Undead and Unfinished (Undead #9) 3

Chapter 72

Never thought I'd be glad to see this place."

"Amen."

"Ah! Back so soon." The Ant was at the receptionist's desk, still dead, and still with awful hair. "How was it?"

I pointed. After facing Jerk-off Me, I was in no mood for her idea of banter. "Get Laura's other mother. Right now."

To my surprise, the Ant popped out of sight. She was maybe doing my bidding and maybe searching for a few thousand boa constrictors to fill the waiting room with. Either way, she was out of our hair for a few minutes.

"I think it's fixable."

Laura nodded. "It's worth trying, if nothing else. You said she was freaked?"

"Completely. And she said things-things she hadn't meant to say. She seemed surprised. And-not hopeful, not really, but maybe less . . . resigned?"

Laura was still nodding. "Okay. It's better than nothing. We were able to prove to her-and more important, to us-that the future isn't set."

"There's no fate but that which we make for ourselves."

"That's from The Terminator."

"Yeah, which will now be known as Time Travel 101."

"I think-I think one of the things I have to do is what my mother wants. Take over hell; take her job. But not the way she thinks. Not the way Future You thought. I'll take hell, but it'll be on my terms, not Satan's."

I was nodding, too, reluctantly. I hated the thought of Laura stuck in that awful job, but if we were going to save the world from me, we'd need some big-time power. I didn't see the devil lifting a finger. So it would be up to Laura to lift the fingers, so to speak.

Besides, she looked human but really wasn't. No more than I was. She couldn't hide from her destiny in the suburbs the way I had tried to.

"Maybe that's what the book meant. Maybe instead of taking over our world, you'll take over hell."

"We're on exactly the same page," she agreed.

"I have to say, not worrying about you taking over this world will be a load off my mind."

"Um . . . Betsy? Is it just me, or ... ?" Laura gestured.

She'd noticed what I had seen the minute I realized we were back in the waiting room. All the locked doors were gone; there was just the door out. The one back into hell proper, for lack of a better word.

"Of course," the devil said, materializing behind the desk.

"Of course what?" I wouldn't deny it: all the time traveling had made me grumpy. "I hate when you're cryptic."

"Sorry," Satan yawned.

"Why now?" Laura asked. "We tried and tried to get out before."

"The exit appeared because you needed it to appear. Before, you only wanted it to appear."

"Oh, not Zen-in-hell bullshit," I groaned.

"Sorry," Satan said. "I don't make the rules." Then she laughed cheerfully. "That's not true! I do make the rules!"

"It's so creepy when you laugh," I observed.

"Almost as creepy as when I don't. So, questions? Comments? Ah . . ." She trailed off at my eager expression. "Perhaps not comments. Maybe you should just go home."

"Maybe I will," I agreed.

So, with Laura's help, I did.

Chapter 73

l t ended where it began for me: in the library where we kept the Book of the Dead. What was funny was, now that I knew what was going to happen, now that I had a brand-new mission, I didn't need to read the stupid thing.

Still, knowing I could made living in the same house with it slightly more bearable.

And a shower! I could shower! I could be clean! I could not revolt myself! Or others!

I spied my red bag beside one of the coffee tables, and lunged for it. A change of clothes! Clean underwear! Oh I loved, loved, loved the present!

I heard the front door slam, heard the bellow of a cheerful baritone, and didn't give a shit. I righted the coffee table (it must have fallen over when Satan tossed me like a tiddlywink), snatched up my bag, and-

Saw Detective Nick Berry standing in the parlor doorway.

"I said, Rainbow had a sale on raspberries. So I bought about ten pints. What Sinclair doesn't know won't hurt him, right?"

I dropped my bag and stared. This, this smiling, friendly, relaxed Nick, this was the Nick I had known before I'd died.

"I-I can't believe it," I stammered.

"What? You think I'd leave my favorite vampire berryless? Get it? Berryless? I got a million of 'em. Did you know you've got dirt on your nose?"

"I'm your favorite vampire?"

He sighed and glanced at the ceiling. "Your vanity knows no bounds, but you make it look cute instead of irritating, so I'll indulge you: yes, of course you're my favorite vampire. Don't get me wrong, Sinclair's a handsome man, and Tina's certainly easy on the eyes, but I'll admit it: I'm a star fucker."

"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

Okay. 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.