Read Online Queen of the Dead by Stacey Kade - Free Book Online
Authors: Stacey Kade
Tags: Fiction - Young Adult
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air around my stepmother. Gigi would score no points on me, even in the afterlife.
She made a sound of disgust and then stalked over to my dad’s desk and slapped down a piece of paper. “I was going to wait to show you this, but you obviously need something to hold you together.” She stepped back, still dressed in her work clothes: trim little black-and-white cropped jacket, a black pencil skirt, and killer patent leather stilettos. Yes, I hated her, but that did not mean I could not respect her ability to recognize fine fabrics and a rockin’ pair of heels. It did, however, mean that I could notice with some evil glee the way her skirt was pulling up and straining at the seams, like her ass was a prisoner slowly trying to bust its way to freedom.
“Gigi gi-ant ass.” I snickered. Love it. Out of habit, I looked down at my hands, just in time to see my fingertips start to flicker. Damn it. “But she seems to make my dad happy,” I said dutifully.
My father stared for a long time at the paper Gigi had given him, and then he held it up to the light on his desk with a shaking hand. He needed glasses—everybody knew it but him—he was just too vain to admit that it was his eyes rather than the world that had gone blurry. God. Shoot me if I get like that when I’m old. Oh…never mind.
“Is this accurate?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. “What it says at the top?”
I sat up a little straighter. From my perspective, overmy dad’s shoulder and to the side of Gigi’s ever-expanding backside, the paper he held looked like one of those abstract, blobby things Dr. Andrews used to try to get me to identify in our completely useless sessions. (I’d just told him everything looked like handbags, varying the designer to keep things interesting. Apparently Steve Madden means I’m suffering from severe repressed hostility.) Only this page was mostly black with a white shape instead of the other way around. But my dad had certainly recognized it, whatever it was.
Gigi sniffed and nodded.
Sniffed? Was she crying ? I pushed myself off the sofa and moved in for a closer look at whatever this was that could have provoked such a reaction from my step-Mothra, taking care not to bump into my dad or Gigi. I would pass right through them, and while they might shiver at a touch of cold that would be blamed on a random draft, I’d be treated to a stomach-rolling and head-spinning blast of dizziness.
Even inches from the paper, I still had no idea what I was looking at. It looked like a grainy photograph of some big white blur with little arrows and tiny corresponding letters pointing out—I squinted, leaning farther over my dad’s shoulder—feet, heart, spine, and… Oh, shit. There, at the top of the page. Baby Girl Dare. Due Date: 12/24.
Gigi was growing my replacement.
I stumbled back and my elbow crossed through Gigi’s chest. She shivered, and I fell to my knees, trying to breathe, and fighting the urge to retch while the room spun around me. A baby? Step-Mothra was reproducing? But my dad had always said he was done with kids. Too expensive, he’d claimed, and besides, what did he need with another one when he had a perfect one already? That’s what he used to say to me when Gigi was bitching and moaning about her decrepit eggs.
“A daughter,” my father said weakly.
Gigi nodded again. “I know it’s not the same. But you’ve been having such a hard time with the idea of a baby, and while nothing can ever bring Alona back, I thought it might help in some way.”
“Help?” I shouted at Gigi. “How can that help?” I staggered to my feet. “You can’t substitute one person for another! You can’t just switch me out with an…imitation of the real thing, like one of your cheap-ass Gucci knockoffs. He’s my father. He knows the difference. He knows what you’re trying to do and it’s never going to work. I’m the only one.” I could hear myself losing control and getting a bit hysterical, which
She made a sound of disgust and then stalked over to my dad’s desk and slapped down a piece of paper. “I was going to wait to show you this, but you obviously need something to hold you together.” She stepped back, still dressed in her work clothes: trim little black-and-white cropped jacket, a black pencil skirt, and killer patent leather stilettos. Yes, I hated her, but that did not mean I could not respect her ability to recognize fine fabrics and a rockin’ pair of heels. It did, however, mean that I could notice with some evil glee the way her skirt was pulling up and straining at the seams, like her ass was a prisoner slowly trying to bust its way to freedom.
“Gigi gi-ant ass.” I snickered. Love it. Out of habit, I looked down at my hands, just in time to see my fingertips start to flicker. Damn it. “But she seems to make my dad happy,” I said dutifully.
My father stared for a long time at the paper Gigi had given him, and then he held it up to the light on his desk with a shaking hand. He needed glasses—everybody knew it but him—he was just too vain to admit that it was his eyes rather than the world that had gone blurry. God. Shoot me if I get like that when I’m old. Oh…never mind.
“Is this accurate?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. “What it says at the top?”
I sat up a little straighter. From my perspective, overmy dad’s shoulder and to the side of Gigi’s ever-expanding backside, the paper he held looked like one of those abstract, blobby things Dr. Andrews used to try to get me to identify in our completely useless sessions. (I’d just told him everything looked like handbags, varying the designer to keep things interesting. Apparently Steve Madden means I’m suffering from severe repressed hostility.) Only this page was mostly black with a white shape instead of the other way around. But my dad had certainly recognized it, whatever it was.
Gigi sniffed and nodded.
Sniffed? Was she crying ? I pushed myself off the sofa and moved in for a closer look at whatever this was that could have provoked such a reaction from my step-Mothra, taking care not to bump into my dad or Gigi. I would pass right through them, and while they might shiver at a touch of cold that would be blamed on a random draft, I’d be treated to a stomach-rolling and head-spinning blast of dizziness.
Even inches from the paper, I still had no idea what I was looking at. It looked like a grainy photograph of some big white blur with little arrows and tiny corresponding letters pointing out—I squinted, leaning farther over my dad’s shoulder—feet, heart, spine, and… Oh, shit. There, at the top of the page. Baby Girl Dare. Due Date: 12/24.
Gigi was growing my replacement.
I stumbled back and my elbow crossed through Gigi’s chest. She shivered, and I fell to my knees, trying to breathe, and fighting the urge to retch while the room spun around me. A baby? Step-Mothra was reproducing? But my dad had always said he was done with kids. Too expensive, he’d claimed, and besides, what did he need with another one when he had a perfect one already? That’s what he used to say to me when Gigi was bitching and moaning about her decrepit eggs.
“A daughter,” my father said weakly.
Gigi nodded again. “I know it’s not the same. But you’ve been having such a hard time with the idea of a baby, and while nothing can ever bring Alona back, I thought it might help in some way.”
“Help?” I shouted at Gigi. “How can that help?” I staggered to my feet. “You can’t substitute one person for another! You can’t just switch me out with an…imitation of the real thing, like one of your cheap-ass Gucci knockoffs. He’s my father. He knows the difference. He knows what you’re trying to do and it’s never going to work. I’m the only one.” I could hear myself losing control and getting a bit hysterical, which
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