Wolf at the Door - By MaryJanice Davidson Page 0,37

his hair and clutched hard enough to make his eyes water. “What . . . the . . . fuck?”

Thirty

The polite and helpful zombie led her straight back to what Rachael saw was the kitchen, one the size of a small football stadium. The queen, her assistant/friend/minion Tina, and the starving pregnant angry Jessica were all seated on stools around a butcher-block table.

The air reeked of fruit, and there were many, many glasses on the table, all with varying amounts and types of smoothies in them. There were three, count ’em, three empty blenders plugged in and clearly ready for more business.

“You again,” the queen greeted her. “Just in time for happy hour.” Nothing. Nothing. “Whoa! No shoes, no service, missy! What’s with the bare feet? Are you from Arkansas?”

“No.” She realized in her rush to leave she’d neglected footwear. What an odd thing for the queen of the vampires to notice. “Forgive me, but . . .” Why was this only now occurring to her? Was she in that deep a fog of lust? “. . . why are you awake when it’s daytime?”

The leggy blonde yawned. She was either unphased by Rachael’s reappearance or possessed a superhuman ability to appear so. “Queen of the vamp perks.”

“But she”—pointing to Tina—“isn’t the queen.” Unless she was . . . what? A co-ruler?

“No, but she’s decrepit,” Jessica answered, unmindful of her smoothie moustache. Hunger. Amusement. “Ancient, even. I guess the older you are, the more godless hideous abilities you get.”

“What an apt description, Jessica, thank you so much.” Nothing. Nothing.

So. The vamp who looked like a walking ad for jailbait (who wore pleated plaid skirts with crisp white blouses anymore, unless they were on their way to a costume party or a fetish convention?) was an ancient vampire.

Good to know. She hoped they would make more slips. If they were slips. Could they be that confident? That unworried?

“I guess that makes sense,” she admitted, feeling a comment was required. They were awfully free with their information. Assuming any of it was the truth. She couldn’t tell, that was the maddening part. Only with the pregnant woman, and who knew what havoc pregnant hormones were wreaking on her senses? “I apologize for coming by, again, without calling first, again, but I need to tell you—”

“Why have you and your friend been sneaking around the neighborhood?” Tina asked.

Rachael thought about that one for a few seconds. The queen apparently saw this as a lull in the conversation, which she jumped to fill: “See? Toldya that’d knock her for a loop. Oooh, gimmee more of that sweet blackberry goodness. Nom, nom, nom!”

“Ugh, how can you stand all the seeds?” The zombie was peering at the queen’s glass with poorly concealed distaste.

“All fruit has seeds,” the queen protested. “You’re sitting there with a glass of strawberry seeds, moron!”

“There’s seeds and there’s seeds,” Jessica piped up. “You’d never grind up apple seeds in a blender for a smoothie.”

“You can’t,” the zombie said. “They’re poisonous.”

“They are not. That’s an urban legend.”

“They absolutely are. Trust me, I’m a doctor. A dead doctor.”

“What friend?” Rachael asked, much more sharply than she intended.

“Oh, like you don’t know. Puh-leeze, think we were born yesterday? It’s just not true.” The queen nodded toward the jailbait poster child. “Tina, in fact, was born about a thousand yesterdays ago.”

“How amusing, my queen.”

The zombie cleared his throat. “Betsy, I think you need to listen to her. She says she thinks people are being killed to get your attention.”

“No shit? Well, that’s just great.” The queen shook her head, suddenly dispirited. “Just when I was thinking my only problem was figuring out how to bring you back to life.”

“Don’t you dare bring me back to life,” the zombie replied sharply. “Then that damned prophecy will come true and I’ll eventually become the Marc Thing. Don’t make my suicide seem like a mistake.”

“Your suicide was a mistake,” the queen informed him.

“Dammit, Betsy!”

“Dammit, Marc! Like I’m gonna let you shamble around as a fucking zombie for the next thousand years? Have you met me ever? Not gonna happen! Get it through your thick, zombie head!”

“Excuse me. What friend?”

“Oh, don’t worry. My husband’s taking care of him right now.”

Rachael turned to run, her mind empty of everything but the urgent need to get to Edward now, which is when someone turned all the lights out in her skull.

Definitely should have seen this coming, she thought, watching with detachment as the floor rushed up to smack her in the face.

Thirty-one

Edward