TWENTY-ONE
They didn’t speak until they were in the car, ignoring the reporters who asked questions and wouldn’t take “No comment” for an answer. Why were they bugging her? The story they wanted was squatting in that mansion. That’s why Laura hadn’t told the world who she was when she exposed the queen of the vampires. Her status—the Antichrist who’d been demoted—would have just confused the issue.
The media, who were supposed to be the weapon Laura wielded to take down her idiotic sinful vampire whore half sister, weren’t the avenging sword she’d envisioned. They were more like a kid’s toy lightsaber. Flashy and cool in the box, not worth much when you had to actually work with it.
When she’d thought this up and discussed it with her father, he’d kindly written her a sizable check to help with expenses. Waging a one-woman campaign against vampires was surprisingly pricey, and she didn’t have an indulgent rich husband.
They assumed Betsy would deny-deny-deny, be exposed, be humiliated, slink out of town, or, even better, be run out of town. And/or play dumb, something she more or less had a doctorate in. She hadn’t expected Betsy to own the truth. She’d never dreamed the queen of the vampires would go on camera and tell the world: “Yeah, we’re real. So?”
Laura had waited for the uproar.
There was no uproar.
Oh, sure, things had “gone viral” and “blown up.” But those were just words; they didn’t mean change, or progress, or a revolution. There were fewer and fewer reporters at the mansion every week, because social media stories had the shelf life of dairy products. The emerging narrative seemed to be, “Yeah, vampires are real, that was last month. What’s going on now?” Plenty, she’d wanted to scream. Werewolves, too! Ghosts! Hell! Heaven!
Listen to me!
Betsy’s world hadn’t been torn asunder. Her world had barely wobbled. She hadn’t been run out of town; she was making new friends. There hadn’t been a vampire revolt; the vamps were pissed, some of them, but most were taking a wait-and-see attitude. She was too strong to challenge openly just now. Because of her friends.
So no vampire revolt. There hadn’t been any kind of revolt. Laura had showed the world exactly what Betsy Taylor was and the world kept spinning.
Unacceptable.
But her followers had sources. An assembly of vampires was coming to town. The rumor was there would be an election, but animals didn’t hold elections; the idea was laughable. No, they were coming to oust Betsy and her disgusting husband. They certainly weren’t coming in from all over to say, “Hey, great work not heading any of this off and not standing up for us!”
And since they were no better than bloodsucking beasts, it would be bloody and violent and would take place in their seat of power, the beautiful mansion Betsy lived in and didn’t appreciate. And the media would have a front-row seat.
Then she could get on with things. With no Betsy and Sinclair, dead or dethroned (and on nights like tonight, Laura didn’t care which), with vampires exposed as the animals they were, Laura and her followers could get back to proving to the world that Hell was real, and God was real, and vampires were real . . . so who did good people expect to save them but the Lord? Crosses and holy water were their weapons, even better than the hellfire weapons Betsy had taken from her.
(She had no right!)
(But it’s what you wanted . . . You were scared of turning into—)
(SHE HAD NO RIGHT!)
Now here was poor Ronald, a reporter who looked bland and boring but wasn’t, a man in mourning who had been a combat engineer. A sapper, he’d said, like his father, who had accidentally blown himself up in Vietnam. “That’s sweet,” had been all Laura managed say to that heartwarming family tale.
Poor Ronald had taken a clock and something he called mechanical fusing and magnesium powder and a few other odds and ends and built a cunning incendiary device. Laura had gone into the mansion under the guise of rescuing her father
(not a guise—she would have killed him or the wolves would have, but I saved him!)
(he left town, gone forever, Betsy’s fault again)
and planted the bomb in the one room where it wouldn’t be found, while Ronald kept the vampires busy in the parlor. Talk about Cindy, she’d advised him. They’ll all feel too guilty to walk out on you. I just need you to keep everyone in the room for a couple of minutes.
“Oh, excellent idea! Using their empathy and compassion to trick them,” a random follower had added, and she’d frowned and banished him from her sight. Empathy? Compassion? If those were the qualities he thought vampires evinced, she couldn’t have such a fool on her side, someone so easily tricked.
That’s what Betsy did. She kept the monster tucked behind the sweet, silly face she showed the world. It fooled almost everyone. Never Laura, though, not even from the first.
If all else failed, the mansion would burn, and the world would watch.
It was only a last resort.
Really.