CHAPTER

THIRTY-ONE

I heard the door open and knew it was either Tina or Sinclair, the only ones who could have kept up with me. Probably Sinclair, preparing to explain at length how my idiocy had ruined his (after)life.

The bed dipped as he sat beside me. I was facedown on my pillow in the middle of a half-assed suicide attempt. Even if I needed to breathe, suffocation via pillow would still take too long. Stupid memory foam!

“My father and my sister have teamed up to destroy me,” I said into the foam, which Sinclair probably heard as “Mmm ffmmm sssmmmm hvvv mmmm mm.”

No response, which made sense. He had to be pretty annoyed, and was likely thinking up the best way to explain the depths of my fuckuppery. Constantly blowing Laura off, denying her Hell after she tricked me into taking Hell, threatening to kill her father, constantly questioning her choice of footwear . . . my unsisterly behavior had piled up to endanger every one of us.

I felt it then. Sinclair’s hand on the small of my back, warm(ish) and steady.

I am so sorry, my own, my dearest. You’re worth ten of them.

I perked up a little. “Only ten?” (Which came out, “Nnn ttnn?”)

“A hundred. A thousand. A centillion.”

Damn, that sounded like a lot. I rolled over and blinked up at him. His dear face was creased with concern, but his fist was clenched. He wanted to beat Laura to death as much as he wanted to make me feel better. I could relate.

I took a deep breath, let it out. “I’m sorry. About before.”

“No, the offense is mine. You were correct to be wary of my objectives. I truly have no intention of—er—”

“Glomming on to Hell?”

He quirked an eyebrow at me, dark eyes gleaming. “Yes. But then, I had no intention of falling in love with you, or tolerating our many roommates, or being a pet owner, or participating in the Winter Carnival, and all those things have happened.” He stroked my bangs away from my face. “To my unending delight.”

I sighed and snuggled into his palm.

“All that to say,” he continued, “I may not have intended to take over Hell, but perhaps it would have come to pass regardless of my intent and your wishes. It’s— You’re so young and sweet. You have too many burdens as it is. I want to relieve you of them, but perhaps that isn’t my place.”

I made a mighty effort and didn’t snort at “young and sweet.” Wrong on both counts, pal. And for one of the few times in our marriage, I felt every year of the age gap between us. He thought I was a spoiled child and I thought he was a controlling chauvinist, and sometimes we were at least partially right about each other.

“The thing about Hell.” I reached out and caught his other hand, linking our fingers. “It’s not just me trying to prove something to myself, that I can do this thing on my own. Well, on my own with a committee. Every suggestion you’ve made has been a good idea and I’ve implemented almost all of them. No,” I rushed ahead as he opened his mouth, “I am not implementing a Black Labrador Appreciation Day in Hell; you’ve just got to accept that. Fur and Burr aren’t going anywhere near Hell.”

“Of course not,” he said, offended. “Labs we don’t love would go to Hell.”

“You’re a monster!” I almost shouted, then got a grip. “Anyway. It’s not happening. But the thing about Hell, the real reason I don’t want you down there, so to speak . . .”

“Yes?” His face was calm, he was stroking my cheek, but his gaze was riveted to mine and I could see the tense line of his shoulders. He was expecting something bratty or hateful or both. Was bracing himself for it. Was telling himself it was my choice, not his! Christ, I did not deserve this man.

“It’s turning Father Markus mean,” I said in a small voice.

His eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“He’s getting mean. I think it’s being there—I think Hell’s corrupting him. Maybe even being on the committee is corrupting him; I’ll have to watch the others. How would I be able to tell if Hell made the Ant a bitch? She was already a bitch when she got there. So was I.”

“You’re not . . . always . . .” he began loyally.

“And Tina—well, she’s been around the block a few times; I’m not worried about her. She’s used to the assistant role; she likes helping behind the scenes and hates being onstage. I can’t imagine ever having a power struggle with her. And Marc doesn’t seem any different—well, that’s not entirely true. Being in Hell makes him lonely. I don’t know why. I mean, he’s always lonesome. He needs someone in the worst way, and I can’t help him. Maybe—”

“My love, I don’t understand.”

