“Look, we can't just paper over this, okay? You weren't here two minutes before you plopped a big steaming pile of shit into my lap. Last night wasbad , get it?”
“Majesty, lopping off heads and cutting off penises and flaying strips of skin and drying them out like jerky, then making innocent children chew on them,that would be bad. Not being allowed to feed until you lose your mind, fighting over victims like dogs in a pen, that is bad. Do you understand this?”
“Alonzo.” I ran my fingers through my hair and resisted the urge to kick the couch through the wall. “Okay, I understand. You are trying to put this in perspective. So try to see mine. You hurt my friend. You killed my friend.”
“When you were not in power, when I did not know she would be your friend.”
“Agreed. But dude: she is gunning for you.”
“And you will allow that? Am I not your subject as much as she is?”
“Maybe a caged death match?” Marc hollered from the hallway.
Tina got up and firmly shut the door.
“Perhaps a formal apology?” Sinclair suggested.
“I would do that,” Alonzo said at once. “It would be my honor to do that, to help Her Majesty and His Majesty find a way through this… difficult situation.”
I sighed and looked at Tina and Sinclair. Of course they would want this to end here, with a hint of a chance at agreement, so we could move on with diplomatic relations.
I gave them both a look. Tina had turned Sinclair; they were best buddies. Of course he would think Sophie and Alonzo could Just Get Along.
“You didn't see her tonight. She is beyond pissed. And she's pissed atme , because I'm not helping her. Yet,” I added, hoping to wipe the smile off his face. Unfortunately, since I wasn't cutting off his penis or making him eat his own skin, he was in a pretty good mood.
“Where's the rest of the Undead L'il Rascals?” I asked, because more surprises, I so did not need.
“We felt it was better for me to return alone to make amends, as I was the one to, ah, incur your wrath.” He almost laughed when he saidwrath .
“Alonzo, I am fond of Sophie as well,” Sinclair commented.
Finally, the lurking smile was banished. Alonzo looked contrite. “I cannot undo the past, Majesties. If you will it, I shall seek out the lady and apologize. And make amends.”
“Make amends how?”
“However you wish. My fate,” he said simply, “is in your hands.”
I glared. “Stop being nice about it.”
“Of course, as you wish. I shall endeavor to stop the niceness of my apology immediately.”
Before we could go any farther down this insane road, there was a long, sonorousgong from the foyer, and I nearly groaned. The front door. Terrific.
“You know what? I'll get it. You guys”—I motioned to Tina and Sinclair—“should Alonzo be strung up by his balls? Discuss.”
“I would be against that particular course of action,” I heard him say as I left the room.
My evil-o-meter must have been on the fritz, because I didn't realize it was my stepmother until I'd swung open the door (these old fashioned mansions didn't have any peepholes—something we probably should have rectified when we moved in).
She was holding my half brother, BabyJon, a chubby three-month-old infant who was squirming and wailing in her arms.
“You take him,” she said by way of greeting. “He's just being impossible tonight, and if I don't get any sleep, I'll be awful tomorrow for the foundation meeting.”
“It's not a good—” I began, then juggled the baby as she shoved him into my arms. “Antonia, seriously. This really isn't—”
She was backing down the front steps, wobbling on her high heels. If it hadn't stuck me with permanent baby duty, I would have wished her to fall down.
“He'll need to eat in another hour,” she said. “But it's not like it's really an imposition, right? You'll be up all night anyway.” She'd navigated the steps in her tacky brown pumps, and now she was practically running to her car. “I'll pick him up tomorrow!” she yelled, and dove into her Lexus.
“It's not a good time!” I hollered into the spring night as gravel sputtered and tires squealed. BabyJon was chortling and cooing in my arms. And—was that?—yep. Shitting. He was shitting in my arms, too.
I trudged back to the parlor, laden with bags of baby crap and, of course, the baby.
Alonzo looked mildly surprised. “I thought I smelled an infant,” he said, which was creepy in nine ways.
Tina looked away, nibbling her lower lips. Sinclair looked resigned.
“I'm, uh, going to be babysitting tonight. Starting right now. Which does not get you off the hook,” I added. “But we'll have to finish this up later.”
“You have a baby?” Alonzo asked, looking befuddled.
“It's notmy baby. It's… ugh. You know what? Never mind. Our discussion is over. Go apologize to Sophie, if you think that'll make things right. Just… do it and mind your own business.”
BabyJon, perhaps in agreement, barfed all over me.
Chapter 8
“I had other plans for us tonight,” Sinclair said, looking nudely aggrieved.
I had just plunked BabyJon into the port-a-crib in our room, none too happy about current events. I was trying not to drool at my fiancé, who was standing, hands on hips, beside our bed. His dark hair was mussed from where he'd pulled his undershirt over his head (vampires layered), which was the only indication that he was annoyed. With his broad shoulders, long muscled legs, and big, uh, nipples, he could have been a lumberjack slumming in the state capital. All he needed was the axe. And possibly the blue ox.
“This wasn't exactly how I pictured spending the evening, either.”
“Must he sleep in here with us?” Sinclair continued.
“He's not exactly sleeping,” I mumbled, as BabyJon cooed and chortled in the port-a-crib.
“Why not put him down in another room?”
“Why do that when I can put him down here?” I looked at the baby. “You're fat and you don't know how to use toilet paper.”
“I am quite serious, Elizabeth. Put him down somewhere else.”
“Eric! Be sensible. What if something happened to him? This is an eighty-room mansion. What if he chokes? I'd never forgive myself if I couldn't get to him in time because I couldn't remember what door I put him behind.”
“You have super speed and super hearing.” Eric sighed.
“It's just one night. We're supposed to be together for a thousand years, you can't ditch sex for one night?”
“It is the third night,” he retorted, “this week. At this rate, in a thousand years we'll have missed sex one hundred fifty-six thousand—”
“Jeez, okay, I get your point, so what? I should put him on the doorstep from now on?”
“You could try telling your stepmother no.”
“It all happened so fast,” I said weakly. “And you want him to have to spendmore time with his mother? Unfeeling bastard! Besides, the baby brings the family, uh, closer together.”
“Which I would understand, if you had the slightest desire to be closer to Mrs. Taylor.”
“It's one night,” I said again. Okay, three—in addition to the surprise she'd dumped on me tonight, we'd actually planned for the baby to stay tomorrow night and Monday. I decided not to bring this up just now. “Come on, babe. He's the only little brother I've got. Maybe he's our heir!”
BabyJon farted.
“Our heir,” Sinclair observed, “is a hairless, incontinent monkey. With frog legs.”