Undead 10, Undead and Undermined - MaryJanice Davidson Page 0,7
. . . ?”
“Sounds like Dick.”
“Hee, hee!”
“Grow up,” Jessica and Nick (?) said in unison. Nick (?) added, “Come on, you know that. Or at least you knew it yesterday. Jeez, for the first year Jessica and I went out, you kept calling me by the wrong name.”
“I do that to everyone. So your name is now Dick.”
“It’s always been Dick.”
“But your name isn’t Richard or Dick or anything like that. If you’re a Nicholas, why would your nickname be Dick?”
“Because there are a lot of Nicks in my family, so they called me Dick to distinguish.”
“Not Nick, yup, got it.”
He sighed and looked put-upon, then smiled at me. “If only I could believe that, roomie.”
Roomie! I sooo did not authorize this; it was annoying enough sharing hot water and fridge space with . . . uh . . . lemmee see, how many people were living here before . . . “Are you still a cop?”
“No, now I sell Mary Kay.” Seeing my eyes narrow into the cold pitiless gaze of a killer (or someone getting ripped at a sample sale), he elaborated: “Yes, I’m a cop. Currently Detective First Grade.”
“And you . . . uh . . . you and Jessica . . .” I pointed vaguely at her big belly.
“Stop staring,” she told me. “And yes. And stop that.”
“I’m not staring.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I—oh, cripes, what was that?” I was on my feet before my brain knew I’d been trying to get away. “It moved!”
“Kicked,” Jessica corrected, patting her belly and pushing the teeny foot or skull or tentacle out of the way. “But don’t worry, honey. Someday you’ll have hair on your special places and will start thinking about boys and wanting to have a baby.”
“Fat fucking chance. No offense.”
“Whoa, wait.” Jessica’s big brown eyes went squinty, which wasn’t easy since she was wearing her hair skinned back in her usual eye-watering ponytail. She was sort of stuck in a high school hairdo, but it was understandable . . . pulling her hair back emphasized her cheekbones. You could practically cut yourself on them. She looked like a big round Nefertiti. “Did you just get back from hell and call me fat?”
“Not on purpose. Either of them.”
“You’re glowing, Jess, you’re gorgeous,” Nick soothed. “Betsy’s just . . . you know. Being Betsy.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Artist Formally Known as Nick?”
“What do you think it means, Vampire Queen Lamely Known as Betsy?” He sounded pissed, but then laughed. “Jesus! You take one trip to hell and then have to be reminded of the basics.”
“Why are you laughing? You hate me!”
Nick frowned. “Since when?”
CHAPTER THREE
Well. Since I fed on him the night I came back from the dead, and my husband mind-raped him. Oh, and since he forced Jessica to choose between him and me. If we’re, you know, going to get down to specifics.
“Nicholas J. Berry!” Jessica gasped. “What is the matter with you?”
“With me? You should have seen this psycho bitch in action.”
“That is enough,” she snarled, hands on scrawny hips. “When are you going to get it through your head that Betsy isn’t the cause of all your problems?”
I was frantically trying to signal to Jessica, making a slashing motion across my throat, the universal gesture for shush! Although it made me sad, I felt Nick’s rage was a perfectly appropriate reaction to the evening’s festivities. I appreciated Jessica sticking up for me—she always stuck up for me—but she didn’t have all the facts.
He had been attacked. Again. Violated by vampires . . . again. I was amazed he hadn’t gone fetal in the hedges.
“How many times do I have to say it,” Jessica was saying. “How many times do you have to see it? She’s a good guy!”
“No, Jess, it’s okay, he—”
“She drinks blood, because she’s dead,” he said, spitting on the floor—spitting blood, I might add, and I was ashamed, because my fangs were out again. I didn’t dare speak anymore; I didn’t want him to know I wanted to drink and drink and drink. “She’s a killer, and you know it.”
“I love her, she’s the sister I never got, and you know that.”
“Ah, perhaps we could, ah, step into another room and discuss, ah, the new terms for surrender,” Tina said, because even the Fiends looked uncomfortable to be witnessing the lovers’ quarrel.
“Or maybe you could talk about this later, when everybody’s calmed down,” I tried.
“Don’t make me choose,” Jessica warned, ignoring us. For her, the only person in the room was