I wriggled until I was propped up on my elbows. “Hell is changing Father Markus. He’s not as quick to forgive, and he’s much quicker to judge. He’s not very interested in decreasing anyone’s suffering. He’s fighting me on every major change, and I’m pretty sure he’s undermining my efforts when I’m not there. And since I refuse to be in Hell twenty-four/seven, he’s got lots of opportunities. And I don’t want that to happen to you. Some people would say you’re already mean. But they don’t know you like I do.

“You’re not mean, you’re driven. And ruthless, when you have to be. But you don’t enjoy it any more than I do. And I’m not downing you for any of that; your nature is the reason you existed long enough for us to meet.”

“Existed,” he murmured, but he seemed pleased. “Yes. The perfect word.”

“You’ve taken lives, like me, but you’ve saved plenty along the way, also like me. But . . . come on. Father Markus was right out of central casting for the ‘kindly priest who wants everybody to love their neighbors and their enemies’ trope. This was a guy who wouldn’t set actual mousetraps in his church, just those awful humane ones so he could release disease-carrying rodents into the wild where they could go into other houses. You remember, you met him in life.”

Sinclair was nodding. “He was compassionate and open-minded. I found him to be a good man. He certainly grieved when he thought you had died, and he’d only known you a few days.”

“Right. All that and then some. But these days? He’s pretty cold.” I reached for Sinclair’s hand again. “So I started to wonder. What would Hell do to you? You’re tricky and ruthless and brilliant when you aren’t corrupted. What if Hell changed you like it’s changing Markus?”

“I don’t understand. Are you saying—?”

“But me? I don’t take anything seriously. I’m not brilliant and I’m not especially tricky. And I’m not so ruthless I’ve lost my humanity . . . yet. But I want people to get along. I want to decrease what I see as meaningless suffering. And I have people who love me to retreat to when Hell is overwhelming. I think that’s why I can handle it down there. I think that’s why I’m supposed to handle it down there.”

He nodded. “I understand, my own. And I regret doubting you, and my unkind words. You’ve been a fine queen for our kind; I’ve no doubt you’ll be one in Hell, too.”

I sighed and flopped back. “Any other time and I’d be tempted to believe you. But now we’ve got our regular problems, plus Hell, plus the Antichrist and my useless father plotting to expose us. And they’ll probably succeed. I mean, we can’t kill them.” I paused. “Can we?”

“Likely not. I don’t doubt your sister has taken steps to ensure still more exposure for us if she were to disappear.”

It’s also morally wrong, I thought but didn’t say.

He smiled. “And it’s also morally wrong.”

“Cheater! You picked that answer out of my brain.”

“Oh, I often do. As to your father, he’s hardly worth the effort of killing.”

I giggled, which was probably the wrong reaction, but fuck it. “That’s him in a nutshell.” But the laugh stuck in my throat. Sure, we were joking about killing him, but we were doing so because he was in the middle of betraying me, putting me and mine in the worst danger of our lives, and for what? Because he didn’t like how our last meeting went.

“Y’know, if he’d loved me a tenth as much as he loved himself, that would have been enough.” I could feel my mouth trying to tremble and pressed my lips together. “More than enough. More than he ever gave me in life and a shitload more than he’s given me in death. I don’t— Was it one particular thing I did, d’you think, that made him not like me?”

Elizabeth . . . He wasn’t speaking out loud, but I could feel the pain behind my name.

“Or was it just my basic personality? I’d blame it on being a vampire, but honestly, he was like this pretty much the whole time I was alive, too. Except this time . . .” I paused, then forced the rest of the words out. “This time he’s putting everyone I love in danger, too. For spite. You’re in the worst danger of your life because my dad never loved me.”

And that was it. I clapped both hands over my eyes in a gesture I knew was childish

(if I can’t see them they can’t see me)

but was too upset to care, and burst into tears. I hadn’t cried so hard since my dad faked his death to get away from me. There was probably a lesson there, but I couldn’t get to it. So I just wept and let Sinclair offer what comfort he could, and in a while I fell into an exhausted sleep.