So the Book of the Dead had been right about a baby. It also foretold that Sinclair and I were supposed to be the king and queen for a thousand years. Did that mean I could quit worrying? That everything would work itself out?
(Beth)
“What?”
“Betsy?”
“What?”
“Your purse is ringing.”
I glanced at the table where we habitually tossed our purses, wallets, and keys. Jeannie was right. My purse was ringing. I opened it and grabbed my cell.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it's me. Whoa, you actually answered your cell!”
“Hi, Jess, and yes I did. What's up?”
“I was wondering how the dress shopping went.”
“Awesomely.”
“I'm pretty sure that's not a word.”
“Who cares? I found it.”
“Great! It's still cream, right? You stayed away from the pure whites?”
“Yeah, and—”
“Great. Come on over to the hospital, will you? I've got something for you.”
“You mean right now?”
“No, I mean next month. Yeah, now.”
I glanced at my guests, who I assumed were more interested in going to bed than running around the oncology ward at this hour. I covered the bottom half of the phone. “Do you guys mind if I run out for a bit?”
“No,” Jeannie yawned. Lara was already sleepwalking toward the stairs, a toothbrush clenched in one fist.
“Okay, Jess,” I said. “I'll be there in twenty minutes.”
“If this is an ambush so Nick can shoot me in the head,“ I announced, walking into her room, ”I'm going to be very upset."
“He went home to crash in a proper bed for a couple of hours. I practically had to call Security to get him out of here.”
“Well. He's worried about you, the fascist.”
“He'll get over this latest, uh, wrinkle.” Jessica didn't look—or sound—at all sure of herself. In fact, she looked generally ghastly. The new round of chemo was not being kind. And as I'd said, Jessica couldn't afford to lose any weight. But she was smiling and had an expression on her face I knew welclass="underline" Jessica had a secret.
“You mean the whole mind-rape thing? He hates me. And Sinclair.”
Jess didn't bother denying it; we'd been friends for too long to take refuge in false comfort. “But he loves me. We'll figure something out. First things first. I've got your wedding present.”
She opened the drawer to her right and took out a shoe box wrapped in heavy white paper and topped with a pale blue bow.
I smiled in anticipation. Jessica was rich and had great taste. Even better, she knew what I liked. I plucked off the bow and stuck it to her forehead, ripped off the gorgeous paper, and flipped the lid off the box.
And stared. Inside the box were a pair of Filippa Scott Rosie bridal shoes in the exact shade of my dress (the cream-colored part, that was). I knew she hadn't bought them for less than four hundred bucks. I also knew they were handmade with duchesse satin, with a padded foot bed that meant even with three-inch heels, they'd be comfortable. And the slim bow across the front was just the right touch.
“Oh my God,” I said.
“I know,” Jessica said smugly, reclining in her hospital bed like a goddess being fed grapes.
“They're perfect.”
“I know.”
I burst into tears.
“Whoa. Hey!” Jess shot upright, then gagged, and for a minute I thought she'd barf on me while I wept into the shoe box. We both struggled to control ourselves, but only Jessica won the battle. “This really wasn't the reaction I was going for.”
I cried harder.
“Betsy, what's wrong? Is it Nick? We'll figure something out. We're going to have to. But I don't think he'd really try to hurt you.”
“It's Nick,” I sobbed, hiding my face with the box. “It's everything.”
“What everything?” So I told her.
Chapter 33
“Wow.”
“I know,” I sniffed.
“Wow.”
“I know.”
“Why didn't you—never mind. I know why you didn't say anything.” She propped her chin in her palm and stared past me. “This stinks to high heaven.”
“Yeah. I don't know what to do.”
“Well, he's not dead.” She said this with such authority that I instantly cheered up. “No chance. No chance.”
“Why? He's not immortal.”
“Why? Because he's Sink-Lair, that's why! You think he's easy to kill? You think you wouldn't know if your king was dead? He's stuck somewhere. Some asshole snatched him, and you've gotta figure out who.”
“That's what I've been trying to do.”
“Yeah, so you said. It's not the werewolves, it's not Delk. It's not Laura. It's—what did you say Nick told you? To go back to the beginning?”
“Yeah.”
“So when did things start to get weird?”
I thought about it. I took my time, and Jessica let me. It wasn't the fight we'd had over the wedding announcements. Sinclair and I fought all the time. What was the first really weird thing to—
“The double funeral,” I said at last. “That's when I realized things were mondo-bizarro. It was like one day everything was the way it's been the last couple of years, and the next, I was alone. You were sick. Dad and the Ant were dead. Tina was in Europe. Marc had disappeared. Laura and Mom blew off the funeral. Antonia and Garrett had vamoosed.”
“You think your dad and the Ant weren't killed by accident?”
“Who'd want to get rid of them? I've been so busy I haven't had time to feel sad. If someone was trying to hurt me, that's not really the way to do it. I guess that makes me a bad daughter, but—”
“But your dad was a pud,” Jessica said bluntly, “and that's the end of it.”
“I'm wondering if there might be some answers in the Book of the—”
“You stay away from that thing,” she ordered. “You going psycho-bitch isn't going to help anything.”
I sighed and slumped back. “I suppose.”
“Tina called it right. This whole thing reeks like last week's sushi. I wish you would have told me earlier.”
“You've got more important things to worry about.”
“Oh, what's more important than my best friend?” she asked irritably.
“Your life,” I replied. “Focus on getting better.”
“Well, today was the last day of chemo. So I ought to be able to come to the wedding without heaving all over my suit. If I have to be dragged in on a stretcher and propped up like Hannibal Lecter, I'll be there,” she vowed.
“Revolting,” I said. “Yet comforting.”
Chapter 34
I dragged myself into the silent house. The third floor was dark; I assumed Lara and Jeannie had hit the sheets. But this wasn't the week to make assumptions, so I tiptoed up to the third floor and found them in the second bedroom I checked. They were both conked and both snoring. I shut the door and snuck back downstairs.
I kicked off my pumps, tossed my keys in the general direction of the foyer table, then went into the library and sat down across from the Book of the Dead.
The nasty thing was on a mahogany book stand by the fireplace, open to God knew what page. I stared at it and tried to make a decision. Any decision.
“You might as well,” a horrifyingly familiar voice said from across the room. “You can't screw this up any worse.”
I looked over, and there she was: Laura's mother, the devil, seated behind the desk. “Fabulous,” I muttered.