Undead 4, Undead and Unreturnable - MaryJanice Davidson Page 0,2

wrinkled in surprise. "I must say, Majesty, you're taking this much better than I anticipated."

"I was sort of expecting it. I've been keeping half an eye on the birth announcements… just haven't had a chance to get to them today. The baby's early… I didn't think the Ant was due until January."

"She might have gotten her dates mixed up," Tina suggested. "It's possible she miscalculated the date of her last menstrual—"

"I'm trying to kill my unholy thirst, here," I reminded her.

"Sorry."

I took another look at the paper. "So brother Jon. You know, the last baby the Ant had was the daughter of the devil. Wonder what you're gonna be like?"

Chapter 3

"Your father's not here," the Ant said. Although she looked haggard, her pineapple-colored hair helmet was in perfect shape. She was clutching a baby monitor in her unpolished fingers, and a steady, monotonous crying was coming out of it. "He's not back until tomorrow."

"I'm here to see the baby, Antonia. You know, my brother? Congratulations, by the way."

She was still hanging in the doorway, keeping me standing on the front step. "It's not a good time, Betsy."

"It never is. Really, for either of us. You look terrible," I said cheerfully.

She glared. "I'm busy now, so you'll have to come back."

"Look, Antonia, how do you want to do this? I can keep calling and keep coming by and you can keep blowing me off, and I can bitch to my father who will eventually get tired of being in the middle and make you let me see the baby, or you can let me in tonight and get it over with."

She swung the door open wide. "Fine, come in."

"Thank you so much. You're too kind. So have you gained a ton of weight lately?" I asked, shrugging out of my coat. Then I remembered that I was constantly cold and wouldn't be staying long and put it back on. "Not that you don't look, you know, good."

"I have to check on Jon," she said, scowling at the monitor. "The doctor says it's colic. Your father left me with him."

"Yeah, that's kind of his thing."

"We named him after your father," she added proudly, if inanely.

"But Dad's name is John. With an H. The baby's name is Jon, which, as I'm sure you know, being his mother, is short for Jonathon, which is spelled totally differently." My lips were moving; could she understand me? Maybe it was time to get out the Crayolas.

She glared. "Close enough. He's Jon Peter, just like your father."

I gave up. "Which bedroom have you set up as a nursery?"

She pointed to the south end of the hallway at the top of the stairs… the bedroom farthest from the master bedroom. Surprise. I mounted the stairs, and she was right behind me.

"You'd better not bite him," she snarked, which I didn't dignify with an answer. The Ant felt (and said, loudly, all the time) it was really thoughtless of me to not stay dead, and felt my fellow vampires were a bad element. That last one was a tough case to argue against. "You just better not. In fact, maybe you shouldn't touch him at all."

"I promise, I don't have a cold." I opened the door—I could hear the baby yowling through the wood—and walked into the nursery, which was overdone in Walt Disney Pooh. "Ick, at least do the original Pooh."

"We're redoing it next week," she replied absently, staring into the crib. "All my Little Mermaid stuff showed up from eBay."

Yikes, no wonder he was screaming. I looked down at him and saw nothing special: a typical red-faced newborn with a shock of black hair, little eyes squeezed into slits, mouth open in the sustained "EeeeeeYAHeeeeeeYAH eeeeeeYAH" of a pissed-off young baby.

He was dressed in one of those little sack things, like Swee'Pea, a pale green that made the poor kid look positively yellow. His little limbs didn't have much fat on them; they were sticklike. His teeny fists were the size of walnuts.

Poor kid. Stuck in this overly big house with a Walt Disney theme, the Ant as his mom, and green swaddling clothes. It was too much to ask of anybody, never mind someone who hadn't been on the planet for even a week. If I could have wept for him, I would have.

"Here," the Ant said, and handed me a small bottle of Purell.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not contagious."

"You're dead. Ish."

I debated arguing but then just gave up and gave my hands a quick