21
You cannot control your family’s reaction to your new lifestyle. You can only control your reaction to your family. It’s best if that reaction does not include eating your family.
—From The Guide for the Newly Undead
Gabriel offered to wipe my family’s memories. It was so tempting to hide for a little bit longer, to let one area of my life stay the same for just a little while. But I’d had enough. The lies took too much energy, and, frankly, I was having a hard time keeping track of to whom I’d told what.
Gabriel wanted to stay and help me explain, which was sweet. But I didn’t think it was fair to put him in the line of fire. I wouldn’t have been there if I didn’t have to be. So, after sending everyone else home, I sat on Missy’s deck and stared at the newly unshackled pair. I insisted on leaving Jenny hog-tied and gagged for the duration of this discussion. Mama was too shell-shocked to argue, which I thought was a normal reaction to one’s first hostage crisis.
“Um, you probably have some questions for me,” I said finally.
Mama was dry-eyed and mad as hell. “Jane, what is going on? We got a call that you needed us at the house. And that awful woman just kidnapped us right off your front porch. Why would she do that? Why was she talking about vampires? Thank God your friends were here to help us, or I just don’t know what we would have done. Was that your Gabriel? The tall one with the dark hair? He seems very nice. Lovely manners. I don’t think I like the other one, though, the one in the vulgar T-shirt.”
“Mama.” I ignored the part where Mama negated my share in her rescue and stuck to the matter at hand. “Mama, you probably figured out, from what Missy was saying earlier, that I’m a vampire.” My throat tightened around every word. “In fact, if you think back on some of the stuff that’s happened in the last couple of months, you’ll see that there were some pretty big hints. And I understand why you didn’t see it, because you weren’t ready yet. And I wasn’t ready to tell you. But now I have to. I’m a vampire.”
My mother’s jaw hung slack. She paled. “You haven’t told Gabriel, have you?”
I would have laughed, but it wouldn’t have improved the situation. “He’s a vampire, too. In fact, he’s the one who made me a vampire.”
While they sat, stunned silent, I very quickly told them what really happened the night I was fired, my Shenanigans bender. I described Gabriel’s following me home to make sure I arrived home safe and my car breaking down. I told them about the shooting, though I omitted the identity of the drunken hunter. It just seemed petty now that Bud was dead. I also glossed over the more erotic aspects of Gabriel’s turning me, because I liked being able to look my father in the eyes. I would have to put that off for a while anyway, because looking him in the eyes at the moment made my chest hurt.
I assured them that I hadn’t fed on anyone living and planned to stick to bottled blood as much as possible. I judiciously omitted the Andrea episode. Daddy’s face contorted in alternating waves of rage, sorrow, and overwhelming curiosity.
Mama’s first question was “Have you tried not being a vampire?”
To which I responded, “Yes, for the first twenty-six years of my life.”
My father, who had remained silent and thin-lipped until this point, asked, “Why did you lie to us, honey?”
The hurt in his voice made my throat constrict. “To keep you from looking at me like you’re looking at me right now. Like I’m some kind of freak. Like you’re ashamed of me. Like you’re not going to want me to be your daughter anymore. I was scared, and I didn’t know how to tell you. And after a while, it seemed really difficult to fit ‘Guess what, I’m undead’ into a conversation.”
“But you didn’t just lie once, Jane,” Daddy said softly. “You’ve had months to tell us. You lied over and over.”
All I could muster up was a weak “I’m so sorry, Daddy.”
“Are you all right?” Daddy asked, tears of his own welling up. “Did—did it hurt?”
“Being shot hurt,” I admitted, reaching for his hand. His fingers wrapped around mine without hesitation. The weight that was crushing my chest seemed to wiggle loose. “Getting turned was just like falling asleep. I woke up three days later, and Gabriel took care of me. He saved me. I would have died without his help. Please don’t be angry with him or act weird around him. He’s a good man, for the most part.”
“What can you do?” he asked.
It took me a few seconds to catch up to Daddy’s question. He was asking about my snazzy new vampire powers, not expressing helplessness about my being turned by a guy with “shoves trees on people” tendencies.
“Oh, um, a lot of stuff, except, you know, eat solid food and go outside during the day,” I said.
“Even my pot pie?” Mama cried.
Yes, because in this situation, pot pie was what we should be focusing on.
I nodded. “But the upside is, I don’t have to feed very often. I can lift couches over my head one-handed. I’ve finally stopped running like a girl. I can smell fear. And you saw that I can hold my own in a fight. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”
Daddy’s expression brightened. And yes, I intentionally left out the part about the mind-reading, because that tended to weird people out. Plus, it was a hand I didn’t want to tip to Mama.
