Undead and Unemployed (Undead #2)

Undead and Unemployed (Undead #2) Page 9

Jessica was as good as her word. I hadn't even gotten unpacked before I started seeing people in and out of the house, or Vamp Central, as Marc liked to call it. There were at least three housekeepers and two gardeners; Jessica hired them from The Foot, her nonprofit job-finding organization, so it worked out well for everybody.

The fridge was constantly full of pop, iced tea, cream, veggies, and supper fixings. The freezer bulged with ice cream and frozen margaritas. But the helpers were so circumspect, I hardly ever saw them. And if they thought it was weird that I slept all day and was out all night, nobody ever said anything to my face.

It was funny how much unpacking depressed me. We'd been in such a hurry to get out of Termiteville, I'd sort of thrown my stuff into boxes without really thinking about it. But while I was finding places to put things away, I was forced to really look at the junk I'd gathered over a lifetime.

The clothes and shoes and makeup weren't such a big deal, though I was so pale these days, I hardly ever wore anything but mascara. The books were something else.

My room had, among other things, amazing bookcases built into the corner, and while I was unpacking boxes and putting books away, I realized the gap between my old life and my new one had gotten huge without my noticing. It had been such a crazy summer, I hadn't really noticed that there hadn't been time to do any re-reading of old favorites. And now there never would be.

All my favorites: the Little House series, all of Pat Conroy's work, Emma Holly's erotica, and my cookbook collection-they were useless to me now. Worse than useless... they made me feel bad.

I loved Beach Music and The Prince of Tides because not only could Pat Conroy write like a son of a bitch, he had the soul of a gourmet chef. The man could make a tomato sandwich sound like an orgasm you ate. And my days of eating tomato sandwiches were long gone.

How many times had I escaped to my room with a book to avoid my stepmother? How many times had I bought a cookbook because the glorious color pictures literally made me drool? But it was done, now. Tom, Luke, Savannah, Dante, Mark, Will, and the Great Santini were all lost to me. Not to mention The Ail-American Cookie Book, Barefoot Contessa Parties, and all of Susan Branch's stuff.

I put the books away, spine-side in, so I wouldn't have to look at the titles. Normally I kept too busy to feel bad about being dead, but today wasn't one of those days.

I saw the kid for the first time when I was vacuuming the inside of my closet. This was the third time in five minutes-no way was I just dumping my shoes into a two hundred year old closet that smelled like old wood and dead moths. Thank goodness I didn't have to breathe!

Handi-vac in hand, I backed out of the closet on my knees and nearly bumped into her. She was curled up like a bug in the chair beside the fireplace. One of fourteen. Fireplaces, not chairs. I had no idea how many chairs there were. Anyway, she was watching me and I was so startled I nearly dropped the vacuum.

"Yikes!" I said. "I didn't hear you come in."

"My mama says I'm quiet," she replied helpfully.

"You have no idea. It's tough work, sneaking up on me. Although," I added in a mutter, "more and more people seem to be doing it all the time." I raised my voice so the kid wouldn't get freaked out by the blond weirdo talking to herself. "So, your folks work here?"

"My mama used to."

"Used to? Then what are you-"

"I like your hair."

"Thanks." I patted my blond streaks and tried not to preen. Ah, dead, but I've still got it. "I like yours, too."

She was just about the cutest thing I'd ever seen. She had the face of a patient doe, all wary and cute, with big blue eyes and a spray of freckles across her nose. Her blond, curly hair was pulled back from her face in a blue bow that matched her eyes, and she was wearing striped overalls rolled to the knees, pink anklets... and saddle shoes!

I edged closer to get a better look at her footwear. "Aren't you bored to death?" I asked. "Clunking around in a big house like this? Where's your mom?"

"I like it here now," she replied, after giving my question some thought. "I like it when people are here."

"Well, you're gonna love it now. My friend Jessica hired a fu-uh, an army. Say, sunshine, where'd you get the shoes?"

"My mama bought them for me."

"Where?"

"The shoe store."

Rats. "I like them a lot," I said truthfully. "My name's Betsy."

"I'm Marie. Thanks for talking to me."

"Hey, I just live here, I'm not a rich snobby jerk like you're probably used to. Uh... do you know how to get to the kitchen from here?"

Marie grinned, showing a gap between her front teeth. "Sure. I know all the shortcuts. There's a secret cave between the kitchen and the second dining room!"

"Second dining room? Never mind. Onward, Marie. I gotta get some tea in me before I do something somebody'll regret."

Before I could take her hand, I heard thundering footsteps, and then Jessica burst into the room, waving the telephone. "Gotta go-Marquette-Tina's in trouble," she wheezed, then collapsed until she was partially lying on my unmade bed. "Cripes! I think there's a thousand stairs in this place."

