“Not the blender again, vampire, we're begging you.” Cain said it with touching, horrified sincerity; Brendan managed to look equal parts sneery and weary.
That's vampire queen, I thought. But I took pity on them. Their hearing was probably as good as mine.
Maybe better. I narrowed my eyes at them while I rinsed my glass without looking, then accidentally broke it on the faucet head. I assessed their strength, their tone, their differences from Antonia.
Antonia, who was strong but not a shape-shifter.
Antonia, who could see the future but at a horrible cost to herself, and the one she loved.
I couldn't imagine what was worse: being considered a freak by, well, other freaks, or having horrible visions that were never, ever wrong.
Is that why she was gone? Had she seen something awful
(Please God, nothing bad about Sinclair or Marc or Jessica okay, God? I'll owe you a big one, God, in Jesus’ name, amen.)
and vamoosed, taking her own personal Fiend with her?
No way. Antonia was a lot of things, but she'd never run for cover. And if she did run for cover, which she'd never do, she wouldn't do it without warning me first. After all, I was her—what was it? Pack leader pro tem?
“You know,” I said, sitting across from Michael, “Antonia was pretty tight-lipped about you guys.”
Silence.
“She didn't talk a lot about Pack stuff.” In fact, I was trying to remember a single damned thing I knew about the Pack. And I was coming up pretty close to blank. And not just because I usually tuned Antonia out five or ten seconds into her rant du jour. Well, yeah, that was probably the main reason, but, bottom line. . . “She just didn't.”
“She didn't talk to me about vampire stuff,” Michael volunteered. “Every month it was the same thing. Everything okay? Yes. Need anything? No. Any messages you want me to pass along? No. Anything you want to tell me about? Hell, no.”
"We all sat in silence for a few seconds. I don't know about them, but I was thinking that I was damned fortunate Antonia was able to juggle her loyalties so well. From the look on Wyndham's face, he was thinking the same thing, or close to it.
I crossed my legs and stared at my black socks. Must remember to get my saddle shoes out of the foyer. “She must have explained when she moved in. Didn't she?” I looked up and beheld identical puzzled expressions. “I mean, she said she had to get permission from you, and I thought it was extremely weird that a grown woman had to 'get permission' to live with us, but when I said that, all she said was that my face was extremely weird and to shut the hell up.”
Wyndham and his peeps nodded. Michael added, “She had little to say about you even when she moved to the Midwest. 'I found my destiny,' she says, 'and it's with the king and the queen of the vampires. Yes, they're real,' she says.”
“Don't feel bad about not believing,” I told him. “I didn't believe in werewolves until Antonia showed up. And, uh, didn't change into a wolf.”
" 'I'm not coming back,' she says—this was her way of asking permission. 'So sell my house and cut me a check. And don't give me any shit, or I'll foresee your death and forget to mention it.''
I had to admit, it had the ring of authenticity.
“She agreed to check in every month,” Michael said, “and that was the end of it. Until, of course, we didn't hear from her. Now. Tell me, Betsy. What is a Fiend? And where can we find the one that killed our Pack member?”
Chapter 17
“Whoa, whoa, whoa ! ” I said, wishing I wasn't doing this all by myself. “Let's not jump to any conclusions, my eager little pups. Garrett would eat his own balls before he'd ever hurt Antonia, and he'd never, never kill her.”
Derik shuddered and covered his eyes. “Must you use phrases that I'll never get out of my head? 'Eat his own balls'? Who says that?”
“Not to mention, it's hard to believe,” Cain added.
“Believe? Why is that so hard? Now all of a sudden you're big vampire and Fiend experts?”
“Vampires aren't accident-prone?” Jeannie asked, and to her credit, it sounded like an honest question.
“Well, I am,” I admitted. “But not Garrett.”
“You can explain about Fiends?” Sure.
“There are no taboos against discussing such things with outsiders?”
“I dunno.” Wyndham couldn't hide his surprise, so I borrowed a phrase from his pal Derik. “I think it's that culture clash thing again. If it'll keep you from pulling Garrett's legs off, I'll answer any question you like.”
“That's a good thing, chief,” Derik said. “Stop looking like you're expecting the other shoe to drop—on your head.”
“For a ruthless despot of the undead, you're awfully charming,” Michael said, and no one in the room was surprised when Jeannie's fist slipped. But he got his breath back in no time at all.
Lara asked—and received—permission to use the bathroom. Jeannie got up to accompany her. And I used the kid's absence to explain about Fiends, about Nostro and his sick-ass psycho games, about Garrett's slow recovery, about all the progress he made and how much he and Antonia loved—
“So by your own admission, this creature was sub-human only six months ago?”
“I don't know if sub—”
“Subsisting on buckets of blood, running around on all fours, and howling at the moon?”
“Physician, howl thyself,” I pointed out.
“And he couldn't even talk?” Michael persisted.
“I don't know about couldn't. Didn't talk would be more accurate. But see, after he drank my blood and the dev—and my sister's, he got better. And you guys—you just don't know. I mean, the way he feels about Antonia. She's his everything. He'd ki—uh, he'd die for her.”
“And she for him, I s'pose?”
“Well, it's hard to imagine Antonia getting all mushy and stuff, but yeah, I imagine she'd—” Too late, I saw the trap Michael had set for me. I shot to my feet and started to pace. “You guys, Garrett did not kill Antonia and then take off for parts unknown. There's no way. No way.”
“Mmmm,” Wyndham said.
“Hmmm,” Derik added, also apparently unconvinced.
“You don't see me with my knickers in a knot, asking you if your Pack member killed my guy and then took off. Did I show up, fists flying, jumping to conclusions? No.” I smirked to see the Wyndhams looking uncomfortable. Except for Brendon, who glared at me.
“We've been over this,” Michael said, mildly enough.
“Yeah, but now that your kid's gone, you can apologize for being totally out-of-control, foaming, slavering assholes who hit first and asked questions later.”
He drummed his fingers on the table for a few seconds, and then, after a long, difficult moment (difficult for him, not for me) he said, “I apologize.”
“Okay. It's totally conceivable that Antonia saw the future and got the hell out of here and that Garrett tried to stop her and so she—she—I dunno, gave him a bath in holy water and then left town on the first Amtrak headed east. That could totally happen, but I'm not getting all suspicious and paranoid, right? So there's no reason for you guys to stay beady-eyed.”
“Are there any other unusual goings-on?” Michael asked, leaning forward. “Anything mysterious? Something that might lead us to answers?”
“Everything's fine,” I lied. I cocked my head;
I could hear Babyjon asking for a bottle. Loudly. “And you'll have to excuse me a minute; my brother needs me.”
I moved past them, and Wyndham's hand shot out and closed over my forearm. I saw the whole thing and had plenty of time to avoid him. But I didn't. His hand was really warm. I could actually feel his heartbeat through his fingers.