After a long pause, Mama said, “Well, I don’t know what to say.”
Daddy checked his watch and marked the time. “It took thirty years, but it was bound to happen sometime.”
Mama looked horrified. I started giggling, which made Daddy laugh. Then we just kept braying like donkeys until tears were streaming down our cheeks. I was so glad that dying hadn’t ruined my sense of humor. Or Daddy’s, for that matter.
Mama wasn’t as thrilled. “Well, that’s fine, just fine!” She cried fat crocodile tears, clumping her carefully feathered Maybelline Great Lash. “You two just sit here and laugh your fool heads off. You have your cozy little meeting of the We’re Smarter Than Sherry Club, as usual. I’ll just go home and mourn my daughter’s death.”
“I’m not dead, Mama, I’m undead. There is a difference.”
“Well, pardon me for not knowing the right words,” Mama huffed. “I’ve never met a vampire. I don’t know any. No one I know does. Oh, my, what are people going to say? What kind of mother am I to let her daughter get turned into a vampire?”
I snorted. “I’m not asking you to march in any pride parades, Mama.”
Daddy stood, wedging himself in the crossfire. “Now, let’s not say anything we’ll regret.”
“Oh, I think we’re already there.” I was fully prepared to vamp out and leap onto the roof just to complete Mama’s traumatic-offspring-treachery scenario. She was definitely sending Reverend Neel after me for this one. “You didn’t let me get turned into a vampire. I didn’t let me get turned into a vampire. It just happened. And there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Honey, please, we’re just trying to understand what’s happening,” Daddy pleaded.
Mama and I trenched ourselves in a sullen silence. Poor Daddy just looked back and forth between the two of us, like some spectator held prisoner at a tennis match.
“How do you expect to live this way?” Mama finally demanded. “How will you work? Where are you going to live? How will you take care of yourself?”
“I’ve been taking care of myself for quite some time now,” I insisted. “I’m going to keep living at River Oaks, as long as someone doesn’t try to kill me for it again. And I’ve gotten a new night job at a bookstore. I’m going to be fine, Mama. You know, Zeb joined this group, the Friends and Family of the Undead. It’s like a support group for people who know newly turned vampires. I think it might help you.”
“You told Zeb before you told us?” Mama shouted.
Oh, crap.
“How could you do that?” Mama cried. “We’re your family!”
“He found out the night I rose,” I said. “But no one else knows. Except for some of the vampires I’ve met. And Andrea, a girl who hangs out with a lot of vampires. Oh, and Jolene, Zeb’s fiancée.”
“Zeb’s getting married? Before you?”
Double crap.
“We just need to get you over to Dr. Willis and let him take a look at you,” Mama said, moving to pat my leg, then stopping, her hand frozen a few inches over me.
She was afraid to touch me. My own mother could not bring herself to lay her hands on me. Something inside me greeted quick, quiet death. “There’s not much he can do for me.”
“I don’t have to listen to this,” Mama snarled. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you talk like this. You can’t even try taking it seriously, can you? You died, and you have to make jokes, have to make me feel like an idiot for not understanding.”
“Mama, just let me take you home,” I said, reaching for her.
She shied away from me. “No, I think we’ll stay right here. Why don’t you go on home?”
“Well, because it’s not safe for you to be here by yourself. Who knows what Missy has here or whether one of her newbie minions is going to show up? You would be easy prey. I need to stay with you. And technically, I think this is my house, anyway. When you kill another vampire, that usually means you get their stuff. Besides, you don’t have a car. How are you going to get home?”
“We’ll have Jenny drive us.” Mama sniffed.
Great, bring up the living daughter. One more thing Jenny had on me—two kids, a husband, and a pulse.
I reluctantly untied my sister. With an indignant squeal, she broke loose from the ropes and pulled her gag away. She was about to scream at me when I clapped a hand over her mouth. “Don’t. Whatever you’re about to say, whatever excuse you’re about to give, don’t. I’m not talking to you for a while. Not until the urge to throttle you goes away. Stay away from the house, and stay away from me. Pretend that I don’t exist. It should be easy enough considering the practice you’ve had.”
“Jane, get your hands off her!” Mama yelled.
I stared at my mother. “You think I’m going to hurt her, don’t you?”
Mama said nothing. Daddy wrapped an arm around her. “Now, Sherry—”
“John, don’t!” she snapped, pushing his arm away. “Don’t take her side!”
“Stop! Please, just stop,” I told her, holding my hands up in my best “I’m not going to attack you” stance. “It’s OK, Daddy. I’m leaving.”
