Undead and Undermined

Chapter TWENTY-EIGHT



I would definitely keep Big Fat Jessica around, despite the annoyance of The Belly. Not many women could tolerate vampires, their boyfriend’s road trips to morgues, switching timelines, ghostly visits from dead bigots, and mysterious disappearances from same. “That’s exactly what my boyfriend says, except about arsonists.”

“Speaking of him—he brought the Mystery Machine to the morgue, and Nick did all the driving! There and back.” I hated driving, so found this impressive. It’s soooo boring. And just when you get going, some asshat Statie pulls you over. Like there aren’t any murders and rapes going on, so they can nap under bridges and set speed traps for unwary vampires. Weak.

“Dick. Remember? He’s Dick.”

“I know, I was just testing you. Also, don’t worry that he’s not here. He had to go—”

“I know, he texted me.” She waved her cell phone at me, then grinned at my scowl. “Don’t start with the text bitching.”

“Why is it suddenly uncool to spell? That’s all I want to know.” Just thinking about how texting had taken over both timelines was pissing me off. I stomped through our musty hallway—we had three housekeepers, but the mansion had been born before Lincoln, and there was always dust somewhere. “I wouldn’t trust Dead Ant to tell the truth about this, but has my psycho traitor jerkweed asshat sister been by? Because I’m scratching her eyes out the next time I see her. Then I’m really going to go to work on her.”

“No, we’ve just been massively worried about you since she yanked you into hell. No one’s had time to even look for her—not that we could find a teleporter.”

“Right.” That’s what she was now, wasn’t she? Terrific. “It was terrible,” I agreed. “You were right to fret. I’ve been run over by an Aztek and knocked through a Payless store window in the last three years. And felt up by a strange doctor!”

I must have slowed down, or she sped up, because I felt her big stomach whack into my back. It was surprisingly solid, which, for some reason, put me in a fouler mood. And also scared me. Why was it like a boulder? Shouldn’t it be soft? Pregnancy was weird.

“If you’ve got that telepathic link with Sinclair,” she huffed, trying to keep pace, “why did we have to wait until you stole a cell phone? After, uh, you got felt up by a strange doctor?”

My back actually itched where The Gut had smacked me. “Telepathy’s great if we’re having sex face-to-face. I mean, having sex. But multiple states away it’s less reliable.” In fact, I was still sort of amazed that I’d been able to hear Sinclair from two states away. I guess major stress had amped up our . . . what? Receiving abilities? I didn’t know. There was so much about this bullshit vampire gig that I didn’t understand, and maybe never would.

Not that my sex-pathy was any of her business. She was my best friend, but there were limits. Sex-pathy forever, telling Jess all the perv details, never.

“What is your problem?” Jessica demanded flatly.

“Oh, me? Hmm? Nothing much. I’m just a little busy juggling screwed timelines, looking out for the Antichrist, breaking out of morgues, and trying not to destroy the world with eternal winter.”

“With me. What’s your problem with me? Specifically”—she pointed to her enormous bulge—“this part of me?”

“I’ve got more important things to worry about than what you’re gestating,” I lied, scratching my lower back, which itched madly. What if she had a baby and some sort of fungus going on under there?

“Not right now you don’t.” For a second she was almost as intimidating as Satan. Satan! “If you expect to leave this hallway under your own power, you’ll own your shit.”

“Own my . . . ? Okay, first, I don’t even know what that means. Second . . .” Would I? Could I, even? I did love the front-heavy tart, even if she got pregnant in front of me behind my back. Oh, the hell with it. “Second, I’m jealous, okay?”

“Of Dickie?”

“Who? Oh. Nick. No, no. In fact, he’s a delight in this timeline. You have no idea . . . the father of your demonspawn was a real prick in the old timeline. Jealous, moody, shrill . . .” Like me, actually. But this was no time for self-introspection. “No, I’m jealous of that.” I pointed to her bulge again.

Jessica looked down at it (as if she could look anywhere else), then back up at me. Bewilderment was written across her face; anyone (even me) could have seen how startled she was. “What? Why?”