"You of all people don't get to complain about how big this place is. What are you talking about, Tina's in trouble?"

"Sinclair-on the phone-" She held it out to me.

I grabbed it. "This better not be a trick," I snarled into the receiver.

"Get here now."

I ran.

It was a good trick, not screaming and then barfing when I saw what had been done to Tina. Luckily, I'd been audited (twice!), and was the child of ugly divorce proceedings, and had loads of practice keeping my dinner down.

"Another one of your tiresome ploys for attention," I said.

Tina tried a smile, and I hoped she'd knock it off soon. Half her face was in tatters. In fact, half of her bad self was in tatters. She floated listlessly in the tub, which was full of pink water.

Don't ask me why, but when you immerse a sick vamp in water and add baking soda, they get better quicker. Amazing! The stuff can make cakes rise and de-stink refrigerators. It made no sense to me, but I was pretty new to the game to be questioning undead physics.

"Jeez..." I croaked the word out, then cleared my throat. "Who did this? Are you-of course you're not okay, but-does it hurt?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"Just that whole tiresome humans killing vamps thing," she replied.

That stung. "Well, shit, Tina, I didn't think they were going after the good ones!" While I was waving my arms around and generally working up a good spate of hysterics, Sinclair appeared with his usual spooky speed and grabbed my wrist.

I had time to say, "Wha-?" before he nicked my wrist with the knife I belatedly noticed he was holding. "Ow!" I said, yanking my wrist away, but it was all for show. It was so fast, and the knife was so sharp, I'd barely felt it. Well, at least he didn't bite me. "You want to ask before you start gouging me?"

Tina turned her head away and ducked under water. "And you stop that!" I said, bending over the tub and gingerly prodding her head. I wiped my wet hand off on my jeans. Yech! "I know what I'm supposed to do, dammit. It's just nice to be asked, is all," I added, glaring at Finklair.

"Stop wasting time," he said, typically stone-faced, but his eyes were kind of squinty. I knew he adored Tina. She had made him, and they had a bond I respected, even if I didn't understand it, and thought it was extremely weird. "Let her feed. Now."

"No," Tina gurgled from the bottom of the tub.

"I said I'd do it," I snapped. "Will you sit up so we can get this over with?"

A bubble appeared, but Tina didn't move.

"This is your fault," Sinclair said coldly. The situation was so alarming, I just now noticed he was wearing cherry red boxers and nothing else. "Now fix it."

"My fault? I'm not the one who decided to give Tina a haircut... all over! Don't get pissed at me. I came as soon as you asked me to. Not that you exactly asked."

His hand clamped onto my shoulder, which instantly went numb. "Tina is well aware of your childish aversion to blood drinking. She's playing the martyr, and I won't have it."

"Hey, I'm with you! Get her out of there and let her chomp away. I'm on your side."

If he'd been alive, his face would have been the color of an old brick. Each word was forced out through his teeth. "She will not obey me in this."

"Oh, so that's why your boxers are in a bunch? Great color, by the way, they really bring out your-ow! Lighten up, I think I just lost all the feeling in my left arm."

"Fix it," he said implacably.

I kicked the tub. "Tina, get out of there."

A sullen glug.

"This is the queen speaking!" I managed not to laugh. Queen of shoes, maybe! "Now sit up, will you?"

"Don't ask," Sinclair hissed in my ear. "Command."

"Stop that, it tickles. Teeee-naaaa!"

She sat up. "I don't want you to," she lied. "You think it's barbaric."

"Stop being such a baby," I said, though she was one hundred percent right. "What's the alternative? You live in the tub like an undead anatomy project and slowly heal over the next six months? The maids will have a fit."

Her nostrils flared and I realized that blood had been trickling down my fingers the whole time I was arguing. I turned around, put my hands on his rock-hard chest, and pushed and kicked and shoved until I finally slammed the bathroom door in his face.

"I really can't stand that guy," I sighed, rolling up my sleeve.

"Liar," she said, and grinned at me.

"Could you not do that until your face grows back? No offense."

"Oh, Majesty," she sighed as I knelt by the tub. "I'm so sorry to ask this of you."

"Don't be a moron. I'm just glad you're alive, so to speak."

She gripped my arm and lapped the blood off my fingers, then sucked on my wrist until I couldn't see tendons or raw wounds, until she was beautiful again. It didn't take long. I was always amazed at how quickly vampires healed. It rarely took more than a few minutes. And, weirdly, my blood sped things up considerably. If Tina had fed off a human, it might have taken the better part of the night to recover. More crap I didn't understand... and frankly, I was afraid to ask too many questions. Tina might answer them.

"So," I said brightly. "Got any other plans for the evening?"

"After a near-death experience, I like to relax by scrubbing a tub."

"I'd help, but forget it. I've got nineteen of my own to worry about."