Undead and Done by MaryJanice Davidson

Author:MaryJanice Davidson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2016-09-14T13:19:44+00:00

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

PREVIOUSLY, ON THE BETSY SHOW . . .

“Bring out the other one. Your assistant. Prove ordinary vampires can tolerate sunlight. Not just the king and queen.”

Whoa. Okay, I knew Laura’s obnoxious campaign included snippets about our lives that were none of the public’s business. Those snippets included everything that came out of her mouth while on camera. But these people were actually paying attention to the details! They knew Sinclair and I were special; they knew regular vampires were vulnerable to sunlight and fire. For the first time I was more frightened than pissed. Did today’s media really have nothing better to do than troll YouTube videos put up by gorgeous blondes?

Don’t answer that.

“I don’t have to prove anything, pal. That’s on you guys. Do not take that as a dare! Besides, you— Sorry, what’s your name?”

“Ronald Tinsman.”

“Right, Ronald Tinsman. Do you really not have anything better to do than stand in my yard babbling about vampires and freezing your ass off?”

“No,” he replied quietly.

“Oh.” Well, that took the wind out of my sails. “Well. Okay, then.”

Tinsman. I knew that name. I’d heard it in recent, unpleasant circumstances. He didn’t look or sound familiar, and he was dressed in midwinter casual: jeans, boots, a partially unzipped parka revealing a green-and-black flannel shirt. He was pale and puffy, with thinning brown hair and an exhausted gaze. But there was something about his eyes . . . dammit, where’d I know this guy from?

Sinclair must have caught the stray thought, because . . .

I doubt Mr. Tinsman is interested in our condolences on the loss of his daughter to vampirism and beheading.

“Oh, fuck!” I managed, and the shriek of microphone feedback nearly deafened me. “Argh, sorry!” I shook my head like a dog at a whistle to clear the ringing. “Wait, I’m not sorry. You’re all trespassing and this is a stupid story. Isn’t there a war going on somewhere? I’m almost positive there’s a war somewhere. It’s not the war on drugs—we’ve pretty much given up on that one . . .”

“What do you have to say about your father giving sworn affidavits testifying to the fact that vampires exist?”

“My father?” Tilt! Too much to process. For the first time ever, I longed to be back in Hell. “You mean the asshat who faked his death to get out of spending time with his family because he didn’t care for the paperwork that comes with divorce proceedings?” I glared at Laura, who just shrugged. Suddenly this was making a lot more awful, awful sense. The Antichrist, in her continuing efforts to find the adult equivalent of a Daddy and Me class, had teamed up with my dad to expose me and mine to the world. And for what?

Revenge for imagined slights. Both of them. Pathetic. Both of them.

“My father and my half sister have at least one thing in common,” I said shortly. “They’re both liars.” This was technically true, though more so in my dad’s case than Laura’s. The Antichrist was a huge fan of lying by omission, then convincing herself it wasn’t like that.

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