” Boo admitted. “And I’ve been killing the undead for over a decade.”
“Neither did I, as of twelve hours ago. But it wasn’t as alarming as it could have been. Let’s face it, when you hear the word
zombie
, you kind of expect the worst.”
“No, Eddie,” Boo said, kindly enough. “When
you
hear the word
zombie
, you expect the worst. When Greg or I or a normal person hears the word
zombie
, we assume it’s because George Romero is still cranking out the franchise.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Edward was privately impressed Boo even knew who George Romero was.
Years of living with the Geek King actually made an impression on her! Who’da thunk it?
“This one wasn’t gross or anything. He didn’t try to eat my brain.”
“He knew your feeble brain wouldn’t even rate as an appetizer. What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know. I’m worried—I’m not sure—”
“Come on, Ed. I know you have a series of increasingly outlandish theories, but in the interests of time, and my patience, just run through the highlights, okay?”
“Okay. I’m worried they’re sacrificing babies. Why else would a zombie hang with a pregnant woman in a mansion ruled by a vampire queen? I’m scared that the vampire queen is running this whole evil baby ring. I can’t prove a fucking thing, though.”
“You don’t have to,” she said at once. “This isn’t one of Gregory’s
SVU
reruns.”
In the background, Edward heard Gregory’s sharp retort: “Say nothing against
SVU
or Mariska Hargitay, woman, if you ever want to have sex with me again.”
“Blow me, fangirl. Listen, Ed, your theory’s good enough for me. If you’re right, I gotta get going. And if you’re wrong, I’m out a few hours of travel time, so what’s the harm? Okay, I’ll be obligated to give you tons of unrelenting shit for years and years to come if this turns out to be a false alarm or a fever dream or whatever, and I’ll definitely beat you up a little, but better that than overlooking some sort of . . . of . . .”
“Vamp-run evil baby zombie ring,” Edward supplied.
“Just hearing you say that makes me tired.” She sighed. “But tough shit, right? If I didn’t want the job, I probably should have gotten around to quitting.”
Edward wasn’t sure if vampire slayers
could
quit—what would Boo do if not that? Take up knitting? Learn to bake? But he held his tongue.
“I’ll leave tonight if I can get a flight,” she finished. “Otherwise, first flight out tomorrow that’s got a seat. Okay?”
“Thanks, Boo.” His relief was a sweet wave drowning his feeble brain. “I’ll text you the addy for my hotel. Come straight here and I’ll show you where she lives.”
“Done. And Edward?”
“Yeah?”
“Stay away. No more spying. Stay the hell away from now on, got it? This is no time to act like a big-boobed horror-movie heroine.”
“Don’t worry.”
“I’m coming.” And she clicked off.
Boo was abrupt, and tactless. She didn’t suffer fools (or telemarketers) gladly, and she could mess up a pin-neat living room faster than a toddler hopped up on Mountain Dew. She occasionally talked with her mouth full and heaped scorn upon all things
Star Wars
. She didn’t own a single T-shirt with a quirky saying and avoided the Internet when at all possible. Her hideous soulless habits knew no bounds.
And when a friend needed help, she dropped everything and came on the run. Her love and concern and loyalty also knew no bounds. He had always understood why Gregory had fallen in love with a vampire slayer. He was only surprised it had taken him more than twenty-four hours.
Feeling a little better, he got busy with the texting. And then he got busy with the disobeying.
Like he was going to let his best friend walk into a nest of vipers without every scrap of intel he could dig up? He was more likely to corner William Shatner and rhapsodize how Kirk was superior to Picard in every way.
In other words: never, ever, ever, ever happen.
Thirty-three
 
“Ow.” Rachael started to sit up, then clutched the back of her head. “Ow!”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“That was scary. One second you were out, and the next you were sitting up. There’s, like, no fuzzy period for you guys, is there? You’re either dead to the world or ready to fight.”
“I’ve always been a light sleeper,” she muttered. “Ow!”
