Undead and Unwary Read Online Free Page B

fire, however much it will hurt me to hurt you.”
    Very much a stickler for propriety, that was Tina. She was a recovering Southern belle—she’d been turned during the Civil War, or born during the Civil War; I forget which—and maybe that was why. Tact and politeness were as much her style as her habit of dressing up like a dirty old man’s dream. Short plaid miniskirts, crisp white blouses, the occasional demure headband holding back waves of blond hair (which only emphasized her dark-dark eyes), the occasional pair of kitten heels. She usually went for “mouthwatering” and tended to hit the nail without hardly trying. It was my curse in death to be surrounded by women much prettier than I was. If my husband didn’t (almost literally) drool at the sight of me, it could have been awful for my ego. And my ego is the strongest bone in my body. Wait, that isn’t right . . .
    “Did Jess come through here?”
    She shook her head and, as it was a headband-free day, her pale, pointed face was momentarily obscured by hair. She tossed it back like the Sexiest Cheerleader Ever and replied, “No, but I’m aware she returned just now. Does she require an infant?” I loved how she said that— an infant —as though any random one would do. As though we had a room full of random babies just in case someone needed one. Oh God, what was I saying? That day was probably coming.
    “You’d think, because she apparently took the babies to visit my mom but forgot the babies, but no. I don’t know what she requires but I’m going to find out. I swear on my filthy polluted soul that nothing will get in the way of me solving this mystery.” All I needed to do was add a superfluous “Jinkies!” and I’d be Velma in better shoes.
    “I also heard Laura Goodman arrive and then depart.” Tina’s expression was carefully neutral in the way only an old vampire could pull off. Here’s a hint: never ever play Statues with an old vamp. “You were, ah, unable to assist her?” The again went unspoken, for which I was grateful.
    Because the thing about Tina and also my husband was, their attitude was, “Why wouldn’t you be exploring the hell out of Hell every chance you got? Why wouldn’t you be honing brand-new previously undiscovered power number six? Why would you go out of your way to do anything but that, you silly bim?” That attitude was also, fortunately for them, largely unspoken.
    “Laura’s fine; Hell’s fine,” I replied with an impatient gesture. “Place has been there for a billion years but suddenly things are out of control and just crying out for my steadying hand?” I couldn’t even say that without grinning; the whole idea was beyond dumb. “But something’s up. And where’s Sinclair?”
    Tina smiled at me. “Outside.”
    Her one-word answer told me everything at once: Outside, he’s outside because he can brave the sun now because of you, he’s outside and he’s the happiest he has ever been because of you, he’s outside and I am so, so grateful because of you and would follow you into death, and would you like tea? A smoothie? Not my vodka, but anything else you desire.
    “That,” I replied, “was a dumb question.” And bless her sideways, Tina didn’t agree out loud or even nod. Because of course I should have guessed. Outside could be anything and everything, because my husband was almost a century old and most of that time he’d had to hide from the sun the way Republicans had to hide from talking about rape.
    Long story short: the devil granted me a wish, and I wished for that before I killed her. And Sinclair was wallowing in it and took every chance to get out of the house. Bringing one of his five cars in for a tune-up? “Of course.” Swinging by the farmers’ market to grab fresh fruit for one of our designated smoothie blenders? “Of course.” (Even though it was winter, and precious little was in season.) Shovel the driveway? “Do we have a shovel and if so, where do