“So begone from here, and do my unholy bidding at Sister Sue’s Soup Kitchen. I will know when you are ready.”
They all galloped out, several of them getting wedged in the doorway in their eagerness to obey Laura’s completely unevil command.
They were no sooner out the front door than Laura threw herself into my arms hard enough to rock me back on my heels. “It worked! Oh, Marc, I can’t thank you enough, what a wonderful idea you had!”
“Fifty hours a week should keep them out of trouble,” I agreed, patting her back.
“Oh, I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before!”
Well, honey, you pretty much tense up and close off whenever anything connecting you with your mother gets shoved in your face. When you’re that angry, or that upset, or that sad, it’s impossible to think logically.
(Dude, I prudently kept that to myself.)
“I don’t know how I kept a straight face,” Laura gasped. “I looked at you and I almost lost it right in front of that band of dimwitted sheep.”
In all modesty, I had to admit my idea stank with the reek of genius. Put them to work for you, I’d said. Make them volunteer at homeless shelters, at soup kitchens, at church fund-?raisers. That way they’re happy—they think they’re being tested—and you’re happy because not only are they out of your hair, they’re spending virtually all their free time helping the greater good.
I’d saved the best for last: ordering devil worshippers to commit good deeds was a terrific way to defy her mother. If I had needed a deal closer, that was it.
“Marc, if there’s ever anything I can do for you, you have to come see me or call.”
“Are you kidding? You just gave me ten minutes of free entertainment. You’re square with the house, honey.”
Laura turned away for a moment, suddenly lost in thought. “Maybe I’ve been looking at this the wrong way. If they’ll do anything I say—if they’ll do things for me they would do for no one else—I wonder what else I can make them do?”
“Hey, one way to find out,” I said, having absolutely no idea that I was inadvertently, and with the best of intentions, driving Laura to a break with her conscience and her sanity.
I take full responsibility for the following events, which I will narrate as quickly and carefully as I can.
Chapter 25
Derik! Apologize this minute,” Sara practically hissed. “I know you’re upset, but this is ridiculous. He’s just a baby.”
“I don’t know what the hell that thing is,” Derik retorted, “but it’s not a baby.”
“You’re acting like you’ve seen a ghoul, or something,” Jeannie said.
“What baby?”
Jeannie turned to her husband. “What baby? The one she got off the plane with, what are you talking about, what baby?”
Oh, great, here were Michael and Jeannie Wyndham, with Sinclair hot on their heels.
“Everybody just calm down,” I began, but Derik drowned me out.
He pointed. “That baby.”
Michael frowned. “But you don’t have a baby.”
Jeannie stared. “What’s wrong with you?” She nodded toward Derik. “Him, I get. He’s just playing the blame game. But you—”
I was flabbergasted. I’d suspected last night he hadn’t noticed BabyJon, but not noticing or commenting was one thing. Michael didn’t appear to see my brother at all.
“Well, he’s not mine,” I said, trying to recover from my surprise. “I mean, he is now. He’s my brother.”
Michael was staring at BabyJon with his flat, yellow gaze. “Where did he come from?”
“Uh, Michael.” I coughed. “Um, he came with us. On the plane, like Jeannie said. He was in the limo with us last night. And in your office.”
“Oh, well, that’s fine then.”
“I wouldn’t call that exactly fine,” Jeannie began, but Michael had already turned away, gently touching Jeannie’s elbow.
“Hon, would you tell the kitchen they need to send up more—”
“Wait.”
Sinclair might not have been a Pack member, but he had no trouble seizing control of a moment . . . Everybody stopped and looked at him.
“Michael,” Sinclair asked quietly, almost gently, “where is the baby?”
Michael frowned and cocked his head, as if listening to a voice from another room. “What baby?”
“That’s it,” Jeannie said firmly. “I’m taking you to a doctor. Right now.”
“I’m not sure it’s something a doctor can fix,” I said, mentally reeling. I mean, I really needed a minute here.
As soon as Michael had turned his back, he’d forgotten—again—about BabyJon. Derik wouldn’t go anywhere near the kid. And the other werewolves seemed to be picking up on Derik’s extreme stress. Only Sara seemed unperturbed.
“Perhaps it’s time to go,” Sinclair murmured, his fingers clutching the back of my chair.
Perhaps it was time to call the local mental hospital with some new admits. “Uh, okay,” I said, slowly getting to my feet. BabyJon, unmoved by recent events, yawned against my neck. “Well, thanks for the—uh—snacks. I guess we’ll—”
“We’re not going to actually let them get away with this, are we?” A petite, dark-?haired woman with a severe buzz cut was standing on the fringe of our small group. She was dressed in black jeans and a black button-?down shirt, and it took me a minute to place her.
It was Cain—one of the werewolves who’d come to the mansion looking for Antonia earlier in the week.
“She gets Antonia killed, then brings some sort of ensorcelled infant—if that’s what it really is—and we’re just going to let her walk?”
“Cain.”
“Well, are we?” she cried, turning to face the man who towered over her. He, too, was dark and whip-?thin. He, too, looked weirded out but, even more than that, he seemed almost embarrassed. For her or for me, I had no idea. But I wasn’t going to bet the farm it was me.
“That’s for the Council to decide,” the quiet, dark-?haired man said. “Not us. And not here.”
“But she got Antonia killed! And she doesn’t even seem to care!”
And that was just about enough. “I didn’t get Antonia killed,” I said, and I could practically feel ears pricking up all over the room. “You did.”
Sinclair pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.
“And then she—what?” Cain’s jaw sagged and she turned to fully face me. “What did you say to me?”
“What’s wrong? Should I get a megaphone? Do you not understand English?” Smiling, I beckoned her closer and, when she bent to hear, I said loudly, “I didn’t get Antonia killed. You did.”
Cain jerked away and rubbed her ear. A few more werewolves sidled over. Sinclair was still shaking his head and looking like the before picture of a sinus headache commercial.
“I am so sick of this bullshit,” I said, knowing my voice was carrying, knowing everyone in the room could hear me, and not much caring. “I guess it hasn’t occurred to any of you to ask yourselves what the hell Antonia was doing living with vampires in the first place. Oh, hell no! After all, it’s much more convenient to blame us than face the fact that she couldn’t get out of here fast enough.”
“And now,” Sinclair sighed, “we fight.”
“Here,” I said, thrusting BabyJon toward Sara, who scooped him up and backed off a couple of steps. BabyJon let out a pissed-?off yowl, ignoring Sara’s attempts to soothe him.
