Undead and Unfinished (Undead #9) 3

Chapter 20

Laura and I met in the library, which was interesting. We hadn't said in so many words, "After I pack and tuck away a probably angry missive from the dead guy I'm screwing when he's not coldly furious with me, let's meet in the library next to the hideous and smelly Book of the Dead." But here we both were. Ah, sisterhood.

The book stand was still broken, which was strange. Between the two of them, Jessica and Sinclair had a battalion of employees at their beck and et cetera. Things were usually fixed so quickly and efficiently, it was like living with elves. Elves who washed cars and kept the fridge stocked with fruit, yogurt, juice, vodka, and (for those of us in Vamp Central who breathed, ate, and shat) meat and meat by-products. Also half and-half. I put half-and-half in everything. Tea. Milkshakes. Booze.

So it was a bit of a surprise to see something in the house that hadn't been fixed.

Anyway, long story short, the Book of the Dead had been unceremoniously dumped on the end table by the far window. It should have looked ridiculous, this big, smelly ancient tome written in blood and bound in (yerrrggh!) human skin, plunked onto an end table like a TV Guide. But it didn't. It looked ominous and weird.

"So." I glared in the book's direction, then glanced at my sister. She'd changed clothes, which was fine with me-the outfit she'd put together in the sculpture garden clashed, to put it mildly. No one should have to rely on the clothes of concussed rapists to accessorize. Luckily she'd been keeping a few outfits here ever since she recovered from almost killing me. "Call her."

"Who? My mother?"

"Yeah. Give her a holler. Or the secret devil password, or whatever."

"I can't."

I sighed. "Laura, we've been over this. We both agreed that it sucks, and we both agreed that we have to do it. So go and do it already."

"I don't know how to call her. What makes you think I'd know?" She shivered. "I don't even like to speak to her."

"Oh." I hadn't thought of this. "So ... you're saying the devil comes when she wants, not when she's called. Like a cat. A very, very, very evil cat."

As if there were any other kind. I'd been stuck with Giselle the cat since before I died, and cordially loathed her. Our home was big enough so entire weeks went by when I didn't see her, though I was still occasionally stuck with her litter box. The elves eschewed dirty litter boxes.

Laura shrugged. "She just sort of-you know."

"Too well. Uh. Maybe a sacrifice?" My soul shrank from the words. Had I said I already didn't like this? I so so so didn't already like this. It wasn't even midnight and we were talking sacrifices. "That's how they do it in the movies. Some group of clueless horny teenagers sacrifice a virgin-"

"I am not going to let you sacrifice me."

"-and poof! Up the devil pops." I eyed my sister. "You're probably the only virgin in a fifteen-block radius."

She folded her arms across her chest. "I refuse."

"Yeah, yeah; don't get your borrowed panties in a twist. It sort of defeats the purpose, sacrificing you so we can get the devil to help you."

"There you go, then." Laura looked relieved.

I rubbed my forehead and squashed the urge to boot the book into the fireplace. "She said something, too. Something she prob'ly thought would be sinister yet helpful yet cryptic. Which of course I can't remember. Something about how I'd know."

"How you'd know what?"

"I dunno. I knew the devil depending on me to remember something weird and out of context was gonna be bad, bad news. The older I get," I added grimly, "the less I enjoy being right all the time."

"She wouldn't have given you a clue if she didn't think you'd be able to think of it"

Laura's faith was touching, yet insane and misplaced. "Ha! All I can think about are those beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful shoes she was-aw, shit."

"What?"

I sighed. "I know what to do. I know how we can get her here."

"There, see!" Laura sounded delighted. "I knew you'd figure it out! See, she was right to give you a clue."

"It's possible I hate your mom more than you hate your mom."

"That's so nice of you to say," Laura said, and squeezed my hand.

Chapter 21

l dragged Laura up to my room-still no Sinclair, hallelujah brothers-and walked into my closet with all the speed and urgency of the condemned sprinting to the noose. I knew exactly where they were, of course.

I went to the right rack at the back of the walk-in closet, in the right spot. I took the box and opened it. Pulled aside layer after layer of carefully folded tissue paper, and carefully withdrew-

"You sort of look like those guys who have to handle used fuel rods in nuclear plants. They use those big giant gloves and take all these safety precautions in order to-ohhh."

