Chapter 20
Dude,
Well, I definitely picked the right time to keep a journal. Because it has been an interesting couple of days. Who knows? I might actually keep writing the thing.
When Laura called me away during my last entry, I had followed her into the kitchen. But not as her friend . . . I was more than a little alarmed at the symptoms of intense stress she was exhibiting. Since unpleasant things had a way of happening when she was angry or frightened, I had a more than passing interest in her state of mind.
I was able to sit her down at the kitchen table and get her to drink a Snapple. The act of doing something nice and mundane seemed to calm her. That's when I realized she was more humiliated than angry.
"Marc, I am so sorry you had to see that. I just don't know what to say."
"Laura, it's not your fault. Hey," I joked, "how do you think I'd feel if my old man showed up? You shouldn't feel bad about something beyond your control."
"Maybe it isn't beyond my control."
I wasn't sure I liked the sound of that. "It's fine, Laura, I don't mind. Satanists showing up in the foyer certainly add some spice to my day. Nobody likes the pop-in. And like I said, it's not your fault."
"No. It's my mother's." That last was practically spit out. "I was going to ask you something and now I can't, because of her."
"Ask me what? Drink your tea. So. Ask."
"Um." Laura gazed into her bottle of Snapple, which I doubt held any answers. "It's just, I told Betsy I'd look after you and Tina while she was gone. So instead of coming over when I can, I was hoping I could move in. Just for a little while," she added, misreading my expression. "I won't get in the way, I promise."
"How could you get in the way? There are twenty bedrooms in this thing. But come on, Laura. Cut the bullshit."
"I don't-"
"Betsy asked you to look over Tina, too?"
"Well." Laura looked down for a moment. "Mostly you, I guess. I think she felt bad about leaving you behind."
I shrugged. "It's moot. I didn't have the vacation time, anyway. Tina had to stay, too-somebody's got to stay in Vampire Central and handle any undead-related stuff that comes up while they're gone. Which leaves thee and me. And of course you can move in. Heck, pick an entire wing to live in."
"No, I can't, now." Her knuckles whitened on the bottle. "Not with these-these people tracking me down all the time and asking-"
"Wait. This has happened before?"
Laura didn't say anything. She didn't have to. The Snapple bottle shattered in her hand, spraying tea and glass all over the place.
"Oh my God! I'm sorry, Marc, I didn't mean to be so clumsy, I'll get a towel and-"
I was instantly on my feet, hauled her to hers, and hustled her over to the sink. "Laura, if you don't mellow out, I'm going to slip some Valium into your next Frappuccino. Now hold still and let me look."
I carefully examined her hand, rinsed it, and examined it again. She had a couple of minor cuts on the pads of her left ring and middle fingers, and that was all. Nothing arterial, no damage to the tendons that I could see.
"No more Snapple for you," I said, handing her a dish towel and stepping around the broken glass. "From now on it's strictly sippy cups."
The only reason I was letting her clean up was because it was the only thing that would make her feel better. Laura was nice-a little too nice. She always made me wonder when she was going to blow. Looked like this might be the week.
"You said this has happened before?"
"Yes." She wiped up glass and tea, being careful to get even the smallest pieces. "Those people. They always find me. Always."
"So they show up at your apartment, too?"
"My apartment.My parents' house."
"I'll bet the minister loved that," I said dryly, earning a ghost of a smile. "What do they want with you?"
"To serve me," she replied shortly, wringing the now-wet towel over the sink (after she'd shaken the glass into the garbage).
"Serve you, what? With toast?"
A real smile this time."No, silly. To do my bidding."
"So what have you done in the past?"
"I just tell them to go away."
"No, no, no."
Laura blinked. "No?"
"You're going about it all wrong."
"I am?"
"It's going to happen anyway, right? Because of that star or whatever heralding you like-I dunno-like January heralds weight-loss resolutions."
"Yes, I suppose." Laura was looking increasingly mystified, which was a big improvement over mortified. "But what else could I do?"
"Lots of things."
Then I told her. And got another smile, this one even better than the last one. This was a smile of absolute delight.
Chapter 21
I got back in time to change into a black suit, black panty hose, and Carolina Herrera black pumps. Sinclair was up and working at the desk in our suite; he was also dressed for the service.
Yes, indeed, my first werewolf funeral.
I watched my husband work for a minute until he felt my gaze and turned. "Something on your mind, dear one?"
"Several things," I replied, thinking of Lara, future psycho werewolf leader. "Mostly about how awkward this is going to be. I mean, everyone there will know. They'll know Antonia died saving me."
"I imagine they will, yes." He watched me with his dark eyes, an unreadable expression on his face.
"Like I don't hate funerals enough."
"Yes, of course," he soothed. "Everyone should realize how difficult this will be for you."
"Yeah, that's-you jerk. I hate you."
"No, you worship the hallowed ground I trod upon, which is what any good wife should-" He ducked, and my left shoe went flying over his head. Fortunately, it missed the window. I couldn't stand the thought of my new pump being torn by flying glass. "My sweet, I was only seeking to give comfort in your time of-"
"Do you know how many pairs of shoes I packed?"
"Ah . . . no. Perhaps a change of subject would be prudent. Where is Jessica?"
"Watching BabyJon in her suite. You know, I didn't want her to come, but now I'm awfully glad she did. I don't trust the werewolves with him. There's something weird going on there."
"Mmmmm. What were you up to until the sun set?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
His eyes narrowed. "No one bothered you, did they?"
"It's not like that, Sinclair." I sighed and sat down across from him. "This is a weird place. I'm not sure I like it. And this whole Council thing is making me nervous. I miss our house. I miss Tina and Laura and Marc. I just want to go home."
"At last," he said, "we are of one mind. Perhaps it will help you to think of the funeral as part of the cost of returning to Minnesota."
"Or perhaps I'll think of it as the werewolf version of Tailhook."
"Either way," he said, glancing at his watch, "we had best get moving. Soonest done, soonest home."
"Dammit. No time for a quickie?"
He smiled at me and shook his head, but I could tell he hated to do it.
"Not even a quickie quickie?"
"Stop that, vile temptress. Now let's be off; people are waiting for us."
Hmph. I'd always thought that whole "jump in and get it over with" thing wasn't always the way to go.
But damned if I was going to cower in a room that wasn't mine, in a house where nobody knew me and nobody cared to. No, I'd go to Antonia's funeral and hold my head up, and if the fuzzy lollipop brigade didn't like it, nuts to them.
