Chapter 73
l t ended where it began for me: in the library where
we kept the Book of the Dead. What was funny was, now that I knew
what was going to happen, now that I had a brand-new mission, I
didn’t need to read the stupid
thing.
Still, knowing I
could made living in the same house with it slightly more
bearable.
And a shower! I could
shower! I could be clean! I could not
revolt myself! Or others!
I spied my red bag
beside one of the coffee tables, and lunged for it. A change of
clothes! Clean underwear! Oh I loved, loved, loved the
present!
I heard the front
door slam, heard the bellow of a cheerful baritone, and didn’t give
a shit. I righted the coffee table (it must have fallen over when
Satan tossed me like a tiddlywink), snatched up my bag,
and—
Saw Detective Nick
Berry standing in the parlor doorway.
“I said, Rainbow had a sale on raspberries. So I
bought about ten pints. What Sinclair doesn’t know won’t hurt him,
right?”
I dropped my bag and
stared. This, this smiling, friendly, relaxed Nick, this was the Nick I had known before I’d
died.
“I—I can’t believe
it,” I stammered.
“What? You think I’d
leave my favorite vampire berryless? Get it? Berryless? I got a
million of ‘em. Did you know you’ve got dirt on your
nose?”
“I’m your favorite
vampire?”
He sighed and glanced
at the ceiling. “Your vanity knows no bounds, but you make it look
cute instead of irritating, so I’ll indulge you: yes, of course
you’re my favorite vampire. Don’t get me wrong, Sinclair’s a
handsome man, and Tina’s certainly easy on the eyes, but I’ll admit
it: I’m a star fucker.”
“Huh?”
He leaned back and
glanced down the hallway. “Ah! There you are. You sure you’re up
for it?” He straightened and smiled at me. “Okay, so, technically
I’m a fucker of the star’s best friend, pardon the crudity.” He
leaned back out in the hall. “We can stay home if you
want.”
“Home?” I was having
a terrible time following the conversation(s).
“Yes, home, our
domicile—technically your domicile, but last I checked, even with
Jessica and me staying here, there are still about thirty guest
rooms left. Hiya, gorgeous.”
“I’m so hungry,”
Jessica moaned, appearing in the doorway beside Nick. “Oh, hey,
you’re back. You want to come to dinner? Manny’s? You can watch me
eat a steak, and I can watch you drink daiquiris.”
I
stared.
“Betsy?”
I
stared.
“Not that I care
either way, but you haven’t fed in a while, prob’ly ... am I
right?”
I pointed at
Jessica’s enormous belly. She was a stick with a ball. I always
knew, when she got pregnant, she’d be a stick with a ball.
“That—that—”
“What? I said I’d give you the ultrasound picture. And I
said you could tape the birth if you promise not to go foaming
barking mad when you smell all the blood. Now are you coming to
dinner or not?”
“Not,” I said through
numb lips.
Nick patted her
stomach and gestured in the direction of the front hall. “Your
chariot awaits, my pregnant goddess of love.”
“What, are you
trying to make me barf? I’ve had six
months of morning sickness and you’re trying to make me barf? Cops
are weird.” They turned to leave; Jessica glanced back and added,
“Welcome back.”
“It’s . . . it’s nice
to be back.” I could feel an incredulous, stupid grin spreading
across my face. “It’s really, really nice to be back.”