“No, I mean—I died. And went to Hell.”
“So did I. Well, I died first; getting to Hell took a couple of years. Look,” I added, because she seemed (to be kind) deeply confused. “Just try it. It’s not against the rules.” Wait, was it? I made a note to check with the Ant. “And if it is, it isn’t anymore.”
“It isn’t?” Jennifer asked.
“Wait, was that a rule? Back in the day?” Meaning, prior to a couple of months ago?
“Noooo.” I could see Jennifer giving her reply careful thought. Whatever she’d been in life (accidental arsonist, eighties fashion victim), she was a cautious, troubled woman in death. “It’s just—why bother? How would it help? How would God help? I mean . . . we’re here. What’s there to pray for?”
I opened my mouth to answer, then spotted Father Markus and the Ant—not a couple I’d ever seen together; ooh, could this be the start of a rom-com sitcom?—with their heads together in intimate conversation at the other end of the food court. I whistled to get their attention and waved them over. They traded glances I had no trouble interpreting and hurried over.
(Ugh, what’s she want now?)
Though it was possible I was projecting.
“Of course prayer is allowed in Hell,” the Ant said when I straight-out asked. “It’d be crazy to eliminate it.”
“Oh. Well, good. That’s one rule I won’t have to unilaterally abolish.”
“Where better?” Father Markus added, giving Jennifer and Cindy polite nods. “If anything, prayer should be encouraged. Knowing God will never hear them or help them just deepens the despair. Which is the point.”
“Um.” For a kindly priest, Father Markus could be kind of a hard-ass when he was inclined. Either he was kind of a dickwank in life or Hell was making him mean. I had a hunch which it was, and I didn’t like it. If I was right, it didn’t bode well for Sinclair coming back here anytime soon. “Well, I happen to disagree—I think God would listen. But anyway.” I turned back to the girls. Women. The damned women of the Orange Julius booth of the damned. “Pray away, ladies.”
“Good to know,” Jennifer replied, and she actually smiled when Cindy giggled. The Ant rolled her eyes, while Father Markus just looked disapproving. I saw Marc and Tina in animated conversation a few tables away and waved (what, was it break time?), and when they spotted me they got up and came right over.
“Hi,” Marc said to Cindy. “Do you remember me?”
“I’m sorry,” she said at once in a small voice, looking anywhere but his face.
“So, that’d be a yes?” He smiled, trying to put her at ease. “Hey, don’t sweat it. No permanent damage. See?” He rolled up his sleeves and bared his arms. Not a mark. “It’s a perk when you live with what’s-her-face, here.”
“Having you in my life is the ultimate mixed blessing.” I sighed. What’s-her-face? Really?
“What are you?” Cindy asked, staring at him. “I remember you tasted all wrong. It just made me . . . madder and—and hungrier.”
“It’s a long story,” he replied just as my hip vibrated. Text! Ah, here came the sweet anticipated apology from Sinclair, whom I would eventually forgive because I loved him and also because he liked to express remorse via oral sex. “And I come off really zombie-ish in it . . . What? Betsy? ’S’matter?”
I gulped and reread it.
Remain in your solitary kingdom if you will, but know that the Antichrist and I will be locked in a battle to the death by the end of the week.
“Holy shit!” Marc practically screamed, rudely reading over my shoulder again.
And we require ice and strawberries.
“What the zombie said,” I replied grimly, and I looked up at my friends. “Time to go.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
“They are here. They move among you. They hunt among you. All the old stories we were told as children to frighten us into behaving are true: there are monsters. They exist whether we behave or not. I should know: the queen of the vampires is my half sister, a blight on my life and a danger to all of you.”
“Notice she left out her own title,” Tina pointed out.
“And her own blight-eyness,” Jessica added.
Of course she did. The Antichrist is the biggest hypocrite I’ve ever known. Not that I could say any of that out loud. I was pretty much rendered speechless.
“This is everywhere?” Jessica asked with wide eyes. We had gathered in the kitchen and everyone was awake, and most of us were even alert. She had one of her as-yet-unnamed babies slung over one shoulder and was rubbing his/her back, while Dick was feeding his/her sibling, cradling her/him in his arms while he watched the level in the bottle go steadily down. A baby glutted on milk was hilariously cute.