Daddy shot a bewildered look my way and rose. “We’ll talk soon, honey.”
“’Bye, Daddy.” I stepped close to kiss his cheek and was grateful when he didn’t pull away.
He squeezed my hand and winked at me. “Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”
Tears finally spilled over my eyelashes and down my cheeks. He hesitated, then kissed my cheek again.
I rounded the house and wiped my eyes on my sleeve. And that’s when I learned that vampire tears have blood in them. Bloody tears that my father saw. Great.
I pulled my car away from the house but watched from the end of the street. I watched the taillights of Jenny’s SUV fade into the distance as my family drove away.
Well, I’d finally been honest. My parents knew everything, and they’d heard it from me. Whether my family accepted it or not was up to them.
On a positive note, maybe I wouldn’t have to go to Christmas dinner that year.
22
Remember that life, or unlife, is what you make of it.
—From The Guide for the Newly Undead
I figured that if I could rescue my parents from my super-secret arch-nemesis in a battle to the death, I could face my former coworkers. Besides, I still needed Mrs. Stubblefield’s signature for my undead employment benefits.
I was obviously going to have to find another part-time job until the council unclenched and handed over my ill-gotten gains for dusting Missy. Personally, I thought they were withholding the money to teach me a life lesson in self-sufficiency and keeping my nose clean. Or something. Also, I thought it amused Ophelia to watch me squirm.
And Jenny, aware that she might never inherit River Oaks now that I was immortal, had sent me several legal notices demanding certain antiques and valuables. So, now I had legal fees to worry about.
It was a nice, clear evening, just after dusk, no worry about spontaneous combustion. Vampires live(ish) for sunsets like that. Pressing my hands against the doors, I prayed for strength and the fortitude not to use my stealthy vampire powers to do something bad to Posey…or Posey’s stupid lunch bag.
The first thing I noticed was that the security system was turned off, meaning anybody could just walk out the library’s front door with an unchecked book without setting off the alarm. Posey was sitting behind the front desk, flipping through a copy of Elle instead of helping the elderly patron carrying a heavy stack of Agatha Christie mysteries. Despite the fact that I did not punch her in the face on sight, she was not thrilled to see me when I sauntered up to the information desk and asked for Mrs. Stubblefield in my most syrupy-sweet voice.
“She’s not available,” huffed Posey as she turned her back on me to give the elderly patron some attention finally.
I tapped her on the shoulder.
“Well, could you please let her know that I’ll be in the special collections room, and when she has a minute, I would really appreciate just a few minutes of her time?” I cooed.
“I’ll see if she has a minute.” Posey sighed, rolling her eyes.
“Thank you so much.”
I took the long way to the special collections room via the children’s department and was greeted by utter bedlam. Outside Mrs. Stubblefield’s office, I could hear the mayor’s wife complaining about an unwarranted thirty-six-dollar late fee assigned to her account. There was a book cart parked in the middle of the reading room, covered in jumbled books. From the thick layer of dust settled on their spines, it was clear nobody cared whether they needed to be reshelved. In nonfiction, the Golightly sisters were fighting over the last available copy of The Secret. I stared in slackjawed horror at a silverfish crawling over the opened pages of the massive dictionary kept near the reference desk.
I’d had postapocalyptic nightmares like this, dreams of walking into the library and finding it ravaged, abandoned to scavengers and, possibly, zombies. Apparently, abandoning the library to Mrs. Stubblefield and her niece was not much better. And none of this bothered me nearly as much as walking into the children’s department, which looked like Paris circa 1944. Books were scattered like dead birds across the floor, split open, their spines cracking. The stuffed Mother Goose was in an anatomically correct position with Humpty Dumpty. The bookshelf containing the baby and toddler books had collapsed and was leaning against the wall, broken and discarded. Three little girls were running around the Storytime Carpet, spiking paperback copies of Junie B. Jones like footballs. Ten-year-old twins Jake and Josh Richards sat in the corner, furtively drawing breasts on the women in the Illustrated History books.
Seven-year-old Jimmy Tipton, who had been repeatedly warned not to bring juice to the library, was tossing prechewed Gummy Bears through the puppet theater. His mother, who had been warned not to bring Jimmy to the library, was nowhere in sight. I was prepared to let it go. To walk away. It was someone else’s problem. And then I saw Jimmy rip his juice box open and start to pour juice on the carpet. The carpet I’d installed with my own two hands.
“Stop!” I thundered in a voice not my own. It resonated inside my skull, echoing out over the children in waves. I could see everything, every page in every book. Every drop of blood coursing through the children’s veins. Every drop of Hawaiian Punch dripping onto the carpet. “Stop what you’re doing right now!”
