Undead and Undermined
The devil's eyebrows arched. “I see.”
I didn't say anything else. I couldn't; it felt like my vocal cords had fused together. I wanted to take it back. I would never take it back. I had to take it back. I couldn't take it back. I'd given up a friend for shoes, and I had no idea how to fix it.
Another long moment went by. Laura had a deer-in-the-headlights look, if the deer was about to be run over by a convoy of semis. Garrett was still waiting patiently. His (misguided) faith in me was touching; he must assume I had some sort of sinister plan. And I did. My plan was, essentially, Oh shit! The Ant was still on the fence, trying to figure out the best direction to jump.
Satan said, “You have no idea how much pain this admission is costing me: I underestimated you. So yes, you may have your property back. They're in your closet as we speak, between the Tory Burch suede clogs and the Franco Sarto animal-print clogs.”
Way to rub it in, Lady of Lies. Clogs! Clogs are the new stiletto! Should have asked for Christian Louboutin to exist in this timeline.
“And as a . . . as a token of future goodwill, Antonia is also waiting for you.”
Don't say anything. Don't say anything. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DO NOT SAY ANYTHING FOR AT LEAST TEN SECONDS.
“I trust there won't be anything else at this time?”
Three-Mississippi-four-Mississippi-five-Mississippi …
“I-that's-” Laura clearly thought I was having one of my . . . what had she and Garrett called it? A my-brain-isn't-here look. She must have figured that since the chances were good I was daydreaming about a shoe sale, she'd better fill in the conversation gap. “That's very kind, Mother.”
“It certainly is,” Satan agreed.
. . . six-Mississippi-seven-Mississippi-eight-Mississippi …
That was as long as I could hold out. “Antonia will be waiting for us? This isn't a monkey's paw deal, is it?” My voice was heavy with suspicion. “She's not a zombie with maggots in her hair and a mouth full of dirt, is she?” “Only if she's taken up some alarming new hobbies.”
I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe it. I broke Satan's neck and she gave me presents? No smiting? No scourging? No locusts or whatever Satan visited upon people?
Shit! Not that I minded a locust-free visit. Locust-free visits were always good. But this was a sobering thought. Make that a terrifying thought.
It was all true. It was all going to happen. I was going to turn into someone so awful, the devil paled by comparison. Someone so awful, the devil had to stay on her good side. And I didn't know how to fix it or even slow the process.
I wasn't unaware of the irony, either. I hated, hated, hated when Sinclair kept things from me, but lately I'd been keeping a few secrets of my own. Irony, you are a vicious bitch.
Meanwhile, Satan had incorrectly interpreted (thank goodness) my silence.
“The book isn't mine to give or to take,” she said as if in response to what she thought I was thinking. There was thinly veiled irritation in her voice. Single-ply toilet paper thin. “If that's what you're working your way up to asking about. That's up to my daughter; it's always been up to her.”
Uh. It has? News to this girl.
I was getting the hang of this, maybe. I just looked at her.
“The Book of the Dead isn't mine to give back,” Satan said, making a sound like she'd been holding her breath. Like she wasn't sure what I would say and was holding her breath while she waited to find out. Which wasn't possible. Maybe in the future I'd be a badass tyrannical jerk with no color sense and zombies for footmen (ewww!), but right now I was just a woman in despair because Christian's parents never met. A woman who'd broken the devil's neck on impulse. “This was all Laura's idea. It's for her to decide whether or not to give it back to you.”
“Reeeeally.” I gave Laura a sideways glance. This was believable and I was sure the Lady of Lies was making a bold departure by telling the truth. Laura certainly looked like a dog who knew she'd piddled on the good rug. “Then I guess we'll talk about that some other time.”
“There's no need to raise your voice.”
I had raised my voice? I was pretty sure I hadn't. I was positive I hadn't. It was no secret from me when I raised my voice, what with the shrieky tenor and adrenaline surge. And . . . was the devil nervous? Stop me if you've heard this before: what kind of weird-ass timeline was this?
Aw, nuts. Lucifer was still talking. “You should thank her.”
“Yeah, hold your breath waiting for that to happen.”
“That's not necessary, Mother, Betsy doesn't owe me anything.”
“She was-“
“So maybe we should go?” Laura asked, looking at me with eyes so wide the whites were showing all around, like a scared horse. She'd interrupted. She'd interrupted one of her elders! Unthinkable. The timeline was going mad. “We should go.”
“Betsy for certain, but you may remain if you like, Laura.” Satan looked right at me. “You should thank her because she was just trying to protect you.”
