Undead and Unemployed (Undead #2)

Undead and Unemployed (Undead #2) Page 10

We stepped out of the bathroom just as what's-her-face, the cutie from the other day, rushed into the suite.

"Tina, thank goodness!" she cried, her shiny blond hair in wild disarray. She looked and smelled like she'd been rolled in a McDonald's Dumpster. A mustard packet was sticking to her left cheek. "I thought they'd killed you!"

She ran to Tina and sort of fell on her, hugging her and kissing her. Yech. Good thing Tina wasn't dressed yet; she'd never get those stains out. I gathered from the babbling that the bad guys had jumped both of them, but Tina had led them away from Monique.

"Dumbass," I commented.

"I quite agree," Sinclair said, scowling. He rooted around and found one of his robes for Tina, which he held open for her. When she had it tied around her, she pretty much disappeared into fluffy black terrycloth. "You should have both stood your ground-or both run."

"I know, I know," Monique interrupted before Tina could open her mouth. "I wanted to fight but Tina-"

"And you shouldn't have left my friend and saved yourself," Sinclair continued in a voice that made dry ice seem warm and accommodating.

We all gulped. Then I patted Sinclair's arm. "All's well and all that, Eric. Everybody's okay. That's the important thing. Right? Eric?"

His eyes uncrinkled and he almost smiled as he looked down at me. "Why do you only call me by my first name in moments of crisis?"

"Because that's about the only time I don't feel like strangling you," I said truthfully. "Now don't fuss at Monique. Tina's a grown woman-a very grown woman, I might add, she's, like, a hundred years old, and if she wanted to play decoy that's her lookout."

Monique didn't say anything, but she threw me a look of pure gratitude.

"The important thing," I said emphatically, "is getting to the bottom of this. Tina's one of the good guys. She didn't deserve to have some vampire hunter after her. So I guess we better figure out why." Did I really just say we had to get to the bottom of this? I felt so stupid, bossing around people who were at least fifty years older than me.

Now if I could only remember where I'd put the memo Tina gave me...

"Attend, please," Sinclair said, and grabbed my elbow. Eh? He pulled me across the room and through the far door, which he promptly shut.

"What?" I whined.

"You have decided to hunt down the killers?"

"Killers, plural? Yikes. I mean, sure, I guess."

"You require my help?"

"Yes," I said, not liking where this was going. "Are we going to hang out in the dark and ask each other obvious questions? Because this is weird, bordering on creepy."

He smirked at me and held out something. I looked at it. It was one of the hotel's drinking glasses.

"What's-oh."

What had I said at Macy's? "I'd rather eat glass than take your help."

Well, shit.

"Fine," I said, grabbing the glass. God knew when he'd palmed the thing, the sneaky motherfucker. "Here goes." I stared at it. I had no idea if biting into it would hurt. But I was about to find out. At the very least, gulping down chunks of glass would make me throw up. I mean, risotto made me puke, for crying out loud.

Never mind. Quit stalling. I raised it to my mouth, closed my eyes, opened my mouth... and bit down on air.

Sinclair was holding the glass again. It was uncanny how quickly he could move. He was like a magician. An evil magician in boxers. "You were really going to eat it?"

"I said, didn't I?"

"You're either the most amazing woman I have ever known-"

"Well." I patted my bangs back into place and smiled modestly.

"Or the most asinine."

"I hate you."

"You keep saying that," he said, drawing me close. For a wonder, I let him. Long night. Plus, he smelled great. And felt great. Cherry boxers. Yum. He dropped a kiss to the top of my ear and I effectively fought a shiver. "But you keep coming back."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"Not yet. Come, let's rejoin the others."

"Yes," I said, massively disappointed he hadn't been more grabby, and mad at myself for being disappointed. "Let's."

"Four." Tina said. "Four dead so far. Again, I mean."

"I, uh, lost my memo."

She made a sound that was suspiciously like a snort. "Fine, I'll sum up for you. A group of humans has been going around targeting lone vampires and cutting off their heads, or staking them, or both."

Ick. Both?

Monique spoke up. "At least we learned something: it's not one person, it's a team."

"I never thought it was one person," Sinclair said.

"No, I wouldn't think so, either. I mean, come on. One regular guy or gal wreaking all this havoc? No chance." I stretched out my feet. Ack! Scuffed toes! I'd have to give this pair away. "How do we know it's not a group of vamps?"

"Blood samples found at the scene were live."

"Oh, ugh!" I cried. "You mean, if someone took my blood right now-"

"You'd be dead. At least, under a microscope. Try to stay focused, Elizabeth."

"I am. Yuck-o. Do we know why? Other than the obvious."

"The obvious?" Monique asked, looking cutely confused.

"Vampires are assholes." At their stares, I elaborated. "Look, I'm sorry, but it's true. You guys grab poor unsuspecting slobs off the street and chomp away. I'm amazed this hasn't happened earlier."

"It's happened," Sinclair said coolly, "all through the ages." He'd slipped on a pair of black slacks, but was still disturbingly shirtless. "And no one in this room behaves in such a fashion."

"You gotta admit, that makes us pretty rare."

"No, I don't think so," Monique said seriously. "Most vampires outgrow the need for the hunt. It's much easier to keep sheep."

"To what?"

I saw Tina make a slashing motion across her throat, and Sinclair shake his head; Monique was oblivious. "Sheep!" she said brightly. "You know. Two or three people who are devoted to you and let you drink whenever you need to."

"We're getting off the subject," Sinclair said quickly.

"The hell we are!"

"Later, Majesty," Tina said, glaring at Monique, who was looking amazed. "You can tell us all how awful we are later."

"How can we draw this team out into the open?" Tina asked.

"Well, bait, of course," Monique said.

Sinclair nodded approvingly. "They appear to strike every other Wednesday, for some reason."

"Maybe they all have jobs," I said, "and they can only get Wednesdays off."

"More likely," Sinclair said kindly, "those days are significant. For example, they might be on the occult calendar."

"So," Tina continued, "two weeks from now, we'll see if we can't catch them."

I barely contained my sneer. "Just like that, eh?"

"Well," Tina said reasonably, "chances are, they're not a bunch of old folks. The attacks are too ferocious and quick, for one thing. It's probably a bunch of young adults... I'll bet a thousand dollars not one of them is legal drinking age."

"Did you see any of them?" Monique asked.

"Too busy fighting, and running. They were well equipped, I'll tell you that much. I certainly did not linger."

"Good thing," I said, impressed. "I mean, even with not lingering, you got ripped up pretty good. I'm really glad you're okay."

"Why, Majesty," Tina teased, "I didn't know you cared."

"Cut that out, you slut." Tina had made no secret of the fact that she'd jump into my bed anytime. This rattled me, because A) I was straighter than a laser beam, and B) even laser beams get curious. One time in college, a bunch of my sorority sisters and I got really drunk and... well, anyway, sometimes I was curious. Best to keep her at arm's length. I had enough trouble keeping Sinclair out of my bed. "Your seductive ways won't work on me."

"Weapons?" Sinclair asked with a trace of impatience.

"Guns, stakes, crossbows, knives, masks. But as I said, I'm sure they're young. They felt young. They moved young, and smelled young."

"Smelled?" I asked.

"Lots of Stridex," she explained.

I stomped on the giggle that wanted out. Killer teens with acne! Sounded like a movie of the week.

"So right away, we've got an advantage."

"We do?"

"We're older, smarter, and trickier," Sinclair said, sounding way too smug for my taste.

Tina and Monique nodded. I rolled my eyes. "Well, then, those poor guys don't have a chance, do they?"

"Exactly," he replied, totally missing my sarcasm.