not make, obey your every whim. You have a wealthy benefactor. The king…" She trailed off, and it was like she rearranged what she was going to say, because she just finished with, "The king is fond of you also."
Yeah, fond like a wolf is fond of raw beef. "So? Why do they care? It's not like I was overly involved in vampire politics."
"Not yet," Sinclair said.
"Oh. This sucks. This totally and completely sucks. The vampires all hate me and everyone's trying to kill me!"
"Not all," Sinclair said, totally straight-faced. "However, this brings up a vital point: you need a guard. Humans during daytime hours, and loyal vampires in the evening. The Puppet Master isn't likely to stop anytime soon."
This was getting better and better. If I was still alive, I'd have a splitting headache by now. I flopped back down on the couch and sighed. "I just can't believe it." But that was a lie. Tina was right; in a really really bad way, it did all fit.
"Keep Sarah close," Tina said after a long silence.
"I concur; she's a good suspect."
"She's a weirdo is what she is, and what are we going to do?" I put my hands over my eyes. "Oh, man, I really need to get out of here." I jumped off the couch and began to pace. "This has been the suckiest week since I died, I swear to God!"
"D'you want to go to Heaven?"
I was touched by the offer, and not a little surprised. Jessica hated shopping, and she practically loathed the Mall of America. I guess when you can buy every single thing six times over, it takes some of the fun out of window shopping,
"No. We can't, anyway… it's, like, three o'clock in the morning. The Mall's closed. Even the bars are closed."
"We could go bowling," Marc suggested brightly. "There's a really good twenty-four-hour lane not five minutes from here."
"B-bowling?" The room began to swim. I sat down before I fell—almost in Sinclair's lap. "You mean… with… with borrowed shoes?"
"What's the matter with you?" Jessica snapped at Marc. "Are you trying to make her more upset?"
"Jeez, sorry! I forgot how weird she was about her footwear."
"I'll be all right," I said faintly as Sinclair fanned me with a couch pillow. "I just need a minute."
"The Puppet Master doesn't have to cut off your head," Marc said. "He just has to put you in secondhand shoes. You'll off yourself in despair."
Sinclair laughed, and I snatched the pillow out of his hand and smacked him in the face with it.
Chapter 20
Marie was waiting for me when I finally went up to my room. I was glad to see her—I'd thought of a couple of things to ask her after we left earlier. And I'd do just about anything, even interrogate the ghost of a kindergartner, to take my mind off the problem du jour.
"Still haunting my room, huh?"
"I am not! I just like it in here."
"Uh-huh. Listen, I wanted to ask, how did you… uh… end up like this?"
She frowned, and a cute vertical line appeared between her eyebrows. "Gee. Nobody's ever asked me that before. O'course, nobody's really talked to me before you came."
Yeah, that whole queen of the dead schtick had all sorts of fringe benefits. I forced a smile as she continued. "Well. My mommy was working here. We used to sleep in Jessica's room. You know, when Mommy was done working. And once, a bad man came. I heard him come. I woke up and I ran out and saw him hurting Mommy, so I ran over to kick him, and he threw me really hard. And after that, nobody could see me anymore."
She must have hit her head and died, I thought. And then the asshole who tossed her like a tiddly-wink buried the body in the front yard. Too bad nobody saw him and called the cops.
And why was that tickling my brain? There was something there, and I just couldn't get to it. Dammit! Why was I great-looking instead of a genius? Usually I didn't mind, but nights like this…
"Oh," I said finally, because really, what was there to say? "Well, thanks. I was just wondering."
"I wish my mom would come. I want her real bad."
For sixty years she'd been wanting her! Poor kid. It's funny how that's what was keeping her in the house where she'd been murdered. In the books the spirit can't rest until the killer's been brought to justice, or whatever, but this ghost