“Aw. That's sweet, Satan. And I definitely need advice from you on when and where to trot out good manners.”
“She didn't want you to know-“
“Mother.” Laura's voice, sharp and heavy with warning.
“-what you'll do-“
“Mother!”
“-to Eric Sinclair in the future and-“
“Stop it!”
“-believe me, it's far worse than anything that happened to him before.”
I stared at them all: mother, daughter, stepmother. “What is she talking about?”
“Nothing!”
“Everything,” Satan said, so softly it was almost a whisper. A whisper I could feel at the base of my spine.
“It's not set in stone, Betsy, and it's not as bad as you think it-“
“It's not set in stone, Laura's right, she's always right because she's so quaintly honest.” The devil tittered, clearly amused at the thought of an Antichrist who tried never to lie. “It's set in flesh. That's what the book is.”
“Why are you doing this?” Laura managed to force through gritted teeth. They were almost nose-to-nose. Their wings stirred and fluttered in their agitation. “Why are you doing this right now?”
Laura winced as soon as the question was out of her mouth, and I could see Lucifer had grabbed her. All four fingers and the thumb were deeply sunk into Laura's arm. “Because I. Don't. Lose.”
“I don't like this, I don't like any of this, all of you just stop, ohpleasedon'tfight,” the Ant moaned. We ignored her.
“What's she talking about, little sister?” I'd never been so angry and so afraid in my life . . . and that included getting run down in the road like a squirrel. “What in the book is about Sinclair?” This . . . it all made sense. This was why Satan would only give me the ability to read it after I helped Laura with her powers. And why Laura took it and wouldn't let me see it. The book predicted something terrible (like death, again) happening to the king of the vampires! “Out with it, Laura. I've already strangled one pain in my ass today.”
Satan laughed harder. She had, I was sorry to say, a great laugh, a throaty chuckle-y laugh. “The book isn't about Sinclair. It is Sinclair!”
I blinked. I understood the words, but they didn't make sense in context. The book was Sinclair, like, what? They were one and the same? What the heck was that supposed to-
“My, I can almost smell your cortex burning as you labor to puzzle this out. Literally, the book is Eric Sinclair. It's his skin the book is written on.”
Ouch. Nice try, Satan, but this girl wasn't biting. Finally, finally I was wising up to the devil. She was humiliated because I'd bounced her off the walls of her own office, and it didn't take her long to figure out the best and most vicious place to hit me was the center of my heart. Where I kept Sinclair, of course.
“Nice try,” I said. “If I knew you a little less, I'd have fallen for it. Now. We really should head out, but don't think this hasn't been fun, although it hasn't, and don't think we haven't enjoyed your company, although we haven't.” I looked at Laura and Garrett. “You guys ready to go?”
“Yes. Go. Yes.” Satan made a visible effort to stop laughing. “This way it's even better. Oh, I never thought of this! Much, much better. Go with my blessing.”
“Yeah, because if there's one thing I don't like to travel without, it's the devil's blessing.”
Instead of getting pissy, she was getting more and more cheerful. Weird. Would Thorazine work on Satan? “Away, Vampire Queen. And never, ever forget: I warned you, and your response was insolence.”
“Yeah, thanks, it was fun strangling you, let's never, ever do lunch.” I looked at Laura, who was playing Statues all by herself. “Uh, Laura? You want to unclench and make us a doorway already?”
She looked at Satan, then at me. She blinked, licked her lips, and tried a smile. It looked all right if you didn't mind sharks. The poor kid . . . she couldn't even make her expressions lie. It was so cute! She really hated confrontations (unless she was killing someone; then she overcame her shyness). I couldn't imagine how difficult this had been for her. It's hard, I think, for anyone to stand up to their mother, even mothers that weren't fallen angels. Laura did great. I was proud to be with her . . . so proud she was my sister.
“Yes, we've . . . we've worn out your welcome,” she managed. I squashed the urge to put my arm around her. For one thing, her wings were still out and I had no idea how to encircle her shoulders without getting a faceful of feathers. For another, I didn't want Satan to see that as weakness, on either of our parts. “So we'll go. We'll go right now.”
“That would imply you'd been welcomed,” the Ant said, rallying. Guess she'd finally figured out which way to jump, because she went back to her desk and sat behind it. “Next time, call before you come.”
“I don't have hell's phone number.”
“Precisely,” the Ant said. Ouch! She got me! That dead bitch got me.
It was all right. We'd gotten what we came for, and then some. I felt like doing a victory dance.
Things were going to work out.
They really were.