“Why?” I cried. “Are you serious? Why would I be jealous? Why wouldn’t I? In your timeline, in the last few months you remember, I had ages to get used to Nick-who-is-now-Dick never being a jerk and you being a mom-to-be. Here, I’ve had about fourteen hours. Several of which, I might add, I was unconscious on a coroner’s slab!”

“But what does that have to do with—”

“I’m used to being number one in your life, okay?”

“But—”

“Listen: in the old timeline, the one you can’t remember, bad things happened to Nick—”

“Dick.”

“No, he was Nick then. And bad things happened to him, things that were my fault. And it changed him, made him a different man than the one you repeatedly knocked boots with in disgusting and fertile ways. And so, in that other timeline where you knew what birth control pills were, he made you choose: him, or me. You chose me. That’s the past I remember. In my head, that’s how things are.

“Except they aren’t! And I’m having a tough time handling it, okay? It’s shitty and it’s selfish, and it’s also the truth, right? I liked being first with you. I liked that you picked me over him. Lame, right? Right.”

“You’re not actually letting me answer any of your questions,” she tried.

“But that didn’t happen here. You’ve got N/Dick here, and he has you, and when you have a baby it’ll be all ‘baby makes three’ and you’ll love it more than me.”

“That’s idiotic.”

“Nuh-uh! It’s a biological imperative. It’s gonna happen. You won’t have any choice. You’ll have to love it. And feed and house it, and open a college fund for it, and take tons of pictures of it to bore other people with, and put it on the phone before it can even talk, which we’ll all hate but pretend we don’t . . . it’s all this huge biological rule you’ll have to follow.”

Jessica’s mouth twitched. “I meant, it’s idiotic to be jealous of a baby who isn’t even here yet.”

“Think I don’t know? It’s also lame and beneath me.” I paused and thought that over for a second. “Okay, not much is beneath me, come to think of it, so that last bit might not be true. But all the rest is. Look, like I said, I know it’s selfish. But I can’t help it. I don’t like sharing you. Why am I obsessing about this when I have to save Marc and the future and also beat up my sister and remember the Ant is dead and get the other Antonia and get the book back?” I wondered aloud. Even for me, this was scattered. “Ugh, I hate everything tonight.”

“Betsy . . .” Jessica seemed startled, almost flabbergasted. “I could have twins in here—”

“Don’t you threaten me!”

Her eyes actually watered with the effort to not laugh in my face. “Triplets, even. Think of it.”

“You might,” I said, stealing another glance at The Belly That Ate the World. “You’re pretty gigantic.”

“And sure, I’ll love him or her or them . . .”

“Barf.”

“. . . but I wouldn’t love you less, dumb shit. You love BabyJon, I think, but it doesn’t mean you love me less, right?”

I was weakening. “You leave the PoopMeister out of this.”

“My heart is infinite. That means—”

“I know what it means, you whore.”

“I’m gonna repeat, because I know all about your attention span and short-term memory: I won’t love you less. Regardless.”

“Well, it’s about damn time! Thank you for finally putting my terrible hideous fears to rest. Was that so hard, reassuring me? Don’t you get it?” I cried. “I’m the victim here! Everything’s different but I’m the only one who knows it! I’d think you’d be a lot more understanding, given the situation.”

The corner of her mouth twitched again. Her eyes, tilted at the ends like a cat’s—she had beautiful eyes—narrowed, and then she gurgled laughter. She laughed so hard and so long, she had to lean on me to keep from falling down.

I didn’t mind.

“Some things,” she finally gasped, “never ever change. Including you, Bets, you selfish turd. I’m glad you didn’t die again. Or stay dead.”

“Well.” I was mollified, but had no idea why. Maybe because she was leaning on me literally and figuratively? Or maybe because it was nice to have her to myself, even if it was only for five minutes. “I’m glad, too. So what are the odds of you having a litter?”

“Shut up,” my best friend said, kindly enough.