The children froze. Their arms fell to their sides, and they awaited orders. To think of all the time and frustration this could have saved me during Story Hours.
“This is not how I taught you to behave in the library. This is not how I taught you to treat books. I want you to erase every mark. I want you to put everything away,” I intoned. “Everything. Even if you didn’t touch it, put it in its proper place.”
The kids scrambled to do my bidding. Even the kids who didn’t know the Dewey Decimal System, or their alphabet, were shelving books. I handed Jimmy a roll of paper towels from behind the counter.
“Blot,” I told him, and marched into the special collections room.
I was nose-deep in a rare edition of History of Hematology when Mrs. Stubblefield peeked around the corner. I caught her in my peripheral super-vision but deliberately ignored her until she was standing right in front of me. She jumped when I snapped the book shut and offered a sharp, sweet grin.
“Hi, Mrs. Stubblefield!” I chirped, cheerful to the point that it pained me.
She blanched, clearly expecting me to indulge in some sort of Texas Chainsaw Fired Employee Revenge Fantasy.
I stretched out to scan her mind. She put up no resistance, and I was overwhelmed with chaotic images. I saw whimsically tilted stacks of unshelved books left untouched for weeks. Mrs. Stubblefield finding my reminder (written in red Sharpie) on the calendar to call the exterminator for our annual spraying two months after the silverfish invaded. Posey sending out a Story Time flyer with the word “public” spelled without an “l.” Mrs. Stubblefield fruitlessly trying to reset the server when the online card catalog crashed.
“You asked to see me?” she asked as I enjoyed her memory of the library board standing around her desk, demanding to know how she had lost control of the place so quickly. Before I could speak, Mrs. Stubblefield blurted out, “We were hoping you might come back to your position as director of juvenile services. There would be a decrease in pay, of course, and you would have to take on more evening and weekend hours. I would hope that you would take these inconveniences in stride and recognize this offer for the gesture that it is.”
In other words, the library board was telling her to give me my job back, but she wanted my tail tucked between my legs when I returned.
I smirked nastily. “I guess that budget issue cleared itself up, hmm?”
I knew it was mean, but I was sure I’d get a free pass on that one. Mrs. Stubblefield made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
I looked across the hall to the children’s department, a room where I had spent the better part of six years. If you’d asked me as I walked into the library that night whether I wanted my old job back, I probably would have said I’d jump at the chance. But it’s true what they say about going home again. Everything about the library seemed so foreign to me now, almost cold. I loved the kids, the patrons, but I didn’t belong at the library anymore. There was nothing for me there. Plus, I didn’t know whether I could handle rooms full of chattering children with my super hearing.
I smiled. “You know what? No, thanks. I’m doing pretty well. Good luck replacing me, though.”
“Jane, please be reasonable,” Mrs. Stubblefield begged.
“I am being reasonable. I’m not accepting your sad, hobbled excuse for a job offer. The only reason I came here tonight is that I need a signature here,” I said, pushing the form toward her.
Her eyes scanned the top of the form, with “Federal Bureau of Undead Affairs” in huge Arial font. Understanding flicked across her features, and she turned roughly the shade of wallpaper paste. The moth eyebrows shot to her hairline and fluttered there indefinitely. She stared at the canines I was allowing to edge over my bottom lip. My eyes traced the slightly varicose veins along her throat, her collarbone.
I slid a blood-red ink pen across the table for her. “Oh, wait, it says it has to be signed in black. Silly me, what was I thinking?” I gave her a wide smile. “Red just seems to be my favorite color lately.”
Now fidgeting with the gold cross she wore at her throat, Mrs. Stubblefield signed the paper. She carefully avoided touching any part of the paper where she’d seen my hands.
“Thank you.” I let a low, hungry note creep into my voice as I said, “It’s so good to see you, Mrs. Stubblefield. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. I think I may have to come by more often.”
I stood, refrained from rolling my eyes when Mrs. Stubblefield flinched, and stuck my book on the correct shelf. I reached the door of the special collections room and turned back to my former boss.
“By the way, I’ve always wanted to tell you. Eyebrows. There should be two.”
Mrs. Stubblefield gasped in indignation as I swaggered out. I made a point to be pleasant to Posey as I checked out several volumes on remedial gardening and creating healthy boundaries in adult relationships. (My hope sprang eternal.) And yes, an Aretha Franklin chorus was ringing in my head as I left the building.
“R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to me,” I hummed. Gabriel was perched on the Veterans Memorial Fountain across the street, dragging his fingers through the burbling water.
“How did you know I would be here?” I asked when I reached him.
