Free Undead and Unwed by MaryJanice Davidson Page B

strongest is in charge."
      "Why in the hell do they do that?" I griped. "Why don't they just go about their own business like they did before they died?"
      "Because they are not allowed to. The vampires are forced to take sides."
      "Nobody's forced me."
      "We will attend to that later—"
      " What ?"
      "—but to answer your question, the undead band together for protection. For a sense of security."
      "So this guy Notso is torqued off because I didn't play the game?"
      "That, and because of the peals of hysterical laughter which burst from your chest."
      Marc had been following the conversation quite closely, and now he stared at me. "The head vamp wanted you do to something, and you laughed at him?"
      "For quite some time," Sink Lair added helpfully.  
      "Betsy, jeez! Didn't he try to smack you or something?"
      "He visited upon her the worst punishment a vampire can endure...and she laughed at that, as well." Then, " Betsy ?"
      "Yeah, Betsy, wanna make something of it?"  
      "Indeed, no." Was the asshole actually hiding a smirk? I looked, and he stared back, expressionless. Must have been my imagination.
      "So you're here to try to bring Notso my head?"
      "Nostro. And no, I am not. You're far too pretty to behead."
      "Barf. Is Nostro short for Nostrodamus? Is the tubby twit that unimaginative?"
      Sink Lair looked pained. "Yes, and yes."
      "Ugh."
      "I quite agree."
      "So why are you here, Sink Lair?"
      "It's SIN-clair, and I should think that would be obvious, even to you. You are newly undead and clearly a menace to yourself. You don't know any of the rules, and there is now a bounty on your head not seventy-two hours after you first rose...a neat trick, by the way. I will take you under my protection."
      "And in return...?" I didn't mean to sound like there was a bug in my mouth, but I couldn't help it. I didn't trust Sink Lair as far as I could throw him. Hmm...better come up with a new cliché.
      "In return, we will discover why you are so different from the rest of us. You should have been in agony when they flung holy water on you. Instead it gave you the hiccups. Once I deduce--"
      "No thanks."
      "Really. I insist."
      "I don't give a shit! You're not my father—although you're probably old enough to be, creep, and—"
      "How old are you?" Marc asked breathlessly.
      Sinclair spared him a glance. "I was born the year World War II was declared."
      I gasped in horror. To think I was attracted to this fossil! Well, it wasn't entirely my fault...Sinclair looked like he was in his early thirties. There wasn't as much as a speck of gray in his inky black hair, no wrinkles bracketing his fathomless dark eyes. "Ewwwww! So you're, like, ninety years old? Yuck! Do you have a truss under that suit?"
      "You are the most ignorant, prideful, vainglorious—"
      "It's more like he's in his early sixties," Marc interrupted hurriedly. "And both of you, mellow out. I don't want to be in the middle of a vampire fist fight."
      "Indeed. Go to sleep."
      "But I'm zzzzzzzzzzzz..."
      I shoved my hand out, so instead of Marc's head connecting briskly with the table, he snored into my palm instead. I slowly pulled away and gave Sinclair a good glare. "What'd you do that for?" And how did you do that? I'd have to try that on the Stepmonster sometime.
      He looked back, cool as a baby lying on a pile of ice cubes. "It was inappropriate for him to hear so much about us. Which is another matter I mean to take up with you. Is it true that you have told your family you are still alive?"
      "I'm not still alive, it's none of your business, how'd you find out?"
      "You must not do such things. You endanger the very ones you would seek to protect."
      "Has anyone ever told you, you don't use contractions? Everything is 'you are' and 'I am' and 'you would'."
      "Has anyone ever told you that you lack focus?"
      "Sure," I said. I drained my tea and set it down, hard. Marc snored on,