I dove at her. Well, the wall, as she neatly sidestepped. “Don't be tiresome,” she snapped. “You won't best me. Sinclair is incapacitated, and without him by your side, you are a nothing. A typo. No one has been able to harm me for over five hundred years. You—ow.”
I had punched her in the back and felt her ribs splinter. But fast as a snake, she'd gotten a grip on my arm and thrown me into the wall. I felt my nose break as it made brisk contact with the concrete.
I spun and slapped her so hard she staggered sideways, and I managed to avoid her elbow. I was going to kill this bitch twice. Not because she was a duplicitous cow. Not because she was trying to hurt and manipulate me. I was going to kill her for what she had done to him.
I heard a crunch as my knee broke, and I hobbled sideways, swiping at her with my good leg. With a grunt she went down, but before I could blink she was back on her feet, hoisting her sensible librarian skirt up and kicking me in the same knee that was still trying to grow back.
I shrieked and flung myself at her. I was bigger and managed to force her to the floor, then shrieked louder as her fist explored my spleen. I rolled away, fairly certain I was going to puke, then felt her on my back as she slammed my head against the wall.
“This is foolish,” she said in my ear. “All you need do is fall in line, and we can get down to the business of governing the vampire nation properly.”
I whipped my head back, smiling at the crunch of her nose breaking. I jerked an elbow back, but only caught air. I felt her hands on me, and she pushed, hard. My teeth broke as I hit the concrete again.
Hmm. Getting the shit kicked out of me was no fun at all. I bit back a howl as she twisted an arm so hard, it broke in two places.
(Elizabeth, get away.)
Shut up, Sinclair. I turned just in time to catch a librarian fist in the face, and there went more teeth. I coughed up blood and spat it right in her face.
“Oh, dear! Not. . .blood. ” She laughed at me and licked her lips, her fangs appearing like needles springing from her gums. I slapped her again, and she shook it off, then punched me in the gut. I bent, gagging, and she grabbed my head and twisted.
I just managed to get an arm up before she broke my neck, and we moved around the basement in a flailing dance. Then she stomped on my foot with her sensible soles, and I felt a few more bones break and lost my balance. I went down, and she was right on top of me.
She had both hands around my neck and was squeezing and yanking my head up and down. The squeezing didn't bother me so much (I didn't need the breath) but every time she slammed my head into the floor I heard another fracture. It sounded like someone was crunching ice in my ear. It hurt, and it was annoying.
Slam. Slam. Slam. I brought my legs up to wrap them around her neck, but she simply leaned forward and fractured my skull again. And things were getting a little dark in here. I didn't think it was the ambiance. Nope, she was killing me. I'd been stumbling around like an idiot since Sinclair disappeared, had the clue in front of me the whole time
(Go back to the beginning.)
finally figured out who the bad guy was, and for my trouble? She was kicking my ass sideways. It hurt like hell and was fairly humiliating.
“And to think—I thought—you'd be—reasonable.” Bitch wasn't even out of breath! Each pause was punctuated by another head slam. I was getting killed by a scrawny suit-wearing woman with graying hair. And sensible shoes!
Black roses were blooming in front of my eyes, and all of a sudden things hurt less. Hmm. Stakes hadn't killed me, and neither had bullets. But if an older vampire did enough damage (particularly to my head), if an older vampire pretty much tore my freaking head off, it seemed that would do the trick. Fine way to find out.
It was all right, though. It really was. I'd been floundering around in the dark for so long, it seemed appropriate that things were going dark for real. She was right; I was no queen. Look how easy she'd led me by the nose, and for how long. Heck, she'd been able to fool Sinclair!
(Elizabeth, get away. Run!)
Easy for him to say; he was napping in a nice comfy coffin.
No, it was probably for the best. My dad was dead, practically by my own hand. I'd probably have screwed up Babyjon beyond repair. Antonia had apparently gone completely nuts from the stress of being locked up most of the week. God knew what state poor Garrett was in. Jessica was a goner—you only had to look at the weight dropping off her to see it. And Sinclair—
If this bitch killed me, he was dead meat.
If this bitch killed me, there was no stopping her from hurting anyone she liked. My family. My friends. Sinclair.
The back of my head was sticky with blood; it was running down my face. I had a hundred broken bones; three of my ribs were gone. Not broken. Gone. Blood was draining from me. I had never been so. . .
hungry ?
. . . in my life. Never. I needed to drink, and I couldn't. I needed to live, and I wouldn't. But Marjorie had power and energy to spare; the most I'd been able to inflict on her were defense wounds.
Marjorie had power and energy to spare.
Marjorie.
I reached for her. Not with my hands. Not with my teeth. With my mind. Even as everything faded to black I could sense her energy, her strength, and I grabbed for it like a fat kid grabbed for pie. And just like a fat kid, my chubby mental fingers crushed her tinfoil skin, and my chubby mental eyes gleamed at the crumbling, steaming crust.
“Unh, ” I heard her grunt. She let go of me, her head tossing in confusion. Something had a hold of her and wasn't letting go. I rolled over to see who it was.
There was no one else there. But that didn't matter, because just seeing her like this was making me feel a bit stronger. The black blooms vanished, and I could see again. Her limbs thrashed as the chubby, pie-loving child inside of me poked at her to see what kind of fruit filling was inside.
Mmmmm. Blood pie.
Without touching her, I began to drink.
She screamed and fell to her knees.
No one else is doing it, I realized with more alacrity as the blood rushed into my system. Just the Queen. The Queen of the Fucking Vampires. Her Queen. And her Queen requires her goddamn, fucking obedience. She has something, I need it, it's mine.
Mine!
The darling pie-loving child was gone now. I split her open with my mind, grabbed for her, and pulled everything she had into me.
Her suit emptied—the blood first, then the shriveling muscles, then the flaying bits of dried skin, and then the billions of splinters of bone.
By the time I was done, I was standing tall over a librarian's suit, a librarian's sensible shoes, and about twenty grams of dust. I felt absolutely fine.
In fact, I had never felt fucking better in my life.
Chapter 37
Power slammed through me, and, I screamed. Well, not so much screamed as roared. I felt energy running through my spine like a waterfall; the overload of good was becoming worse than the beating. I staggered away from Marjorie's remains and nearly fell into Sinclair's coffin. I grabbed him and poured some of the new strength I had into him; it was either get rid of it or blow up.
Even as he stirred; grew younger, grew strong, sat up, it wasn't enough, I was still going to blow.
I stumbled away from Sinclair, kicked Marjorie's things (and probably a bit of old Marjorie, too, poor thing) out of the way, and reached for Antonia through the bars and poured more of it into her.
I was not entirely sure what I was doing and yet wasn't even shocked when Antonia screamed again, a scream that turned into a howl. She dropped to all fours, sprouted dark brown fur, and then an enraged werewolf was howling at the ceiling and tearing at the bars with her teeth.