"This." I turned and walked toward Laura, cradling the box as I would my brother, Babyjon. "This is what I was looking for."

She followed me out of the closet, back down the stairs, through several hallways, and back to the library, where I'd started a fire before galloping to my room.

"This is what I must do."

Laura whimpered and her hands flew to her mouth. Her blue eyes looked enormous as she stared at me over her fingers. "Oh ... no, Betsy. Please no."

"I must sacrifice ... my Valentino couture black-lace midheel peep-toe pumps."

"No!"

"Italian made. They cost almost a thousand dollars."

"Oh my God ..." Laura reeled before me. "This isn't happening ..."

"It took me three years of overtime to save up for them."

Laura moaned through her fingers.

"I have never worn them."

A muffled sob from the Antichrist. Or maybe I was the one sobbing.

"They are black. So they go ... with everything. I can wear them ... with everything!"

"Please! We'll think of something else! Betsy, you don't know what you're saying. You can't do this! There's no coming back from this!"

"I have no choice. You think the devil's gonna show up for a half-assed sacrifice of last year's running shoes?"

"I don't care, it's not worth it! Think about what you're doing! Please, don't do something you'll never be able to take ba-aaaaah!"

I had flung them into the fire. Laura shrieked. No-that was me. I shrieked, as though I were the one on fire.

Laura tried to dash past me. "We can save them! They can be repaired and good as new! No! Let me go, Betsy. I can save them!"

I was able to catch her by the elbow and swing her away from the merrily blazing high heels. "It has to be done." My sister and I clung to each other, sobbing. "The sacrifice has to be made."

"Wow," someone said from behind us. Laura stiffened in my arms, and we turned.

"I won't deny it, dear. I didn't think you'd be able to go through with it." The devil took in our tear-stained faces and grinned. "I should have brought a box of Kleenex."

Chapter 22

l am not happy that Betsy had to go through that terrible ordeal just to get you to show up," the Antichrist began. "And she went through that for me! I can never thank her enough. So don't you be mean and don't you make fun of her."

"But how will I fill my evening?" Satan smirked. "Or yours? And my dear, dumb daughter, Betsy did it so much more for herself."

"Hey!" I yelped.

"No, you're right." The devil paused. "It's not that you're dumb, Laura. It's that you only know about this singular plane of existence."

"Okay, that's b-wait, I'm still offended on both our behaves."

"But she does only know about this plane. And you did go through all that to escape your own tedious reality."

Through pure force of habit I opened my mouth to protest, then thought it over and shrugged instead. "Yeah, well. It's true. But that doesn't make you right all the time, Lena Olin."

Laura looked at me, big blue eyes puzzled. I figured I should elaborate, but before I could, God's Problem Child stepped all over me, verbally speaking.

"In the guise of helping you, Betsy gets to run away from the train wreck of a life she's made for herself."

"Hey! Don't imply I had anything to do with any trains or any wrecks, you-"

"The dead roommates, of course. The half brother. The dead parents."

"The Ant," I forced out through teeth that wanted to gnash my molars into dust, "was not my mother."

"Her best friend is in a funk, and not just because she's recently realized her parents are my permanent guests. Jessica's love life is in, as we say, the shitter."

"Who is we?"

"Then there's her pathologically illogical hatred of all things Thanksgiving-"

"Hey, I'm not alone in that one! Just ask a Native American. If you can find one. See? See? My point."

"And let's not forget the vampire king-"

"Who is let's? Who is we? Who are these people?"

"-who has spent the last several days in a cold rage at his wife. Or perhaps at himself, for marrying her. My point, daughter, is that you mustn't ascribe your sister with qualities she does not have."

Laura, aghast, looked at me. I opened my mouth ... then shrugged again. "I got nothin'. She's right. My life is so shitty right now, a day trip to hell sounds like a good idea."

I had it. I'd figured it out. This, this is what experience meant. It meant I wasn't any more capable of keeping myself out of disastrous jams, I just knew that the car I was driving? The one with no brakes? Was also on fire. Headed for an orphanage. Which was also on fire. And chased by cop cars, which were ablaze.

"Experience sucks," I explained to my sister and her mom. "That's all it means."