Undead and Unforgiven(23)

“You bet, snuggly-wuggly.” Over his groan, I added, “And something in the cool-but-weird category, Marc made a new pal this time. George Washington’s mom! Who holds grudges for centuries, apparently. But he definitely wasn’t bored.”

“Excellent.” Sinclair liked Marc, but at the same time was a little freaked-out by the trials and tribulations of living with a zombie. And we all liked for Marc not to be bored. “Well worth the trip for that alone.”

“Mmm.” I looked at the ceiling for a few seconds, thinking. “Y’know, I have to say I get why Satan was such a huge bitch. The Hell gig is a headache on the best of days, and if you do it right, nobody gives a shit. It’s gotta be like running the DMV.”

“Perhaps worse. You aren’t compensated for running the netherworld.”

“Maybe Satan wasn’t so awful.” I thought that over for another two seconds. “Nope. Still hate her.”

“Perhaps I could come with you next time. You dislike acknowledging it, but I’m quite a bit older than you and certainly have more experience in management.”

I held back a snort with difficulty. Management. Sure. If that was how he wanted to refer to keeping the former king of the vampires off his ass by wielding the cruel fist of a tyrant, that was fine. Whatever, pal. “Someone has to stay here and be a vampire monarch,” I said. “And I acknowledge your creepy ancientness all the time, you fogey.” I did, when I wasn’t trying not to think about it too hard. My husband was eligible for social security, and had been for decades. I regularly boinked an octogenarian. By contrast, I was barely a triplegenarian! (That’s the word, right? Triplegenarian?) “So what’d I miss this time? How long were we gone?” There was a pause and I left off the shoulder snuggling to sit up. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, exactly,” he soothed, which made me groan in despair. Sinclair had a high tolerance for wrong. The mansion could be in ashes and he’d classify it as “well, we had a bit of a setback this morning.” Know how I knew this? Because before we were married, he lived in a mansion, and it ended up in ashes. And he was as perturbed as I am when we’re out of ice. (It’s easy to get ice. So I find a lack of ice to be mildly annoying, but not much else.)

“What, what? How long was I gone? What happened? Is it terrible? It’s terrible, isn’t it?”

“Not . . . exactly. You were gone just over two weeks.”

(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Sinclair put a hand to his forehead. “Ouch.” Like me, he cherished our telepathic bloodsucking bond . . . most of the time.

“Christ, when am I going to get the hang of this?” I just about screamed. Thing #842 I hated about Hell: time moved differently there. If I had to guess, I would have thought we were there maybe half a day, long enough for the meeting and for me to chat with some locals, slurp down an Orange Julius, and listen to George Washington’s mom bitch about her rotten kid who founded a country while disobeying her. Instead, half the month had gone by.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Ah . . .”

“Right. We both needed all the sex.” Good God, I didn’t think Sinclair and I had gone without a marital boink for more than seventy-three hours since . . . I had to take a second and think about it. Ah! Since I accidentally fucked him upside down in the deep end of a swimming pool, simultaneously marrying him and making him king of the vampires. (Long story. Weird week.4 Also, vampires don’t need church services to be married, for obvious reasons.)

“But why didn’t you ask me to come back sooner?”

He remained silent, and I realized it was a dumb question (even for me). I knew why. It was a point of pride: I shall support my wife in the job I did not want her to take and wish she did not have, the thing she won’t share with me, and I will do this by refusing to give in to lonely horniness and beg her to come back. I’ll do that for a day. Three days. Five. A week. A week and a half. Two weeks . . . now where did I put my phone?

Goddammit.

I slumped back into the pillows. “Fine, fine. Better tell me the bad news. Did Jessica’s babies disappear and take longer than usual to reappear?”

“No.”

“Did my mom break up with her boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Please tell me she broke up with the guy who looks like a giant baby . . . That big round head, I can’t not stare at it when I visit . . .”

“Nothing like that,” he soothed.

“Well, good.”

“But the Antichrist has been trying to out vampires to the world, and it looks like she may well be succeeding.”