THIRTY-EIGHT
Sinclair helped me climb out of the rubble and we both emerged from the wreck of our home into the yard. I was relieved to find the world was still there; wasn’t that dumb?
It was a much busier place than it had been five minutes earlier: fire trucks, police cars, an ambulance, looky-loos, neighbors in robes and slippers along the sidewalk, werewolves keeping back, vampires doing the same. Somebody—a medium-sized blond woman who had her back to me—was off to the side . . . organizing, I think? It looked like neighbors wanted to drop some things off and she was directing them where to go and what to leave, and keeping them away from Sinclair and me.
What are all the vamps still doing here? Jeez, they should be long gone; I bet some of them don’t even have righteous ID.
I gave them leave to depart; they respectfully refused until you— Ah, see? They see you.
Tina rushed over with the assembly, which was equal parts reassuring and scary. That was a lot of vampires to have running at you. “Majesties, you’re well? Oh, thank goodness. I heard you went back in for Laura, but you didn’t—” She cut herself off as she realized what that meant. “Oh,” she added flatly. “Well. The important thing is—”
“Don’t,” I warned. Laura had screwed up and paid for it in blood—and not just other people’s. People were maybe right to think, Good riddance, but I wasn’t ready to hear it yet.
“Dread queen, I overstepped.” Tina’s gaze dropped to the ground and I realized she looked like hell, too. She’d been worried and could have been hurt or killed. Could have left or shepherded the assembly far, far away. But because she was everything my sister wasn’t, she’d done none of those things. “I must beg your—”
“No, I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re okay.” I looked around at the other vampires. “I’m glad you’re all okay. I mean that, thank God.” At their flinches, I added—
Don’t apologize, my own.
Ah. Sinclair wanted the other vampires to see we could bear light, and the Lord, could sing hymns and take the Lord’s name in vain and it wouldn’t hurt a bit.
“It’s been a long night?” I managed.
“We were glad to see you emerge,” one of them said, a curvy redhead with a splash of big freckles all over her face. Needless to say, pale was a good look for her. The black clothing was a bit of an overdo, but now wasn’t the time to chat about fashion.
“We can start investigating after the police leave,” another one volunteered—Jack, I wanted to say? I’d met them all an hour ago, but the names were a blur in my brain. “We’ll find out who did this and ensure they pay. They cannot attack our queen with impunity. Especially now, with the world watching.”
“Uh, whoa. I already know who did it. Also, don’t make anybody pay for even a candy bar without checking with me first.” Still, it was nice of them to linger. I wouldn’t have expected that. “Clear?”
“Yes,” they chorused.
“We’re a nation now,” the redhead elaborated. My face must have been pretty easy to read, because she answered the question I didn’t ask. “You made that happen. We’re not just a bunch of individuals in hiding anymore. We’re all one, so we have to help each other.”
“Yep.” Totally, definitely my plan all along.
Wait, they’re into it? That’s why they came to town?
As you’d know, if you had paid attention during the meeting. They did have grievances, but those were more about nailing down specifics than advocating a return to last month’s status quo. They came to say that they’re with us, that after some thought they decided leading vampires into the light of society wasn’t the worst plan ever conceived.
Duh! What I’ve been saying all along!
And after they heard out Dr. Bimm, the werewolves and vampires agreed with her plan.
. . .
You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you, my own?
. . .
Luckily, the organizer had by then moved over to us. “Excuse me. Quite a few of your neighbors came over to donate blankets and clothes, and at least three different houses have offered to let you spend the night. I’ve got them all lined up over—”
“Holy crap, Jennifer Palmer! What are you doing here?”
She blinked at me, like it was a strange question. Like, where else would she be? “I saw you on TV in the hospital. Well, not you. Your picture. And your house was on fire. St. Paul’s only twenty minutes from Burnsville, so I came right over to see what I could do.”
I stared at her. She was dressed exactly the way she had been when I’d pulled her out of Hell about eight hours earlier. “Wait, Burnsville? I left you in Cannon Falls. And what hospital? What have you—”
“Betsy!”
Dammit, what now? I turned and beheld a sight that did not work for me: ambulance attendants loading Will’s body for transport. Nope. Nope.
I grabbed Sinclair by the elbow hard enough to wring a wince out of him and started to haul him over to the ambulance. “I need that body,” I hissed. “I have to take it to Hell, and the sooner the better. I do not want to break into a morgue tonight. But there’s reporters and cops and—”
“My Maybelline mascara!” Jennifer Palmer screamed, and I almost turned around and slapped her, I was so startled. That shriek came out of nowhere and gave the sirens serious competition. “And my eye shadow! And apps! And my Kardashians! Those are all very important to me—I can’t let them burn!” And she ran—sprinted—right for the flames.
And of course everybody went after her: cops, firemen, reporters.