Undead and Unforgiven(30)

“You owe me!” she cried, and the hell of it was, she really believed that. I was the big bad vampire queen who cheated her out of what she wanted to give away.

“I don’t owe you a goddamned thing,” I snapped back. Her mouth popped open and I kept on. “I know we’re in church! I think God would give me a pass on this one!” I was on my feet without remembering standing. “We’re done. So sorry to keep you waiting while I was learning your job. I’m going now.”

She sniffed. (I’d have snorted; did she have to be more graceful in everything she did?) Mumbled something that sounded like, “Typical,” but I wasn’t going to rise to the bait. (This time. Probably.) I heard her stand and follow me down the aisle like we were the Taylor sisters hanging out after church, just a couple of sisters disagreeing over matters that weren’t life and death, instead of the Antichrist and the vampire queen arguing about the best way to prove God was real, or not, in order to demand the conversion of millions, or not.

The worst part? I still wanted her to like me. She was the only sister I was ever going to have, and I admired her when I wasn’t thinking about puncturing her eyeballs with my stilettos. She was sneaky but brave, judgmental but unwavering, beautiful but bitchy when crossed. I’d been impressed and jealous since the moment we met. She was her mother’s dreadful daughter in every way . . . and our father’s . . .

. . . and I still wanted her to like me.





CHAPTER

TWELVE

“And you might tell the vampire king that First Presbyterian doesn’t need any more of his blood money!”

I stopped on the sidewalk and turned to see the Antichrist framed in the doorway, holding the heavy door open with an effort (did they want to make it difficult to get in, or leave?). We had both marched through the church, past the few remaining churchgoers, tight-lipped and glaring at the carpet. All the brownies had been snarfed. (Plenty of peanuts left, though.) I’d thought we were done. But, as I often am, I was wrong.

“Churches always need more blood money!” I shouted back. I winced and lowered my voice. “I mean, regular money of the nonbloodstained variety. And frankly, Sinclair’s got dibs on this place. His grandpa rebuilt it; you’re just the Antichrist-come-lately.”

The devil’s daughter glared from the shelter of Sinclair’s grandpa’s church (there was probably a metaphor in there somewhere). “They wouldn’t be so pleased to see him if they knew what he was!”

“Like I give a shit! Like he does! Tell anyone you want who he is, who any of us are, and enjoy the three-day psych hold that results. You really don’t get it, do you? No matter how many ways I try to explain it. You’ve made up your mind about him and that’s it, right?” Guess it was true, some in-laws were just doomed to never get along.

Laura took a few steps toward me, letting the door swing closed with a heavy chunk! that probably rattled the stained glass. “What’s to get? He’s trying to buy his way into Heaven. It’s disgusting.”

I burst out laughing. Not to be mean—well, out-and-out laughing in her face was mean, but it wasn’t anything I thought about doing and then did just to be mean, if you see the difference. It just proved that all she saw was the surface stuff—and that was true of herself, too.

“Uh, news flash—”

“What are you, fifteen?”

“—Sinclair does not expect to go to Heaven. He could recarpet the place in thousand-dollar bills and he wouldn’t expect ever to shake hands with St. Peter. And this is what I mean when I keep telling you how you don’t get it.”

She folded her arms and shivered a little; I realized she must have left her coat inside. Good. Hope someone stole it; how’d that be for delicious irony? Me, I was always cold, even in August, and I’d never taken mine off. Thanks, Gore-Tex! Suck it, Antichrist! “Explain it to me.”

Why? To what effect? Would it change anything? Would it solve anything?

Fuck it. “The worst thing to happen to you was finding out who your mom was. That was it. Your adopted folks are still alive; they never stopped loving you; you’ve never lost a friend or a loved one. You’ve got a job you like—” Er, right? I knew she’d dropped out of the U (one of the few things we had in common), but her many part-time volunteering jobs had, over the course of the last year, turned into a couple of full-time ones. “You’re a welcome contributor wherever you volunteer; you’ve got family you like—your mom and dad—and family you don’t, like me and Sinclair.”