Cool hands on her, pressing her back. “You’d better lie still. Tina cracked you a pretty good one.”
“Remove your hand, zombie. Or I will.”
“Right. Got it.” He removed his hand. “But if you pass out, don’t come crying to me.”
“Don’t worry.” They’d stretched her out on a couch in a parlor somewhere. The peach floral print couch smelled like ancient fabric and mouse poop and dust. She sneezed three times. “What happ—never mind. I have to go.” She sneezed again. Wretched teeny turds!
“Not just yet, if you please.” A new voice. Deep and measured. Thoughtful?
She looked.
It was the vampire king, what was his . . . ? Sinclair. That was it. She’d only gotten a glimpse of the two of them when they’d been on the Cape, months ago, but she would never forget either of their faces.
Especially his. He had the face of a teenager, with stress lines bracketing his eyes and mouth . . . a very old teenager, to be sure! And dressed head to toe in black. In the dark, no one would see him. In the dark, she imagined he did exactly as he pleased.
“Stay a while,” he said, pretending it was a request.
Not just in the dark,
she realized.
He does exactly as he pleases wherever he is. He’s like Michael! He doesn’t
have
power, he
is
power!
“Why?”
“So we can discuss your future.”
“What did you do to Edward?”
The vampire didn’t feint or affect to not know what she was talking about. She liked that. “I asked him to call a vampire slayer and invite her to visit.”
“That’s all?” She couldn’t smell Edward on him. But then, she couldn’t smell anything on these people. “You didn’t hurt him?”
“Don’t worry.”
“I never
worry
. But if you touched him, you should start. Immediately.”
“Yes, yes, right after you remove Marc’s zombie hands you’ll doubtless introduce a wooden stake to my nether regions, oh dear, oh dear, we tremble and obey.”
She could feel her face getting red, and she stood. The zombie flinched back, and she was glad.
Too quick for humans to track, at least, even if the vampire doesn’t seem to mind. Arrogant condescending prick.
“I’m leaving. Don’t bother seeing me out.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t go yet. He’s a huge pain in the ass, it’s true, but he sort of grows on you after a while. Like athlete’s foot.” The queen’s voice, from the doorway. “Look, I found you some shoes. Won’t you at least try them on before you do the storm-out?”
Shoes? What? Why the hell should she . . . ? Who
were
these people? She looked around the parlor, realizing that the carpet and wallpaper were also peach.
“I know,” the queen said, following her gaze, “isn’t it awful? Half of this place needs major updating, but somehow we never get around to it. But hang out a minute, okay? Sink Lair will dial back the jerkiness, I promise.”
“Yes, Her Majesty promises,” Sink Lair replied helpfully.
“Ah-ha! Thought so!” The queen had crossed the room and held one of the shoes—a pair of navy blue flats in a sort of lacy pattern . . . What did they call that? Peau de soie? Anyway, they were blue flats. And the queen was holding one of them beside Rachael’s left foot. “See? Perfect match.”
“How did you know they would fit?”
The queen looked guilty. “I, uh, measured your feet while you were out cold.”
This . . . is the most surreal thing that has ever happened to me. And I once worked in my uncle’s antique shop for a month. During tourist season.
Bemused, she let the queen slip the shoes on her feet, like an undead Macy’s saleswoman. “There!”
“Thank you.”
“I apologize for mocking you earlier,” the king said in clear response to the queen’s sizzling glare. “It was not . . . kind. Will you tell us why you came in the first place? Marc said something about murders.”
“Yeah, but if I’d known Tina was gonna clip her with the handle of one of the butcher knives, I might have held back.”
Clearly ruffled, Tina shot back, “Well, I couldn’t just let her walk out.”
“Yes!” The queen threw her arms in the air. “You could have! This is why we never have people over anymore, Tina!”
“Softly, my love,” the king said, looking at the queen with poorly restrained affection. It was as tender a moment as she could have hoped to see among the undead, and it gave her the strength to tell them what was on her mind.

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