as closed-mouthed about
her work as I was about mine. There had been a bad crack-up on I-35—no fatalities,
thank God—so I didn’t get home until about 2:30 A.M. I headed straight for the kitchen
(I had finally gone grocery shopping, so there was actual food in the fridge), where I
found Tina sitting at the counter with her laptop, muttering to herself. “Hey.” “Good
morning,” she said, not looking up. “Everything okay?” “Mmmm.” Then, thoughtfully,
“You had a busy night, I see.” Ah. Right. I had found it prudent to change out of my
scrubs the moment I got home—or, even better, before I left the hospital. It didn’t matter
if the blood on me was ten minutes old or ten hours. They could always smell it. “Car
crash.” “Mmmm.” I set about making myself a tuna sandwich while Tina pecked away at
her laptop. She seemed a little off—annoyed, maybe, or distracted. “Everything okay?”
“Hmmm?” She looked around as if noticing me for the first time. “Oh. Yes, everything’s
fine. I’m getting a poor wireless signal. My e-mails to His Majesty keep bouncing.” “So
call.” “I have.” “Oh. You don’t think anything’s wrong, do you?” “I’m sure they’re
fine.” I believed her. But I also knew what was bugging her. Tina lived for Betsy and
Sinclair, the way most people lived for racing cars or marathons. When she couldn’t keep
in touch, she got antsy. Not unlike a drug addict going through withdrawal, to be
perfectly blunt. “Betsy answered my e-mail,” I volunteered. It was a typical Betsy
missive: bitchy and shrill. She really hated e-mail acronyms. The woman should really
catch up to this century’s lingo. “I’m sure she’s already won over the werewolves and
they’re somewhere partying like it’s 1999.” Tina slapped the laptop closed and smiled at
me. “I’m sure you’re right. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go out.” To hunt. And feed.
She was too polite to say so, of course. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to stand in her
way. A grumpy vampire is a homicidal vampire. Hungry ones were even worse. “Heck,” I
called after her, “they’ve probably declared it National Betsy Day out on Cape Cod. You
know she can win over just about anybody.” Yes, dude, I know. In retrospect that was
beyond ignorant. But how was I supposed to know they were going to kill her?
Chapter 27
I opened my eyes and saw a ring of tense faces above me. The first few times this had
happened to me I’d been badly startled, but now I was getting used to being killed and
then brought back to life. “Ow,” I commented, sitting up. There was a sizeable hole in my
blouse and suit jacket. Not to mention an unconscious werewolf three feet away. And
BabyJon was still howling. “You’d better give him to me.” Wide-eyed, Sara knelt beside
me and obliged. BabyJon hushed at once, giving me a chance to take a good look around.
“Oh, man,” I said, eyeing the werewolf who, I assumed, had driven a chair leg into my
heart. “Sinclair, what did you do to him?” “I only hit him once,” my husband replied in
that faux-casual tone that didn’t fool me one bit. “Where’d everybody go?” Aside from
Sara, Sinclair, Jeannie, Michael, BabyJon, and Derik, the room was empty. Oh, and let’s
not forget the werewolf who killed me. “Michael cleared the room after you were
Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer ( http://www.novapdf.com ) attacked. Ah—it’s none of my business,” Sara continued, “but why aren’t you a pile of
dust?” “It’s a queen of the undead thing,” I said, trying to get my feet under me so I could
stand. Sinclair gripped one of my arms, Michael the other, and they hauled me up. I stared
down at my ruined suit and sighed. “I must apologize on the Pack’s behalf,” Michael said
stiffly. He appeared calm, but I had the distinct impression he was mortified. And Jeannie
was pissed.
her work as I was about mine. There had been a bad crack-up on I-35—no fatalities,
thank God—so I didn’t get home until about 2:30 A.M. I headed straight for the kitchen
(I had finally gone grocery shopping, so there was actual food in the fridge), where I
found Tina sitting at the counter with her laptop, muttering to herself. “Hey.” “Good
morning,” she said, not looking up. “Everything okay?” “Mmmm.” Then, thoughtfully,
“You had a busy night, I see.” Ah. Right. I had found it prudent to change out of my
scrubs the moment I got home—or, even better, before I left the hospital. It didn’t matter
if the blood on me was ten minutes old or ten hours. They could always smell it. “Car
crash.” “Mmmm.” I set about making myself a tuna sandwich while Tina pecked away at
her laptop. She seemed a little off—annoyed, maybe, or distracted. “Everything okay?”
“Hmmm?” She looked around as if noticing me for the first time. “Oh. Yes, everything’s
fine. I’m getting a poor wireless signal. My e-mails to His Majesty keep bouncing.” “So
call.” “I have.” “Oh. You don’t think anything’s wrong, do you?” “I’m sure they’re
fine.” I believed her. But I also knew what was bugging her. Tina lived for Betsy and
Sinclair, the way most people lived for racing cars or marathons. When she couldn’t keep
in touch, she got antsy. Not unlike a drug addict going through withdrawal, to be
perfectly blunt. “Betsy answered my e-mail,” I volunteered. It was a typical Betsy
missive: bitchy and shrill. She really hated e-mail acronyms. The woman should really
catch up to this century’s lingo. “I’m sure she’s already won over the werewolves and
they’re somewhere partying like it’s 1999.” Tina slapped the laptop closed and smiled at
me. “I’m sure you’re right. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go out.” To hunt. And feed.
She was too polite to say so, of course. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to stand in her
way. A grumpy vampire is a homicidal vampire. Hungry ones were even worse. “Heck,” I
called after her, “they’ve probably declared it National Betsy Day out on Cape Cod. You
know she can win over just about anybody.” Yes, dude, I know. In retrospect that was
beyond ignorant. But how was I supposed to know they were going to kill her?
Chapter 27
I opened my eyes and saw a ring of tense faces above me. The first few times this had
happened to me I’d been badly startled, but now I was getting used to being killed and
then brought back to life. “Ow,” I commented, sitting up. There was a sizeable hole in my
blouse and suit jacket. Not to mention an unconscious werewolf three feet away. And
BabyJon was still howling. “You’d better give him to me.” Wide-eyed, Sara knelt beside
me and obliged. BabyJon hushed at once, giving me a chance to take a good look around.
“Oh, man,” I said, eyeing the werewolf who, I assumed, had driven a chair leg into my
heart. “Sinclair, what did you do to him?” “I only hit him once,” my husband replied in
that faux-casual tone that didn’t fool me one bit. “Where’d everybody go?” Aside from
Sara, Sinclair, Jeannie, Michael, BabyJon, and Derik, the room was empty. Oh, and let’s
not forget the werewolf who killed me. “Michael cleared the room after you were
Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer ( http://www.novapdf.com ) attacked. Ah—it’s none of my business,” Sara continued, “but why aren’t you a pile of
dust?” “It’s a queen of the undead thing,” I said, trying to get my feet under me so I could
stand. Sinclair gripped one of my arms, Michael the other, and they hauled me up. I stared
down at my ruined suit and sighed. “I must apologize on the Pack’s behalf,” Michael said
stiffly. He appeared calm, but I had the distinct impression he was mortified. And Jeannie
was pissed.
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