Chapter 16

"There is a book about you?" Alonzo asked, his dark Spanish eyes aglow.

More pop-ins! Oh, wait. It was possible Tina had mentioned the Europeans had scheduled another meeting. At least we were in one of the parlors this time, instead of being ambushed in the kitchen by bitchy librarians. In fact, this was my favorite parlor (who knew I'd ever live in a house where I'd have a favorite parlor?), with the cheerful candy-striped wallpaper and blond wood furniture. Big east-facing windows let in tons of natural light (I assumed), and the room was heated by a gorgeous, midnight blue ceramic stove in the corner.

I was beginning to feel like I was spending half my (new) life in parlors.

Thank heavens we had four, or I would get bored with the wallpaper. Now the idea of opulent mansions suddenly made sense.

"Really and truly," I answered Alonzo. "Look: we only told you guys so you wouldn't freak out if you, you know, happened to be in Barnes and Noble

looking for some light reading before you iced the girl at the coffee counter."

"I appreciate the genuine concern in your otherwise needlessly provocative statement," Alonzo said. He shot his cuffs and looked at his watch, a big chunky silver thing that looked like it weighed down his wrist. He did it so often I assumed it was some sort of tic.

"Provoke this," I retorted.

"The book is not quite out yet," Sinclair pointed out, clinging to hope like a balding man with a sparse comb-over.

"Yes, it's a bright new fall offering," I added. "Place your orders now. Beat the rush!"

"I'd like to beatyou ," Sinclair muttered, which I didn't think was very unifying of him. Then, louder, he added, "We are, as you say, keeping you in the loop."

In fact, there had been a wicked big argument about it. My initial take was, let them read about it on theNew York Times bestseller list. Who cares about their feelings? I mean, Gawd. Look at the sitch. We've got bigger problems than a book about my alleged (what was the opposite of alleged?) life story. Like Jessica beingdeathly friggin' ill . Sophie needing revenge. The Europeans needing to kick me out and take over. Maybe on that last one; it was possible they only needed to clear customs on the way home. Anyway, a book nobody would think was true was the least of my problems.

Tina and Sinclair were adamantly opposed to my own superior point of view. Like parrots playing off each other, they kept telling me in grating and repetitive ways that it was better to tell these Europeans about the book before they found out themselves and used our silence. Use it how, they didn't elaborate.

Anyway, since my number one complaint about being dead was that nobody told me anything, I eventually agreed to let Alonzo and the others know. For once,I'd called the meeting (well, Tina had called for me). For once,I was expecting company. Yeah! How 'boutthat ?

"I confess," Alonzo was saying, "I have no idea what to say. This is an unusual problem." He gave me an admiring look.

"Listen, totally off the subject, can I ask you something?"

"Majesty, I am at your disposal."

Now was the perfect opportunity. Jessica was asleep—or, at least, in her room. Marc was working. It was just us dead people.

"What's it like, to make a vampire?"

"Oh, well." Alonzo looked uncharacteristically flustered, and ran a hand over his smooth head. "I never, ah, stayed to take care of one. That is to say—"

"You always chomped and moved on."

"Would you ask a lion to sit with the corpse of the gazelle, as the hyenas and vultures tore at the tendons?"

"People aren't gazelles," I pointed out, restraining my temper with some difficulty.You brought it up, you brought it up . "So there might be other vampires running around, ones you made?"

"It is likely," he said reluctantly. "In my youth. Now, of course, I have much more control over the thirst."

"See, I avoid that whole thing by not even drinking. You should try it!"

"This, what you say, 'avoid the whole thing.' This is physically impossible." Frustration, intrigue, admiration, and rage crossed his features all at once. It made his eyes go really squinty and he was rubbing his head so much I wondered if he was trying to start a fire up there.

"Feeding leads to killing. It happens time and time again, vampire after vampire. I can't even imagine," I said, speaking more to myself than anyone in the room. "Killing somebody. I mean—"

Okay, I had killed someone. Two someones. Wait, four, if you counted vampires. Hmmm, official Gray Area ahead. But they were all self-defense, right? And the vampires were already dead, right? Neither of which Alonzo could claim about Sophie.

"Walk with me?" the Spaniard asked, getting up smoothly from his spot on the love seat.

"Yeah," I said, standing up an instant later. "Sure. No problem." Sinclair raised his eyebrows at me, but didn't say a word or make a move.

So we went.

We'd put our coats on; he had put back on the slightly muddy but still meticulously crafted black wingtips he had left in the hallway upon his entrance. For myself, I'd slipped into a somewhat fashionable pair of bright red rubber boots—it was wet out. Spring in Minnesota meant thaw, and thaw meant mud.

"At last," he teased when we had walked a block without saying anything to each other. "I have spirited you away from the king."

"Yeah. I don't even know why we're talking. I sort of thought when I first met you, that we'd end up at each other's throats. You know, after Sophie had her turn."

"Have you decided what to do with me?"