“I made a lucky guess,” he said. He nodded toward the library. “What were you doing?”
“Having a truly excellent moment in my life,” I said, grinning shamelessly. “One of the best ever, to be honest, before and after you came along.”
“I don’t know how to take that,” he said.
“Doesn’t feel too good, does it?”
“How are you?” he asked. He pushed my shirt aside and traced his fingertips along the shiny edges of the scar over my collarbone. “Wood wounds take longer to heal. It will be gone in a few days.”
“I kind of like it,” I said, not bothering to move his hand away. “My very first war wound.”
“So, how are you?” he asked again.
“Recovering,” I said, meeting his gaze. “Zeb’s still a little weirded out. He watched me kill somebody, which was a horrible new experience. Plus, he had semisexual feelings when he watched me wrestle with Missy. I don’t know which was more disturbing for him.
“In another milestone in my emotional development, I sent Jolene a bridal planner specifically written for were-brides,” I said, adding flatly, “and in exchange, Jolene sent me a catalog of bridesmaid hair accessories.”
“I’m very proud of you,” Gabriel told me. “And your parents?”
“Not very proud of me right now,” I said. “And my sister is suing me.”
“I could still talk to them for you,” he offered.
“What would you possibly say? ‘Sorry I bit your daughter?’ They’re just going to have to work it out at their own speed,” I said. “I think Daddy’s going to be OK. In fact, I think he’s kind of leaning toward it being cool to have a vampire daughter. He called yesterday, mentioned that he’d like to talk to you.”
Gabriel made an “uh-oh” face.
“No, I think he just wants to ask you some questions about your Civil War days. When I told him how old you are, he kind of started drooling.” I laughed.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a friendly chat with a special lady friend’s father,” he said, tugging at his shirt collar. “It will be friendly, won’t it?”
“Decidedly,” I assured him as he slipped his arm around mine. “He likes you. The fact that you’re a living record of everything he’s ever wanted to know about the history of the Hollow just gives you that much more of an edge.”
“And your mother?” he asked.
“Has taken to her bed and is refusing to come out. I think I have been officially written out of my grandmother’s will, but really, my name was in pencil, anyway, so it hardly matters.
“I am allowed to be friends with Andrea again, which is nice. Aunt Jettie says hi, by the way, and that she prefers that you wear pants the next time you’re in the house.”
“I’m sure you’ll explain that, at length, at another time,” he said, clearly confused. I’d forgotten that he and Aunt Jettie had never been properly introduced.
“My first battle to the death,” I said. “How many of those am I going to have? Because they’re not fun.”
“They’re rare,” he assured me. “Maybe we could put you in one of those plastic hamster balls for your protection.”
“That’s two jokes in two nights. You’re on a roll.”
“I think you’re having a bad influence on me,” he said solemnly.
“It’s nice to return the favor.”
“So, is this purely a social visit, or is there news from the council I should be aware of?” I asked, playing with the lapels of his coat.
“You’ve been cleared in Missy’s death,” he said. “Cleared in the sense that the council knows you killed her but feels it was justified. Also, they’ve ruled that you were not involved in Walter’s death.”
“Does that mean I have to give the Knight Rider DVDs back? Because they were kind of destroyed in the fire at Dick’s place. Where is Dick staying, anyway?”
“Not with me,” Gabriel muttered. “And that is all that matters.”
“You are going to have to come to some sort of truce with the guy,” I told him. “Now that I know he wasn’t involved in a conspiracy to defame and murder me, I consider Dick a friend. And as my…” Gabriel’s eyes focused on mine as I searched for an appropriate term. Unfortunately, all I came up with was “another important person in my life, I think it’s important that the two of you get along. Oh, come on, I’m not asking you to invite him to move in with you.”
Gabriel’s lips disappeared as he mulled that over. He finally relaxed enough to say, “Ophelia sends her regards. She also said she would like to not see you for several months.”
“The feeling is mutual,” I told him.
“The good news is you can expect a rather large deposit in your accounts soon,” he said. “And you’ll inherit the land surrounding your property in addition to Missy’s other holdings.”
“I don’t want to know how they know my account numbers, do I?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“I still have a hard time believing this was all about real estate and money,” I murmured as I stared up at the purpling sky.
With the weight of an impending murder trial off my shoulders, the world was a beautiful place again. The stars stretched out forever, and anything seemed possible…except maybe getting a tan. For the first time in a long time, I felt comfortable in my own skin.
“I kind of hoped that vampires were above petty greed,” I said.
He smiled that maddening Buddha smile. “Well, we were all human once.”
“Speak for yourself.”