and tried to make a decision. Any decision.
“You might as well,” a horrifyingly familiar voice said from across the room. “You can't screw this up any worse.”
I looked over, and there she was: Laura's mother, the devil, seated behind the desk. “Fabulous,” I muttered.
“So nice to see you, too, dear.” Satan looked a lot like Lena Olin: long brown hair streaked with silver. Calm expression, beautiful gray suit, classic gold earrings (in the shape of angel wings!), black stockings, and. . . I peeked under the desk. And groaned silently. She was wearing fourteen-?thousand-?dollar Manolo Blahnik black alligator boots. “Like them?” She rotated her left foot around her ankle. “I'm sure we could work something out.”
“Get lost.”
“Now, Betsy. You need me. After all, you're not using that teeny, tiny brain of yours. In fact, you haven't been since this whole thing started.”
“And what do you know about it? Scratch that: go away.” I wasn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but I knew that the devil never gave up anything for free. I was crazy even to be talking to her.
“Oh, Betsy. Don't you know? I can help you. I want to help you. Him?” She jerked a thumb toward the ceiling. “Not so much. You think He cares about you now that you're a vampire?”
“I think you lie like old people fart.”
“I've never lied to you, dear.”
I had to admit that was true. Not that I was going to say so out loud.
“It distresses me to see my daughter's sister so upset. So alone in the world. Beset from all sides.”
“Really.”
“I'll help you, dear. All you need do is ask.”
“How about if I ask you to toddle off back to Hell?”
Lena Olin made a tt'tt! noise and shook her head sorrowfully, as if at a disobedient daughter. “Why make things so much more difficult? You know I can help you.”
“I know nothing's free with you, Lena Olin.”
“Let me help you. I’m dying to help you. He's still alive, you know. It's not too late. . . yet.”
That hurt. A lot. I closed my eyes and chewed on my tongue so I wouldn't say something that would cost me my soul.
“I'll be glad to lend a hand. Because once you have your lover back, you'll stop thinking the worst of my poor Laura. I dislike it when the two of you argue.” I grunted.
“All you need to do is ignore Him and pray to me.” I nearly fell out of my chair. “Pray to you?”
“Well, why not? You've seen the state of His world, right?” she said with a gesture. “Your best friend fighting for her life? Your father dead in a senseless accident? Your brother orphaned? You alone in your time of greatest need? And let's not even talk about all the children He does away with every hour of every day. Who knows how long Babyjon has under His regime? Pray to me, dear. At least I'm not crazy.”
“That's tempting,” I said. “Really tempting.” She smiled and smoothed her hair. “We try.” “Well, try this. Take your satanic, designer-?shoe-?wearing ass right out the door, willya?”
The devil frowned. “Betsy, this is a chance that may never come again.”
“Bullshit! You show up whenever I'm in a jam, but I'm not dumb enough to think you care about me. You're the devil, for crying out loud! Your reputation is horrible! Now get lost!”
She stood. It seemed to take a long time. It seemed like she was ten feet tall. “Enjoy the funerals, dear. Because without my help, there will be more. And say hello to my dear one when you see her again.”
I opened my mouth to say something snappy, but I was alone in the room.
Chapter 35
It took me about ten minutes to stop shaking. It had never been so hard to tell Lena no. Sure, my soul would sizzle in the bowels of Hell for eternity, but on the other hand, I was going to live for at least another thousand years. I wouldn't have to worry about Hell for a long time.
And I believed her when she said she could help me. She wouldn't have shown up here if she couldn't help me. Even now, I was tempted to yell for her, call her back, make a deal. . .
Had she said funerals, as in plural?
The desk extension rang, and I nearly jumped out the window. What now? I snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Betsy? It's Mom.”
“Hi, Mom. You're up late.”
“Babyjon had a late nap,” she said ruefully. “But I don't have anything scheduled for tomorrow, so we can sleep late.”
“That's good.”
“So. . . how are you?”
“Not so good,” I admitted. “Things are kind of a mess.” And I deeply, deeply covet Satan's footwear.
“I'm sorry,” she said at once. “I can relate to what you're saying, hon, make no mistake. Do you believe the funeral announcement didn't come out until yesterday? I could have sworn I made the newspaper's deadline, but they said I missed it by twenty-?four hours.”
“What? You mean Dad and the Ant's funeral?”
“Isn't that stupid? My point is, I've been a bit of a scatterbrain since the accident. And I know I made things harder for you at exactly the wrong time. My only excuse is. . . I don't really know. It's not like I was still in love with your father. I guess I wasn't ready to say good-?bye forever. Not so soon after you died, anyway.”
“I didn't think about it that way,” I said. “I guess I shouldn't have been such a jerk.”
“Your father died, dear. You were entitled.”
“Well, I wasn't there by myself. So how did Dad's coworkers know to be there?”
“Oh, I'd called your dad's secretary—Lorraine?— the day I heard about the accident. And I guess she called the others. And you know your stepmother wasn't averse to using Lorraine for her charity work. That's how her friends knew to come. And of course, I had called you myself.”
“Yeah, I remember.” Something was bumping my brain like a minnow nudging a weed. It was great that my mom had called, great that she had apologized, great that we were patching things up. Why, then, did I feel so weird? Sort of sick to my stomach and excited at the same time? I was filled with a kind of happy dread, if there was such a thing.
“I thought I'd bring the baby to see Jessica tomorrow,” Mom was saying.
I barely heard her. Start at the beginning. The funeral was the beginning. There was no announcement. So the only people there, would have been people who knew. . . who knew. . .
“I'll visit during afternoon hours if you'd like to join us. . .”
“MARJORIE!” I shouted and heard the receiver crunch as I squeezed it too hard.
Chapter 36
Jeannie and Lara were still conked, and thank goodness. With zero traffic and a lead foot, I made it to the Minneapolis warehouse district in record time, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. I had to be very careful not to bend it out of shape, or even pull it off.
It had been so thoughtful of Marjorie to pay her respects at my father's funeral. Marjorie, in fact, seemed to enjoy being helpful in all sorts of ways. Marjorie, the eight-?hundred-?year-?old vampire who disdained politics.
Why had she come? To see how I was bearing up under all the pressure she was bringing? To try to get a whiff of my pain? To throw me off her scent?
