Undead and Unwelcome

Chapter 36

I was sitting at the front of the room, in what would be the witness chair if this was a courtroom. The Council was sitting to my left. Sinclair was right across from me, about ten feet away.

The room was jammed. Except for when Marc and I went to see Jim Gaffigan live, I’d never seen so many people in one place.

They were all perfectly silent. I could practically feel them all listening hard. It was like there were flies walking around in the back of my brain.

Through dumb luck I caught Sara’s gaze and she smiled at me and nodded. If she’d been one of them, I might have taken some comfort from that. Well, at least there were two people in here who didn’t want me to drop dead on the spot.

“And then what happened, Mrs. Sinclair?”

Oh, God, I’d almost forgotten the worst part. They were calling me Mrs. Sink Lair! Would the horror never end?

“Well,” I said, ignoring my husband’s grin, “we didn’t know that the bad guy’s son was behind everything. So we came back to the house and he was waiting for us. None of us saw him in time. He . . . uh . . .”

I stared down at my hands. “He was a cop. And he had a gun, of course. I think it was a .357.”

“You’re familiar with firearms, Mrs. Sinclair?”

“Yeah. My mom started taking me hunting with her when I was twelve.”

“Very well. Please go on.”

“Well. Like I said, nobody saw him in time. But then Antonia shoved me, really hard. I didn’t—I didn’t see her get shot. I just heard the shots. I think he emptied the gun into her. It was at least five shots for sure. And she—Antonia, I mean—she—uh—”

I clapped my hands over my eyes and told myself I wouldnotwouldnotwouldnot cry in front of these strangers, no chance, no way, ain’t gonna happen.

So I burst into tears and said, “I didn’t even know who was shot until I rolled her over. I thought—she was a werewolf and I thought you needed s-​silver bullets or s-​something like that, but she was just dead. There was blood and the stink of gunpowder, and we were all stuck in the hallway—there w-​wasn’t anywhere for us to g-​go.”

“That is quite enough.” Sinclair was on his feet, his voice lashing through the ballroom like a whip. “My wife doesn’t answer to the Council, or anyone here. Neither do I. We are here simply as a courtesy.”

“It’s fine, Sinclair,” I said, which was just about the biggest lie ever. It was far from fine. But it was almost over. “There isn’t much else.”

“What happened to the man who shot at you?”

“He killed himself. Tucked the gun under his chin and pulled the trigger.” I suddenly remembered a detail I’d managed to repress. “He used twenty-​two longs.”

The Council looked blank. I reminded myself that werewolves probably didn’t have much to do with guns. “Those are special bullets that ricochet around inside a person for maximum damage, but they won’t go through walls and kill an innocent bystander.”

“Charming,” one of the Council members muttered.

“And then what?” The head of the Council—the one who was asking most of the questions—seemed nice enough. Matronly, sort of. A headful of gray curly hair, big brown eyes. Laugh lines. And bifocals! I didn’t know werewolves needed glasses.

“Then—then nothing. Antonia was dead. The bad guy was dead. So I called Michael and—and you know the rest.”

“Why did you involve Antonia in vampire politics?”

“Involve her?” I asked blankly. “Involve her?” A shrill giggle burst out of me before I could squash it. “So, you never actually met Antonia, huh?”

There was an amused rustling from the assembled crowd, but I didn’t score any points with the Council, who scowled at me as one.

“I only meant that Antonia did whatever the hell she liked. She wasn’t afraid of anything, and she didn’t take shit from anybody. Especially after she was able to change into a wolf during the—”

“What?” The Council spoke as one (creepy!) and there was an excited murmuring from the crowd.

The head cleared her throat, and the room hushed. “Mrs. Sinclair—”

“Please call me Betsy.”

“Mrs. Sinclair, Antonia was a hybrid.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Meaning she couldn’t change into a wolf. She had other gifts.”

“Yeah, I know, she could tell the future. But see, she got kidnapped a while ago by a murderous librarian and when I rescued her and my husband—except he wasn’t my husband then—I accidentally fixed it so she could change.”

Dead silence.

“Uh . . . so can I go now?”

“You ‘fixed it so she could change’?” the head of the Council asked, looking stunned. “What do you mean?”

“I—you know. I fixed it.” How could I explain something I didn’t understand myself? It seemed like I discovered a new weird power every other month.

I heard someone clear his throat, and then Michael was standing. “Mrs. Sinclair is quite correct. Antonia and I spoke frequently on the phone, and she explained to me that she was now able to change, thanks to the intervention of the vampire queen. In fact, Antonia was never happier in her life than she was in the final months with the Sinclairs.”

My grip tightened on the arms of the chair as the room burst into noisy gabbling. Was this good for me or bad for me? I glanced at Sinclair, who simply raised his eyebrows at me. Fat lot of help he was.

“Michael, why didn’t you bring this up while she was still alive?”

“Why?” I snapped. “So you could welcome her back now that she wasn’t a freak in your eyes?”

“Mrs. Sinclair, no one is speaking to you right now.”

“Too fucking bad. You guys aren’t fooling anybody, you know. Pretty much everyone here made it clear they didn’t want her around, so she left. Now she’s dead, and you’re trying to make it my fault, or my husband’s . . . anybody but the Pack’s. Meanwhile you’re playing the blame game while Antonia rots in her grave. And for what? So you don’t feel bad? So you can make me feel bad? Trust me, nothing anyone says here today is going to hurt me more than I’ve hurt myself. You can’t punish me more than I’ve punished myself.”

Sinclair was nodding solemnly, as if listening to something both wise and wonderful, but his hand was up, covering his mouth so no one could see him smile.

There was that feeling of flies in my brain again, and it took me a second to realize what was wrong. Before, the Pack had viewed me as an annoyance, a blundering idiot who’d gotten one of their family killed. Now they were seeing me as an active threat . . . who’d gotten one of their family killed.

Was this good for me, or bad for me?

The way my luck was going? Please. So, so bad for me.